#(( and the thought of how all the parts of herself belong to someone else

[redocity]

hello, i was wondering if you could do a smut about buck?

Maybe have it where reader has been feeling really insecure lately and buck is like “i’ll fuck you until i hear that you believe it yourself” like he wants her to know that he thinks she beautiful and he wants her to see it

if you can’t that’s totally fine ❤️

PUZZLE PIECES — E.BUCKLEY

you are buck’s person, and he’ll be damned if you doubt that for even a second.

evan buckley x fem!reader | 2.9k | smut | masterlist.

WARNINGS | 18+ MDNI, reader is insecure about herself and her relationship with buck, oral sex (f!receiving), unprotected piv, a lot of whining and general begging, creampie, couch sex

a/n — “i’ll put this in my drafts and upload it after work” she said, *proceeds to forget it exists for four days*

sorry about the wait 😭

The thought had crept in slowly, quiet at first, but lately, it seemed to be everywhere. You would be sitting on the couch, watching Buck’s profile as he talked about his day with that familiar smile and bright eyes, and it would be there, the nagging voice that whispered, He deserves better.

At first, you brushed it off, but each time he did something thoughtful or made you laugh, the voice grew a little louder.

Buck was… everything.

He was kind and funny, dependable and brave, always there for anyone who needed him. And in your quieter moments, you’d find yourself questioning whether you could really be what he needed.

What did you have to offer someone like him?

He seemed to pick up on your change in mood quickly. A few times, you’d caught him watching you, brow furrowed, as though he could see right through you. You’d just smile, trying to reassure him that everything was fine, but he knew better.

Buck was perceptive in a way that sometimes made you feel as though he could see things about you that even you didn’t know.

One evening, as you were lost in thought, he suddenly plopped down beside you on the couch, sliding in close. “Alright, talk to me,” he said, his voice gentle but firm.

You blinked, startled. “About what?”

His hand found yours, fingers warm and steady as he held onto you. “About what’s got you looking like that,” he replied, his thumb tracing soothing circles over your skin. “You’ve been so quiet lately. And it’s not like you. Something’s wrong.”

You swallowed, your gaze falling to your lap as you tried to find the words. “It’s… nothing, really.”

“Nothing?” he asked softly, still watching you, but you could hear the worry in his voice. “Babe, come on. We both know that’s not true.”

The truth tumbled out in bits and pieces, a little awkward and halting. You told him about the doubts that had been haunting you, how you’d started feeling like maybe he’d be better off with someone else. Someone who could give him more, be more. You didn’t even dare look at him while you spoke, afraid of what you might see on his face.

There was a long silence after you finished, and your heart pounded with nerves. You expected him to try to reassure you, to brush it off or tell you not to worry. But when he finally spoke, his voice was calm, filled with an unshakeable certainty.

“I mean this with all the love in the world,” he started, and when you glanced up, he was gazing at you with a look so fierce it almost took your breath away. “Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?”

The incredulity in his voice caught you off guard. “Buck…”

“Hey.” He cupped your face, tilting it up so you couldn’t look anywhere but into those intense, unwavering blue eyes. “There’s no one on this earth who’s better for me than you. No one.” His thumb brushed over your cheek, slow and deliberate. “I’m not letting you go that easily.”

You felt your throat tighten, and he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Don’t you know by now? I was made for you.” His voice trailed off with a kiss against your lips, soft and gentle, as though he were trying to convey what words couldn’t. “Every part of me belongs to you.”

And he wasn’t done, it seemed. He took your hands, held them to his chest as he pressed little kisses on each of your fingers, down to your palms, his lips gentle and warm against your skin. “Do you feel that?” he murmured, his hand covering yours over his heartbeat, steady and strong beneath your fingers. “That’s yours. Always has been.”

His touch drifted from your hands up to your face as he kissed you again, brushing his lips across your forehead, your cheeks, even the bridge of your nose. Each kiss felt like a promise, a wordless way of saying everything you hadn’t been able to believe.

You tried to speak, but he stopped you with a gentle shush, moving his kisses down the column of your neck to your shoulder, as if every inch of you was something sacred that he wanted to worship.

“I’m not stopping until you believe me,” he murmured against your skin, his hands steady and sure as he wrapped them around you. “I don’t want anyone else. Just you. Always.”

“I’m a mess,” you murmured as his lips worked to create a path of fire down your collarbone and along the swell of your breast, teasing the hemline of your v-neck with his lips. “I’m—”

“Perfect,” he said, his voice hoarse with desire as his mouth found the valley between your breasts and the sensitive skin of your chest. “You’re perfect for me.”

You shivered under his touch and a gasp broke free from your lips as he moved back up to your mouth, capturing it in another kiss.

He pulled away for a moment to look you in the eye, his breathing as ragged as yours, his gaze full of pure, honest desire. “You’re it for me,” he said, his voice a low, husky rumble. “There’s no one else I want. Just you. Only you.”

You opened your mouth to protest again, but he pressed his thumb to your lips, cutting off your words. “Don’t fight me on this,” he murmured. “Let me show you how perfect you are for me.”

With that, he crashed his lips to yours again, his tongue delving into your mouth as he encouraged you back against the couch. His hands were everywhere, his touch gentle yet urgent as he pushed your shirt up, his palms hot against your bare skin.

You arched into him, your body desperate for his touch, your hands seeking purchase on his arms.

He broke the kiss just long enough to pull the shirt over your head, his hands immediately returning to explore your newly exposed skin. “Beautiful,” he murmured, his lips trailing kisses down the valley between your breasts and along your stomach. “Absolutely beautiful.”

You shivered under his touch, your breath catching in your throat, every nerve in your body on fire. “Buck…” you gasped, the word more of a plea than anything else. “Please… I need…”

Buck’s eyes darkened slight with desire, his fingers hooking into the waist of your sweatpants and pulling them and your underwear down in one swift motion, baring you to him completely. “I know what you need,” he murmured, his mouth trailing kisses down your hip and inner thigh. “I’m going to give you everything you need, baby. Just trust me.”

He moved between your legs, his hands gripping your thighs and spreading them wider for him. A thrill of anticipation shot through you as his breath ghosted over your core, his lips following the path his breath had taken. “Beautiful,” he repeated, his voice a low, reverential murmur against your skin. "Absolutely perfect for me,”

He ran his tongue tentatively along the length of your slit, drawing a shudder from you, his hands gripping your thighs tight as he teased you, taking his time to lavish attention on every inch of you. You arched against him, your hips rolling, seeking more of his touch. “Please,” you gasped, your hands tangling in his hair, trying to pull him closer. "Please, Buck���”

Buck’s grip on your thighs tightened at your words, a low grumble rumbling in his throat. “Not yet, baby,” he said, his breath hot against your core. “I’m not done showing you how perfect you are.” He gave your hip a gentle squeeze. "Relax. Let me show you.”

With that, he licked a long, slow stripe up through your folds, his tongue flicking against your clit briefly before moving back down, drawing another shudder from you. He repeated the motion, over and over, his tongue working with purpose to show you how deeply he was lost in you, in the feel of you, the taste of you.

Every touch of his tongue was a jolt of pleasure, your nails digging into his scalp as you arched against him, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. “Buck—” you gasped, your thighs quivering under his grip. “Please, I can’t—”

Buck pulled away, his chin glistening with your arousal as he looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire. “You can,” he said, his voice a low, raspy rumble. “You will. Just a little longer, baby.” He teased a finger into your entrance, and your breath caught in your throat again. “I just need to make sure you’re ready for me.”

He moved back up your body, his lips finding yours again in a bruising kiss, his body pressing you down into the couch. You could feel the hard length of him, still trapped in his jeans, and you rocked against him, desperate for more. “Buck, please,” you gasped. “I need you, please…”

“Soon, baby,” he murmured against your lips, his hips rocking against yours, just enough to make you gasp again. “Soon. I promise.”

He reached between your bodies, undoing the button on his jeans and pushing them down his hips just enough to free himself, the hot length of him resting against your thigh as he kissed you again. “You’re so perfect,” he whispered, his voice a low, reverential murmur. “So perfect for me.”

His hands gripped your hips, angling them up to meet him, and he began to press into you, slowly, inch by inch.

Your eyes fluttered shut at the sensations, the stretch of him filling you, the heat of him surrounding you, the pleasure of the friction as he moved inside of you.

“Perfect,” he murmured again, his lips against your ear. “So goddamn perfect, god I was made to be with you like this,”

He began to move after a few stationary moments, his hips rocking against yours in a steady, measured rhythm, your bodies moving together in a desperate dance, the pleasure building with every movement. “You feel that, baby?” he gasped, his voice rough with desire. “You feel how well you moulded to fit me?”

You nodded mutely, your voice lost in a gasp as the pleasure built within you, coiling tighter and tighter with every stroke, every touch of his hands, every movement of his body.

“That’s how I know you were made for me,” he continued, his voice ragged with desire. “Your body fits with mine, like two pieces of a puzzle. You’re mine, baby, don’t ever forget that. You were made for me, and I’m never letting you go.”

His pace picked up, his movements becoming more urgent, more desperate, his breathing ragged with desire. “Don’t ever think you’re not perfect,” he whispered, his lips against your ear. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted in a partner, baby. And I’ll keep going until you say you believe me—”

His body was pressed against yours, his arms wrapped around you, holding you close, as if he couldn't bear to be apart from you for even a moment. You could feel every muscle of his body taut with tension, every line of him pressed against you.

“Don’t ever doubt how much I want you,” he panted, his voice strained with pleasure. “I’ll show you over and over again until you believe me, oh god, baby, I’m never going to stop needing you like this. Never.”

His thrusts were increasingly ragged, his rhythm faltering as his climax tried to sneak up on him, only for him to force it down so he could focus on you.

“Say you believe me, baby,” he gasped, his voice a pleading murmur against your skin. “Say you’ll never doubt what you mean to me, because you’re everything I’ve ever wanted— everything— and I can’t live without you, baby, I can’t—”

“I believe you,” you gasped, your own climax building within you, teetering on the edge of release. “I believe you, I do, Buck, I believe you—”

“Say you won’t ever doubt yourself again,” he pleaded, his voice hoarse with desire. “Say you’ll believe me when I tell you how perfect you are, because you are perfect, baby, and I will fuck you like this every day if that’s what it takes to make you believe it—”

“I won’t,” you gasped, your words punctuated by a gasp as your eyes squeezed shut from the stimulation. “I won’t doubt myself, I promise, but please, Buck, I need–”

“I know what you need, baby,” he murmured, his voice low and possessive. “And I’m going to give it to you. Over and over and over again, until you’re so full of me, and so sated that you’ll never doubt us again.”

His thrusts became more urgent, more desperate, his body shaking with the effort of holding back his own climax, as he sought to bring you to the edge, to push you over and bring you to the release you needed.

“Come for me, baby,” he pleaded, his voice ragged with desire. "I need to feel you come apart beneath me, I need it, baby, come on—”

You cried out at his words, your body shuddering with pleasure at the combination of his touch and his words, the pleasure within you cresting and crashing over you in a wave of ecstasy. Your body arched against him, your hands clinging to him as if your life depended on it, your breaths coming out in gasps.

Buck groaned as he felt you come apart beneath him, the feeling of you clenching around him drawing a guttural moan from him. “Oh god, baby,” he gasped, his voice hoarse with pleasure. “That’s it, oh god, baby, I’m right there, I’m right there—”

His pace quickly picked up, his thrusts ragged and desperate, his body tense with the need to join you. “I’m gonna fill you up, baby,” he gasped, his voice thick with need. “Gonna make you mine, gonna make sure you know you’re mine forever—”

His thrusts became erratic, his breath coming out in gasps as he rode the edge of his orgasm. “I’m gonna come, baby, I’m gonna come inside you, okay?”

“Yes,” you gasped, you hands desperately clinging to him, “yes, please, I need it, I need you—”

With a final, ragged gasp, he came hard, his body shuddering as his orgasm coursed through his torso and down his legs, spilling his release into you, white and hot and possessive in a way his words would never be.

He collapsed against you, his body trembling, his breathing ragged. “God, baby,” he panted, his voice thick with emotion. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

“I think I have a pretty good idea, actually,” you murmured, your own breathing still slightly ragged. You reached up to run a hand through his sweaty hair, your body still trembling with the aftershocks of your climax. “You’re damn convincing, Buckley.”

He chuckled at your comment, his arms wrapped around you, holding you tight against him. "I meant every word, baby," he murmured, his lips drifting up the column of your neck to your ear. "You're perfect for me, and I'll keep proving it to you until you believe it yourself.”

You hummed contentedly at his words, your body relaxing against him, boneless and sated. You could feel the warm, sticky aftermath of his release between your legs, and you tightened your thighs together involuntarily at the sensation. “I think I believe you,” you murmured, your fingers tracing small circles along his back.

He chuckled again at your words, his hands roaming your body, tracing a lazy path along your curves. "You're damn right you believe me," he said, his voice still rough with emotion. "And if you ever forget it, I'll just have to remind you again. Over and over and over...”

He rolled the two of you over, pulling you close against his chest and wrapping you in his embrace. "But for now," he said, his voice softer now, "I just want to hold you. Just feel you in my arms, baby.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his hand rubbing a slow, soothing circle on your back. "I love you, you know that?" he murmured, his voice gentle and full of tenderness. "I love you more than anything in this world, and I'm never letting you go.”

You smiled at his words, snuggling closer against his chest, your fingers tracing idle patterns along his skin. "I love you too, Buck," you whispered, your voice soft and full of emotion. "More than anything.”

[wondertrio]

Elna was born an insignificant one of many thousands of Unseelie fae. Her name at this point was Rhomdein. Like everyone else, she was on her own from day one in the Faywild. She made a habit of stashing away trinkets and information from both the Seelie and Unseelie courts that could be used to buy off potential enemies if she got caught, because she was small and comparatively weak, and this was how she protected herself for a long time. The most fun she had was when she ran into travelers from the mortal plane. One of these times, she tried to strike up a deal with an adventurer that would have potentially ended in him turning into a daisy for 500 years, but he turned and fled back into a portal. Rhomdein waited there for days until someone came through that same portal again. This time, she was able to make a deal with the person that came through, a wizard named Caspian, but this deal was a bit more thought out: she would supply him with an assortment of artifacts from the Faywild, if he brought in artifacts from the mortal plane to trade. After all, what fairy doesn't want guns that shoot lightning and jewel crusted dwarven armor? She would be the most coveted merchant in all the Faywild!

This worked for a couple decades, until Caspian, now a powerful mage, asked her to steal a rare artifact, a helm that once belonged to a great Seelie prince, in exchange for Rhomdein to have full use of the portal between the Faywild and Faerun whenever she wanted. However, when Rhomdein tried to steal the helm, she was caught almost instantly. To escape the Seelie court, Rhomdein gave up Caspian and the portal's location. She hoped this would be enough to get her out of trouble, but it wasn't. The Seelie court took her wings and banished her to the mortal plane. Rhomdein has no idea if Caspian is alive, dead, or transformed into a daisy for 500 years.

In an effort to avoid both the Seelie Court and whatever wizard club Caspian was a part of, Rhomdein stayed relatively quiet for the next few decades, changing her name to the less flashy "Elna", exploring and observing the mortal plane she'd always wondered about, and stealing whatever she could get her tiny hands on. She now mostly goes between Calimshan and Waterdeep, smuggling goods and secrets on the underground market, still keenly aware that she could be targeted for her various crimes committed across various planes.

[royalreef]

(( Honestly, what Miranda's Silent Hill would look like is one of those theoretical muse-building exercises that I've been spinning around and around inside my head for years. Because it's fun.

But I can promise: well. The violent sexual imagery is certainly not going away in her theoretical Silent Hill!

[agirlandherkinks]

Imagine being turned into a fucktoy at the same time as someone else.

Say, you and a friend go to a party, wearing matching pink bows the host gave you beforehand.

After a while, you both start to feel a bit funny. Your attention gets flightier and thinking starts to become difficult. You talk to the host together to apologize for having to leave, but he insists you don't go and arranges a room for your stay. You want to argue, but realize he's... so, so sexy. Of course you want to do what he says. A giggle escapes your throat, while your friend twirls her hair and grins adoringly at him.

You walk into the room together, hand in hand. Behind you, you hear rough laughter and a jeer "See you sluts soon!"

The door clicks shut.

Your friend snaps out of her haze first as the situation registers to her. She tries the door handle, whimpering in fear as it refuses to budge. Then she shakes out, dragging you away from thoughts of Him. You explore the confines of your room, panic mounting as neither of you find a way out. One door, locked. A small window, high up. A single, giant bed, blankets and pillows in a hot pink. Master likes you in that colour. You stumble in surprise, the last observation filling your head with bubbles. How could you think of escape, when your place is here. With Master. Your crotch feels warm.

A moan escapes your mouth at the same time as your friend's, who's fallen on all fours.

"W-what's happening?" you stammer, trying to clear your head.

"Dooooon't knoooow!" she cries back, rubbing herself with one hand. "So hotttt..."

Watching your friend touch herself through her jeans fills you with your own heat, and you automatically follow suit as visions blast through your mind. Fucking yourself, fucking each other, fucking other people, on the bed on the floor on the couch, even on the beach when you are allowed outside. But always, always, for Master. You love him. He controls you. You belong to- No!

You gasp, forcing your hand to the floor. This isn't right! Trying to ignore the thoughts, the commands in your mind, you crawl over to the moaning form of your friend. Her jeans are off, and her panties soaked in cum as a hand dips in and out, over and over. You call her name, shake her, even slap her (although all that produces is a groan of pleasure), to no avail. Then she turns to you, and whispers, "Toy~"

"Nonononono," you whisper, both to what she said, and the echoes it produced in your own mind. "We need to get out together!"

"Toy is nice. Toy is warm. Toy is happyyy..." Her eyes were an unnatural pink, focused on nothing. Her mouth formed a sleepy smile. "Nice."

"Nice..." you repeat, assaulted by visions and promises of pleasure and fucking and being a good Toy. Your hand slips into your jeans, and tears come to your eyes.

"Why resist? Toy is good. Toy is right. No think. Happy." She undresses, then begins taking your own clothes off.

"No... Don't... want... happy?" Your head spins. Why would Toy not want to be Toy? Need to escape. Together. But Master would be sad. Don't want Master to be sad. Think! Toy no think. Toy wrong! Right. Happy. So scared... Warm. Good. Nice. Happy. Think so hard...

You let out a ragged scream in your throat. So confused...

"...Who am I?" you whimper, feeling the cool air on your naked body as your friend settles in front of you, vacant gaze and dumb smile still in place.

"Not who, silly" she calmly explains. "What. Toy not person. Toy Toy. I Toy. You Toy."

Oh. That makes sense. (no.....)

"Toy is thing. For Master. Toy for squeezing. And fucking~ Pussy~ Cock-" She cuts off with a moan and touches herself. You feel compelled to copy. For a while you both masturbate, happily. Your jaw begins to loosen and tension drain from your body.

Toy is sexy. Toy is sexy. Master like us. (please.....)

"Toy need help?" She manages to focus on you and stop touching herself, face set in concern. "Think too much?" You nod, desperately.

Brain loud. Part bad. Not like Toy. (can't keep-)

Toy smiles reassuringly. "Toy help Toy. Be Toy together. Nice for Master. Together."

With tender care she climbs onto your lap, gripping your shoulder with one hand as the other drifts downwards. Gently, delicately, she touches her lips to yours, their soft plumpness and strawberry flavor filling your senses. She presses against you, your nipples brushing as your chests squish together. At the same time, her hand begins expertly manipulating your genitals, sending waves of pleasure through your fuzzy, stupid mind. You moan, a cry of despair as the last remnants of you leak out in the form of precum and drool. Then your pitch and tone change, becoming a wail of pleasure as the dumb Toy that you always were surrenders to your needy, lusty body. You start fucking Toy too, and your moans and whimpers mix as you collapse on top of each other.

Nice. Warm. Happy. Toy.

The door slams open and you both wince at the light. Then go limp, as a familiar smell reaches your noses. Master. He feeds you and pampers you and loves you and fucks you and fucks you and fucks you~

Love Master. Controls Toy. Belong to Him. His-

"Toys." A question, and command. Instantly you get to your knees, staring at Him in open worship, both of you wearing nothing but a pink bow in your hair.

You see Him turn and give a thumbs up, to the sound of whoops, jeers, and whistles. They want Toy, you realize, and it makes you very proud to know how sexy you are. You must be doing a very good job for Master. Drool drips from your mouth as you smile absently.

He approaches the other Toy, and you feel sad you weren't noticed first. She grins happily as His hand cups her cheek, then, at a curt gesture, rises to her feet. "You, Toy, are for anyone to fuck. Do you know that?" A nod. "Good. Now, I've got a lot of friends out there that your moans made very hard. They need some release. Are you going to help them out?" A whimper and an enthusiastic nod. "Good Toy. Go." Toy rushes out the door to a cheering crowd, quickly muted by the door closing. From Master. You gaze at Him in longing, wanting to serve. Wanting to make Him feel good. Wanting His cock.

"On the bed." You rush to obey.

"Spread your legs." A soft moan escapes your lips.

"Only one rule today, Toy. You cum when, and only when, I say." And He settles inside you with a grunt of satisfaction. Your mind is blank, with pleasure and an overwhelming need to serve. You are a Toy. Only a Toy. A-

"Good Toy."

Squirm for Master.

Cum for Master.

Live for Master.

Good Toy.

Good Toy.

Good Toy.

Forever.

[neferaskingdom]

♡ Closetgate: The Max-tastrophe | MV1

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Leclerc!Reader [Face Claim: None]

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Summary: Max finds himself in a very tight situation—literally. Lando is summoned for an emergency extraction, Charles serenades about honor, Y/N fights for her life trying to prove that nothing happened and the boys plan Max's funeral, but hey at least they finally kissed?

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Part 4 of my wheel-to-wheel but still in denial series: Masterlist

Y/N never expected this to happen. One moment, she was causing chaos on Instagram with that elevator pic—harmless fun, right? But Max’s confession came out of nowhere, and now she was standing in her apartment, heart pounding.

She barely had time to process the fact that she’d just invited Max over, let alone get ready. Y/N looked down at her oversized, mismatched pajama set, which sported a giant, ridiculous “I Paused My Game to Be Here” T-shirt. Definitely not the “I’ve just confessed to liking my childhood rival” look she was going for.

She barely had time to question her life choices before there was a knock at the door. When she opened it, Max stood there, leaning against the doorframe like he wasn’t about to change everything. He gave her that classic smirk, but something felt different tonight—softer, more uncertain.

“Did you run here or teleport?” she asked, unable to hide her surprise.

“I might have broken a few traffic laws,” he joked, walking in like he hadn’t just sprinted across town. He glanced around her apartment, then at her, still wearing her gaming shirt. "Nice shirt, by the way," he smirked.

She rolled her eyes. “Shut up, Verstappen. I didn’t expect you to break the sound barrier to get here.” Max chuckled, plopping down on her couch like he belonged there. "You texted, I ran. It's the natural order of things."

"You actually came," she blurted, mostly because she didn’t know what else to say. The second the words left her mouth, she realized how ridiculous they sounded. "You told me to," Max shot back, stepping inside without missing a beat. "What, did you think I’d say no?"

"I don’t know! Maybe?" she stammered, closing the door behind him. "This whole thing is weird!" 

"Weird how?" Max turned to face her, looking genuinely confused. "Because I confessed or because you didn’t see it coming?"

Y/N groaned, throwing her hands up. "Both! Max, we’ve spent most of our lives arguing over who’s funnier and which one of us sucks more. And now you’re telling me you like me? You don’t just drop that bomb and act like everything’s normal!"

Max shrugged, trying to act casual, but there was something in his eyes that made Y/N’s stomach flip. "I’m not saying it’s normal. I’m saying it’s real. We joke around because that’s us. But I like you, Y/N. I’ve liked you for years. I just didn’t want to mess up what we had."

Y/N’s mind was racing. She couldn’t reconcile the Max in front of her with the one who used to relentlessly call her out on social media. “So, what? You’ve been secretly into me while roasting me all these years? And I’m just supposed to be like, ‘Yeah, cool, let’s date now?’”

Max smiled, but it wasn’t his usual cocky grin. It was softer, more vulnerable. "I get it. It sounds insane. But I’m serious. When I saw that post, Y/N… I thought you had someone else. And it hit me harder than I expected. I realized I didn’t want to just be the guy you bicker with online. I wanted more than that."

She stared at him, still processing. "So, you’re telling me this now because of one random photo?"

"It wasn’t just the photo," Max said, stepping closer. "It was the idea that I’d waited too long. That I might have missed my shot."

Her heart skipped a beat. This was getting real, fast. Y/N crossed her arms, more to protect herself from the flood of emotions than anything else. "Max… I don’t know what to say."

Max chuckled lightly, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck—a nervous habit she’d noticed over the years. "You don’t have to say anything. I just couldn’t keep pretending anymore."

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. There was something so raw and honest about him right now, and it was messing with her. This was Max—her partner in social media wars, her favorite person to annoy. And now, he was standing in her living room, confessing feelings that she didn’t know how to handle.

Finally, she let out a breathy laugh. "You’re really bad at timing, you know that? I was just getting used to us hating each other."

Max’s smile widened. "We never hated each other, Y/N."

"Sure felt like it sometimes," she muttered, though there was no bite behind her words. She was too busy trying to sort through the tangled mess of emotions in her head.

"Come on," he teased softly. "You know we’ve always had a thing."

"A thing?" Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Oh, so insulting each other in public and trolling each other on Instagram was just our way of flirting?"

Max stepped closer, and this time, there was no teasing in his voice. "For me, yeah. That’s always been part of it. But it’s more than that."

Max says with a shrug. “I like you because you're chaotic and you keep me on my toes. Plus, I figured all the teasing was basically foreplay.”

Her jaw dropped. “Excuse me?!” She grabbed a throw pillow and launched it at him. “That is not how that works!”

Max laughed, catching the pillow and tossing it aside. “Hey, if it’s not, it should be! We’ve been bantering for years—it’s basically flirting with extra steps.”

She facepalmed, letting out a frustrated groan. “This is so not how I expected this conversation to go. You’re taking all of this way too casually!”

Y/N’s heart was beating so loud she was sure he could hear it. "Max, this is a lot. I didn’t… I didn’t expect this."

"I know." His voice was soft now, almost unsure. "But I had to tell you. I’ve been holding it in for so long, and I thought—"

"That you’d shoot your shot now?" she cut in, trying to lighten the mood even though her head was spinning.

He grinned, finally relaxing a bit. "Exactly. You can’t blame me for that, right?"

She bit her lip, trying to hide a smile. "I guess not. But… Max, I—"

He raised a hand, stopping her. "You don’t have to say anything right now. I just wanted to be honest. For once."

Y/N sighed, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on her. "But here’s the thing… I kinda, sorta like you too." The words slipped out before she could stop them, and she immediately wanted to crawl into a hole.

Max blinked, then his smile widened into something she’d never seen before—completely genuine and warm. "Kinda, sorta, huh?"

She rolled her eyes, though her heart was flipping. "Don’t make this weird."

"Too late," Max said, stepping even closer, his voice playful but soft. "You’ve already made it weird."

Y/N groaned. "You’re impossible."

"And you like me anyway," Max shot back with a grin, his face just inches from hers now.

Y/N sighed, her defenses finally crumbling as she looked up at him. "Yeah, I guess I do."

Y/N sat down beside him, feeling the weight of the situation settle in. She looked at him—his stupid grin, his messy hair, his absolute lack of any chill—and suddenly it all clicked. This wasn’t some weird joke or prank. Max actually meant every word.

"Okay," she said slowly, still processing. "But I reserve the right to make fun of you for the rest of our lives."

Max grinned, scooting closer. “Deal. But you should know, I’m not backing down. Now that I’ve made my move, I’m all in.”

“God, you’re so dramatic,” Y/N muttered, but she couldn’t stop herself from smiling as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“Well, you kinda like me that way,” he teased.

“Yeah, yeah,” she rolled her eyes. But deep down, she knew he was right.

Before she could say anything else, Max leaned down, his lips brushing hers in the softest, most unexpected kiss. It wasn’t the kind of kiss that swept her off her feet or made fireworks explode, but it was perfect. It was exactly what she didn’t know she needed.

When he pulled back, he was still smiling, his hand lingering on her cheek. "Told you we’ve always had a thing."

Y/N was too flustered to argue, her mind still reeling from everything that had just happened. "Okay," she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. "But don’t think this changes anything. I’m still gonna kick your ass at karting ."

Max chuckled, pulling her into his arms. "I wouldn’t expect anything less."

They kissed again, and this time it was longer, more intense. Y/N felt herself melting into Max’s arms, his hands gently resting on her waist as he pulled her closer. She could feel the warmth of him, the steady beat of his heart under her fingertips as her hands slid up to his chest. His lips were soft but insistent, and there was a tenderness in the way he kissed her, as if he’d been waiting for this moment far longer than she had imagined.

Her hands slipped up to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, and Max responded instantly, deepening the kiss in a way that made her head spin. For a few blissful seconds, all the banter, the teasing, and the chaos of their lives disappeared, leaving only the two of them and the unspoken tension that had always been there, simmering beneath the surface.

When they finally pulled apart, slightly breathless, Y/N looked up at him, trying to steady her pounding heart. Max's lips were still curved into a small, satisfied smile, and his thumb absentmindedly traced the side of her hip.

“You know,” she started, trying to regain her composure, “if you’re going to stay, I could, uh, make some space on the couch.”

Max raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning in full force. “You want me to spend the night?”

Her face heated instantly, but she refused to let him see her squirm. “Don’t get too excited, Verstappen.” She poked him in the chest, narrowing her eyes playfully. “No funny business. It’s gonna take a hell of a lot more than a last-minute confession for me to invite you to my bed.”

Max chuckled, his laugh low and sending a ripple of warmth down her spine. He leaned in, his voice dropping to that maddening, teasing tone she was starting to realize she might actually like. “Oh, I wasn’t planning on funny business, Y/N.” His lips brushed her ear, making her shiver slightly. “I’m gonna wine and dine you, take my time. By the time I’m done, you’ll be begging me to come to bed.”

Y/N’s eyes widened at his words, and she smacked his arm, trying to play it cool, though her heart was practically doing somersaults. “Begging?” she repeated, a disbelieving laugh escaping her. “You’ve officially lost your mind.”

Max, completely unbothered, grinned like the cat who caught the canary. “Keep telling yourself that.”

“God, I’m going to regret this,” Y/N muttered, though a smile tugged at her lips.

“Only if I don’t get the chance to prove you wrong,” Max shot back smoothly, his arm casually wrapping around her waist as if they’d done this a hundred times before.

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t deny the warmth spreading through her. “Fine. You get the couch. And maybe—maybe—we’ll see about that whole wining and dining thing later.”

Max leaned back, stretching out on the couch with that same cocky grin. “Challenge accepted.”

Text Message between Y/N and Lando:

y/n: LANDO I’M GONNA DIE. y/n: LIKE ACTUAL DEATH. COME TO MY APARTMENT NOW.

lando: huh??? lando: it’s 8am, woman chill lando: also why is this my problem

y/n: CHARLES IS HERE y/n: HE SHOWED UP AT 7AM AND HASN’T SHUT UP FOR AN HOUR y/n: He’s on a WHOLE monologue about "family honor" y/n: I AM GOING TO JUMP OUT THE WINDOW IF YOU DON’T HELP ME

lando: and again lando: why… is this my problem? 💀

y/n: BECAUSE MAX IS HIDING IN MY CLOSET, LANDO y/n: IF CHARLES FINDS HIM HERE, I’M GONNA NEED TO WRITE A EULOGY y/n: HELP

lando: … lando: hold up HOLD UP MAX IS WHERE NOW???

y/n: CLOSET. MAX IS IN THE CLOSET. y/n: LIKE. LITERALLY HIDING IN MY CLOSET RIGHT NOW BECAUSE CHARLES IS RANTING ABOUT THE ELEVATOR PICTURE

y/n: AND IF CHARLES FINDS HIM HERE HE’LL LITERALLY COMMIT MURDER!!!

y/n: HURRY UP AND GET HERE I NEED A DISTRACTION y/n: HE’S GOING TO KILL US BOTH AND THEN DRAG OUR BODIES THROUGH THE STREETS OF MONACO

lando: LMFAOOO NOT MAX HIDING IN THE CLOSET LIKE HE’S IN A TEEN ROMCOM 💀 lando:  YOU AND MAX?? 

lando: Wait so like. Did you two… y’know? 👀

y/n: NO NO NO IT’S NOT LIKE THAT, I SWEAR. y/n: WE DID NOT HOOK UP. NOTHING HAPPENED. y/n: but if charles finds him he’s not gonna believe that, you KNOW how dramatic he is

lando: Then why’s he in your closet, huh?

lando: You’re telling me you two were just doing nothing at 7am, and now he’s hiding from your overprotective brother??

lando: This is sus af 💀

y/n: FOR THE LOVE OF GOD NOTHING HAPPENED. y/n: He came over to… uh… talk? y/n: BUT THAT’S NOT THE POINT!! HURRY THE HELL UP BEFORE CHARLES GOES FULL "BIG BROTHER PROTECTOR MODE" AND THINKS THE WORST

lando: Soooo Max just "talks" now? Sure, sure. Just casually talking at 7am at your apartment. lando: I bet he was gonna give you a "lecture" of his own, wasn’t he? 😉

y/n: I’M GOING TO BLOCK YOU IF YOU DON’T STOP.

y/n: HURRY UP, LANDO.

lando: yeah your brother’s gonna yeet Max into the Mediterranean Sea 💀 lando: this is absolutely gold lando: I’m grabbing popcorn, one sec

y/n: STOP JOKING I’M SERIOUS LANDO y/n: CHARLES IS GOING ON ABOUT “RESPECT” AND “TRADITION” LIKE WE’RE IN A DAMN PERIOD DRAMA y/n: HURRY UP AND GET HIM OUT OF HERE. CHA IS LITERALLY OUT HERE RAMBLING ABOUT "RESPECTING FAMILY HONOR."

lando: Fiiiine, I’m getting out of bed. lando: But seriously, Max? Who would have guessed? That’s hilarious. You could’ve picked a better hiding spot tho 💀

y/n: YOU THINK I HAD TIME TO COORDINATE A BETTER PLAN WHEN CHARLES SHOWED UP OUT OF NOWHERE???

lando: You could’ve gone with like… under the bed? Maybe pretend he’s a delivery guy? 😂 lando: Closet’s too obvious, mate. Rookie mistake.

y/n: OKAY, SPYMASTER LANDO, HOW ABOUT YOU FOCUS ON GETTING HERE AND NOT ON MY HIDING STRATEGIES?

lando: wait sooooo lando: MAX REALLY STAYED OVER?? 👀 lando: I’M TELLING YOU, I KNEW THERE WAS SOMETHING BETWEEN YOU TWO. YOU DON’T HIDE IN CLOSETS FOR JUST ANYONE, SIS

y/n: WE DIDN’T DO ANYTHING LANDO. I SWEAR TO GOD. y/n: BUT IF YOU DON’T GET HERE, CHARLES IS GONNA ASSUME THE WORST AND START DIGGING A GRAVE

lando: fine fine I’m coming 💀 lando: this is too good tho, I’m never letting you live this down lando: if Charles finds Max it’s gonna be like “sooo, Max, wanna explain why you’re hiding in my sister’s closet like a serial killer?”

y/n: LANDO. I WILL BLOCK YOU. y/n: JUST GET HERE NOW, BEFORE I HAVE TO FAKE MY OWN DEATH TO ESCAPE THIS SITUATION

lando: can’t wait to see you try to explain why Max is suddenly living in your closet 😭😭 lando: tell Charles Max is helping you with a home renovation or some shit 💀 lando: I’ll be there soon to save your ass

y/n: IF YOU DON’T HURRY, IT’LL BE MY FUNERAL YOU’RE COMING TO. y/n: I’M NOT KIDDING, LANDO. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

lando: Yeah yeah I’m on it.

lando: But if Max survives this, I wanna be best man at the wedding 🥂

lando created a group

lando added Y/N, max, daniel, george and alex to the group

lando has changed the name of the group to “Drive to Survive: Closet Edition”

lando: EMERGENCY GROUP CHAT. STOP EVERYTHING. 🚨

george: Bro, it’s like 9AM. What now??

alex: Bro, what is it this time?? Did you lose your keys again? 💀

daniel:  Lando, I swear to God, if this is about you locking yourself out of your car again, I’m leaving the group chat.

lando: NO. BIGGER. MUCH BIGGER. lando: I had to save Max’s life this morning. 😳

max: lando, if you even—

lando: MAX WAS HIDING IN Y/N’S CLOSET THIS MORNING.

y/n: LANDO, I SWEAR TO GOD—

george: HOLD ON. Max was hiding in what now?? george: MAX. HIDING. IN Y/N’S CLOSET?! 💀

alex: WAIT WAIT WAIT. MAX?! IN HER CLOSET?? alex: Sounds like an F1 driver version of "Narnia." 🦁 alex: But instead of a lion, you found… Max?

daniel: Wait, hold on. HOLD UP.

daniel: Max was hiding? In Y/N’s closet?

daniel: Were you two… busy? 👀

daniel: This is starting to sound like the setup to a very different kind of movie, if you know what I mean… 

lando: RIGHT?! Closet boy Max out here sneaking around at 7AM.

y/n: NOTHING HAPPENED. y/n: CHARLES SHOWED UP OUT OF NOWHERE AND MAX HAD TO HIDE OR HE’D BE DEAD.

lando: She’s underselling it. Charles was out here talking about "honor" like we were back in medieval times.

max: she’s not wrong, charles had murder in his eyes talking about Y/N’s hypothetical boyfriend

george: So, you’re telling me Max was hiding in Y/N’s closet because big bro Charles was about to lose his mind? george: LMAO Max, mate, you were this close to becoming roadkill at the next race.

george: This is gold. Max, you hiding like a teenage boy sneaking out of a girl’s room?! How much were you sweating?

max: look, it was either the closet or death by leclerc

alex: Soooo... you were hiding because…? 👀

alex: If Charles finds out, he’s definitely running Max off the track next race. alex: Or worse, he’ll crash right into him. 💀

daniel: Run him off the track? Charles would straight-up crash into Max next race, no questions asked. 💀

george: Mate, can you imagine? Lap 20: "Verstappen crashes after mysterious contact with Leclerc." 🤔

george: "Sources say Charles Leclerc was last seen revving his engine and screaming about his sister’s honor."

daniel: Bro, I can already see the headlines: "Verstappen DNF—Cause: Leclerc Rage." daniel: Max would be like, "I’m innocent!" while Charles just revs the engine like, "Try me bitch."

lando: Charles would be all smiles in the press conference like, "It was an unfortunate incident…" lando: Meanwhile, Max’s car would still be smoldering in the background.

max: ngl, he’d probably reverse just to make sure it’s done right 😬

alex: "Accident," sure, Charles. I’m sure brake checking Max into the wall was totally accidental.

daniel: Sooo… why were you hiding, Max? 👀 daniel: Closet redecoration? Or were you two getting cozy? 😏

lando: Oh, come on, there’s no hiding in closets unless something was happening. Let’s be real here. 👀

max: look, i was just… you know… max: avoiding death by overprotective brothers. that’s all.

george: Sure, Max. Just avoiding "death"… by hiding in her closet. Sounds innocent. Totally.

alex: Did you fold her clothes while you were in there, or just admire the view? 😂

daniel: Oh, we’re calling it "admiring the view" now, huh?

max: you guys have dirty minds, jesus

lando: Bro, you were literally in her closet. This is peak suspicious behavior.

y/n: NOTHING HAPPENED. y/n: STOP MAKING THIS WEIRD. 🙃

lando: Y/N, babe, you don’t just shove someone in your closet for no reason. There’s something here.

daniel: Yeah, like… what were you two really doing before Charles showed up? 👀 daniel: C’mon, no one hides someone unless they’re in the middle of… something.

y/n: I swear to god, if one more person suggests anything—

max: maybe i was just there to give her fashion advice 🤷‍♂️

george: OH, so that’s what they’re calling it now? "Fashion advice." Sounds steamy.

daniel: So what’d you suggest, Max? "Less clothes"? 😏

y/n: I’M LITERALLY GOING TO MUTE THIS CHAT. NOTHING HAPPENED.

lando: Uh-huh. Sure. lando: You don’t just casually invite Max over to give you "advice" in the early hours of the morning unless something’s going on. Just saying. 😉

daniel: I mean, I’d hide Max too if he showed up like that… 👀

alex: "Like that"? Sounds like Max was already halfway to being undressed. 💀

y/n: YOU GUYS ARE THE WORST.

max: you get used to it after a while

lando: Okay, okay, jokes aside… are you two, like, officially a thing now?

max: yeah, y/n and i… we’re seeing where this goes. officially.

george: OMG, IT'S HAPPENING. MAX AND Y/N ARE OFFICIALLY A THING. 🎉

lando: SOUND THE ALARMS, EVERYONE. lando: We’ve got ourselves a new grid couple. 👀

daniel: Ahhh, the "closet inchident" seals the deal. Love it. You Leclerc’s sure do love your Inchidents

alex: Soooo… have you told Charles yet? Or do we get to keep this secret and watch the chaos unfold?

y/n: ABSOLUTELY NOT. NONE OF YOU SAY A WORD. y/n: Do you WANT Max to end up in a wall at Monza?!

george: Max already looks like he’s preparing his will. 😂

max: pretty sure charles will crash into me on lap 1 if he finds out too early

daniel: I mean, Charles is gonna "accidentally" forget how to brake if he finds out Max’s been sneaking around his sister. 💀

lando: Yeah, next race? You’re gonna see Charles giving Max the death stare before they even get to Turn 1.

max: I’ll be lucky if I don’t get run off the track before lap 10

alex: Charles be like, "Oh sorry, did I cut across your line? Total accident, mate."

george: Imagine Arthur joining in, double-teaming Max on the straights. 💀

alex: "Sorry mate, but family’s family."

daniel: Max, if Charles finds out you were in her closet, he’s coming for you both on and off the track. No question.

lando: I can see it now—Max and Y/N in the paddock: "Charles, listen, it’s not what it looks like!" Meanwhile, Charles is just revving the engine, ready to take you out. 😂

max: and here i thought the danger was over when i left her apartment

alex: Bro, the danger just began. Charles is about to add "track rage" to his skillset.

daniel: "Oh, Max? Never heard of him. My car just had a mind of its own today." daniel: RIP Verstappen 1997-2024 💀

lando: You’ll go down as a legend, Max. "The man who was brave enough to date a Leclerc and live to tell the tale."

max: that’s if i make it past monza

y/n: YOU’RE ALL DRAMATIC.

george: Dramatic? Us? No way. george: I’m just saying, you better have a solid excuse ready when Charles finds out.

y/n: We’ll tell him eventually. Just… not now. y/n: And until then, if any of you open your big mouths, Max’s blood is on your hands.

daniel: So, what’s the plan? Keep hiding Max in your closet until you tell Charles? 💀

y/n: technically, yes.

y/n: But until then, NONE OF YOU SAY A WORD. LET ME HANDLE THIS.

lando: I mean… if I accidentally let it slip, is that on me or on the fact that Max was literally hiding in a CLOSET? 🤔

max: thanks lando, really appreciate it

daniel: Don’t worry, Max, we’ll make sure your funeral’s nice. Real classy. 💐

alex: I’ll bring flowers. Something dramatic, like roses. 🌹

george has changed the name of the group to “Max's Funeral Planning Committee"

george: Should we do slow-mo highlights of Max’s best overtakes at his funeral? Maybe some sad violin music?

lando: I’m picturing Max’s ghost standing next to Charles, watching the replays like, "Really? This is how I go out?" 💀

y/n: YOU’RE ALL INSANE. STOP JOKING ABOUT THIS.

george: We’ll make sure it’s an open casket. But, you know, open… after Charles crashes into it.

y/n: I’M BLOCKING ALL OF YOU.

lando: Can’t imagine how you'd even explain Max’s sudden appearance in your wardrobe to Charles. "He’s just helping with interior design, bro!" 😂

max: okay okay, enough. max: but for real, don’t tell charles anything yet.

daniel: Sure, we’ll keep the secret. For now. But we want front-row seats when you break the news.

y/n: Let me handle it before anyone here decides to run their big mouth.

lando: Big mouth? Me? Never. 😉

george: You know, this whole "keeping it secret" thing feels very Romeo and Juliet.

lando: Yeah but without the poison, please.

daniel: More like, Romeo hiding in Juliet’s closet while her brother lectures her for an hour. 😂

alex: "Romeo, why are you still in that closet?" alex: "Shhh, Charles will kill me."

max: i hate you all

alex: Don’t worry, Max. We’ll be at the next race, just in case Charles accidentally loses his brakes. 😂

y/n: You’re all the worst. 🙄

lando: Max, you better not be hiding in anyone else’s closet anytime soon. lando: Or else this group chat’s gonna have to upgrade to "Max’s Closet Chronicles: The Sequel."

y/n: Don’t give him ideas.

george: Max: Professional F1 Driver by day, Closet Houdini by night. 😭

max: i hate you all

y/n: Welcome to the club.

daniel: This is gonna be legendary.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[auroreliis]

OMGGG!! Imagine platonic yandere batfam and reader on a vacation at the beach on a privat Island. Would you like to do headcanons/or a scenario (you can decide) of it. Hope you have a good day/night!!

Aaaaa anon <333 We had the same idea <3333 Thank you so much!!!

Perhaps a little late for summer, but inspiration only struck me now!!! <33

Also, I wrote this on like 4 energy drinks so forgive any spelling errors

Also it's not edited or anything...

If reception is positive on this one, I might make a part 2 with the other characters, so let me know if you'd be interested in that :)

Platonic Yandere!Batfamily

Summary: The Batfamily takes you to their private island for summer vacation.

It was just you. Just you and the gently lapping of the waves against the shore. Finally, some alone time. You had to make the most of it, since you were convinced that it wouldn’t last long.

It was about 8 o’clock in the morning. Bruce, Damian and Stephanie had left the island for whatever reason. Dick was either at home or at main beach, looking for you. You had come here about half an hour ago, surely they would’ve noticed your absence and the fact that you had left your phone at home. They were going to chip you eventually, you had come to accept that. However, you certainly enjoyed the time you had away from them whenever they couldn’t find you.

Jason was probably inside the villa. He wasn’t particularly fond of the heat outside. Either that or he’d gone swimming to cool off. Cassandra could’ve been looking for you. Maybe she had already found you.

Instinctively, you looked around. No one was in sight. Then again, she probably wouldn’t let herself be seen anyway.

The shore surrounding the island was wider at the main beach. Here, it was only a few feet wide. Behind you laid a sparse palm forest. Cassandra could certainly hide there. Whatever. You wouldn’t find her anyway. Besides, she would have probably come to talk to you. Probably.

Where would Duke and Tim be? At the villa, right? Where else would they be? Hopefully not looking for you.

Now that you had considered it, you were probably being observed by someone. And if you weren’t, then soon, you would be.

Whatever, just take your mind off it. Think of something else, like…the beautiful beach you’re at. Yes, it is much nicer to think about the gentle breeze. How wonderful. Just you, the beach and the ocean.

You hadn’t ever been at a private beach, so this was a unique experience. All of this belonged to you. Well it actually belonged to your new family, but still, it almost belonged to you.

Your soul nearly left your body at the sound of rustling coming from behind you.

“Hi”, Tim waved nervously after you had spotted him sneaking up on you.

You didn’t feel like answering, so you just turned back to the ocean. Wanting to engage with you somehow, Tim sat down on the sand next to you.

“So…what are you doing here?”, he kept looking at you, but you tried very hard to ignore his gaze.

“Just sitting.”

“Well, I can tell that, but why here? Why not on the main beach? Dick and Jason are scrambling to find you there.”

You had thought that was the case.

“I wanted to be alone.”, you emphasized every word.

He chuckles nervously. That was it. He didn’t say anything. That told you everything you needed to know: He was only here to annoy you.

“How did you even find me?”, you turned to him, your voice tinged with frustration.

“Find you? Oh, I wasn’t looking for you, I just wanted to go somewhere alone. You know, somewhere peaceful”, he turned to the ocean, as though in deep thought,”I get it, you know. You also want to be alone sometimes.”

If he “gets it”, then why is he always right behind you?

“I think you and I have a lot more in common than you think”, he said, crossing his arms on his propped up knees and turning to you.

The audacity to say something like that made you shudder.

“I think you’re full of shit”, you wouldn’t let him think that he’s getting closer to you. You could never like someone like him.

He tried to hide his frown, but you saw right through him,”That’s pretty mean, you know. I’m just trying to connect with you.”

He didn’t say it directly, but you knew his words were a warning. Bruce had talked to you about this. You were allowed to have your opinions about them, but being overly rude was a violation of the rules—rules, which he made up. In other words, if Tim thought you were being mean, then you were being mean. Against this, there would be no arguing.

Well, you know what they say: If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.

“Ahem, I’m trying to connect with you…”, Tim persisted. You merely pursed your lips and nodded.

Noticing the awkward silence, he spoke again, ”So, will you go swimming?”

You shook your head.

He nodded, “Yes, it isn’t that hot yet, so there’s no need to cool off, I suppose.”

“Well”, he turned to you with a smile, his determination unwavering, “What would you like for breakfast? Alfred already started preparing something. Let’s head back and let him know what you want before he finishes.” But wouldn’t Alfred already know your preference? Perhaps this was Tim’s idea of “bonding”…

Still, his offer seemed tempting, since you hadn’t eaten yet. However, you weren’t jumping at the idea of going back only to place your order with Alfred and then get dragged off to go swimming by either Jason or Dick. Or worse, Tim.

Only now that you felt the hopelessness more intensely, did you begin to question things. Why did Tim always find you first. And how? They didn’t secretly chip you, did they?

…Did they?

Asking them wouldn’t result in an honest answer, so you didn’t really see a point in it. But how else would you figure it out?

You supposed the best person to ask was Bruce—AKA. Dad. He was likely the only person who would answer truthfully…as long as you behaved properly, that is.

“Is dad home yet?”, you turned to Tim, ignoring his previous rambling.

“Oh uh, I’m not sure. Shall we go check together?”, Tim scrambled to use every opportunity he was given, despite being caught off guard.

Perhaps it won’t get any better than this: Mediocre at best.

“Fine, let’s go.”

From the corner of your eye, after Tim grabbed your hand, you saw his smile widen remarkably.

The walk was long and awkward. Your older brother was desperately trying to talk about something, anything, that would catch your interest. Meanwhile, you were silent for the most part.

You had to admit, the villa was quite nice (if only it came without the addition of desperate, touch starved reprobates). Despite having your own room, you were forced to share a room—and often even a bed—with someone, unless you gained Bruce’s special favour for the day.

Luckily, Damian, the person you had to share the room with last night, had left very early in the morning. You weren’t sure how long ago, though, since the letter he’d written to inform you of his absence was…detailed, to say the least. Surely it would’ve taken him more than an hour to even come up with it, let alone write it. What a waster of paper. He didn’t have to say anything at all…

Entering the cool living room made you relax enough to finally engage with Tim, “Um…are Jay and Dick home, or…?”

In respone, he laughed, “Oh, no. I didn’t tell them that you’re with me. They’re probably still looking for you at the main beach. Dick went on about how we shouldn’t let you go anywhere alone in case you drowned or something like that.”

“Wait, what? But I know how to swim! Please tell Bruce that Dick’s rule is unnecessary…I already have enough restrictions, don’t I?” You panicked.

“Well…” He grinned, “That depends on what you’ll do for me in exchange.”

Even sighing was tiring for you at this point, “Fine, I’ll sleep in your room tonight.”

“Until the end of the week, or no deal.”

Holding back a groan, you responded, “Fine, whatever, just…work your magic, okay?” He nodded eagerly.

“Greeting, Masters. Breakfast is almost prepared”, Alfred appeared from the kitchen.

“Hi. Alfred, did you make-”

“Your favourite? Of course I did”, Alfred interrupted.

“…Right.” You should’ve known, to be fair, “Well, when will it be done?”

“When Master Bruce and Master Damian return”

“What about Steph? Isn’t she returning?” If she didn’t return at all, your life would improve considerably.

“Oh, Steph? She wanted to stay in the city for a bit, probably to buy you gifts or something”, Tim responds in Alfred’s stead.

“Gifts…? You don’t think she’ll, you know, make me play dress-up again, right?”, the thought sent a shiver down your spine. In this heat? There was no way you’d wear layers upon layers of clothes just because she was bored. You immediately left the living room, leaving Tim and Alfred behind.

While waiting for everyone to return to eat breakfast, you went and hid somewhere in the villa to avoid social interractions. And hopefully the heat. It was very hot.

[jihyoruri]

❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ HOMESICK kim chaewon x reader

↳ warnings richgirl!yn, read these four parts before this one if you haven’t already, yn is struggling, chaewon is …. chaewon again , aespa girls on top, swearing

yn had been at the aespa dorms for weeks.

and you would think it would make the girls concerned on the absence of their beloved member but it only fueled more things.

kazuha tried her best to make excuses for yn’s absence telling the girls that the aespa dorms are closer to yn’s house and yn did mention how she had things to take care of with her dad, but only earned comments like this.

“we have a comeback coming up, she would be responsible and tell her dad that we need her.”

“fans are getting worried as well she hasn’t updated for weeks, she needs to realize that this falls back on us and to stop thinking about herself.”

“so daddy’s girl is running around shopping with him and not doing her job of being an idol for weeks, classic yn.”.

the last one was chaewon of course.

it only took one big mishap for yn to be forced back into the her actual dorms and you could probably blame chaewon for this one.

yn listened to the girls' conversation, her head resting comfortably on jimin’s shoulder. she chimed in with her thoughts now and then, enjoying the warmth of their easy chatter.

staying in the dorms with them felt right, comforting, like slipping into a favorite sweater. when she was with them, her worries seemed to fade away, and for a moment, she could almost forget the group she actually belonged to.

still, she never forgot to text kazuha. no matter what, kazuha was always on her mind, someone she could never overlook. the thought of her brought a small pang of worry, she hadn’t heard from her all day.

yn sat up from jimin’s shoulder causing the older girl to look at her concerned, she reached over to grab her phone but was cut off by a gasp from aeri.

"yn, did you see this?" aeri asked, climbing over minjeong to reach her. "look at this, bro."

yn took the phone from aeri and focused on the video playing on the screen.

all of her members were sitting together, clearly in the middle of a group live stream, except it didn’t really feel like one since yn wasn’t there.

her brows knitted together as she watched kazuha’s face, noticing the subtle confusion in her expression. kazuha leaned in to whisper something to yunjin, who simply shrugged and continued chatting with the fans, her smile never faltering.

yn felt the four girls around her lean in closer, their eyes fixed on the screen over her shoulder..

In the video, kazuha glanced at chaewon before scanning the comments. "where’s yn?" she asked, her tone laced with concern as she read the comment she started to say something more, but chaewon quickly interrupted.

"she’s not feeling well, don’t worry, guys. she’s okay, you guys can stop asking now” chaewon laughed, “all the comments are asking for yn let’s talk about something else.”

the video ended with the other members nodding in agreement, except for kazuha, who remained silent.

“what the hell…” minjeong muttered under her breath as yn handed the phone back to aeri, her expression clouded with confusion and hurt.

“why didn’t they call you so you could join the group live?” jimin asked, her hand gently rubbing yn’s back. her eyes darted to yizhuo, who stared back at yn with a simmering anger.

“because they’re assholes,” yizhuo snapped. “you’re literally a phone call away. It wouldn’t have been that hard.”

“I wouldn’t say they’re assh-”

“shut up, yn they’re assholes.”

the girl quieted at her best friends words putting her head in her hands, “I don’t know what’s going on anymore.” she says quietly, “I just- I just don’t know what I did.”

“you didn’t do anything,” jimin says pulling yn into her side, “you didn’t do anything at all.”

“I must have done something,” yn insisted, her voice laced with frustration. “if you do something wrong, you get treated like you’ve done something wrong.” the words spilled out, echoing the words she’d heard her entire life.

“that’s just your dad’s twisted logic,” yizhuo retorted, shaking her head in disbelief. “it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” yn snapped, her voice rising as she stood up abruptly. the concerned faces of her friends only made her feel more suffocated. “I’m gonna call zuha ,” she said, more to herself than to them, desperate for some clarity or understanding.

yn walked down the hall, her footsteps heavy with frustration, and slipped into yizhuo’s room. she sat on the edge of the bed, her thoughts racing as she pressed kazuha’s name in her call log. the phone barely rang once before kazuha picked up.

“yn, where were you?” kazuha’s voice was tense with frustration. “you missed the live—what is going on?”

“I didn’t even know there was a live,” yn replied, her tone sharp with hurt. “why are you questioning me? you didn’t even tell me about it.”

“what?” kazuha’s voice softened, almost as if she was speaking to herself. “our manager told chaewon to let you know…which I’m now realizing was a terrible decision.”

yn stared blankly at the wall, her heart sinking as the weight of the situation hit her. what the hell? she could barely process the excuse. “okay, zuha… I’m gonna talk to you later,” she said, her voice hollow.

“yn, wait—are you okay?” kazuha’s voice held a hint of concern, but yn couldn’t bring herself to answer. she just couldn’t deal with it right now.

without another word, she hung up, the silence in the room pressing down on her like a heavy weight.

yn let out a heavy sigh and made her way out of yizhuo’s room, her thoughts swirling. as she reentered the living room, the other girls turned to look at her, their expressions a mix of concern and curiosity.

jimin quickly reached out, gently grabbing yn’s arm and pulling her down to sit beside her. yizhuo’s gaze remained fixed on yn, waiting for her to speak

“I thought it was just banter at first,” yn began, her voice barely above a whisper. “but now… I think she might actually hate me.”

yizhuo clenched her jaw, her frustration palpable. “have I ever mentioned how much I hate your dad?” she said, her voice tight with anger. “he’s the reason you’re stuck in this mess. you could’ve been with us, but no—he had to ruin everything.”

the bitterness in yizhuo’s voice was unmistakable. she had never fully gotten over what happened when yn was forced to transfer to hybe. While the other girls tried to be strong, pushing through the pain for yn’d sake, yizhuo couldn’t let it go. no matter how hard she tried, the resentment lingered.

yn opened her mouth to respond, but the sudden ringing of her phone cut her off. her heart sank when she saw the caller ID—her father. she hesitated, then answered, ignoring the worried glances from the girls. they had witnessed enough of her tense conversations with him to know what was coming.

“hey, dad,” she greeted him, trying to keep her voice steady.

“yn,” his voice was sharp, no warmth to be found. “why is your manager calling me to tell me that you missed an important live?”

yn’s grip tightened around the phone. “I didn’t—”

“I don’t care,” he snapped, cutting her off. “I don’t need excuses. be back at your dorms today. no exceptions.”

the line went dead before yn could say another word. she stared at the phone in disbelief, her father’s harsh words echoing in her mind. the room was silent, the weight of the conversation hanging in the air as her friends looked on, helpless to ease her pain.

“he sure does love taking you away from us huh?” aeri said trying her best to lighten the mood.

“we can drop you off,” jimin insisted but yn shook her head.

“my dad’s probably already sending the driver.”

yn’s chest felt tight as she opened the door to her dorm. The sound of chatter filled the air, instantly overwhelming her senses. she took a deep breath, determined not to let the negativity get to her. you’re yn, she reminded herself. you’re confident. you can’t let this bring you down.

quickly, she glanced at her phone, checking her reflection. satisfied with how she looked, she flashed a bright smile at the camera before slipping the phone into the pocket of her jean skirt, which was trimmed with fluffy lining. she walked further into the room, where her members were gathered around the kitchen, busy making lunch together.

her eyes landed on kazuha, who sat quietly on one of the chairs at the kitchen island, her usual liveliness subdued. yn moved toward her, wrapping her arms around her from behind. “zuha!” she called out, trying to infuse her voice with cheerfulness.

the room fell silent at the sound of yn’s voice. kazuha immediately turned around, her face lighting up as she pulled yn into a tight hug. yn smiled, a warm feeling spreading through her chest as she returned the embrace.

with one arm still around kazuha, yn turned to the other girls, flashing them her signature charming smile. “hey, guys!”

the others waved back, though chaewon’s narrowed eyes lingered on yn. the tension was palpable

“I hope I didn’t miss anything important,” yn said lightly, trying to keep the mood casual.

no one responded, and the silence hung awkwardly in the air. yn, unfazed, gently tugged kazuha along with her toward her room.

the rest of the day passed with an undercurrent of unease. kazuha tried to get yn to open up, but she remained guarded. meanwhile, the other girls whispered among themselves about yn’z sudden reappearance, her absence, and her undeniable popularity. as the day turned into the next, things began to unravel.

“yn is trending everywhere right now,” yunjin remarked to chaewon as the girls lounged in the living room. “and all she did was post a photo.”

“do you think her dad pays for likes?” sakura quipped, making eunchae snicker.

“they’re not just talking about the photo,” yunjin added, scrolling through her phone. “they’re also raving about her performances. what does that have to do with a photo?”

“I told you, it’s all privilege,” chaewon said with growing irritation. “yn gets praised for doing the bare minimum.”

“am I hearing my name?” yn’s voice cut through the room as she walked in, kazuha trailing behind her. “what’s up?”

chaewon narrowed her eyes at the smug smile on yn’s face. she just wanted to wipe it off. “what’s up?” she echoed sarcastically. “are you serious?”

yn tried to maintain her composure, ignoring the venom in chaewon’s tone. “yeah, I mean, I heard my name. obviously, something’s up.”

“I don’t think we can tell you,” chaewon sneered, her voice dripping with disdain. “you’ll probably run to daddy.”

yn clenched her jaw, fighting to keep her temper in check. “can we stop?” kazuha tried to intervene, but yn shook her head, not backing down.

“what the hell is your problem, chaewon?” yn shot back, stepping closer to the group. “you’re being a real bitch right now. I thought that was supposed to be my role, but you’re taking it to a whole new level.”

the other girls exchanged glances, surprised by yn’s bluntness. She had a way of cutting through the tension with words that hit hard.

“I should be the one who’s mad,” yn continued, her voice rising with emotion. “none of you have told me what I did wrong. you talk all this shit, but no one has the guts to tell me to my face. for you to hate me this much, to leave me out of a group live… I had to have done something. and as the leader, chaewon, why didn’t you tell me?”

“because I didn’t want you there,” chaewon replied coldly, shrugging as if it were obvious.

“you?” yn repeated, stunned.

“oh, sorry,” chaewon said with a mocking laugh. “I meant we didn’t want you there.”

yn’s hands balled into fists at her sides. “why? Just tell me why.”

chaewon rolled her eyes and stood, walking right up to yn. “because we don’t need someone who hasn’t worked a day in their life dragging us down. what do you even bring to the table?”

“I bring a lot,” yn shot back, her voice steady despite the hurt bubbling inside. “I’m talented, and you hate that. I’m probably the most talked-about person in this group. Just admit it, chaewon—what’s the real reason?”

“you’re the most talked about because of your family,” chaewon spat. “your success is built on your last name.”

“my family has nothing to do with my success,” yn said, her voice trembling with anger.

“they have everything to do with it,” chaewon retorted. “just look at the stats. you’re the only one of us who’s never gotten any hate. after coachella, you were the only one who got praised. that’s got to be money talking.”

“my dad has zero control over how much people like me,” yn argued, her frustration mounting.

“your dad has a lot of control, actually,” yunjin chimed in, shrugging as if it were a fact. “the moon family controls how the public sees them.”

yn felt the walls closing in on her as she looked at kazuha, who only offered her a sad, apologetic glance. she was outnumbered, outmatched, and completely alone.

“I can’t do this right now,” yn whispered, turning on her heel and heading for the door.

but chaewon wasn’t finished. “running away again? can’t handle the truth, daddy’s girl?”

“fuck you.”

and the with that the door slammed shut.

yn herself couldn’t tell you how she found herself laying on the sand on a beach in busan.

the ocean waves filled the sounds around her on the empty beach, she felt so tired, she just couldn’t understand how things could go so wrong for her.

she knows that she comes from a family of all sorts of wrong, even she herself thinks that she isn’t the best person but was all of this warranted?

“you seem to have some sucky people in your life.”

the homeless man beside her said as he handed yn back her phone after the girl asked him to take some photos of her being sad, her reasoning being a “ a reminder of what she shouldn’t be.”

“you could say that.” she said digging her hands into the sand.

as she stared out at the horizon, her phone buzzed in her lap. she didn’t need to check the screen to know who it was. with a sigh, she brought the phone to her ear.

“yn, why are you on a random beach in busan? that’s two whole hours away,” yizhuo’s concerned voice crackled through the line.

“I’m actually having a lot of fun right now.”

“you know we’re gonna come for you right?”

“yeah…” yn’s voice trailed off as she stared at the waves. “and when you guys do, when we get back, I think I’m going to head home—my actual home. Just for a day or two.”

“yn…” yizhuo’s voice softened, but yn cut her off.

“I miss the toxicity I’m used to,” yn said with a sad smile. “I’m homesick.”

[ladysharmaa]

Kate mini version

Sharma!sis x Queen Charlotte's son

Summary: After the ball, everyone knows what happened between Y/n and Prince Charles. With the attention of high society members and the Queen, they face new obstacles as they fall in love.

part 1 part 2 part 3

Dearest reader,

The tone is abuzz with the latest gossip, and so it's my honor to impart to you.

Miss Y/n Sharma came to England after Kate Sharma's marriage to Viscount Bridgerton. In such a short time she managed to do something that no one else has managed to do: capture the attention of Queen Charlotte's youngest son, Prince Charles.

Dearest reader, this author finds herself compelled to share the most curious of news. It seems the two seemed to be quite close during the last dance, having danced together until Y/n walked away. But Prince Charles didn't take his eyes off the young woman for the rest of the night. Is a new romance brewing? Let's not forget that at the beginning of the season, her Majesty made her intentions clear of joining her youngest son with the princess of Austria.

In addition, Miss Y/n is here at her mother's request, living with her older sister, Kate Bridgerton, and her husband, Lord Bridgerton. Is it permanent or will she return to India? There are many mysteries yet to be unraveled.

On the other hand, the diamond of the season did not dance with any suitor, which may have made her Majesty uneasy. This author is left to wonder what shall her next move be, now that everything seems to be connected to the Bridgerton family.

Yours truly, Lady Whistledown

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"This is not good." Y/n muttered nervously, looking over Kate's shoulder to read the latest edition of Lady Whistledown. And to his greatest horror, she was the main topic. "How many people read this?"

"Too many." the older sister sighed, before placing the paper next to her and turning to Y/n who had her eyes increasingly wide. "Everything's fine. Most of the family has already suffered from Lady Whistledown's words and we support each other. And everything ended up being fine, the ton has short memory and will forget all about this by the next scandal."

"But what if they don't forget?"

"If they don't forget what?" a new voice intruded into the conversation.

Y/n let out a small scream, immediately recognizing Anthony's voice, and hurried to hide the paper behind her back. "Nothing. It's a beautiful day, I'm going to the gardens. Maybe hide there all day. Or all year."

"Y/n, no. You have to tell Anthony, he won't blame you for anything."

Bridgerton's eyebrows rose upon hearing that, turning to Y/n with a frown upon noticing her terrified expression. "What happened?"

"My apologies, Anthony. The last thing I wanted to do was associate the name Bridgerton with scandals. Lady Whistledown wrote about last night. About… About Prince Charles and I." She looked down, not wanting to see Anthony's disapproving look, and handed him the paper.

The minutes dragged on. To Y/n it felt like hours had passed. Long hours with just the silence in the room. Her heart was pounding against her chest and she tried to control the tears from reaching her eyes. Her head was running with different questions that only made her anxiety worse. Would they send her back to India so they wouldn't suffer any more from this scandal? She didn't know that dancing with someone could cause so many problems.

Just the thought of returning to her homeland, despite having loved growing up there, brought her great sadness. Her life was in England now. She adored her sister's family, having grown up close to many of them, especially Francesca and Hyacinth. And the truth is that she had enjoyed meeting Prince Charles. Y/n finally felt like she belonged somewhere.

She snapped out of these thoughts when she heard Anthony sigh. What was that? Disappointment? Anger? Sadness?

"Look at me." he said, but Y/n refused, knowing that as soon as she looked at the couple she would burst into tears. She shook her head, pursing her lips. "Y/n…"

"Please don't send me back to India."

"What?" the Viscount questioned in shock, almost not having noticed her from how quietly she spoke. He felt Kate hold his hand, looking sadly at her sister. "Y/n, look at us. We are not going to send you back to India."

"Really?" She raised her head shyly, her eyes red from holding back tears.

"Of course. You're part of the family. I haven't told you yet, but Mama sent a letter. Edwina had problems during the birth, so she's going to stay there until at least the rest of the year. You're going to stay with us. Here."

"Y/n, we would never send you away because of Lady Whistledown's news. You're a Bridgerton now." Anthony assured, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. Her smile upon hearing those words, although still small, released some of the stress that Anthony and Kate were feeling.

"Hey, Anthony, I was wondering— Oh, sorry!" Hyacinth entered the room, stopping when she saw the three of them and the tense atmosphere it was in. Then he noticed the sad face and the paper his brother was holding. "Is that from Lady Whistledown? What does it say?"

"It doesn't matter what it says. What did you want to tell me, Hyacinth?"

"Oh, I was wondering if we could go horse riding. I am so bored, Gregory is training and Benedict isn't paying attention to me." she pouted, causing Y/n to giggle and rush over to Hyacinth, intertwining their arms.

"Fear no more, I shall give you attention."

"Thank you, kind lady." Hyacinth laughed. "Please, Anthony, take us horse riding."

When he offered to teach Y/n how to ride a horse, the rest of his sisters were also invited, since the men already knew how to do it. As expected, only Hyacinth accepted with great enthusiasm while Eloise preferred to read and spend her time with her new friend, Miss Cressida. For her part, Francesca was never much for outdoor sports and Daphne was obviously busy with her husband and son. Thus, Y/n and the youngest Bridgerton both formed a special friendship, and were now a feared duo in the Bridgerton house.

"What do you say?" he whispered in his wife's ear, looking at the two girls who were giving them the best puppy dog ​​eyes. "I'm afraid I can't say no to them."

"I think it's a great idea." Kate smiled.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The four then ventured into the forest. Anthony and Kate were ahead, lost in their own world while Hyacinth and Y/n followed a little behind. The younger girl curiously questioned Sharma about the night of the ball, upset that she was still too young to attend one.

"I wish I had gone yesterday. Did you dance with someone yesterday? I tried to ask Francesca the same thing, but she wouldn't leave her room."

"Unexpected things happened. Francesca is just a little discouraged. As diamond of the season, she has a lot of pressure on her. And I… Well, I danced with someone."

"Prince Charles?! I saw you both when we went for a picnic, I think it was love at first sight." Hyacinth giggled.

"Sometimes I forget how good an observer you are. Yes, I danced with him." Before her friend could get too excited, Y/n hurried to add. "And I was naive, because although I enjoyed being with him, he has an enormous responsibility. I doubt people would want him to spend his time with me."

"Please, I think you are in love."

"What? Of course not, I barely know him. We just had fun dancing, but that must be over by now. I doubt her Majesty will let him dance with me again. Lady Whistledown made sure of that."

"If you say so. I, on the other hand, do not agree. Prince Charles has shown that he is interested in you. Or he would have danced with other girls after you. But he didn't."

"Well, maybe he was tired." Y/n shrugged, while Hyacinth rolled her eyes. They continued the walk in silence, enjoying the forest landscape.

“Girls, let’s do a race!” Anthony shouted, looking over his shoulder with a smirk. Y/n chuckled, knowing he had never met a family as competitive as the Bridgertons. But she was one now too, and she loved winning.

“Very well. But make sure you don’t get too sad when I win.” Hyacinth teased, despite being the one with the least experience riding a horse.

“We’ll see.” Kate joined the teasing.

The four positioned themselves next to each other, letting the man count down. Y/n grabbed the reins tighter, and as soon as Anthony finished, she let her horse run. For a moment they were all balanced, but Hyacinth quickly fell behind. The couple competed a little ahead, trying to reach a certain narrower entrance. So, with their attention diverted from her, she took the opportunity to step over a fallen tree trunk, arriving earlier at that entrance, continuing at the same pace.

She felt free on a horse. The wind hit their face, the landscape blurred from how fast they were going. Y/n petted the animal, feeling like they could conquer the world.

When she realized that the others had already stopped, as no one had yet reached her, she also slowed down so she could wait for them to catch up. They probably had to go back to help Hyacinth control her horse.

“That was impressive.” she heard behind her.

Although she felt a second of fear, thinking that an unknown man had found her alone in the middle of the forest, she quickly associated it with the voice of the person she least wanted to see at that moment. As such, she just closed her eyes and hoped it was just her imagination. But when he cleared his throat, she knew she had to face him. Finally, she commanded the horse to turn around, finding herself face to face with Prince Charles, who was also on top of a beautiful black horse.

“Prince Charles, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” she smiled shyly.

“You as well, Miss Y/N. I didn’t know you were so talented at riding. Did Lady Bridgerton teach you?”

“She and Viscount Bridgerton. And since then I haven’t wanted anything else.” she shrugged uncomfortably, both not knowing what to say. In this way, Y/n focused on the horse that the prince was riding, being shocked by its size. “Beautiful.” She looked at Charles, noticing his look of surprise and a slight blush appearing on his cheeks. “I mean, the horse— The horse is beautiful.”

“Of course.” he looked away, clearing his throat. “It seems we both had the same idea after the paper published by Lady Whistledown. A nice walk was exactly what I needed to get away from my mother.”

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to interfere with your marriage with the Princess of Austria.”

“Her Majesty wants me to marry her. But I don't. You see, a beautiful, fierce, remarkable girl has already caught my attention. It may seem sudden, but she is constantly in my thoughts.” he looked intensely into her eyes. Out of nowhere, it seemed like it had become much hotter, her breathing coming in muffled.

“Oh… I—”

“Y/n! Where are you?” Kate's voice was heard through the forest, breaking the atmosphere that had formed between them.

“I’m here, Kate.” Y/n replied, closing her eyes in despair when she realized that she would have a lot to explain once they arrived.

She had already taken a risk with Lady Whistledown, and now they were alone in an isolated place… It's a good thing no one outside the family would see them, or the scandal would have become much more serious. A feeling of guilt coursed through her body again. She had promised Anthony that she didn't want to associate the Bridgerton name with scandals, and here she was doing exactly the opposite.

“Prince Charles, we can’t talk anymore. It’s not right.” she said before the others appeared.

“Why not? Because of Lady Whistledown? Ignore her, the ton will quickly forget about this.”

“You don’t know that!” Y/n exclaimed exasperated at how calm Charles seemed to be about this situation.

“I know that I want to be with you.”

“You are crazy!” she put her hand over her mouth when she realized that she had “insulted” a member of the royal family. “Apologies, Prince Charles. I didn’t mean that.”

“Call me Charles.”

“I take back my apologies.”

“Finally, we found you, Y/N. We had to go back because Hyacinth’s horse refused to move.” Kate appeared, followed by the others, stopping when she saw what was happening. She made a small bow, looking at them suspiciously. “Prince Charles, I didn’t expect to see you here. Especially with my sister.”

“What do you think you are doing?” Anthony wasn't as friendly as his wife, narrowing his eyes and approaching Y/n to stand slightly in front of her.

“Lord Bridgerton, I guarantee nothing happened. I was simply, like you, taking a walk when I saw Miss Y/n. We only talk about what Lady Whistledown wrote.” Charles assured, sending a comforting smile to Y/n, who was watching the two nervously.

“It was mere chance that we found each other. We can go back to the house now.”

Anthony signaled to Kate, who nodded. They had mastered the art of speaking with just their eyes, it still left Y/n quite confused when they did that. But this time, she understood perfectly. Lowering her head slightly, she followed her sister and Hyacinth home, while Anthony and Charles remained behind. Over her shoulder, she mumbled a quick apology to the boy, hoping he would understand what she meant.

When the women were out of sight, Anthony turned to the Prince , who appeared unaffected. “I hope you’re not trying to ruin my wife’s sister’s reputation. You know very well what the ton would say if they found you in this situation. And I guarantee you, you don’t want to duel me.”

“I agree. That's the last thing I desire. Miss Y/n would certainly never speak to me again. And I don't want that. Lord Bridgerton, we were just talking, and on horses for more. But, for all the respect I have for Miss Y/n and the Bridgerton family, I assure you this will never happen again.”

"It better not."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

After a tense conversation with Kate and Anthony, they believed Y/n when she said it was a coincidence to meet Prince Charles, but that she understood the gravity of being alone with a man.

So, she spent a few days locked up at home, hoping that the scandal had already been forgotten. However, this isolation couldn't last forever, so she was forced to join the Bridgerton family on a walk by the lake.

She had her arm linked with Benedict's, Eloise beside her, while they listened to Collin's travel stories. He had seen so much, experienced so many new cultures, that Y/n just wanted to know more. Eloise, in turn, seemed envious that only men could have the pleasure of traveling alone wherever they wanted, and Benedict asked about the art of each country, something that Y/n barely understood.

However, Collin ended up rushing the end of the story, seeing a group of girls walking, giggling when they saw him. Eloise groaned in disgust, while Benedict shook his head, changing direction so he wouldn't have to watch his brother flirt. Y/n also went with them, not wanting to see that scene.

But she noticed that they had been stopped by Lady Wilson, whose daughter was participating in the season along with Y/n, Francesca, and Eloise. "Good afternoon, Lady Wilson."

"Good afternoon." she said. "I noticed you didn't go to the ball yesterday. I haven't yet had a chance to talk with Lady Bridgerton to know if everything is alright."

"Thank you for your concern." Benedict said sarcastically, taking control since Anthony wasn't around. "We had other matters to attend, but I assure you that we will be present at the ball tomorrow."

"That's wonderful news." the woman said with a fake smile. "In that case you will be able to see my daughter dancing with Prince Charles, just like yesterday. They form a beautiful couple, don't you think?"

Y/n had to control herself not to roll her eyes. It was clear what Lady Wilson was trying to do, but there would be no reaction from her. Eloise and Benedict looked at her from the corner of their eyes, waiting to know if Y/n needed them to interrupt the conversation.

"I don't know. I didn't see them together nor did I have the opportunity to know about it since Lady Whistledown didn't write about them. And we all know that she writes about everything that happens, and it seems especially important if the prince is interested in someone to court. Looks like we'll have to wait and see."

"Yes, we shall wait." Lady Wilson clenched her jaw. "I'm certain that the prince loved to dance with my daughter."

"If you say so. Please excuse us, we shall return to the rest of our family." Y/n said dryly, hurrying to walk in the opposite direction with the two Bridgertons behind her.

"Jealous, dear sister?" Benedict asked with a sly smile once they were far enough away from the woman.

"No. Why would I be?" Y/n pretended not to be bothered, but in reality the thought of Charles dancing with someone else didn't sit very well with her. But what could she be expecting, she had said that they shouldn't talk anymore and he had to get married this season. "I'm just surprised that Lady Wilson is so confident in her daughter with the prince when the Queen wants him with the princess of Austria."

"Hmm." was the only response she received from Benedict. Eloise, already fed up with just hearing about the season, changed the subject and Y/n was also grateful for that. The last thing she wanted was to think about the next ball.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"What are you going to do?" Hyacinth asked as she helped Y/n and Francesca get ready for ball. The two had already put on their dresses and now all that was left was the jewelry. Kate had already come to say that they would have to leave soon, smiling calmly when she noticed the nervous state of her sister who had changed her dress about five times already.

“About what?”

“About the prince, obviously.”

“I don’t know. I am a little confused. This is all happening so quickly. And the fact that Lady Whistledown wrote about us didn't help. But the truth is that when I'm with him, I don't know, I feel different.” Y/n tried to explain, but realized she couldn't describe her feelings in words. It was something foreign to her, but not unwanted.

“I know what it is. You like him.” the Bridgerton dropped onto the bed dramatically.

“But liking may not be enough. Don't forget that the Queen has a lot of influence on these things. And I wouldn’t want to piss her off, it would only hurt all of you.”

"You are exaggerating. Francesca, what do you think of this?”

“What?” the girl snapped out of her thoughts when she heard her name. “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

“What are you thinking about?” Y/n sat next to her, taking her hand.

“I haven't had almost any suitors yet. And the ones I have seem incapable of having a conversation. What if I don’t find anyone?” Francesca revealed with a sigh, her voice tinged with sadness.

“Nonsense. Everyone would love to dance with you. In fact, I have a feeling you are going to meet someone today.” the Sharma said. “And for that to happen, we must leave and go to this ball. If you need to, we can stay together all night.”

“Thank you, but it won’t be necessary. I want you to have your chance with the prince.”

“After all, you were listening!” Hyacinth exclaimed, groaning as the two left the room and left her there. Now she had to wait until tomorrow to find out everything that was going to happen!

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The ball was already full of people, from nervous mothers to innocent daughters who giggled when a suitor asked them to dance. Y/n and Francesca walked in together, both of them taking deep breaths and looking at each other in encouragement. They could do this.

While Francesca's nerves increased as she saw the Queen's eyes fall on her, Y/n's heart began to beat faster when she noticed Charles, who was standing next to his mother. However, he was not alone, finding himself in conversation with the princess of Austria. From what the Sharma could understand from the few moments in which she let herself focus on them, they seemed to be getting along well, sharing polite smiles.

"Maybe we shall get a refreshment first?" Y/n said, seeing that the family had already dispersed.

"A great idea." Francesca swallowed, nodding several times.

The two hurried to a corner of the room, sending a quick smile to the people passing by. Fortunately, no one engaged them in a long conversation, allowing them to mentally prepare themselves to face that night.

They stopped next to Penelope, who looked at the dancing couples with a sad look. "Are you alright, Penelope?"

"Yes, of course, Francesca." the redhead replied shyly, offering a small smile to the two girls. "You ought to take the floor."

"Ought we?" the Bridgerton chuckled humorlessly.

"Once one finds oneself on the wall, it is difficult to come off it. No matter what one does." Penelope looked down, pursing her lips.

"Better to be on the wall than to make fools of ourselves." Y/n she murmured, discreetly looking at the boy who had invaded her heart, still talking to the beautiful princess. Only this time, almost feeling her gaze on him, he glanced at her, showing what appeared to be a genuine smile. "This is so confusing."

"I agree. At least the wall doesn't ask me about what makes me tick." Francesca complained, still upset about the failed conversations from the last ball. The older girl looked at her understandingly, noticing that Francesca was more reserved. Maybe that was what made her rare, different from all the other girls.

"And why are you on the wall, Penelope? I'm sure there are lots of gentlemen here who would be more than willing to ask for your hand in a dance!"

"Oh no. Nobody wants to dance with me. Believe me." she replied with a slight blush, embarrassed that she didn't have any suitors when this wasn't her first season, unlike them.

"They must be blind, then. You are beautiful." Y/n confessed honestly, really confused that they let such an incredible person like Penelope escape. If she could, she would drag the redhead and Francesca to dance, but she knew it was against the rules.

The three fell into a silence, not uncomfortable, but as if they all had more to think about than trying to carry on a conversation. From the other side of the room, Charles watched Sharma as if in a trance, quickly leaving the conversation he was having to go to meet her.

However, he was interrupted by Charlotte who discreetly held his arm. "What are you doing? Must I remind you that you shall marry this season?"

"Why are you putting so much pressure on me with this. You have so many other children, but I'm the only one who has to suffer with this."

"Your siblings reproducing bastards for me to ignore. You are my last hope, son. I have made sure to give so many heirs to your father, and none of my children seem to be fornicating." she said. When she noticed that she was being too harsh with her youngest son, she sighed. "Bridgerton, Charles?"

"What seems to be the problem? You've already accepted many of their marriages, including naming two Bridgertons as diamonds of the season and ignoring the scandal between Lord Bridgerton and Lady Bridgerton." Charles controlled himself not to roll his eyes.

"Yes… But that was until my son was mentioned in the paper of Lady Whistledown because he was just interested in a girl. Especially when the princess of Austria traveled here just to meet you."

"And I enjoyed meeting her. But I enjoyed much more meeting Y/n Sharma." he admitted, his voice conveying the confidence he felt in those words. "She's the one I want. The one I'll follow to the end of the world if necessary. Don't make me marry someone else, mom, I want her. Just her."

"I believe the boy is in love." Lady Dandbury appeared beside them, looking at the boy with knowing eyes. Charlotte glanced at her from the corner of her eye. "The dance they shared was remarkable. The London Season is already terribly monotonous as it is. Therefore, these cases of passion make it more enjoyable. Don't you agree?"

"Indeed, Lady Danbury." Charles nodded, appreciating her help in convincing the Queen. "May I go now?"

Charlotte watched him for a few moments, noticing how he was restless, his body tilted towards Y/n. Almost as if he had no control over himself, unconsciously wanting to always be close to her. This wait was killing him.

The woman didn't respond verbally, just offered a small nod of permission, and her son was gone in the blink of an eye.

Almost running, the prince arrived next to Y/n, who continued to watch people dancing. She was now only with Penelope, as Francesca was taken by Violet to meet some suitors. Charles approached silently, placing himself in her line of sight and simply offering her a hand.

"What are you doing?" she whispered with wide eyes. Beside her, Penelope excused herself, giving the couple space. Not that they paid much attention, appearing not to have even heard her.

"Isn't it obvious? I'm asking you to dance with me."

"You don't give up, do you?" Y/n let a small smile appear, pretending to be upset by the boy's persistence. Inwardly, her heart was beating furiously fast. She didn't want to dance. She wanted to get away from there so she could be with Charles alone, the two of them talking all night.

But their moment was interrupted by Lady Wilson's daughter, who suddenly appeared and grabbed the prince's arm. "Prince Charles, you promised me a dance. Shall we?"

Y/n took a step back, trying to hide her sadness. Charles hadn't even removed her arm from his. This was a reminder that Charles was not yet hers, and with her indecision, that was becoming increasingly difficult. He had so many good options for marriage, why would he choose her? What made her special from all the others?

Trying to make sure no one saw the tears that threatened to appear, the Sharma decided it was best to leave for the rest of the night. Perhaps Anthony and Kate would believe she was feeling unwell and needed to go home.

But before he could move away completely, Charles snapped out of his shock, grabbing Y/n's hand to pull her closer while shaking the other woman's hold.

He clenched his jaw, upset at not being able to have a single moment of peace with Y/n. "My apologies, Miss." Y/n had to put her hand over her mouth to hide her amusement when Charles didn't remember the girl's name. "Right now, I would like to dance with Miss Y/n. So if you will excuse us."

"But—"

"What do you say, Miss Y/n. Shall you give me the pleasure of having this dance?" Charles asked quickly before the annoying girl spoke again. His attention was on Sharma, who was looking at him adoringly. Was this what people felt when they were in love? It felt like he couldn't breathe. In a good way.

"We shall… Charles." she laughed. Charles' mouth opened in shock, appearing to have frozen to the ground. In a playful way, she rolled her eyes, guiding him to the dance floor, which was now empty as people saw the two walk there.

Despite the nerves she felt, Y/n felt good with Charles, so she decided to ignore ton's opinions on this. The boy bowed as he offered her his hand, followed by a bow from Y/n, and immediately the music began.

"You called me Charles."

"A very good observation."

"You know, I thought Lord Bridgerton would kill me the moment I looked at you. It would be worth it." he twirled her around, loving it when he heard her little giggles. When she landed on the ground, her eyes found Kate and Anthony watching them, but instead of upset, they looked happy that Y/n was happy. "I must say that when you said we couldn't meet again, it hurt."

"My deepest apologies. How could I have said such absurd things?" Y/n said dramatically, noticing Charles' amusement.

"All is well now. As long as you promise to not run anymore. Even if Lady Whistledown or someone else writes about us. I promise I won't let anything hurt you or your family."

Y/n focused on his eyes. They were honest and had a glow of adoration about them. "What about the Princess of Austria?"

"As I also told her Majesty, I have no interest in her. My heart already belongs to you, Y/n. No one else can take your place."

The music was slowing down, indicating that it would end soon. The boy gripped Y/n's waist tighter, fearing that he would have to let go when he was enjoying savoring every moment of their closeness.

"My heart belongs to you too, Charles." she scrunched her eyebrows and Charles could feel his heart close to bursting. He wanted to marry her.

Instead, he controlled himself from saying it right away, knowing that he would have to talk to Anthony first and ask for Y/n's hand in marriage. Or he feared the Bridgerton wrath. For now, having Y/n in his arms was enough.

[holylulusworld]

Indifferent (1)

Summary: Your father wanted a bond between you and the Barnes Empire. No matter what.

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader

Warnings: arranged marriage, angst, mentions of impotence, arguments, mafia au, hand around throat (no choking/non-sexual), strong reader, mentions of cheating/attempted cheating?

Indifferent Masterlist

He glares at you from across the dining table. His upper lip curls when you dig into the too-dry chicken his new cook prepared for you and your not-so-lovely husband.

“I’m not satisfied—” he leaves open what crawled up his ass today, but you know, it’s not the food. James Buchanan Barnes is bad at hiding he despises you when you are alone.

“You are not satisfied?” You chuckle dryly and drop the fork onto the table with a loud clank. “Why don’t you ask me how I feel?” You get up, chair scarping loudly over the expensive parquet.

His eyes darken when you dare to walk toward the end of the huge table. “What is it that bugs you, love?” He spats the last word as if it burned his tongue.

“You!” You throw your hands up. “This marriage is a farce. If I could, I’d be out and about in the blink of an eye. Everything is better than living with an indifferent, moody, and impotent man!”

“IMPOTENT?” Bucky rises from his seat. He squares his jaw and clenches his metal fist. For a second, you’re scared to the bones, but you brush it off.

“YES! If not I wouldn’t ride a pillow every night,” you spat in his face. “Just you know, I’m going to look for a lover first thing today. And I won’t be subtle about it. Everyone knows by now that this marriage is a bad joke. I refuse to be the butt of the joke, though.”

“You won’t ruin the union of our empires over selfish reasons.” You gasp when you end up pressed into the wall, Bucky’s metal hand wrapped around your throat. He leans closer to brush his nose over your cheek. “Even though, I don’t think you’ll find a lover anytime soon. Who would go for you if they can have some other girl? I’d go for someone else too if only I could…”

He drops his hand from your throat and smirks. Bucky steps away, flashes you a smile, and storms out of the dining room.

You stand there, shell-shocked at his outburst as you rub your throat. His words hurt like hell. You drop your eyes to look down at your body. It’s been a while since you felt this kind of hurt. 

Maybe it’s you. Maybe Bucky isn’t interested in being with you because of your looks.

“Hurry the fuck up,” Bucky barks outside your shared bedroom. “Woman, I don’t have all day. My parents want to have lunch with the two of us. Just put a smile on and come here.”

You walk out of the bedroom, an armful of your clothes. “I think it’s for the best to not keep the act up. We are married, but this doesn’t mean I must spend time with your father.”

Bucky watches you walk toward the west wing of the mansion. He follows you hot on your heels, all the while throwing questions at you. 

“Where are you going? What are you up to? Y/N, answer me!”

“I’ll stay at the west wing from now on. Annie will help me bring my belongings to the west wing. You can do whatever you want to at your wing. Just stay out of my sight.”

You walk away, leaving Bucky stunned and angry. He grits his teeth and calls you names as you slam the heavy door parting the west wing from the entrance hall shut.

“What the fuck!” He mutters under his breath. So far, you suffered in silence ignoring his unbearable behavior, and the openly shown hatred towards you and your marriage. Now you riot and he doesn’t handle it well.

“Where’s your lovely wife?” George cocks his head as his son sits down on their table. “I thought you said she’ll be here too.”

“She’s not feeling well today,” Bucky lies straight into his father’s face. What else can he do? How shall he explain that the bond your parents forced upon the both of you lies in ruins after not even six months into marriage?

“Ah, she finally snapped,” Winnifred remarks while studying the menu. She smiles to herself, while her husband and Bucky turn their heads toward her. “Good for her. I was rooting for Y/N.”

She slowly closes the menu and lies it down on the table. Winnifred doesn’t give away more. She orders her food and a glass of white wine. Your mother-in-law is in the mood to celebrate.

It wasn’t a lie. She was rooting for you to take matters into your own hands. It took you longer than she liked but now, she’ll lean back and watch her son grovel.

“What do you mean?” Bucky and George say in unison. They are surprised at Winnifred’s answer.

“You forced that lovely woman into marriage and didn’t even try to make her feel welcome. Did you at least give her orgasms?” She chuckles. Bucky’s face turns red, he swallows thickly, and uncomfortably shifts in his seat. “I see. The poor woman suffers in silence.” She sighs now. “Alright, I’ll give her the number of our gardener. He’s got a son who will gladly help Y/N take care of her secret garden.”

“What?” George is at a loss for words while his son tries to forget that his mother was asking him about your non-existent sex life. “Mother!”

“What? I’m a red-blooded woman, just like Y/N. If you don’t find satisfaction with your husband, you must look elsewhere. Men do it all the time.” She shrugs before taking a sip of her white wine. “Y/N is a beautiful woman in her best years. Her sexual drive must be over the top after six months of not getting any attention.”

“Winni, stop saying things like that in public,” George snarls. “You are making a scene.”

“I’m not making a scene,” Winnifred bites back. “I try to make our son see that his wife will turn toward someone else in no time if he doesn’t take care of her every whim soon. You’ll weaken our bond, and this will shatter both of our empires. Is that what you want, son?”

Is that what you want? His mother’s words echoed in his mind the whole way back home. Of course, he doesn’t want to weaken your empires. 

The only purpose of your marriage was to strengthen not only his father’s empire but your father’s empire too.

If you turn toward someone else, an enemy maybe to get back at Bucky, the empires could crumble and fall only because he’s too stubborn to let you inside his life.

Bucky enters the mansion, a grim expression coloring his features. If only you weren’t so infuriating and stubborn he could’ve easily settled for you.

But no.

Y/N Y/L/N is the most annoying and bratty woman he ever met.

Sometimes Bucky believes you’re riling him up on purpose.

“Wait—” he stops in his tracks. Bucky furrows his brows as he tries to recall all of your little fights. “Is she doing it on purpose? Maybe she wants me to lose control and just…”

“Where are you going?” Bucky follows you out of the mansion. “Y/N stop being a brat. I asked you a question and I expect you to answer my damn question!”

“Out,” you glance over your shoulder at Bucky. “Your mother sent me something interesting and now, I want to find out if it’s for me.”

“She did what?” Bucky looks like he’s about to have a heart attack. He pants heavily and clutches his fists to his sides. “You won’t leave the ground for the time being.”

You huff. “Try me.”

He closes the distance between the two of you with three long steps to grab your arm. “Don’t tempt me to throw you over my shoulder! You’ll go back inside and listen to what I have to say.”

You laugh in his face. “Make me!”

Part 2

Tags in reblog.

[cjjohansson]

love is enough - p.2

natasha romanoff x reader // comfort? smut? reader has a penis. 18+

part 1

“I love you. After all this time, I still love you. It’s always been you, it was you yesterday, it was you 2 months ago, a year ago. It is you today, it will be you tomorrow and for the rest of my life it will be you, I love you Natasha.” 

Her hand moves to your face, your own head leaning into her palm as she takes the weight of it. 

“But what if love isn’t enough y/n?” 

---------

You stepped away from her slowly, the hurt and shock reflecting on your face. What could you say to that? Because deep down you know it is true. Love might come from a relationship and might help develop one but not only does love exist in one. 

Natasha deserves love. You deserve love. 

And it is that simple, sometimes it isn’t enough. And it is a shit realization as it comes out of her mouth.

So when you find yourself not able to say a word, she stares back at you, waiting. 

And then she turns to leave when you say nothing and you let her. 

You both need more time to think and breathe. A lot was said between you both that needs to be thought through. 

Could she forgive you for going on that mission? For destroying her while destroying yourself?

Could you forgive her for sleeping with another while she was lonely and in pain?

If only the questions were easier. 

You're not the only one conflicted in this. Natasha is too, how is she meant to trust that you’ll always be there, that you won’t abandon her for something else you believe you need to do? How is she meant to forgive herself for sleeping with someone else when it is already eating her alive? 

Your brain is running wild, question after question as you stay facing the door. 

You turn around to your bed, your belongings scattered all over. You can’t leave. You can’t.

Not now, not when you know there could still be a chance to be back with her. 

And god, would you do everything and anything to get her back. 

--------

You wish it took the same amount of time to put back your stuff as it did throwing it on your bed but it didn't. By now it was already reaching midnight. You had fargone going down to eat with the team. It hadn’t taken Bucky long to come up to your room and try to talk you into coming down. But you couldn’t, not with Natasha down there, it didn’t seem right to, not after what happened. It only shocked you when Bucky had then told you that Natasha didn’t go down either, and was refusing to even talk to anyone through her door. They only knew she was in there and alive due to FRIDAY telling them she was.

It broke you all over again. 

How many times was your heart going to break in one day?

You threw the last of your stuff off your bed, feeling too distracted in your thoughts to finish it. You were tired, yet wide awake. Hungry, yet awfully nauseous. Nothing was going to settle you but Natasha. 

You find yourself speaking to FRIDAY, asking if Natasha was awake and still in her room and if she had left to eat something or had something in her room. She was awake and in her room, yet she hadn't left to eat. 

You knew what to do. 

You asked FRIDAY to place an order from your favorite pizza place. One half and half, spicy chicken on one half and pepperoni on the other, along with some chicken wings on the side. It was one of your and Natashas favorite comfort food. It was what was needed right now and you hoped with your whole heart she allowed you in. 

Unsurprisingly the food doesn't take long at all, it never does when you're ordering to the compound. You make sure to double check with FRIDAY if Nat is still awake and she is. 

When you approach her door, you try to tell yourself this is the best thing to do right now. You both need to talk and stretching it out for longer will only make the situation even worse than it already is. So you take a breath, count to 10, remind yourself that this isn’t a stranger. This is someone you have been in love with since the moment you laid eyes on her. 

“Tash?” You knock gently on her door, pressing your ear against to hear any movement, you don’t.

“Natasha, please open the door…” You hear bed covers shuffling around until you see a shadow appear at the small gap at the bottom of the door. 

“I know you're there, I can hear you breathing and I can see your shadow…” Still nothing.

“I have pizza?” You hear the door click. 

She is already back in bed under her covers before you can even fully step into her room. You're always amazed at how fast she can be when she wants to be. 

You move to her slowly, closing the door behind you. Yet you hesitate when you reach her bed. Not knowing if it is now classed as crossing a line to sit on her bed or not. 

She shocks you when she scoots over in the bed and lifts up her covers…

“I…err…I have outside clothes on. You don’t like it when I-”

“You have a t-shirt in the third drawer.” She mutters as she holds her hand out for the pizza box. 

You awkwardly shuffle over to the drawer, finding your t-shirt right away. 

“Do you have any-”

“You can just wear your t-shirt and boxers, it isn’t like I haven't seen you naked before.” Your cheeks flush red, suddenly feeling embarrassed for being so awkward. You don't even understand why you are being like this. You know you came here to talk, that was the only intention, to talk and to try and fix what you broke in the first place. You hurry yourself in changing, before making your way back over to her bed and sliding in beside her. 

You try not to let it bother you when she sits up straighter and leans away from you to put the pizza box in between you both. 

“Why the pizza?” Natasha mutters yet again as she takes a bite of a slice. 

“Thought it could be some kind of peace offering while we talk?” She lets out a breathless chuckle, your body turning to face her quickly, a smile spreading on your own. It’s been too long since you heard her laugh.

“Always knew the way to my heart didn't you…” Your smile drops. Her words flutter through your head once again, ‘but what if love isn’t enough y/n’. You fiddle with the pizza in your hand moving it back to the box as you start to feel nauseous all over again. 

“Sorry, that…I suppose that isn’t fair after what I said earlier…”

“No, no it’s- you're fine. You are right by the way.” You turn to look at her again, her brows furrowed as she puts her slice down, closes the box and moves it to the side table, she moves closer to look at you and you try not to hold your breath. 

“You're right, sometimes love isn’t enough…because love is a feeling and yes those feelings can change but to me the only way they have changed is that they have only become even deeper, but regardless of that, relationships are more than just feelings. They’re also about actions, choices and commitments. And I neglected them, I ruined that by going on that mission. Because you're right again, that mission did ruin me and I know that deep down as much as I thought I needed to go and finish it, I didn’t and it ruined me even more. And because of my own actions and choices, I came back and I had lost the best thing that ever happened to me. I am so sorry for leaving, I am so sorry I destroyed you, I never meant for any of that to happen, I was so lost and I left you behind and that wasn't fair, so I promise Natasha, nothing like this will ever happen again. I’m not leaving, I’m not going anywhere. So yeah, sometimes love isnt enough Tasha, but I promise you this time and for the rest of our lives it will be.” Your voice is clear through your whole mini monologue, staring into her eyes so she knows how truthful you’re being. You need her to know and feel everything you're telling her, you need her to believe you. She stays quiet for a while, tears filling your eyes over the fear of her leaving, the fear of your words and promises not being enough. 

“I wanted you to stay so badly, I just, you have always put me first and I know you have. I get that this mission was hard, god it was such a difficult position for you to be in and I needed you to stay so I knew you were okay. You wouldn’t even let me come, it hurt, you kept pushing me away. You were having nightmares every night and you wouldn’t let me comfort you, I was just stuck. I felt like the person I was in love with was slipping away right in front of me and no matter what I tried to do, it didn't make a difference. And I got in my own head too, I felt like no matter how much I tried to love and look after you it wasn’t enough anymore…I generally thought you fell out of love with me, it was just so confusing. Leaving felt easier than staying and that’s when I knew I didn't have another choice, you know? And I fucked up after…I slept with someone barely a week after you left and that wasn't fair, it isn’t fair. I felt so shit and alone and hurt…I was just in self destruction mode and I know that isn’t an excuse. Just in my head, how I felt, I just wanted and needed to be loved and in the end I ended up feeling awful and dirty…I regret it, with everything in me, I regret everything that happened from the moment you left. But I just didn't know how to handle it? I love you Y/n, I do, I truly love you and I want everything with you, I always have and I always will. I need you to forgive me Y/n, for sleeping with her and ruining this too, I need you to forgive me.” Natasha isn’t very steady with her words, she never had been when it came to herself being vulnerable. Her words stuttered all over the place, tears streaming down her face. It was hard to not pull her into your arms and hold her against your chest, she needed to calm down, or she was going to hyperventilate and that was the last thing she needed right now. 

“Hey, shhh, I forgive you. As much as I hate that it happened, we both can’t change that it did. We weren’t together anymore, the moment I left, we broke up, I know that. I forgive you, Natasha. I forgive you.” You whisper into her ear as you lean down and hold her closer, her body moving to straddle your lap so you can hold her more comfortably. 

“You’re okay. I’m here, you’re here.” You whisper again in her ear, you notice her breathing not calming down, sometimes she is like this after a nightmare and you can only ever get her to breathe properly again doing one thing which you really don't want to do right now. You decide to give her a moment to try and calm down before you have to resort to that. 

You continue to hold her tight, whispering to her that she is okay over and over again. Rocking her back and forth, just anything else you can think of. Yet her breathing only seems to be getting worse. You pull away slightly, pulling her face in front of yours. You notice instantly that she isn’t here with you right now, your body goes into overdrive. Standing up and wrapping her legs around your waist, moving her quickly into the bathroom. You step into her shower and make sure you are holding her properly, if you falter your hold you will drop her from the way she is about to move. You flick on the shower and you’re instantly met with her arms flying out and her body tensing as the water falls over her. Natasha’s breathing gets even faster for a moment before she takes a massive deep breath and starts to slow down, her body sagging as she closes her eyes. It still takes her a few moments under the cold water until she fully controls her breathing and allows herself to fall even more into my arms and shivers from the cold.

You turn the shower off, being rewarded with a kiss to your neck as you get out and wrap a towel around her. Moving her back into her bedroom, grabbing her new clothes to wear. Natasha whines when you go to move her, but allows you to finally put her down onto her own feet. Your hand lands on her cheek, pressing a lingering kiss onto her forehead. 

“You should get changed, or you’ll just get more cold. And I should probably go…” You feel guilty saying that after everything that has just happened but you feel like staying will only give off the wrong impression. Natasha stays quiet as you turn to leave, you see her in the corner of your eye take off her t-shirt, being met with her bare back…

“Stay? Please?” Your breath hitches as you turn back to face her, her t-shirt still not covering her body. She leans down, taking her underwear off and then moving towards you. Natasha stands in front of you, your eyes trying their hardest not to stray from her face. Natasha’s hands move to the bottom of your wet t-shirt, slowly bringing it up and over your head and it meets hers on the floor. You try your hardest to ignore the twinge in your boxers, but it becomes difficult when her hands move lower and she slowly starts to pull them down off of you too. 

She stays standing in front of you, pushing her body to press against yours. Her hands reach for yours to wrap around her body. It’s been too long since you’ve felt her skin against yours. 

It feels like coming home. 

You hold her tight against you, your breathing matching hers as she stands on her tiptoes to press her face into your neck. 

You reach your hands lower, moving underneath her ass to pick her up, she wraps her legs around your waist perfectly and you choose to ignore the moan that releases from her mouth when her core touches your stomach. 

You move back into the bedroom, laying her down gently onto the bed and placing yourself between her legs. Your forehead rests against her own, taking in the warmth and feeling of her body all over again. It had been 6 months since you had both been intimate with one another. 6 months of not feeling her pressed against you. 

Natasha’s hand touches your cheek delicately, pulling you down slowly to meet her lips. 

You kiss her eagerly, like she is the only thing able to bring you back to life, and honestly that felt true. 

The kiss only intensified, lust filling both of you as Natasha wraps her legs around you and pulls you to be flat against her. Her hips grinding up into you, your member poking her entrance, you try your hardest to hold back a groan but she has so much power over you. 

“I need you y/n, I want you so badly…” Natasha mumbles against your lips, her grinding continuing to work you up even more. You want and need her too, in every way imaginable. 

You move your kisses down her body, leaving mark after mark as you make your way down her neck, breasts and stomach. 

You press soft kisses into Natashas inner thighs, her whining making fire spread throughout your body. Your first lick is gentle, soft, tender, but when her hands grip your hair as she grinds herself hard into your face, you already know there is no time for slow, teasing movements. 

Natasha mewls as you continue to eat her out, your hands falling from her waist to gather her slick at her entrance, your fingers teasing her as you suck hard on her clit. Natashas moans continue to spread around the room, louder and louder, your brain going fuzzy as her moans consume you. 

“Fu-ckkk, I’m-I’m cu-cuming!” Natasha shouts as her orgasm floods through her, her back arching off the bed while her thighs hold a tight grip around your head, your movements slowing down to help her through the high. 

When she finally falls back onto the bed, her thighs loosening, you slowly move away from her, pressing more kisses onto her inner thigh as you make your way back up her body. Her breathing is still erratic but it doesn’t stop her from pulling you down back into a feverish kiss, her tongue pressing into your mouth as she breathes harshly. ‘I love you’s’ falling into both of your mouths as she starts to grind her hips back up into you. 

Natasha pulls her legs from your sides, moving them in between your own as she pulls away from your kisses. A smirk lining her face as she leans forward to press a teasing kiss onto the corner of your mouth before she turns over onto her hands and knees. Her ass pressing back up into you, making a groan fall from your mouth. 

“Fuck Tasha, are you trying to kill me…” You manage to breathe out as you press your hard on against her, your eyes zoning in on her back as she arches perfectly into the bed. 

You don't give her time to react as you rub your cock against her, lubricating yourself up before you push in. Her breath hitches as you push yourself fully in, your hips meeting her ass. Her walls squeezing you tightly, making your own eyes fall shut, you might cum just like this. 

“Shhhittt! Fuck Y/n!” Natasha grunts as her body falls down, the only thing keeping her up being the tight grip you have on her hips. 

You start slowly, already feeling so overwhelmed just being inside her. Her walls are so tight, making it harder for you to even pull out, choosing to lower her and yourself so she is flat against the bed. Your body covering hers as you press your face into her neck, peppering kisses into it, lingering near her mouth as you continue to move your hips. 

Breathless moans continuously fall from Natashas lips, the sound turning you on even more, your hips finally speeding up, pulling louder moans as you pound your hips into her.

“FUCK! Shiiii- I love you, fuckkkk I love you so much!” Natasha moans into your mouth as she pulls your face against hers. Your hips somehow moving impossibly faster and harder, her words spurring you on. 

“Ughhhh, you're taking me so well, being such a good girl!” You pulled away from her lips, biting into her neck as you felt yourself getting so close to release, it only helps when Natasha keeps whimpering into your ear, her ass pushing back into you despite the difficult angle for her. 

“Babyyyy, I’m gonna, fuck I’m- UGHHH” Natasha screams as her body tenses, her walls sucking you in as she pulses around you. 

“Shit! Fucking hell!!!” You shout, your hips stuttering as you cum deep inside of Natasha. Your grinding continues as you help ride out both of your highs. You can see the sweat dripping down Natashas back, and you can feel the sweat dripping down your own. Natasha continues to clench around you, her body slowly untensing as you go to pull out of her. 

You flop yourself onto your back next to Nat, groaning as your back meets the bed. Natasha hums as she leans closer, pressing deep kisses onto your shoulder and over your chest as she goes to straddle your lap. 

You let her move over you, knowing her intentions just by the type of kisses she leaves on you. Her hand going down to grab you, jerking you up and down, getting you hard all over again as she lowers herself onto you. You gasp, feeling hot all over as you meet her warm sex. Natasha relaxes onto you, her chest meeting your own as her lips attach to yours. 

“I love you so much…I’m sorry for everything that happened…” She mumbles against your lips.

“I’m sorry too baby, fuck…I’m sorry too, never again, none of this is ever going to happen again. SHit, I love you so much!” You groan as she starts to roll her hips all over again, working you up just to stop. 

“Promise me, promise me that love is enough sometimes…” 

“I promise baby, I promise it is, but this time it’s going to be so much more than love, I promise!” You groan yet again as her hips start grinding deeper, her kisses getting more intense as you finish talking. 

“Good, now show me how much you mean it again…”

[asapeveryday]

YOU BELONG TO SOMEBODY ELSE

Pairing: Nika Mühl x Reader

Warnings: smut, cheating (not on reader tho!!)

Summary: having a crush on someone who’s taken is complicated. Doesn’t stop you though! (I’m sorry)

A/n: was gonna be a Paige fic buttttt I’m in a Nika mood. ALSO PLS DONT HATE ME FOR THIS. It’s based off of a request +this song, I thought the concept was entertaining. I love Nika and her bf. This is fiction. Pls chill on me.

HER BREATH, harsh against your neck as she presses herself against you is enough to make your head spin.

She’s leaning half her weight on you, laughing against your skin at how you stiffen up. To Nika, it’s probably because she’s gross and sweaty. She doesn’t know it’s more because her touch prompts you to think thoughts you can’t shouldn’t think of her.

“You’re slow today.” She says cheerfully. “Don’t tell me you’re slacking now, baby.”

You almost shudder at the pet name but recollect yourself. “Since you’re so pumped up you shouldn’t need my support.” You scoff, playfully shoving the Croatian girl off of you. She fakes a stumble but gracefully catches herself.

“Careful! If I get hurt then you’re gonna hear from Geno.” She smiles.

You just shake your head, grinning to yourself. “Your bitching and moaning is ten times worse than the old man.”

The two of you walk around for a while. This was your usual routine, running your favourite trail twice a week, then walking for a bit before grabbing a bite to eat. Routine or not, it also happened to be your favourite part of the week.

Why wouldn’t it be? Seeing Nika like this; tight shorts stopping mid thigh, sports bra exposing her toned body and flashy belly piercing, hair pulled into a tight ponytail, giving you perfect access to the beauty that is her face.

Running with her meant being able to look at her without others around to notice, it meant listening to her breathing quicken and slow, or holding your own breath when she’d slightly pull up the edge of her shorts to examine the accumulating colour on her already tan skin.

To say you had a crush was an understatement.

“So,” you say, breaking the silence. “when’s your next game?”

Did you know when the next game was? Of course. You knew when all her games were.

“Day after tomorrow.” She grins, tilting her head signalling you to prepare for a question. “Am I gonna see you at this one?”

“Nika..” you force out a sigh. “Such bad timing. I have a thing.”

She raises her perfectly shaped eyebrow now, the look in itself is not alien to you yet still incites a drop in your stomach. You hate disappointing her time after time.

“Seriously? How do you manage to have a thing every single time I have a game?”

You shrug. “I’m sorry, Niks.” You frown, not lying. “I wish I could go,” again, not lying “but stuff just keeps coming up.” ok, now you’re lying.

She doesn’t say anything, just eyes you suspiciously.

“I might be free after though.” You sneak in hopefully.

“Fuck yeah!” She squeals, slapping your back. “Cus’ when we win imma need you right next to me partying.”

You smile at her hand on you, at her happiness with your presence.

“Wanna go eat now?” You ask. “I’m starving.”

A car pulls up by the curb the two of you walk through and lets out a slight honk.

Now Nika’s face scrunches up. “Oh (Name), totally my bad, I forgot to tell you I’m going out to eat with my man today.”

Fuck your man. “Thats okay Niks.” You say. “All good.”

“It’s alright anyways. I’ll be seeing you Friday night after we win, and hey, at least try to watch the game online!”

And with that you watch her scurry off towards the passenger seat and happily jump in, kissing her boyfriend on the cheek and buckling her seatbelt. Her boyfriend waves at you slightly, aware of your friendship with Nika but not so aware of your infatuation. You want to scowl, but you force a smile.

You’re there standing, watching as the car pulls away and starts on the road. You don’t miss how Nika turns around to hold your eye until the car fades out of your vision.

-

You don’t know how much longer you can do this.

How much longer can you go on with this? With overthinking every lingering touch, restraining yourself at the sound of her voice, finding ways to run into her, knowing her schedule, being there for her wins and losses, wishing ill on her perfectly boring friendly boyfriend.

With every stride of her muscular legs beside yours, matching your pace, synchronized breathing, eyes meeting each other on perfect timing every time, you refuse to miss how she begs for your presence at important events. She refuses to miss how you freeze at the sheer mention of her partner.

She’s moody when you arrive at the bar. It’s different from the usual post-game celebration spot, less frat-like and more artsy. Warm lighting, hip hop blasting, decor littered fittingly with NBA and WBNA players.

You can see her clearly, leaning against the bar with her arms crossed, her drink half full on the counter behind her. She smiles when Paige shoves her playfully, but it fades as soon as the blonde turns her back.

You swallow the thought that she’s like that because she thinks you’re not gonna show. You know if you encourage things like that, it’ll only get ahead of your better judgment.

That being said, you were sure to dress exactly how she likes sexy. Hair done with intricacy that almost warranted a breakdown, makeup natural and with intention, clothing showing off how hard you’ve worked on those long runs. The way her lips slightly part at the sight of you is enough to short circuit your brain.

Ignoring how her friends seem to share looks at your presence, you slide up beside her as smoothly as possible before taking a sip of her drink.

“Good game.” You smile.

“You watched it?”

“I always do.”

“Yet you never come.” She scoffs.

“I can’t.” You say through gritted teeth, and it’s the truth. If you saw her play in real life it’d only make you want her more. “But I’m here now.”

You bump shoulders with her. “I’m here to celebrate my Nika.”

“Your Nika, huh.” She turns to you, lips turning upwards into a dangerous smirk.

Before you can respond, Paige is beside you. Her cheeks are unnaturally pink and she’s laughing up a storm that only screams intoxication. “Last I heard this was a team celebration.” She grins. “We love you and all, but why’re you here?”

You’re embarrassed and unsure what to say, but Nika immediately speaks up.

“Cus’ I want her here.” She quips, not too hostile but still enough to get the message across. With her quick words and beautifully furrowed brows she’s practically written BACK OFF in sharpie on Paige’s forehead.

“Aight, aight.” Paige chuckles, hands raised in surrender. Her teammates just shake their heads, and soon enough everyone disperses.

Getting drunk with Nika was a rare but amazing once in a while occurrence. She was not the type to be irresponsible, but the two of you were approaching a dangerous zone after an hour or so of talking and drinking. She couldn’t get a word out without laughing, and you couldn’t stop bouncing your leg to distract yourself from pouncing on her right then and there in front of all the other college kids.

“Have you ever thought of cheating?” She finally manages to hack out between giggles. You’re in a daze at the question, it’s too much to handle combined with her flushed face and batting eyelashes.

“Cheating…like on my partner.”

“Pfft, yes, who the fuck else?” She throws her head back. “Have you even dated? I never see you with anyone.”

“I’ve dated.” You say curtly, downing your drink and ordering another. “My last girlfriend was five months ago.”

“You had a girlfriend when we met?” She asks, eyes wide.

“I did.” You scoff. “We broke up, hic, like a couple weeks after you and me started running.”

“Huh, weird timing.” She mumbles. Your heart literally skips a beat, and you almost choke on your own spit.

“What’d you say?”

“Nothing, nothing.” She rushes, waving her hand dismissively. A beat of silence passes between you and her.

“I have thought of it.” You sigh. “Of cheating, I mean. It’s kinda why I broke it off with the last girl. I felt bad.”

“You’re better then me.” She grumbles, rubbing her forehead.

“Oh?” You smile teasingly, leaning into her slightly. “Trouble in paradise?”

“He’s great.” She says, the words a frantic mess leaving her mouth. “He treats me good. I just have….” She says, trailing off.

“I just have doubts about him. And interests in someone else.” Nika exhales, lips attaching to the rim of her drink and eyes flitting to yours. She’s saying something to you with her expressions alone, dissecting her words was a whole other job.

“And does this person share your interest?” You mumble, shifting in your seat.

“I dunno.” She shrugs. “I see em’ a lot. She looks at me like she’s interested, but she doesn’t get too close.”

“She doesn’t?”

“Nah, she doesn’t.” Nika shakes her head ever so slightly. “I’ve tried to get her with me more. Y’know, good seats at my games, drinks with my friends. She’s always busy.”

You can’t help but shudder at how she licks her lips in between words as her eyes search your face for any sort of reaction.

“Maybe she’s thrown off by that boyfriend of yours.”

“Do you think if she knew the boyfriend wouldn’t stop me, she’d still give it a chance?” Nika says slyly,

“Hm.” You say, legs pressing together. You can feel your pulse in your pussy and it’s getting hard to ignore. You consider your options before settling with “with a grand gesture to prove it, I don’t see why not.”

“Grand gesture, huh.” She leans into you, her lips just grazing your ear. “I might have something in mind.”

And with that, you’re on your feet and being led by hand through what feels like masses of people. You almost stumble at one point, head slightly spinning from the alcohol in your system and the speed she’s pulling you, but she doesn’t stop. There’s a twinkle in her eye that excites you to your core.

You’re embarrassed immediately when you enter the washroom and there are two girls by the sink touching up their makeup. You and Nika stand by the door excruciatingly awkwardly, her hand tight around yours.

The girls notice the shift in the air, or perhaps it’s Nika’s hazel eyes shooting a glare only opposing teams usually see that causes them to exchange a knowing look and leave as swiftly as the two of you came in.

In an instant her lips are on yours. You find yourself wishing you weren’t so drunk, you’ve only been fantasizing about this kiss for the five months you’ve known her and the three months prior you noticed her around campus. Despite the speed you hope to remember every breath in excruciatingly slow detail.

It’s a rush so aggressive you wonder if she’s making up for lost time. Your back hits the wall for a moment before you’re hoisted up onto the sink. When you let out a gasp she finds opportunity to meet your tongue with her own, deepening the kiss.

“Do you actually want me?” You whisper between kisses, feeling her brows furrow at your question. “Or is this just something to get back at your little boyfriend.”

“Don’t even start.” She snaps, pulling away from you ever so slightly. Her calloused hands are firmly planted on your hips, and her lips are hovering just above yours. It’s impossible to for you to hold any eye contact at this proximity, but she doesn’t struggle at all. “Why d’you think I always want you with me to celebrate n’ not him?”

You just shrug, feeling a wave of discomfort wash over you now.

She places a chaste kiss on your lips, different from the ones before. “I’ve never asked him to come with me to a bar with the girls. I’ve never asked anyone who isn’t on the team except for you.”

Now her kisses are trailing down your neck, she’s licking spots softly before sucking on the supple skin so tenderly, unmatched compared to the earlier feverish pace. “I’ve literally been begging you to come to my games, babe, begging.”

Now you scoff. “Are you serious? Do you think that makes it obvious you want me?” You say, attempting to keep a steady voice though it’s so hard when she’s nipping at you and tainting your skin purple and pink with lovebites.

“I’m sorry.” She whispers, her breath now warm between your thighs. “Can I make it up to you?”

You stare at her, pouting. You want to say no so badly, you want to push her away and tell her she’s awful for this, but you know you’re no better. You know your touches linger too long on her back, you know the way you think about her makes you just as guilty, which is why when you see her begging between your legs there’s no possible answer you could give other then yes.

And with the utter of your approval Nika is diving headfirst into the current you’ve both been swimming to avoid, her skilled hands holding your skimpy underwear to the side as her lips plant kisses near and on your pussy. You open your legs wider for her, and to thank you her tongue swirls manipulatively around your clit.

The bathroom is starting to blur through your vision, throwing one hand over your mouth to stifle too-loud-sighs while the other hand grasps Nika’s brown hair.

With every huff, whine and jolt she sends through your body you feel a growing sensation in your core. The brunette girl laps at your folds, sucking on your clit while her fingers tease your entrance. The combination of her fingers and mouth turn your sighs to whines and quiet cries of her name.

“See how sorry I am?” She mumbles between your legs. “So, so sorry baby. I shouldn’t be playing with you like that and assuming you know what I want.” Nika smiles, every word spoken sending shivers down your spine.

“S’okay.” You exhale. “Don’t stop.”

Once her fingers find the perfect pace she rises to meet your lips. Her kisses are passionate and messy, you couldn’t care in the slightest though. With every bite of your lip and curl of her finger you feel closer and closer to the edge.

“You close?” She whispers, and you nod timidly in response. Nika gives you the sweetest smile as she pumps in and out of you, your breathing is frantic and somehow in sync with hers. You think about how many times you’ve been so synchronized, but never like this. She bares a triumphant look, maintaining eye contact when you climax all over her fingers. Nika presses sweet kisses to your lips and you bask in the realization of what has just happened.

For a moment, just a moment, you forget she belongs to somebody else, because in this moment she is yours.

[burnorgetburned]

EVEN MORE CLARA DOLL DETAILS:

So you know how the Dolls have their own distinctive clothes?

Guess who else has their own distinctive clothes!

That’s right. The multiple Homuras are actually Clara Dolls.

And that’s why ‘Homura’ is smiling.

Here they are! The one with the striped hat is Nekura (Gloominess or Pessimism) and the one with the flower is Mie (Vanity).

Here’s their descriptions from the art book.

[The second one to come was Gloominess. Walking out with a tapping sound, she sneered at Good-for-Nothing. “This is Good-for-Nothing! How very unbecoming.” These dolls are only disciples of Freedom, and are devoted to their lust for it.]

[The tenth to come running is Vanity. She exaggeratedly avoids Good-for-Nothing's head and says a few words. “I wouldn't be able to bear dirtying my cape with that sticky blood!” These dolls make fun of the witch's self-mutilation.]

Good-for-Nothing is Homura, by the way, but the Clara Dolls seem to consider Good-for-Nothing to be good for something after all after she splits Madoka. She turns into the Devil, and the Clara Dolls are stated to be “okay” with the Devil. If the young voices in the trailer belong to the Clara Dolls, then they also call her “Akuma-sama” now. Something like Mistress Devil, implying a sense of respect.

[… if they are not summoned, they will simmer. There are orders they will comply with, and also orders they will disobey. What they are and the witch herself's own magic are not well understood.]

At the end of Rebellion, Homura gave Madoka her ribbon back. She declared that they might become enemies in the end. Honestly, I thought that Homura would try her best to avoid Madoka entirely. The trailer suggested that Homura was meeting Madoka, though. Here’s the answer: it wasn’t Homura herself, but Gloominess, who wants freedom.

Now, I’m not sure how this situation works out. Do Clara Dolls have free will? Are they obeying Homura’s orders? Acting out Homura’s true emotions? Is Homura perhaps directly puppeteering them in order to fulfill her goals, or do they act on their own?

I find it likely that it’s a mix of both: some of them obey her, and some of them will try and fulfill her (probably very conflicting) desires, as familiars usually do. Gloominess is likely part of Homura who wants the freedom to talk to Madoka, for example, but Vanity seems to me like a Clara Doll who is obeying Homura. After all, she still needs magical girls to fight wraiths, at least until she finds a way to wipe them out.

[I'm Vanity (Mie). I'm pushing myself to the limit for someone.] And she is, of course. All of the theatrics, the calls, the organization of magical girls. These are things that Vanity is shown to engage in. All of this is for Madoka.

We see with Gloominess, at least, that she seems to be fulfilling a specific desire: in the background are white spider lilies. Instead of the red spider lilies that mean death, final goodbyes, and lost love, white spider lilies mean a hope for the future and a fresh start. Maybe this really is the first meeting for these two in a while, and she wants to be friends again?

Or maybe, being Gloominess, she wants to warn her about something.

[I'm Gloominess (Nekura). Forcing smiles tires me out.]

Then there’s this Homura.

Nothing about her clothes is very different. She is wearing ribbons as Homura in the wraith universe does, but look closely: the ribbons are different. They have some wavy stripes on them, while Madoka’s ribbons are plain. She does not correspond to any known Clara Doll.

However, there’s mentioned to be a fifteenth Clara Doll that is not yet born: Ai, representing love. This could be her. Is it love for others? Or love for herself? I’m hoping it’s the latter, but very likely it’s love for Madoka and her friends. This would explain why she’s trying to fight Homucifer in the poster, as Homura believes that she’s a danger to everyone else.

How can this be? Well, here’s a few options:

- The Clara Dolls are grown-up familiars. They ate souls, and they became a copy of their witch. This is a process that was explained to us in the original series, where some magical girls are stated to farm familiars by letting them eat people so that they would grow souls/grief seeds.

- The Clara Dolls are not familiars, or wraiths, but instead a secret third thing. “What they are and the witch’s own magic are not well understood”, as said in the Rebellion art book. They could be magical constructs of a different kind, but I do think that this would get into overcomplicated explanations quickly, so I favor the familiar explanation.

- The Clara Dolls could be familiars, but instead of eating souls they’re simply powerful enough to change their shape. Their strength is equal to the strength of a magical girl…. when Homura was a witch, before Homura became something more. It could also be energy from the contracts making them stronger. Maybe it’s me being sentimental, but I don’t like the idea of Homura letting anyone’s soul be nommed on.

Now, before there’s a panic about how they’ll juggle fifteen extra characters, here’s a few thoughts:

- Just because they seem different doesn’t mean they’re actually different. It might be that the Clara Dolls are a way for Homura to present herself. As Vanity, she might show off more, or have dramatic flourishes like her throne and her dress. As Gloominess, it might be that she doesn’t believe that her plans will work, so she tries to do what makes her happy. It’s likely that the Clara Dolls are just extra ways to explore Homura’s character. They’re parts of her soul, after all, and right now she is extremely powerful. She might simply want to keep her true self away from humans.

- They could work like projections. Homura wants more bodies to work with, but she has to filter herself through the Dolls’ personalities. This could result in a lot of juicy character interactions, as the things she tries to keep hidden are closer to the surface.

- Will ‘Ai/Mystery Homura’ fight against Devil Homura? Very likely! How can this be when they’re the same person? Well, who hates Homura more than Homura? That’s right. Nobody. Anyone can fight and argue with their self, it’s just usually not on the level that a reality-warper like Homura can manage.

If this is true, there’s plenty of interesting directions they can take it.

- Because the Clara Dolls have a degree of separation from Homura, they can show other characters things that Homura herself has ignored or locked away. Bad memories, affection for her friends, the resentment she must feel - everything from concern to a cry for help can be plausibly shown through them as the actors.

- Manuke (Stupidity) is specifically more naive/sincere than the others. Maybe interacting with this Doll would show the Quintet that there’s something more going on than a Devil who wants to hurt other people.

- If Ai represents a love for other people, Ai can have a strange character arc where she learns to value Homura/herself, and become self-love.

- On the other hand, Ai can represent self-love from the start, and because Homura looks very fucking unhealthy in the trailer, she only wants to stop her because she’s hurting herself. This option plays into the themes of self-sacrifice and happiness, which I believe to be some of the major themes that they’re going for.

- The poster could be misleading and Ai ends up fighting everyone but Homura. I find this the funniest option.

- Homura can hug herself. It’s possible. In fact, every character can hug Homura 15 different times.

Smiles are a Clara Doll’s default expression. We have yet to see Homura smile for real.

Is this going to get very ambiguous and confusing? Probably. But rewatching for details was the fun part in Rebellion, so I’m looking forward to it!

[joelscruff]

feelings on fire (joel miller x f!reader) 18+ PART EIGHT

previous chapters | yall are absolutely fucking incredible. truly. i never could have ever expected the response to the last chapter and i'm so so SO grateful to everyone who's been contributing their thoughts and theories over the past week. your engagement and passion for this story means the world to me. so many people wanted so many different things for this chapter and i know i can't please everybody, but i hope this satisfies most of you. thank you so much for being here and for loving this story. here's my kofi if you'd like to leave a tip 💕 chapter summary: you don't know what to think after catching joel at the bar. tasha wants to help in the best she knows how - getting fucked up. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: age difference (joel is in his 50s, reader is in her early 20s), innocent/inexperienced reader, praise kink, dirty talk, pet names, mentions of religion, catholic guilt, sexual assault (nothing to do w joel), alcohol, almost penetration word count: 13.6k ao3

You've never felt like this before.

Tasha practically has to drag you into a cab, gripping tight to your hand with an arm around your back as she gives the driver the address of where you're both staying. He barely bats an eye to the fact that you're practically inconsolable, tears streaming steadily down your face as you gasp and sob and stare at the floor with wide eyes. He's probably picked up countless passengers in similar situations and it's not like you can bring yourself to feel any sort of embarrassment over it.

"Shh," she soothes you, still rubbing your back and peering down at you with empathy in her eyes, an expression that somehow makes you feel even worse - she'd told you this might happen. She'd known all along, but you hadn't wanted to believe anything she said about the lack of definition in your relationship with Joel. You'd chosen to believe differently, believe that he was different than the guys your friends have encountered.

How could you have been so stupid?

It's your own fault you're even in this position now, crying in the back of a cab while Joel makes out with some woman in a bar you don't belong in. Your own fault for putting any ounce of faith in someone else for once, for choosing to be blind to the obvious - of course he doesn't want you. Of course you're not his priority. You're not his girlfriend. You're his fuck buddy. You're a warm body and nothing more.

You don't speak for the entire drive, just cry and try desperately to control your breathing. By the time you reach the Airbnb your throat hurts from the sobs, although throwing up on the sidewalk could also have something to do with it. You're just a mess, lightheaded and distant as Tasha guides you into the house and helps you settle on the couch.

"Stay here," she says softly, grabbing a throw blanket and carefully covering your loose and exhausted form, "I'm gonna go get some necessities, okay? This place doesn't have shit."

You nod slowly, just to let her know you acknowledge her words, though you're unsure exactly what necessities she's talking about. She reaches her hand down and strokes your cheek, still looking at you with that sad expression.

"I'm so sorry, honey," she repeats to you for probably the fortieth time in the past hour.

You close your eyes; you can't stand to see the pity on her face.

--

Tasha returns shortly after with her "necessities", which mainly consist of junk food and alcohol. You haven't moved an inch from where she'd left you, still laying on the couch with bloodshot eyes and a quivering mouth. You listen as she busies herself in the kitchen, putting together some sort of snack platter for the both of you that you already know you won't eat. You're not hungry. You've never been less hungry in your life.

"You were right," you finally manage to croak out as she seats herself beside you on the couch, placing the food on the coffee table and turning to you with that familiar look of pity, "He's just like the rest of them."

She shakes her head, "No, that's not true, I never said that," she rips open a bag of chips and starts munching, seemingly lost in thought.

"Oh, we're gaslighting now, are we?"

She raises an eyebrow, "Girlie, tell me when I said what you just said."

"Boys are mean," you quote hastily, turning a bit on the couch to stare up at the ceiling.

"Yes, it's true. Boys are mean. And so are men," she sighs then, dropping the chips back on the table, "Look, I'm not defending him, I promise, but-"

"Tasha," you state coldly, still staring at the ceiling, "Do not continue that sentence."

"You don't even know what I'm gonna say."

"Yes, I do," you shut your eyes and bring your hands to cover your face, feeling the tears starting up again, "You're gonna tell me we never defined what we had, that he was never my boyfriend, that this can't constitute as cheating because there was no relationship to begin with."

She's quiet but you can still feel her looking at you with that sadness, that sympathy, the look of someone who's been here before and knows how it feels. And it makes you so angry. Because-

"Joel wasn't supposed to do this," you continue, softer now, voice shaky as the tears flow down your temples and into your hair, "He's not a boy, he's not like the guys you date. He- he was different, I-" you choke, throat tightening at the thought of him, the image of him with her at the front of your mind again, "I thought he- I thought that we-"

You can't continue, words turning into cries and sniffles turning into sobs. You feel Tasha's hand on your calf, stroking your skin gently despite the fact that you just criticized both her own judgement and her taste in men in the same breath.

"I'm not trying to hurt your feelings," she says soothingly, "That's the last thing I wanna do. If anything I'm trying to tell you that this doesn't necessarily make him an asshole."

You scoff at that, "Right. Makes sense," you finally pull your hands down to look at her through your tears, brow furrowing, "Tasha he was kissing her. That- that woman, he was- he touched her face."

"I know he did," she murmurs with a frown, eyes casting downward, "And I know it hurts, but-"

"But nothing," you find yourself tossing the blanket to the floor and standing up shakily, not bothering to even look at Tasha as you stomp toward the bedroom. "I don't need this right now," is the last thing you say before slamming the door behind you.

She doesn't follow you. This is the first time you've ever yelled at her, the first time you've ever felt truly mad at her, and even though you know deep down that this isn't her fault... you still feel betrayed. Betrayed by Tasha's nonchalance, betrayed by Joel's actions, but worst of all - betrayed by yourself.

Because how did you manage to get into this mess in the first place?

You practically rip the too-tight and too-short pink dress off your body and stagger to the bed, not even bothering to pull back the covers. You still feel sick, lightheaded and woozy as you press your face to the cool pillow and try to collect yourself. You can't get the image of the woman out of your head; you hadn't even seen her face and yet it's like she's somehow consuming every fiber of your being. All you can see behind your closed lids are those long, perfectly styled braids hitting her bare waist, skin a deep and rich brown that almost sparkled under the bar lights, the way her bare ankle traveled up and down his leg, the soft curve of her cheek as he'd cupped it in his hand-

A sob wracks through you and you pull the other pillow toward yourself, wrapping your legs and arms around it like a koala, remembering how less than twenty four hours ago you'd been in a bed just like this one - except it hadn't been a pillow you were cuddling. And now, what? Who's in that bed now? Another woman? That gorgeous woman who you don't stand a chance against?

You're sure Tasha can hear you crying but she doesn't come, staying in the living room and giving you the space you need. You already feel awful for snapping at her like that - you know she means well, that she's just trying to alleviate the situation in her own way, but you barely even know how you feel about it.

And how do you feel? Hurt? Sad? Angry? Of course you feel all of those things, to a degree you've never felt them before, but underlying all of those emotions is something else entirely, something you can't quite put your finger on - or would rather not put your finger on, because doing so would mean finally admitting something you're not sure you're ready to admit yet.

You try to think about your relationship with Joel up to this point, try and pinpoint the exact moment it went from being something frivolous to being something real, but you find that it's impossible to do so. For you, you could say the moment you walked past his threshold was when it became official. Or when he touched you for the first time. Or when he kissed you. When he made you come. When he called you his babygirl. When you touched his cock. When he put his mouth on your pussy. When you woke up this morning completely naked in his bed.

Any of those moments could have been the moment. But a gnawing voice in the back of your mind reminds you that any of those moments could have equally not been the moment as well. Maybe there was no moment. Maybe this really has just been a whole lot of nothing.

But then you think about the way he looks at you. The way he treats you.

The way he'd comforted and reassured you last night, held you, made you feel safe and secure - "If you just wanna lay here with me, that's okay too."

The way he'd shared his insecurities with you over the phone, been vulnerable, honest and open - "I don't want you to look at me differently".

The way he'd dressed up just in case your mother took you to your lesson, looking like he was ready to attend a church service, purposely putting himself in uncomfortable clothing to make sure things went smoothly - "I wanted to make a good impression."

The way he'd told you about his past on his back deck, related his own childhood to yours, tried to calm your own fears and tell you things would be okay - "You gotta focus on what's right for you, on livin' the life you want, not worryin' about what they'll think".

What did any of it mean? What does any of it mean? Has it just been sex this whole time or does he actually care about you? And if he does, why would he kiss someone else?

And what if he's been kissing someone else... fucking someone else... this entire time? What if it's not just you he's been seeing? The thought makes you want to throw up all over again.

You hear a peal of laughter from the other room, a sound that feels odd in the silence and sadness of the bedroom where you lie. Tasha must have put on a movie or something. You feel bitterness rise in your throat, a sudden urge to run out to the living room and grab the remote and toss it out the window, scream at her for finding something to laugh at when you're literally falling apart at the seams.

But the bitterness fades when you hear her laugh again; you love that laugh, have missed it ever since you came home. Tasha has always had such a free and fun way about her, a natural joy that you've always envied. You'd watched her go out night after night over the past three years, come home with the most bizarre stories that you were never able to fully relate to, and yet she always tried to include you in some way, ask you questions, make you laugh.

You remember the looks of shock you'd received from the other girls when you'd first shared that you were a virgin, that you'd never done anything except kiss. She'd sensed your discomfort immediately, seen your embarrassment, and had quickly flipped the conversation to something else more shocking, more embarrassing - at her own expense. Easier than flipping a light switch. And any time it was mentioned after that, she'd always emphasize how lucky you were, how she wished she'd taken her time, how all you were missing out on was bonehead losers who didn't know how to please a woman.

She's always reassured you, always listened, and has always been your number one fan, even when you had nothing to give. You'd told her all about your upbringing, about the way you'd begun to question everything, and she'd given you her own two cents and made you feel better for the first time in a long time. And when you'd told her you were coming home for the summer she'd said, "Are you sure that's gonna be okay for you?"

You trust her. So why are you in this room avoiding her? Why aren't you listening to what she has to say?

With heavy limbs you manage to climb off the bed and tug on your pajamas, wiping your eyes and letting the sadness and humility settle for just a moment. Yes, this is a fucked up situation. But Tasha wants to help you. Let her.

A few moments later you find yourself back on the couch, this time with Tasha's arm around you as she pours you a glass of wine and shakes away your apology. "You have nothing to be sorry for," she tells you softly, "You're upset, I get it."

You sigh deeply and take a sip, wincing at the bitterness but making no move to put it back on the table. "So," you murmur hoarsely, "Why is he not necessarily an asshole?"

--

You stay up late talking for hours about the situation and listening to Tasha's theories, most of which center around a lack of communication - based on her own personal experiences. She also has to factor in the fact that Joel is a lot older, a detail she's still beyond surprised over.

"I just can't believe he's fifty six," she faux whispers the number with wide eyes, shaking her head. "Like... this man knows things. How to take care of you, ya know? You're luckier than you realize."

"Lucky," you scoff, "Yeah, that's one way to describe how it feels."

She slaps your hand playfully, "I'm serious. This is yet another reason I think you just got your signals crossed here. I refuse to believe he's trying to hurt you, especially after how considerate he's been with you up until this point. If this was just about sex he would have dropped you ages ago, honey. I mean, no offense but you're not exactly making it easy for him, are you?"

She's certainly blunt. But she's also right. Joel has been nothing but patient with you this entire time, never expecting anything more than what you've been willing to give. If it was just about sex, this thing between the two of you wouldn't have gone beyond that first day in his house when you'd told him you were a virgin.

You slowly begin to come to the conclusion that you should give him the benefit of the doubt. As much as what you saw hurts, as much as it makes you want to crawl in bed and never get up, you were never Joel's girlfriend. There was never an establishing conversation, never a moment where you laid your heart on the line and told him exactly what you wanted, mainly because you haven't been sure what you wanted up until this point. But now you do.

"Communication," Tasha repeats for maybe the fifth time, "Communication is key. He doesn't know what you want, so you need to tell him. You need to stand up for yourself. And if he doesn't take you seriously, you move on. Simple."

"Simple," you echo, your third glass of wine already getting to you as you peer at her hazily with an upturned brow, "Communication."

"Communication," she repeats, "Simple."

Communication. Simple.

It's what echoes in your head over and over after your head hits the pillow that night, and continues to repeat the following morning as Tasha rouses you from sleep to get you ready for your "lesson". You don't feel as hungover as you'd expected - "That's because we didn't get totally fucked up like we were supposed to," Tasha says to you with a roll of her eyes - but your face is puffy from all the crying.

You're splashing your face with cold water when you hear Tasha call out, "Hey, I think you have a text."

Heart pounding in your chest you run back to the bedroom and grab your phone from the nightstand, the first time you've checked it since you got back from the bar. Your eyes go wide when you see not just one but two texts from Joel. One from last night, around midnight:

Hope you're having a good night, babygirl. You deserve to have some fun. I'll see you tomorrow. Be safe.❤️

And one from this morning, around seven:

You get home ok? Let me know x

"Don't text him back," Tasha advises over your shoulder, "Keep him sweating a bit, you're leaving soon anyway."

You nod slowly, still staring at the messages, especially the one from last night. When had he sent that? Had he still been at the bar? Still with her? Did he take her home? That familiar sadness and betrayal from last night bubbles in your throat again, tears pricking in your eyes.

No. You will not cry anymore.

You let your phone fall onto the bed and turn on the spot, marching back to the bathroom like a woman on a mission.

"Tasha, make me fucking hot."

--

The Plan: Go to your lesson with Joel. Talk to him about what you saw. Tell him how you feel. And look good doing it.

Communication. Simple. It certainly seems easier said than done; you've never been very good at communication. Your whole life has been spent suppressing your true feelings and your true self for crying out loud - the concept of being completely vulnerable and honest with someone is terrifying. But you know that it's necessary for your heart, and you also know that if you're going to be able to be vulnerable with anyone, it's Joel. He's already seen glimpses of the broken parts of you, not to mention seen you completely naked. How much harder can it get?

And nothing can be worse than how you felt last night.

Tasha essentially makes you her very own doll for the majority of the morning - doing your makeup, styling your hair, choosing your outfit - and you're surprised to find that you don't hate any of it, have no notes or critiques or changes to make. You stand in the bathroom staring at yourself in the mirror with your eyebrows raised, lips parted in admiration at a job well done.

"I look good," you say with a smile, and Tasha grins at your reflection, "I mean it, Tasha. Like, I still look like me, but..."

"All I did was accentuate what you already have, my love," she replies, reaching forward to fix a piece of hair that's not sitting quite right, "You're just a gorgeous human, inside and out."

You can't help but feel touched at her words, lips turning down into a pout as your hands come up to touch your heart, "Tasha-"

She waves you away, shaking her head, "Bitch, do not get sappy on me right now. Save those doe eyes for Mr. Miller."

Twenty minutes later you're winding through the suburban streets of your neighborhood. You're about half an hour early; Tasha had wanted you to be fashionably late but there's only so much of yourself you can alter in such a short amount of time, your punctuality being one of them. You figure you'll just drive around for a bit to build up your courage, plan out your words.

Joel, I saw you at the bar last night. I saw the woman. And I'm not mad, I'm just....

Joel, my feelings were really hurt last night...

Joel, I can't believe you would kiss another woman after everything we've been doing. Do I not mean anything to you at all? Do I-

Nothing really seems like the right thing to say. You figure once you're standing in front of him the words will just come naturally, flow easily in a way that makes sense and articulates your feelings properly. You can only hope.

You've still got about fifteen minutes before your lesson but you figure there's no point in continuing to circle the area - you're just delaying the inevitable. With a heavy sigh and a few quiet words of encouragement directed at your rearview mirror, you turn onto Joel's street, gripping the wheel tightly and trying to keep your breathing as even as possible. You can do this. You can do this.

You're a few houses down from his when you see it.

Panic turns to shock. Shock turns to confusion. Confusion turns to anger. Anger turns to sadness.

You're already pressing Tasha's number in your contacts before you can fully collect your thoughts.

"What is it? Did you go in?"

"There's a car in his driveway," you hiss through your teeth, feeling the tears spring to your eyes again, your hand coming up to cover your mouth, "She stayed the fucking night, Tasha. He fucking slept with her."

"You don't know that," Tasha replies quickly, calmly, already trying to calm you down, "Maybe it's his, maybe he has another car."

"He doesn't have another car, Tasha," your voice is stoic despite the lump in your throat, "He has his truck and that's it. Joel Miller doesn't drive a purple fucking convertible."

"A purple convertible?" Tasha repeats, voice faltering now, processing the information, "Jesus Christ."

You stare at the driveway, at the car in question - you're still a few houses down so it's hard to see any specific details, but you're sure you can make out a pair of fuzzy dice hanging from the mirror inside. This is definitely not Joel's vehicle by any means. Your stomach is in knots, unsure what the fuck you're supposed to do now; you'd thought briefly of the possibility that he'd slept with her, and up until this moment you'd been prepared to hear him admit it to you. But you hadn't expected it to really be true, to almost come face to face with the woman herself.

"I don't understand," Tasha suddenly says on the other line, "He knows you're coming for your lesson, why the fuck would he still have her in the house?"

"I don't know," your voice is almost a whisper, thick with sadness and disbelief, "I- oh shit." You cut yourself off and sink deep into your front seat when you catch the front door of his house opening, eyes going wide as you watch two figures emerge out onto the front step.

"What's happening?" Tasha asks frantically - you can practically hear her pacing on the other end, "Talk to me!"

"They're coming out!" you hiss, "They're on the fucking front step."

"Oh, honey, you gotta leave. You're not gonna wanna see this, you need to just turn around and come back," her voice is full of disappointment, anger that mirrors your own, "I'm serious, this is just-"

"Shhh," you peer over the dashboard at them, squinting against the sun. You can make out Joel's broad back in the early morning light, can recognize one of his band t-shirts and his signature bedhead, pointing in all directions. You can see him, but it's difficult to make out the figure he's with, his body blocking her almost entirely from you. "I think she's leaving."

You watch with a mix of rage and horror as he suddenly leans down and wraps his arms around her, her own winding around his broad form as her hands interlock together behind his back. Your eyebrows raise in confusion, mouth dropping open.

"It's not the same woman," you whisper.

"What do you mean it's not the same woman?"

"Literally that," you breathe, shaking your head and feeling a few tears begin to make their way down your cheeks, "It's not the one from last night, it's someone else."

"How do you know?"

"Because the woman last night was black and this girl isn't, I can see her arms," you snap, a sob threatening to burst its way past your lips, "And this one's shorter, he has to bend down to hug her."

"To hug her?!" Tasha echoes, "What the fuck?"

You watch as they separate from one another, watch with rage burning in your chest as she walks down the steps toward her car. You can see her better now, get a good look at her in the few seconds it takes her to reach the driver's side door. She's wearing a pink dress, frilled at the bottom with a pair of white sandals - she looks young. You're already redacting your prior statement about her not being black - now that she's properly in view, you can see the brown softness of her skin, her afro textured hair plaited neatly into two rows. But it's not the same woman.

"So, what, he had two girls in one night? Is that what you're telling me?" Tasha is saying in your ear while you continue to stare at the woman, watch her open the car door and climb inside with one last wave to Joel, "Hello?"

"I - I don't know. I'm-" you watch Joel wave to her and then head back inside the house, presumably to wait for you to arrive. Your stomach is tight and painful, bile in your throat all over again. "You were right," you whisper, tears cascading down onto your bare legs, "I didn't need to see this."

--

So much for not crying anymore.

You're back on the couch again, wrapped up like a burrito staring at the wall while Tasha paces back and forth around the living room in front of you, talking a mile a minute.

"It was a whole different story when it was just the one girl," she's ranting, hands on her hips and eyes narrowed in anger, "But two? Two girls. In one fucking night. And one of them is half his age," she scoffs, almost a growl, "So what, he just does this in his spare time? Fucks around with girls' hearts and bodies and then acts like some tough, macho contractor with a busy schedule? Please."

You don't need to remind her that you're also half his age - you know she'd come up with a reason why you're different, why you're the exception. And you do appreciate that, but the more she talks the more you're starting to realize that maybe that's never been the case. Maybe you weren't some beautiful coincidence that wandered into Joel's life - maybe he's been doing this for a long time.

Your gaze follows her as she walks around, pacing the same circle over and over again around the coffee table; it's typical Tasha - you've seen her do this on numerous occasions before, but never on your behalf. Your phone suddenly vibrates on the table and your heads both snap toward it, plunging the room into silence. You already know it's him - who else would be texting you this early? You reach over and unlock it, eyes scanning the message:

Where are you?

"He's wondering why I haven't shown up," you say quietly, voice still hoarse from all the crying.

"What a fucking prick. Do not reply," she resumes her pacing, "Two girls the night before he's supposed to have a date with you. Who does that? Who actually does that? Men, that's who. Men do that. I'm swearing off them forever after this. Seriously, I mean it. What the fuck."

You appreciate her concern, appreciate that she's no longer arguing on Joel's behalf, but her words cut you deep regardless. The whole situation still feels surreal. How is it that just over twenty four hours ago he was kissing you softly, sweetly, peering at you with those beautiful brown eyes and telling you he had something special planned for your lesson? What had he wanted to try, a fucking threesome?

"I don't know him at all," you whisper softly, sadly, "I never did. He's a stranger. A complete stranger who I was stupid enough to trust."

Your words seem to touch something in Tasha. She stops her pacing, slowly turns toward you with that empathetic look again and then carefully steps toward the couch, sitting down on the end.

"He just... he was there," you continue, lip trembling, "My parents were being so controlling and I was literally thinking about just... just leaving, finding some way to get back to campus without them knowing and then I heard that fucking guitar and-" you hiccup through a sob, clutching your hand to your chest, "I should've known then. I should've just kept walking. He asked me to come in, Tasha. He wanted to fuck me, then and there. And when I said no I guess I... I became some sort of challenge. Just a stupid, naïve little Catholic girl he could fuck and dump. And I fell for it, hook line and sinker."

She places a hand on your calf, just like she had last night, stroking gently up and down, "You're not stupid," she murmurs, "You're just a girl. A girl experiencing something really special for the first time. And I'm sorry he took that experience from you."

You manage to smile at her, soft and sincere. Despite everything, it feels good to have a friend, to not be alone when you're feeling like this. To be validated and comforted. You have no idea how you'd be processing all of this without Tasha by your side, if you'd have even been able to leave your bed this morning.

"This is so not what I wanted this weekend to be," she suddenly sighs, putting her head in her hands, "I wanted you to have fun, be free. And here you are feeling like shit about yourself. It's not fair."

She's right. It's not fair.

You take a deep breath, then carefully pry yourself out from underneath your blanket, rolling off the couch and coming to stand in front of Tasha with a determined expression on your face.

"You didn't dress me to the nines just for me to cry and feel sorry for myself on the couch," you say confidently, doing your best to wipe away your tears without completely smearing away Tasha's hard work, "I don't wanna think about Joel anymore. I don't wanna cry about Joel anymore. You know what I wanna do?"

She looks up at you, a grin slowly spreading across her face, "Go have fun and be free?"

"Abso-fucking-lutely."

--

You never thought you'd be the kind of person to go day drinking, but here you are. Tasha had fixed your makeup and then gotten all dolled up herself, ready for a whole day of doing exactly what you'd both set out to do this weekend: have fun.

Your first stop is a little bistro within walking distance of the Airbnb; you already know that neither of you will be fit to drive by the time this is all over, so you stick to places that are relatively close to the house. As you sip your cocktails and dig into a plate of sandwiches, Tasha informs you that she'd purposely booked this house in particular because of its proximity to the local club scene - you're not surprised in the slightest.

Your phone vibrates a few times while you're eating but you don't check it, forcing yourself to avoid reading anything else Joel has to say to you. It's only when it actually rings, two cocktails deep and plate empty, that you briefly consider picking it up.

"Nope," Tasha says, grabbing the phone from you and canceling the call before you can answer, "No more Joel today, we agreed."

"No more Joel," you repeat, nodding. You let her slip your phone into her own purse after putting it on silent - you know she'll keep it safe, and you know it's for the best.

--

You spend the majority of the afternoon popping in and out of local bars and boutiques, shopping and chatting to your hearts content as your body adjusts to the constant thrum of alcohol running through your system, making your head a bit foggy in the best way. It's like nothing really matters except this moment, right now, the beat of live music here and there as the sun gets lower in the sky, the conversations drifting past, the smell of food wafting out of restaurants. Tasha is a constant presence at your side, arm linked with yours as she dishes on all the drama of her life you've missed thus far this summer.

You don't think about Joel.

It's obvious throughout your little adventures throughout the day that people - particularly men - gravitate to Tasha very easily. You're not sure if it's simply because of how gorgeous she is - all curves and plump lips and dark curls down to her waist, purple cowboy hat askew above her perfectly applied makeup - or because she's simply a light. She's so bubbly and completely herself, smiling and laughing and dancing, never apologetic or ashamed. It feels good to have a girl like that in your corner, helping you out of your shell, only wanting what's best for you.

You realize as the day passes that you're beginning to mimic her behavior a bit. Whether it's due to the alcohol or your admiration for her, you're not sure, but either way you can feel yourself loosening up, allowing yourself to be more uninhibited, less insecure, not caring if people are looking at you. And people are definitely starting to look at you.

"Dude over there is staring at you," Tasha says quietly to you as you sip margaritas on the back deck of a country bar. You're now wearing her cowboy hat, stolen it after what can only be described as a predictable turn of events where she'd rode the mechanical bull and lost it in one particularly hard buck. You'd picked it up off the floor and placed it on your head, laughing hysterically as the bull threatened to launch Tasha across the room.

"Where?" your eyes go wide as you take a long sip, waiting for her to point him out. She nods at something behind you and you do your best to slowly turn around, not wanting to be too obvious. In your drunken state, however, it's not very smooth. You almost topple off the chair as you spin in place to find who she's talking about.

Through your laughter you spot him. Typical young Texan - floppy blonde hair and a strong jawline, sun-kissed skin and a white smile that practically glimmers against the sunset. He nods to you when he sees you looking, tilts his head to the side a bit and winks.

You turn back to Tasha, shaking your head, "He is not looking at me," you feel your skin heating up, not just from the alcohol, "There's no way."

"He is looking at you," Tasha reiterates, placing her empty glass down on the table, "You're fucking hot."

Your mind can't help but flash back to freshman year, that godforsaken party when another boy with a similar appearance had looked your way. The hope you'd felt, the desire, the confidence... all of it fading when he approached and chose your friend to talk to instead, not even bothering to glance your way despite standing right there beside her. You can't help but worry that it's happening all over again.

But then you hear a deep voice behind you, southern and sexy: "Pardon me, but I just had to tell you, I think you're the prettiest girl I ever saw."

Your eyes widen and you spin back around, still half expecting him to be talking to Tasha, not you, but his green eyes connect with yours instead. His gaze holds you there, your lips parting with no words coming out as you stare up at him in shock.

"She was just telling me that you're not so bad yourself," Tasha offers with a smile, nudging you under the table with her heel, "Right?"

"R-right," you manage to stammer out, still staring open-mouthed at this gorgeous specimen that has somehow decided that you're the girl he wants to talk to right now. The prettiest girl he ever saw.

He smiles at that, toothy and beautiful, "I'm Noah," he puts his hand out for you to take and you do, grasping it tightly and trying to hold on to the reality of this moment, the way his soft skin feels against yours, the way your brain is buzzing with amazement - and tequila.

Tasha's foot hits your ankle again and you quickly splutter out your name, releasing his hand and awkwardly placing yours back in your lap. You feel the bare skin of your thigh and you're suddenly hyperaware of how exposed you are right now - this dress certainly doesn't leave much up to the imagination. Your thighs and breasts are practically spilling out of it, pink material clinging to your body. But he isn't looking at any of that - he's looking at your face.

"It's real nice to meet you," he says with another smile, "Can I buy you a drink?" he suddenly looks at Tasha, like he's only just remembered she's sitting there, "And one for your friend too, of course."

"She'd love one," Tasha answers for you, nudging her arm against yours gently, "We'll both have another margarita."

Noah nods once, sets his gaze to your face again with a smile, then disappears inside the bar to go order the drinks.

The second he's gone it's like you're released from some sort of spell he'd put you under. Your heart is suddenly pounding in your chest, breaths coming shorter as you turn to Tasha with utter horror.

"What happened to swearing off all men?" you hiss, brow furrowing.

"Please, Noah isn't a man, he's a boy," she scoffs with a smile, twirling her hair between her fingers, "And I know alllll about boys."

--

You don't know how it happens, somehow lost the plot about halfway into your second margarita, but Noah is going to the club with you.

You are drunk. You know this for a fact. You hadn't been expecting to already feel this fucked up upon setting foot in the club but here you are, Tasha on one arm and Noah on the other. Tasha's had just as much to drink as you but doesn't seem anywhere near as intoxicated as you feel, continuing to be her excitable self when the bass drops and the neon lights start to dance across her skin. She's stolen back her cowboy hat but you've somehow gained your own - you think it might be Noah's.

"LET'S DANCE!" she screeches, pulling you away from Noah and dragging you onto the dance floor. You watch with slightly blurred vision as he goes in the opposite direction, toward the bar, probably to order more drinks.

The music is loud, the dance floor full of people, bodies swaying back and forth, people jumping up and down, grinding on one another, screaming conversations over the heavy bass. The lights are bright and it feels like all of your senses have been heightened, like you can feel, taste, see, and hear everything in your immediate vicinity to the utmost degree. Your heart is pounding in your chest, but you can feel it in other places too - your feet, your kneecaps, your skin.

"I FUCKING LOVE THIS SONG!" Tasha screams to you, throwing her hands up in the air and spinning on the spot, smile wide and joyous as she starts to dance, "DANCE WITH ME, COME ON!"

Your senses are overloading but you try your best to match her energy, copy her movements, focus on just this instead of everything else that's going on around you. This is what you've been missing all these years; this is what you've been waiting to experience. Enjoy it. You let your inhibitions flow and just exist in this moment, having fun with your best friend, far away from anyone who would ever judge you for being here. Far away from your parents and your neighbors and Bethany and -

No. You do not think about Joel.

You and Tasha dance to about three songs before she's tugging you away from the dance floor and over to the bar, back to where Noah is leaning with a beer bottle perched against his lips. He smiles when he sees you approaching, gestures to the little mini drinks beside him, small enough to only have about a thumb of liquid in each.

"Shots!" Tasha squeals, clapping her hands together, "Shots, shots, shots!" She picks one up and hands it to you, then grabs her own, "Come on, Noah, do one with us!"

Noah still can't seem to keep his eyes off you, though you've begun to notice that he's no longer just looking at your face anymore. This time his eyes fall to your breasts as he puts down his beer bottle and replaces it with one of the shot glasses, gaze falling down to your legs before finding your eyes again.

You catch a glint of something darker there, something seductive, and as you bring the glass to your lips you're suddenly aware that beneath the alcohol you feel a bit... uneasy.

--

You're fucked up. You're really fucked up.

Tasha doesn't leave your side, something you're extremely grateful for. You're starting to have difficulty seeing straight, even walking is becoming confusing, let alone dancing. You grip Tasha's shoulders tightly on the dance floor as you both sway to the music, unsure exactly how long it's been since you arrived at the club. She's looking at you with hazy eyes, much drunker now than she was earlier, and your very intoxicated brain is wondering if you're actually going to leave at some point or whether you're just stuck here for the rest of eternity.

You can feel Noah against your back. He's grinding against you to the song, hands on your hips as his groin presses firmly into your ass. It's weird, being in a Tasha-Noah sandwich that you didn't really sign up for. You're too drunk to really know what you want, actually. You feel fine having Tasha this close, feel safe in her embrace, but Noah's presence is starting to make you feel a bit uncomfortable.

"I'm really drunk," you slur, but it's too quiet for either Tasha or Noah to hear you. Tasha just nods as if she understands, head tilting back and mouth popping open as another song begins. She mouths something, probably I love this song, something she's said about ten times tonight.

Noah pulls you in closer, almost like he's tugging you away from Tasha, but your voice is too faint under the music for your protests to be heard. His arms come up to wrap around your middle, and you feel the unmistakable shape of his cock dip down between your cheeks through your dress. At first you think maybe it's unintentional, but then he does it again, and again, like he's using your body to get himself off. On the fucking dance floor.

"Let go of me," you breathe, but it's lost to the music. You watch as Tasha gets further away, your arms dropping completely from her shoulders as she turns and starts to spin on the spot, still staring up at the ceiling, unaware of what's happening. "Stop," you mumble, feeling his clothed cock rub against you again, a sensation you're now familiar with but certainly not in this context. And certainly not with someone who isn't Joel Miller.

The thought of Joel is what does it.

"STOP," you practically scream, yanking yourself away from him and taking a few heavy steps back, shaking your head frantically, "DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME."

A few people are turning to look and Noah seems more than embarrassed, hands going up quickly. He's drunk too, you can see it in his face, in his eyes, but you already know he's certainly not the harmless young Texan you thought he was. That feeling of unease earlier sure as hell hadn't been the alcohol talking.

You feel a hand at your waist and you flinch but only for a second, gaze coming to rest on Tasha who's now standing beside you with a look of pure horror on her face.

"What'd he do?" she asks, voice panicked and quick, almost like she's not even drunk anymore, "Are you okay?"

You nod but you can feel tears in your eyes, threatening to spill over at any second. Your ears are ringing like they had last night, but it's different this time, almost like you're underwater as Tasha grips your arm and leads you toward the front of the club, away from the loud music and drunk people. Away from Noah.

"Oh my fucking god, I am so sorry," her voice is shaking with emotion when you get out onto the street, hand holding tight to your arm, "I didn't even notice what he was doing. Jesus fucking Christ," she pulls out her phone and dials the number for a cab - through your bleary eyes you see a few teardrops dribble down the bridge of her nose, "We're going home, I'm so sorry, honey."

"S'okay," you manage to garble out through your tears, flowing heavily now in your drunken state, "It happened really fast."

"Doesn't make it okay," she replies, bringing the phone to her ear.

No, it doesn't.

--

"I want Joel," you whisper through your tears once you're settled in the back seat of the cab, Tasha beside you with her hand resting soothingly on your arm.

"What, honey?" Tasha asks softly, "Say it again, can't hear you."

"I want Joel," you repeat, words slurred as your hands come up to cover your face, "I don't wanna go home. I want Joel."

"We can't go to Joel's," Tasha murmurs, stroking your arm, "It's almost three in the morning, he's asleep."

"I want Joel," you repeat, "I wanna see him."

"I need an address," the cab driver says over his shoulder; he's already started running the meter, "Don't got all night, girls."

Before Tasha can say anything you're spluttering out Joel's address through a sob. Tasha starts to protest but you shake your head furiously, tears scattering everywhere, "I'll just walk," you mumble adamantly, "If you change it I'll just get out and walk."

"But-"

"You owe me," you practically spit, "You owe me after what just happened." You don't mean it, but your brain is nowhere near sober enough to fully realize that. And neither is hers.

She doesn't say anything else.

--

It's very strange being back in your neighborhood not sober. Your mind is still ridiculously fuzzy from the alcohol but part of you is able to acknowledge how crazy it is that you're back here so late at night in such a drunken state, driving through the dark streets while your parents are none the wiser. The cab passes by your house and you find yourself ducking down into the seat, afraid they might see you despite it being almost three o'clock in the morning.

"Can you just keep the meter running?" Tasha asks the cab driver quietly as you approach Joel's house, "I'm not staying, I just wanna make sure she gets in okay and that someone's here to help her."

"You're not coming in," you mutter, voice still slurred and heavy. You don't look at her as you say it.

"I'll just wait in the car for a few minutes then," she says quietly, just as the cab comes to a stop in Joel's driveway.

His truck is here, just like this morning. Except this time there's no purple convertible blocking him in, no other woman standing on the front step hugging him, waving to him.

Anger rises in your chest at the memory.

"I still don't think this is a good idea," Tasha says softly - what happened earlier has clearly sobered her up, almost no trace of drunkenness in her speech, "He's asleep, there aren't any lights on."

"Then I'll wake him up," you mumble, opening the car door and stepping out into the cool night air.

"I'll wait here for a few-," she calls out to you but you slam the door before she can finish her sentence.

You're not sure why you're suddenly being so mean to her. That is, until you stagger up Joel's front steps and feel even more rage bubbling inside you at the thought of standing where he'd stood this morning, where she'd stood this morning. Where the woman from the bar had probably stood too. Oh. You're an angry drunk.

Without any hesitation you push down on the doorbell. You don't bother to wait in silence; you just keep pushing it and pushing it over and over, hearing the dull sound of the bell dinging inside the house. You're vaguely aware of a light being turned on behind the frosted glass as you lean your hand against the door, suddenly feeling dizzy now that you're standing again.

The door opens and you practically fall through it, squinting against the sudden bright light and bringing your hands up to your face as you stagger inside. You feel someone catch you, big hands coming to rest atop both of your arms, and then your name being said in a deep voice, husky with sleep.

Joel.

"Are you okay?" he asks somewhere above you; your ears are ringing again and his voice is loud and muffled, that underwater feeling coming back. You try to mumble something but it comes out an incoherent garble.

You feel him pull you inside, hear the door shut behind you as he kicks it closed with his foot. He guides you inside the living room and your eyes shut tightly against the brightness of the overhead light, shining down on top of you like a spotlight.

"Too bright," you manage to mumble out, bringing your hands up to cover your face. You find yourself being seated on the couch before the light is switched off, plunging you both into total darkness.

"Baby, what happened?" you hear him ask, voice still swimming thickly through your muted ears, "I've been so fuckin' worried about you, where've you been? Where'd you go?" you feel his hands take yours, gripping them tightly. They're so rough and callused, nothing at all like Noah's, and it makes you smile.

"Feels nice," you mutter, already forgetting what he asked you.

"What'd you take?" he asks, and you suddenly realize that there's a very frantic edge to his voice, thick with worry and... fear? "Huh? Tell me what you took so I can help."

"D-didn't take anything," you hiccup, shaking your head slowly.

"Christ, babygirl," he mutters, squeezing your hands again, "Where were you? I called you so many times, I texted you, I-"

"Tasha's got my phone," you mumble.

"Where's Tasha? She alright?"

"In the cab."

"Jesus," he releases your hand and stands up, turns on a dim lamp in the corner of the room so you're not in total darkness anymore. You watch with hooded eyes as he opens the front door again, walks out onto the step and starts gesturing something into the darkness. He looks ridiculous, waving his arms like that - it makes you giggle.

He turns around and walks back over to you with long strides. You can see his face more clearly now, expression lined with worry. He looks tired. He probably is.

"Just wanted you," you mutter, staring at him.

Before he can say anything Tasha is suddenly walking in through the door, expression stoic as she passes the threshold. She avoids Joel's gaze completely, looking only at you.

"What the fuck happened?" Joel asks her, any sort of introductory pleasantries gone out the window, "Where's she been? What'd she take?"

"Nice to meet you too," Tasha grumbles, hitching her purse over her shoulder and walking over to where you sit on the couch, "She's fine, we went clubbing and she got drunk. I'll take her back."

"No you fuckin' won't," he says indignantly, moving to stand directly in front of you with his arms crossed, "How could you let this happen to her? She's never done shit like this before, you know that right? She's never been drunk in her fuckin' life and you bring her back like this? You ever heard of takin' it fuckin' slow?"

"Oh please, like I'm gonna take advice from you," she snaps back, walking around him and reaching down to take your hand, "Come on, honey, we need to go. Now."

"She's not goin' with you, she's stayin' here," his voice is loud, louder than you've ever heard it. In fact, you don't think you've ever seen him mad before. It's strange, seeing the way his eyes narrow, his mouth downturned into an angry frown, fists tight against his chest.

"I only brought her here because she said she'd jump out and walk if I didn't," Tasha argues, voice firm, "She's safe with me."

"Safe, huh?" he scoffs, "So why the fuck do you have her phone? Do you know how many times I've tried to call her in the past fuckin' twelve hours? I was this close to callin' the fuckin' police."

"If anyone here needs the fucking police called on them it's you," Tasha's voice is louder now, every word echoing in your brain, "Fucking creep."

"What the fuck did you just say to me?"

Your drunken brain can't process much of what's going on at all, both Tasha and Joel's voices blending into one constant loud noise. You bring your hands up to your head and cover your ears, though it can only do so much to block out their voices. What they're saying still manages to come through, albeit muffled and distant.

"You heard what I said. Fucking. Creep." Tasha repeats, "She knows what you've been doing, you asshole."

"What the fuck are you talkin' about?"

"What, don't have the balls to admit it?"

"Admit what?"

"Stop," you say loudly, bringing your hands down from your ears, "Stop yelling, you're hurting my head."

Joel crouches down, picks up your hands and takes them in his again, peering into your eyes. You can't see him properly anymore and you hate it, can only make out bits and pieces as your eyesight just continues to get worse the longer you sit here. You feel sleepy, almost like you're on the edge of unconsciousness.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, thumbs stroking yours gently, "I'm sorry, babygirl. I'll stop yellin'."

You close your eyes, nodding and breathing deeply in and out, loving the feeling of having him touching you again. It's almost like last night didn't happen, like this morning didn't happen.

Last night. This morning.

You suddenly yank your hands away from him, eyes going wide as you remember exactly why you're even here in the first place, why you wanted to get fucked up to begin with. His face comes back into view again, expression confused.

"I know what you've been doing," you hiss, echoing Tasha's words and scooting away from him. You reach your hand up for her to take and she grips it tightly, helping you get up.

"Babygirl," he says softly, brown eyes tender and soft as he eases himself up from the floor, "I don't know what you're talkin' about."

"We saw you," Tasha says then, linking her arm with yours, "At the bar last night." She means business now, you can hear it in her voice, "We saw you kiss someone else."

His expression changes instantly. Worry, anger, concern... all of it gone in a single second.

"That's what I thought," Tasha says firmly, then carefully eases you out of the living room, walks with you as far as the porch before you hear Joel speak.

His voice is quiet, shaky, "It's not what you think."

"Then what is it, exactly?" Tasha turns then, rounding on him again while you cling to her arm, "You're not playing her? You didn't waste weeks of her life making her feel special only for it to turn out you're just like the rest of them?"

He doesn't say anything and you can't bring yourself to look at him, heart in your throat and tears in your eyes once again as you stare at the hardwood floor.

"I didn't... that's not what..." he finally breathes, "It's not what you think. That's all I can say."

"That's all you can say?"

"Well, I can hardly fuckin' explain myself when she won't remember it, can I?" his voice is raw, hitching on the last few words, "Nothin'... nothin' happened other than some kissin'. It didn't go any further, I swear."

"And I'm just supposed to believe you?"

"I'm not askin' you to believe me," he breathes, "But that's the truth. That's the fuckin' truth, swear on my life."

"And what about the girl she saw leaving this morning?"

He's quiet again for a moment. You're still afraid to look at him, can barely even comprehend that this conversation is even really happening right now.

"That was - Jesus, I never wanted you to find out like this," he mutters, and Tasha laughs without humor.

"Yeah, you thought it'd just stay your little secret, huh?" It's hard to believe she's had just as much to drink as you have tonight - you wouldn't know it by the way she handles herself now, the way she speaks to Joel like she already knows him. She's done this before. She's no stranger to confronting men who did her wrong, or in this case, her friend.

"That was my daughter," he says softly.

Tasha freezes.

The words do their best to seep into your skin, to make their way into the sober depths of your brain that lie dormant, somewhere hidden. You still feel so fuzzy, bleary eyed and heavy and confused, but the words register somehow.

You slowly unhook your arm from Tasha's to finally look up from the floor, moving your gaze to Joel's still form. He's standing there by the couch, arms still crossed across his chest but not angry anymore, a look of pure sadness and shame on his face. He looks small.

"Y-you have a daughter?" you whisper.

"Yes," he replies softly, eyes slowly lifting to meeting yours, "And the woman at the bar, that was her mother. My ex wife." You see tears shining in his eyes, watch as his lip trembles as he softly whispers, "And I swear - I swear it never went further than some kisses. And it won't go any further than that ever again."

You feel Tasha reach down and squeeze your hand. What she's trying to communicate to you, you're not sure. You just stand there staring at him, unable to process this information in your current state, head swimming and ears still ringing.

"I'll tell you everything," he continues quietly, taking a slow step toward you, "When you're feelin' better, I swear. Anythin' you wanna know, I'll tell you." He takes another few steps until he's standing directly in front of you and Tasha, leaning down so he can peer directly into your eyes, "I'm so sorry it happened this way," he whispers, "I never thought - Jesus, I'm just so fuckin' sorry."

You swallow tightly around the lump in your throat, completely unsure of how you feel, of what you're supposed to say or do. Nothing makes sense. Nothing is computing properly.

"You need to take her home," he murmurs, pulling back and turning his attention to Tasha, "Look, I'm sorry for-"

"No, I'm sorry," she suddenly breathes, "I was- wow, that's... I mean, I wasn't expecting that. I'm sorry. I just, I thought-"

"It's okay," he replies, voice still a bit stiff, "Just get her back safe, okay? She's-" he cuts himself off to look at you again, eyes peering down at you sadly. "She's special."

Tasha nods, "I know she is."

The last thing you remember, the last thing that's at least semi-clear in your mind, is the soft look of affection on his face as he stands on his doorstep and watches you go.

--

You're not sure exactly what time it is when you wake up on Sunday. The only thing you're sure of is that your head is pounding and the sun streaming through the window is only making it worse. You roll over in bed and press your face into the pillow with a low moan.

You're never drinking that much ever again.

There's movement beside you and you open your eyes briefly to see Tasha laying in a similar position, still in her dress from yesterday, face smooshed into her own pillow. You can't remember how you got back, memories extremely hazy and shrouded completely in too much alcohol. The last thing you can remember is being at Joel's house, of the brief conversation he had with Tasha, the words he'd said to you...

My ex wife.

It never went further than some kisses.

That was my daughter.

Now that your brain isn't under the influence, you can finally think straight, can finally process everything he said to you last night. Or at least what you can remember. You roll over again with another moan, sensing nausea in the pit of your stomach.

"The hangover is the worst part," Tasha mumbles, and you turn your head to see her looking at you through messy mascara, smudged and smeared all over her eyes, "But you'll be okay."

You stare at her for a few seconds, everything else from the night before slowly coming back to you in bits and pieces. The club, Noah, the way you'd snapped at her...

"I'm so sorry," you whisper, "Tasha, I was so fucking mean to you."

The part of her lips that you can see curve upward into a smile and she shakes her head slowly, "It's all water under the bridge, babe," she murmurs, voice still heavy with sleep, "You had every right."

"No, I didn't. That stuff with Noah, that wasn't your fault."

"I should've known better than to invite him along," she sighs deeply, "I just wanted you to have fun, you know? I wanted you to forget about..." she trails off, biting her lip.

"I know," you breathe, "And I did, for a while. You couldn't have known about Noah, he certainly had me fooled."

She nods, closing her eyes and nuzzling the pillow a bit. You both lay there in silence, the elephant in the room growing bigger and bigger the longer you go without talking about it.

"So, Joel's got a daughter," you finally whisper, "And an ex wife."

She opens her eyes again, raising an eyebrow, "I'm surprised you remember that. You were pretty fucked up."

You wince, "Did I completely embarrass myself?"

"No, not at all," her hand comes up to touch your shoulder gently, thumbing the skin there, "You stood your ground, you did good. And now... now we know the truth."

"The truth," you echo.

More silence. It's like neither of you really knows what to say to the other. You're sure Tasha has already formulated her own opinion, has probably known since last night exactly how she feels about the whole thing. And that scares you a bit - because what if she doesn't feel the same way you do?

And how exactly do you feel about it anyway?

"I think he texted you again a little while ago," she finally says softly, pointing toward your phone on the night stand, "I heard it when I got up to use the bathroom. And there's a lot of texts there from yesterday. He, uh-" she bites her lip, "He was really worried about you, honey."

You reach over and pick up your phone, taking a deep breath before unlocking it and looking at the damage: 9 texts. 18 missed calls.

Shit. You suppose it makes sense. The last time you'd talked to him was on Friday morning in his kitchen, when you'd told him you were planning on going out with Tasha and having a girl's weekend, finally having your college experiences. He hadn't known anything that happened between then and last night, hadn't known you'd seen him at the bar, that you'd gone to his house on Saturday morning and left again, not giving him any explanation as to why you hadn't shown up for your lesson. To him, it had just been complete radio silence.

With a shaky finger you press his name, heart pounding as the unanswered text messages flood your screen. First, the three you've already seen:

Hope you're having a good night, babygirl. You deserve to have some fun. I'll see you tomorrow. Be safe.❤️

You get home ok? Let me know x

Where are you?

And everything else:

???

Hey, I'm worried about you. Give me a call or a text ok?

Please call me.

I'm outta my mind over here baby. Please let me know you're alright.

I'm scared for you. Last I heard you were going out with your friend and then nothing since. Please call.

Just a text is all I need honey. I promise. If you're not feeling this anymore that's okay. Just wanna know you got home safe last night.

I'm so worried about you. I can't sleep. Please call me.

I don't know what to do angel. Can't stop thinking about you. Wish you were here in my arms. Please be safe.

Please.

The most recent text was sent this morning, around ten:

I'm so sorry. Words can't even describe how fucking ashamed and embarrassed I am. I can't imagine how horrible that must have been for you. I understand if you don't want to see me anymore, but I want to tell you everything, if you'll let me. I hope you're feeling okay today, angel. Drink lots of water, stay with Tasha. Text me whenever you're ready.

"Did you read these?" you ask Tasha softly, eyes unmoving from the last text, scanning the words over and over.

"No," she replies, "Just saw the notifications."

You scroll back up and read them again, and again, like you'll somehow be able to rewind time if you just keep reading them. You can't believe there's this many, can't believe that the man who'd been so distant the past week is the same man who sent you all of these.

The same man with a whole other life he never told you about.

"What do I do?" you whisper.

Tasha sighs, then carefully pulls herself up to lean against the headboard, crossing her legs and looking over at you, "What do you wanna do?"

You lock your phone again and sit up beside her, exhaling deeply, "I don't know."

You both sit there in silence for a few moments, lost in thought. You can't explain it but you feel nowhere near as betrayed or angry as you'd felt yesterday. Rage is no longer present - and neither is sadness. The only way you can describe how you feel is... relieved.

"He has a daughter and an ex wife," you state.

"He does."

"He has a daughter and an ex wife," somehow saying it again makes it feel more real, but the words still don't trigger any strong emotions. You sigh and look at Tasha, urging her to say something else.

"So, other than that, what's changed?" she asks.

You bite your lip and turn away from her again, shrugging your shoulders slowly, "I mean, that's... that's a lot."

"It is," she agrees softly, "It is a lot."

You swallow, fingers playing with the edge of your dress, reminding you that you're still wearing the same outfit from yesterday. God, you need a shower. You need to wash this entire experience off of you.

"You remember where we landed Friday night?" Tasha asks suddenly, "We talked about the possibility of him kissing someone else and we agreed that communication was the way to go, right?"

"That was before we knew he had a daughter and an ex wife, Tasha."

"Yeah, well... now we do know. And we know he's willing to talk to you about it," she twists her mouth in thought, "So do you wanna talk to him about it?"

"...I don't know."

She suddenly eases herself off the bed, stretching her arms above her head and yawning loudly. You watch as she assesses her pillow, grimaces at the dark makeup stains on the white cotton.

"I'm scared," you admit softly, avoiding her gaze.

"What are you scared of?"

You don't know how to answer that, biting your lip and sniffling a bit. You bring your knees up to your chest, hugging them and leaning your face into your warm skin.

"You're falling in love with him, aren't you?" she asks quietly, absolutely no judgement in her voice, "That's it, isn't it? You're really starting to fall and that's why you're scared."

You can't speak, unable to say anything because you know you'll burst into tears if you do. Instead, you nod your head slowly, up and down against your knees.

"Then you gotta talk to him, honey," she kneels down on the bed, places her hand on your shoulder soothingly, "You gotta hear what he has to say."

You groan, bringing your hands up to cover your face as you stretch out your legs again, turning on the bed and scooching downward to smoosh your face back into the pillow.

"I'm gonna take a shower," Tasha murmurs softly, "I feel disgusting."

"Welcome to the club," you mumble into the pillow.

You're vaguely aware of Tasha moving around you, grabbing things from the nightstand and puttering around the room as she gets ready for her shower. You sense her standing close to you for a bit longer than necessary, like she's just staring at you without really knowing what to say. With a roll of your eyes you turn to face her, and you catch the briefest moment that she places your phone back down on the nightstand.

Your brow furrows, "What are you doing with my phone?"

"Nothing," she says quickly, turning around and leaving the room without another word.

--

You fall back to sleep without meaning to, and when you wake again, it's only because you hear someone talking in the other room, someone with a deep voice. Tasha must be watching a movie. You curl in on yourself a bit, rubbing your eyes and wincing when you feel the makeup smudge across your face. You really should get up and shower.

You suddenly hear footsteps in the hallway, getting closer. But there's something different about them, something heavy in the way they sound against the floorboards.

The door opens and there's just silence for a few seconds, no movement. Then the footsteps return, closer now, slow and unsure.

You know it's him before his weight sinks into the bed.

Oh, Tasha. Of course you did.

You close your eyes as you feel his arms snake around you from behind. You allow him to pull you in close, feel his nose against the back of your neck, his scruff against your shoulder. He smells like his cologne, feels warm and solid against your back, the denim of his jeans brushing against your bare legs.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers.

You immediately turn within his embrace, coming face to face with the man who you've spent the past twenty four hours hating, being angry at, feeling betrayed by - he's looking at you with a tenderness you can't describe, lips downturned into a soft frown that says everything. He's upset. He's ashamed. He's sorry.

"Why did you kiss her?" you whisper.

He takes a breath, "We have this... arrangement," he murmurs, "We've had it for years. Whenever she's in town - which isn't very often, maybe once every three years or so - we sleep together. It's been goin' on for over twenty years now, it's just.. it's just what we do."

You nod slowly, eyes falling to his mouth and then back to his eyes, "But you didn't this time."

"We didn't," he breathes, "I swear to you, we didn't. We went back to my place, we... we were kissin'," he winces but doesn't close his eyes, keeping his gaze on you, "I.. I went to grab a condom out of my bedside table before things got heavy and I-" he cuts himself off, taking another breath.

"What?"

You watch as he reaches down into his pocket, fishes something out. He brings his hand up and extends his fingers, shows you what's sitting in the palm of his hand.

Your crucifix.

"I saw this," he breathes, "And all of a sudden, I just... I just knew I couldn't."

You stare at the gold cross, watch it glint in the sunlight still cascading through the windows. His breath hitches and your gaze goes back to his face, the lines and wrinkles and grey whiskers, his soft brown eyes and curved nose.

"I understand if you can't forgive me," he whispers, tears shining in his eyes, "I don't expect you to, but I want you to know that I never meant to hurt you. I'm sorry that I did."

He closes his fist around the crucifix again and slowly brings it downward to your own hand, urging you to open it. He slips the chain past your fingers, goes to pull his hand away, but you stop him. You grip his hand tightly, the cross digging into both of your palms.

"We never established anything," you whisper softly, "We... we've never said that we're anything. It's just been sex."

He doesn't say anything, eyelashes fanning over his cheeks as he waits for you to speak again. He's so handsome, so unreal in a way that doesn't make sense to you, and probably never will.

"I wanna be yours," you breathe, meeting his gaze, "I don't want you to be with anyone else."

He leans forward to gently brush his nose to yours, eyes closing as he breathes deeply, the tears spilling over onto his cheeks.

"Okay," he whispers.

You know there's more for him to explain, so many more details you don't have yet that you do want to know. But in this moment, you don't care about any of it. You just want him.

It doesn't take long for you both to be completely undressed, clothes tossed over the sides of the bed as your naked bodies press warmly up against each other, soft and eager. He presses kisses to your neck, breathes you in, runs his fingers through your hair as he hovers above you with absolute need in his eyes, a look you're sure mirrors your own.

He knows you're still not ready without you having to say it. Knows this isn't the right time. There's no need for any words of reassurance or any questions. He knows what you need. You know what he needs.

His cock moves firmly down against your tummy beneath the sheets, his shaft settling perfectly against your pussy, already wet and aching for him like it had been the second he walked into the room. He puts both hands above your head, leans down to kiss you as he drags himself up and down within your folds, up and down, up and down.

It feels incredible, just having the thick length of him rubbing back and forth against your clit, the wide head catching at your entrance every now and then, eliciting a deep groan from Joel and soft whimpers from you. You grip his back tightly, broad and firm and yours, fingertips digging into his skin as he fucks himself against you.

"Feels so good," you whisper in his ear, voice trembling with every thrust, "Feels so good, Joel."

"I know it does, babygirl," he whispers, kissing your ear and grinding himself against you even deeper, moving his hands down to grip your hips as his cock continues to slip back and forth against your folds, "You're so sensitive, aren't you? That big cock feels so good against your little pussy, hm?"

You nod frantically, arms moving up a bit to wrap around his neck, your cheek brushing against his.

"You want a bit of my cock inside your hole, baby?" he whispers softly, secretly, pushing your hair away from your face, "Huh? You want the tip, honey? Just a little bit?"

You don't even have to think.

"Yes," you moan, "Yes, please, put it in, please."

"Okay, baby," he murmurs, pulling back a bit to look down at the mess you're making together, reaching his hand down to position his cock at your entrance, "Just the tip, babygirl, I won't go any further than that. Don't be scared."

"I'm not scared," you breathe, and you absolutely mean it, looking up at him with what you're sure is a completely wrecked expression, "I want it, Joel. Please."

He places the head of his cock against your hole gently, very gently. Then he takes your hands from around his neck and holds them in his, presses them up against his chest as he looks deep into your eyes. You look back, gaze never leaving his as he slowly pushes himself inside you - just the tip.

You gasp.

"Shhh," he breathes, squeezing your hands and continuing to peer into your eyes, never breaking eye contact, "Shhh, you're okay," he murmurs, "You're okay, angel."

You lay completely still, lips parting and eyes going hazy as you focus all your energy on experiencing this moment, on feeling the way the head of Joel's cock feels inside of you. It's pulsing, warm and wide and big inside your pussy, throbbing against your walls.

It feels fucking amazing.

"Joel," you whimper, eyes still locked completely on his.

"You're mine," he breathes, jaw tense and eyes alight with something you can only describe as pure passion, "You hear me? You're the only one I want. Don't want anyone else, baby. Nobody."

You nod desperately, thighs shaking as the fat head of his cock pushes inside just a little more, making you squirm. He stills his hips, still holding your hands against his warm chest.

"Look at us," he murmurs, "Just look."

Your gaze finally unlocks from his, eyes trailing downward to where you're connected, where the thick length of his cock juts out from between your legs. You rise a bit on the bed, whimpering as you look down at exactly where he sits inside of you, wet and dark and filthy and fucking beautiful.

"You can take all of me," he whispers, "I know you can, babygirl. But not now, not here."

"I know," you breathe, swallowing and looking up at him again with tears filling your eyes.

He pulls himself out of you then, places his thick and throbbing shaft against your pussy again and begins to thrust, moving downward so he's pressed up tightly against you, your hands caught between each other's bodies, the crucifix still hanging between your fingers.

"I'm gonna take you away with me, okay?" he says, almost a whimper as he stares into your eyes again, intense and focused, "We're gonna go away and I'm gonna tell you everything you wanna know about me, alright? And I'm gonna fuck you, baby. I'm gonna fuck you so good."

You're nodding as he speaks, whimpers and whines flowing continuously from your mouth as you near closer and closer to your orgasm, that familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach growing stronger.

"I'll fuck you in the bed, I'll fuck you in the shower, I'll fuck you on the fucking floor," he groans, eyes suddenly shutting and breaking the eye contact he'd managed to hold for so long, his face coming down to bury itself in your neck, "You're mine, angel, you're mine."

"I'm yours," you cry as your climax hits you, knocks the wind out of you as you start to shake beneath him, your hole fluttering against the length of him, "I'm yours, Joel, only yours."

You feel his come hit your stomach, painting your skin as he releases a deep groan into your ear and puts his entire body weight on top of you. You just close your eyes and feel him, exist in this moment for as long as you can, just listening to his breathing match your own as you both come down from your high.

He nuzzles his face against the heat of your neck, squeezes your hand in his between your bodies. The crucifix digs into your palm but you barely feel it.

"I want you to keep it," you whisper in his ear, and he doesn't have to ask what you're talking about, just presses a soft kiss to your neck and finally pulls back to peer down at you with total adoration.

"Okay," he murmurs with a soft smile, "I will."

[babyfoxflower]

The Hunter and the Hunted

Human! Alastor x Fem! Reader

*Disclaimer: This story is an AU and does not follow Hellaverse canon. Alastor is pretty much just a hetero, if this offends you in anyway, then I suggest you block me and go on your way.*

Synopsis: This the story of Alastor and the love of his life, his huntress, the charming Y/n Rosier. A rare beauty out on the bayou, his heart is instantly stolen by her. He’ll do anything for his beloved, even if that includes murder.

Story Warnings: 18+, MDNI, Violence, Blood, Hunting, Murder, Mentions of Child Abuse, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, 1920s Attitudes Towards Women

Prev Chapter Two Next

All week long, both Alastor and Y/n could not stop thinking about each other. The desire to see each other was so intense, it was almost like a calling. Like they were being pulled together by an unseen force.

Y/n rolled out of bed. It was just before dawn, light hadn’t even managed to reach the window. She had an interesting dream the night prior. It was her in the snow, only wearing her pink slip. Tears were streaming down her face, she fell to her knees and sobbed so hard that she couldn’t breathe.

Suddenly, someone came up from behind her, placing what felt like a coat on her shoulders before scooping her up in their strong arms. The warmth enveloped her body as she felt herself slowly calming down, when she looked up at who was holding her, it was him. It was Alastor.

The look he gave her was the most comforting she had ever seen in her entire life. She buried her face into his chest, the feeling that she was perfectly safe and protected washed over her. The feeling that she was where she belonged, and was with who she belonged to and who belonged to her in return.

“That was some dream,” Y/n smiled to herself.

Time to get up.

She got cleaned and dressed before anyone else was even awake. That was part of her duties as the acting head of the house. The rest of the morning for her consisted of hanging the laundry to dry, cooking breakfast for her family, waking her sisters up, made sure they were fed, bringing food to her mother in bed, and then finally she got to sit down and eat.

That was how it was every single morning for her. She always ate last. After breakfast, she helped her sisters get ready for Saturday catechism classes. They were held in a little school house about a mile away from their house. She packed their lunches and sent them off with a kiss and a hug.

After checking in on her mother a few more times, Y/n finally had some free time to herself. She thought back to her dream and what it could possibly mean. Part of her was hopeful that it was a message from some higher power that Alastor was going to be the one to save her from this repetitive life.

Sure, she loved her family. She loved her family more than anything. But she also felt the stress taking its toll on her.

What selfish fantasies…absolutely selfish.

Then the familiar sound of the bell came from her mother’s bedroom, snapping her back to reality.

“Coming, Mama!”

———————————————————————

Strangely, Alastor woke up that same morning from that exact same dream that Y/n had. Of course, there was no way of knowing that. Alastor laid there for a moment, missing the feeling of her small body against his.

“Mm…Y/n. Let me hold you just a little bit longer, my dear,” he groaned.

“Alastor! Wake up, Darling! It’s time for breakfast!” His mother called from downstairs.

He rubbed his temples before reaching over to grab his glasses off his nightstand, “I’ll be down in a minute, Mother!”

A smile crept on his face as he realized it had been exactly a week since he seen her. The day he planned to visit her.

I can’t wait to see her.

He got cleaned and dressed before making his way downstairs. His mother was already sitting at the table, eating breakfast.

“Good morning, Mother,” he said as he gave her a peck on the cheek.

“Good morning, Honey. Porridge is on the stove, help yourself,” she replied.

“Alright. Thank you.”

Alastor fixed a bowl of porridge and poured a cup of black coffee for himself. Then he took a seat at the table across from her.

“Make sure you say Grace.”

He sighed and clasped his hands together, “Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen,” he finishes with the sign of the cross.

“The Lord thanks you,” she smiled.

Alastor almost rolled his eyes but he knew better.

“So, are you going to tell me about that girl you met last Saturday?” Her eyes met his, a brow raised.

He took a sip of his coffee, “Why?”

“Because I’m your mother and I want to know what’s going on in your life.”

“She needed help carrying a stag she shot back home, so I gave her a hand.”

“Are you sure that’s all?” His mother questioned further.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just you were gone an awful long time. And you’ve been acting strangely since.”

He looked at her with a face of utter confusion, “Strangely? What ever could you mean, Mother?”

She paused, “I can’t quite put my finger on it, but you seem to have your head up in the clouds more. Like you’re dreaming about something or someone?”

Damn, she’s caught on to me. I swear nothing gets past her.

“I…I can’t stop thinking about her. But that’s all I say about that,” Alastor looked down at his bowl.

“Hmm, I figured as much. So, you’re going to go see her again today?”

“How did you know?” He blushed.

“Haha! I didn’t until just now, Darling. It’s cute, you have a crush!”

“Don’t say that, Momma….” He mumbled under his breath, pouting.

“Aw, you haven’t called me Momma in years! My baby has a crush! My baby has a crush!” She teased.

“Stop!” He put his hands over his ears, as his face turned scarlet.

His mother cackled, “Alright, I’ll leave it. I’ll leave it.”

“Thank you,” he said before finishing his breakfast.

———————————————————————

“Give your little girlfriend a hello from me,” his mother said from her rocker, cigarette in one hand, newspaper in the other.

Alastor ignored her comment, “I’ll be back in a little while.”

“Alastor.”

“Yes, Mother?”

“I love you.”

His face softened, “I love you too, Mother.”

The leafs and twigs crunched under Alastor’s brow leather boots. There was a chill in the air. It was surprisingly cold for October, especially in Louisiana.

Alastor preferred summer, when it was too hot to think. Because when it was too hot to think, it was too hot to remember.

He couldn’t remember that night if it was summer. But on a cold day like this one, that nipped and stung, he couldn’t help remembering that painful night.

He put those memories in the little box he kept in the back of his mind.

Not today. We’re not reliving that today.

After a while, he finally came upon that familiar cabin with the picket fence. There raking up the leaves was her. It was Y/n.

“A pleasure to see you again, Sweetheart,” he grinned as he greeted her.

She smiled brightly as she looked up at him, “A pleasure to see you as well, Sugar.”

———————————————————————

“You have a lovely home,” Alastor took off his hat as he entered.

“Oh, thank you. I try to keep it as tidy as I can. Go ahead and have a seat at the table,” Y/n closed the door behind them, “Would you like something to drink? Tea? Coffee?”

“Coffee, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“No trouble, I actually just made a pot. I like having hot coffee on a cold day.”

Alastor took a seat at the kitchen table as Y/n walked over with two mugs and a pot of coffee.

“Do you take cream or sugar?” She poured some into each of the mugs.

“Neither.”

“Good, I take mine black too,” she handed one of the cups to him.

“Thank you, my dear,” he smiled at her.

She took a seat across from him, “So, is there is a reason that you stopped by or did you just want to see me?”

Alastor raised an eyebrow, “And what if I did just stop to see you?”

Oh god, I hope I’m doing this flirting thing right.

Y/n took a sip of her coffee, “Well, I certainly wouldn’t mind, that’s for sure.”

“Then, my dear, you’ll be pleased to know that I did come by to see you.”

She blushed, “You did!? I mean, so you did?”

Alastor chuckled, “Yes. You see, I enjoyed your company so much that I wanted to converse with you again.”

“I wanted to see you again too.”

His heart skipped a beat, “I’m glad we’re on the same page,” he took a sip of his coffee.

“Hotdog! This is a good cup of joe!” He exclaimed.

“Really? I didn’t do anything special to it.”

“Sweetheart, you have a talent for coffee making if I do say so myself! This is even better than my mother’s!”

That was the highest praise Alastor could ever give anyone, when he admitted that they made something better than his mother.

“Thank you! I’m so happy you like it. No one’s ever told me that before,” Y/n smiled shyly.

“So, where are those little ones I saw last time?”

“Oh, my sisters, they’re at catechism classes.”

Alastor groaned, “Ugh, I hated those classes. They were so dreadfully boring.”

“Haha, I didn’t really like them either. But it’s a family tradition.”

“Are you religious, my dear?”

“I guess not in the sense that most people are. I believe in God but I believe it’s more of a force that gives you messages when in hard times. I do believe in prayer too. But I don’t believe in Heaven or Hell. And I don’t believe any of that nonsense that’s in the Bible,” she replied.

“That’s an interesting take. I personally don’t believe in God at all.”

“Oh, I’ve never met someone who doesn’t believe in God in way or another. Is there a specific reason? I’m not judging, I’m just curious.”

Alastor took another sip of his coffee, “I just do not understand how people can still believe in things like God when the theory of Evolution has been proven. I’m a believer in science. In things that you can see with your own two eyes.”

Y/n sat looking thoughtfully, “Couldn’t science and religion exist together? Couldn’t they both be true?”

“That’s also a good point. I’m not someone who looks down on people of Faith, my own mother is one. I just don’t understand it. There’s also the question of why? Why would a higher power let terrible things happen to innocent people? Why would they let that happen to…. I’m sorry, dear. I’m rambling,” he laughed a little.

“It’s alright, I like listening to you and your thoughts,” she smiled sweetly.

“And I enjoy listening to you and your opinions,” he returned the smile.

“But, there’s one thing I’m sure we can agree on. That creation myth is a load of bull.”

“Yes. I completely agree with that!”

“I mean, why would a creator make only a male of species? Why wouldn’t they make men and women at the same time?”

“That doesn’t make a lick of sense. You need a male and a female in order to procreate.”

“It’s basic biology!” Y/n chuckled.

Alastor noticed an old little piano in the corner of the living area, “Is that the piano you were telling about before?” He motioned his head towards it.

“Oh, yes. It is,” she turned in the direction of it.

“Do you mind if I get a closer look? I’m quite keen on instruments.”

“Be my guest.”

He stood up and walked over to the piano. She followed behind him. He ran his fingers gently over the keys.

“I haven’t played it in a while, so it might need some tuning,” she informed him.

Softly, he pressed one of key down, a pleasant sound was produced, “May I? Play something for you?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

He sat on the bench and patted the spot next to him, “Don’t be shy, Sweetheart. I don’t bite.”

Y/n’s face flushed, “How do you know I don’t bite?”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” he grinned.

She sat next to him. His fingers began dancing along the keys with such beauty and grace, like a professional pianist. He played a melody that she didn’t recognize, but it sounded absolutely lovely. And that was before he began singing.

I have an ear for music, and I have an eye for a maid

I like a pretty girlie, with each pretty tune that's played

They go together

Like sunny weather

Goes with the month of May

I've studied girls and music, so I'm qualified to say

His voice was so smooth and beautiful, she was entranced. He looked at her as he played, watching her expressions with amusement. He loved to entertain. He was a bit of a ham. But it might have also been because he was showing off for the little lady that caught his eye.

A pretty girl is like a melody

That haunts you night and day

Just like the strain

Of a haunting refrain

She'll start upon a marathon and run around your brain

You can't escape she's in your memory

By morning, night and noon

She will leave you and then

Come back again

A pretty girl is just like a pretty tune

He came to a finish and she applauded him.

“That was wonderful!”

“Thank you. Thank you,” he playfully bowed to her.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard that song before. What’s it called?”

“A Pretty Girl Is Like A Melody by Irving Berlin. I heard it on the radio one day. I couldn’t agree more with its lyrics,” Alastor smiled while looking right into her eyes.

Y/n blushed, “Is there a reason why you chose that song?”

“Other than the pretty girl in front of me who inspired it, no.”

Y/n’s heart was pounding in her chest.

“That was gorgeous! Absolutely gorgeous!” A sudden voice came from behind them.

Y/n turned around to see her mother out of bed, “Mama, you shouldn’t be out of bed! Doctor’s orders, remember?”

“Ah Mrs. Rosier, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Quite a pleasure. I apologize if I disturbed you, I was just playing your daughter a song,” Alastor stood up and greeted the woman.

“Well, play me a song now please! Talented young man!” Y/n’s mother replied.

Alastor looked at Y/n. Y/n shrugged.

“I suppose it would be alright.”

“Very well. I’ll gladly entertain you two lovely ladies for as long as you like.”

“Hold on, Mama. Let me get you a chair,” Y/n said.

———————————————————————

Alastor got home just in time for dinner.

“How was your girlfriend?” His mother playfully asked.

“She’s not my girlfriend, Mother. At least not yet,” he said that last part under his breath.

“Well, did you have a good time at least?”

“The best,” he smiled softly.

“That’s wonderful. Now, go get washed up for dinner. We’re having jambalaya.”

“Jambalaya!” He exclaimed with almost a child like glee.

“Yes, jambalaya. Go get washed up already, boy!”

“Yes, Mother.”

He practically ran upstairs, as if that would make it cook faster.

His mother shook her head, “What am I going to do with him?”

Taglist 🏷️: @chibistar45 @doveatheart @ghostofajinx @girl-math-aint-mathing @91062854-ka @harmfulb1tch @2dmenforme @ladyadrasteia666 @uniquecutie-puffs @vxllys

[senseofnewness]

kink headcanons for art tashi and patrick GO

kink headcanons [nsfw]

tw & cw : cnc, bdsm, anal, unprotected sex

Art

oral : art always has a part of you in his mouth. whether it’s your tits or your fingers. or your cunt. he could spend hours just lapping at your pussy like a starving man. while receiving is always very nice, he just prefers giving. oral sex might be his favorite part of it. he considers it an honor when you allow him to eat you out after a long day of work. you finally get to relax and he finally gets to eat.

cuckolding : art is a bit of a voyeur, and while he’s extremely possessive with you, he also enjoys watching you fucking someone else. what truly turns him on is that they can fuck you as hard as they want, make you see stars and all, you still belong to him at the end of the day. they will never have you. they only can fuck you because he allows it.

lingerie : art loves lingerie. silk, lace, even plain cotton, as long as you’re in it. but the thing is that he doesn’t just like watching you wear lingerie, he also likes wearing it. the sensation of the tight lacy panties constricting around his cock and balls just makes him dizzy. good thing, he’s got a drawer full of them for the both of you to share because he ruins them with every wear, all stretched and worn.

submission : what art loves with submission, it’s surrendering control. he has spent his life letting others decide for him and at first he thought it was because it was easier that way, but he actually enjoy being a puppet. he likes it when you tell him what to do, how to do it and when. he just follows your orders, head empty but balls full.

breeding : he only has one goal : fill you up to the brim. he can’t resist you, your full breast and your wide hips, a body made to carry his offspring. it's animalistic, he just have to come inside you. more than the act itself of breeding you, it’s the whole symbolism that turns him on, you belonging to him, only him. by receiving him, you are committing to him. and so is he. nothing would commit him more to you than being your baby daddy.

Tashi

domination : she’s the type who doesn’t even need to raise her voice, just a look, and you’re on your knees. you’re her precious pet and pets should obey their master. you’re not having sex with tashi, she’s fucking you. you don’t get to participate, you’re here to endure it while she plays with her strap and your tight little cunt. No one allowed you to enjoy it.

edging : tashi has the patience of a saint, and she will have you begging long before she even considers letting you come. she loves watching you squirm. when she knows you’re close, she just teases you until you beg for a release. but she won’t give it to you until she's done herself. good girls come second.

facesitting : you might be the pillow princess of the two, but when tashi sits on her throne, she better get the attention she deserves. she wants you to inhale her scent and get drunk on it while you eat her pussy like it’s the most delicious dish you have ever tasted. she just rides your face like her life depends on it and you should consider yourself lucky if she lets you breathe

roleplay : costumes? check. accents? check. tashi is committed to the whole bit, she even thinks about scenarios beforehand. roleplaying allows her to escape from reality and from the life where she’s forced to play the coach 24/7. you both become someone else and she fucks you like you’re a whole new person she just met each time. she can be a spy, a sergeant, a police officer, a doctor, or a knight. she is everything. just like barbie.

mommy : when tashi says she’s taking care of you, she means every single aspect of your life. she knows you better than you know yourself. and what had started as an innocent dig, “mommy”, had turned into something more. you love the power she has over you, how she takes care of you and all you have to do in exchange is be an obedient little girl. but sometimes mommy gets mad and since she knows you so well, she knows what are the best ways to punish you.

Patrick

barebacking : what are condoms, literally? patrick has never seen one in his whole life. with casual fucks, he uses the good-old pull out method but with girlfriends, he kinda counts on you to take contraception because there is no way in hell that he’s going to wrap it up when nothing makes him harder than the idea of creampie. he knows it’s risky, maybe he had gonorrhea once, and maybe he has unknown children somewhere, but now he’s only having sex with you, he’s not really worried about that.

cnc : after discussing boundaries and agreeing on a safe word beforehand, he just loves taking you wherever, whenever he wants. he just loves watching you struggle under him, when you cry and beg him to leave you alone because it’s not the moment or place for that, when he pretends he's an intruder and he has to tie you up and gag you because you won’t stop screaming. and he knows you love it too because it makes you so wet.

praise : it probably comes from the fact that nobody really considers him except you but patrick loves praises. he needs to hear how good he was, how good he made you feel, that only him can make you feel that way. he needs you to adore him, to worship him. he needs you to be obsessed with him.

anal : don’t date patrick zweig if you don’t want it up the ass. his tongue, his fingers or his cock, it doesn't matter, you're going to get it. he just loves how tight you are in there, and the way you clench so hard around his cock, swallowing him whole, he simply loses his mind.while he appreciates the beauty of breasts, asses are where it's at.

degradation : patrick will break you down and watch you crumble. he is the type of guy who whispers the most degrading stuff in your ear, humiliating you by commenting any of your action in bed like it’s the most obscene thing he has ever seen or heard, making you feel like the dirtiest, most worthless little slut and the worst part is that you will thank him for it.

[thesunloveschips]

Eye of the Storm - Chapter 2: Mortals and Immortals

Summary: In the wake of Rhysand’s ascension as High Lord, the Bone Carver gifts a prophecy. More than five hundred years later, Azriel continues to wait for the one who is finally reborn as his High Lady’s sister. All it takes is a dip in the Cauldron for things to start falling into place.

Chapter Summary: Feyre returns to her sisters from the Spring Court with too many feelings. Rhys fights a losing battle with his family after returning. Feyre and Rhys navigate their emotions when the Archeron sisters become the topic of conversation.

Click here to access the Masterlist of the Eye of the Storm

****

Feyre felt like she was dying as she reached the new residence of the Archerons. A bit of her life leaving her body with every foggy breath. Tamlin had kept his word and provided for her family. A bit too lavishly, perhaps. The residence was a sprawling estate with lush lawns and well-maintained flowers Elain had undoubtedly involved herself in. Feyre had no sense of anything except for the flowers which reminded her of the Spring Court. Of Tamlin.

With Feyre now back, Nesta wanted answers. She had clearly seen the beast take her youngest sister away, citing some Treaty and something else that made no sense to her. Nyra would want answers too. Whatever stunt that the fae had pulled, whatever magic they had cast which resulted in Elain and their father having new memories of a non-existant aunt, Nesta needed answers about all of it.

Feyre was quick to flow away with her thoughts ever since she had returned. Elain was simply happy that her sister was back, safe and sound and was listening to her about her plans for the new flowers she had recently planted. Nesta was suspicious but she did not push much after Nyra's insistence.

The only time Feyre gave anyone her attention to the maximum was when the physician came for Nyra and recorded a very slow but thankfully steady improvement in her health. One thing wrong and the heavily-bellied man claimed it would threaten Nyra's life.

"Let her tell us herself." Nyra had said when Nesta's curiosity grew. "What if it is something she wishes not to recall?"

"Whatever it is, it has affected her. She hardly pays any attention during conversations and mindlessly agrees with everything asked of her. That ghastly shade of yellow does not suit her and yet, she agreed to it before the seamstress without so much as a glance at the fabric." Nesta did not like it when someone wore the wrong shade. It was something their mother had insisted and something she cared for since it was one of the few useful things the deceased woman had actually bothered to teach her.

"How long do we wait before we ask?" Nesta once asked Nyra and when her twin did not have an answer, the interrogative mood of the former awakened. She found Feyre and confronted her and that led to a long story.

Nesta and Nyra looked at Feyre when the youngest had concluded her story and then looked at each other. To be in love with a fae much less a High Lord was unthinkable. Even then, they knew that this sister was a reckless girl.

"And now what? You are here and not there. What is your fate?" Nyra asked. Feyre took her time comprehending the question but had no answer for it even after understanding it. It seemed to her that there were multiple gaps in her understanding. So many things had been hidden from her in Prythian. They had called Amarantha's curse a bloody blight.

The twins knew that Feyre probably did not belong in this world of mortals and maybe, she did belong in Prythian. Every word spoken about this fae named Tamlin was laced with a sort of affection they had never witnessed for any human.

A part of them hoped that Feyre would live with them in the safety and comfort of this estate. That she would lead a normal, mortal life. Another part of them knew that the connection between Feyre and Prythian had yet to be severed. And in pursuance of that connection which she believed was her love for Tamlin, a few days later, Feyre Archeron departed from the mortal lands with a final goodbye.

****

Amarantha was dead. Rhysand was back. A few days had passed and Azriel had noticed that something was still not right. Something other than the trauma from those forty nine years had been inflicted on his brother. Something that was probably his mate, the newborn fae. He wasn’t exactly discreet about it when he told Mor right after he returned. For the first few seconds, Azriel had hoped to all the spirits that Rhysand was not referring to Amarantha as his mate. But then, Mor had managed to somehow calm her cousin. And then, Rhys told them his story.

Azriel took it upon himself to study humans and fae and trace back records of any transitions as had been the case with the Cursebreaker. He had enlisted the help of the priestesses from the libraries of the House of Wind. Everything was hectic these days. Hunting down the traitors who had joined forces to rebel in the High Lord’s absence. Reviving his network of spies after decades of inactivity. Resuming trade and commerce and travel between courts and with the rest of the world. All of this was just the beginning. He was tired. Everyone was tired. And yet, everyone continued.

The Cursebreaker, he’d learned, was a female by the name of Feyre Archeron. A human who received a kernel of every High Lord’s power to be brought back to life. That itself brought the possibility of her inheriting powers. If she had indeed been successfully revived, then she could probably have a fragment at least.

“She rarely leaves the manor.” Azriel spoke. Cassian looked at him in confusion while Rhys barely looked up from the disturbing amount of paperwork. “Unhealthy and haunted by nightmares.”

Rhysand slammed the pen on the table. That was meant to be a warning but Azriel could care less. Rhys glared at him as though he was ready to rip him apart. “Call in your bargain. Tamlin is making things worse for her.”

To Azriel, this female, his brother’s mate had already become someone to be cared for. On the verge of becoming family. In his eyes, Rhys had to take her from her misery. And he had to push his brother to do that. What would life be worth if not for a mate? He was already waiting for the Bone Carver’s words to come true.

Cassian did not want to say much. He quietly watched as his brothers glare at each other. He knew why this conversation was taking place. He knew why Azriel was pushing Rhys to be there for Feyre. Because they would have done the same thing in case of Azriel and his mate. The mate who was Rhysand’s deceased sister. The mate who would be reborn.

“I will bring her when I deem fit.” Anyone could see how heartbroken Rhys was when he said those words. The beast within him raged at him to stake his claim over his mate. The more rational side of him preached respect. Something his mother had taught him.

“By the time you deem fit, what if it’s too late?” Azriel was quick to ask. The High Lord’s power rumbled before them and they weathered it like any other rainstorm.

“She’s surrounded by the rogue Vanserra and that mannerless priestess who once requested a visit.” The mention of the priestess was made with his own power rumbling. A shadowsinger was a truly mysterious creature. Cassian looked at Azriel in disgust at having even mentioned that female.

“And a High Lord who has no interest helping her settle into this new life.” Cassian spoke. Rhys met the General’s gaze. “This is not just any female, Rhys.”

“She’s the saviour of Prythian. I know.”

“She’s your mate.” Cassian emphasized on that word. “Anyone could have been the saviour of these damned lands. Only she can be your mate. She is family, you stupid piece of shit.”

In that moment, Rhys remembered what he felt back when Feyre had defeated the Wyrm. How he felt Cassian’s spirit manifesting nearby and shouting at him to marry this girl or he would do that himself. He let out a wry laugh. Azriel and Cassian looked at each other, wondering whether their brother had gone mad.

Rhysand stood up and started pacing behind his chair. He stopped and resumed pacing every now and then. “We knew about Azriel and my sister.” He knew he had to tread very very carefully with this. He might be the High Lord but the shadowsinger was not to be trifled with in any manner. He saw how Azriel had stoned his features at the mention of his mate. “So I assumed that we would witness your mating bond first when she was reborn.”

“It could be another century or even a millennia before we meet her again.” Cassian remarked, remembering the Bone Carver’s words.

“You should focus on your own mating bond right now.” Azriel added, not wanting to remember his mixed feelings for his mate.

“I know she’s upset and she has nightmares and she vomits all the food and that ignorant asshole does nothing to help her.” Rhysand took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure and failing miserably. The opening of the door had the three males looking in that direction. Morrigan walked in, ever the picture of power and beauty.

“What are we talking about?” Mor casually sat on the sofa, her legs on the seat with the silk of her dress dropping to the ground like a wisp of magic.

“The Cursebreaker.” Rhys answered. He would call her anything but his mate.

“Your mate.” Mor corrected. Cassian grinned at her and even Azriel breathed in relief at the growing support. “You made a bargain with her. Why haven’t you called it in?”

“None of your business.”

“She is family.” Mor spoke sharply and and her rage began quickly. She had recognised how her cousin was beginning to be somewhat of a stubborn child but this was not a matter which could be addressed with such immaturity. “And her health is our business.”

“You may identify her as family but I have no intention of claiming her.” Rhysand looked like he would vomit at his own words soon enough.

But the High Lord knew what his family felt for Feyre Archeron. They were undoubtedly grateful to her for reuniting them after forty nine years. They were grateful to her for saving Prythian because Cauldron knew how long they could have kept the Night Court afloat in his absence. And they did not even want to delve too long about other courts.

The mortal who was now fae.

The female who was his mate.

The female Rhysand was now in love with.

“You love her.” And that was the truth. Simple and clear. Azriel and Cassian looked at her in mild surprise. They hadn’t known that. And now that they did know that, Feyre Archeron was indeed a person of great concern. “We know you won’t claim her like she is property. She is not family not just because she is your mate. She is family because you love her.”

“Mating bonds are not fairytales. Couples don’t end well. You knew my parents.” Rhysand was not strong enough for this. He could not win this. Not when this was about Feyre. Sweet, beautiful Feyre with her human heart and powerful feelings.

“Your parents had a miserable union. The difference is that you love this girl. And we also have Azriel who waits for her.” Azriel closed his eyes, knowing that Mor would now continue this battle. That she would wield more powerful words for attack. The mention of his own mate was one of those weapons. Mor had just looked at the Spymaster once before he confirmed with a nod that it was okay to speak of his mate. “Your mating bond does not have to reflect what your parents had.”

“That’s it!” Cassian slammed his hands on the table. “You!” He looked at Rhys, eyes focused into a glare before continuing, “are a fool.” Rhys opened his mouth to speak. “Everything you’ve spouted so far has been an excuse.”

“She’s marrying him.” Rhys sounded pained as opposed to the indifference he tried to put forward.

“Just because she’s marrying him doesn’t mean he’s worthy of her.” Azriel was grumbling at this point. None of them cared about Rhysand’s self loathing opinions. They cared about the girl who had no one to help her when she needed it. The girl who was his mate. The girl who was almost family. She was not a cruel person. She was the reason Rhysand was back after so long. And they had a feeling that she’d be good for him and that he’d be good for her. Azriel had suspected as much after his spies from the Spring Court had been planted and resumed activity.

Two days later, Rhys had scheduled a trip to Rita’s with Cassian only to winnow away without prior notice right before they had entered. The same night, Feyre Archeron had been brought to Velaris.

****

It took time before the Cursebreaker had started to warm up to the Inner Circle of the Night Court. One fine night as they lounge around after dinner for a night to drink, Feyre took a few sips.

In her curiosity, Morrigan asked. “How was life as a mortal?”

Feyre looked at Mor for a few seconds, trying to process the question. When she did, she opened her mouth and paused. She began by talking about her early childhood, the days of poverty and how her family was now rich. She had kept her story short, giving nothing more than a summary of her mortal life which couldn't have been more than a paragraph.

“So, you have sisters?” Cassian asked, curious about the people she shared her mortal life with.

“Three older sisters.” Feyre affirmed as she stared at her wineglass. The faint imprint of her lipgloss was there at the edge and she kept staring at it. She took a moment to remember each sister and smiled with such gentleness that made Rhysand a little jealous.

A little.

Just a little.

Not even noteworthy.

Very negligibly so.

An inconsequential bit of jealousy for a smile that was not directed at him.

Mor took extreme delight in seeing her cousin's face. She quietly motioned to Cassian. Azriel and Amren had already noted the change in Rhys's expression.

“And what were they doing when you went out to hunt?” Mor's question brought everyone back to the harsh reality that Feyre went out to hunt for her starving family as a child.

Feyre did not answer. She did not look at anyone. She kept her gaze at the rim of her wine glass where the stain of her lipgloss was from when she’d taken sips of the drink.

“Nesta was angry at a lot of things. Mostly at our father. And then, at me. We were always at each other’s throats. Elain is more of a gardener than a huntress. Nyra has been sick since we were children.” Everything was begining to sound like a poor defence for her sisters.

Mor had sobered up. Cassian and Azriel were quiet. Mostly because they knew that any wrong move or word from any of them and Rhys would rage. His mate had led a life of poverty and had thrown herself into the forest to hunt and free her family from starvation. Her family, incapable in different ways to help her. The youngest who had risked her life over and over again for them.

Rhysand was close to breaking his wine glass. One of those sisters was a gardener more than a huntress. A gardener than a huntress. What about Feyre? She was an artist more than a huntress. And had anger not consumed the other sister enough to do something about their situation? And a sick sister who could do nothing. A burden. All of them were burdens on Feyre. Why save a family like that?

Family was not always blood bound. He knew that. Rhys looked at Azriel, the prime example of someone who had family because he had chosen them and not because he was related to them. Azriel met his gaze, silently questioning him. Rhys shook his head despite the suddenly growing brotherly affection for the shadowsinger.

“Why save a family like that?” Amren finally asked, having spoken for the first time since dinner. Rhys turned to her in mild surprise for having voiced his thoughts.

“Because they are my family. My father who had lost all hope. Elain, who sees good in this world no matter how many ugly sides of it has been presented to her. Nesta, who kept me angry and made me want to fight against circumstances. Nyra, who guarded my heart against all odds.”

A traitorous tear traveled down her cheek. Feyre closed her eyes as another tear made its appearance. At the end of the day, she missed her family. And the Inner Circle could relate to that. They had missed each other for so long and they had just reunited only to be faced with the prospect of war which could ensure permanent separation in the form of death.

“Do you wish to visit your family?” Rhys finally asked. Everyone looked at him in mild surprise for various reasons. At the sight of her tears, the High Lord had softened. The cold fury within him had thawed and nothing but affection and the will to do something to make her happy remained. He took in each of their expressions before explaining himself. “You’re an immortal now, Feyre darling. Time moves slowly for us especially when compared to mortals. They are still human. Surely you must know what that means.”

It only meant that Feyre would live with this young and strong body while her family grew older and weaker and finally died. And Nyra. Mother knew if she would ever live a normal life. Whether her health would improve.

What if something did go wrong?

What if she could never see her again?

What if Nyra...

****