#Consult for Skin Problems | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

odoraful · 4 months ago

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𝑰: 𝑫𝑶𝑪𝑻𝑶𝑹, 𝑫𝑶𝑪𝑻𝑶𝑹.ᐟ

xiao has been noticing some symptoms in you lately and decides to go to baizhu for some advice…

⟡ part II: l-o-v-eternally!

⟡ content — xiao x gn!reader ; absolute fluff, i'm talking very silly and cute ; baizhu and qiqi appearance ; reader has a massive crush on xiao and it goes utterly over his head ; but xiao is just trying his best to be caring ; 3.2k words

⟡ a/n — xiao lovers please rise 🙂‍↕️ banner art by dsmile9 on twitter!

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In his time as a doctor, Baizhu had seen it all. Every weird and wonderful thing about the human body. Every high and low of the human experience. He thought there was little that could shock him now. However, he was disproven at this very moment when the Conqueror of Demons showed up at Bubu Pharmacy.

There actually didn’t seem to be wrong with the yaksha in terms of ailments. No gaping wounds or visible signs of karmic corruption. Baizhu did observe that he appeared more bashful that usual with how tight his arms were folded across his chest, but he did well to hide it under his stone-faced expression.

What was wrong was that he was standing here.

Willingly standing here.

Not being dragged in a half-conscious state by little Qiqi or another one of his companions who certainly cared about his health more than himself.

If Xiao was at his doorstep, the situation must be rather serious.

“Conqueror of Demons,” he greeted, resting his chin on his hand. “Now, isn’t this a welcome surprise?”

Qiqi hopped down from her stool behind the counter, shuffling towards Xiao with unbelieving eyes. She poked at his leg, checking that it was really the yaksha in the flesh. Xiao let the young girl prod as he unfolded his arms and spoke.

“Baizhu, I need your assistance.”

A request for aid? From the Conqueror of Demons himself? Baizhu stood up straighter, his curiosity changing from amused to serious.

“I-it’s about Y/N.”

Ah, I should have known. Yes, he was familiar with you. The person who had brought Xiao to the pharmacy in the aftermath of a particularly dangerous patrol. He could never forget the worry carved into your face and the tenderness in how you brushed his hair away from his sweat slicked skin. As to your relationship together, he had his internal speculations, but never heard anything official as of yet.

Baizhu nodded. “Qiqi, would you mind closing up the pharmacy early today?”

He looked over at Xiao with a soft smile, “Come with me to the back. We can have a discussion there.”

The room Baizhu led Xiao into was reserved for consultations with patients who had more complicated presentations. The furniture inside were all crafted from the same dark wood with gold embellishments. It contained a bed with white linens, a chest of multiple drawers containing all sorts of herbalist components, a low table for working with accompanying stools and chairs, and a bamboo screen for privacy where a wash bucket and cloth were set up behind.

Rather than sit on the bed or in any available chair, Xiao chose to stand. Baizhu sat in his chair by the table, legs crossed. Qiqi joined them soon after, plopping herself onto a stool.

“What seems to be the problem?” Baizhu asked.

Xiao sighed, brow twisted with concern. It was probably the most emotion he had seen in the yaksha. “Y/N hasn’t been themself lately… I believe they might be ill, but I can’t conclude what the ailment is.”

“And may I ask why you came to me? Wouldn’t it make greater sense to have them see me directly than through a middle man?”

Xiao shook his head. “Each time I’ve asked about the state of their health, they dismiss me.”

“I see…” Baizhu hummed with understanding.

It wasn’t uncommon for people to ask about the condition of their loved ones. But to see the Conqueror of Demons show such care for someone despite his reclusive nature. Curious indeed.

“Well then,” he continued, taking his pen and flicking open a notebook in front of him to a fresh page, “what symptoms have you’ve observed so far?”

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patient has been showing signs of increased clumsiness…

Xiao wasn’t a master at interpreting emotion, but he was adept at observing them. Any flicker of change in someone or something’s manner could be the difference between blocking a strike or being fatally injured. Not that being in mortal danger applied to this situation right now, but the skill was transferrable. Right now, Xiao was observing you from the balcony of his room at Wangshu Inn. You were assisting Verr Goldet with hanging some new decorations far below. The boss, however, had currently been pulled aside to help an elderly couple with directions.

He watched as you stood on a step ladder, hanging up a red colored ornament to one of the lantern poles that lined the deck of the inn. His keen senses spiked. The combination of you on your tippy toes, the unstable structure supporting you, and your focus being entirely on hanging the decoration instead of yourself did not have many positive outcomes. Instantly, Xiao went from being on the topmost floor to behind you. Traces of his teleportation manifested as green wisps of energy in the air.

You felt the ladder stabilize beneath your. Your heels fell back down as you stood properly.

“Thanks Goldet!” you called over your shoulder before turning around fully to ask, “Tell me, would the flower or butterfly one look better—”

The rest of your question caught in your throat. Verr Goldet was not there behind you. Rather, a certain teal haired protector who you had grown close to.

You were introduced to Xiao by Verr Goldet herself. She believed it would be good for you and him to meet. Being apart of the adventurer’s guild meant that you had interacted with many different individuals, and could share your knowledge of the mortal world.

As time passed, strangers would turn to acquaintances, then acquaintances would turn into friends. The label of which Xiao himself bestowed upon you on an ordinary afternoon. It made your heart both soar at the heartfelt admission and sink to hear such a definitive term. You always hoped there would be room for something more.

Xiao blinked up at you on the ladder. In a matter of seconds, he saw your eyes go wide with recognition, then your feet slipping against the ladder’s surface. Thankfully, he had reflexes as quick as an electro thunderstorm. You tumbled forward, straight into his arms.

“X-Xiao?!” you squeaked.

He didn’t let you go just yet. Instead, he tightened his hold on you, trying to let the shock of the fall pass over you.

“This ladder is too unbalanced,” he said. “You should be more careful.”

You could only nod. Your brain was more occupied with your proximity to Xiao. How you could see the different shades of amber in the irises of his eyes, and the shape of his lips.

Some part of your consciousness pinched itself, and you whipped your head away.

“I-I didn’t realize. That’s my mistake,” you answered with a sheepish chuckle.

He gave a short sigh before gently letting you stand. The places where his strong grip held you still tingled against your skin.

“Also… the flower one,” Xiao mumbled.

You cocked your head, thinking you had misheard him. “I’m sorry?”

Xiao folded his arms, nodding towards the lantern pole.

“You asked about the decorations. The flower one would… look nice.”

Never had such simple words caused a flutter in your stomach.

If that wasn’t enough, Xiao remained with you, lending a hand where he could. He didn’t want there to be an accident if he had left you alone. What he didn’t expect was that you seemed to be more clumsier as time continued. Unable to step on the ladder without your knees wobbling, tripping over the boxes of decorations, dropping the tools every time you went to hang a decoration up. Considerate as he was, Xiao climbed ladders, moved boxes, and hammered things in place for you without protest. Though, in the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but be concerned.

Verr Goldet returned to find the pair hard at work. She observed, amusingly, how obvious you were being about your feelings and how oblivious the other was in seeing them.

Ah, youth, she mused to herself.

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patient has been experiencing raised bodily temperature…

Telling Xiao not to worry was like telling the waters in Chenyu Vale not to flow. It was a simple law of nature; a force unable to be stopped.

“I’m feeling perfectly fine,” you emphasized for a second time.

You were seated on the small sofa in your living room. Beside you, Xiao also sat, straight-backed and gloved hands in his lap.

Xiao had come to your home to visit. Both out of curiosity as to how mortals lived in their own dwellings and curiosity about you. More specifically, why you had been so flushed recently. Whenever he saw you, he noticed the pink that spread from tips of your ears to apples of your cheeks.

“There are signs that show otherwise,” he stated, bluntly.

Ever since that time he helped you decorate the inn, Xiao had been much, much more attentive towards you. Eyes examining you up and down with little subtlety. Under such a gaze, how could you not become hot and bothered?

“I am not familiar with mortal health, but I have noticed you’ve grown more…” Xiao searched for the right descriptor in his head, “…redder, recently.”

Archons, does he know about it?! you thought to yourself with alarm. He turned towards you, and you stifled a yelp. There was no way in Celestia this was how he would find out.

“It may be due to some kind of illness.”

It took a moment for his words to register in your head. An… illness?

Sensing the confusion on your face, Xiao moved nearer until he was right by your side. He lifted a hand up to your forehead, an action he had observed many adults perform on children to assess their temperature. If he was correct in its function, then this should allow him to draw an appropriate conclusion.

Your body locked up.

He was so, so close once again.

“Even now,” the slight gravel of his tone reverberated in your ears, “your face is heating up. It is likely a fever.”

He pulled away. You exhaled a breath that you subconsciously held.

“I can take you to see Baizhu. He will know what to do.”

Xiao stood up, implying that he would take you there right now.

“No, no! There’s absolutely no need!” you protested.

The emphatic rejection made Xiao frown.

“I-it’s nothing that bedrest can’t fix.” you said, attempting to provide a convincing cover. “There’s no need to waste your teleportation powers to transport me.”

“It is no waste if it concerns your health,” he answered.

“You know what,” you shot up from the sofa, “I’ll go to my room right now to get some sleep!”

Xiao opened his mouth, prepared with his own protest. However, you were faster than him in continuing your sentence.

“You should go now, Xiao. I wouldn’t want you to catch whatever sickness I have.”

Though he appreciated your consideration, as an adeptus with a completely different constitution, he was certain mortal ailments would hardly affect him. However, he couldn't explain all that to you with how fast you marched away to your room, leaving him behind.

He saw your head poke out from behind the door of your bedroom.

“Thank you for visiting me!” you called out before shutting the door.

If Xiao knew this word, he would have used it to describe the exact emotion he was feeling at this moment: Flabbergasted.

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patient’s heartrate is frequently elevated…

Even after the fever incident, Xiao, to your relief, still wished to see you. You half expected him to be so bewildered by your actions that he would no longer want to be associated with you. So, you two returned to your ordinary routines of meeting with each other.

Xiao liked having your company in the evenings before he went out on patrol. As you sat on the edge of his bed, you would tell him about your week’s completed commissions. For Xiao, it served many purposes. Tactically, he could get insight any threats to Liyue that he couldn’t detect if you were involved in or overheard any significant commissions. In those first instances of meeting with you, Xiao would have said that that was the only purpose your stories held for him. But, with each passing night, Xiao realized he rather enjoyed hearing your voice. The cadence of your tone soothed him the same way notes played by a skilled musician captured an audience. He then found his lips curving into a hidden smile whenever you described a particularly frustrating encounter. Cheeks puffed in annoyance that drew a word from his vocabulary that he seldom used: cute.

Tonight, however, you appeared to be in no such mood for stories.

You were quiet, slowly flipping through pages of a novel as you read. It wasn’t strange for you to complete your own activity during this time, but Xiao had come to anticipate your conversation. His concerns about your health bubbled to the surface once again.

If he had focused more closely on you, he would have seen that your attention was far from the words on the page. Not looking at Xiao meant your heart could be less out on your sleeve and instead encased within muscle and bone where its supposed to be.

Xiao glanced back at you, eyes glued to the novel. He wouldn’t push it. Maybe this was the rest you were speaking about previously to help you recover.

He grabbed his shoulder armor from the bedside table, preparing to put it on himself using one hand as he had done hundreds of times before.

Two hands grasped the armor, lifting it from his own grasp.

“Let me help you.”

Your voice was delicate, almost hesitant as you reached out.

Xiao wordlessly accepted, sitting down on the bed to grant you easier access. You adjusted the spiked armor piece, making sure it laid flat and the black material beneath was secure around his shoulder.

Whilst you didn’t look up at him, he freely observed you. There was something beneath your avoidant gaze and bitten lower lip he couldn’t quite decipher. At the same time, there was something in his chest that stirred.

So unfamiliar with these new emotions you seemed to bring for him, Xiao could only think in somethings.

“Thank you,” he said. “You are very kind.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “It’s always easier to have someone else helping you out.”

Fitting the amour in place, you went to pull away. Suddenly, Xiao caught your wrist with his hand.

The breath escaped your lungs. You blinked rapidly, wondering if you were imagining all this in your head. Xiao brought two fingers to your wrist, applying light pressure onto your skin.

“Your pulse...” concern laced his voice as he spoke. “It is quite fast.”

How could he even sense such a thing!? You cleared your throat, trying to temper your shock.

“It’s always naturally this high,” you answered as light-hearted as possible.

“Mhm,” Xiao could only hum with mild suspicion.

Willing his jade spear to materialize, Xiao weighed it in his hand, readying for the night’s patrol.

“Look after yourself,” he said gently. “I’ll return tomorrow.”

With a nod and a lilt in your voice you replied, “I know. You always do.”

Xiao headed to the balcony. He did not turn around to face you, and therefore missed your tender gaze and your fingers brushing over your wrist where his gloved touch still lingered on your skin.

Disappearing into the night, Xiao made up his mind. He would go consult Baizhu about your condition and see what the course of action he should take. Surely the well practiced doctor could provide some necessary answers.

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During the first part of Xiao’s recounts, Baizhu had a pretty good guess about what was happening with you. By the halfway point, he wondered if he should even continue feigning writing patient notes.

Xiao finished relaying his information, hands now on his hips—expectantly. “What do you think is happening?”

Baizhu tapped his pen against the page of the notebook. It certainly is a very special type of sickness… he thought to himself. How would Xiao react if he told him he diagnosed you with 'lovesickness'?

“Will Y/N be okay?” Qiqi asked, tugging on Baizhu’s white coat. “I like Y/N. They always give warm hugs.”

The doctor gave a reassuring smile and patted Qiqi’s head. “Yes, they’ll be alright. I’ve made my assessment.”

Xiao prepared himself. If it was serious, he needed to know how to best help you. Comparatively, Baizhu appeared not the least bit troubled. Turning to the adeptus, he drummed his fingers against the table.

“Did you notice a particular trend in the occurrence of these symptoms?”

“A trend?” Xiao repeated, resting his chin on his hand.

Maybe it had to do with the weather? Or something you had eaten on those days?

“Yes, they all seem to happen when you’re there,” Baizhu answered seeing Xiao unable to come to a conclusion. “Being more clumsy, feeling hot, a fast beating heart, but only around a certain someone…”

Xiao’s brows raised. “Am I the cause of Y/N’s illness? Is my karmic debt responsible for this?”

Baizhu shook his head immediately. “No, no, Archons no! I can assure you that these symptoms have nothing to do with your karma.”

He sighed, trying to switch his words. “Rather, it’s more to do with your… character.”

“My character?” Exasperated confusion was permanently affixed to Xiao’s face. “This ambiguity you speak with is unhelpful.”

Baizhu had done some tough things as a doctor. But trying to subtly hint to a somewhat emotionally unaware individual that someone had a crush on him was certainly one of the hardest.

He paused a moment. Was it really his place to reveal this? Wouldn’t it be far better, and more meaningful, for you to tell him on your own?

“Some symptoms that people report are actually very normal parts of everyday living,” he said, adopting his most professional tone. "My recommendation is for you to ask Y/N how they’ve been feeling recently, and to tell them that it’s never healthy to keep things bottled up inside.”

Finally, some advice for Xiao to action.

“You think I should be more direct in my confrontation?” he asked.

“Yes, but not too much to arouse anxiety.”

Xiao nodded thoughtfully. He should have known that it didn’t have to be a physical illness—maybe your symptoms were a manifestation of stress or worry you were experiencing. Talking it out would be a good step. Even if he was not the most skilled at it, he would try anything to help you feel better.

“I will take your advice. Thank you, Baizhu.”

He bowed his head in thanks. Baizhu gave a hum of what sounded like satisfaction.

“Tell me how it all goes, Conqueror of Demons.”

Baizhu’s voice as he spoke was a little too singsong for Xiao’s taste. But, he was one of the best doctors in Liyue, so who was he to second guess his words?

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#odorawrites #xiao x reader #xiao x you #xiao x y/n #genshin xiao x reader #xiao genshin x reader #xiao fluff #genshin impact xiao #xiao genshin impact #genshin xiao #genshin impact #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin x y/n

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dante-mightdie · 5 months ago

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WAIT! you just said peaky blinders au right???? 🤭🤭🤭🤭

you know the scene john shelby gets married, like he doesnt know that he's getting married? if tommy told him, then he would have not even have considered that idea? but then ends up with the longest lasting marriage and the prettiest wife? MAKE IT SIMON I BEG MAKE IT SIMON

for reference: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z-a63i2nWz4&pp=ygUecGVha3kgYmxpbmRlcnMgZ2V0dGluZyBtYXJyaWVk

love your writing xoxo <3

yes yes yes yes yes to all of it

when he finally realises what he’s there for, who’s wedding he’s dressed up for? he kicks off big time. yelling, cussing, calling john every name under the sun for betrothing simon away without even consulting him. he doesn’t want to get married. he’s a guard dog, a mutt. his rough tongue peels the meat from bones, not taste the gentle skin of a wife

and yet here he stands, lifting the veil of who he now knows as the most beautiful woman in the world. his head turning to look at john, soap and kyle with a wolfish smirk. your nervous eyes looking up at him, pouted lips reading out the vows you prepared for him. how sweet, but he’ll have to make up for his lack of sweet words tonight when he takes his new bride to bed

but the insinuation that you needed to be married because you were becoming to ‘wild’ for your family to handle and john knows simon could wrangle you no problem. except he has no intention of doing so, using his dirty money to buy you a lovely home on the edges of the city. he’ll do the long journey into centre everyday, no problem. as long as your happy

bejewelled dresses, lavish jewellery. plush sheets and soft pillows. sweet wines and tender meat. anything to keep you happy

#simon riley x reader #simon riley #peakyblinders!au

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idkyetxoxo · 9 days ago

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Four | Silky Lies | Shadow and Flame

Pairing - Azriel x reader

Word count - 2.5k

Warnings - Angst, pregnancy anxiety

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"You're hiding something."

The words slipped from Eris's mouth so casually that, for a moment, I thought I'd imagined them until I choked on the watermelon I'd just bitten into. I spluttered, coughing around the sweetness, eyes watering as I forced it down.

Eris only arched a brow, gaze far too sharp for this early in the morning.

We were having breakfast together, a rare event, and a strangely peaceful one. Morning sunlight filtered through the wide glass windows, warming the dark wood of the table. A quiet breeze stirred the silk curtains. It should have been serene.

It was, until he opened his damned mouth.

The nausea had lessened over the past week, now that I'd crossed into my third month.

Still, maintaining the glamour had become its own kind of exhaustion, one I could barely afford to slip.

I was due to visit Criva later today to consult on another tincture, but I was running out of time. And apparently, luck.

"What exactly am I hiding?" I asked, setting my fork down with calculated calm. I leaned back in my chair, aiming for indifference.

Eris tilted his head, studying me with that same wolfish curiosity he used on adversaries across war tables.

"That's the problem," he said, swirling his tea. "I don't know. But lately you've been—off. Secretive. Irritable. More than usual."

I gave him a look. "Says the male who throws tantrums like it's part of his morning routine."

He snorted, but the humour didn't quite reach his eyes. "You've been snapping at everyone. You sleep more. You disappear without explanation. And you're drinking juice instead of wine, which is frankly the most disturbing part of all this."

I rolled my eyes and raised my glass in mock salute before taking a sip of the carrot-orange blend that Criva insisted would "nurture vitality." Whatever that meant.

The juice was sweet, grounding, until, abruptly, it wasn't.

A hot wave of nausea rolled through me, and I barely managed to clap a hand over my mouth before the gag slipped free.

Eris sat bolt upright, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. "What the—?"

I didn't make it far. Before I could even stand, I doubled over, vomiting violently onto the floor beside me. The sharp stench hit instantly, and humiliation bloomed hot in my chest.

So much for improving nausea, right?

Criva was already waiting by the time I arrived, always early, always composed, the very picture of patience in her long moss-colored robes.

The scent of dried herbs clung to the air, sharp and grounding, and the faint clatter of glass vials echoed softly in the stone-walled space.

The moment the door shut behind me, I let the glamour fall. My breath left me in a quiet whoosh as the illusion collapsed, revealing the faint curve of my belly, the tired pallor of my skin.

I rolled my shoulders and twisted my neck, the ache of it constant now.

Criva smiled gently, though something flickered behind her eyes. "You're glowing," she said, her voice warm but cautious.

I gave her a flat look. "I look like I've been awake for a week straight."

"You still glow," she said, her tone mildly reproachful, as if stubborn exhaustion were somehow charming.

She motioned for me to sit and I gratefully obeyed, sinking into the worn cushions of the low-backed chair.

"You need to eat more," she added, not unkindly, her long fingers lightly pressing against my abdomen through the fabric of my dress.

"I am trying," I sighed. "But everything that goes in seems determined to come right back out."

Criva frowned, clicking her tongue softly. "You should be gaining weight—not losing it."

"I didn't exactly ask for this," I muttered. "I'm juggling court politics, dodging my father's ever-watchful eye, and doing everything short of running to keep my existence tolerable. And now—this."

My voice cracked, and before I could say more, Criva's hand shot out and covered my mouth with surprising swiftness.

"Breathe," she murmured, lowering her hand gently after a beat. "You're strung so tight I can feel it from across the room."

I inhaled, sharp and shallow, and forced myself to let it out slowly.

"What have you learned?" I asked, watching as she moved to the workbench, sorting through vials and powders. Her hands stilled for a fraction of a second, barely noticeable, but I caught it.

Something was wrong.

"To put it simply," she said at last, not meeting my gaze, "the pregnancy may be more dangerous than we anticipated."

I went still. The words settled like a stone in my stomach. My pulse ticked up, fast, shallow beats.

I dropped a hand to my bump, brushing over the delicate rise of it, still barely visible beneath the folds of my dress.

Criva finally looked at me. Her burnt-orange eyes were steady, but kind. "The child is... Illyrian. Half, yes—but that part matters more than I'd hoped. The wings—"

"Are wings a bad thing?" I asked, my voice quiet, brittle.

She sighed and crossed the room, sitting opposite me, her hands clasped in her lap.

"It's not only the wings themselves. It's what they represent—structurally. Illyrian infants have different bone formation. Your body isn't built to accommodate that kind of development. Not without... complications."

I stared at her. I could hear her. I could understand the words she was saying.

But the fear came slowly, quietly. Not in a rush of panic, not yet. Just a sense of something fraying at the edge of control.

"I'm not saying it can't be done," she added quickly, placing a warm hand over my knee. "Only that we're moving into uncharted territory. We'll need more care. More strategy. There's more I have to learn, and I will find solutions. But I need you to understand the stakes."

Stakes. As if I hadn't been balancing on a knife's edge since the moment I first picked up the scent.

My fingers curled around the fabric of my dress. I didn't trust my voice.

"Don't panic," Criva said softly, as if reading my mind. "You've already come this far. That means something."

But I saw the flicker in her gaze again. The way her fingers tightened on mine. She wasn't panicking. But she was worried.

And now, so was I.

Back in my chambers, the cold greeted me like an old enemy, sharp against my skin and biting at my bones.

I didn't hesitate, just flicked my fingers toward the fireplace. Flame bloomed instantly, leaping to life from the wood with practised ease. The firelight bathed the room in warmth, flickering against the walls, casting long shadows that danced like ghosts.

Then I cursed under my breath. I was supposed to avoid my magic.

I sighed, more tired than scolding, and peeled myself out of my heavy coat. The dress came next, slipping off my shoulders in a whisper of fabric until I stood in nothing.

Donning on a silk robe I padded across the room barefoot, the floor cool beneath my toes, and paused as I passed the full-length mirror.

My reflection stopped me cold.

I glanced over my shoulder at the closed door and slowly let the glamour drop. It peeled away from my skin like a second, false layer of myself, until what remained was the truth.

The scent hit me first. His scent. Faint, but there, embedded in me now, whether I wanted it or not.

I untied the sash of my robe and let it fall open, baring the slight, soft curve of my belly to the room. It wasn't much. Not obvious. Not yet. But it was there. Real. Tangible.

I stared.

Then, without thinking I pressed my fingers lightly against the skin, tracing the smallest arc of that curve.

"Hi, baby," I whispered. The words felt strange on my tongue. Foreign.

Was that weird? Talking to something that couldn't answer? I'd never done it before. I didn't even know why I was doing it now.

"I guess I'm your mother," I murmured. "Not I guess—I am. Gods, that sounds insane."

I let out a soft laugh. Nervous. Disbelieving.

"This feels weird," I admitted, stroking once more across the bump. "But I just wanted to—"

The door slammed open.

I yelped, wrenching the glamour back into place in a split second, the robe cinched shut with shaking fingers as I turned, fury sparking through me like lightning.

"What is wrong with you?" I snapped, half-breathless, stumbling toward the intruder.

Azriel stood in the doorway, calm as anything, shadows curling lazily around his shoulders. But his eyes, they were already assessing. Scanning. Reading too much.

"Do you not knock?" I hissed, clutching the robe tighter. My heart thundered in my chest.

Had he seen? Heard? Smelled?

"What were you doing?" he asked slowly, his gaze narrowing as he studied me. His shadows slithered forward, brushing against my ankle like smoke.

I could've screamed.

"You don't get to barge into my room and interrogate me," I snapped, backing up toward the dresser. "What are you doing in Autumn? Why are you even in my room?"

He leaned a shoulder against the bedpost, too casual for my liking. Too observant.

"Rhys and I have business with your father," he said simply. "We're staying for a while."

My blood ran cold.

"So you just thought you'd stop by?" I shot back. "What—see if I'd fall into bed with you again like nothing happened? Are you truly that reckless?"

"If I was reckless," he said quietly, "someone would know I'm in here."

I turned away, unable to meet that gaze. I grabbed my brush off the dresser and began dragging it through my hair with more force than necessary.

"Azriel," I said, voice low, steely, "we are done. I told you that already."

He didn't move. Didn't speak. I don't think he even breathed.

"I don't know what you expected to happen when you walked in here," I continued, brushing through the same spot over and over again, "but whatever it is—forget it. It's not happening."

My hands were trembling. The silence grew heavy. Suffocating. Like it had weight and shape and teeth.

Azriel still hadn't moved. His shadows stirred faintly, as if even they were hesitant, unsure whether to linger or retreat.

Then, finally, he spoke, his voice low and a little rough.

"At least give me a reason."

I froze mid-brush stroke.

The question was simple. Too simple. And yet it undid something in my spine. I straightened, slowly, turned to face him. My expression was ice when I spoke.

"No."

That single word, sharp as broken glass, landed like a slap between us.

He scoffed, his jaw tightening, and rolled his eyes like he was trying to act like none of this mattered.

The brush in my hand trembled. I clenched my teeth to keep it still.

"Don't tell me you're in love with me or something," I sneered, arms crossing tightly over my chest. "Because I really don't think I can stomach hearing that from you."

Something flickered in his eyes then, just for a heartbeat. Pain. Real and raw.

But he swallowed it down like poison, like he'd been practising. His voice when it came was flat, too neutral.

"Of course not."

But the words rang hollow. Like a cracked bell. Like a lie neither of us could name.

And still, they hit me like a blade to the chest. My breath hitched. Just slightly. But enough.

My hand dropped to my stomach, unthinking, instinctual, as if the child growing inside me could shield me from what his words had just shattered.

A quiet beat passed. Long enough for him to see where my hand landed. Long enough for the shadows to twitch.

"Perfect," I bit out, voice shaking now, not with fear but fury I couldn't direct anywhere safe. "So leave me the fuck alone."

His eyes dipped once to where my hand curled over my stomach. Then back to my face.

He didn't ask. Didn't speak. Just studied me like he already knew something was breaking. Something he didn't understand. Something I wouldn't let him close enough to see.

When he finally turned to go, his wings rustled softly in the still air. No goodbye. No parting words. The door clicked shut behind him.

Only then did I let my knees buckle. Only then did I let myself breathe again.

Dinner was agony.

Of course, my father had insisted Rhysand and Azriel dine with him. A show of civility. A performance for power. As if forcing the High Lord of Night to eat his food somehow made him the bigger male.

And of course, Eris and I were dragged along like accessories—furnishings for the table.

I wore a deep red gown that clung to my body in elegant waves, every inch the portrait of Autumn's perfect daughter. My hair was slicked back, twisted into a crown of braids.

Composed. Controlled. Regal.

But inside, I was wildfire.

I sat across from Azriel. I didn't dare look at him, not properly. Not after the way he'd left my room. Not with the phantom weight of my hand still tingling against my stomach.

The wine beside my plate glinted like a taunt. I hadn't so much as touched it. Gods, even the scent made my stomach churn. I clutched my water glass too tightly, knuckles white, willing myself to look bored. Normal.

Then my name was called, sharp enough to slice through the haze in my mind.

"Sorry?" I blinked, looking up. I didn't even know who had spoken.

Beron's jaw twitched, the muscle feathering as he narrowed his eyes at me. "Rhysand asked how the marriage prospects are looking."

I blinked again. "He what?"

"I was informing him of a potential match. Kallias's younger brother. A noble union between Autumn and Winter" he boasted.

I froze. The glass in my hand slipped slightly. I caught it—barely.

Marriage?

My throat constricted, my heart slamming against my ribs.

Across the table, Eris looked like he'd been slapped but only for a flicker. He schooled his expression so quickly no one else would have noticed. I knew him well enough to see the shift.

He hadn't known. If he had, he would have warned me.

I dared a glance at Azriel.

He was already looking at me. No, through me. His hazel eyes sharp with something that looked suspiciously like rage. His scarred fingers had gone white-knuckled around his fork, the metal groaning softly beneath the pressure.

I dropped my gaze.

"Yes," I choked out, forcing a smile, "Kallias's brother...uh—"

"Kain," Eris supplied smoothly, slicing in with calm authority. "It's still in early discussions. Far too soon for formal consideration."

Beron's eyes snapped to him and I knew Eris would suffer for that interruption later. But it was enough. The topic shifted. Barely.

My heart hadn't stopped pounding. Azriel still hadn't looked away.

I couldn't do this. I couldn't sit at this table, dressed in red silk and lies, pretending I wasn't drowning beneath the weight of everything.

Pretending I wasn't three months pregnant with the child of the male sitting across from me while my father bartered my womb to strengthen his court.

I could run. I should run.

Day. Dawn. Maybe even the human lands. Helion had always taken an interest in me, he might hide me. Or Thesan. They valued compassion.

But the thought of my father's wrath was a noose tightening around my throat. Beron would raze everything in his path to find me. And if he found out about the child—

I swallowed hard, suddenly cold all over. I couldn't afford a misstep. I couldn't afford weakness.

And Eris... for all his flaws, for all the danger stitched into his every breath... was the only one who might protect me. Who might keep this secret. Who might... care.

I shifted slightly, pressing my palm to my stomach beneath the table. The bump wasn't showing through the gown but I knew.

I felt it.

A/n - So we've established baby has wings, this is set before Nyx so both reader and Criva have limited knowledge. They know it's risky, but not howrisky exactly.

And then we've got reader about to have a little moment with baby for the first time only for Az to barge in, not fully understanding but unable to stay away. Poor, stubborn Az :(

Beron dropping a bomb out of nowhere asw—clearly a lot goes down in this part and I wish I could say things settle in the next one... but they absolutely do not. Buckle up xx

Thank you for reading, I hope you're enjoying so far <33

I really want to start posting this every other day instead of every third day because i'm having sm fun with all the feedback on all my platforms but I don't want to overwhelm or annoy anyone :/

Shadow and Flame tag list - @coffeebooksrain18 @jaybbygrl @slut4acotar @justtryingtosurvive02 @mortqlprojections @sheblogs @moonlitlavenders @windblownwinston @queenoffeysand @tothestarsandwhateverend @saamanthaag3 @metaphysicaldoom @natalijassav @bookishbishhh @yourenothingbutnottome @holb32 @etsukomoonbeam @fxckmiup @i-am-infinite @megwan @cuethedepession @rinalsworld @whoreforfictionalmen18 @asahinasstuff

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lovemebutleavemewild · 1 year ago

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John Price goes into security consulting when he retires from the armed forces and ends up working for your company.

On long nights working late, you've made a habit of sneaking out the escape door for a smoke. You learned a long time ago how to deactivate the alarm for the few minutes you need to get your nicotine fix.

The first time he catches you at it, he almost gives you a heart attack, emerging from around the corner in the dark, scowling and folding his arms.

And when he tells you off - because that's what it is, he's completely talking down to you - it immediately gets your back up.

So you keep doing it, just to piss him off. Almost want him to report you so you know you've gotten under his skin, so you know you've won.

On the third night in a week that he catches you at it, he stalks towards you. You watch him cooly, staying calm until he gets up in your face and snatches the cigarette from between your fingers.

"What is your problem?"

He cuts you off, grabbing your arm and spinning you around, pushing your face into the wall.

"My problem?" he growls in your ear. "My problem right now is you, you little brat."

And then he pulls you over to a bench by the wall, dragging you over his lap.

"You," he says, yanking your knee-length skirt up over your waist, "are going to learn to follow the rules, if it kills me."

You fight him viciously for the first few spanks to your bare ass, almost but not quite, bucking him off.

But after a while, you start to feel your lower stomach soften. He notices as soon as you relax into him.

"That's right, darlin'. Know you deserve this for being such a fuckin' bad girl, don'tcha? Been wreckin' my head all week."

He spreads the spanks over your ass and thighs, jolting you further into his knees every time. And even when he stops, your hips keep jutting forward of their own accord, grinding into him.

John reaches down to slip a finger, then two, inside you, and you moan.

"Not so bad doing what you're told is it?" he asks you, pulling out just to rub circles into your clit.

Leans over you as he pushes you over the edge.

"Pretty girl," he croons. "Smile for the security cameras - me and the boys are gonna be watching this 'lil movie for a while."

#call of duty #cod smut #cod #john price x reader #captain john price #john price #captain john price x reader #john price x you #captain john price x you #john price smut #captain john price smut #my drabbles

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certaimromance · 6 months ago

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𝜗𝜚 The Girl Next Door.

Spencer Reid x Neighbor!reader

next chapter | series mastelist | main masterlist

Summary: If Spencer thought being secretly in love with you was hard, having to avoid you in the hallway was even worse.

Words: 4,8k.

Warnings & Tags: this is part of a series, check the masterlist to make sure you are in the correct chapter. mention of jail. painter!reader. post prison reid. lack of communication. the reader has a cat. angst, so much angst. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: I struggled a lot writing this because it's a roller coaster, so sorry in advance.

“How long? It's not a problem to take care of everything, but I'd like to know if you'll be okay or—” Your voice almost cracked for a moment, your eyes still trying to adjust to the sunlight streaming in through the bedroom window. Spencer's sheets were still wrapped around your body, and you felt so connected to them that the thought of getting up while still watching him toss and turn looking for his shoes was too much.

“I don't think more than a day or two, I'll be fine.” He stopped his chaotic steps for a second and stared at you as if to make a promise. He paused, glancing away as if to compose himself before adding, “I have some work in Mexico. It came up last minute, or I’d have told you earlier.” His voice faltered, almost imperceptibly, and the words sounded rehearsed, like he was repeating something he’d practiced.

You frowned slightly, confusion flickering across your face. “Work in Mexico?” you echoed. “Since when do they send you out of the country for cases?”

“It’s not that kind of work,” he said quickly, his tone just a little too smooth, a little too practiced. “It’s…consulting. A conference on forensic advancements, some behavioral workshops, things like that.” He kept his gaze on the floor as he spoke, as if afraid to meet your eyes. “I won’t be gone long.”

You didn’t question him further. Why would you? Spencer wasn’t the type to lie, and the way his brows knit together, the way his voice softened with the promise, “I’ll be back soon,” made you believe him. But something about the way he shifted his weight, the way he avoided looking directly at you, left a faint unease in your chest.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t have dinner with you yesterday. And breakfast now. I’ll make it up to you when I get back,” he added, his words tumbling out in a rush, as if trying to fill the silence.

You tightened the sheets around yourself, curling into their warmth, feeling the lingering heat from the side of the bed where he had been only moments before. It felt like he had never really left, the space around you still filled with the faint echo of his presence. Watching him now, his movements a little frantic, his gaze flickering toward the clock every so often, made you feel like he was slipping away too quickly. A part of you, small and selfish, wanted to ask him to stay. To sit back down, to let the world and his trip wait just a little longer.

But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you whispered, barely above a breath, as if afraid to disturb the fragile moment, “Promise?”

Spencer’s gaze softened even further, a tenderness washing over his features as he moved closer to you. His lips curled into a faint smile, one that didn’t quite touch his eyes but was filled with something that made your chest tighten. “Promise,” he replied, his voice firm but gentle, as though sealing a pact between the two of you. He leaned down, his warm breath brushing your forehead before his lips followed, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against your skin. The kiss was tender, quiet, and almost reluctant, as though he didn’t want to pull away from this moment either. For a moment, his forehead rested against yours, the space between you vanishing entirely. It felt like the world had narrowed to just this, just the two of you, and all the invisible lines you had drawn between friendship and something more blurred into nothing.

But before you could do something stupid, he pulled back, with his eyes lingering on you, still filled with a softness that made your heart flutter. “Have you seen my shoe?” he asked, his voice playful yet tinged with the usual frustration of his misplaced belongings.

You let out a small laugh, still wrapped in the sheets, the warmth from them mingling with the warmth of the moment. “Oh, you’re a mess, little boy,” you teased, your voice light and affectionate, the fondness for him slipping out in every word.

“Mittens take it again?” Spencer asked, his eyes glinting with playful exasperation. He had grown accustomed to your cat’s antics, and he could hardly be surprised at this point.

You nodded, grinning as you pointed to the underside of the bed. “Ding ding, genius,” you replied, your voice light and teasing as his gaze followed your finger. Sure enough, there it was, tucked under the bed, another casualty of your mischievous cat’s nightly adventures.

He grumbled good-naturedly, but a soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips, as if the chaos of the morning didn't matter when you were here with him and everything felt so domestic. As he bent down to pick up his shoe, you couldn't help but watch, your heart swelling at the sight of the man you were so in love with, even in his messiest moments. There was something about him, something in that moment, that made him feel so good, as if everything else could wait and the obvious fact that he didn't feel the same way about you didn't matter. Anyone outside the room generally didn't matter. For now, it was just the two of you, tangled in sheets and laughter, clinging to a piece of time that was all yours and would be the only thing you'd have left when he was gone.

“She loves you, that’s why she does it…I guess she wants your attention,” you said, your voice trailing off, and the taste of the words felt sour in your mouth. It sounded too much like you were talking about yourself rather than your pet, and the realization hit you like a cold wave. It made your chest tighten in a way you couldn’t explain, and you immediately wished you could take the words back. But you didn’t.

He glanced at you, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. “I read something about that,” he said, his voice light, but you could tell he didn’t entirely understand the weight behind your words. It didn’t matter. You were used to it by now.

“You read about everything.” You gave him a small, rueful smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes, the bitterness of the moment creeping into your voice. You were fine with it, you told yourself. Fine with everything.

He glanced at the clock, a quiet sigh escaping him. “I have to go…it’s late,” he said, and you could hear the quiet resignation in his voice. The moment, it seemed, had reached its inevitable end.

“Okay.” The word slipped out of your mouth more dryly than you intended, and you hated the way it sounded. You didn’t want him to leave. You didn’t want the moment to end. But it was already slipping away, and you knew it. “But before you go…come here.”

He hesitated, looking at you with uncertainty in his eyes. But then, slowly, he took a step toward you, his face softening when you reached out to touch his cheek. The moment your fingers brushed against his skin, he shivered, and your heart skipped a beat at the contact.

“Is…is something wrong?” he asked, his voice softer now, as if sensing the shift between you.

“No, I just want to say goodbye properly.” You shifted closer, your heart hammering as you moved toward him, your lips hovering near his. The temptation to close the distance, to kiss him, burned inside you. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

“Take care and come back,” you whispered, the words carrying more weight than you meant. You kissed his forehead gently, your fingers instinctively smoothing his hair down as you did. “Now it’s like you have my blessing,” you added with a faint smile.

He smiled at you, the warmth in his expression a bittersweet thing that made your heart ache. “Thank you, and good luck tomorrow with my godchildren’s.” His voice was soft, but the moment was already passing, slipping away, and with it, the space between you both. He gathered his things, gave you one last lingering look, and then turned toward the door.

You stood there, watching him go, the weight of what you didn’t say crashing down on you. The door clicked shut behind him, and you felt a hollow ache in your chest, a longing you couldn’t quite name.

God, you really wanted kissed him.

God, he really wanted you kissed him.

When Spencer opened his eyes for the first time in a cell and felt a sickening jolt of disorientation. The dirty walls and a rickety bench stared back at him, mocking the comforting image of his organized room and, more painfully, the thought of you. The absence of your laughter, your touch, your presence, everything that had once grounded him, hit him like a freight train. He knew something was wrong.

As the days blurred together and the evidence piled against him, he clung to the belief that this nightmare wasn’t real. Every hearing, every damning piece of evidence that chipped away at his freedom, felt surreal. Even when the judge handed down his sentence, condemning him to months behind bars, the finality of it didn’t register. What shattered him was the moment he filled out his visitation schedule and consciously omitted your name. He hadn’t wanted you to see him like that. He didn’t ask anyone to explain, didn’t try to soften the blow of his absence. That, he thought, was the point of no return, the moment he lost everything.

But Spencer was so wrong. The true breaking point came when he walked out of that hellhole, finally free, and climbed the stairs to his apartment. Each step was a physical ache, the pain in his chest sharper and heavier with every step. His hands trembled as he reached for his keys, the jangling sound unnervingly loud in the empty hallway. His gaze fell on your door, just a few steps away. The familiar sight sent his stomach into knots.

For the first time, he wished you wouldn’t be there.

The thought was alien, unnatural. You had always been there, and he had always wanted you there. When he was too drained to cook, you’d suggest their usual coffee spot, your smile lighting up the grayest of mornings. When his back ached from long nights bent over case files, you’d massage his shoulders, insisting scented candles could fix his bad posture and his bad days. When his mother’s health took a downturn, and he felt his world crumbling, you’d hold him, stroke his back, and promise that everything would be okay. And when his social battery was drained at reunions, you’d step in with your bad jokes or your art facts, making the world feel manageable again.

Now, standing in front of his own door, his fingers clumsy with the lock, all he could hope for was silence. He didn’t know how to face you, didn’t know if he could explain the broken pieces of himself.

His door creaked open, and he was greeted by the familiar scent of the home he had only dreamed of for the last while. It was overwhelming: clean clothes, slightly sweet candles, and something undeniably yours. The apartment was exactly as he remembered it, as if time had stopped the moment he left three months ago and never returned until now. His heart shrank as he took it all in: the blanket you insisted on leaving on the couch, the pile of books you always meant to return to his library but never did, his fish swimming around as if nothing had happened, and even the plants by the window, thriving despite his absence because you had surely watered them without fail.

And then there were the little details, things that told him that you had not moved away from this place, from him. The plate you always left for his cup of coffee, the one you gave him last Christmas, was still on the counter. His favorite cardigan, the one he thought he had misplaced, was folded neatly on the back of the chair and smelled of the baby softener you liked to use. His books were exactly where he had left them, although one of them had a bookmark you had made, a telltale sign that he had read it and was waiting for him to come back to comment on it, as you always did.

But he hadn’t returned.

Not then. And maybe not now at all.

Suddenly, the phone in his pocket rang, its shrill tone slicing through the heavy silence like a sharp reminder of reality. The vibration against his skin startled him, his body tensing as he pulled the device out. His gaze flickered down to the screen, and the name that appeared caused a knot to form in his stomach: JJ. His thumb hovered over the screen, his mind racing, unsure if he was ready for the conversation he knew would follow. But deep down, he knew there was no avoiding her. Jennifer wouldn’t let him slip away unnoticed, and if he didn’t answer, she might show up at his door, demanding answers he wasn’t sure he had.

With a resigned sigh, he swiped the screen and lifted the phone to his ear. “Is everything okay?”

The concern in his own voice surprised him. Maybe it was instinct, or maybe he was just desperate to shift the focus away from himself.

“Everything’s fine,” JJ replied, her voice steady but laced with something deeper. “I just wanted to check in. You’ve been…quiet.”

He exhaled slowly, staring out the window, the city lights stretching before him and the memories cutting deep. “Yeah,” he said, his voice low. “Just trying to catch up on things. All good here.”

“Okay,” she said softly, and there was a pause, a hesitation that made his pulse quicken. He could almost hear her thinking, weighing her next words. Then she cleared her throat, the sound small but deliberate. “Have you seen…her?”

The question hit him like a physical blow, stealing the air from his lungs. He turned away from the window abruptly, pacing the length of the apartment as if motion could somehow ease the tension coiling tighter and tighter in his chest. “No,” he said quickly, too quickly. His jaw clenched, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “I don’t know if I want to.”

The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, and he wasn’t sure if he believed it himself. How could he say that when every thought of you still made his heart ache? When the idea of you haunted him, so vivid and constant it felt like you were in every shadow of his empty apartment?

Jennifer’s sigh crackled over the line, heavy and filled with the weight of unspoken truths. “She’s been asking about you,” she said softly, her voice tinged with that unshakable sadness she tried so hard to hide. “Every time I see her. I think…” She hesitated again, and Spencer could hear her swallow hard, choosing her next words carefully. “I think you owe her an explanation.”

He swallowed saliva and tightened his fingers around the phone. JJ was right, of course. She always had been. But the idea of facing you, of trying to explain everything without drowning in tears, seemed impossible. How could he tell you the truth? How could he look you in the eye and admit that he had spent the last three months in jail, paying for a crime he had not committed? That he had done things that he deeply regretted, that made him sick and a horrible person?

You deserved better. You always had.

You were a blessing to anyone who had you around, and he knew that better than anyone. That's why he recommended you as a babysitter for JJ's kids, that's why he insisted that you come out to the bar with him and the team several times, that's why he told his mother about you, and that's why he gave you unlimited access to every single part of his life and told you things he'd never told anyone else. You were the one he thought of during those long, sleepless nights behind bars when JJ brought drawings from her boys. He imagined you there with them, sitting cross-legged on the floor, helping Henry with his homework or letting Michael pile blocks on your lap. It was silly, and heartbreaking, but the thought of you, of your warmth and your kindness, had kept him going.

“I have to go…clean some things,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, so desperate to run away from the topic.

“Okay,” JJ replied softly, her voice tinged with sadness. “Tell me if you need anything.”

Before Spencer could find the strength to speak, the line fell silent. The hum of the apartment filled the space around him, oppressive in its quiet, and he stood there, phone still clenched in his hand. The weight of it, the weight of everything, settled deeper into his chest, making it hard to breathe. He stared at the counter as if it could offer him some sort of escape from the quiet agony that had overtaken him. With a long exhale, he dropped the phone, his fingers lingering on it for a second longer than necessary, before pulling away with a heavy sense of finality.

Just as he was about to move, his mind already drowning in the whirlpool of thoughts he was so desperate to escape, a soft, muted thud broke the oppressive stillness of the apartment. The noise was faint, almost imperceptible, but in the suffocating quiet, it reverberated like a crack of thunder. His breath caught, his heart skipping a beat as his body went rigid. Slowly, he turned his head toward the source of the sound, his eyes locking onto the open balcony door.

A sleek black shape emerged from the shadows, moving with a practiced elegance that seemed almost ethereal in the dim light. Mittens.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice breaking on the single syllable, hoarse and unsteady as if even addressing his might shatter the fragile thread of control he was clinging to.

The cat paused for a moment, her head tilting slightly as if considering him, her eyes gleaming in the dim light. Then, without a second thought, she padded over, her steps confident and unhurried, the soft click of her claws against the floor the only sound in the room. She jumped lightly onto the couch, then onto the small table beside him, her movements fluid and practiced. As she reached him, Mittens sniffed his hand delicately, then nuzzled it gently, her warm, soft fur brushing against his fingertips. The familiar rumble of her purring filled the air, a soothing, almost hypnotic sound that cut through the tension and wrapped around him like a blanket.

Spencer let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “I didn’t think I’d see you again,” he whispered, his voice barely audible in the quiet of the apartment. He hesitated, his fingers brushing the soft fur of her head, unable to stop himself from reaching out.

Mittens leaned into his touch, her purr intensifying as her little body pressed against his hand, seeking warmth, some affection. She didn't care about the months she hadn't seen him or just heard his name spoken a thousand times by you. To her, he was still Spencer, the same one who had fed her, played with her, and cared for her whenever he could. That was enough. She was very happy.

“You still remember me,” he murmured, a faint, fragile smile tugging at the corners of his lips. It was the first time he’d smiled in what felt like an eternity.

The cat blinked up at him, her green eyes half-lidded with contentment, as if to say, Of course I do.

For a long moment, he just stood there, his hand resting on her soft fur, letting her purring fill the empty spaces inside him. It was such a small thing, her presence, but it reminded him of you, of the life he’d left behind, and the warmth he hadn’t realized he’d needed so desperately until now.

But the calm didn’t last, and Spencer’s heart nearly stopped when he heard a soft knock on the door. His gaze snapped up from the cat, who was now lazily sprawled across the arm of the couch, her purring uninterrupted. The knock came again, this time paired with a voice that sent a jolt through his chest.

“Mittens?”

The voice was muffled through the door, but he knew it instantly. It was you.

Another knock followed, gentle but insistent. “Are you here, baby?”

He froze, every muscle in his body tightening as he registered the sound of your voice. You were here, in his apartment—or at least on the threshold of it. The thought was both thrilling and terrifying. He wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t ready to see you again.

The cat, oblivious to the tension that suddenly filled the room, stretched lazily before hopping down from the couch. Her tail flicked behind her as she padded toward the door, her movements casual, as if she belonged here. Her eyes were fixed on you as you stepped through the open door, your figure partially silhouetted by the light from the outside.

“There you are,” you said softly, your voice brimming with relief. The warmth in your tone hit him like a physical blow, and he had to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek to stifle the sound threatening to escape.

You crouched down to scoop the cat into your arms, your movements gentle and practiced. “You scared me,” you murmured, cradling her against your chest. Your voice softened, carrying that familiar tenderness he’d missed so desperately. “You’ve been running off so much lately.”

Spencer pressed himself against the shadowed wall, willing himself to disappear. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t even look at you for fear his body might betray him. The apartment was dark enough to hide him, but he knew the signs of his presence were everywhere. His phone abandoned on the counter, the faint indentation on the couch, the way the air seemed to shift with the weight of him being there.

You didn’t notice. Your focus was entirely on Mittens as you stroked her soft fur, your touch so gentle it made Spencer ache. “I know you miss him,” you murmured, the words falling from your lips so quietly they almost didn’t reach him. “I do too.”

The confession tore through him like a blade, sharp and unrelenting. His chest tightened, and he bit down hard on his lip, tasting the faint metallic tang of blood. Tears burned in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall.

You lingered for a moment, your gaze sweeping over the apartment as if you could feel his presence, even if you didn’t see him. Then, with a soft sigh, you turned back toward the door.

“Let’s go home, baby,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of Mittens’ head before stepping into the night.

The door closed with a quiet click, and Spencer was left alone once more. His knees buckled, and he sank onto the couch, his hand trembling as it pressed against his face. The silence was deafening, a hollow, aching void that swallowed him whole.

Maybe it was for the best. Maybe fate didn’t want you to see him again…at least, not yet.

But then, the next morning, it happened.

You were returning to your apartment, groceries in hand, when you saw him.

He was standing at the end of the hallway with his back to you, as if he was leaving his apartment. As soon as you saw him, your heart skipped a beat and all your rational thoughts vanished. It seemed like an eternity since you had seen him, even though it had only been a few months. Your first instinct was to run to him, throw yourself into his arms, and demand an explanation, but something about his posture made you hesitate. He was stiff, distant, almost sad. His usual warmth was nowhere to be seen. And yet there was something different about him: his long hair, now a bit wilder and more unruly, framed his face in a way you had never seen before. Some curls fell over his eyes, and his beard had grown thicker and darker. The change in his appearance was shocking.

Without thinking, you dropped your groceries at your door and hurried toward him. “Spencer!” you called, your voice trembling with a rush of emotions you had bottled up for months.

He turned slowly, and for a split second, his eyes locked with yours. There was something in his gaze, a flicker of recognition, maybe guilt, but it quickly faded, replaced by a cool distance you had never seen in him before, at least not with you. Before you could stop yourself, you reached out and pulled him into a tight hug. It was instinct, more than anything, to wrap your arms around him like you always used to do. The warmth of his body felt like home, like everything you had missed was right there in your arms. You held on tightly, breathing him in as if this would somehow make up for the absence. You’d been so lonely without him, and this, just holding him again, felt like it would fix everything that has been wrong lately.

But to your surprise, Spencer didn’t move an inch. This time his body was rigid, unyielding, as if he didn’t feel you or want you around. He did not return your hug. He didn’t even seem to acknowledge it or really want it. His arms remained stiff at his sides, and you could feel his breath hitching against your neck, but he didn’t respond. It was like hugging a stranger, someone you once knew but no longer recognized.

“God, I missed you…” You pulled back slightly, looking up at him, trying to gauge his expression, but his face was unreadable. His long hair now brushed against the collar of his shirt, the unruly beard framing his jawline. But his eyes were the only thing that stayed the same, cold and distant, void of the tenderness they once held. “Are you okay?”

He didn’t answer immediately. The silence hung between you, thick and oppressive, before he finally spoke, his voice flat. “Sorry, I…I don’t think I’m the best person for that right now.”

Your heart sank, the warmth of the hug and reunion evaporating into a hollow chill. “What happened?” you whispered, feeling the pain creep into your voice. “Where have you been? Why didn’t you say anything? I was so worried for you and JJ don’t say so much.”

He didn’t smile. He didn’t even look like Spencer, not the one you had known, kind, warm, and always ready to offer comfort. His face was hard, closed off, and distant. He seemed…different, almost cold. “I’m sorry, I needed to get to…work,” he said, his voice clipped and curt. “I didn’t think you’d be awake at this hour.”

You felt a pang of confusion and hurt at his words. “What do you mean? You didn’t want to see me? You haven’t been here in months,” you said, the bitterness creeping into your voice. “You just disappear, and then you show up here, like nothing happened? You sleep here? I came to your apartment last night, and you weren’t there.”

He didn’t react. No apology, no acknowledgment of the pain he’d caused. He just stood there, cold, distant. “I’m sorry,” he said, the words almost sounding like an afterthought. “I had work to do. It’s…complicated.”

“Complicated?” The word tasted bitter on your tongue. “That’s all you’ve got after disappearing for three months?”

Finally, his eyes met yours again, but there was no warmth in them. No tenderness, no familiarity. His gaze was hard, as cold as his words. “I don’t owe you an explanation,” he said sharply, his tone final, cutting through the air like a knife.

It felt like a punch to the gut. The warmth that had once filled your heart whenever Spencer entered a room, the gentle care he had shown you, was now replaced by something colder. It was as if the person you had known, the person who had been your friend, your confidant, had vanished along with the man who used to leave you sweet notes and show up with your favorite food after a rough day.

“You…you don’t owe me anything?” you whispered, your heart breaking with each word.

The silence stretched between you again, suffocating. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, almost hesitant. “I’m sorry.”

But it was hollow, empty. A formality. Not an apology that meant anything.

And then, just as quickly as he had appeared, he turned, walking away. “I have to go,” he said, his voice softer now, but still detached.

Before you could say anything else, he turned, leaving as quickly as he had appeared. And just like that, he was gone again, leaving you alone with the deafening silence and a heart full of questions.

Just like your worst fear: Spencer was avoiding you in the hallway.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid angst #matthew gray gubler #mon’s fics ♡

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apricops · 3 months ago

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it’s funny to think about stuff like… a more equitable global economy would almost definitely mean that coffee would be more expensive, which cou likely mean that free coffee stops being a workplace amenity that people can take for granted. If you think meth is a problem now, can you even IMAGINE how bad it would get in a US with expensive coffee? No look at me. Look at me. Laborers and shift workers aren’t just going to say “Well I guess I’ll work my full time job without stimulants” that’s not going to happen. Improving working conditions in the third world will probably lead to SO MUCH METH but in terms of raw numbers of people affected it might be for the best. Would you get a million people hooked on meth to free ten million child laborers? I would. There’s people out there who’d get a million people hooked on meth just to line their own pockets. And those people aren’t just in one stratum. It’s not just the sociopathic rich or the desperate poor. It’s the middle too, every consultant and advisor and lobbyist and everyone with skin in the game. They have your skin. It’s not that people are tied to the tracks - people ARE the tracks, every track is people, and the train and levers are people too, and they are all crying and screaming and begging for mercy and forgiveness. Hey speaking of meth do you know where I could get some meth just curious I’m just doing a survey about meth. It’s for writing about meth. so yeah do you have any meth?

#you’re scrolling your timeline and I come up to you and say this all in one breath #while looking you directly in the eyes #I tell you that I can show you proof of all of this #and I show you my phone and it’s just pictures of tied up catboys

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incloudcity · 1 month ago

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in too deep | jason todd

requests are open

summary: forced to pose as a couple at a high-stakes gala, you and jason blur the line between mission and emotion

The dress wasn’t your style. Too tight in the ribs, too bare in the back, too expensive for someone who usually wore Kevlar and sarcasm like armor. But it worked. That was the point.

The woman staring back at you in the hotel mirror was elegant, mysterious, and absolutely not the kind of person who let someone like Jason Todd get under her skin.

You adjusted the ruby neckline again anyway.

Behind you, the door creaked open, and Jason’s reflection appeared in the mirror—lean, clean-cut in a black tux, collar just barely unbuttoned, like he couldn’t quite surrender to the formality of the evening. He didn’t say anything. Just leaned against the doorframe and looked at you.

Not like a man admiring a woman in a dress. Like a soldier eyeing a storm. Wariness with a hint of awe.

You lifted a brow. “Say something, or I’ll assume I need to change.”

Jason’s voice was lower than usual when he spoke. “Don’t.”

The air shifted.

“Don’t what?” you asked, turning fully to face him.

He gave a little shrug, like it didn’t matter. “Change. You look... good.”

It shouldn’t have meant anything. Not from Jason, not tonight. Not when you were an hour away from infiltrating a high-society gala to tag and track one of Gotham’s most elusive arms dealers. You were partners, not a couple. You were here to work, not to feel.

But you were already feeling. That was the problem.

Jason stepped into the room and held out a small case. “Earpiece. Lipstick cam. And this—” He held up a small gold band. “For the role.”

Your throat went tight. “A ring. Wow. Moving fast, aren’t we?”

He gave you a dry smile. “Try not to get clingy.”

You took it anyway, sliding it onto your finger. His eyes followed the motion. For a second, the silence between you crackled.

You looked up. “We clear on the cover?”

Jason nodded. “You’re the quiet art consultant. I’m the muscle who got lucky.”

You gave him a wry smile. “And you think that’s believable?”

“I think,” he said, voice going soft, “you don’t know how people look at you.”

It wasn’t flirting. Not really. Just truth wrapped in something heavy and unspoken. You turned away before he could say anything else.

"Let’s get this over with."

The lights inside the ballroom were soft gold and low danger. The kind of place where no one raised their voice unless it was to toast a deal worth millions. You kept close to Jason, his hand resting low on your back, not possessive, but present. Protective, almost. Like even here, he couldn't turn it off.

You were hyper-aware of every place his body brushed yours. The weight of his palm. The warmth of his side pressed against your arm when you leaned in to whisper. It was all fake. Had to be. But it felt real.

And that was dangerous.

You caught Virelli near the center of the room, laughing too loud with a drink in hand and guards flanking either side. Jason clocked him too, his body shifting slightly, just enough to shield you without drawing attention.

"Target confirmed," you murmured.

Jason nodded. “Smile like I just told you something filthy.”

You smirked, but your heart stuttered. “And what would that be?”

He leaned down, mouth just grazing your ear. “That I’d rather be anywhere but here. Preferably somewhere quieter. Fewer tuxedos. Fewer people watching me think about kissing you.”

You blinked, thrown for a beat. “That’s... very method of you.”

Jason didn’t smile. “Not method.”

You didn’t respond. Couldn't.

It was your idea. The quickest path to Virelli was proximity, and proximity meant joining the circle of couples rotating slowly across the polished floor.

Jason held out a hand. "You gonna lead, or should I?"

You slid your fingers into his. "You’re taller. Try not to step on me."

He pulled you close, one hand on your waist, the other gripping your hand tightly enough to ground you, not enough to hurt. His eyes locked on yours like they were searching for something. Not just intel. Not just threat. You.

“Relax,” he said softly. “It’s a dance.”

“It’s not the dance I’m worried about.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Right. The mission.”

You moved together easily, surprisingly in sync for two people who spent most of their time sniping at each other in alleyways and safehouses. He spun you gently, the motion smooth and practiced. For a second, it felt like the world paused around you—just breath and rhythm and eyes that said everything he wouldn’t.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you asked quietly.

Jason’s voice was quiet. “Because I keep forgetting it’s pretend.”

And there it was. The line. Crossed so softly you almost didn’t notice.

The fight didn’t last long. One of Virelli’s men got nervous, reached for something he shouldn’t have. You and Jason moved like you always did—fast, brutal, efficient. The kind of dance you knew by heart.

When it was over, you were both breathless, pressed up against a marble wall in the service hallway, his hand gripping your wrist, your chest rising and falling against his. Blood on your dress. Gunpowder in the air. Sirens already in the distance.

“You good?” he asked, eyes scanning you.

You nodded. “Yeah. You?”

He looked at you for a long moment, like he didn’t know what to say. Like there were a dozen things on the tip of his tongue and none of them were safe.

“Back there,” you said, voice low. “The way you were acting...”

“I wasn’t acting.”

Your heart stilled.

He stepped back slightly, giving you space, as if the admission cost him something. “I told myself it was just the mission. It was easier that way. But then you looked at me like that on the dance floor, and I just—”

“Jason.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “I know it’s complicated. I’m not asking for anything. I just needed you to know.”

The silence between you stretched. Not tense—just raw. Unshielded.

You touched his hand gently, grounding him the way he always did for you without realizing.

“I knew,” you said. “I just didn’t want to be the first one to say it.”

A breath left him—half laugh, half relief. “Figures.”

Outside, the sirens grew louder.

Inside, the air was full of things you hadn’t said yet.

Back at the safehouse, you peeled off the dress with shaky fingers, still tasting the echo of what almost happened.

Jason stood in the kitchen, shirt unbuttoned, tie discarded, looking more like himself than he had all night. He met your gaze.

“So,” he said. “We should probably talk about what went on for the last few hours.”

You walked over to him slowly, carefully, like you were approaching something fragile.

“Yeah,” you said. “We really should.”

But neither of you moved to speak.

You just stood there, inches apart, hearts still catching up to the truth you’d both danced around all night.

And somewhere in the quiet, without needing to say it, you both understood.

#jason todd x reader

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badkitty3000 · 4 months ago

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Partners

Five Hargreeves x Female Reader, 5.8k words, one-shot, request

Summary: You and Five are Commission long-standing partners/frenemies. You think he's a pretentious asshole and he thinks you're a pain in the ass. One day you decide you've had enough and show him how good of a partner you really are.

This is from an anon request I received! Enjoy! 😽

Warnings: Smut, blow jobs, sex, plot what plot

The papers on your desk fluttered wildly as Five slammed his palms down, leaning over with bared teeth.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he seethed.

You knew this would happen, of course. Getting under Five’s skin was just a normal part of your work day by now. As you casually reached over, gathering up the papers he had upset and calmly stacking them in an orderly fashion again, you blinked up at him with a bored expression.

“Well, I’m not sure, Five. I guess that would depend on what has got your panties in a twist today.”

Your insult did nothing to faze him. “You are supposed to be my partner!”

“I am your partner, Five. At least until they finally accept my transfer request.”

He slammed his hands harder onto the desk. This time, you flinched.

“We are supposed to be a team!”

You sighed and leaned back in your chair. “Five, I honestly have no idea what you are talking about. So, why don’t you quit having your little temper tantrum here and tell me what I did.”

Five leaned in further across the desk, into your personal space. You could see the quiver of his jaw muscles as he stared you down. “Not only did you submit our last case report without consulting me, you called me ‘incompetent’ and ‘dangerous to the mission’.”

You nodded your head slowly. “Yes, I did.”

“Why?”

“Because you were incompetent and dangerous to the mission. I’m not sure how much clearer I can be.”

Five laughed quietly but ominously, hanging his head down before lifting it again. His eyes met yours with a thousand watts of pure ire behind them. “I’m not the one that can’t hit a target smaller than a fucking semi-truck. So, if anyone is incompetent, honey, it’s you.”

“There is nothing wrong with my abilities. Maybe if you weren’t going around with your head shoved up your own ass all the time, you’d realize that. You know, you’re not as special as you think you are, Five. Not everyone is below you.”

“I don’t think everyone is below me. Just you.”

You smirked and crossed your arms over your chest, pushing your breasts together with your arms to accentuate your cleavage that was peeking out from under your white blouse. “I bet you love picturing me below you.”

Five straightened up and ran a hand through his hair, the corners of his mouth twitching up. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m not that desperate yet.”

“But you admit you are desperate?” you asked, folding your hands in front of you on the desk.

You had flustered him and he was at a loss for words for just a moment, which was a rarity when it came to Five. Then he stabbed the air with his finger, aiming in your direction.

“Look, we have another job tomorrow, and it’s a big one. I don’t need any distractions, so just shut up and stay out of my way, got it?”

“That’s no way to talk to your partner, Five. We’re supposed to be a team,” you said, your voice laden with sugary sweetness.

He gave you that dangerous smile again. The one that always got your blood pumping a little faster, although not from fear. He leaned in again, and you could smell little hints of what you had now come to think of as “Five’s scent profile.” Hints of cologne, coffee, and expensive wool. Like some high-end men’s clothing store.

“You’re right. But unfortunately for me, my partner doesn’t know her ass from a hole in the ground.”

You blinked up at him, the corner of your mouth turning up. “There you go again… thinking about my ass. I really should report you to human resources for sexual harassment, you know.”

“Stay out of my way,” he ground out between clenched teeth, before disappearing from your sight, the brief breeze from his portal causing a stray piece of paper to float to the ground.

“Asshole,” you muttered to yourself as you straightened your desk again.

*****************

The next morning, you arrived at work bright and early. Five was right, the job you had was a big one, and you were a little on edge. You had been going over the file for the millionth time, making sure you hadn’t missed anything, while you walked down one of the Commission hallways on your way to the locker room. You had arrived early so that you could go to the gym first, and to work out some of your nerves. After a brief but intense work-out session, you were on your way to the showers and to change into your Commission-issued suit. With your head down as you rifled through the file, you weren’t paying attention as you opened the door to the locker room and headed in.

The room was empty, but you could hear water running in the shower area. Dropping the file folder and your gym bag onto the bench near a locker, you grabbed a clean towel off the rack and headed to the community showers. The Commission wasn’t known for its luxurious amenities, and the showers resembled more of a prison or high school than an elite time-traveling agency. There was one locker room for women and one for men, with all of the shower heads lined up on one wall so there was no privacy unless you happened to get lucky and get the place to yourself. Which, clearly you did not, since there was obviously someone in there already.

You sighed to yourself, thinking it was probably Brenda from accounting, who always got there early and loved to corner you and talk your ear off, regardless of whether you were clothed or not. You were already forming an excuse in your head as to why you were going to have to cut your conversation with her short.

As you turned the corner, though, you were met with a sight that was definitely not Brenda. It was Five. Showering. Naked.

Holy shit.

You realized, clearly a few minutes too late, that you had wandered into the men’s locker room when you hadn’t been paying attention. He appeared to be the only other person there, and he hadn’t noticed you yet. If you turned around and left right then, he would never know you were there.

But you couldn’t. You just kept staring. You would by lying to yourself if you said you had never thought of Five in a sexual way. It would be pretty hard not too. The man was gorgeous, there was no getting around that. The fact that he was a narcissistic, know-it-all, jackass didn’t do anything to cover up his sex appeal.

His back was turned to you with a hand on the wall in front of him, his head angled down as the water cascaded over his body. The muscles in his shoulders and back were well-defined and flexing as he pressed his palm into the tiled wall. The smooth curve of his ass, tight and toned, had you swallowing hard as you stood there, completely transfixed and unable to move.

You watched as the river of water traveled over and between each perfectly sculpted cheek, and you had a sudden urge to lap the water droplets off with your tongue. A small gasp escaped your lips, and Five’s head lifted at the sound.

Panicking, you slipped back around the corner before he could turn around. You leaned with your back against the wall, trying to catch your breath. It was hard to say if you were breathing hard from almost being caught, or from the sight itself.

Snapping out of it, you hurried over to the bench where you had left your bag and file, and started to gather them up so you could get the hell out of there. But just as you turned to head out, you heard a noise behind you.

“Did you get a good look, agent?”

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

You thought about just high-tailing it out of there to avoid further embarrassment, but that would only fuel his smugness and you’d never hear the end of it. You slowly spun around, facing Five, who had thrown a towel around his waist, holding it in place with one hand while he smirked coolly at you. His body was still damp and he used his free hand to push his wet hair off his forehead. Your eyes roamed over his torso, taking in the multitude of scars, as well as his hard chest and abs. That arrogant smile of his widened when he noticed.

You tried your best to steady your voice and hold your head up, looking him directly in the eyes. “My mistake. I wasn’t looking where I was going and took a wrong turn. I was just heading out.”

“That’s the story you’re going with, huh?” he said, opening one of the lockers and rummaging around inside.

You were trying very hard not to think about what was going on under that towel, or the fact that the only thing holding it up was his hand. If it just so happened to slip…

You shook your head to stop yourself from doing or saying anything you would undeniably regret. “Trust me, Five. Accidentally getting a glimpse of that pale, scrawny ass of yours was not on my schedule for today. Or any day, for that matter.”

He turned his head to look at you again. You were wearing your standard gym outfit of tight yoga pants and a sports bra, and you watched as Five’s eyes slowly drifted over your body. He appeared pleased with what he saw; the small smile returning to his face. You didn’t exactly mind him looking, either.

There was an awkward silence as Five chose not to respond to your slight against his body. Probably because he knew you were lying. You two may not get along most of the time, but you were partners, and you knew each other’s tells pretty well. Like right now, you could see Five swallow hard and he ran a hand through his hair again. A sure sign that he was rattled.

He grabbed a stick of deodorant out of the locker. “So, are you going to stand here all day waiting to get another sneak peek?”

You made an overly dramatic scoffing noise. “You wish.”

As you turned around, you rolled your eyes at your lame comeback. You wish? What are you, twelve?

You didn’t turn around again, but you had a feeling he was watching you walk away. You did your best to put an extra little bounce in your step just to accentuate your ass a little more. He wasn’t the only one that could play this game.

An hour later, you were meeting up outside of the briefcase room, fully clothed this time, and looking over your assignment together. Five leaned in close to you as you both read over the file. Knowing now what he looked like under that suit had your concentration wavering. You cleared your throat and focused on the job.

“So, we can set up in the alleyway behind the warehouse. The target should be leaving the building across the street shortly after we arrive. Once we have him in our sight, we should be able to take him out from there. If not, we’ll have to move in closer. Hopefully, it won’t come to that, though,” Five instructed you.

You nodded. “Got it.”

“And I take the first shot. If I miss… highly unlikely… but if I miss, you immediately step in for the second shot.”

With a heavy sigh, you looked wearily over at your partner. “Yeah, I know, Five. You like to remind me of that before each job. And we’ve been on about 50 of them so far.”

“52, actually,” Five answered, still looking at the file.

“You keep track?”

“Of course I do. Don’t you?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “Not that closely, I guess. Why, should I?”

He looked up, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t you want to keep track of every single moment spent with me?”

He was trying to be a smart ass, but you threw it back at him. “So by that logic, I guess that means you can’t get me out of your mind?”

“Please,” he scoffed, but you noticed he looked away for half a second. “Are you done being a snot? Can we go now?”

“After you, agent,” you said with a smile before you latched onto the briefcase Five was holding and the two of you were sucked into the ether of time and space.

You landed in the alleyway, just like you had planned. While Five scoped out the surrounding area to make sure the coast was clear, you unpacked and assembled your rifle. You held it up against your shoulder, peering through the scope. When you saw Five come around the corner, you aimed it so that his face was right in the crosshairs. He noticed and narrowed his eyes, but did not otherwise react. You thought you saw the glimmer of a smile in there, but it was gone before you could confirm.

“Everything looks good from my end,” you chirped.

“You know,” Five said, tucking his hands into his pockets and walking over to join you. “Pointing a loaded weapon directly at your partner’s face is, in fact, frowned upon.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“Even if that partner is you?”

“Go fuck yourself,” Five snarked, but this time he really did let a smile slip out.

You returned it with your own and then handed Five the rifle. “Here you go. Since I know you don’t trust me.”

“You’re right about that.”

He took the rifle from you while you took another look out onto the street. As you glanced to the left, you saw a familiar face walking towards you. It was the face you had memorized from the file. The one who was supposed to be across the street and not leaving for another thirty minutes. And he was headed in your direction at a very clipped pace.

“Shit!” you hissed, turning to Five.

He rushed up to you and took a look for himself.

“God damn it, what is he doing?” Five asked angrily.

“Well, I don’t fucking know. This wasn’t part of the plan.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“We’re going to have to follow him, but we can’t let him see us. He’s moving fast, though.”

“Fuck,” Five muttered out loud as he took a look around the alley. There was nowhere to hide, it was all open. If the guy came walking by and happened to look in that direction, he would see you for sure.

“Can’t you blink us out of here?” you asked him. He had done that before during assignments where you had to get out of a situation quickly.

He shook his head. “I can but then we’ll lose him. We have no idea where he’s headed.”

After another second, and the man’s footsteps growing louder, Five leaned the rifle against the brick wall you were standing next to and grabbed your upper arms.

“What are you–”

He slammed your back against the wall and pressed his body up against yours. Then his mouth crashed onto yours, surprising you so that you made a high-pitched squealing noise that was instantly muffled by his tongue. Five’s hand came to rest on the side of your face that would be exposed to anyone walking by as he continued to passionately make out with you.

The noise of surprise you had uttered quickly turned into a soft moan.

Damn, he’s good at this

You found yourself kissing him back, urging him on by grasping the back of his suit coat with your fists.

Really fucking good

“Whoa guys… get a room,” your target called to you with a chuckle as he passed by. You ignored him and he kept walking. Soon the sound of his shoes clicking on the sidewalk faded away.

He was gone, but Five was still kissing you. His hand was warm against your cheek and you liked the weight of his body crushing you against the wall. You could have pulled away or told him to stop. Instead, you let him consume your mouth with his own, his tongue lightly licking across your bottom lip as you let your hands run up and down his back, feeling the tense muscles underneath his clothes. The same ones you were granted a glimpse of earlier that day.

Five made a quiet groaning noise deep in his throat, before he pulled away, leaving you breathless. He continued to keep his body on yours, but he drew his head back to look at you. He was breathing fast and hard, and his eyes swept over your face and lips, like he was contemplating going back in for more.

Neither of you said a word, and after a few seconds, he stepped back. He licked at his lips and wiped his mouth with his fingers.

“Sorry,” he said, straightening his tie. “I figured that was the best way to hide our faces from him.”

“Uh… yeah… no… I mean, right. It was a good idea.”

You stepped away from the wall and smoothed down the tailored jacket and skirt of your suit. You ran a hand down the back of your hair and tried to even out your breathing again. Five was already looking down the street to see which way the man had gone.

Grabbing his Glock out of the inside of his jacket, he motioned for you to follow. “Come on, we can’t lose him.”

You nodded, following his lead, and pulling your own pistol out while you crept out of the alleyway and headed in the direction of your target. Five was stealthy and smooth as he moved along, keeping the man in his sight but remaining far enough behind that it wasn’t obvious he was being tailed. When the guy turned a corner, heading into a parking garage, you both followed him in.

The task was easy after that. You waited until he was at his car, you shot out the security camera, and Five blinked behind him. He was dead before he even knew what was happening. After the man was slumped in a pile on the garage floor, Five walked over to you, sticking his pistol back into his jacket.

“Alright, let’s go.” He looked down at your hand. “Where’s the briefcase?”

“I left it in the alley.”

Five’s eyes widened and then his jaw clenched with anger. “You did what?”

“We had to get out of there, I didn’t have time to grab it.”

Five ran a hand down his face, his green eyes flashing with fury. “God damn it, this is not your first day! You know we can get in some serious deep shit for this!”

“I know that… “

“If you know, but did it anyway, then you must be fucking stupid. Are you fucking stupid?” he barked at you.

You immediately became defensive. “No, I’m not stupid, Five! Maybe if I hadn’t been choking on your tongue you were so eager to shove down my throat, I would have had more time.”

He laughed derisively, shaking his head. “You mean when I saved our asses?”

“I mean when you were throwing yourself at me. Desperately, I might add. Kind of embarrassing for you.”

Five grabbed your arm roughly, jerking you forward and digging his fingers into your bicep. Without saying another word, he was blinking you both back to the alley. When you stumbled out of the portal, you yanked your arm away from him.

“Don’t put your hands on me again!”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he sneered. “I have no intention of touching any part of you anytime soon.” He looked around, letting out a sigh of relief when he saw the briefcase right where you had left it. The rifle was still there, too. “Let’s just get the fuck out of here,” he said stonily.

“Fine by me.”

Once you packed up the rifle and Five had the briefcase, you both held on as it brought you back to Commission headquarters. As soon as you were back inside the building, you let go so that you didn’t have to be any closer to Five than was necessary. You exchanged angry glances at one another, and then went your separate ways.

For the next week, you and Five tried to avoid each other. You hadn’t been assigned another job yet, so that made it a little easier. But you still had to see him in the hallways and in meetings. He avoided being near you and any time your gaze would drift his way, he would quickly look away.

As the days passed, your anger towards Five started to fade. He had called you fucking stupid, but he was right. You weren’t supposed to leave the briefcase for any reason and you could have gotten you and him in some major trouble. You realized your reaction had been a bit overboard, and that really you were just mad at yourself. Mostly because you kept thinking about how he kissed you. And how much you liked it.

When you received a written request from the department head, however, your blood began to boil all over again.

You were storming down the hall on your way to Five’s office, when you saw him walking your way. He noticed the fury on your face and probably realized he was the cause of it, because for a second it looked like he was going to turn around and go the other way. But he composed himself and waited for you to stomp up to him.

Waving the offending piece of paper in the air, you got right in his face. “What the fuck is this all about, Five?”

He had the nerve to look innocent. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“This!” you said, shoving the paper towards him. “A new partner request? Really?”

Five’s body tensed in defense and he tucked his hands in his pants pockets. “I’m not sure why you’re so pissed off. It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

You hesitated for a second. Was it what you wanted? You shook your head. “I never said I wanted a different partner!”

He let out a short laugh. “You said that many times, actually.”

“Well… I wasn’t serious! I just wanted you to stop being such a fucking asshole all the time!”

Five nodded. “Right. Well, this should solve that problem for you. I’m sure whatever idiot they pair up with you will be your new best buddy. You’re welcome.”

“God damn it, Five!” you yelled, your hands shaking.

He tilted his head to the side. “Try not to miss me too much.”

He stepped casually around you and continued his walk down the hallway. You watched after him, your mouth hanging open, as he opened the door to the bathrooms and went inside. Furious that he had gotten the last word, you followed him, yanking the bathroom door open and storming inside. Five was standing in front of one of the sinks, clutching onto the sides, and glaring at himself in the mirror. When he saw you enter, he spun around.

“What the hell are you doing? You can’t just walk into the mens’ room!” he snarled.

“That’s funny, because I think I just did.”

You marched up to him, the clicking of your high heels on the tile echoing around you. You stopped just inches from him. You were so close that you could feel the heat coming off of his body, no doubt due to the rage he was emitting. He was breathing fast, with his jaw tight. You could smell the faint wisp of the same cologne you had detected when he had been pressed against you in the alley. You remembered how firm his chest had felt on yours and you momentarily forgot why you had followed him in there in the first place. The paper you had been holding drifted out of your hand and onto the floor.

When you got your wits about you again, you leaned in closer. “Don’t ever walk away from me again.”

“And why is that, sweetheart?” he asked condescendingly. “I thought you liked getting a look at me from behind.”

Your hand flew out, grabbing his tie and slamming his back against the wall, just like he had done to you before. He managed to look surprised for a few seconds before the arrogant smirk was plastered on his face again. Your breathing had become just as rapid as his, and your angry glare traveled over his face and lips, down his trim body and back again. You moved in even closer, still holding his tie. Your knee brushed the inside of his leg.

“God, you are a bastard,” you hissed in his face.

He hadn’t tried to push you away, or blink away from you, which he easily could have. Instead, he let you press harder against him, his back against the wall, and his tie in your grasp. Both of you were waiting for the other to make the next move, or to sling the next insult. But neither of you did.

Five swallowed hard, the sound loud within the quiet of the bathroom. The only other sound was the slow drip from one of the faucets and your collective, shallow breathing. You stared into those damn green eyes of his, your pulse quickening and pounding in your ears. Then you watched, transfixed, as the tip of his tongue darted out and licked at his bottom lip.

With one more tug of his tie and another slam against the wall, you were on him; smothering his mouth with yours as you traded urgent and sloppy kisses. His hands were on your face and the back of your neck, devouring you with a vicious hunger, and biting at your lips. When he grabbed onto your hips, pulling you flush with his, you could feel him rapidly hardening against you.

While Five moved down to your neck, sucking and licking rabidly at your hot skin, you hurriedly started unbuckling his belt, frantically clawing at the fly of his pants. Shoving a hand inside, you roughly palmed his erection while he made a low groaning noise next to your ear. It was the groan that did it.

I need his cock in my mouth

You didn’t ask for consent, or give any warning, before you were sliding down his perfect body, your hands running down his front from his chest to his thighs. On your knees, you unleashed his hard and waiting cock, wrapping your hand around the shaft and admiring what until now you had only pictured in your dirty little daydreams. It did not disappoint.

“Fuck, Five,” you whispered, before raising your eyes.

For the first time you could remember, Five was speechless. His mouth opened like he was going to say something, but then his eyes fell shut and the back of his head hit the wall. Only a loud, stuttering moan escaped his lips.

There was no teasing or gentle licking across his leaking head, or soft and leisurely strokes with your hand. You engulfed his entire cock in one go, letting your lips slide all the way to the base. Five sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth and the palms of his hands slapped the wall behind him.

You dragged your hot and wet mouth up and down his dick at a fast pace, taking him all the way in before pulling back to the head again. Five’s hips twitched rhythmically in time with your movements, pushing himself further down your throat each time. He still hadn’t said a word, but the noises he was making were sinful.

Was that a whimper? Is Five Hargreeves actually whimpering?

When you released him for just a second, he let out a long sigh; like he was happy to have some relief from the constant stimulation. But you only paused long enough to catch your breath before you were shoving his dick down your throat again.

“Ah… f-f-fff… oh shittt… “ he muttered under his breath, making you smile and go at him even harder. “Don’t… stop… fuuck…”

The tensing of his body and his loud panting told you he was getting close. You thought maybe he would let you know, but he didn’t. Instead, he brought a hand down to the back of your head and held you against him while he let out a long, low moan while he exploded inside you, a steady stream of cum filling your mouth until you were choking.

He let you go, falling limply against the wall again as you removed him from your mouth. You were breathing hard, and you used the back of your hand to wipe off the excess cum that had seeped out of your mouth. When you looked back up at Five, he still had his eyes closed and his mouth open.

You stood up, gently slipping his cock back inside his pants. He opened his eyes, meeting yours and drawing his eyebrows together. He was still breathing hard.

“Why did you do that?” he asked, finally finding his voice again.

“Because I wanted to,” you answered truthfully. “Because I’ve been wanting to for a long time.”

He shook his head slowly, still confused. “You hate me.”

“I don’t hate you, Five.”

“Well, I don’t hate you, either,” he said brusquely.

With that admission, you both stood silent for a moment. Then Five grinned and he pushed himself off the wall, stalking into your personal space and making you backup a step. He grabbed you by the hips, spinning you around until you were forced against the bathroom sink, and he boosted you up so that you were sitting on the edge. You gasped when he moved between your legs.

“But I do find you highly irritating,” he said with a smile, right before shoving your skirt up and yanking you closer. He reached down into his still-open pants and pulled out his cock, which was already hard again. “Let’s see if I can’t fuck that out of you.”

“Oh, shit,” you whispered, bracing yourself as he pulled your panties to the side and started to line himself up with your wet hole.

He eased himself inside, letting you feel every inch of him, before he was fully encased in your tight sleeve. When you let out a loud whine, he grinned. The force in which he pulled back and slammed into you had you crying out and clutching at his shoulders. Five was back to staying silent, but he emitted a hoarse, guttural sound each time he pushed back in and bottomed out.

With your legs around his waist and your hands gripping his shoulders, he placed both of his palms flat on the mirror behind you. He drove into you, harder and harder, his jaw clenched tight and his hair falling over his eyes. He looked directly at you while your mouth fell open, his mouth curled up in a pleased grin, his lips parted slightly. Just that look had you fucking dying inside. It wasn’t long before the intensity of his relentless cock was pushing you over the edge.

When he saw you start to lose it, Five held onto your hips and thrust as hard and as deeply as he could, moaning into your neck as you trembled against him. Soon after, his body came to a stilling halt as he emptied himself inside you again. Neither one of you had thought that far ahead, but luckily the Commission microchips that were embedded in your arms made every employee sterile and disease free until they were removed.

As you caught your breath and Five pulled out, you grabbed some paper towel to do a cursory cleanup before straightening out your underwear and skirt and hopping down from the sink. Five shoved himself back into his pants again and zipped up his fly. He flicked the hair out of his eyes with a shake of his head.

“Still want that new partner?” you asked with a sly smile.

Five shrugged, stepping casually around you to wash his hands. “I don’t think anyone else is going to blow me in the bathroom, so maybe I’ll keep you around for a while,” he said impassively. His eyes met yours in the mirror. “How about you?”

You answered with your own indifferent shrug. “I guess I can stand to be around you a little longer. Now that I know what your other attributes are.”

Five let out a low chuckle, shaking his head, and turned around to face you. “Look, I know I’m an asshole, and I don’t expect that to change any time soon. But you’re a good partner and I don’t want to lose you, ok?”

“You’re a good partner, too,” you said grudgingly with a small smile.

“Alright, it’s settled then. We’re a team, for better or worse.”

You nodded. “For better or worse.”

“And if we piss each other off again, we know how to fix that,” he said with a sly grin.

You smoothed down your clothes and fixed your hair. Bending over, you picked up the fallen piece of paper that was Five’s new partner request. You handed it back to him, one eyebrow raised.

“Here, you go. You can have this back.”

Five took the paper, glancing at it briefly, before balling it up and chucking it into the trash can behind him.

As Five held the door open for you, allowing you to go ahead of him, you lightly brushed your hand against his hip on the way out.

“I’m heading to the showers now, so don’t even think of following me in there,” he told you.

“Oh no, I wouldn’t dream of it,” you assured him with a smile.

After another long, lingering look at one another, Five turned his back to you and headed in the direction of the showers. He spoke without looking back. “See you there.”

Shaking your head, because you knew he had you right where he wanted you, you watched him walk away, his stride exuding confidence. He knew you were going to follow him.

“Shit,” you murmured to yourself, waiting a whole 30 seconds before making your way in his direction. You sighed. “Well… he’s an expert assassin and now I know he’s an expert fucker, too. So I guess as partners go, that’s a pretty good deal.” Then you opened the door to the men’s locker room and walked inside.

#number five x reader #number five x you #five hargreeves x you #five hargreeves x reader #number five smut #five hargreeves imagine #number five imagine #five hargreeves smut #tua smut #female reader #reader insert #smut requests #five x reader #badkittywrites

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sleepynoons · 5 months ago

Text

In Dreams

Your heats have become vicious and unbearable, and you're told nothing can cure you unless you mate. The issue is: Dan Heng's a beta.

dan heng x reader, omegaverse, nsfw

word count: ~3,500

cw: descriptions of pain and cramps, allusions to sexual trauma, mentions of sex toys/masturbation/slick, internalized stigmatization of sex/masturbation/etc.

notes: find yourself a lover who wouldn't just die for you – find someone who will still love you when you're incredibly gross and ill and sick and vulnerable!!!!!! anyway, this is j an angsty take on omega heats, and i took some creative liberties/deviations with this au.

It seems your heat has decided to come at the worst possible time.

It’s never cooperated with you in the past few years, and you’ve come to despise it, along with several other reasons. At times, it’s regular, due every three months, with the one to two weeks leading up to the real thing a gradual build-up, a towering ocean wave that you can see from a distance, feel through the rumbling and trembling in your gut. Other times, this time, and most often, there’s no warning at all, and it arrives as a riptide, a tumultous, driving current that has the sole goal of pulling you under.

Heats, as you’ve come to learn, aren’t always romantic, passionate, or arousing, and they’ve never been any one of those things for you.

You stumble to the railing, hearing a screech from your sweaty palms smearing against the cold iron of the bar. Your vision’s blurred, everything hallucinating in double, and the lights glow too fiercely. It’s already a miracle that you’ve managed to make it to Dan Heng’s room, but just as everyone on the Express knows it, the archive’s filled with nothing but books, journals, projections, ballpoint pens, and the barest of his belongings.

As if your feet have detached from your legs and the joints of your legs have rolled out of the sockets in your hips, you manage to trip over the two steps that lead up to Dan Heng’s futon. Unceremoniously, you collapse onto the ground. There’s bound to be bruises on your shins, and you can already feel a dull sensation in your wrists and forearms. Through thick pants and a vision scattered with black dots, you crawl over to his bed and wrap yourself in Dan Heng’s blanket. (It smells like nothing.)

You wake a few hours later, and you know your heat has officially started because you can feel slick gluing your bottoms to your burning skin. Speaking of which, your whole body feels hot, and you bitterly think that’s the closest thing to passionate you’re ever going to get. You need something cold, icy, something that’ll break through this oppressing heat, so you roll over with a few pained groans so that you’re lying on the floor.

But now you feel empty because even if Dan Heng’s things smell like nothing to you, they still provide an unexplainable, irrational sense of safety and assurance. You twist and turn and writhe, until you finally settle your head on his pillow while keeping as much of the rest of your body against the floor.

The thing about having sudden heats is that you’re unable to prepare or regulate yourself. You can’t follow through with typical omega habits, like building a nest or scenting with a partner, all of which are vital preparations to ensure omegas are as comfortable as possible during their heats. But it’s not like you could do either of those things anyway, because you’ve never really learned how to nest and betas, like Dan Heng, and their scents aren’t potent enough to alleviate even pre-heat symptoms.

You’ve tried suppressants before, but they have no effect on you. After several consultations with doctors from all over the galaxies, the only sound hypothesis of a cure is for you to mate.

Another catch is that betas can’t mate. You’re also strictly monogamous, so even if mating would solve your problem, you refuse to.

The best thing you can do is to wait your heat out, and it doesn’t take long for the cramping in your abdomen to cause you to black out from its overwhelming pain.

But you wake again in less than an hour. You’ve soaked through Dan Heng’s bedding entirely from both your sweat and slick, and even through your muddled senses, you can smell your scent practically permeate the room, stubborn as it clings to the spines of aged books, settles in the corners of the shelves, mixes with the ink from an inkwell that you seem to have knocked over and spilled from your fall earlier. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you recall it was a souvenir you had brought back for Dan Heng from one of the Express’ expeditions you had participated in.

With heaving breaths, it takes significant effort just to prop yourself up on your elbows. Your heat’s worse than normal, consuming your senses and thoughts and overall ability to function, an anchor dragging you down to the depths of an ocean, depths you didn’t know existed, and this overwhelming paralysis scares you.

There’s no other choice but to try to slow your heat down.

It’s not like you dislike trying new things. It’s just that you’d prefer to go outside of your comfort zone when you’re able to think straight. Frantically, you search the room for anything that’s Dan Heng’s. You’ve never created a nest before for several reasons, but something in you tells you that that’s the right thing to do. (Though, in reality, that something’s likely your neediness and hyperactive omega instincts.)

Powered by sheer spite, you rely on the railing once again to stagger onto your shaky feet. You gulp, desperate to accumulate a last bout of energy, before beginning your search around the room.

There’s little of Dan Heng’s things. He’s out on a trip with Himeko at the moment, having left two days ago, and brought along the few pieces of clothing he owned. You do manage to spot one of his journals on his desk, a leather-bound notebook that’s glossy black from intentional care and binds hundreds of thick parchment paper together. You mutter a quick apology before chucking the journal in the direction of the bed, hoping that it landed anywhere near the latter.

You make sure not to trip on your way down, and you approach the archive’s bookshelves. You specifically scan the bottom two rows of the middle column, where Dan Heng stores the texts that he’s been frequenting the most as of late. With haphazard grabbing motions, you try to pile as many of the books on your arms as you can, before the weight of only five crushes you down to the floor. One lands beside your face, and you catch a whiff of woody vanilla and roasted almonds.

They thud and tumble around you. Tears well in your eyes, but you’re not sure if it’s solely because of your frustration.

You try again, gripping onto the walls to help you up, forgetting about the books on the floor. You manage to gather four others in your hold, and you stumble back to Dan Heng’s bed.

To your luck, despite your careless throw, Dan Heng’s journal managed to reach his pillow. After piling the books from the shelves in two groups of two, you fall back and curl into a ball.

The throbbing in your stomach and core is almost unmanageable. You’re sure this is the maddening arousal that omegas have described, but to you, there’s nothing pleasurable about it. You don’t want to be satiated, you want this pain to end. In fact, the only way to satiate this pain is to end it.

Getting filled up with a dildo or squirting from a vibrator are the least of your concerns. You’re actually more convinced they’d cause you more harm. Well, they do help, but only when Dan Heng’s there with you. You can’t bear to even think of touching yourself when you’re alone.

A sting pierces at your heart at the thought of Dan Heng. You whimper, a mournful, weak sound, before you roll onto your side and flip open his journal. On the two pages you randomly open to, there are several scribbles, arrows and Universal cursive and diagonal lines of Xianzhou Script covering the sheets. There’s also slight smudges, from where the side of Dan Heng’s hand accidentally brushed against still-drying ink.

You can’t really make out what’s on the pages, not that you have the capacity to do that. Instead, you rub your nose and tear-stricken cheeks against the pages, crinkling the paper with your fervent movements. The journal smells the same as the books from the shelves, only slightly less musky from age. To your surprise, you also catch a faint trace of sea salt and white maple.

This journal must still in use, then, for Dan Heng’s scent to be lingering on it. For a split second, you worry about ruining his research, but then again, omegas can’t really control their urges or instincts, so you can only hope that that’ll be a sufficient excuse when Dan Heng sees the damage you’ve done. You press your face further into the book, splitting it wider apart until the thread stitching the reams of paper together is exposed.

You fall asleep, to the dissipating remnants of his scent.

–

After a brief explanation to Pom-Pom, Dan Heng speeds to his room with wide, spanning steps. He needs to grab his journal and leave immediately, even though he’d personally like to spare a second to greet you. Unfortunately, the research team Himeko and him are meeting up with have run into a problem with their experiments that needs to be resolved immediately, and Dan Heng’s only returning briefly to the Express to grab the right notebook so he can actually be of some help.

However, he stops in the middle of his tracks for two reasons: first, by March who stands a few feet away from the door to his room, looking ghastly and appalled, trembling hands clamped over her mouth, and second, by the nauseatingly sweet pheromones that fill the corridor. He knows they’re yours, and when Mr. Yang steps into view a moment later, with a shared nod, Dan Heng barges into the archives while Mr. Yang stifles his breath as he carries March away.

Even as a beta, your heat’s cruelly stimulating. Just by stepping into the same room as you Dan Heng feels as if he, too, is boiling over, with sweat and steam already forming and sticking to his clothes and skin. Thankfully, he thinks, he doesn’t have a physiological need to mate, so with enough effort and restraint, which he’s honed, albeit unintentionally, for lives and lives over, he can keep himself in check. With quiet steps, ignoring the scattered books with creased pages and the puddle of ink that will no doubt be difficult to remove, he treads closer to your form until he can tell that you’re fast asleep. It’s not a deep sleep, though, given that you’re thrashing about and groaning without pause.

He also notices the few books and his journal and a pen lying around you, and Dan Heng thinks his heart breaks a little at that. He’s always known that you struggle with your omega instincts and needs, but not to the extent that you don’t even know how to nest properly. Of course, it’s not entirely your fault either. He exhales, slightly shaking from anger and disbelief. Even if you knew how to nest in this situation, the fact that he had left nothing for you to nest with is unforgivable.

At the very least, Dan Heng’s good at compartmentalizing, so he redirects his anguish towards focusing on your needs. He adjusts the thermostat to a lower temperature, before rushing out of his room, despite not wanting to leave you alone. You need water, food, painkillers, clothes, and several other things. The corridor seems to have been aired out in the few minutes Dan Heng had been inside the archives, and when he reaches the kitchen, he runs into Mr. Yang.

Mr. Yang nods at him. “I’ve already told Himeko about the situation. You don’t need to go back.”

“Thank you, Mr. Yang,” Dan Heng replies. “Is March alright?”

“Yes, I believe she was just triggered by the pheromones. We had some suppressants on hand, so she has taken them already. She’ll be alright.”

“Thanks, again, Mr. Yang.”

With a nod from his end, Dan Heng grabs what he thinks you’ll need before taking off and heading to your room.

The gravity of your heat hits him harder when he’s inside your room. This entire time he’s been working off of pure conjecture, tidbits you’ve briefly mentioned in passing and advice he’s come across in textbooks and miscellaneous blog posts. But general omega care doesn’t really seem to apply to you, and he’s only spent one heat with you before. All the other times you locked yourself in your room, only receptive to help from March or Pom-Pom.

Dan Heng chides himself to not take it personally. You’ve made it a point to tell him that it’s not that you don’t trust him, but rather, a personal discomfort that you’ve yet to work through. Regardless, Dan Heng can’t help but feel slightly more frustrated and a significant bit more helpless than before.

He grabs a few of your hoodies and t-shirts from your drawer, and sitting on the ground, he begins to scent them, pressing and rubbing the fabric against his scent glands, furiously willing his body to produce more and more. But as he works through each article, the thoughts, the rational, realistic, unpleasant thoughts about your relationship, gradually begin to take precedent and eclipse all else.

Even if you were saturated with his scent, it would not be enough. Betas’ scents have calming, sometimes sedative effects, but they do not provide satisfaction to omegas when they’re in heat or alphas when they’re in rut. Betas also don’t need to mate, so he could never keep up with the physical demands of your heat either. More importantly, he could never give you a mark, something that would do much to ease the fire igniting and searing you from within.

He doesn’t stay for too long, as he needs to return to your side, but he does make one last stop at your closet, where he pulls out a small box that contains your vibrator. He’s also aware that you’re not the biggest fan of it, but it did make you feel a bit better last time, so it might be worth a try again.

When he’s back in the archives, it seems you’ve just woken up. Your face is buried into his pillow, sobbing and yelping into it, while your hips jerk side to side uncontrollably, like you’re being tasered relentlessly with electric shocks. Dan Heng rushes over and runs a hand over the back of your head.

You, on the other hand, don’t really notice his gentle touch. Delirious to the point that you can’t tell between reality and your restless dreams, your mind can only process the burning craving between your legs and the soreness throughout the rest of your body. It isn’t until you feel your body being lifted and a familiar face comes into view that you realize another person is in the room.

You chuckle, though it comes out as more of a choke. Even if you can’t make out the features of his face all that well or distinguish his clothes or even smell the sea salt and white maple that he’s desperately trying to emit, you know it’s Dan Heng, and now you’re more inclined to believe that you’re in a dream. Dan Heng’s not supposed to be here, but at least your subconscious has given you the opportunity to pretend that he is.

You croon and curl your body around him, relishing in the slight diminishing of pain from having your partner so close. His skin is cool to touch, and when you bury your nose into the pulse point on the underside of his wrist, his scent is helpful in calming your high-strung nerves. But, of course, not all of your pain subsides from his presence, and as another angry wave of your heat washes by, all you can do is dig your nails into his skin and bite down on your lips, barely able to mute your frustrated screams or restrain your quivering body.

Dan Heng seems to be saying something, though you can’t hear much beyond the roaring, thumping, and throbbing in your ears. You do get his point, though, when you feel his hands traveling slowly down the sides of your frame, intentionally so that you can process his actions and not be alerted. His hands trail across your ribs, your waist, your hips, before they settle on the bottom of your sleep shorts, peeling the damp fabric with gentle tugs. He does the same with your panties underneath, and discards both somewhere far beyond your care.

Dan Heng knows you’re out of your senses, and he hesitates. He wants to be of use, but not at the cost of your comfort. If he set you off in any way, it would only worsen your already poor state. He worries away at the inside of his cheek, mind coming up with everything and nothing, and in the end, he decides to speak to you again.

“Hey,” he says, leaning closer to your ear, “do you want some water? Or do you want me to take off your shirt?”

You barely make out the first half of his questions, but you nod when he offers to help you further undress. With some effort, mainly because your body convulses whenever you experience a random bout of pain, Dan Heng’s able to remove your soaked shirt. He begins to press a towel against your forehead to wipe your face, but you jerk away, the touch of it too rough and warm for your taste. Switching gears, he holds your head up and helps you take a few drinks of water, before you choke and ultimately don’t want anymore. He’s worried because you really need it, but again, he doesn’t want to push you.

The thought returns: If only he wasn’t a beta.

This time, he can’t shake it off. He stares at you, observing your clumped eyelashes and tear-stricken cheeks, the bruises scattered around your body, and the weakness in your muscles as they spasm over and over again.

Yet, somehow, in your delirium, you gaze up at him with dazed eyes and an equally dopey smile, as if your heat’s not as serious as it looks, as if you’re simply content that he’s beside you, even if he can’t do anything for you.

And that’s because you feel exactly that way. Despite what the doctors have said, you know your heats aren’t a peculiar product of your genetics or physical nature because they haven’t always been painful and disparaging. Your heats have simply become a manifestation of what you experienced before you joined the Express, events that, to this day, you can’t even bear to think back to, yet they continue to linger, haunt, and poison your state of mind. Besides, now that you have Dan Heng, it’s not like you want a mate, and in this regard, you can say with confidence that you’ve made great strides in overcoming your fear of betas.

On the other hand, had Dan Heng been an alpha, you don’t think you would’ve ever allowed yourself to get close to him. You wouldn’t have let him see you in heat like this, let alone help you through it. In fact, you don’t think you would’ve ever cared much about him at all. You’re sure that Dan Heng wouldn’t be all that different even if he was an alpha, but you never want to try your luck with one again.

The hours pass by slowly, with you clutching onto the remnants of your bearings as you continue to ride out your heat. Dan Heng assists whenever he can, feeding you snacks and fruit juice and painkillers when you feel up for it, otherwise scenting you as he holds you tightly in his embrace. He does his best to check in with you when it looks like you’re more lucid, and as the days progress, he can see your strength and conscience returning.

When your heat’s over eight days later, neither of you talk much about it. You apologize to him and the rest of the crew for your disturbance, to which everyone dismisses with understanding words of affirmation, and that’s really it.

But one thing’s for certain. You scent him more often now, even if both of you know it won’t stay for long, and you stay overnight at the archives more frequently. You spend more time with him in general, and more and more, you leave gentle touches and marks on him, while allowing him to do the same to you. While Dan Heng would prefer for the two of you to eventually acknowledge and discuss what had happened, he doesn’t particularly want to rush you into having the conversation either. After all, you seem to be doing better, and when your next heat comes…

The two of you will cross that bridge. Together.

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ericityyy · 2 years ago

Note

Hello dear, i dont know if your tired of young sheldon requests but if you are im so sorry, i promise that for future requests it will be another fandom. But i was just thinking about georgie with a female reader where she is very protective over missy and makes sure she is not forgotten or less than sheldon, which george finds very cute.

Thank you so much

𝐁𝐢𝐠 𝐒𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐲 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: 𝘈 𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘔𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘥.

𝙏𝙧𝙤𝙥𝙚: 𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘎𝘪𝘳𝘭𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘉𝘰𝘺𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥’𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺

𝙏𝙮𝙥𝙚: 𝘍𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝘾𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 600

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜: 𝘕𝘰𝘯𝘦

𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

“Y/N, do you think I can join the baseball team?” Missy asked with an insecure look on her face. She’s been meaning to join the baseball team for some time and was about to talk to her father about this, but then she decided to consult Y/N first.

Y/N stopped putting nail polish on the younger girl’s feet to look at her. Missy, although she may always seem fierce, doesn’t change the fact that she’s still a little girl who sometimes doesn't get that much attention from her parents. The attention most of the time is to scold her.

Don’t get Y/N wrong; Mary and George are great parents, but a lot of the time, they don’t have much trust in Missy and Georgie, and for good reasons too since most of the time, the two of them have been troublemakers. However, that doesn't change the fact that they feel inferior to Sheldon due to how their parents treat him. It has always been Sheldon who gets most of the attention.

“I think if that coach won’t let you in the team, I’ll go there myself and give him a piece of my mind.” Y/N finished polishing Missy’s nails, looking proud as ever seeing the girl’s beaming smile. “You are great with the sport, and if he can’t see that, then that old guy must be having some sight problems.”

Missy teared up at her words. She has always treated Y/N like a sister, even before Georgie and she started dating. Y/N always had Missy’s back, when Mary praised Sheldon or when George made comments about Georgie and Missy being less than Sheldon.

Missy doesn’t have a team. Not until Y/N came.

“You always are so kind to me.” Missy sniffled, causing Y/N to coo at her, bringing the crying girl into her arms. “Thank you for being here with me when I need you. You’re my team.”

Y/N pulled away from the hug to wipe the girl’s tears away, giving her a warm smile. She then stood up and grabbed a baseball bat before throwing the ball softly at Missy’s bed. “How about you and I play some ball before you go to your tryouts?”

The two girls didn’t notice that Georgie was at the doorway, leaning, "Well, aren’t you two sweet?”

Missy and Y/N turned at Georgie, the former standing up from her bed and grabbing the ball before running outside her room shouting, “Come on, Y/N!”

Y/N laughed at the girl’s enthusiasm, then turned to her boyfriend, who was smiling at her, and asked, “What is it?”

Georgie shook his head, standing up straight and walking toward the girl, who had a baseball bat on her shoulder and a hand on her waist. Georgie, at this point, decided that he was deeply in love with her. “Nothing.” He put his hands on her waist. “I just love how you’re always there for my sister; you have always protected her, and I love you for it.”

The boy kissed his girl’s cheek, noticing the slight pink hue appearing on her skin as he smirked playfully. He still has that effect on her.

“Well, what can I say? I’m the big sister she never had. I am what you call a sister by heart.” Y/N proudly, albeit teasingly, put a hand over her chest where her heart is, closing her eyes with a smile on her face. Georgie rolled his eyes, despite the chuckle that left his lips.

"Yes, you are, darling. Yes, you are.”

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄

hi, i’m sorry this is short but i can’t really think of anything else. but i hope you like this though :>

i’m also fine with the georgie requests!! but yeah i do wish i get to write other fandoms though… it’s okay though!! i enjoy writing georgie cooper imagines!!

#x reader #georgie cooper x reader #young sheldon #georgie cooper #georgie #imagines #imagine #georgie cooper imagine #fluff imagine #fluff #missy cooper #missy #platonic #romantic

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littlelovelunette · 4 months ago

Note

ARGH YES REQUESTS ARE OPEN AGAIN

Love the rebrand btw, it's such a vibe

okok Vi x reader with an eating disorder that reader's so heavily rationalized she doesn't believe it's a disorder. Like, won't eat breakfast, won't move so she doesn't get hungry, nose scrunches when she sees her reflection and vi's like "babe you have a problem"

(fluff and angst)

Luv you <33

~💜

Don't Like Myself

Contains eating disorder, denial of said disorder

Thank you so much for supporting me and sticking with me even while the requests were closed, it means a lot to me, 💜, thank you on your comment about the rebrand. I was simply not that comfortable with so many people attacking me via DMs and inbox simply because I looked young. So, I decided to change things up a little and remove my face from my profile picture, however the image there IS me just cropped the face out.

You turned to the side, wincing at the sight of a little bit of skin drooping around the waistband of your pants. Before Vi could look up from her phone, you quickly tucked your tummy under the right waistband of your pants.

"Baby, are you comfortable in that?" Vi asked, legs swinging off the couch edge as she gazed at the tight leggings you had on, "Looks a bit tight..."

"Gained a bit of weight," you murmured under your breath but Vi didn't catch it. Vi thought she misheard you so she put her phone down, attention now completely on you.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing, just— it must've shrunk when I put it in the laundry," you made a lame excuse in an attempt of getting away from the situation.

"Oh, okay," Vi got up, stretching before she walking upto you and wrapped her toned arms around your frame, "Want breakfast?"

"O-Oh," you glanced Vi and then back at the mirror, eyes lingering a little longer than necessary at your sides before you shook your head, "Nah, 'm not really hungry but you go ahead though, eat something."

Vi, a little shocked because you never really turned it down whenever she was the one cooking, gave you a little kiss on your cheek, "Whatever you're thinking, doll, don't overdo it," She warned although her voice remained gentle and controlled.

You knew Vi only wanted what was best for her so you didn't argue on the topic, letting her leave you in the bedroom so she could go and cook herself breakfast. Vi never pushed you when you didn't want to eat, but you knew she was silently observing you.

During the afternoon, Vi was deep asleep as it was a weekend. She was laid on her stomach in a loose white tanktop, black boxers with one of her legs dangling off the side of the bed, one arm draped over you like a human restraint so you couldn't move from her side.

You were scrolling on your laptop, silently trying to find out what was up with you— why didn't you suddenly want to eat?

Why were you so sensitive to the mere topic of weight?

Why were you so insecure about the way your body looked?

Why were you hesitating before even thinking of consuming anything with carbs?

Everything seemed like a loopy question and overthinking it only would give you a headache so you sought to the internet for a solution but everybody had different opinions— some simply claimed those were mind games whilst some other more down-to-earth people claimed it seemed to be an eating disorder.

But you couldn't really have one, right?

i mean, yeah, maybe you were a little unsure when it came to whether to eat during meal times or to skip. But that was genuinely because you didn't want to be overweight and you were on the path of it.

Being overweight would come with a variety of problems and you simply didn't want that— nothing too wrong about that, right?

Right?

With a deep sigh, you took the laptop off your lap and placed it on the bedside table, this was way too much. You were almost sure you didn't need a therapist but consulting one did seem like the best option.

You didn't have an eating disorder, though, why were you so concerned?

This kept going one for about a week until one day, Vi offered to cook breakfast again since it was a Sunday and she was feeling particularly good that day.

But once again, she noticed you denied the opportunity to taste her fabulous, fluffy pancakes, causing Vi to finally confront you with her suspicions.

"Baby, I don't want to get too nosy or anything but I've been noticing you're skipping meals. What's bothering my angel?" Vi asked, getting off the bed where she had been sitting and scrolling through her social media pages mindlessly before she noticed your denial of breakfast. Once again.

"Nothing, I've just realised I'm sort of gaining weight and I want to be more in control of what I consume..." You tried to reason with her, using your arms to hide the sides of your body so she didn't notice the little chub of your stomach.

"More in control? You're starving yourself, being unhappy with your body is one thing and mistreating yourself is another!" Vi said, putting her phone down onto the bed and making direct eye contact with you. Her pretty blue eyes were wide with worry.

"Mistreating is an exaggeration," you tried to plead your case, "I'm simply watching what I eat and trying to avoid some meals so I'll be able to get slim easier...?" You tried to phrase your last sentence better but you yourself knew it sounded way worse when you say that out loud.

"You're not really just watching what you eat," Vi took a step closer to you with her arms extended as if readying to hug you any second, "You're starving yourself completely and that's a problem, baby. If you were healthily thinking of this, you'd be eating a more balanced diet not just starving yourself with little to no food."

For a few minutes you both stood there in silence and you were simply speechless, unable to really decide what to reply with.

Finally, you spoke, "I guess I knew it since like a week I just didn't want to believe it. It's just been so hard with all the changes and stuff..."

"I know, baby, I've noticed, but you need to practice speaking to me about these stuffs, I don't want you to suffer in silence," Vi gave your hand a small squeeze making you look up at her blue eyes, smiling when you saw her do the same.

"I'll try, I promise, I'll try from now on," you said and pulled Vi in for a hug.

"That's my good girl," Vi hugged you back and kissed the top for your head before pulling back a few seconds after, "Now, what about those pancakes?"

"Heck yeah!"

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wandasaura · 10 days ago

Text

GEMINI MOON

summary — it’s just a flag, but to leighton, it’s endless and terrifying possibilities closing in. it’s just a momentary lapse, but to leighton, it’s another reason for you to hate the highs and lows of loving her

warning(s) — established relationships, closeted relationship, lesbians, college, dorming, mention of roommates, fluff, tickling, cuddling, coming out discussions, angst themes, comfort, internal conflict, crying, panic attacks, pet names, soft smut, fingering (l!receiving), oral (l!receiving), kissing, praise kink, aftercare, coming out, men/minors dni

authors note — based off of this prompt ‘i found this with your flag on it, and it made me think of you’ !! inspired by gemini moon, obviously. and for this request 💗 that covers all the bases! enjoy :)

It baffles you that Leighton’s dorm room doesn’t reflect more of her personality. The walls are adorned with black and white prints. Some of famous sculptures, those certainly reflect her lavish upbringing, and some of quotes. You figure those align with her deep rooted makeup too, if only because Leighton is persistently speaking her peace about things, even when nobody consults her for an opinion. There are darker blue tones thrown in too. The throw blanket she keeps on the edge of her bed, no matter the season, is navy. It reminds you of the car your father had when you were young. A cobalt blue Ford with a whole lot of mileage and even more mechanical problems. He’d had it for nearly a decade before he traded it in, got something more equipped for your busy lives. It wasn’t that you outright considered any color similar to cobalt your fathers. Not at all. But, Leighton Murray would never be a navy blue girl in your eyes. Leighton Murray is bubble gum pink. She’s sunset orange and dazzling cerulean. It’s insulting that she continues to buy navy accent pieces when you’ve told her as much.

You break into her dorm room with a wide grin on your face. She’s curled up in her bed. The twin XL does little to accommodate her long limbs, and so she sits curled up cutely. There’s a notebook sprawled across her legs, her thighs bare, exposed to your wandering eyes thanks to the yellow boxer showers she lets sit low on her small waist. Effortless is a word to describe the sight. Authentic. Ethereal. They come to mind too. There’s a white tank-top over her chest. It’s a crop top. Low enough to cover her ribs, and the sweet rolls of skin that she covers with a violent need to appear genuinely perfect, but high enough to allow her phone screen to amusingly illuminate her belly button. There’s a small cut a few inches above the concave divide, and you roll your eyes. Undeniable she’d taken the dermaplaning blade to her belly, her once a month desire to be entirely free of soft peach fuzz a gripping feeling. Evidently she’d been in a haste when she’d taken the task on, and you can imagine she’d cursed beneath her breath when blood stained her impractically white towels.

Not that Leighton slacked off, but it was odd to see her so absorbed in her homework. Leighton was the kind of student you looked at from across the football field and figured she didn’t need to attend a single class to pass. She had an effortless confidence to her. One that often fed you the belief she was superior to all, not that she minded. She giggled like a schoolgirl with flush cheeks anytime you stopped to mention how effortlessly gorgeous she was, how nobody held a candle to her and her sharp jawline and sweet eyes and cute nose. You did wonders for her ego, but not enough. Not enough to push her over the hill to coming out — to accepting herself and letting everybody else accept her too.

Nobody who doesn’t need to know about your relationship knows. Whitney knows, but only because she’d caught you sneaking out of Leighton’s bedroom in only a bra and her sweatpants four months into your relationship. It’s not a fling. Leightons not just using you for your body. It’s impressive that you lasted four months beneath the shadows when you're openly obsessed with her and she thinks it's the sweetest thing ever that your center of gravity is her attention. The one sided obsession doesn’t bother you. Leighton doesn’t need to constantly be glancing at you in public for you to know that she cares, that she’s giving you as much as she can offer undeniably. You’re happy with the stolen moments, with the sweet glances concealed by careful isolation. The sun never stops shining outside of the window, and you have the fleeting thought that rain was meant to be in the forecast today.

“Who let you in?” Leighton raises an eyebrow. It’s perfectly sculpted. It’s probably taken her five years to train them into such a sleek pattern. She glances up from her notebook to take in the sight of you standing in the middle of her room with your backpack slung over both shoulders. The light pink color is cute, delicate. It’s nothing like you are when she gets you all riled up. She’s good at that. Guiding you to losing all sense of reality; breaking you apart. If you hadn’t known that before you, Leighton had only been with two women and both mere minute long encounters, you’d never believe that she was just a natural talent with her tongue and her fingers. You still can’t believe that Leighton Murray is the best lay you ‘ve had and she’s not even out to the people closest to her in her life.

“The door was open.” You shrug, kicking off your flip flops and crawling into the bed with her. It’s not big, but it fits two people when personal space isn’t considered. It’s not considered now. Leighton lifts an arm accommodatingly, and you sink between her warmth and the wall. “I think Kimberly ran to the bathroom. I saw her blow dryer still sitting by the sinks earlier.”

Leighton rolls her eyes, because that sounds like Kimberly. The girls not so bad once you pick apart all of her layers and weird quirks, but until you find yourself loving her out of nowhere, it doesn’t make sense how she seems to exist on the verge of chronic organization and a dumpster fire.

“So nobody saw you.” Leighton hums. You lay your head down on her shoulder, and she lays her on top of yours. “Which means we have no time frame. I can keep you here with me as long as I want.” There’s a wistful twinge to words, and you find yourself smiling about her hopeful excitement. Even though Whitney knows, you never exceed a reasonable timeframe in her bedroom. It feels like high school sometimes. Giggling beneath your palms, swallowing moans with wanting tongues or cruel palms. You don’t mind it. Even when you tell her should could be making you scream shamelessly instead.

“More like until I have to pee. Which is probably going to be soon. I got a lemonade from the dining haul and then John caught me, and you know how he can talk, and talk, and talk, and not let you say a single word. All I had to do for twenty fucking minutes, Leigh. Twenty minutes! Was drink that stupid lemonade, and I can feel it sloshing around already. But, you can come over later. Kamari went home for the weekend.” Leighton’s always amused with your rants, especially the ones that include your whiny tone of voice and flying saucer glance, but there’s something electric about you now as you huff all snuggled into her side.

“Oh yeah?” There’s a hitch in her tone, and you know that you’ve made a mistake by mentioning your sensitive bladder. Your hands immediately move to block your stomach, but Leighton had anticipated that move coming from you quickly.

Her notebook is shoved off of her lap. It falls to the floor with a pathetic muffled thump. She doesn’t care that the pages are definitely folded, the ink potentially smudged. Her fingers are cold, they’re always cold. Leighton Murray is always cold, and it’s an absolute delight. Your breath catches when she grips your wrists in a single hand. Leighton is tall, you’ll admit that, but she’s not big. Her hands are relatively tiny, her waist is snatched, but she feels so much larger than you right now as she gleams at you with predatory eyes.

Your belly does a flip, a very dramatic full three-sixty. The sensation of pleasure combined with the inescapable pressure of a filling bladder is unreal, something that you cannot explain without sounding like you’re describing a Katy Perry song. It’s like sparks of bright vivid heat coming over you and out of your fingertips when you let your walls pulse and further accentuate that already existing rush of desire.

Her fingers press into your bladder, and you whine, wiggling beneath her. She tickles your ribs, knowing that you’re the most sensitive there, and you squirm. Your cheeks flush with heat, they’re warm to the touch, and Leighton laughs as she leans down to kiss them.

“I got you something today.” You hum, suddenly remembering that you’d lugged your backpack all the way here solely to conceal the gift you’d purchased at the thrift store that afternoon. You pull out of her arms just enough to swing your backpack off a single shoulder, unzipping the mauve zipper between a pincer grasp with excitement. “I found this with your flag on it, and it made me think of you.”

Leighton doesn’t know what to expect, but it’s certainly not a palm sized teddy bear with a lesbian flag embroidered onto the belly. It was clearly a handmade project, probably the only one of its kind ever made. It flatters her for a second. She’d told you last week that she thought she was a lesbian after a long battle of considering if bisexuality fit her preferences. You’d been patient as she waded through her past experiences and the sensations she felt with you, and you’d been more than willing to accept her if she decided that she did still like men, but that hadn’t come. She’d curled up on your lap, her hands tangled into your hair, pulling upwards in a way that alleviates just enough tension in your head to think clearly for a while, and she’d said she was a lesbian. You took her word for it. If one day she changed her mind, you’d get there with a smile of ease, but until then, Leighton Murray is a lesbian in your eyes.

That flattery becomes panic in a moment. It becomes a reality. She told you in bold claims that she was a lesbian. She’d used the term. It existed outside of her head now, beyond just the fragile chambers of her breaking heart. She shoves the bear out of her hands, like it’s going to burn her if she holds it any longer. There’s a burning fire of panic in her eyes, and you know without a word that you’ve pushed her too far unintentionally.

You never know. Some days she doesn’t bristle any more than you’d expect her to, but other days this happens. She looks at you like you just shattered her entire world.

“I-I think you should go.” She stutters, scrambling back into the headboard. The headboard is, ironically, a deep blue hue too. She looks so small up against it, her jaw trembling, her fingers grabbing onto the fabric of her tanktup like she’s realizing for the first time that you’ve seen all of her. It breaks your heart. Not the rejection, or the flicker of internalized sensitivity that says maybe something’s wrong with you too, but the utter fear that comes over her like a blanket aiming to suffocate not warm. It breaks you apart to know that someone so confident and genuinely deserving of good is so terrified of who she simply is — who she was born as.

Leighton Murray has never changed a day in her life. You might not have known her when she was seven, or running around in pull-ups probably biting anyone who pissed her off even slightly, but you can’t imagine that she’s ever been any less vibrant or tender-hearted. She didn’t change when she had the fleeting thought that maybe she liked girls freshman year, not even when she kissed one for the first time, or lured you into her bed with a sweet smile that conveyed she’d experienced a lot more than just casual one off hook ups your sophomore year. Leighton never changed, but she thinks that she has. She thinks everything about her is different, and that everything she knows is based on a lie. It breaks your heart that somewhere in life, somebody had told her that. Maybe not her father, who you’ve heard stories about, and know would support her fully even if he doesn’t understand the terminology fully, but somebody. Somebody had told Leighton that it’s a choice to be gay, and she believed them.

You nod your head, because you’re not going to fight with her on this when you can see the single thread that’s keeping her together is fraying. As much as you want to be with her, want to extend your comfort and your love, it’s not going to do her any good to be drowned in the reminder that you’re who she loves at the end of the day. “Okay, Leigh.” It’s a whisper, but she hears it, and she nods with tear-filled eyes.

Whitney’s in the common area when you come out of Leighton’s bedroom. She’d heard the laughing, could only picture what was causing it, so when she sees your face, a look of dread washes over her. You shake your head, silencing her questions before they can pass her lips. You’re not in the mood to dance around the subject right now. Whitney knows a lot, she probably has a good idea of what it means too, but you’re not going to put labels on something Leighton hasn’t even addressed.

It dawns on you that Leighton still has the teddy bear when you get back to your dorm, closing the door with a single sweep of your hips to the left. If she’s with you, she always rolls her eyes about how unnecessary your dramatics are. She’s not with you. After this, you don’t know if she’s ever going to have the confidence to face her own desires again.

You wallow in your own feelings for hours, and you’re ready to call it a night eventually when the feelings of anguish and pity just won’t stop rolling over your shoulders, but a knock sounds on your door and your eyebrows raise. Your roommate is gone, she’s note due back for another three days, and her location is still reading three hours North at her mother’s house. You don’t have a single clue who it could be, so you consider that they had the wrong door.

Another knock catches your attention, and you decide that whoever it is out there is definitely seeking you out. You pad toward the door on naked feet, even though it’s probably gross to track across the tile floors without socks. Truthfully, you’ve never moped these floors. You’ve vacuumed, swept, but moping hadn’t even crossed your mind. You’re sure there's all kinds of dirt beneath your feet, but you don’t care for anything other than Leighton right now.

“Leighton.” You gasp when you open the door to reveal her face. Her cheeks are speckled with tears, blotches of red allowing the blue in her eyes to convey a million tragic tales and harrowing emotions. Her lips are chapped, bitten raw. There’s blood on the corner of her lip. Her tongue pokes out to swipe at it anxiously. ”Oh, honey.” You coo when it becomes evident that the contractions of her chest are painful and unnaturally shallow, fast paced and not long enough to be getting her any kind of quality air flow.

“I can’t, I can’t breathe.” Leighton shakes her head frantically, looking at you like she’s defeated; utterly and entirely defeated. Her hands don’t raise to grab her throat, like she can’t even muster the energy to attempt to save herself before you.

“Come here.” You gasp softly, welcoming her into your dorm room. It’s somewhat similar to hers, but instead of a common area, there’s just one thin hallway that leads into three separate rooms; your room, Kamri’s bedroom, and the bathroom you share with a shower, toilet, and a sink. Leighton knows which room is yours. She’s been here enough times to know that yours is the one directly across from the main door, but you still guide her there with a hand on the small of her back anyways.

Leighton sinks into your bed like her body weighs nothing and far too much for her to support on her own at the same time. A frown frames your pink lips, the kind of pink that Leighton stares at for hours, trying to establish if the undertone is something deeper like a brown tone, or if cherry red truly does sit beneath the skin she kisses raw. She hates it. It makes her chest tighten more, and she shakes her head, desperately trying to convey that right now, she needs your optimism.

“It’s scary, I know.” You sympathize, because you know what's caused this without needing to ask. You sink into the bed beside Leighton, the same twin XL, although your bed sheets are yellow, speckled with white daisies. Your room reflects who you are perfectly, even going as far to incorporate the green day phase you’d had when you were twelve beside a framed print of American Pie lyrics by Don McClean. You’re a well rounded individual and it shows in all the little trinkets that make up your decorum. Leighton’s only half aware of who she has the potential to be, and that’s finally catching up to her. “When I came out, I was sixteen. My Dad, well, he’s a lot like your Dad. Anything to support me, to watch me better myself. But it still scared the crap out of me. I mean, nothing about me was changing. I wasn’t going to ask for some drastic haircut, or even tell him that I wanted my septum pierced, although that did come a few weeks later, but I was still terrified. I mean, all my life he’d known me as his little girl that was going to grow up way too fast and marry a guy she thought was prince charming. He thought he’d have grandchildren that stood a chance of having his eyes, and he thought I’d take someone else’s last name. Can I reframe your thoughts for a minute? Offer you a new perspective?”

You lace your fingers with Leightons, and she holds on desperately. You shuffle your bodies back farther, until she’s flush against your headboard that’s a dusty grey color. You press yourself against the wall again. Even if Leighton’s the vulnerable one right now, she’s still the protector; your protector. You drive the car, but she’s in the passenger seat giving you the directions, occasionally missing a turn, but you never mind.

Her breathing is jerky, uneven. You frown, cupping her cheek with a delicate grip. “Yes.” She whispers eventually, when the warmth of your contact breaks the layer of ice forming around her heart. It stutters in her chest, slowly coming back to life as she focuses on you.

“You’ve overheard conversations with my father, you know how… spontaneous he can be, if we’re going to be kind.” Your eyes sparkle, and Leighton gets lost in the gleam of fondness that washes over you for a single moment. “Well, the first thing he said to me after I told him I liked Ella Lautner, a girl I’d always claimed was the worst person ever all through elementary school, was that he was so glad he’d never have to watch me give up his last name. He gets to keep a part of me that he’d anticipated losing since the day I was born. It’s not all so bad, Leight. You just have to let it rain for long enough that rainbows appear, but you freak yourself out every time there’s even a chance of rain on the forecast. Why? I’ve been loved by you for the last seven months, Leight. I’ve done long distance breaks with you, and I’ve done living five minutes away. You love hard, and unabashedly, and with all of yourself. It’s magical to be loved by you and subsequently be known by you enough to be cared for so deeply at all, but something is stopping you from seeing how beautiful this is.”

“Everything changes if I come out.” A sob rippled through Leighton’s chest and she crashed into you, leaning forward until you were forced to support her trembling body.

“What changes? Tell me specifically, Leighton. What changes if you start holding my hand in public? You don’t have to tell anyone you don’t want to, hell you don’t even really have to tell anyone at all if you don’t want to. Labels are… they’re great if they can help you navigate your feelings, but if they’re just going to make you feel like you’re living your life inside of a constantly shrinking box, then it’s nobody's business. You have to learn how to be okay with that. It’s not just going to be easy straight away, despite how much I wish that were the case even when you’re fully ready to accept who you are.” You hold her face, bring her eyes back up to yours, hold her beneath your stare for a moment until you’re sure she’s actively listening to you. ”Can I ask you another question?” You know she doesn’t have a specific answer for you outside of the generic ‘everyone’s going to know’, so you don’t bother giving her time to further convince herself of that.

Leighton’s eyes are a little clearer now, she’s breathing a little easier. The sound of your voice and the feel of your hand helps. You still haven’t stopped softly tracing her cheek with your nail. “Go ahead.” She whispers, and you smile softly.

“Do you think about my label every time you see me?” It’s a genuine question, and you know Leighton recognizes the unjudging sincerity in your tone. She’s coming to the surface, rising from the ashes, clarity falling around her. It doesn’t seem so scary anymore, but it certainly doesn’t sound liberating either.

Leighton sighs, “Only when I’m already thinking about mine.” It’s the most she’s said to you in a single breath since she asked you to leave her dorm, and you feel the slightest bit of tension ease off your shoulders as you take it in. “I just… I don’t even know where to start.”

Your eyes sparkle and you lean in closer, softly guiding her back against the headboard until she has nowhere to run. Your thigh snakes over her waist until you’re straddling her, the tension for earlier slowly building beneath your touch now. Leighton’s stubborn. She’s a hands-on kind of person, especially when it’s information or a generalized sentiment that matters. There’s no bother telling her the same reassurances again, you’d rather show her the promise of safety and acceptance.

“Let me show you then.” You whisper, your lips ghosting overtop of hers. “Nothing changes. Not the way I love you, not the way your Dad loves you, not the way you carry yourself in life. All you have to do is let go and let me show you, Leight.” It’s a desperate plea for both of you. You’ve been aching to touch her since she felt it necessary to twist her fingertips into your ribs when you’d needed to pee, something that definitely verges on the border of kinky, but neither of you are willing to explore it any further. You’ve been desperate to show her that she’s still loveable since she’d looked at you with so much fear making up her appearance. “Just let me show you. Please.”

Leighton nods, and her fingertips curl into the hairs at the nape of your neck. She doesn’t pull like she typically would, just lets you work soft kisses into the exposed skin of her neck with the weight of her fingers in your hair as encouragement. “Okay.” She concedes, and only once you have her explicit consent do you lean forward to capture her lips in yours. Your kiss is bruising, and when you pull away, Leighton’s pupils are blown and she’s gasping for breath again, but not because she’s engulfed in panic, but rather pleasure.

“Get comfy.” You tap her thigh softly. You move away from her, no longer straddling her waist. You laugh when she pours softly, but sinks down into the pillows with a breathless excitement claiming her. Her lashes flutter dreamily, and the endless blue in her eyes is becoming smaller and smaller as her pupils reflect the effects you have on her body. “Can I take these off?” You ask softly, trailing your touch along her ankle up to her knee. She’s still in those yellow shorts, and now that you’re really paying attention to them, you can tell that they’re gingham. The white squares further bring her pasty skin to attention, but you have no negative thoughts about the milky skin beneath your fingertips as you trail your touch higher, between the apex of her thighs, until you’re just barely brushing against moisture that says even in turmoil, this is still what she wants. You’re still who she wants.

Your fingers curl around the waistband of her shorts, but you make no effort to pull them down before you have her explicit permission. Leighton nods, her chest rising and falling in quick successions as she peers at you with heavy eyes. She’s perched upwards on her forearms, holding a decent crunchy ss he tucks her chin to her chest, watching you between her legs with lust. “Take them off.” She pleads, and you need no further invitation to undress her.

It’s not intentional, you would’ve loved to tease her further, trail your tongue and your fingers along the damp patch on her panties, but as you tug the yellow shorts down and Leighton lifts her hips to help you with their removal, the white panties she’d pulled on after her shower come down too. She kicks them off her ankles, and they scatter somewhere in your bedroom, but neither of you pay attention as to where. It’s not important right now.

“Spread your legs for me.” You whisper softly, helping to ease her knees open with impatient fingers. Her thighs fall open obediently and a gasp slips into the air when cold air meets her warm core. Her thighs tremble, there’s a single moment where she considers hiding from your gaze and the assault of the air conditioner, but then she forces her muscles still and maintains eye contact with you that says everything she’s never been brave enough to even whisper before. “God you’re stunning.” You whisper, unable to help yourself, and Leightons cheeks flame with warmth beneath your praise.

You don’t have the patience to tease her, nor are you cruel enough to. She’s giving you all of herself right now, more than she’s even given before. It’s a conscious effort to keep her legs open when your tongue licks a broad stripe up her core, and you can see how difficult it is to succeed when you single out her clit, your tongue flicking the sensitive pearl with fever.

When your fingers join your mouth at the junction of her thighs, pressing into the warmth and the wetness without shame, Leighotn’s back arches off the bed and her hands desperately fist the sheets beneath her body. It doesn’t take long to work her up. It never takes long to work her up. Not when you’re aiming to please with all that you’ve got. You can play the slow game, Leighton herself is a master at it, but the aim of this isn’t to waste time and just play with her body because she can, because she lets you and she wants you to, it’s to prove to her that she’s loveable.

You encourage her to keep climbing that peek with shallow thrusts of your fingers that slowly become harder and more channeled. When your teeth graze her clit, that does Leighton in, and she explodes with violent fireworks of pleasure until she goes entirely stagnant, sinking into the mattress you’ve stacked two memory foam pads on beneath your mattress protector.

Leight huffs for breath as you slide into her side like you had earlier, laying your head down on her shoulder. “Do you feel loved?” You asked her softly, teasingly.

“I do.” She hums, and when she turns to face you, to let her eyes find yours with vulnerability painting them baby blue, you know she means it. you know that this was finally the moment where she realizes everything is going to be okay. “I want to tell Whitney first.” She mutters after a moment of thought.

“Okay.” You nod, because if that’s who she wants to tell, then you’re going to be by her side to shout it from the rooftops and kiss her passionately without having to hide it anymore.

Leighton sits up straight, hardly giving you any chance to even kiss her again, to let her taste the tangy flavor of her arousal on your tongue. You steal one anyways, when her palms are braced against the comforter and her chest is still rising and falling with breaths that haven’t entirely evened out yet. “I want to tell her right now.” She mutters when you pull away. You laugh because her eyes are still closed, she let them flutter closed when you kissed her and they haven’t reopened, but she’s so focused o n telling Whitney that you don’t think she realizes shes still staring straight ahead at darkness.

“You have to open your eyes to do that.” You say softly, and Leighton flushes a shade of pink as her lashes flutter open and she blinks at you slowly, sweetly. You smile, leaning in to kiss her again, this time tapping her cheek when you pull away, a cheeky smile on your lips. “You don’t want to stay here for a little while?” You want to make sure she’s not just rushing into this to appease you, you know that she feels like you’re giving her more kindness and leisure than she deserves, but you’re willing to wait forever for her if it means doing this right.

”I’m sure. I want to tell Whitney. I want somebody else to know that I love you. That I—“ Leighton closes her eyes, and she breathes out deeply. She goes pale, but only slightly. “I want her to know that I’m a lesbian, and that I’m in love with a woman… with you. I love you. I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you for a long time.” Her eyes open and the look she gives you conveys more delicacy than the wings of a monarch.

A shit-eating grin steals your neutral expression right out from under you, and Leighton rolls her eyes at the sheer elevation that comes over you to replace it. “Don’t get too excited.” She mutters, and the way her words drip with sacra’s only further excite you. You tackle her onto the bed, forgetting that she’s still without pants, that you have a trail to burn to Whitney, only absorbed in her and the way your heart beats like it’s counting the syllabus of her name. La bum, la bum, la bum, la bum. You can hear Leighton Murray being whispered in the rushing of your blood.

Leighton shrieks with laughter as the both of you go crashing down into the pillows, her head narrowly avoiding colliding with your thoughtfully padded headboard issued by Essex College to every dorm on campus. Her eyes narrow playfully, and she flips your position without much effort. It’s effortless. Leighton’s always on top. You can’t imagine how she can lead you through the battle of pleasure but fall on her face in the real world when the hardest thing is keeping your hands to yourselves.

Her core is still slick, and it rubs against your thigh when she straddles you. Both of your faces flame with embarrassment that provokes laughter, and that leads to Leighton stealing a pair for underwear, throwing hers in your hamper, and pulling those yellow shorts back on. There’s a moment of hesitation when she opens the dorm door and faces the hallway. You don’t expect her to jump straight into public affection, but she grabs your hand before you can tell her its okay, and she leads you through campus with her chin raised high.

She barrels into her own dorm like a bulldozer, and Whitney is still on the couch when you return, surrounded by chinese and textbooks as she scribbles down notes.

”I’m dating Y/N.” Leighton blurts, and it’s the first time she’s ever said your name and love in a sentence. You’re always some variant of a pet name, always baby, or sweetheart, or brat when she’s tired of your attitude, never your name. Sometimes you wonder if she even knows your name, but when you remember that she does, it leaves you aching to be called something sweet again.

Whitney looks up from her textbook at the bold declaration, her eyebrows pinched together. “I know.” She frowns and Leighton groans. All you can do is laugh and rub her back, encouraging her to keep going.

“I’m a lesbian. This is my girlfriend.” She says instead, and Whitney’s eyes widen as she takes in that information and the serious nature of what she’d always thought was just messing around between friends. It wasn’t any of her business, and she didn't care so long as Leighotn seemed happy, but hearing it fully was a shock.

“I kind of figured that honestly.” Whitney mutters when the initial shock wears off, and you laugh shaking your head. You know if Leighton sticks around long enough to recognize that implication, she’s going to freak, so instead you grab her shoulders and guide her toward the bedroom.

“You did it, Leigh!” You cheered once you closed her bedroom door, your eyes finding that little palm-sized teddy bear on her nightstand beside a lamp. “You came out. I’m so proud of you!” You grin, peppering kisses all over her face until she can’t handle it and shoves you away with a wide grin on her face.

“I…I know you’re basically already my girlfriend, and I told Whitney that you are, and I know you said we don’t need labels, but… but… I would really like to officially call you my girlfriend. I want to ask you. Please let me ask you.” She begs once you sink into her mattress, cuddling into her chest like you belong there. You do.

“Why can’t I ask you?” You frown, looking up at her with wide eyes that are brimming with humor at this entire situation. Leighton mimics your stare, and her nose scrunches in condescension as she reaches to pinch your cheeks.

”We both know that if I didn’t set this whole scene up for you, it wouldn’t have even crossed your mind to officially ask me.” Leighton taunts, and your cheeks flame because you know it’s the truth. Leighton wears the pants in every aspect of this dynamic outside of simply being confident in who she is, but that’s changing now. There once was a time you never thought that it would.

“Okay.” You concede, your cheeks warm, your eyes filled with stars that spell out her name. “Ask me then.”

Leighton smiles, and she takes a moment to just absorb this moment before she makes a move to say anything at all. “Will you be my girlfriend?” She asks, a cute grin on her face as her nose scrunches and her cheeks flame.

You consider teasing her, drawing out your inevitable yes, but you’re far too impatient. She’s right, if she hadn’t brought it up, you would’ve just assumed that you’d always been girlfriends because that’s how you acted. But, now that you know she’s ready to fully recognize and consider this something official, that negates the further of her life in some way or another, you can’t help but want to wear the title immediately. “Yes, I will.”

#leighton murray #renee rapp #leighton murray x reader #renee rapp x reader #leighton murray angst #renee rapp angst #leighton murray comfort #renee rapp comfort #leighton murray fic #renee rapp fic #leighton murray oneshot #renee rapp oneshot #sex lives of college girls

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spidybaby · 1 year ago

Text

Dull Shine

Summary: The circumstances might have dulled the shine she had. Feeling empty even with his company.

Warnings: cursing.

Part Two

"What do you think about this?"

You turn your head away from your phone, looking at him up and down. "I like it, but maybe the black and white Jordan's?"

He nods, walking back into the closet and changing his shoes. You look at him while he does that.

It's like a routine for him, going back from training, quick visit to his mom or dad, going home to shower, and getting ready to go out.

He's been trying to spend as much as he can with his friends, Hakimi, Dembele and the team. They like to hit the club in a vip area, the other invite girls who look like the typical hooker.

You didn't worry about it, Kylian is not a cheater. He barely even acknowledged the girls. He likes to go there to be with the team.

"What about now?" He poses, showing you the fit and pulling his leg up your nightstand. "Do I look good?"

"Like a million dollar baby," you smile. Watching him get all cocky at the praise. "I feel like I should be worried. You're going out looking like this." You joke.

You walk over to him, smacking his ass in a playful way. He turns to you, smiling, wrapping his hands around your body.

"You know you're my only one." He kiss your neck. "If you want, you can come with me." He smiles into your skin. "Think about it," He says, kissing your neck again and pulling away to walk into the bathroom.

You are thinking about it, but you can't help but think of how the other girls go to those places. Dressed in the most expensive things, the best type of jewels, Cartier, Van Cleef, their expensive Louboutin or YSL heels.

You don't have that. You worked a nine to five job that didn't allow you to get the designer things.

You moved to Paris to study, wanting to get a better future for yourself. You were still paying some debt from your college.

Kylian begged you to move in with him a year into your relationship. You accepted only with the condition of him letting you help with some bills.

He obviously didn't allowed that. Letting you believe that you were going to help but in reality he was taking care of the two of you.

You never accepted his money. You loved your little job. It was not much, but it was enough for you.

You look into your things, finding a pair of cargos, and a backless bodysuit. You liked the combo, and you know he would too.

You weren't so sure about the shoes, you usually wear the outfit with some Jordan's to match him.

"I like that look." He says as you enter the bathroom, you smile, grabbing your makeup and lightly applying some.

"You look like a billion dollar baby, now." He says, kissing your cheek. "And what better way to match your look than with this."

He hands you a black box with a golden bow. You already know that there's something extravagant inside the box.

"Amour, we talked about this." You say, applying gloss. "What did we say?"

He rolls his eyes. "No gifts without consulting first."

"And what did you do?" You smile a little.

"Getting you something that my heart told me you would love." He left the box in the bed, walking over to you. "It will go amazing with your outfit, mon amour, s'il te plaît."

You sigh, nodding your head. You walk over him, kissing his cheek and thanking him. "Let's see." You fake a smile.

What you can't help but feel bad is the way he smiles that he has. He loves giving you things.

You pull a black Saddle Bag from Dior. you love it, you were trying to save for this bag for some time, always having some sort of problem and needing to use the money.

"Come here." He pulls your arm, walking you to the tall mirror in the closet. He grabs the bag from your hands. Positioning it on your shoulder. "What do you think?"

You feel bad from how much you love the bag and the way it goes with your clothes. "Thank you." You smile, turning around to hug him and kiss him.

"Now what if you put your things inside and we go meet my friends?"

You nod, kissing him one last time. You grab your bag, moving your things. You look at yourself one last time before joining him in the living room.

You were his designated driver since he didn't have a license. He picked one of his less extravagant cars, not wanting to call the attention.

The first person you see is Achraf, he was talking with this pretty brunette. "Don't let him trick you, he's still married." Kylian jokes, knowing that will make Hakimi awkward.

"I'm not, don't believe him."

The girl only nods, laughing and kissing Kylian's cheek. "Bonjour to you too."

"Y/n, come here." Achraf stands up, hugging your figure. "This idiot finally convinced you to come, so amazing."

You smile, smelling the alcohol in his breath. "I finally left the crib." You laugh.

"Pamela, this is Y/n." He introduced the girl to you. "She's Kylian's girlfriend. She's so amazing, talk with her." He push your shoulder down, making you take a seat next to her.

You felt uncomfortable, the girl clearly didn't like that either. You turn to see kylian and Achraf talking with Marqhinhos and Vitinha.

One waiter gets close to them, Kylian turns to you. "Something you want to drink, bébé?" He kisses the top of your head.

"Whatever you're having." He nods, turning and leaving you again with the very judgy girl. "I like your nails." You say, trying to start some conversation.

She scuffed, turning to you. "Where's Emma?"

"Emma?" You ask confused. "As Kylian's ex-girlfriend Emma?"

She nods, looking you up and down. "Yeah, I miss her."

You didn't answer, getting up to go next to Kylian.

"Hey, you left my girl alone." Achraf says.

"Your girl's an asshole." You say to him, making Kylian laugh. "You really suck at picking, Haki."

The rest of the night was good. You didn't feel like leaving Kylian's side, and he didn't seem to mind.

Once you're home, you find yourself next to him in the bathroom, both preparing to sleep. "We should go out again. It was fun." You nod, finishing with washing your teeth.

You felt so out of place tonight. All these girls, all these drinks and other substances. You didn't feel like doing all that again.

You didn't belong to his world. You were used to parties back in college, but the type of being in your pj's and drink cheap alcohol from a cup.

You can't get used to the extremely overpriced drink he likes, the extremely overpriced restaurants, trips, clothes.

You turn to him. He was applying some cream, too concentrated to mind the way you're questioning yourself.

✨️✨️✨️

"You have to be joking," Celine says. "That can't be real."

"I can't make this up. That freaking girl asked me where his ex was." You laugh, passing her another dress.

"Look at the bright side. She's just a one night stand, and you're the girlfriend."

You two share a good laugh. Celine is your boss, you started working for her in your second year living in Paris.

You loved her, and she loved you. That's why even when Kylian offered to find you something closer to where he lived, you said no.

She trusted you even when you barely understood French. She helped you and taught you a lot.

She has her own brand. It was very successful. She dressed so many french models and football wags. Like Antonella and Bruna.

She's not the type of designer to order and sit around her company. She loves her stores and mostly hangs around with you on the one you work.

"Well, at least you had fun."

"I don't know." You say honestly. "I feel so weird when I'm at these places."

"I used to feel the same, but it's all in your head. You do belong there, with him." You nod, smiling at her. "Now go. I got a fitting, and I'll close the store." You nod, saying your goodbyes.

You walk for a while, trying to de-stress. You text Ethan, sending him a pic of the cinema poster that's outside a mall.

You missed hanging with him now that he's more involved with football and practicing. But you were proud because he and Kylian were playing together.

When you get to Kylians house, you see Brice there. He was doing something with your boyfriends head.

"Getting Cinderella ready for the dance?" You joke, taking a seat in the coach next to where he's seated.

They laugh, explaining that the little trim was because of the party the club does for their foundation. They have an auction in order to raise money to help the foundation.

"You have your dress ready? Maybe I can get a tie to match you." He asks, looking at you.

You freeze, you forgot to think about a dress, even tho he told you about this a while ago. You even wrote in your notes to look at some dresses.

"Wait, when did you say was the party?" You ask, trying not to show your worries.

"In two days, mon amour."

You nod, excusing yourself to go upstairs. You can't help but panic, you did forget about getting a dress.

You see into your dresses, nothing is up for the occasion, nothing says exclusive party with extremely rich people.

You chat with your friend, asking her if you can borrow a dress from her. Sadly for you, her dresses were all short ones. And the party attire is long formal.

You search online for dresses, but all of them were way too expensive for your budget. You didn't want to ask Kylian for money.

Also, you didn't want to admit that you forgot about the party and that you didn't have anything to wear.

"I feel so dumb." You say to Celine. "I forgot about the party, and now I'll have to admit that I don't have a dress."

"Why don't you take one of the dresses we have?" She asks, confused.

You look at her, ironing some dresses. "As much as I love your dresses. I can't afford them."

"Aren't you dating the footballer who earns the most in Europe?"

You hate that reaction, Kylian wins his own money, but that wasn't yours to waste or to use.

"You say it. He's the one earning that money." You go back to ironing. "I think I'll just skip this. It's no big deal." You shrug.

She nods, walking over to the back. You can hear her opening something and moving things around. When she's back, she's holding a gorgeous orange and yellow dress

"I made this for a French singer. She never got to wear it. I think I can let you borrow it." She smiles.

You looked at the dress, it was beautiful, a classic figure and the colors were subtle, nothing crazy just beautiful.

"Are you sure?"

"Just keep the tags. They are there for reference of the model and size." She hands it over to you. "I think it will fit."

You smile, hugging her tightly. "I can't thank you enough for all you do for me."

She shakes her head no. "You can thank me by taking a picture with him and having him tag me."

You nod, smiling like crazy because now you can wear something pretty to the party. "I'll make him post a solo picture of me just to thank you." You laugh, hugging her again.

When you got off work, you asked Kylian if his chauffeur could pick you up. You weren't going to take public transportation with a borrowed dress.

"Bonjour madame." Kylian smiles, pulling his window down. "You asked for a ride."

"Did I?" You acted confused. "Well, I asked my boyfriend to pick me up, but since he's not here, can you give me a ride?"

He opens the door to get off the car. Closing the door and opening it again. "Ladies first." He says, a very deep tone to look more serious. "Careful with the head."

He joins you in the back of the car. Kissing your cheek as he lays his head on your shoulder. "Thank you for picking me up." You grab his hand and kiss it.

k.mbappe

k.mbappe 👔👩🏽‍❤️‍👨🏽📸

Liked by ethanmbappe, celinedesigns and 3,950,647 others

psg 💙❤️✨️

ethanmbappe love is in the air 😩🤪

celinedesigns the outfits 😍✨️

achrafhakimi where's the picture we took? 😔

"Oh great, Achraf brought his side chick." Carol says, rolling her eyes at the sight of Pamela.

"So I'm not the only one who doesn't like her." Alessia laughs.

"No, this one right here also dislikes her." Caron elbow you, you scuff.

You turn your head to where Hakimi and Pamela are, they are chatting with Marquinhos and Donnarumma.

"She asked me if I could bring her some wine the other day at the barbecue Marcos organized. When I told her it was a self serve kinda thing, she told me nannies aren't supposed to bother the guests and just follow orders."

You and Alessia just laugh, that girl definitely had the nerve to think she was better than others.

"Talking about drinks, I'm going to get one more, you guys coming?" They shake their heads, lifting their half full drinks. "I'll be back."

You walk over to the bar, ordering a cocktail. You feel someone tap your shoulder.

"I like your dress." Pamela says, ordering a drink. You nod smiling. "So Haki and Kyky are friends."

You squint your eyes at the nicknames. "Yes, I noticed that." You sarcastically say. "Also, I think the whole city of France knows that."

"What I'm saying is, I'm here to stay." She gets closer. "And I don't want us fighting, our men's are friend. We can be too."

You turn your head at where Kylian is, even tho he's leaving the team. You know Achraf is a very important person in his life.

"I like your dress too."

"Thank you, it's Versace." She smiles. "Where's yours from?"

"Celine."

"Oh, I didn't knew they did discounts."

You choke on your drink. The audacity of her to say that with the biggest smile like it's nothing.

"They don't."

"Well, Haki told me you work in retail, very Georgina of you." She scuffed. "And let's be honest, unless Kylian bought that for you or they gifted you the dress, I don't think your nine to five allows you to get expensive brands, with the way you dress regularly."

You stare at her, wanting to wipe that stupid grind off her face with a slap.

"Emma used to buy that brand all the time, I get you want to he like her, just don't make it that obvious." She laughs.

You smile. You weren't going to make a scene there like she hoped for. "Well, if you care to know that much, Celine herself gave me this dress to wear tonight. She's a good friend."

"Yeah, sure." She turns back to the bar.

You grab your drink, not wanting to spend more time with her. Just before you left, you got closer to her.

"Talking about copycats, maybe look in the mirror because Hiba's whole wardrobe was Versace. But not from the rack like yours, she knew Donatella."

You don't even walk back with the other wags, you walk into the bathroom trying to calm your anger.

Why did she think that because you have a regular job you were less. Yes, you couldn't afford a dress like the one you're wearing and maybe you couldn't do all the things Kylian does for you. But you were happy with your job, you liked being down to earth.

You wipe the tears that your anger made you let out. Not wanting for all the girls or even her to look at you like that, you walk out, trying to get some air.

After some time of not seeing you, Kylian asked Alessa where you were. She answered with a shoulder shrug.

You walked back into the venue at the right time. He walks faster to you. "Amour, where were you?" He kiss your cheek.

"I was taking air, needed it." You half smile. "Maybe I'll ask the chauffeur to take me to your house. I'm tired."

If there's something he used to do, it was reading you like an open book. You missed that. The way he would tell something was wrong before you even did.

"I'll just wait a little more because of the club bosses." He kiss you quickly. "I'll ask my bodyguard to accompany you to the car."

You nod, walking quickly to the table to say goodbye to your friends. Saying the same excuse. You're tired, but not physically, you are tired mentally.

From all the pressure you put yourself into. Even when you want to try, you can't do it. You don't feel like you belong to his world.

You change into your pajamas, as you wash your face and do your routine. You can't help but feel anger at the words of Pamela.

You looked at the dress before turning the closet light off. She was right. You couldn't afford it. You were playing Cinderella with it.

✨️✨️✨️

"Are you sure you don't want me to pay for the dry cleaning?" You ask again. "It's the least I can do, just let me-"

"Honey, since you wore that dress, my lines are going crazy for the same style in different colors." She smiles, taking the dress from your hands. "Actually, when did you say was the ballon d'or?" She laughs

"Not until a few months." You laugh with her.

"I think it's enough time to design something just for you. But that would be me as a brand, this was me as a friend."

You thank her again, turns out wearing her dress made not only the signer but other models want the dress.

You felt special when she told you that, asking you to help her with the online orders, even when she had a team she trusted you with her life.

"I'll see you tomorrow. Coffee is on me, by the way."

"Hey. Take tomorrow off, I think you deserve it after how hard you work."

You nod, saying your goodbyes and leaving the store. You got to your favorite coffee shop, getting yourself a treat.

Kylian asked you to pick up his mother's birthday gift, giving you his card and telling you to go crazy if you wanted.

"I called the bank and told them Ma femme is going crazy with the plastic." he says before leaving to practice. "If it's something like a bag, she wants it in blue."

You tried to find something blue because that's what she asked. You know she likes jewelry too. Maybe both can be nice.

You text Kylian a picture of the options you have. He was in a meeting with Luis Enrique, and they were creating a plan for the UCL game.

You walk out of the store with the bag for Fayza, moving to Cartier to get her some jewelry, maybe a necklace.

You get a pair of earrings and a necklace to match. You know she will like it, you and her have similar taste in clothes, bags and jewelry.

Kylian texted you to get him a bucket hat from Louis Vuitton. He wanted one for a long time, and now that you're out and about.

You picked two for him, a black one and a white one. You text asking if that will be all or if he would like something else.

You check the store, finding a cute Alma Nano bag that in your eyes was so cute, You think about what he says, you can spend as much as you want on his mom gift and if you want something you can pick anything.

You text Kylian a picture asking if he likes the bag. You were questioning if you should or not.

"Madame, I'll go get the hat you requested. I'll be right back." the sales girl says to you. "You can wait on the couch, or you can keep looking around."

You nod, looking around the store for something else. Eyes going back to the bag.

"Oh God, you're here." You hear someone saying. "If you're filling applications, I need a maid." Pamela laughs.

Her hands were full of designer brands. You smirk when you see the Versace one. "Trying to fill Hibas side of the closet, I see."

She rolls her eyes. The knife digging hard on her with all the ex-wife jokes. You enjoy the way her face turns kinda red.

She was about to say something. The sales girl interrupts her. "Madame, I have the items upfront per your request."

"Merci, I'll be right there." You pass Pamela, ignoring her for the sake of your evening. "Can I add this bag to my bill, please."

You pay for the things, getting out of the store without paying mind to Pamela. You didn't need her to ruin your mood.

The chauffeur was waiting for you, Kylian texted you to go pick him up after picking you up.

"Hello, sunshine." You smile as he opens the door of his car. "Long time no see, Mister Mbappe."

"Like what?" He asks, following your joke. "It's been like five years, isn't it?"

"So long, Paris." You dramatically say. "I got you your hat, two actually."

He kiss you hello, seeing the bags in the front seat. "Perfect, I can look fancy at the beach."

You two chat about his day during the way home. Kylian was excited about the ucl game and you loved that for him.

You two walk with the bags, well, he did. You carry his toiletry bag. "So you want to make something for dinner together?" You ask, leaving his things at the entrance of the house.

He nods, searching for a tutorial on something he's been wanting to do for a long time. You collect the ingredients, helping him with the preparation.

"Tomorrow we are invited to Hakimi's sister birthday party." He says, opening the oven and leaving the food there. "It's going to be at Hakimi's."

You think about the whole Pamela situation. You know you want to tell Kylian about it, but you're not sure if you want to ruin his mood today or ruin the whole invitation thing.

You think about it while you finish with the salad. You hate confrontation and you hate creating an opportunity for her to bother you some more.

"Ready, bébé." He says, placing the dinner on the table. "Let's eat and I'll tell you about my day" He says, kissing your neck.

He serves you two. You bring some water for him and a soda for you. Needing some sugar to sweeten your day.

Kylian talks about his day training and how he will shoot a new commercial for Oakley, the glasses brand that he models for.

"And I asked them for a pair of glasses for you. So you'll be the first one to try the new collection."

"Woow." You laugh. "Since we have connections, we are getting free sun glasses."

You finish dinner between jokes and talking about what to buy for Hakimi's sister.

You have to talk to him. You tell yourself that again, and again, and again. You don't want to look like the bitter friend of the ex who doesn't approve the new girl.

You move to your room, fixing the washed clothes into their designated spot in the closet. He was in the bathroom, applying his night skincare like you taught him.

"Hey, can I talk to you about something?' You ask loudly.

"Oui, bébé." He shouts back.

You keep putting the clothes in the racks. "I know this might sound weird, but I don't like Pamela." You began. "She's just so mean and such a freaking brat around me. Thinking she can diminish me because of my job and shit. I don't feel like putting the nice act with her anymore."

You let everything out, feeling more relieved now that it was out and you didn't have to tip toe around her in front of kylian.

You wait for his response. Silence is taking over the room. You can hear a sound of voices in the background.

You move to the bathroom, finding him with his phone in his hand, watching a video about a show or something like that.

"Did you even pay attention to what I said?" You ask mad.

He looks at you, pausing the video. "Pardon, oursamme sent me this video. It's so funny. Here, watch it."

You shake your head no. Walking back into the closet. You're mad at how you can hear him talk about everything, but he can't even hear you for two minutes.

You finish what you are doing. Walking into the room and finding him still watching his video. You roll your eyes and walk into the bathroom to take a nice shower.

You can't help going to bed mad at him. You felt trapped, he didn't pay attention to you, and you only want to be able to say things that you feel.

The next day, you didn't even say goodbye to him when he left, he was too busy with his phone to notice, only saying a quick goodbye and patting your head.

You spend the rest of the day in a mood. Not really caring about anything but being angry at how much he diminish your feelings and focus on something dumb.

The night approaches, you want to send him alone to the party, but Hakimi's sister was always friendly with you. And she came to your birthday last year with a nice gift.

You dress simple, a one-piece full bodysuit you like, since it was chilly you picked a jacket and your black and white dunks.

You fixed your hair and did your makeup. Something natural since you knew everybody there and everybody knew you with and without makeup at this point.

Kylian was sitting on the couch, waiting for you to be done. He was now aware of your mood. When he came home you just rolled your eyes and refused to heard about his day.

"Ready?" He asks.

You nod, grabbing the gift you got and grabbing the house keys. "Which car?" You ask, very dryly.

Kylian hates when he knows he fucked up but doesn't know at the same time. He can't piece what he did to make you mad.

"The chauffeur is waiting for us." He says, low tone. His hand find the small of your back. You move, not wanting to have his hands on you.

The whole trip was like that. He's thankful Achraf's house is relatively close to his own. Because he can't stand the silent treatment you're pulling on him.

"Hello" You smile, hugging Hakimi's sister as you enter the home. "Happy birthday, you look so beautiful."

You make some small talk, Kylian watching you. His sight is burning your skin. You can tell he's observing, he's like a hawk watching his prey.

"Happy birthday." He says, hugging his friend's sister.

You stayed with her, walking into the home and saying a quick hello to the other people. The list of invitations was mostly known faces.

"Thank God you're here. I can't stand being alone with that woman any more." She whispers, head pointing towards Pamela.

You roll your eyes. "I can't stand her either, she's a narcissist with pretty hair." You joke to get some frustration out.

The subject changes, you were talking about life, about updates on different topics you discussed in the past.

"Excuse me just a moment, I'll go check if the food is ready." Hakimi's sister says, walking to the kitchen.

You take the opportunity to go to the bathroom. Going quickly and checking your makeup. You apply a little more lip balm and go out.

"Well, well, well. Cinderella's here."

You sigh, not wanting to engage in the conversation you pass over Pamela, who quickly grabbed your arm.

"Didn't your parents teach you that it was rude not answering when you're being talked to or taught you basic manners?"

You lift an eyebrow, asking back. "Didn't your parents teach you how to respect others?"

She wanted to answer, trying to dig the knife she's been planting on your chest, but you're quick.

"And didn't you know that even with that prude face you're just a stuck up little bitch who thinks is better than anyone else but in reality, you're just an insecure piece of crap?" You whisper close to her, looking her up and down. "Look at you, hiding under all that. Your parents must hate you, having such a hypocrite for a daughter. Being such an ugly person on the inside must feel bad. So don't worry, I get what you're doing. It's not about my job or my clothes. It's that you feel inferior even with all that gold on you."

You walk back to the living room, leaving her there alone. You feel nice. Letting all that out was refreshing.

You went on with your night, some of the wives came to the party, leaving you with a nice circle and not only the birthday girl and you.

"Why is Hakimi looking at you like that?" Alessia asks, making you turn your back to where they are.

Hakimi was looking at you in a weird way. Talking to Kylian while doing it. He turned his head to find you.

"Don't know, maybe his gold digger told him something about me." You shrug, not minding it.

The night was good for you. You walk into the house happy and relaxed. Kylian was silent. You thought it was because of the silent treatment and decided to stop it.

"Hey, what if we see that movie you told me about?" You were finishing your night routine. He enters the bathroom, his eyes fixed on your reflection. "You okay?"

He sighs, not feeling like fighting. "I know what happened with Pamela." He confess.

You lock eyes with him in the mirror, his rough energy making it obvious that he was mad about the situation that happened at his friends house.

"You do?" You ask, making him nod. "Well, about time. She's crazy if she thinks she can get close to me again. What a loser."

He chuckled, shaking his head no. "Are you serious?"

You turn to him, confused about what he knows and how he knows it. "What?"

"You insulted Pamela." He says, his tone is so serious you feel like your parents are scolding you.

"What?" You repeat. "Are you serious right now?"

"Look, I know you didn't like her the night Achraf introduced you to her, but leaving her alone is one thing and belittled her about how Hakimi is just using her to forget his ex and how she's just replaceable is wrong."

You stayed quiet, not believing his words. How is it that you two are discussing the interaction her and you had in so different ways?

"I never say that"

"Well, she left saying you say that."

"Oh, so you believe her over me?" You ask offended.

"Non, but why would she lie? She even left telling Hakimi that she needs to think about their relationship because of what his best friend girlfriend thinks."

You laugh. "Is this a joke?" You ask, turning again and closing your creams. "Because if it is, it's a good one. Stop playing."

He's not laughing, he's quiet as a tomb. "I'm not laughing, am I?"

"Kylian, that never happened. How convenient it is that you get to believe her when a night ago I told you how she belittled me in every way she can."

"You never say that."

You turn back at him, mad at him. "I did."

"You didn't."

"I did, but you, asshole, were paying attention to that stupid video Ousmane sent you." You threw your hand towel at him. "I told you how I felt, but you chose to ignore me, and here we are."

"I don't recall that."

"How convenient." You exit the bathroom, grabbing your pillow and blanket. "You prefer to call me a liar and believe that I would do something like that than talking to me and getting my side."

"Where are you going?" He asks, joining you in the bedroom. "Don't be ridiculous, leave that there."

"No, Kylian, you can sleep alone tonight. I have a feeling that maybe you don't want to sleep with someone who belittles people the way I do and who treats people the way I do. Because it's how I am, of course, even after years of dating, you would think that and take someone else's side."

You walk out of the room, pillow in one hand, and blanket in the other. You enter the guest room that was near your room.

"And don't bother trying to get my story, I'm sure with her side, you have enough to make your own mind." You yell at the door frame. He's stood in front of your bedroom door. "Oh, and I know for a fact Pamela is not going to be the only one thinking about her relationship because I certainly am too."

You slam the door as hard as you can. Locking it . Not even ten seconds later he's shaking the doorknob, asking you to open the door.

"I'm not going to open the door. You chose her, Kylian." You yell again. "You chose to believe her over me." You say lower, crying about the whole situation. "I'm your girlfriend, and you chose her."

The overwhelming feeling of anger and guilt is making you cry, you don't even know why you feel guilty about what you say.

Kylian gave up after twenty minutes. You weren't going to open the door. The way your cries can be heard from outside the door is killing him.

He thinks about what you say, but he can't remember if you told him or not about how Pamela was treating you.

He remembers that you ask him to talk about something, but his stupid self didn't pay attention to the things you told him.

He couldn't sleep. He can't even rest because every time he closes his eyes, he can hear your cries. Even when you're sleep in the bed.

He needed to apologize. He texts Achraf, explaining that Pamela has been bothering you and you just responded back to her.

Hakimi knew you. He had never seen you disrespect anyone. You're friendly and kind to everyone, so maybe you're not lying here.

You woke up extra early, and he had a deep sleep, so when you got to the room and took your clothes and basic things to get ready, he didn't even feel it.

Your eyes were swollen from all the crying. You tried your best to cover your exhaustion with concealer.

The sad eyes you have are impossible to cover. That's why people say the eyes are the windows to the heart. Because you can lie all you want, but your eyes will tell the words your mouth can't.

"Bad night?" Celine asks, handing you a coffee. "It's a double, thought you might need it."

You gave her a half smile. Not wanting to say anything about the topic. She understood, not wanting to push your boundaries.

"Any plans for this weekend?" She asks. Trying to get you to talk and not look like a sad puppy.

"Kylian has an important reunion with his new coach. He invited only five of them with a plus one." You say, remembering the reunion he told you about during dinner on the weekend. "But I'm not sure if I want to attend."

"Why?"

"First, because I'm mad at him." You began telling, making Celine surprised about the first point in your list. "Second, some of these players I don't even know about. I've seen them, but never even talk with them." You exhale, already uncomfortable.

"And third?"

"I don't have anything for the occasion, I feel like my closet is a second-hand craziness that makes stupid bratty models think I'm not enough to be in their presence." You throw the pencil in your hand on the counter.

Celine listen closely to your words. "You are more than welcome to take any of the clothes from the store, you know that."

"And I'm grateful for that. Thank you so much for offering me to take something from here on a loan." You say with honesty. "I just feel like I'm playing dress up with your charity." You feel your eyes tear up. "Celine, I can't afford any of the clothes you design, and somehow, I'm posting on social media about me wearing them, like if I'm not five euros away from breaking the bank."

You can't help the sobs, walking to the bathroom to hide. You feel embarrassed, with your boss, with your life and with your social status.

You were done with people diminish you because you were a retail worker. People calling you a gold digger because you date Kylian.

You're done with pretending to be someone you are not just to be able to fit with the people he's around.

He can afford hundreds of thousands of dollars in clothes, in shoes, in hats or watches. You can afford some pieces from boutiques at the mall when you got a bonus or when you have a special occasion.

You live in a house he paid with a month of working. House you could never afford in this lifetimes or the next five.

You were basically living out of him, and still not even close to making ends meet because the neighborhood stores were five times more expensive that the ones downtown, because just in transportation to where his house is you spend half your income.

You were leaving a life that was not for you. Everybody around him knew that. It was just about time for him to figure that you were just a bump on his way.

You gather composure, thankful for your waterproof mascara. You walk back upfront, meeting a very concerned Celine.

"I'm fine, I don't want to talk about it." You say. Helping her with some things at the store.

You remained quiet for the rest of the day, feeling embarrassed. You missed your family, you missed your friends.

You feel alone. That was an issue.

You have Kylian's family. You have the wags who were your friends. You have Celine. But at the same time, you didn't.

You can't go over to his family to talk about things he does or to get advice because that's not correct in your eyes.

You can take advice when it's asked, but you are not going to rant about your issues with him like you would with your best friend.

You won't rant about the problems of being in the public eye and how people like Pamela treat you with disrespect. But they know about it. Some of them got the same comments, maybe not directly to their faces but on social media every day.

You need your family and friends.

Moving out to a different country with no one to relate to, with no one to talk to about the struggles of barely know the language.

"I'm going home. Do you need me to help you with something else before I leave?"

"No, it's okay." She smiles. Kissing you cheek goodbye. You nod, grabbing your things, giving her the report of the day like always. "Hey, Y/n."

You turn back to her. "Yes, ma'am?"

She hands you a bag. "Open it at home. It's something I forgot to give you." She smiles.

You nod, saying your goodbyes to her and telling her that you will text her when you are home.

You feel a headache, entering home and walking to the kitchen to get a glass of water. You find Kylian eating and sitting on the counter.

You don't like not talking to him. You want to hug him and cry in his arms. You want him to tell you that everything will be fine and that you are okay and safe.

He has earbuds on, not noticing your presence. You open the fridge and grab the water. Passing next to him and touching his arm.

He jumps a little, quickly taking his earbuds off to pay all the attention to you. "You're home."

You nod, drinking a whole glass of water. "Yes, you're early." You say, serving a glass for him. "What you got there?"

He thanked you, sipping some water. "It's a sandwich. Want a piece?" He placed the sandwich back in the plate and slid it to you.

You took a bite out of the sandwich. It tasted weird from all the ingredients he put inside of it. "It's an interesting flavor. But I think I'm not that hungry."

He finished the sandwich. You took a seat next to him on the counter, a glass of water in hand. "How was your day?" He asks.

"Good, same as always."

He nods, not sure how to approach the situation. He feels horrible about everything. "Can I be honest with you?" He asks.

"Always." You smile, reassuring him.

"I don't know what got into me, I should have listened to you instead of watching that stupid video. And I'm mostly sorry for making you cry and feel like you are something that you are not."

You want to speak, but you let him finish his rambling apology. Knowing he's being honest, this was his way of saying sorry, rambling about the thing he's sorry for, and then getting to a point.

"I know Pamela is someone I know before we even met, but that doesn't mean she's allowed to tell you things or make you feel a certain way. And I won't tolerate that happening to you. I know you and your character. I'm sorry about last night and any other night in the past, I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like you don't matter, you do, to me you are the most important person."

You feel your eyes getting teary. You needed those words more than anything. You needed the reassure he's giving you. You needed him.

"Can I give you a hug?" He asks, getting down.

You open your arms, letting him get into your embrace. "Je t'aime." You kiss his neck.

The hug lasted for what felt like hours. That was what you both needed. Specially you.

"Want to go upstairs and take a well-deserved bath?" He asks, kissing your head. "I can even get some strawberries to eat with the chocolate you like." You nod, kissing his lips.

✨️✨️✨️

You didn't work on weekends, mostly because since you weren't just a regular worker at the store, you were upgraded to a little privilege of having you weekends off.

You spend the day organizing some papers you left unattended for a while now. You moved some books that you planned to donate to some students that needed them.

You still needed to find a dress for the activity that was taking place tonight. Ready to go back to Celine and see if she can help you pick something.

You promise her that you will always come to her for anything if you ever needed help. And as much as you feel like you're abusing your privilege, she will likely not let you pay for anything you pick even if you could.

You finish your organization and change into something more presentable to go out with. Asking Kylian's chauffeur to take you to the store.

"Bonjour, mon ange." Celine greets you when she seed you walk in. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm good, I'm sorry about that scene. I was just not in a right place that day." You hug her hello.

"It's okay. We all have those days." She laughs. "I know I'm a little lost when it comes to dates and days, but I know for a fact that today you are not working." She hums.

"I'm not, but I have an event, and I want to get something pretty. Maybe you can help me?"

You bat your eyelashes at her. Making her laugh and hug you by the shoulders. "I have the perfect dress for you."

She showed you some dresses, most of them way too formal for the event. But then you see this beautiful short long sleeve black sequin dress.

"It's perfect." You say. "Can I try it on?"

She nods, "Show me how it fits."

You try it. It fits like a glove, it's the perfect length, the perfect material, everything. "What do you think?"

"Fits like a glove." She smiles, making a sign for you to spin. "Parfait" she happily says.

You change quickly. Wanting to run home and get ready for the night. You pass the dress to her as you finish putting your shoes back on.

"So, here's that dress for you." She hands you the brand bag.

"Will you let me ever pay you?"

"I dont think so. But I think I have an idea. If you want, you can return it on monday or keep it." She smiles.

"I'll bring it back, I promise you that one day I'll be able to pay you back everything you do for me."

She hugged you goodbye. Wishing you a great night. You went back straight to the house. Excited about getting ready.

You took your time, getting your hair and a very natural makeup. Kylian got back home in the middle of your routine.

He got ready with you. He was wearing something between formal and not so formal. Nothing too serious, but nothing casual.

"Can you zip me up?" You ask.

He looks at you up and down. Your back greeting him. He runs a finger down your spine, making you arch from the sensation.

"Amour, no." You chuckle.

He kisses your shoulder, moves to your neck, and finishes with your other shoulder. "I love how you look." He whispers in your ear as he zips the dress.

You turn, kissing him and thanking him. "Ready, Mister?"

"Ready, amour." He smiles.

You two arrive at the house of Luis Enrique, his wife and daughter were there with him. He invited Zaire-Emery, Zague, Lee Kang, Vitinha and Kylian.

They came with their plus one, some of them brought their girlfriends and some of them brought their agents.

Kylian sat next to you, on the other side of him was Lee and on the other side of you was Zague.

Lee was with his agent. "You are Kylian's agent?" He asks. His English sounded so adorable since he's not used to it yet.

"I-" You were going to answer, but kylian interrupted.

"She's my girlfriend, Y/n this is Lee, Lee this is Y/n."

"Oh, nice to meet you, you are so pretty. Kylian always talks about you." He shakes your hand.

"Thank yo-"

"Hey Lee, did you saw that we are going to change the training schedule?"

You decided to remain quiet, Kylian was nervous, and that shows, he's very talkative with everything.

They keep talking about different topics. Luis Enrique and his wife were making sure everyone was comfortable.

"Can you pass the salt?" Zague asks. "I'm Zague, by the way, sorry." He laughs.

"Here that salt." You laugh too. "And I'm Y/n. Kylian's girlfriend." You shake his hands the same way with Lee.

"Nice to meet you. This guy always talks about you." He smile. "Are you from Paris? You don't sound french."

"No, I'm actually from -"

"Zague, Lee wants to tell Luis about that day you fell into the pool." Kylian laughs.

"Do it." He chuckle. "Sorry, I didn't get to hear your answer."

You were interrupted again by Kylian. Feeling a little off about it. Zague notices your face falling from the cut in your words.

Not that you were complaining, but kylian interrupted every single interaction you had with everyone. You feel dumb, people asked you things, and you were cut off almost every time.

The dinner was good. You got to sit in front of Luis's daughter, Sira. She was a cute girl and very talkative too.

"Horse riding? that's so cool." You smile at her.

"Yes, I love doing it."

"She's amazing. You should come to one of the competitions they do here in France. It's an experience." Luis says.

"She's afraid of horses." Kylian joined the conversation.

"I'm not." You laugh, thinking he's maybe joking. "I actually think horses are cute and powerful."

"Didn't you once fall off of one?" He asks.

Luis and Sira look at each other, confused about why kylian was bringing that up. "I've fallen a good amount of times. It's pretty normal."

"Yes, and believe me. At first, horses can be scary." Luis says. "Kylian, another glass of wine?"

"Yes, let me serve this one."

Kylian took the bottle, moving his arm a little faster and by mistake throwing your glass all over you.

You feel the cold drink hitting you, moving the chair back quickly, trying to save the parts where it didn't hit yet.

"Oh my God." Sira says, getting up and grabbing a napkin. "It's okay, I think my mom has a cleaning product."

"Let's not worry, your dress is black and I think it'll be safe." Kylian says, tapping his napkin on your legs where the wine hit.

You want to say something, but you are too mad at him to even say something. Being afraid that you will lash out in front of everybody.

"Wait, you have your tags on. Let me take those." Kylian tear off the tags. Making you let out an angry but small growl.

You close your eyes and inhale. "Luis, can I please use your bathroom?" You ask nicely, smiling to hide your emotions. "It's okay, it was an honest mistake. Please do take that glass of wine. I'm just going to dry myself, and we can keep talking."

Sira walked you to the bathroom. She even gave you some wipes and a towel to help with the situation.

"If you need anything else, I'll be over here at the rooms. Second door to the left." She smiles, leaving you alone at the bathroom.

You want to cry, you feel weird, you're dirty and sticky from all the wine you have on you. And kylian pulling the interrupting act was stressful.

You clean the wine off your legs and arms, and you fix your dress that was still wet, and you throw the used wipes and paper at the trash can.

Three knocks made you open the door. Kylian was standing there. "Hey, you okay?"

You roll your eyes, stepping outside. "Can we go home? I don't feel well, am sticky and uncomfortable." You whine.

"Yes, I'll go get your bag, wait for me outside." He says, hurrying to get your things.

He excuses you with everybody. Saying goodbye and thanking Luis for the dinner. They all understood and told him to tell you goodbye.

The drive home you were silent, trying to calm your anger at him. You don't want to yell. You don't want to fight. You just want a shower and a good night sleep.

You enter the house and take your shoes off. Leaving them by the door. You try to unzip your dress, but you can't reach the zipper.

You feel his cold hands, undoing your zipper. "I'm really sorry." He apologizes. Hands massaging your shoulders.

You put your hands in your chest to hold the dress. "Please don't touch me." You walk one step forward. "I'm taking a shower."

He sighs. "It's was an honest mistake, Y/n."

You stop your steps. Turning and walking down two steps. "Was you interrupting on everything I said also unintentional?" You ask, stern tone.

He shakes his head no. Moving upstairs to be at the same height as you. "I said I'm sorry, let's get ready for bed and call it a night."

"A tasteless sorry is supposed to make it up for me?" You walk the rest of the steps. He was already on the second floor. Walking towards the room. "I'm talking to you. Stop ignoring me."

He pulls the silent treatment card, going to the closet to change into his night clothes. You slam the bathroom door, angry at him.

You left the dress on the floor. Feeling nervous about ruining the dress Celine let you borrow.

You shower, taking that hideous feeling. Trying to calm down to be able to face what's outside the bathroom.

He's ignoring you. Under the covers with his phone. Back turned to you. You close the closet door. Not sure if you want him to address anything.

You try not to cry, you have been feeling ignored, you have been feeling bad bout different aspects of your life, and all because of him.

You let yourself get humiliated for the sake of not creating any drama that can get used against him.

You have been a good girlfriend. You're not a bad person. You won't categorize yourself as someone who deserves bad things because you never do bad things to others.

You grab your small suitcase. You pack some basics. You walk into the bathroom with a toiletry bag. Grabbing your most necessary products and things. You walk back into the closet. You finish packing.

You don't move the suitcase just yet. You get down to where your purse is. Walking back upstairs and locking yourself in.

You open the browser. Searching for a flight home, finding one in three hours. You book it.

Texting your friend and telling her that you will be home at the time the ticket says it's landing, she asks you if you are okay and you just say you'll talk once you are there.

You don't move for a few minutes, you tear about the fact that you will leave Kylian alone. That you will have to tell him that you will leave to be able to rest your mind.

You gather courage, order an Uber. Opening the door. He's now watching something on the tv. "Kylian, we need to talk."

"I don't want to fight. Let's talk tomorrow."

"I won't be here tomorrow." You say, your voice is shaking.

He turns, you're with tears rolling down your face, suitcase in hand. "Amour, what are you doing?" he throws the sheets quickly.

He walks over to you, trying to grab you. But you back off. Lifting your hand and making him stop.

"Kylian, I need time. I can't keep going with my days like this. It's not just about tonight. It's the whole Pamela situation. It's just too much." You cry.

"You don't need to leave. I'll go. But please stay here. Mon Amour, please."

"I have my ticket already booked. I'm going home. " You whisper. "I'm not breaking up with you. I just need time. I can't keep going like this."

"This is our home." he whines, not being able to get your reasoning.

"No, this is your house. Those are your friends, this is your country."

You walk past him. Feeling your heart break. You hurry to the strairs. The suitcase is not cooperating with you, wanting to go quickly.

He grabs the suitcase, making you turn to face him. "When are you coming back?" he asks, tears in his eyes. "Because you will be back, aren't you?"

You nod, sobbing. "I'll be back in two weeks"

He then gets your suitcase down the stairs. When you are at the bottom, you throw yourself on his arms.

"I'm sorry, Kylian." You cry. "But please understand that I need to do this. I need to get all this out of my head. I feel so unworthy. I feel so out of place that I don't fit in your world."

"Stop, you do. You are so worthy to me and to everyone around us who loves you and cares about you." he hugs you.

"I'll be back." You pull away. "My Uber is here." You say seeing the notification of the driver. "Je t’aime"

He kisses you. He dries your tears with his shirt. "Text me when you get there. You have the card I gave you? If you need anything please use it."

You nod, kissing his lips. You pull and walk outside. Once you are about to get into the car, you turn to see him standing there. You wave and close the car door.

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