#I will probably continue to add to this over time

[aeralux]

"Freak On a Leash" - Aemond Targaryen

Modern!Aemond x Reader

Summary: So what if you're fucking the weird dude? He has good dick game. But how were you supposed to know he gets attached easily?

Warnings: SMUT (18+); (pretty rough) car sex; oral (f!receiving); name calling (slut, whore etc); dark!Aemond near the end; hair pulling; choking; ass slapping; mentions of violence and blood

Words: 5.5k

Notes: No description of the reader. This was just going to be porn without a plot... but ofc I had to add some plot smh. This isn't dark dark, but it does contain some of the elements of it so... do not read it if you are not comfortable with that

𐔌 . ⋮ aera .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

He was weird, unsettling, and genuinely offputting. That's why your friends were baffled to know that you were fucking him multiple times a week, in the backseat of his car, no less. "He has good dick," you tried to tell them, saying it was worth it. But your words fell on deaf ears as none of them understood. Why him?

With long hair dyed black with a cheap store colour and a run-down 2005 Volvo S40, he didn't seem the kind of guy who could fuck a girl until her throat was raw. But you knew the truth. That's why you kept coming back, time after time.

So it was no surprise that, once again, you found yourself in his lap. In the backseat of his car, kissing and moaning, his hard cock pressing into your aching core.

"Blood?" You ask as you taste copper on your tongue when kissing his jaw. 

"Don't act like you don't find that hot," he grunted, a smug expression on his face. It's probably because whoever he fought, lost.

You smiled playfully, your lips brushing against his once more, caught in a moment where admitting he was right felt like submitting. The warmth between you grew, leaving just the two of you.

He tangled his fingers in your hair for a second before shifting his attention downward, fumbling with the delicate fabric of your flimsy top. The skin-tight shirt clung to your curves, resisting his attempts as if it had a will of its own. Frustration flickered across his face, but it was quickly replaced by determination as he continued to work his way around the stubborn material.

"Just rip it open for fuck's sake," you groan as he fumbles with your skin-tight white top. Your hips instinctively roll on top of his, ruining your cute white cotton panties with your juices.

Aemond groans deeply at your words. With a quick, decisive motion, he rips the fabric open, the sound of the tear deafening. Your black lacy bra is revealed, the delicate lace a stark contrast to his rough, calloused hands as they cup your breasts.

"Fuck, you're perfect," he growls, his thumbs rubbing over your nipples through the thin lace. "Gonna fucking wreck you."

He leans in, his hot mouth latching onto one nipple through the bra as his other hand slides down to rub your clit through your soaked panties. He groans against your skin at the wetness he finds there, the sound vibrating through you.

Oh gods, you are so fucking wet for him. You can feel your arousal soaking through the thin cotton, staining it with your desperation. You grind harder against the rigid bulge straining against his jeans, needing more friction, and more contact.

"So fucking wet for me already," he murmurs, his fingers pushing the fabric aside to delve between your folds. "Gonna make you come so hard."

You roll your hips harder against Aemond's bulge, your clit throbbing with every grind. Your skirt hangs loosely around your waist, resembling more of a belt.

"Fuck, these songs suck ass," you grumbled, reaching for Aemond's phone and scrolling through his playlists until you find something more to your liking. The change in music elicits a growl from Aemond, but you just smirk and lean in close, your lips brushing his jaw. The bass line of Rob Zombie's "Dragula" thumps through the car, a perfect complement to the nasty thoughts running through your mind.

"Okay, now you can fuck me," you giggle, your teeth grazing his skin before you soothe the sting with your tongue. You can taste the salt of his sweat, the copper tang of blood - a reminder of the fight he must have been in. Your curiosity gets the better of you.

"Who the fuck did you fight this time?" You ask, your voice low and husky with desire. But even as you speak, your focus is on the delicious friction between your legs, the way Aemond's hard length rubs against your aching core with every roll of your hips.

"Fucking some new guy, thought he could take me," Aemond growls, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he grinds up against you. "Taught him a lesson real quick."

He leans in, his teeth nipping at your earlobe as he speaks. "He won't be coming back anytime soon. Not after the way I shattered his ribs." His fingers dig into your hips, pulling you down harder onto his cock.

"Now, quit talking and start begging for it," he commands, his voice a low rumble in your ear. He places a few light smacks on your cheek, making you smile at the lewd actions.

You shake your head, a wide smile spreading across your face as your eyes lose focus. The depravity of the situation, the dingy car, the smell of sweat and sex, it all makes you even wetter. You can feel your arousal dripping down your thighs.

"You know I don't beg," you whisper, your lips brushing against his earlobe as you suck on it gently. Your teeth graze the sensitive skin, making him groan.

Aemond's grip on your hips tightens, his fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks. He sounds almost angry as he growls, "You'd better fucking start, or I'll stop right here."

"Fuck," you whimper as his bulge nudges against your clit, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. Your brows furrow, your eyes squeezed shut as you grind down harder, seeking more of that delicious friction.

To emphasize his point, he stills his hips, denying you the friction you crave. His other hand moves from your breast to wrap around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp.

"Please, Aemond," you moan, your voice breaking with need. "Fuck me. Use me. Make me forget everything but your cock inside me."

Aemond's eyes darken with lust at your words, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "That's more like it," he purrs, his grip on your throat relaxing just slightly. He leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a teasing kiss.

"Gonna fucking ruin you," he promises, his free hand moving down to grip your ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh. He pulls you down hard, grinding his clothed cock against your aching cunt.

"Gonna make you scream for me," he growls, his other hand moving from your throat to tangle in your hair. He yanks your head back, exposing your neck to his hungry mouth. He latches on, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, his teeth grazing your skin.

His hips are moving now, grinding up against you in a filthy rhythm. The rough denim of his jeans rubs against your sensitive clit. You can feel the heat of him through the fabric, the hard length of his cock straining against his zipper.

You moan sluttily, desperate, shameless noises filling his car. You're too far gone to care about your pride. Impatiently, you tug the cups of your bra down, exposing your hardened nipples to the cool air. They're almost painfully sensitive, aching to be sucked.

"Suck," you command, your voice low and demanding. You arch your back, offering your breasts to him like a sacrificial lamb.

Aemond's eyes darken at your demand, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Oh, so you think you're in charge here, do you?" he growls, his hand fisting in your hair, yanking your head back.

You gasp at the sharp pain, your eyes watering. "I think you need to be put in your place, slut," he sneers, his other hand roughly palming your breast.

He leans in, his hot breath ghosting over your exposed nipple. "Beg for it," he commands, his voice low and dangerous.

You swallow hard, your pride fading due to your desperate need. "Please," you whimper, your voice small and needy. "Suck my tits, I need it so bad."

Aemond chuckles darkly, his teeth grazing your nipple. "That's more like it," he growls before his mouth envelops the sensitive bud.

You cry out, your back arching as he suckles hard, his tongue swirling around the hardened peak. The pleasure is intense, bordering on pain, and you can feel yourself getting wetter by the second.

"Fuck, that feels so good," you moan, your hand moving to the back of his head, trying to push him closer. But he pulls away, shaking his head.

"Hands off," he commands, his eyes flashing with anger. "You don't get to tell me what to do."

You whimper, your hand falling away. "Sorry," you whisper, your cheeks flushing with shame.

Aemond just smirks, his hand moving to your other breast, roughly squeezing the soft flesh. "Good girl," he purrs, before diving back in, his mouth hot and wet on your aching nipple.

You moan, your eyes fluttering closed as you lose yourself in the sensation.

"Fuck, you taste good," he growls against your skin, his hand moving to pinch and roll your other nipple between his fingers. The dual sensations make you cry out, your back arching as you press yourself further into his touch.

He releases your nipple with a wet pop, blowing cool air over the damp flesh. You whimper at the loss, your body craving more of his touch. "That's better," he says, his voice a low rumble in his chest. "You know your place."

Aemond's hand moves from your hair to your throat again, squeezing just enough to make you gasp for air. He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "You gonna be a good girl and let me fuck you senseless?"

Your heart races, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps as Aemond's hand tightens around your throat. The lack of oxygen only adds to the haze of lust clouding your mind. You nod frantically, your eyes wide and pleading.

"Yes, yes, I'll be good," you whimper, your voice barely above a whisper.

Aemond's lips curve into a wicked grin against your skin, his teeth grazing your earlobe. "Fuck, you're so desperate for it, aren't you?" he growls, his hand releasing your throat to grip your hip, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to bruise.

He grinds up against you, the rough denim of his jeans rubbing against your aching clit. The friction is delicious, but not nearly enough. You need more. You need him inside you, stretching you, filling you.

"Yes, fuck yes, I'm desperate for it," you pant, your voice barely above a whisper. "I need you inside me, Aemond. I love it when you use me."

Aemond chuckles darkly, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks. "Fuck, you're such a dirty little slut," he growls, his hand releasing your throat to grip your hair instead. He yanks your head back, exposing your neck to his hungry mouth.

"Gonna fucking ruin you," he promises, his teeth grazing your skin. "Gonna make you scream for me."

"Fuck, you're so wet," he groans. He yanks your head back, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark with lust, filled with the depravity to come.

"Gonna fuck you so hard, you'll be feeling it for days," he promises, his hand moving from your hair to grip your throat again. He squeezes, cutting off your air supply just for a moment before releasing.

You gasp, your lungs burning for oxygen. But even then you still smile at him, biting your lip.

Aemond's eyes darken at the sight, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Fuck, you're perfect," he growls, his hand releasing your throat to grip your ass hard enough to bruise. "A sight for sore eyes," he smirks, looking into your glossy eyes.

"Shit, I need to eat you out first," he groans, his jeans pressing down painfully on his throbbing cock.

He slides off the seat, kneeling between your legs as he slides your panties to the side impatiently. The scent of your arousal is thick in the air, making his cock throb with need. The cool air hits your aching cunt, making you shiver.

"Fuck, you smell incredible," he growls, his hot breath ghosting over your slick folds. He leans in, his tongue darting out to lap at your clit, making you cry out.

He groans at the taste of you, his tongue delving deeper, licking through your folds and fucking into your entrance. He eats you out like a man starved, his tongue moving in and out, his lips sucking on your clit.

His fingers delving between your folds. He brings them up to your lips, pressing them against your mouth. "Taste how fucking desperate you are for me."

You open your mouth obediently, sucking his fingers into your mouth. The taste of your arousal explodes on your tongue, musky and sweet. You moan around his fingers, your tongue licking and sucking, cleaning them of your juices.

Aemond's eyes darken with lust as he watches you suck his fingers clean, your tongue swirling around the digits. He growls low in his throat, his free hand moving to grip your breast, squeezing the soft flesh roughly.

"Fuck, you're so hot like this," he growls, his fingers popping out of your mouth.

He gets back up, leaving you unsatisfied and annoyed.

He grabs your hair, forcing your head back and making you look up at him. His eyes are dark with lust, his jaw clenched as he battles for control.

"Strip," he commands, his voice low and dangerous. "I want you fucking naked, now."

You scramble to obey, yanking your bra off, your breasts bouncing free, nipples hard and aching for his touch. Your miniskirt and panties are next, puddled on the floor of the car, leaving you bare and exposed.

"Shit, you look so good," Aemond growls, his eyes raking over your naked form. "I almost don't even want to ruin you... almost"

He flips you on your hands and knees, pushing your head down, forcing your ass in the air, holes completely exposed to him. He yanks you forward, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. "Brace yourself, slut," he growls, grinding his clothed cock against your bare pussy. "Gonna fucking wreck you." 

You crane your neck to look back at Aemond, a scoff leaving your lips. "Take a picture, it'll last longer," you mock, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

His eyes darken at your words, a low growl rumbling in his chest. "Oh, I'll take more than just a picture, baby," he promises, his hand coming down on your ass in a sharp smack.

You gasp at the sting, your pussy clenching in anticipation. "Promises, promises," you taunt, wiggling your ass invitingly. "You talk a big game, but I bet you can't even get it half hard."

Aemond's grip on your hips tightens, his nails digging into your skin hard enough to leave marks. "Fuck, you're so goddamn cocky," he snarls. "Gonna shut that smart mouth of yours."

You moan at the contact, your head falling forward as you push your ass back against him. "Big talk, dickhead," you pant, your voice breathy with need. "Let's see what you've got."

Aemond responds to your taunts with a sharp smack to your ass, the sound echoing in the confined space of the car. "Fuck, you're asking for it," he growls, his hand coming down again, harder this time.

You gasp, your ass jiggling from the impact. "Shit, you're making a mess of me," you whine, wiggling your hips. Your pussy is throbbing, aching to be filled.

"That's the idea, slut," Aemond grunts, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your ass cheeks. He spreads them apart, exposing your tight holes to his hungry gaze. "Gonna fucking wreck this tight little ass."

His hands move to his zipper, slowly dragging it down. The sound of the metal seems obscenely loud in the confined space of the car.

He pushes his jeans and boxers down just enough to free his cock, the thick shaft springing up, hard and ready. The head is already slick with precum, the veins along the length pulsing with his heartbeat.

He spits in his palm, rubbing his saliva over his cock, giving it some lubrication. Then he's pressing the tip against your drooling hole, the rough denim of his jeans scraping against your sensitive skin.

"Fuck, you're so fucking tight," he groans, pushing forward, the head of his cock breaching your hole. You cry out, the stretch intense, bordering on pain.

"Relax, slut," he commands, his hand coming down on your ass again. "Take that fucking cock like a good whore."

He starts to move, his hips rocking back and forth, inch by inch of his thick shaft sinking into your tight heat. Your walls clench around him, trying to adjust to the intrusion, but he doesn't give you time.

He starts fucking you in earnest, his hips snapping forward, driving his cock deeper with each thrust. The car rocks with the force of his movements, the seat creaking beneath you.

"Fuck, you take it so well," he pants, his hand moving from your ass to grip your hip, holding you in place as he fucks into you. "Gonna fucking ruin this tight ass."

You moan, your hands gripping the seat, nails digging into the cracked leather. The pain in your ass mixes with the pleasure, making your head spin.

"Harder," you beg, pushing your hips back to meet his, desperate for more. "Fuck me harder, shit."

Your juices drip down your thighs, pooling on the leather seat below as Aemond pounds into you.

Your hands grip the seat, nails digging into the cracked leather as you brace yourself for the onslaught. Aemond's hands are everywhere - gripping your hips, squeezing your ass, tugging at your hair. He uses you like a rag doll, fucking you with an animalistic need.

Aemond grunts, his grip on your hips tightening as he complies with your demand. "Fuck, you want it hard, slut?" he growls, his voice strained with effort. "Gonna fucking give it to you."

He pulls nearly all the way out, leaving just the tip inside your stretched hole. Then he slams back in, his hips connecting with your ass with a sharp smack. He sets a brutal pace, fucking into you recklessly, the car swaying with his thrusts.

"Shit, you're so fucking tight," he pants, sweat dripping down his face, his messy black hair sticking to his skin.

You can only moan, your mouth hanging open as you gasp for air. Your breasts bounce with each powerful thrust, your nipples hard and aching for attention.

Aemond's hand moves from your hip to your breast, squeezing the soft flesh roughly. He pinches your nipple between his fingers, twisting and tugging, sending sparks of pain through your body.

"Fuck, your tits are perfect," he groans, his hand moving to your other breast, giving it the same treatment.

You whimper, your pussy clenching around his pistoning cock. The combination of pain and pleasure is overwhelming, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

You reach down, fingers finding your clit, rubbing in tight circles. The added stimulation makes you see stars, your back arching as you moan.

"Fuck, you're such a dirty girl," Aemond pants. "Getting off on being used like a fucking toy."

"Shit, I'm close," you pant, your nails digging into the leather seat and your fingers moving on your clit. "Don't stop, fuck, don't stop," you moan, your hips bucking back against him, seeking more friction. His fingers rub your clit in tight circles, the pressure building with each stroke.

He pulls your hair, forcing your back to arch, your ass pushing back against him. The new angle allows him to go even deeper, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you that makes you see stars.

"That's it, take it all you little slut," he pants, his hand moving from your tit to your clit, replacing your hand, rubbing the sensitive nub in tight circles.

"Fuck, I'm gonna come," you whimper, your body tensing. "Please, Aemond, please."

"Do it," he commands, his fingers moving faster on your clit. "Come for me like the good little whore you are."

With a cry, you shatter, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your pussy clenches around his cock, your walls rippling along his shaft.

Aemond groans, his hips stuttering as your orgasm milks his cock. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum," he growls, his thrusts becoming erratic. "Where do you want me to spill?"

Your body convulses as the intense orgasm rips through you, your vision blurring and stars bursting behind your eyelids. "On my ass, fuck!" You cry out, the words torn from your throat. "Cum all over my ass!"

You arch your back, pushing your hips against Aemond's, desperate for more. Your pussy clenches around his cock, milking him.

You can feel his grip on your hips tighten, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he chases his release. The sound of your skin slapping together fills the car, mixed with your heavy breathing and moans of pleasure.

Aemond's cock throbs inside you, his thrusts becoming more erratic as your pussy milks him. He growls low in his throat, his hand fisting in your hair, yanking your head back.

"Fuck, gonna paint your ass white," he pants, his hips slamming against your ass with bruising force.

He pulls out abruptly, his cock slipping from your clenching hole with a wet sound. You whimper at the loss, your pussy aching to be filled again.

Aemond's hand comes down on your ass in a sharp smack, the sting making you gasp. "Present yourself," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "Wanna see you take my load like a good little whore."

You arch your back even more, spreading your thighs as far as you can in the limited space. Your spasming holes are on full display for his hungry gaze.

Aemond kneels behind you, his cock in his hand, stroking it with quick, rough motions. "Fuck, you're such a good little girl," he pants, his eyes dark with lust as they roam over your body. "Too bad you're such a filthy slut."

He starts to come, his cock jerking in his hand as thick ropes of cum splatter across your ass and pussy. You moan, your fingers dipping between your folds to gather some of his cum, bringing it to your mouth.

"Fuck, look at you," Aemond groans, his hand still working his shaft, milking out every last drop. "Eating my cum like the dirty whore you are."

He collapses next to you on the seat, his chest heaving as he catches his breath. He reaches out, his fingers tangling in your hair, tugging your head back to look at him.

"You're fucking perfect," he growls, his eyes intense as they bore into yours. "Mine."

"Mhm," you hum, collapsing onto Aemond's chest, your body spent and sated. The car reeks of sex and sweat, your combined releases staining the seats. It's filthy and sinful, turning you on.

Aemond's arms wrap around you, pulling you close as he strokes your hair. You nuzzle into his neck, breathing in his scent, a mix of cologne and sex.

"That was intense," you murmur, your voice low and breathy. "You really know how to fuck a girl stupid."

Aemond chuckles, his chest rumbling beneath you. "Fucking right I do," he boasts, his fingers tangling in your hair. "You're a damn good lay, too. Always so fucking eager for my cock."

He tugs on your hair, forcing your head back to look at him. His eyes are dark, filled with lust and possessiveness. "You're mine," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "This tight little body belongs to me."

"Such a good girl," he praises, his other hand cupping your cheek, thumb brushing over your swollen lips. "Gonna keep you."

You smile against his fingers, a wicked gleam in your eyes. "Keep me for what?" you tease. "You're not my man. I'm not your's to keep," you whisper, feeling an ache in your heart for some reason.

Aemond's eyes flash with a dangerous light, his grip on your chin tightening as he yanks your face closer to his.

His grip on your chin tightened. "The fuck I'm not," he growls, his voice low and menacing. "I've had you more times than I can count. I know every inch of this body, every fucking sound you make when I'm buried inside you."

He shifts, his face mere inches from yours, his breath hot against your lips. "You're mine, whether you admit it or not."

His other hand slides down your body, fingers dipping between your thighs to gather the cum leaking from your abused hole. He brings it to your lips, smearing it across them.

"Look at you, so fucking dirty, so desperate for my cum. You can pretend all you want, but deep down, you know you belong to me."

He crashes his lips against yours in a bruising kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth, claiming you with a ferocity that steals your breath.

When he pulls back, you're panting, your lips swollen and tingling. "You're mine," he whispers, his voice rough with emotion. "And I'm never letting you go."

His words send a shiver down your spine, a mix of fear and something else, something you're not quite ready to name.You press your forehead against his, your eyes fluttering closed as you try to steady your breathing.

"I don't belong to anyone," you whisper, but there's no conviction in your voice. "We're just fucking, Aemond. Don't make it more than it is."

Aemond's eyes darken, a flash of anger crossing his face before it's quickly replaced with a predatory smirk. "Just fucking?" he repeats, his voice low and dangerous. "Is that what you think this is?"

He sits up, pulling you with him so you're straddling his lap. His hands grip your hips, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he holds you in place.

"We've been doing this for months, baby," he reminds you, his voice rough. "You think I don't know the difference between a quick fuck and what we have?"

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "I know every inch of this body, every fucking sound you make, every way you tremble and writhe when I'm inside you."

"Stop fighting it," he growls, his eyes boring into yours. "You might tell your friends that this means nothing to you, that you think I'm some creepy guy you fuck. Yet you still keep coming back.."

Your breath catches in your throat, his words sending a shiver down your spine. How does he know? You've never told him those things. You shake your head, a strand of hair falling across your face. "No, I've never said that," you whisper, your voice trembling. "I swear."

You try to pull away, but his grip on your hips tightens, holding you in place. His eyes bore into yours, dark and intense, searching for any sign of deceit. "I wouldn't say those things about you," you insist. "I don't think you're weird."

Aemond's eyes narrow, his grip on your hips tightening until it almost hurts. "Don't lie to me," he growls, his voice low and menacing. "I know you talk shit about me to your friends. I know you think I'm some kind of freak."

He leans in, his breath hot against your cheek. "But you keep coming back, don't you? You keep spreading your legs for me, begging me to fuck you like the desperate little slut you are."

His hand moves from your hip to your throat, his thumb brushing over your pulse point. "You can't resist me, can you? No matter how much you try to pretend, your body knows who it belongs to."

He squeezes your throat, not enough to cut off your air, but enough to make your heart race. "I've heard you, baby," he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear. "I've heard you call me a freak, a deviant. But you still come back, letting me use your tight little body for my pleasure."

Your cheeks flush with shame and embarrassment as Aemond's words sink in. You try to pull away from his grip, your naked bodies still intertwined, but his hold is too strong. "Yes, fine. I have said those things about you," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

You search his eyes, trying to find the right words. "Aemond, you fight people. You're dangerous." You say it with a seriousness that misrepresents the thrill that runs through you at the very thought. It's the danger that makes him so appealing.

You sigh, your fingers caressing his face, tracing the strong lines of his jaw. "Must you have such an effect on me?" You mutter, before leaning in to kiss him.

Aemond's lips meet yours in a savage kiss, his tongue plundering your mouth with a fierce intensity. His grip on your throat tightens, his fingers digging into your skin as he holds you in place.

When he finally pulls back, you're both breathing heavily, your lips swollen and stinging from the force of his kiss.

"You fuckin' love it," he growls, his voice rough with desire. "You love the danger, the thrill of being with a man who can break you."

"Admit it," he presses, his voice low and dangerous. "You get off on the fact that I could snap anyone's fucking neck with one hand."

Aemond's grip on your throat loosens, his thumb stroking your pulse point in a surprisingly tender gesture.

"Would you ever hurt me?" You whisper, your breath hot on his lips, your faces mere inches apart. A flicker of fear in your eyes, but it's quickly overshadowed by the desire burning within you. You search his gaze, looking for any sign of malice, any hint of danger. But all you see is raw, primal hunger.

Your fingers trace the lines of his jaw. He's so close. It's intoxicating and terrifying at once. You have seen him fight, seen the way he's hurt others with minimal effort. He could break you, shatter you into a million pieces if he wanted to.

Aemond's eyes soften for a moment, a rare vulnerability flickering in their depths. "You think I'd hurt you?" he asks, his voice low and rough. "Baby, I'd die before I let anyone lay a finger on you."

He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours. "You're mine," he growls, his voice fierce with possessiveness. "And I protect what's mine."

His hand slides from your throat to your cheek, cupping your face gently. "I may be aggressive, but I'm not a pig," he murmurs, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. "I'd never hurt you, not like that."

"But make no mistake," he whispers, his voice low and dangerous. "I'll hurt anyone who tries to take you from me."

You bite his thumb lightly as he speaks, his possessive demeanour sending a jolt of electricity through you. "Anyone who would hurt me?" You purr, leaning into his touch like a small lamb. His words ignite a fire deep within you, a primal desire to be owned, claimed, and protected.

You know you shouldn't give in to this, but you can't help yourself. The way he looks at you like you are the only woman in the world, it's intoxicating.

Aemond growls low in his throat, his eyes darkening with lust at the feel of your teeth on his skin. "That's right, baby," he purrs, his hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your neck, tangling in your hair. "You're mine, and I'll fucking kill anyone who tries to take you away from me."

Your breath hitches in your throat at Aemond's words, his dangerous claims sending a shiver down your spine. You meet his gaze, your eyes are wide and full of devotion, a vulnerability you rarely show to anyone.

He tugs you closer, his lips brushing against yours in a feather-light kiss. "I'll protect you," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. "I'll cherish you. I'll fucking worship you."

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. "I'm yours," you whisper, your voice trembling with desire. "Body and soul."

Aemond's eyes flash with fierce triumph at your words, a primal look of satisfaction spreading across his face. "That's right, you're fucking mine," he growls, tugging you closer and crushing his lips to yours in a searing kiss.

"Get dressed, pretty girl. I'm taking you to my place," he demands, leaving no room for argument.

Aemond's eyes blaze with desire as he watches you scramble to put on your clothes, your naked body still slick with his cum. He licks his lips, his cock already hardening again at the sight of you.

He helps you to the passenger seat, smirking. "Hope you don't mind a messy ride."

[emilys-bangs]

I can't read you (but if you want, the pleasure's all mine) | e.p

Tags: flirty!emily, shy!hotch's assistant!reader, fluff, hint of angst?, implied that emily isn't sleeping well :[, worried reader (duh), emily calls reader petnames, emily is down BAD

Summary: Emily loiters around in your office for no good reason.

Word count: 1.7k

A/n: I'm not sure if the idea of Hotch's assistant reader belongs to a single person, but I take no credit for it, I got inspired to write my own after reading @/mariasont's absolutely fabulous bimbo!assistant series, so very many thanks to her!! (and if there are any hotch girlies around here go check it out). Alsoo I think I'm probably gonna add a few more parts to this as interconnected oneshots, I had too many ideas and they couldn't all fit into one fic :p

It’s not that your office is hidden; it’s just out of the way. A short walk before the bullpen’s glass doors, on the opposite side of the restrooms. It’s not nestled within the buzz, and yet a single agent flits to it like a moth to a flame, with no reason or purpose behind her frequent visits.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Emily murmurs. She flashes you a smile, genuine but fading as she rests her hip against your desk and leans on it.

“Hi.” You don’t return her smile, too busy examining the bruised shadows under her eyes. A frown pulls your lips downward. “You look tired.”

“Ouch,” she mock winces. “Take it easy on a girl’s ego, will you?”

“I’m serious. Did you sleep okay?”

Something flickers behind her eyes. They’re dark eyes, endless and lovely, but something about them seems dull today. “Slept okay,” she dips her chin in a nod, “as well as I could without you there with me.”

It’s instantaneous, the knot in your tongue. Heat surges above the collar of your button down, the flush creeping up your neck, and Emily’s gaze becomes too much to hold. You drop your eyes to the neat surface of your desk, shifting files around beneath your sweaty fingertips. 

“It’s a big bed,” she continues through her brilliant teeth, gently poking at your composure. “A king. Gets cold easily, y’know? Hey, out of curiosity, do you happen to run hot? I’m freezing most of—”

“Prentiss.”

You both look up to find Hotch at your open door, his mouth set in a straight line—probably at the blatant show of fraternization from his subordinate. Emily grins at him winningly, unabashed as she gives a nod and drawls out, “Morning.”

The stare he gives her is a usual for when she’s leaning against your desk: stop flirting with my assistant. He doesn’t say it, only arches his brow, but everyone hears it.

“Good morning.” His voice is dry. Walking in, his gaze flits to you. “Any urgent cases?”

“N-No sir,” you fluster, cheeks still unbearably hot at the thought of you and Emily intertwined on her bed. Rubbing at your temple, your eyes dip down to the sticky note you’d stuck on your desk in preparation for the day’s tasks. The scrawl of your handwriting sparks competence back into your brain. “Uh, Strauss called again,” you say sheepishly; Hotch’s lips press together, his top lip disappearing, “about the budget meeting. That’s…three times this month?” You tilt your head, grimacing. “I’m starting to worry she’ll barter away the jet soon, save herself the headache.”

Emily lets out a small laugh. “I think letting Morgan go would be more cost effective.” 

She’s not entirely unfair—you’ve filed enough damage reports this month to make the director weep. The corner of your mouth tickles. Emily catches your eyes, lashes feathering over her cheek in a wink.

Hotch ignores her. 

“We’ve only got consults for today, right?” He asks. You nod. “See if we can schedule it today, get it over with. And, uh,” his eyes linger pointedly on Emily, “it’s almost 9.”

“We’ll be there in a minute,” she answers for the both of you, drowning out your low, yes sir.

The lumping of you and her in a we makes you pathetically giddy. 

It could possibly be considered rude for you to drop your eyes back to your desk before your boss leaves, robbing him of attention, but he’s already turning on his heel and with the two of them crowding your space, it’s like you’re flayed open beneath their sharp eyes. Profilers, you grumble internally, a small shake to your hands as Emily’s perfume dissolves over you in waves, a product of her coming closer. She’s next to your elbow now, the pale outline of her hand creeping up next to yours.

“Here, honey, let me help.”

You inhale a sharp breath, feeling the cold air drop all the way to the pit of your stomach. “They’re just a few files.” You mumble, gathering the consults and standing clumsily, eager to escape the heat of her body pressing against yours.

It’s a bad move. Your chest bumps into her arm, not hard, but enough to make you sway on your feet. Emily’s other hand is quick to land on your waist, steadily restoring your balance with a squeeze through your cardigan that has your head reeling.

“Careful there,” she says softly. You blink at her, the tired slant of her lashes now almost at eye-level. “Sorry, I was in your way—”

“Are you sure you’re good?” You blurt. Emily’s mouth snaps shut and you hug the files to your chest, looking her over more thoroughly. Minimal, effortless makeup, but there’s a wrinkle in her shirt, creases in the skin under her eyes. It’s not unusual for her to be tired, given the nature of her job, but the lines of her body are more tense than you’ve seen them.

At your question, it’s almost like she coils further into a tight spring.

“Yeah.” Emily says firmly. “I’m good, don’t worry about me. My cat kept waking me up, yelling all night to be let out and then yelling to be let in.” Her mouth twists into a wry smile.

“Sergio?”

“Mhm,” she nods. “He’s talkative.”

Her tone is as convincing as it ever is, buttery smooth and warm. But you don’t believe her. It’s a gut feeling, not something you can explain with any shred of reason; the certainty of it clings to you, so you look into the molten pools of her irises and hold on.

“You can—you, um…” the thoughts scatter from your brain just when you start, possibly the quiet intensity of Emily’s eyes making them flutter out of your skull. But she’s patient. Tilting her head, she doesn’t interrupt your silence, only presses her lips together in a reassuring smile.

The frustration settles bitterly in your gut, but you blow out a breath. Swallow and gather your words with a firm hand. When you finally have a good grasp on them, you look Emily in the eye and speak slowly.

“You could talk to me, you know. About anything. If you’re not sleeping, or—or just if you want to,” you shrug jerkily. “Doesn’t have to be anything, really, but I’m here. For you.” Stupidly, you wish you could reach out, gather the courage to place your hand on her shoulder or curl your fingers around her elbow. Maybe offer a reassuring squeeze, something more tangible than your useless, mumbled words. Emily touches you so much, it should be normal, but sweat slicks your skin at the thought of you initiating.

The arch of her brows softens as she smiles. It takes some pressure off your chest, more so when she loosely cups your elbow. “Thank you.” She says quietly. Her hand squeezes and your eyes skate over her face, searching. “Really, honey, thank you. But I’m fine. Slept late is all.”

Now that you’ve caught her out, she lets you hear the hint of exhaustion in her voice, raspy threads lacing through her words. It makes you wonder what else she hides so easily, exactly how much effort it would take to get her to let her walls crumble and the facade burn down. But she’s already a flighty person, wings flapping if she feels like the walls are starting to close in, so you don’t push further even though you want to.

“Oh. Uh, okay,” you fidget with your sleeve, tugging it further down your hand to dry the sweat on it. A quick flash of your eyes on Emily’s face tells you she’s still smiling, her lips drawn in a gentle curve. You look away again. 

“I just wanted you to know. That you could, if you wanted to. ’bout anything.” The last part comes out as a whisper. You hug the consult files closer to your chest, your eyes dropping to the watch strapped to your wrist. 8:59. “We should go, the team’s—”

“I do know that.” Emily says. Her hand falls away from your elbow, but her eyes fill with so much warmth you hardly feel the loss. “I know it. And I—” The heat of her eyes disappears, seeking something lower than your eyesight before snapping back up again. A confused flurry rips through your gut and she falters, mouth opening and closing. Her lips part again and she finally says, “You could, too. Talk to me about anything.” Sincerity is thick in her voice, her gaze earnest as she stares into your soul. “I hope you know that.”

The back of your throat is briefly dry. A small dip of your chin constitutes a nod; swallowing, you curl your fingers around the edges of the consultation files.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Yeah, I know.”

When Emily smiles, her eyes brighten the tiniest bit. A thrill goes through you at the thought of igniting it. Your own lips start to curve, but their path is rudely stopped when Emily’s brows tick upward.

“Oops,” she says lightly, her eyes finding the clock above your door. “9:01—” You curse as you look down at your own watch, eyes bugging out at the time. One minute is hardly late, but so far your record with Hotch has been spotless, and you want to keep it that way. 

Emily’s hand needlessly nudges the center of your back. “Let’s go, gorgeous.” She murmurs. You’re already moving, shooting past the open door of your office without hanging back to close it. A distant click tells you Emily does it, and a few more not so distant clicks of her heels on the floor tell you that she hurries to catch up to your gait. You’re still cursing under your breath, preemptively flustered at the thought of walking in late into the conference room, the rest of the team seated and waiting for your arrival. The weight of their eyes on you is already heavy.

“Your fault,” you mumble to Emily without any real heat.

She pulls open the bullpen door for you. You step through. “Hey, don’t worry. It’s just a minute, two tops.” The relaxed drawl of her voice doesn’t make you slow down. “Listen, if Hotch does pull out the death glare just get behind me, yeah? I’ll protect you.”

You finally turn your head and look at her, none too surprised to find her grinning. It makes you falter, feet slowing as you cross the bullpen floor. Stupid heat burns in your cheeks; you look away.

“Shut up, Prentiss.”

“Sorry, babe.”

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @justhereforthosefics @storiesofsvu@ashluvscaterina @basicallyvivi@temilyrights @professorsapphic

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Merry Christmas, baby.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader Rating: just a little tiny bit of smut so still +18 but it’s mostly a huge pile of angst and fluff soooo Words Count: 10669 😵‍💫 Tags: POV second person, reader wears dresses, skirts, blouses and heels, she uses make up, she’s a journalist and a writer, no physical description of her is given besides having hair, angst, fluff, friends to lovers, slow burn, loss of a parent, infidelity, divorce, mention of food, alcohol consumption, both reader and Pike are bad at feelings, swearing, slurs, dirty talk, quarrels, reconciliations, funeral, sharing a bed, kissing, sad thoughts, casual encounters, mention of coffee, mention of spring break activities, geography probably a bit random (but I looked at the maps, don't jump down my throat, I did research and I've actually been to Boston many years ago, I tried my best lol), brief mention of Teresa. I hope I haven't forgotten anything, if so I'll add it immediately. A/N: Written for @pedrostories Secret Santa event, hello @letsgobarbs, I’m your Secret Santa! 🤶 Happy Christmas Eve, I hope you'll have a wonderful holiday season! 🎄 I hope you enjoy this story and I hope you find the angst, yearning and pining you wanted. Among the characters you had indicated as favorites there was Pike and I liked the idea of ​​trying to write him for the first time, he is so sweet and cute and he deserves to be happy, I hope I gave him an ending worthy of him 🥹 I apologize if you find any mistakes, English is not my first language and I don't have a beta so I did it all with just one pair of stupid and tired eyes 😵‍💫

A huge thanks goes to all the lovely people who supported me through the process while I was having a full crisis about everything in this fic �� @baronessvonglitter @almostempty @arcanefox207 @joelmillerisapunk I love you all, happy holidays 🥰

1990

“So what do you think?” 

“Um...you're good” You've just heard the ugliest Take on Me cover ever, but you can't tell the guy standing in front of you and looking at you with hopeful eyes. 

Marcus is your best friend, you've known him for a couple of years, since both of you were two dorky freshmen at your new school. You were looking for the literature room and wandering lost in the hallways when Marcus asked if you needed help. You bonded right away because you didn't know anyone else, you had just moved to Sacramento because of your father's job and he was from Texas, so it had seemed natural to lean on each other.

Over time you had become such good friends that he had met your parents, he would often stay for dinner, and your dad would let him use your garage to rehearse with his band. 

Marcus had put up flyers at school and enlisted two other boys, Timmy and Dave, who became the guitarist and keyboardist of Rocket Baby Doll. The name of the band was terrible, they were terrible, but you had never had the courage to tear them down in the face of Marcus's enthusiasm, he was sure that by continuing to rehearse they would make great progress. 

With his smooth talk, Marcus had managed to convince the committee to let them play at the freshmen's Christmas dance.

“You'll see that one day we'll be on the cover of Rolling Stone,” Marcus joked. Or at least you hoped he was joking because otherwise you wouldn't know how to talk him out of it. 

Marcus was a dreamer and he liked to do it big. He wanted to be a musician, or maybe an FBI agent, he told you. Two careers that had nothing to do with each other, but you knew that if anyone could afford to have ambitions it was him. Marcus was tenacious, persistent, dedicated, and never afraid to work hard to get what he wanted.  He certainly wasn't going to end up on the cover of Rolling Stone, but in your heart you were certain he was going to accomplish something important.

He was the kind of boy mothers liked, in fact yours loved him. When you needed math tutoring, he would come to your house totally for free and explain whatever you didn’t understand.

When Molly Preston wanted to exclude you from the winter dance because her ex-boyfriend, Ryder, had asked you out, he had been the one to give her a speech.

When you had a bad day Marcus would take you to get your favorite ice cream, you would talk for hours, and in the end he was the only one who could cheer you up.

Whatever problems you had, Marcus was there for you landing an helping hand. 

You knew your mother not too secretly hoped you would get together but it never happened, Marcus was your friend, just a great friend.

“Come on, my mom made cookies for everyone,” you told him as he continued to fantasize about what you might do. You would be their manager and you would both become rich and famous. He just couldn't keep his feet on the ground, even though he was a very good student and even had better grades than you.

You were 17 years old, your whole lives ahead of you, and you hoped that you will remain friends for many years to come.

_____________________________________________

1993

“What do you mean there is only one room available! We had booked two!” 

Marcus had yelled at the front desk of a motel where you stopped for the night. 

The owner, a rather creepy guy with a long scar on his right cheek, slumps in his shoulders, heedless “If you want number 12 is free, otherwise you can take your asses somewhere else for all I care.”

Marcus was fuming. 

It was spring break, any hotel was totally booked, and the possibilities were already significantly reduced given your pockets. 

You didn't even want to come; you had just broken up with Derek, your college boyfriend, and were back at your parents' house with the intention of spending your vacation there healing your wounds. Vegetating on the couch, reading books, watching movies, just relaxing. That was what you wanted to do. But Marcus had insisted, “Erik, Alice, Kate and Robert are in San Diego, let's join them!” 

You had shaken your head and declined “No way, I've seen enough wild college parties and besides, I'm not really in the mood.” 

“Oh come on, you don't want to spend Spring Break crying over that jerk,” he had said, shrugging and looking at you with his big brown puppy-dog eyes. 

“Marcus, I really don't feel like it.” 

“Come on, please do it for me! You'll see we'll have fun, they're nice!” Surrounding yourself with drunk and stoned 20-year-olds was the least of your desires. 

But on the other hand you felt you couldn't say no to him, it had been months since you had seen each other, your relationships had been reduced to long letters and phone calls telling each other about each other's schools.

You had chosen different colleges, Marcus had been accepted at Berkeley in California and you were at Boston University. You had changed coast, climate, everything. You were content but adjusting the first months had not been easy, you felt homesick and you missed your best friend. You were happy for him, you had known since your senior year that you were going to separate but that hadn't made it easy for you. 

You had only seen each other in person at Thanksgiving.

He had been forced to go to his relatives in Nevada for Christmas.

So you got dragged down to San Diego, because deep down Marcus was right, brooding all vacation about the relationship with Derek would not be good for you. You had had other guys before him but Derek had been special, until you found out he was cheating on you. You cried for hours on the phone with Marcus and he listened to you the whole time so maybe you owed him a little too.

After insisting on getting at least a room refund, Marcus had turned to you displeased “apparently we have no other choice.” 

“We'll adjust” you had smiled, but you couldn't deny that you were a little nervous. 

Once in the room he, too, seemed self-conscious. 

There was a double bed with a hideous floral bedspread in the middle of the room, brownish carpeting on the floor, dingy pictures hanging on the walls, and an old dresser on the opposite side of the bed with a rickety TV on it.

A smell of cheap deodorant with a musty undertone wafted around. It was the worst room I had ever set foot in, but at this point there was nothing you could do but make it okay. Sleeping in the car didn't seem so appealing.

You had set your bags down and looked at each other awkwardly “This room is awful,” Marcus had whispered, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand “I'm sorry, it didn't look that bad from the brochure.” 

“It's not your fault, I bet those pictures were taken at least 20 years ago” you had laughed ”it will do for one night” 

You had retrieved your pajamas from the suitcase and went to the bathroom. The light blue tiles made it look like a hospital, there was an old plastic curtain in the shower and the sink looked like it had been through a war but at least it looked clean. There was a strong smell of disinfectant that made you a little nauseous. You had changed quickly and returned to your room to Marcus who was sitting on the bed intent on calling his parents “Yes mom, everything is fine, we will be back tomorrow. Yes, sure, don't worry I'll definitely say hello to her, she's in her room now” You had noticed that he had not said anything about your misadventure, you had sat down smiling on the opposite side of the bed trying to be silent. 

Marcus had rolled his eyes closing the call “she is so old-fashioned.” 

You had laughed “I find her lovely” 

Marcus had chuckled “we'd better sleep, we have a lot of driving tomorrow. Are you okay with that side?”

“Yes, it’s fine” you had nodded ”however I'd rather get this bedspread out of the way, it gives me nightmares even when awake” 

Marcus had observed it agreeing that yes, it was rather eerie.

You had taken it off and laid it on the dresser before slipping under cold, scratchy and wrinkled sheets.

You looked at each other and burst out laughing, the situation was comical to say the least. “God, I think I won't forget this bed for a long time,” Marcus had said. 

“It feels like being in a burlap sack.” You had laughed.

“Could you not squirm like that?” 

“Sorry, I'm just looking for ways to be comfortable,” you had said, ”Mattress is lumpy.” 

You had laid on your side with your back to him and closed your eyes, trying to sleep. 

“So, did you have a good time?” you had heard Marcus whisper.

“Yes” you had replied “thank you” And it was true, his friends were really nice. You had bonded with the girls and exchanged addresses and phone numbers “you were right, I needed a vacation”

“I know, I'm always right” he had sentenced from the other end of the bed.  

You had turned to look at him "oh sure, like the other night when we ended up at that beach party and you said it was allowed and then we had to run away because the police were coming?”

“It was just a little misjudgment!” He retorted.

You had burst out laughing again “come on, sleep, Mr I know everything”

Marcus had turned off the lamp on the bedside table, next to the phone with which he had just called his mother “Hey...I need to tell you something” you had heard him say. 

“What?” the tone had suddenly changed and you felt confused, you looked over your shoulder at him in the dark. 

“I kissed Alice the other night” he seemed awkward in telling you and you didn't understand why.

“Oh. Well, good for you. She's a lovely girl” he was your friend, you were happy for him. 

If it weren't for the fact that you secretly hoped he would kiss you. You'd been thinking about it for a few days, ever since you'd seen him come out of the water while you were at the beach.

It had seemed to you that everything had started moving in slow motion, your eyes glued to his tanned skin, to his broad shoulders, to the way the water slid over his chest in little droplets that died on the waistband of his swimsuit. It was a feeling you had never experienced before in five years of knowing him. You had never seen Marcus as anything more than a friend, but in that moment, with his hair disheveled, his skin wet, a smile plastered on his face as he told you and the others that ocean was great, he had seemed like a vision, and you had felt your cheeks heat up. 

Where on earth that attraction came from you didn't know, but it had hit you hard and clear, like a bump on the head that had suddenly awakened you. You had convinced yourself that your brain was doing this to protect you from painful memories with Derek, lingering on your closest friend who had never let you down. Your trust in men was at its lowest, and Marcus had always reassured you, kept you out of trouble, and he was most reliable guy you had ever known.

He said he would do something and he always, unfailingly did it. You could not say the same about Derek or any other guy you had ever been with.

You had tried to chase that feeling away, burying it in the corner of your mind for all the following days; you didn't want to ruin the friendship between you, and you were pretty sure he didn't feel the same way about you.

Sure, you thought you kissed him on your 18s birthday while you were drunk, but the next morning you were so ashamed that you hadn't even told him about it, pretended you didn't remember anything and that it had never happened. Marcus had done the same, and everything had ended there. Two years had passed since that night, you had gone to college, you had both had more or less long relationships.

That one kiss was now so far away that you had listed it among “once-in-a-lifetime mistakes.”

"I wanted to tell you, that's it. Friends tell each other everything, right?"

“Yes, of course, you can tell me anything, I’m happy for you” you replied 

You had listened to Marcus talk about the girls he liked dozens of times and you had never cared, you would have certainly forgotten it, it was just a passing crush, you told yourself. That annoyance you felt, that bitter taste in your throat, would disappear after a night's sleep. Your friendship was more important, you wouldn't have ruined it just because your brain had thought it interesting to make it something more.

Yet when you had tried to sleep all you had seen was Marcus kissing Alice. You had not seen them, fortunately, but it was not a hard scene to imagine, and unfortunately it was now implanted in your brain. His strong arms holding her, his soft lips resting on hers, her surrounding his neck with her arms, her pelvis rubbing against his. Suddenly you couldn't stand it. You had narrowed your eyes, cursing your creative mind, grunting in frustration. 

“Hey, is everything okay?” had asked Marcus from the other side of the bed.

You had lied, of course, but you had kept brooding until you fell asleep exhausted by the workings of your brain.

In the morning you had woken up confused, not at all rested, and in his arms.

Your face was resting on his chest next to your hand. How had you ended up there like that? You didn't know. You felt like you didn't know anything anymore. 

He was blissfully asleep. He seemed unaware of anything as your throat was dry, your head ached, and your pussy throbbed. Yes, throbbing, desperately. The warmth of his body, the scent of his skin, that knowledge you felt inside that this was exactly what you wanted and you couldn't even quantify how long you had wanted it.

And the panic that had seized you immediately afterward. You were convinced it was a mistake, the most terrible mistake you could make. So why did it feel so right? Why did his body feel like it was made for you? Oh no, no you couldn't allow that. Certainly he had no idea whatsoever about the situation, there was no way he was aware and let you do it, it was all your fault. 

You were going to ruin everything, your friendship, your relationship with the one man who really seemed to understand and support you. And for what? To fuck him once? It wasn't going to work between you romantically. You were going to have to spend two more years away seeing each other only during the holidays to begin with, and then you were both stubborn, too proud...no, it was wrong, you didn't care what your body told you, you had to let your brain prevail.

You slowly slipped away, back to your side of the bed, practically holding your breath, cursing yourself and your heart that wouldn't stop hammering in the middle of your chest.

He had woken up shortly after, acted as usual, getting up, stretching in his T-shirt and basketball shorts, mumbled good morning to you and locked himself in the bathroom. 

Your eyes had slid lasciviously over his body, stealing glances of his exposed skin between his T-shirt and shorts, of his broad shoulders stretching the fabric, of his thighs...

All while you wanted to sink into a black hole and disappear forever. You sank your face into the pillow to keep yourself from screaming. 

And what was worse was that you had to carry the burden of what you felt alone because the person you would normally talk to about it was the one you were longing for. Wonderful, a wonderful situation. 

When he had come out of the bathroom, with his beautiful smile and that rough voice that he always had early in the morning you almost lost control. You were about to beg him to join you in bed. Ugh, your 20s, uncontrollable, stupid, senseless hormones.

“What are you waiting for? Come on, go get dressed, we have to leave,” he had told you, in the same friendly and vaguely mocking tone as always. 

“Oh. yes, thank you, I promise I will be quick.” You had stammered.

You got up, grabbed some random clothes from your suitcase, your beauty case and went to the bathroom to shower and change. He would be ready in 10 minutes at most so he would always let you go to the bathroom first, to give you time to do your makeup and fix your hair. Marcus knew that about you, too, and he was okay with that. 

You closed the door behind you, feeling the tears stinging your eyes. You had managed to hold them back until that moment, but in the shower, covered by his of the water, they had flowed copiously and salty down your cheeks. 

____________________________________________

2000

“Hey! How are you! My goodness, long time no see!” 

You had met him at the supermarket, as you were going around the shelves intent on shopping for your mother. 

You were back at your parents' house for Thanksgiving with your husband, John. 

The last person you thought you would see was him. 

“Marcus!” you had squeaked.

“I am fine! How are you? And Danielle?” 

Your mother had taken it upon herself to inform you that he had also married, had no children, and had become a detective. 

“Danielle is just fine, she is right there down the aisle picking potatoes according to my mother's exact instructions,” he had rolled his eyes, chuckling.

Damn, you had thought, he's breathtakingly handsome. 

You hoped that in all the years you had lost touch with each other he would have lost at least some of his hair like his father, but apparently he had not inherited that gene. His hair was thick and healthy as usual, he wore a gray T-shirt under a black leather jacket and a pair of dark blue jeans. You hated the way he could put on two random things and look so damn perfect while you felt like you had spent your whole life in front of your closet wondering what to wear. And even more you hated his smile, so friendly and sweet, that it hadn't changed at all. 

He seemed genuinely glad to see you. 

You had lost touch with each other after graduation, despite the advent of cell phones, computers, and email. Your friendship had survived handwritten letters, postcards, prepaid phone cards but still crumbled eventually. You were on the opposite coast, intent on your master's degree, dreaming of becoming a writer; he was hooked on a career in law enforcement. 

The letters had become fewer and fewer, as had the phone calls, and eventually what was there had simply slipped away as the months passed, the commitments increased, and each of you tried to become the adult you had dreamed of being.

You had thought it was much better this way, you had stifled your feelings for him for another four years before accepting that nothing would ever happen. You had dated other guys in the meantime, but Marcus had always remained in your mind as the perfect guy you could never have. It was only when you had met John that you had allowed yourself to think that maybe it could work with someone who was not your old friend. He was understanding, sweet, supportive, present and caring with you. John was a really good guy and so you had finally decided to marry him. He had asked you one spring day at the Public Garden, while you were eating a lobster sandwich under a tree in front of the pond, watching the swans. Your offices were close by, so you tried to spend your lunch break together as often as you could. You had gotten a job at the Boston Globe, were in charge of the wedding column, and wrote romance novels in your spare time, sending manuscripts left and right in the hope that some editor would notice them. John was a stockbroker, pragmatic, punctual and very thorough in his work as much as he was sweet and attentive with you. 

“How about we get married?” he simply had said to you, with his mouth full. You had laughed, thought he was joking, until you noticed his serious and hopeful look and exclaimed “oh my God, yes!” throwing your sandwich in the air and wrapping your arms around his neck. That was all you wished for. You had moved in together in a beautiful house downtown, not very big but lovely, you had fallen in love with it as soon as you saw it. It was bright and warm, the right place to start your life with John.

You had, of course, sent an invitation to Marcus as well, but he had declined, saying he was very busy with work. You had kind of tied it on your finger and so you had decided that he might as well get out of your life after all. Times change, people change, all I can do is move on and try to forget how I feel about him by devoting myself to my relationship with John, you thought.

Now that you had him in front of you again though, he looked the same as he always did, only grown. And your heart had skipped a beat the instant you recognized his voice greeting you.

“How long do you plan to stay?” you had asked out of pure courtesy. 

“About a week, we were able to take a few days to relax a bit. We're always working like crazy, you know, we both needed to get away for a while. How about you?” 

“Yes, us too, by the way if you remember Sunday is my father's birthday and my mother really wanted us to be there.” 

“I guess. By the way, I'm sorry. My mother told me when we arrived.” 

Your father had been ill for several months and unfortunately there was little left to do at that point. He was slowly fading away and it would probably be the last Thanksgiving you would spend together.

“I thank you. Oh here's John. John this is Marcus, an old friend of mine. Marcus, this is John, my husband.”

“Nice to meet you, Marcus,” John had said, shaking his hand. 

“Honey, I'm done, shall we go?” had chirped Danielle's voice as she approached you. 

“Yes love, but first let me introduce you to an old friend of mine and her husband” Marcus had told her softly. 

“Oh it's you! Marcus has told me several times about you! It's nice to finally meet you in person.”

Danielle was beautiful, dark hair, blue eyes and delicate features, a little nose that looked as if it had been drawn by an artist, full lips, high cheekbones and a well-proportioned chin. Her voice was melodious and sweet and she looked at you with an excited and surprised expression, " He didn't tell me you were so pretty!" 

“Oh, thank you, you are too,” you had said, slightly embarrassed by such kindness. At that point John had held you proudly, as if you were his greatest prize. His arm had wrapped around your waist, and his eyes looked at you lovingly "didn't she? I'm lucky that she married me." 

Danielle had laughed graciously and shook his hand introducing herself, while you and Marcus looked at each other almost studying each other, as if you were both trying to figure out how happy you actually were in your marriages.

That habit of worrying about each other had not gone away; after all, you had been close friends for quite a few years, and your friendship had faded not because of a quarrel, but because of distance and becoming busy adults. And because you had to get over the crush you had on him, of course, but you had never told him that. 

“Well, we have to go now, anyway come and see us if you can. My mother would love to see you again,” Marcus had said before offering to push the cart full of food that his wife had left beside you and start toward the checkouts. 

“We'll try, thank you,” you had nodded. You definitely should have helped your mother, tried to soothe her at least a little from the strain of caring for your father 24/7; you didn't know how much more time would be left for other things. 

You had watched them walk off together from behind, down the canned food aisle where you had retrieved the ready-made cranberry sauce you would never have time to prepare. 

They were a good-looking couple, really, attractive, well-dressed, Danielle looking impeccable in a pair of jeans that bandaged her while highlighting her curves, a red blouse that matched her complexion, and a pair of vertiginous heels on which you didn't even know how to walk. She seemed to do it without any problem. 

“We should go too, honey” John's voice had brought you back down to earth. 

_________________________________________

Once home John had announced to your mother that you had met your old friend at the supermarket, and of course she was thrilled, “Oh, he's such a nice guy, I saw him and his wife the other day walking downtown, they are such a nice couple, aren't they?” 

John had agreed, taking a beer from the fridge “really” 

“Well, like you, of course” your mother had added, looking at you softly. 

And it was true, you were fine with John, he was a good person, a hard worker, he treated you like a princess. What more could you want? 

Yet since you had seen him again, Marcus's face had made room in your mind. The intrigued way he had looked at you, as if trying to understand everything that had happened to you in the years you had not been in touch, the way his arms were reaching out to embrace you when John had arrived, a barely imperceptible movement that only you had noticed because you knew him better than the palm of your hand, the dimple that had popped up on his cheek as he smiled at you, the usual one you had grown to love so much.

You had pinched the bridge of your nose as you tried to drive it from your mind “Are you okay love?” had asked John immediately. 

“Yes, I just have a little headache, I'll get something later,” you had lied, hurrying to put away the rest of the groceries. 

What annoyed you the most was that it seemed like not a single day had passed since you were in your twenties and you had woken up hugging him in the bed of that dingy motel. It was absurd. You had worked so hard to move on and now it felt like you were back where you started. 

You couldn't let that happen, you wouldn't let your marriage be disrupted by a casual 10-minute meeting with him. 

You would not have gone to his house, no matter how much you would have liked to see his mother who had always been so kind to you. 

You had other things to think about anyway; your father was stuck in a hospital bed that you had managed to get him to be more comfortable. He had been put in the guest room on the ground floor, next to the bathroom, he couldn't do the stairs, and it was also easier for your mother to accompany him. The strong and generous man he had been was wearing out before your eyes, and it was a terribly painful image. You knew he had little time left, and you didn't want to waste it chasing the ghosts of the past when you had a husband who was helping you and hugging you every night trying to lessen your pain. 

Your Thanksgiving dinner had been unique to say the least, each of you shuttling from the dining room to your father's to spend some time with him, making sure he had everything he needed, helping him eat and drink. You had marveled at how gentle and patient John was with your dad, the big man you had married, one with two shoulders like a football player, feeding your father fruit jelly almost more gracefully than you. 

You knew how fond he was of your dad, they had hit it off right away, but you didn't know how much he was willing to sacrifice for him. You were moved.

___________________________________________

Your father was gone four days later. You and John were supposed to leave for Boston the next morning instead you had to call in to work, cancel your flight, call your trusty neighbor Marge to ask her to look at your house, pick up your mail, and water your plants. 

You were crushed and at the same time overwhelmed with bureaucracy so you couldn't stop. You had forgotten to eat breakfast that morning, got dressed in a hurry to go to the funeral home to deliver the suit with which you had decided to bury your father, then went to do some paperwork with the insurance company and finally to the church to arrange with the pastor the time of the service and the proceedings. When you left the church you felt an emptiness in your stomach, your head was spinning, you had eaten barely a sandwich in the last two days. 

You knew you were about to collapse, saw a café across the street from the church, and went inside to get a croissant and cappuccino to go. 

When you came out you found yourself in front of Danielle. She was so sorry, of course your mother had informed Marcus's mother and they would be attending the funeral. Danielle hugged you as if you were her sister, telling you that she understood you because she too had lost her father a few years earlier and even though you didn't know each other well you could have called her if you needed anything. 

You had thanked her and headed for the car, locked yourself in and took a couple of minutes to chug your croissant and drink your cappuccino. At least partially regenerated from the late breakfast you had headed back home, where John and your mother were waiting for you.

In the car you had been thinking about how kind Danielle had been and how lucky Marcus was to be with her.

The next day you had put on a sober black suit that you used for the office and probably wouldn't be able to wear again after that day, put on just enough makeup, helped John put on his tie, and headed for church with him and your mom. 

All three of you were exhausted, grieving, trying to hold the pieces together as best you could with each other's help but your dad's absence was hard to bear. You wished you could have woken up and found it had been just a nightmare, you wished you could have hugged him and talked to him and he, as he had always done, would have found the words you needed most.

There was only one other person who could soothe your worries in the same way your dad could, and that person was Marcus. 

John had been able to be there for you anyway, with actions more than words, taking tasks to take away from you, relieving you of burdens you could not carry alone, and for that you were infinitely grateful. He was a good husband. 

After the service, under his arm, you left the church behind your mother. You had lost count of the number of people who had come to hug you, faces you had never seen, work colleagues of your father's whom you had never met, old childhood friends, the church was full of people who had come to remember him fondly. This pleased you, but it was strange to you at the same time. You wished you had some time to yourself, alone, to try to catch your breath and rationalize at least some of what had happened, that blender of emotions that had shaken and sucked you in. 

You had made your way to the cemetery, walking along the path that led to the family grave where your grandparents were buried you had felt like you were in a muffled bubble where everything moved in slow motion, barely sensing John's presence beside you. 

When you had arrived, you had looked up for only a moment and before you had seen Marcus's. You had not noticed his presence in the church, busy as you were with hugging and greeting, you had seen only his mother but he had remained in the background, respecting your grief. Just as you wished others had done. There was nothing more to be said, he always knew what you needed, no matter how many years had passed, he could still read you like an open book just like when at 18 he had realized that your highest aspiration was to become a writer without even the need to make it explicit in words. 

His eyes were swollen and reddened; it was obvious that he was moved. Beside him was Danielle with a pair of dark glasses covering her face, clutching his arm elegantly and dignifiedly. 

You had smiled weakly at him, thanking him with your eyes, and he had smiled back, looking at you with the sweetest, sorriest eyes I had seen that day. 

___________________________________________

You had stayed behind to watch the final burial operations, while John had driven your mother back to the car, who had burst into convulsive tears, crushed by the realization that she had lost forever the man she had loved most in the world. 

You had felt a hand barely graze your shoulder, you had turned around and saw Marcus standing there on the grass “hey” As soon as you had seen him the impulse to hug him had come to you spontaneously, he had welcomed you into his arms, stroking your head, wrapping you against his chest, trying to comfort you. 

Being close to him still felt like home, his warmth immediately made you feel calmer, less alone, and not that John couldn't do that but with Marcus it was different. He had always been different in a way that was impossible to explain but that you felt hammering hard in your heart.

“Thank you,” you had whispered, with the tears you had finally allowed yourself to shed wetting your cheeks and his shirt. 

“Don't mention it,” he had whispered, continuing to hold you close. 

You had lingered a little longer in his embrace before pulling away and asking where Danielle was. 

"She went home with my mom. I stayed in case you needed anything.” 

“It's okay, thank you, there was no need,” you stammered lyingly. Yes you needed him, now more than ever, and he knew it well. 

“Your mother and John?” 

“Aunt Maggie drove them home, they left my mom's car with me.”

“Do you want me to drive?” she had asked and all you could do was nod ”please. But then how are you going to get back?” 

“I'll call Danielle, don't worry” she had encircled your waist with an arm as she walked you to the car. She had opened the door and helped you get in, even buckled your seat belt no matter how hard you had tried to insist you could do it yourself. 

Marcus did not spare himself when it came to caring for others. 

He had climbed up on the driver's side and in a rush had hugged you back, there, inside the car, whispering, “You don't know how sorry I am, baby. Your father was a great man.” 

You had looked at him gratefully, amid tears that had begun to flow profusely again "thank you" 

He had kissed you, right after that. And the instant his lips had rested on yours, you had felt that you could not help yourself no matter how hard you had tried to bury your feelings all those years. There was something inexplicable that united you, a way of understanding each other that needed no words, as if you were made to recognize each other, to see inside each other's souls. You had read in his eyes that day in the supermarket how much he had missed you, and he had read the same in yours, and just before that you had felt the same need to have him near, in spite of John, Danielle, and anything else that told you it was wrong. Deep inside you had always known it was right, you had felt it from the moment you first met him. You had been crowing for years about people talking about soul mates, meetings of destiny, and things like that. But now you knew you had felt it. His soft lips on yours were like honey to your soul, you wished you could sink into that feeling, drown in that sea and never rise again.

You couldn't leave John though. Not after you had built a life together in Boston, not after he had supported and cared for you all those days. Not after all he had done for you. 

As much as it hurt to do so, you pulled away from his lips. “I’ve always thought about you, all these years,” he said. “I’m sorry, you know, I didn’t realize it before, that maybe we could be something more. I never told you, but I remembered that kiss we shared when we were 18 very well.” Marcus was a torrent of words and was saying everything you’d always wanted to hear. “And I remember the night in that motel, too, how you held me in your sleep. I…” You knew he was about to say something like “I love you” “I’ve always loved you,” and so you cut him off. “Marcus.” He paused, his mouth half open as he looked at you in shock. “It’s too late. We can’t. Maybe there was a chance a few years ago, but now? We’re both married, we have responsibilities, we have to be realistic. It’s not fair to Danielle and John. And I have a job and a life in Boston, I can’t just leave everything all of a sudden.”

“But I…” and you knew he was about to say those words again. “Please don’t say that. Don’t make this any harder than it already is.”

Marcus had fallen silent, looking down at his hands draped over his lap, and then said sadly, “I understand.”

You had just lost your father and now you were losing him too. It wasn’t fair, but it was the only thing to do. “Take me home, please.” He would have started the car without saying anything, driving to your house without looking at you again, perhaps afraid that he wouldn’t be able to let you go if he ever laid eyes on you again. 

You got out of the car just saying thank you, without hugging him because you knew it would have hurt even more.

____________________________________

2008

When John had told you that you should move to Washington DC, you had not taken it well. You did not want to leave Boston, the bright home where you had begun to build your new life, that city that had welcomed you. Starting all over again somewhere else, in a city you had never been to, seemed too much. 

In the end, however, you had accepted it; leaving John seemed even worse. And he had continued to be a good husband, so you saw no reason to part with him.

After all, he had received a good promotion, he had rented a house where you had found a familiar light again, it had big windows, high ceilings, big rooms. John made good money and had tried to accommodate you in everything. 

He had made it worth it all the way.

You had been struggling a bit to fit into the editorial staff of the new newspaper you had found work for. You were aiming for the Washington Post, but they had totally bounced you, which had been no small disappointment to digest. 

However, after all, your life had regained some meaning. 

It was now six months since you had moved, you hadn't heard from Marcus in eight years. And this time it was not because of distance, but because it had really hurt you to find out that he felt something too but it never seemed to be the right time for you. It would have been in 1993 perhaps, if you had had courage, if you had taken the risk of exploring your feelings together. He hadn't had the guts to tell you anything, you were too afraid, and when you had found common ground it had immediately collapsed. 

John had noticed that something was wrong, even he knew you well enough to know that it pained you not to hear from your friend again, and at times he had even urged you to call him. You had told him that he had said something unpleasant about Danielle while you were in the car and you had felt sorry for her, from there you had started to argue. It was a really boorish excuse and you were pretty sure John hadn't bought it but had played it off for the sake of quiet life. 

“Can you stop by the bank to deposit this check this morning?” he had told you that morning before leaving the house. You were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and enjoying your day off. 

“Sure,” you had answered him, ”I'll go there before I go to the laundry to pick up my dress for tonight.” 

“Mmm the burgundy dress with that dizzying neckline?” he had told you as he leaned over to give you a kiss 

“Just that one” you had smiled as you returned the kiss and caressed his cheek ”you like it huh?”

“I'm looking forward to tonight” he had chuckled before leaving the house with his briefcase ”I'll be home at 7 o'clock okay?”

“Perfect, I'll be ready” you had thrown him a kiss and then curled up in your chair, finishing your coffee and admiring the view of the waking city outside. 

It was your anniversary, and he was going to take you to dinner at a French restaurant you had heard about in enthusiastic tones from your discerning colleague who was a food and wine critic. 

You had dressed quietly, gone out to do your chores, had a manicure appointment, then gone to pick up your dress at the dry cleaners and finally to the bank. 

As soon as you had left the bank you had bumped into a guy. 

You had looked up and been stunned. 

Marcus.

How was that possible? 

“Oh shit,” he had exclaimed.

His hair was slightly longer, he had grown a mustache and a beard but it was him, there was no doubt about it, you would have recognized him in a thousand. 

"What are you doing here?" you had asked him, widening your eyes, without a hello or how are you or anything else, you were too shocked. 

He was the last person you expected to see on your anniversary. 

Marcus had brushed his hand behind his neck, the gesture he always made when he was embarrassed “I got a big promotion” in a tone as if to apologize for existing in the same state as you, in the same city as you, for coexisting in the same environment as you.

“Whatever...I have to go, anyway, have a nice life,” you had tried to say quickly, to disengage yourself from that surreal situation. 

You had already turned your back on him when you heard him say “no wait...please...would you like to have a cup of coffee?”

You had turned silently to look at him. He couldn't have been serious. Yet he was.

And looking into those big brown pleading eyes, for some reason you had not been able to say no.

“All right,” you had replied with a shrug, ”I'll give you half an hour, then I'll have to go home.”

You went to sit in a café around the corner and ordered a cappuccino.

"So how are you?" you asked absentmindedly. 

“Danielle and I broke up last spring.” 

“Oh. I'm sorry.�� It was like a blade through the chest to hear his voice again, to hear him say that he was single again and that his marriage was over. Somehow it made you feel guilty even though after eight years it was unlikely that the main reason for their breakup was you. 

“Yeah...she wanted children and for a while we tried but...” 

“Marcus please, I don't care, it's your business because it's over,” you cut off. 

You didn't have to get involved again. When you had thought back to your father's death and how he had confessed right afterwards you had been angry with him. Why had he done it at that time when you were so particularly vulnerable? It wasn't fair. 

"Sorry I-" he had babbled.  

“Never mind, never mind,” you had interrupted him again with a hand gesture. “Look, let's talk straight once and for all” you didn't know where all that aggression was coming from but it was growing inside you inexorably, like an infection ”why the hell are we here?” 

He had lowered his gaze to his cappuccino, then brought it back to you and stared at you in a way that made you feel naked and helpless. He still had an effect on you, and it pissed you off. “I miss you,” he had admitted under his breath, ”I miss talking to you and I miss having you around. I miss everything about you. When I saw you I couldn't believe it. But I know I can't let you leave without clearing things up.” 

“There's nothing left to clear up. It's over Marcus, can't you see that? There was never a right time for us.” 

“That's not true, I-” 

“Stop it! Look, I'm trying to live my life, you do it too,” you had screeched

“But-” 

“No 'buts'... Marcus, I'm tired. I'm tired of this running into each other and don't tell me it's fate because it's just pure randomness. John was transferred for work, now we live here, end of story. I'm still with him, okay? And I'm happy, so please leave me alone.” 

You could see his clenched fist on the coffee table, his eyes glazed with tears, his Adam's apple jumping as you mentioned John. He looked devastated. It was no longer your business anyway, so you had gotten up and made to leave, leaving a bill on the coffee table. “Don't look for me anymore.” 

Marcus had jumped up, his chair had fallen back crashing onto the pavement, and he didn't even seem to notice as he tried to stop you.

“Please” he had grabbed you by the sleeve of his jacket ”please.” 

You had turned back to him and looking into his eyes you had seen the little boy who asked you if he would ever be famous, the one who helped you with your homework, the 20-year-old who had involved you in the craziest vacation of your life, and then the adult who had broken your heart. 

“No.” you had whispered, ”no fucking way.” 

Marcus' face was a grimace of pain, as if in physical pain from your rejection, his shoulders hunched and his hand not letting go of you. He was pathetic and sweet at the same time.

His eyes were fixed in yours as he told you loud and clear, “I love you.”

I love you. 

You had longed to hear it come from his lips for so long that now it was like a lash that burned against your skin. You had stopped feeling like you were glued to the sidewalk, unable to take a step forward “What the hell! Did you have to tell me that? Was it necessary after I told you that I am still with my husband? Fuck, your timing is the worst thing ever. Do you know what day it is today? My wedding anniversary.” you had thrown up words at him angrily, feeling a knot in your stomach that nauseated you. 

“I don't want anything from you,” he had replied, his voice trembling, ”I just wanted you to know.”

“And now that I know according to you what have we solved? What have we gained? I'll tell you, absolutely nothing Marcus.” 

You had turned around and left, yelling at him, “I'll tell you again, don't ever look for me.” 

You had come home and taken a long hot bath, cried your last tears for him, and then decided it was John you had to think about, your special day. Marcus wasn't going to ruin it for you. You had prepared yourself carefully, put on the dress he liked so much, your favorite perfume, and waited for John. When he had come home you had driven out to a restaurant, had had a delicious dinner, sex as soon as you got home, and fallen asleep in his arms feeling that it was right. 

___________________________________

2010

“Love don't wait up for me, I'll be back late. I am so sorry, I love you.” 

It was already the fourth time in a week that he sent you such a message, by now John spent more time in the office than anywhere else. He had been given another promotion and was now mainly in charge of foreign exchanges, so he went to the office at impossible hours, came back later and later, and you barely saw him in the morning getting out of bed to jump in the shower. You hadn't had sex for at least a month, in those days you had talked more often with the mailman than with your husband.” 

Finally a publishing house had noticed you and they had published your book, you had gotten a chance to continue working for the newspaper by writing your articles from home so you could work on your second novel. 

You had huffed, looking at the screen, by now you were going to your friends' dinners alone, in those two years you had bonded with some couples in your neighborhood, and with a colleague from the newspaper and her husband. Every time you had been invited in the last three months John had declined, saying he had to work. 

You were beginning to feel really alone in your marriage, but you knew you had to try something. You still cared about John; you didn't want everything you had built together to be ruined. Sure, since he was earning more money he was showering you with unexpected and expensive gifts that certainly didn't make up for his absence, though. You had never been a materialistic person, no matter how beautiful the diamond bracelets and pearl necklaces and expensive shoes were, you missed falling asleep cuddled with your husband, feeling his caresses, having breakfast with him in the morning, spending a weekend together on the couch watching TV cuddling, simply spending time with him. For the past few weeks you had failed to write a word, you had hastily completed articles for the newspaper just to meet deadlines but your novel had stalled. You were busy cleaning to take your mind off things, you had joined the gym to force yourself to leave the house but then you would go back and find yourself spending entire evenings lounging around, not knowing what else to do. 

You had decided that night that you had to take matters into your own hands, put on a pretty dress, fixed your hair and make-up thoroughly, and then went out with the intention of surprising him. You were going to bring him his favorite dishes from your favorite Chinese restaurant to the office. 

When you had arrived at his workplace, you had looked up from the car window and seen the light on in his office. 

You had come down loaded with Chinese noodles and dumplings, and as you walked toward the entrance you had noticed his car parked not far away. 

You had taken the elevator with your heart in your throat, looking forward to seeing his happy face as he enjoyed a hot meal. The elevator had opened on the floor and you had started down the hallway leading to his office. There was no one there, everything was quiet and still, but the closer you got to his office the more you heard strange noises. Bellowing, hushed voices. 

The door was pulled over, you had pushed it slightly, and the scene that unfolded before your eyes was unsettling. 

Veronica, a married colleague of him whom you had met at the firm's Christmas party a few months earlier, was bent over John's desk, her skirt up, her panties down, her long legs covered by black hold-ups, her stilettos sinking into the Persian carpet under John's desk. And your husband holding her hips and sinking into her from behind. 

His shirt was hanging off his shoulders, his hair was disheveled, his neck tense and sweaty, as he stood there with his cool wool pants down, fucking his colleague. 

He grunted some words that you had never heard him say when you were having sex “Yeah, bitch, you like that huh? You like getting pounded by my cock huh? You're such a dirty slut, do you feel how wet you are for me?" 

You couldn't believe your eyes. Your sweet husband, the one who had stood by you so devotedly…where had that man gone? 

You dropped the bag with the Chinese dinner on the floor, the boxes had opened, and the noodles had spread all over the hardwood floor. “What the fuck?!”

John had turned around shocked, still with his cock inside his coworker “Oh shit. No, wait, honey I-” he had stepped out of her and tried to pull up his pants awkwardly ”please-fuck-I can explain.” 

“There's nothing to explain, you piece of shit!” you had yelled at him as he approached trying to stammer out some stupid excuse and had slapped him open-handed across the face as soon as he got in front of you ‘don't bother coming home’ you had added contemptuously.

“But love I-” he had pranced rubbing his cheek ”please-” 

“NO!” You had yelled “No, I don't want to hear your bullshit excuses, I don't want anything more to do with you, you disgust me!”

Veronica was standing in the corner buttoning her blouse and pulling down her skirt without meeting your gaze, her face hot and guilty.

Everything that you had sacrificed for that relationship, how you had followed him and reinvented your life for him, adapting to his needs, trying to build a happy nest for the two of you in Washington, all had been swept away. He had stomped on your marriage, your trust, your heart. 

You had driven home crying, risking missing a red light, had nailed down at the last moment with your heart bouncing inside your chest like a jackhammer. You had walked into the house throwing your purse and coat on the floor, throwing your shoes in the middle of the hallway and throwing yourself on the bed, hiding your face in the pillow with your head bursting, a sense of helplessness and defeat enveloping your temples, your chest, your stomach. 

It was over.

John had never come home, you had learned through his lawyer that he had rented an apartment near his office, and a week later he sent three big guys from a moving company to pick up his things.

You couldn't stay in that house anymore. Everything reminded you of him, the lies he had been telling you for months and what was even worse, all the happy moments you had lived in there in spite of yourself. 

You were dragging yourself from room to room without strength, you hadn't written anything anymore, you had told the editor of the newspaper that you were sick to have an excuse to delay the deadlines for your articles. 

You were tired, you were angry, you lacked the will to do anything, after three days without seeing you leave the house your friend Denise, who lived across the street had called you alarmed to see if you were all right, and hearing your dejected, fading voice had decided to use the keys you had given her in case of an emergency to come and check on you in person. 

You had not been able to lie to her; you had burst into tears and told her everything as soon as she asked you where John was. 

From that day she had been by every day bringing you dinner, making sure you ate, forcing you to shower, tidying up. You didn't know what you had done to deserve Denise in your life but you were incredibly grateful that she was there. 

Gradually you had forced yourself to take charge of your life again, started going out again pushed by your friends and even moved house, encouraged by them. You couldn't turn over a new leaf without getting out of there. 

And you had especially realized that you could walk with your head held high; you were not the one who had to be ashamed. 

And looking back on it, you had really overcome a lot in the last few years. The loss of your father, Marcus, your husband. All the men who had meant something to you in your life. 

You could have been proud that you did your best to stay on your feet. 

________________________________________________________

2011 

It had been a year since you had discovered John screwing his colleague.

You had tried dating men, without success, but things were going very well professionally. You had finally managed to finish your second book, and the publisher had been extremely pleased, so much so that he had arranged a series of meetings for you at bookstores around the country.  You had just returned from Ohio when you got a call from your mother inviting you for Christmas.

You had no desire to return to Sacramento, but how could you say no to your mom? She was left alone and it had not been easy for her. Your aunt and uncle lived nearby and took care of her but she had said she missed you a lot.

And she was so proud of you, she had asked you for copies of your books to give to all her friends, she was your biggest fan. You were happy to see her and spend time with her. 

And so, there you were at the airport, with a big suitcase, ready to get on yet another plane and fly across the country. 

You had just gotten an upgrade to business class and were in the private lounge of the area airline ordering yourself a martini when you heard a familiar voice behind you calling your name. 

Marcus. Again. 

“I swear I'm not following you,” he had raised his hands in surrender. 

“I know. I haven't seen you in three years, and we live in the same town.”

You had smiled; it wasn't bad to see his face again after all. 

“Martini?” He had asked pointing to your glass 

“Yeah. Can you please make another one?” You had said turning toward the bartender. 

You had sat at a small table with your cocktails “Are you going to see your mother?”

You had nodded, “You too?” 

“Yes, my parents were very insistent. Where is John?” 

“I have no idea,” you had squeezed into your shoulders taking a sip of your martini. 

“Oh, did you break up? I'm sorry, he seemed like a good man,” he had said.

“Apparently he wasn't since he was cheating on me with one of his colleagues.” 

“You should have better judgment anyway, aren't you a detective?” you had asked, raising an eyebrow and looking at him wryly 

Marcus had burst out laughing, “You're right, I should.”

And he had told you about the time he had fallen in love with someone named Teresa, a colleague of his, and had been left like a poor idiot the previous year, without realizing that she was in love with someone else. 

“It wasn't your fault, you know,” you told him sweetly, ”I know how you get when you have a crush.” 

“How do I become?” he had asked you with a sigh.

And you had replied with a smirk “Well, if you must know...naive, head in the clouds, like you live in a world of unicorns and fairies” 

“Really? A ridiculous clown? Is that what I become?” he had chuckled and then turned serious again ”Not with you, I hope”

You had laughed, you could have laughed at that point. Or maybe it was just the martini clouding your mind. 

“Whatever,” you had rolled your eyes. 

“Well, I'm sorry,” he had muttered.

“It's okay” you had smiled ”Really.”

At that moment they had announced boarding for your flight, so you had hurried to the gate together. 

You were both in business, so eventually you had sat next to each other and continued chatting. 

And it was nice, really nice. You were both single, more aware, you had reached an age where you could be honest with yourselves and you could joke about your dramas. 

“So you had noticed that I had hugged you that night huh?” 

“Sure. You pounced on me in my sleep and woke me up. I didn't want to embarrass you so I played it cool” she had smiled ”I thought you were sleepwalking and dreaming of hugging Keanu Reeves or whatever.” 

You had burst out in the loudest laugh you had had in years and then covered your mouth embarrassed that you had disturbed the other passengers. Fortunately those in your vicinity all had headphones on and were watching a movie. 

“Oh, come on” you had tapped his shoulder and then taken by you don't know what courage-probably the second martini you were downing-you had said ”the only one I dreamed of hugging was you.” 

“I didn't realize this until later...Now is there anyone you would like to hug by any chance?” he had whispered in your ear.

“Actually...yes” 

And there, in that plane, you kissed. For the first time without hindrance, without remorse, without drama, without fear. “I love you” he had whispered on your lips, and you had responded, finally free to say it ”I love you too.”

“So we'll try this time?” he had caressed your cheek, sliding his hand down your neck. 

“Yes” You had said ”definitely yes.”

“Your mother will be delighted” he had smiled, kissing you again “it's going to be a great Christmas.”

“Well, Merry Christman then” you whispered as your mouth moved down his neck.

“Merry Christmas, baby”

[guilty-pleasures21]

Christmas special!

In reference to your ask about Christmas w/Jason Todd:

I don't know if you've ever seen National Lampoon's Christmas vacation, but if you have that scene where the dad takes his wife and kids out in a forest to pick out a Christmas tree. By the end, the kids and wife are freezing, and the dad got a Christmas tree that's way, way, wayyy too big- it doesn't even fit in their house. Instead of going out being Jason's idea, I think it being the reader's idea, the idea growing onto Jason, and by the time they find the tree he's really excited cause he just wants to give reader the best Christmas ever, with the best Christmas tree. (I'm an avid beliver that Jason would hate fake trees, but he'd also hate when the needles fall off. he hates both options, ngl). Anyways, kinda take that idea, add whatever you want to it- be creative! if you like the idea ofc. (This is my first time requesting something. I'm so sorry if I'm doing it wrong) Anyways, thank you!! 

If you dunno what I'm talking about, look up "National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation tree scene" or sum like that and the full clip of it should be around 4ish minutes. - Anonymous

This was the request I received and oh my gosh, I thought you were just SO CUTE!!! There is no 'wrong' way of requesting anything, babe and I am so honoured to be your first requestee and also SO EXTREMELY SORRY that I messed it up for you!!! 😭

Part 1

Part 2

Warnings: none.

----------------------------------------------------------

     “Jason!” Tim screeched. “It’s been two hours! Just pick a goddamn tree so we can go home!” He hugged his coat tighter around himself, trying to stop himself from shivering in the freezing winter air, but Jason didn’t seem to care about his pain.

     “The one we passed five minutes ago looked good,” Dick suggested, trying to maintain his indomitable human spirit that he was only now realising might not be so indomitable after all - of course Jason would be the only person capable of finally breaking his iron will.

     Jason snorted at Dick’s suggestion like he was some sort of idiot. 

     “I’m not looking for a ‘good’ tree, I’m looking for a great one,” he replied, spinning around to fix Dick with a look of disgusted disappointment. “Did you not see the bald patch in the middle left section of the trunk?! It’s gonna topple over as soon as we start decorating it!” He swiveled back around before Dick could reply and Dick let out a soft groan as he continued trudging after Jason up the already snow-covered hill.

     “Argh! I’m not staying out here for one second longer!” Tim decided, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “I could have been at home drinking hot chocolate and eating deliciously warm gingerbread cookies, but here you are, dragging me out in the middle of a f*cking snowstorm to find some goddamn ‘perfect tree’ that probably doesn’t even exist!”

     Jason rolled his eyes and tuned out Tim’s ranting as he kept his eye on the trees they passed. Finally, he stopped and held a hand out to the others.

     “Stop! Wait.” He pointed at the tree just to his left and his lips stretched into a knowing smile as he considered it with awe. “That one.”

     Tim’s and Dick’s eyes widened as they craned their heads back to take in the full height of the tree. It was majestic, sure - maybe even perfect in every way, if they’d been somehow tortured into having to admit it - but it was way too big for the three of them to carry it back to Jason’s car by the road.

     “It’s f*cking huge, Jay!” Tim pointed out, his jaw dropping open in horror. 

     “He’s right,” Dick agreed with a grimace. “There’s no way we’re carrying that back to the car, baby bird.”

     Jason pursed his lips, trying to think up a solution to their problem. “I need to make a phone call.”

     Roy jumped down from the back of his truck once they’d finished loading the tree onto it. He clapped his hands together, brushing the loose needles away, then flashed the boys a thumbs up. “Looks like we’re good to go. I’ll meet you guys back at the manor.”

     “Thanks, Roy.” Jason stepped forward and exchanged some sort of elaborate handshake with his friend before Roy hopped back into his driver’s seat and began turning the truck bacl around.

     “What. The actual. Hell.” Tim followed Roy’s truck with his gaze as he started driving downhill to the road, then he raced after Dick and Jason when he realised that they’d already started back to the car without him. “Where the hell did Roy get a truck like that?! Does he even have a license for it?!”

     Jason shoved his hands into his pockets and kept his eyes fixed straight ahead as he responded. “Do you have a license for your car?”

     “Uh, yeah!” Tim replied. “I did my driver’s ed and everything! Didn’t you?” He regarded Jason with suspicion as he waited for his answer, suddenly extremely nervous to find out what it would be.

     Jason slid his gaze over to Tim, his eyes slightly wide in a way that made Tim’s heart freeze in his chest. 

     “Wait.” Tim stopped to digest Jason’s silent revelation. “Please don’t tell me you don’t have a driver’s license. No way would X let you drive her around without a license!”

     “I have a driver’s license,” Jason affirmed, shrugging his shoulders noncommittally. Tim jogged forward to catch up to him again. 

     “And it’s under your name, right?” he pressed. “Like, you did a test and everything?”

     “Hmm …” Jason hummed as he took out his keys and unlocked his car. He got into the driver’s seat and Dick climbed into the passenger’s seat beside him, not even blinking an eye at his lack of response to Tim’s question. Tim waited outside the car, shooting them both disbelieving looks and Jason sighed as he tapped his steering wheel impatiently. “You know, you could walk back if you want. Doesn’t make a difference to me.”

     “Argh!” Tim groaned, reluctantly getting into the backseat. “Everytime we hang out, I learn something about you that makes me regret stalking Batman in the first place.”

     “So you admit you stalked him!” Jason exclaimed, getting back onto the road back to the manor. Tim let out another dramatic groan, but didn’t push the matter any further for the rest of the drive.

     “We’re back!” Jason announced, walking through the door and taking his coat and scarf off. X turned to him with bright eyes, her features glowing with happiness, and Jason flashed her a smug smirk. “You like the tree I got you, princess?”

     “Yes yes yes yes yes!” X confirmed, running over to him and leaping into his arms in answer. “Best Christmas ever! Best boyfriend ever! I love you, Jay!” She showered his face in kisses, showing him her appreciation, and Jason chuckled as he set her back down on the ground. Duke leaped forward quickly and covered Damian’s eyes with his hands, shielding him from the affectionate scene. 

     “Uh, maybe not when there are kids around?” he suggested awkwardly. 

     “Yeah,” Dick agreed, flashing the two of them a knowing look. “Save it for the bedroom, lovebirds.”

     X lowered her head as her cheeks heated up in embarrassment, but Jason caught her adorable little smile before she could hide it and his entire body warmed at the sight.

     “We found the ladder!” Bruce yelled, walking into the living room with an extendable ladder Roy was helping him hold up the end of. The two men set it down carefully by the tree and began opening it up, stretching it all the way to the top where the leaves just grazed the ceiling of Bruce’s mansion. 

     “Can I decorate it?! Please?!” X asked, bouncing up and down in excitement. Jason frowned and tightened his grip on her just a little. 

     “It’s too dangerous, sweetheart,” he warned her. He scrutinised the tree again, then let her go to reach for the ladder himself. “I’ll do it.”

     Bruce turned to Dick for answers to Jason’s suggestion, utterly confused as to why his grouchy little grinch of a second son was suddenly offering to decorate their enormous Christmas tree he’d so meticulously searched for. Dick nodded at X with a grin and Bruce’s features softened into a grateful smile. 

     X considered the ladder carefully, her teeth sinking into her lower lip with uncertainty. “Um, are you sure it can hold you, Jay?”

     Jason turned to her with a stunned look as everyone started laughing at her joke. He narrowed his eyes at her and she quickly shot him a sheepish smile that dampened his irritation at her statement.

     “I can do it,” Roy volunteered, stepping up onto the ladder before anyone else could argue. “Jay can just stand around and catch me if anything.” He pressed his lips together as everyone burst into another round of laughter, and did his best to maintain a straight face when Jason turned to glare at him instead. X wrapped her arms around Jason’s neck and pulled him down so she could kiss his cheek, distracting him from his irritation, and though Jason rolled his eyes at the action, no one missed the way his lips curled up at the ends.

     “So,” Jason began, rubbing X's back gently after they'd settled down in his old bed at the manor for the night, “what did you think of your first Christmas with the Wayne’s?”

     X let out a soft laugh at his words and tilted her head back so he could lean forward to press his lips to hers. “It was exciting! My favourite part was your gingerbread house. You looked so cute when you got all into it and everything! Is it like this every year?”

     Jason's gaze slid to the side as he let out a weary sigh. “Unfortunately, disaster tends to follow the Wayne family more closely than most.”

     His girlfriend ruffled his hair and Jason quickly returned his gaze to hers, his lips pulling into an affectionate smile. 

     “Not disaster, Jay,” she corrected him, shaking her head in disagreement. “Excitement.”

     Jason rolled his eyes, but continued to smile at the wicked glint in hers, and X took it as a sign to finally ask the question she'd been working up the courage to ask since they'd moved in together.

     “So, you’re … okay to spend next year at my family’s place?” she asked hesitantly. Her boyfriend always tensed up whenever she mentioned bringing him to meet her parents. They were gentle, hardworking people who lived in a good suburb tucked safely away from the savage centre of Gotham. They’d absolutely adored Jason when he and X had just been friends, fussing over him whenever he joined her in visiting them, but he’d become terrified that they wouldn’t approve of him dating their daughter. What did he have to offer her, after all, besides danger and trauma and anger and misery? But it was too embarrassing a thought for him to admit out loud - even if he knew that she already knew anyway. “Jay.”

     Jason turned back to her, a distracted expression on his face and X rubbed his cheek to bring his focus back to her.

     “My parents have only ever wanted me to find a guy who treats me well. And you spoil me rotten like a little princess!” She wriggled against him happily and thankfully, Jason relaxed a little. “They’ll be so proud to have you as their son-in-law.”

     He froze immediately at her words. ‘Son-in-law’? ‘Son-in-law’?! Her parents’ son-in-law? Like … Like their daughter’s … husband? He grimaced at the word - it just didn’t sound right in reference to him. He was … He was the furthest thing from husband material. But … he breathed in her sweet lavender scent and focused his senses on how soft and right she felt lying in his arms, the two of them tangled up under the covers. They could … Maybe they could … start a little family together … Little kids that he’d … he’d play with and … and teach and … cook meals for and that she’d come home to after work everyday; her own precious little family. He sucked in a breath as his heart started thudding in his chest, suddenly unsure how to feel about it.

     Shit! Shit, shit, shit! How could she let such serious words - such important words - slip out of her mouth so casually?! She bit her lip, rapidly trying to think of a response that would salvage the situation. “Uh and anyway, you’re still Bruce Wayne’s son! We always have that reputation to fall back on. Who’s gonna say no to Bruce Wayne’s son, right?” 

     She let out an awkward chuckle and tilted her head back to give Jason a nervous smile, scared to see his response. But he just grinned and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

     “We’ll spend next Christmas with your family,” he decided, convinced by the idea now. X's smile turned genuine and Jason's heart fluttered with definite happiness now.

     “Night, Jay Jay, I love you!” Jason pressed another kiss into his sweet little girlfriend's hair.

     “Night, my spoiled little princess. I love you, too.”

[niallerspayno]

About Last Night - Part 2

Masterlist

With your pregnancy and feelings for Louis now out in the open, you both navigate the challenges of your new relationship and the new life growing inside of you.

Tags: Louis x reader, just a lot of fluff really

Part 1 | Part 3 - coming soon

…

Louis gives your hand a gentle squeeze before opening the door to the hotel suite. The buzz of conversation inside fades as you both step in, all eyes turning to you. Harry is sprawled across the couch, Liam perched on the armrest, Zayn leaning casually against the wall, and Niall sitting at the table, fidgeting slightly.

The weight of their collective attention is almost suffocating, but Louis doesn’t falter, guiding you further into the room.

“Alright, lads,” Louis begins, his voice steady. “We’ve got something to tell you.”

Harry is the first to speak, sitting up straighter. “What Louis said earlier… is it true?”

You swallow hard, glancing at Louis. He nods encouragingly, so you step forward. “Yes,” you say, your voice steady despite the knot in your stomach. “I’m pregnant. And the baby is Louis’s.”

A stunned silence fills the room, broken only by Zayn’s low whistle. “Well, that’s a bloody plot twist,” he says, though there’s no malice in his tone.

“How long have you known?” Liam asks, his brow creased with concern.

“A little over a week,” you admit. “I wasn’t sure how to tell anyone. Niall’s been the only one who knew—he’s been helping me through it.”

The boys’ gazes shift to Niall, who raises his hands defensively. “I was just trying to be there for her, alright?”

Harry’s mouth twitches into a grin as he leans back. “You know,” he says, looking between you and Louis, “I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner. You two have been dancing around each other for years.”

You blink, heat rushing to your face. “What?”

“Come on, Y/N,” Harry continues, his grin widening. “We’ve all seen it. You and Louis have had this ‘will-they-won’t-they’ thing going on forever.”

Zayn smirks. “He’s not wrong. It was only a matter of time.”

Louis huffs, crossing his arms, though there’s a faint blush on his cheeks. “Alright, that’s enough,” he mutters, but the corner of his mouth quirks up.

Liam’s expression softens, his initial shock melting into a warm smile. “Well, regardless of how it happened, congratulations. This is huge.”

“Yeah,” Niall chimes in, his voice firm. “And you’ve got us. Whatever you need, we’ll be there.”

You glance at Louis, feeling the courage to say what’s next because of his steady presence. “There’s something else,” you add. “Louis and I… we’re together now. Officially.”

The room falls quiet again, and then Harry lets out a low laugh, shaking his head. “Of course you are,” he says, grinning. “Took you long enough.”

“I knew it!” Zayn adds, pointing at Louis. “You’ve been mooning over her for years, mate.”

Louis smirks, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Yeah, well, better late than never, right?” he says, his tone light but the meaning behind it heavy with sincerity.

“That’s sweet and all,” Niall interjects, though his grin is teasing, “but you know management’s going to be pissed.”

“Probably,” Louis says with a shrug, entirely unfazed. “But they’ll get over it.”

Harry snorts. “Yeah, right. A secret relationship? Sure. A baby on the way? They’ll love that.”

“Let them be pissed,” you say, surprising even yourself with your confidence. “This is our life, not theirs.”

Liam nods approvingly. “Good for you. Stand your ground.”

“And we’ll back you up,” Zayn says with a smirk. “Even if it makes for some interesting headlines.”

The room fills with a mix of laughter and reassurances, the tension easing into something more celebratory. Louis glances down at you, his blue eyes filled with quiet pride and affection.

As the boys crack jokes about baby names and ridiculous parenting scenarios, you feel a wave of gratitude for this chaotic, supportive family. Whatever comes next, you know you’ll have them—and Louis—by your side.

…

The conference room feels impossibly cold, despite the sunlight streaming through the large windows. Louis walks beside you, his hand resting on the small of your back as you both step inside. Seated at the long table are the familiar faces of the management team, their expressions ranging from neutral to wary.

Louis doesn’t falter, his confidence unshakable as he pulls out a chair for you before taking the one beside you. The silence stretches for a moment, thick with anticipation, until one of the senior managers clears his throat.

“So,” he begins, folding his hands on the table. “We’ve been informed there’s something the two of you need to tell us.”

You glance at Louis, your heart racing. He offers you a reassuring nod before leaning forward, his tone calm but firm.

“Right. Let’s not beat around the bush,” Louis says, his voice steady. “Y/N is pregnant. It’s mine. And we’re together now.”

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, no one says anything. Then, one of the younger managers mutters under his breath, “Bloody hell.”

Another manager, older and clearly more experienced, narrows her eyes slightly. “And how exactly do you expect this to play out?” she asks. “You’re both under contract. A pregnancy—and a relationship—was not part of the image we’ve carefully curated.”

Louis’s jaw tightens, but he remains composed. “We’re not hiding this,” he states. “It’s happening, whether it fits the ‘image’ or not.”

“Louis—”

“No,” he cuts in, his voice sharp but controlled. “I’ve spent years playing along with what’s expected. But this isn’t just about me anymore. This is about my family—about our family,” he corrects, glancing at you.

Your chest tightens at his words, but you lift your chin, drawing strength from his presence. “We’re not asking for permission,” you add, your voice steadier than you expected. “We’re just letting you know.”

The room falls silent again, the managers exchanging glances. Finally, the senior manager speaks, his tone measured. “You have to understand the complications this brings. The press will have a field day. The fans—”

“The fans will adjust,” Louis interrupts. “They always do. We’ll handle the press, too. This isn’t a scandal—it’s life. And we’re not ashamed of it.”

The older woman sighs, leaning back in her chair. “And the tour? The schedule?”

“We’ll figure it out,” you say firmly. “I’ll do what I can for as long as I can, and when I need to step back, I will. But this isn’t up for negotiation.”

Louis nods in agreement, his hand finding yours under the table. “This is happening. So, you can either support us, or not. But either way, we’re moving forward.”

The room is quiet as the managers exchange looks again. Finally, the senior manager nods slowly. “Fine,” he says, though his tone is reluctant. “But we’ll need to control the narrative. A statement will have to be released, and we’ll need to prepare for the media backlash.”

“Control the narrative all you want,” Louis says, his tone icy. “But make it clear that we’re happy, and that we’re doing this together. I won’t have anyone twisting this into something it’s not.”

There’s a beat of hesitation before the manager finally nods. “Alright. We’ll draft something for your approval.”

“Good,” Louis says, standing and offering you his hand. “Then we’re done here.”

You take his hand, standing alongside him. The two of you walk out of the room together, leaving the weight of the meeting behind.

As the door closes behind you, Louis looks down at you, a small grin tugging at his lips. “Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “You handled that better than I thought you would.”

He smirks, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. “Told you, love. I’m all in.”

And with that, the two of you walk away, ready to face whatever comes next—together.

…

The hotel suite is unusually quiet, a rare moment of calm amidst the chaos of tour life. You’re curled up on the couch, phone in hand, scrolling through endless notifications. Louis is stretched out beside you, one arm slung over the back of the couch. The rest of the boys are scattered around—Niall rifling through a snack bag, Liam flipping through channels on the TV, Harry lounging upside down in a chair, and Zayn perched by the window, scrolling on his own phone.

The official statement from management had gone live this morning, and within minutes, social media had exploded. You and Louis had followed up with your own posts: a sweet photo of the two of you, Louis’s hand resting protectively on your stomach, captioned with simple words: We’re so excited to share this next chapter with you all.

Now, hours later, the reality of it all is sinking in as you scroll through the comments. You’d braced yourself for backlash, but to your surprise, the overwhelming majority of fans had been nothing but supportive.

“This one says, ‘I’ve been a Louis girl since 2010, and I’ve never been prouder. Congrats to you both!’” you read aloud, your voice trembling slightly.

“Read this one!” Harry calls out from his chair, his voice muffled by his upside-down position. “It says, ‘We always knew Louis would be the first dad in the band. The rest of you need to catch up!’”

Zayn chuckles, shaking his head. “First dad, huh? Bit presumptuous. Maybe I’m already ahead of him, just keeping it private.”

“Sure, mate,” Niall teases, tossing a crisp at him.

You laugh at their banter, but the lump in your throat only grows. Another comment catches your eye: You can just tell how much Louis loves her. They’re going to be the best parents.

That’s when it happens. The tears start to fall, completely unbidden. You try to blink them away, but the floodgates have opened, and you’re suddenly a blubbering mess.

“Oh no,” Liam says, glancing over from the TV. “We’ve got tears.”

Harry flips upright, his eyebrows shooting up. “Is it the hormones? It’s the hormones, isn’t it?”

“It’s definitely the hormones,” Niall agrees, trying to stifle a laugh.

“Oi, knock it off,” Louis says, his tone light but protective. He wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his chest. “Let her cry if she needs to.”

“I’m not even sad,” you manage to say through your sniffles. “It’s just—everyone’s being so nice. I thought they’d hate me.”

Louis tilts your chin up gently, his blue eyes warm and steady. “They could never hate you, love,” he says softly. “They can see what I see—how incredible you are. And they’re right. We’re going to be great parents.”

That only makes you cry harder, burying your face in his chest as the rest of the boys exchange amused looks.

“Alright, alright,” Zayn says, standing and stretching. “I’m getting out of here before I start tearing up, too.”

“Coward,” Harry teases, though his smirk softens as he looks at you. “Seriously, Y/N, we’re all happy for you. The fans are just catching up to what we’ve known for years—you two are perfect for each other.”

Niall grins, raising his water bottle in a toast. “To Louis, Y/N, and Baby Bathroom Stall.”

That finally makes you laugh through your tears, swatting at Niall with a pillow. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” he says, his grin widening.

Louis chuckles, brushing a kiss to the top of your head. “Let them have their fun,” he murmurs. “We’ve got plenty to celebrate.”

And as you look around the room—at your chaotic, loving bandmates and the man who’s been your rock through it all—you realize he’s right.

…

The muffled roar of the crowd echoes through the arena as you grip the edge of the bathroom sink, trying to steady yourself. At 12 weeks pregnant the nausea has been relentless, and tonight is no different. Your stomach lurches again, and you barely make it to the toilet before you’re throwing up the remnants of the bland toast you’d forced down earlier.

“Y/N?” Louis’s voice cuts through the pounding in your head, followed by a soft knock on the door. “You alright, love?”

You groan, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “I’m fine,” you call back weakly, though the bile rising in your throat says otherwise.

The door creaks open, and Louis steps in, closing it behind him. His brows are furrowed, worry etched into every line of his face. “You don’t look fine,” he says gently, crouching down beside you. “You’re pale as hell, and you’ve been in here for ages.”

“I’m just—” you begin, but your stomach flips again, cutting you off.

“Alright, that’s it,” Louis says firmly, standing and helping you to your feet. “You’re not going out there tonight. I’ll call management, explain you’re sick—”

“Louis, no,” you protest, clutching his arm for balance. “I can’t just skip a show. The fans will notice. The band will notice.”

“They’ll notice a lot more if you pass out mid-song,” he retorts. “Come on, Y/N. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard.”

Before you can argue further, the door opens again, and Niall peeks his head in, followed by Harry, Liam and Zayn.

“Mate, we’re on in five,” Liam says, then stops short when he sees you. “Whoa, you look awful.”

“Thanks,” you mutter dryly, leaning against Louis for support.

“She’s been throwing up again,” Louis explains, his tone clipped with concern. “I’m telling her to sit this one out.”

“Honestly, Y/N,” Harry says, crossing his arms. “I get that you’re tough, but maybe Louis is right. You’ve been running on fumes for weeks.”

“And it’s not just about you anymore,” Niall adds, his gaze dropping pointedly to your stomach. “You’ve got someone else to think about now.”

You glance at Louis, who’s looking at you with the same protective intensity he always does. The other boys are watching you, too, their worry palpable.

“I can do it,” you insist, though your voice wavers. “I just need a minute to pull myself together.”

“Y/N—” Louis begins, but you shake your head.

“No,” you say more firmly. “I’ll take it easy, I promise. But I’m not sitting this out. We’ve got fans waiting out there who’ve been excited about this for months. I won’t let them down.”

The boys exchange glances, a silent conversation passing between them. Finally, Louis sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Alright,” he relents, though his tone is anything but happy. “But if you start feeling worse—even a little—I’m pulling you offstage, no arguments.”

“Deal,” you say, squeezing his hand in gratitude.

“Let’s at least get you some water,” Harry says, holding the door open as Louis guides you out.

As you make your way toward the stage, Louis keeps a steady arm around your waist, his worry evident in the way he doesn’t let go.

“You’re stubborn, you know that?” he murmurs.

You manage a small smile, leaning into him. “Takes one to know one.”

He huffs a quiet laugh but doesn’t argue, his hand brushing protectively against your back as the opening chords of the first song echo through the arena.

…

The next day you go for your 12 week scan. The waiting room is quiet, save for the occasional shuffle of papers or soft murmurs from other couples. You sit with Louis, his hand tightly gripping yours as the nurse calls your name.

“This is it,” he whispers, offering you a small, nervous smile as you both stand.

“It’s just a scan, Louis,” you say, trying to sound calm despite your racing heart. “Not the baby being born.”

“Still,” he says, shrugging as he walks beside you. “It feels like a big deal.”

You don’t argue because he’s right—it does.

The sonographer greets you warmly and leads you into the small, dimly lit room. The equipment hums softly, and you feel a knot of anticipation tighten in your chest as you lie back on the bed. Louis stands by your side, his thumb brushing soothing circles against your knuckles.

“Okay, let’s take a look,” the sonographer says, spreading the cool gel across your stomach.

You shiver slightly at the chill, but any discomfort vanishes the moment the image appears on the screen.

“There’s your baby,” she says, her voice kind and reassuring as she points to the little blob on the monitor.

Louis sucks in a sharp breath, his grip on your hand tightening. “That’s… that’s them?”

Your eyes sting with tears as you nod, unable to tear your gaze away from the screen. “That’s them.”

“And there’s the heartbeat,” the sonographer adds, pressing a few buttons. A rhythmic thumping fills the room, strong and steady.

Louis lets out a shaky laugh, his free hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “Bloody hell… That’s amazing.”

You glance at him, and the sight of his awestruck expression makes your heart swell. “It is,” you whisper, squeezing his hand.

The sonographer continues pointing out tiny details—the baby’s head, their little arms and legs—but you barely hear her. All you can focus on is the sound of that heartbeat and the warmth of Louis’s hand in yours.

When the scan is over, and she prints out the pictures, Louis insists on holding them. “These are mine,” he says with a grin, carefully tucking them into his jacket pocket.

“Yours?” you tease as you clean the gel off your stomach. “I’m the one carrying the baby.”

“Fine,” he concedes, smirking. “They’re ours. But I’m keeping these copies.”

You roll your eyes but smile, your heart feeling lighter than it has in weeks.

As you leave the clinic, Louis pulls you into a hug, right there on the sidewalk. “Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

“For what?” you ask, resting your cheek against his chest.

“For this. For them. For everything,” he says, pulling back to look at you. “I’m so in love with you, Y/N. And I’m gonna do everything I can to be the best dad—and partner—I can be.”

Tears spill down your cheeks, but you’re smiling as you nod. “I know you will. And I love you too.”

He kisses you softly, tenderly, before taking your hand and leading you down the street. “Now,” he says, glancing at you with a mischievous grin, “where do we go to frame these photos?”

…

The soft light of morning filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the hotel room. You’re tucked into Louis’s side, your head resting on his chest as his fingers draw lazy, soothing circles along your back. His touch is gentle, his other hand occasionally brushing over your arm or waist.

The room is quiet save for the rhythmic sound of his heartbeat under your ear. It’s a rare moment of peace, one neither of you takes for granted.

“You comfortable?” Louis murmurs, his voice low and raspy with sleep.

“Mhm,” you hum, snuggling closer. “I could stay like this all day.”

He chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “So could I. Think anyone would notice if we skipped soundcheck?”

“They’d definitely notice,” you reply, smiling against his chest. “Harry wouldn’t let us live it down.”

“Good point,” he concedes, his fingers trailing lower, brushing over your stomach.

The motion is so natural, so absentminded, that it takes him a moment to pause. His hand lingers there, his brows furrowing slightly as he presses his palm gently against your stomach.

“Wait…” he says, his voice soft but filled with wonder.

You tilt your head up to look at him. “What?”

Louis shifts slightly, propping himself up on one elbow as his hand remains on your stomach. “Your bump,” he says, his lips curving into a slow, astonished smile. “It’s there. I can feel it.”

Your heart skips a beat as his words sink in. Glancing down, you place your hand over his and press lightly. Sure enough, the small curve of your belly is unmistakable now.

“It is,” you whisper, a mix of awe and emotion bubbling up inside you.

Louis’s eyes are bright as he looks back at you, his smile widening. “That’s our baby in there,” he says, his voice filled with pure joy. “They’re really starting to grow.”

You laugh softly, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “Well, that’s kind of the point, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but… seeing it, feeling it—it’s real,” he says, his hand moving gently over the bump. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

Your cheeks warm at his words, and you shake your head. “I’m just lying here.”

“Lying here and growing a whole human,” he counters, leaning down to press a kiss to your stomach. “Our human.”

The tenderness of the moment overwhelms you, and a tear slips down your cheek. “You’re gonna make me cry again,” you say with a laugh, brushing at your face.

He looks up at you with a playful grin. “Pregnancy hormones, right? Can’t blame me for those.”

You roll your eyes but can’t stop smiling as he continues rubbing your bump, his expression soft and adoring.

“I can’t wait to meet them,” he murmurs, his voice so quiet it’s almost as if he’s talking to the baby instead of you. “But for now… I’ll just keep them safe in there.”

“And me too?” you ask teasingly.

“I’ll always keep you safe,” he promises, leaning up to kiss you gently. “Always.”

…

The arena hums with activity as the band prepares for soundcheck. Techs are buzzing around, running cables and adjusting levels, and the noise only serves to amplify the frustration you feel deep in your chest. You stand off to the side, arms crossed tightly, already in a foul mood.

“Y/N, you ready?” Louis calls from the center of the stage, his mic in hand, flashing that grin you know too well.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” you snap, your tone sharper than usual.

He blinks in surprise, his smile faltering for just a second. “Alright, someone’s feisty today.”

“Don’t start with me,” you warn, walking over to the stage with quick, purposeful steps. The nagging ache in your lower back only makes it worse, and it feels like every little thing is grating on you.

“Whoa, easy,” Niall says as you pass him, holding up his hands like you’re about to explode. “She’s got that scary look again.”

You glare at him, but don’t say anything, instead grabbing your microphone stand and adjusting it a little too forcefully.

“Everything alright?” Liam asks, his voice cautious and gentle.

“Fine,” you mutter, trying to focus on the mic cord and not the irritation brewing inside.

Louis raises an eyebrow, his expression cautious as he walks closer. “You sure you’re okay, love? You’ve been in a mood all day.”

“I’m fine,” you bite out, irritation climbing as you continue to fiddle with the mic. “Stop asking.”

Zayn, who has been quietly watching, steps forward and raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, you’ve been on edge all morning. What’s up?”

“I’m fine,” you snap again, the frustration in your voice ringing louder now.

Louis takes a step back, raising his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. No need to bite my head off.”

The tension in the room is palpable now, and the rest of the band exchanges uneasy glances. Harry, ever the peacemaker, tries to lighten the mood with a joke.

“Maybe we should all take a break before someone gets murdered,” he says with a smile, trying to ease the thick air.

“Not funny,” you mutter, shooting him a sharp look.

“Definitely hormones,” Niall comments, but his words are just loud enough for you to hear.

“That’s it!” you snap, spinning on your heel to face him. “If one more person blames my mood on hormones, I swear to God—”

“Alright!” Louis cuts in, stepping between you and Niall with his hands raised. “Let’s all just breathe, yeah? How about we grab some water and reset before we start?”

You huff, the sharp edge to your voice still there, but you don’t argue. You step off the stage, Louis trailing behind, the cool air outside the spotlight helping to calm the rising frustration. He gently touches your arm to stop you once you’re out of earshot of the others.

“Hey,” he says softly, his voice low with concern. “What’s really going on? And don’t say you’re fine, because we both know that’s not true.”

You exhale sharply, some of the anger slipping away and leaving exhaustion in its place. “I just… everything’s too much today. My back hurts, I’m tired, I’m nauseous, and it feels like everyone’s treating me like I’m some fragile thing that can break at any second.”

Louis’s expression softens, and he steps closer, his hand brushing your arm. “You’re not fragile, Y/N. But I get it. It’s a lot, love. And you’re allowed to feel overwhelmed.”

You feel the lump in your throat, the sting of emotion threatening to overwhelm you. “I miss… I miss having fun. I miss being the person who could mess around with you guys and not be treated like I’m breakable. Like I can’t do anything without someone being worried I’m about to drop dead.”

Louis’s face softens even more, and he steps forward to wrap his arms around you. “You’re not breakable, love. I know things have changed, but that doesn’t mean you’re not still the same Y/N we’ve all known. You’re strong. And we’ll all get through this together.”

You lean into him, your arms finding their way around his waist as you bury your face in his chest. The warmth of his embrace is comforting, even as you feel the weight of everything pressing down on you.

“Yeah?” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion.

“Yeah,” Louis says firmly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “And if you need to take a step back tonight, that’s okay. We’ve got this.”

You nod, the frustration slowly fading away in the calm of his support. “Thanks, Louis.”

“Anytime,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to your hair. “Let’s go back in there. You’ve got this.”

You pull away slightly, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. “Fine. But if Niall says the word ‘hormones’ again, I swear I’ll deck him.”

Louis chuckles, his hand taking yours as you both walk back to the stage, Zayn falling into step behind you. “Fair enough.”

…

Backstage is quieter than usual, the hum of the arena outside almost a distant memory as you sit in front of the mirror, adjusting your outfit for the night. You’ve been feeling off lately—everything is changing, and while you’re excited for the baby, the changes in your body are starting to weigh on you.

At 16 weeks your belly is no longer a secret, a small bump that seems to grow by the day. It’s still subtle, not huge by any means, but it’s there. It’s just one part of it. The rest of your body has shifted too. Your hips feel wider, your chest feels fuller, and your clothes don’t fit quite the same.

You suck in a breath, staring at your reflection, trying to convince yourself that it’s okay. But the insecurity sits heavy in your chest, that feeling that you don’t look like you anymore, and you don’t know how to feel about it.

“Y/N?” You hear a knock at the door before it opens slightly, revealing Niall. He’s got a worried look on his face, probably sensing that something’s off.

“Hey,” he says softly, stepping in without waiting for an invitation. “You alright?”

You manage a tight smile, but the insecurity is too much to hide. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… getting ready for tonight.” You adjust your shirt again, glancing at your reflection.

“Mm-hmm,” Niall says, his tone skeptical. He takes a few steps closer and then pauses, clearly noticing something is up. “You sure? You’ve been quiet all day.”

“I just…” You trail off, biting your lip. “I don’t know. Everything’s changing. My body’s changing, and it’s… weird.”

Niall’s face softens, and he steps up behind you, looking over your shoulder into the mirror. “You’re beautiful, Y/N. You know that, right?”

You shake your head, feeling a lump form in your throat. “I don’t feel beautiful. I feel like I don’t recognize myself anymore.”

He looks at you, his hand lightly resting on your shoulder. “You’re growing a little human, love. Your body’s doing something incredible. I know it’s not easy, but trust me, it’s all worth it.”

“I know,” you sigh, feeling tears well up in your eyes. “But I’m still just… I don’t know how to feel about it. I don’t feel like me anymore.”

Niall gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You’ll always be you, Y/N. I promise. Nothing can change that.”

Before you can respond, you hear the familiar sound of footsteps approaching. The door creaks open wider, and Louis steps in, looking directly at you. He’s grinning, but it falters when he sees your expression. His eyes immediately soften, and he walks over, his hand going to your back as he leans in to press a kiss to your temple.

“Everything alright?” he asks, his voice gentle, knowing you’ve been on edge all day.

You nod but don’t speak right away. Your gaze shifts to the mirror again, self-conscious. Louis notices, stepping closer and tilting your chin gently to face him.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, his voice quiet but firm. His eyes search yours, and you can see the sincerity in them, but you can’t shake the doubt creeping in.

“I don’t feel beautiful,” you whisper, looking down at your stomach, feeling the weight of your insecurities.

Louis’s hands move to gently rest on your waist, his thumb grazing the edge of your bump. “You’re carrying our baby, love. Nothing is more beautiful than that. And every single part of you, every change, is part of that. You’ve got this glow about you that makes my heart stop every time I look at you.”

You let out a shaky breath, a tear finally escaping down your cheek. “But I don’t feel like myself anymore. I miss when I could just… fit into my clothes and not feel like this.”

Niall’s hand gently squeezes your arm, his voice warm and supportive. “You don’t have to be the same as you were before. You’re still you, just with a little more badass energy now. And besides, the only thing that’s really changing is you’re going to be an amazing mum.”

Louis steps in front of you, cupping your face in his hands, making you look up at him. “Niall’s right. And I’m here, every step of the way. We’ll get through this together. I’ve got you.”

You feel the weight of his words settle in, and for the first time all day, you start to feel the tightness in your chest loosen. You sniffle, wiping your eyes. “You’re sure?”

“Positive,” Louis says, his voice soft but confident. “And look, if you want to take it slow tonight, that’s okay too. You don’t have to perform if you’re not up for it.”

You shake your head. “I’m fine. I want to do this. I just… I needed to hear that.”

Niall smiles, stepping back and giving you a gentle nudge. “Good. Now, let’s get you out there. You’ve got this, Y/N.”

Louis gives your hand a reassuring squeeze as you stand up, and for the first time today, you feel a little lighter, a little less unsure of yourself.

You glance at him, offering a small smile. “Thanks.”

He winks at you, his grin mischievous as ever. “Anytime, love.”

And for once, you believe him.

…

The small, quiet room feels warm as you sit together, waiting for the doctor to come in. Louis is next to you, his fingers intertwined with yours, and you can feel the excitement radiating off him. You’ve both been counting down the days to this appointment, eager to hear everything’s progressing well.

“You nervous?” Louis asks, his voice low as he leans his shoulder against yours.

You shake your head, though there’s a flutter in your stomach that you can’t quite shake. “A little, but I know everything’s fine. I just… I want to hear it from the doctor.”

He smiles at you, squeezing your hand gently. “It’s gonna be perfect, Y/N. Our little one’s gonna be healthy and strong.”

You nod, your gaze fixed on your hands for a moment, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Even though the pregnancy has come with its fair share of worries, moments like these—where it’s just the two of you—remind you how much Louis truly supports you.

The door opens, and the doctor enters, a warm smile on her face. “Hey there! How are we feeling today?”

“Excited,” you say, your voice a little breathless as you glance at Louis. “And nervous.”

The doctor nods, adjusting the ultrasound machine before setting up. “Understandable, but we’re going to take great care of you today. Let’s take a look at your baby.”

Louis gives your hand another squeeze, his excitement palpable as he watches the screen flicker to life. You both go quiet as the doctor starts the ultrasound, the cool gel on your belly making you flinch at first. The image on the screen slowly comes into focus, and you see the tiny, perfect outline of your baby.

“There we go,” the doctor says. “Everything looks really good—baby’s healthy, and you’re doing great, Y/N. The measurements are all right on track.”

Your breath hitches in your throat as you watch the screen, overwhelmed with emotion. “That’s really our baby?” you whisper, your heart racing.

Louis presses a kiss to your forehead, his voice soft. “Yeah, it’s real.”

The doctor smiles at you both. “It is. And you should be feeling the baby start kicking soon, if you haven’t already.”

You glance at Louis, your eyes wide. “Kicking?”

“Yep!” The doctor nods, pointing to the image on the screen. “Everything’s perfectly in place. As the baby continues to grow, you’ll likely feel those first little movements soon. It’s a thrilling feeling.”

You turn to Louis, unable to hide the smile spreading across your face. “I can’t wait to feel it.”

Louis’s expression mirrors yours—genuine awe and joy. “Neither can I,” he says, his voice full of wonder.

After a few more moments of the doctor checking on everything, you finally hear the news you’ve both been waiting for.

“Do you want to know the baby’s sex?”

You glance at Louis, his smile widening in anticipation. “Yes,” you say, your voice soft but filled with excitement.

The doctor glances at the screen, then looks back at you both. “It’s a boy.”

A breath catches in your throat as your heart skips a beat. “A boy,” you repeat, feeling a mixture of joy and wonder flood through you. You look at Louis, who’s staring at the screen, his eyes shining with emotion.

“A little boy,” Louis echoes, his voice almost a whisper. He turns to you, a smile so wide on his face it almost doesn’t seem real. “We’re having a son.”

You nod, tears starting to well up in your eyes as the weight of it all hits you—this tiny, perfect little human growing inside you. The realization that soon you’ll be holding him in your arms makes everything feel so much more real.

Louis leans down, kissing your forehead again. “I’m so proud of you,” he says softly.

You smile, feeling so much love in your chest that it almost overflows. “I’m proud of us.”

The doctor finishes up, giving you both the green light to go, but you can’t stop smiling as you stand. Louis takes your hand, guiding you out of the room. As you walk down the hall together, he stops and turns you toward him, lifting your chin to look into your eyes.

“We’re gonna be amazing parents, Y/N,” he says, his voice steady but full of excitement.

You nod, your hand resting gently on your still-growing belly. “Yeah. We will be.”

…

The ride back to the hotel feels like it’s in slow motion. Louis is holding your hand tightly in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a soothing, steady rhythm. Every now and then, you glance at him, his smile still wide, and you can’t help but grin back.

“You’re still smiling,” you tease softly.

“I can’t stop,” he replies, his voice full of joy. “We’re having a boy, Y/N. A little mini version of me.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes playfully. “We’ll see about that. He’ll have his own personality, I’m sure.”

Louis’s grin widens. “I’ll have to teach him the important stuff, though. Like how to make a proper cup of tea.”

“Sure, sure,” you tease. “I’m sure he’ll be asking you for lessons on how to drive everyone crazy like you do.”

Louis looks over at you with a smirk. “I think he’s going to be perfect.”

You feel your heart swell with love as you lean your head on his shoulder. For a moment, everything feels so right. You’re both excited, nervous, and ready for this next chapter together.

The car pulls into the hotel, and you both step out, Louis offering you a hand as you make your way inside. You both feel like you’re walking on air—there’s no way you can keep this news to yourselves any longer.

When you enter the hotel suite, the boys are already there, sprawled out on the couches, laughing and talking. They glance up when you walk in, and you can see the curiosity in their eyes. Everyone’s been waiting for the two of you to return from the appointment, and there’s an energy in the room that’s both expectant and excited.

Louis clears his throat, looking around at the guys with a grin. “We’ve got news.”

The band instantly quiets down, leaning forward, eager for whatever news you’re about to share.

Zayn raises an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

Niall crosses his arms, a smile tugging at his lips. “Everything okay?”

You glance at Louis, and he gives you a nod, his hand still firmly clasped around yours. You both take a breath, preparing for the big reveal.

“We found out today that we’re having a baby boy,” you say, your voice filled with joy.

The room falls into stunned silence for a moment, then all at once, the guys explode into cheers and congratulations.

“No way!” Harry grins, standing up to give you both a hug. “A boy? That’s amazing!”

Niall is already on his feet, pulling you into a tight hug. “You two are gonna be incredible parents.”

Liam, who’d been sitting back and observing, stands up with a grin. “A little one on the way! That’s amazing, mate.”

Zayn, ever the cool one, gives a wide grin and nods. “A son, huh? Looks like we’re going to have a little troublemaker on our hands.”

Louis chuckles, his arms still around you as he laughs along with everyone else. “I’m sure he’ll be an angel—when he’s with his mum.”

You roll your eyes but feel your heart flutter as you glance up at Louis. “Oh, I’m sure. The ‘perfect’ little angel.”

The guys continue to congratulate you, their voices full of excitement and joy, but amidst the chatter, you catch Louis’s eye. He’s looking at you with the most adoring expression, and for a moment, everything else fades away.

“We’re gonna be okay, right?” you whisper, your voice just for him.

He leans in close, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers back. “We’re more than okay. We’re going to be great.”

The moment feels perfect—this tiny, beautiful secret between the two of you, shared with the band who’s become family. The excitement is infectious, and you can feel the weight of it settling in, making everything feel so real.

The journey ahead may be challenging, but with Louis by your side and the support of the band, you know it’s going to be a beautiful adventure.

…

Part 3 - coming soon

[gyllenhaalstuff]

Stuck -

Jake Gyllenhaal

• Summary: You and Jake get stuck in the elevator on your way home from the bar

• Warnings: Established relationship, alcohol mention, both are tipsy, semi-public sex, blowjobs, slight thigh-fuck idk, piv sex, unprotected sex, mirror sex, I also can’t seem to write anything where Jake doesn’t have a slight thing for voyeurism.

• Word count: 1499 (give or take eh I had to add a few words)

• Notes: All inspired by the picture at the top. I definitely came up with this idea all on my own. And if you know who I am, nuh uh you don’t. If you think this sucks, you absolutely don’t. If you think I did amazing, okay then you get a pass. There are probably 50 typos in this. Soz.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The tension was high on the way back home from the bar. Jake had taken you to a local place that served Christmas drinks. Turns out, the drinks were really, really good. So here you were, drunk and basically glued to each other as you made your way to Jake’s apartment. The German Christmas wine and the coquitos were swirling in your stomach and through your veins as you laughed at whatever he said and he did the same.

You both nodded to the doorman as you passed through the lobby of the apartment complex. You walked to the elevator, pressed the button and waited for it to come down to the first floor. You smiled at Jake and he smiled back, you both were tired after a long day and couldn’t wait to curl up next to each other in bed. The elevator pinged and you both walked in before Jake pressed number 34.

“Can’t fucking wait to warm up” Jake said, trying his luck and hoping you wouldn’t brush it off as him wanting to cuddle up under a blanket. But as he said it, it was as if karma got to him and the elevator stopped. You widened your eyes at the sudden stop and looked at him before starting to laugh at the absurdity, though Jake didn’t seem too amused. “Are you fucking kidding me” he said as he tiredly rubbed his eyes. “Oh c’mon it’ll be fine. You’ll warm up fine in here, much warmer than outside” you said cruelly poking at his words. He chuckled frustratedly and sighed. “That’s not what I meant” he mumbled. “Waited all god-damn day” he continued and tried pressing random buttons on the elevator display. You felt good enough to slide down on the floor and make the best of it. You leant against the elevator wall and had one last laugh about the situation. Jake slid down next to you with a sigh. “You’re really impatient” you pointed out while looking at him. He raised an eyebrow as if to ask ‘are you serious?’ before he spoke, “I wasn’t the one feeling up my thigh at the bar.” You gave him a jokingly confused look. “Oh ‘feeling up’” you scuffed, “am I not allowed to put a gentle hand on my boyfriend’s leg?” You asked humorously. “You are, but don’t get surprised when I wanna make it home fast” he said and exhaled through his mouth.

Then he looked at and you smiled mischievously. “Oh fuck off” you said and nudged him. He raised an eyebrow, “well, who knows when we’ll get out of here…” he pointed out. You shrugged, “fair”. He gave you a smirk before standing up, pacing around before leaning against the wall opposite you, making his bulge obvious. He leant his head back and gave you a look. “Come over here” he said calmly but firmly. Now there was no way out. Literally.

You crawled forward to the corner where he was standing. You smiled before pressing your face into his inner thigh and sighing contently. He bucked his hips forward, as if he was trying to say ‘I have waited all night’ in the nicest, most subtle way. He stared at you while he did, feeling himself straining hard against his jeans. You caught on and unbuttoned his pants before grabbing his cock out of his boxers.

You heard Jake inhale sharply as you wrapped your hand around him, “that’s it baby.” You stroked him a few times before swiping at his tip with your thumb, and when you did he hummed and his hips slightly jerked forward. You smiled at the unintentional praise, opened your mouth and placed your tongue at the base of his cock. You licked your way up his shaft, all while retaining eye contact. He tried his best to do the same, but his eyelids fluttered as you reached his tip and put your lips around it.

You could taste his salty precum on your tongue and you licked his slit before hollowing your cheeks and sucking. By now your eyes were fluttering close as well as you got into it. You tried to push him down your throat as far as you could without gagging. Which wasn’t far but you kept at it, easing him in until you could control it. Your eyes watered as his cock restricted your breathing. The look he gave you made you clench around nothing. His eyelids were heavy and you could see his chest move with each strained breath as he watched you struggle around him. One of his hands tangled up in your hair to set a pace, but not before he cupped your face and his thumb stroked your cheek. You almost had to restrain yourself from grinding against his boot, but ultimately decided against it; this wasn’t the night you would develop a foot fetish.

Instead you stood up and kissed him. He moaned into kiss as he tasted himself on your lips. It didn’t take long before he wanted to taste it on your tongue too. His hand placed itself on your lower back as he pulled you closer and deepened the kiss. You could feel his cock pressing against your lower belly and it spurred you on. “Now you’re making me wait” you mumbled against his lips. He smiled at your words, “I thought I was the impatient one”.

He spun you around and your hands pressed up against the elevators mirror. You could see Jake as he admired how his cock leant against your clothed ass. You whined miserably to urge him to go on. “Yeah, yeah” he said under his breath before pulling your pants down. He hummed happily at the sight and grabbed onto one of your hips as he let his cock rub between your thighs, collecting the wetness that had accumulated between them.

“You want this even more than me” he said in a low voice, teasing you for how wet you had gotten. He continued fucking your thighs, occasionally bumping against your clit. “I swear to god if you don’t fuck-“ you began, but didn’t get to finish before he finally pushed himself inside you. You watched his face in the mirror. Admiring how his jaw fell open as he watched his cock disappear inside of you. His other hand grabbed your hips as well and he started rocking himself in and out of you. The mirror fogged up from your breath as he filled you up. Occasionally he would let out a low moan when he thrust particularly hard and his tip hit your cervix.

His eyes met yours in the mirror as he sped up his movements. Your skin slapped against his as he fucked into you. “So pretty” he mumbled. He was just in awe as you were at this newfound way to observe each other. Your legs were starting to shake both from pleasure and exhaustion. Your moans got louder as well, but Jake quickly let one of his hands leave your hips and go to your mouth where he stuck two fingers to make you shut up. He shushed you and you bit down to muffle your sounds. You looked into the mirror and saw Jake’s eyes closed, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth slightly opened as he breathed shallowly through it. Occasionally he shut it close to muffle his own moans, though he didn’t do a very good job. None of you did.

“I can’t stay up much longer” you managed to say even with his fingers pressing down on your tongue. He responded by upping his pace and letting his fingers abandon your mouth for your clit. He straightened you up against the wall to better reach it, which also gave you the benefit of having his mouth right by your ear. His strained breathing and low grunts threatened to push you over edge, you could even feel his hot breath against you. But the final straw was when he finally let out a moan, not muffled by anything, right in your ear. Your legs shook as you came and he tried his best to keep his eyes open to watch it happen. You clenched around him which made him moan again, but this time it might as well have been labelled as a whimper. He thrust into you a few more times, slow and deep, before spilling into you with a groan.

You both stood there for a minute. Catching your breaths and sharing a few kisses. Then the elevator began to move again. You both pulled up your pants and straightened your clothes. You tried to fix your makeup and hair in the mirror but to no avail. “Be honest, is it obvious?” You asked him. He tried to suppress a chuckle and that was answer enough.

The elevator stopped on the 26th to let an old lady on. You nodded at her and smiled all while internally scolding yourself. She smiled back. You tried to ignore the feeling of Jake’s cum dripping out of you and the embarrassment that washed over you was almost unbearable. Jake looked over at you, saw your flushed cheeks and horrible poker face. And he snickered at you all the way up to the 34th.

[imatinker]

~ timeskip, new years eve party ~

There were only three people that she had gifted with the knowledge of her newfound relationship before tonight - her sister, Nibs, and then Sam. Peri had of course been a no-brainer to let in on the entire situation and the same went for Nibs - she didn’t like keeping secrets from either of them, no matter how small or short lasting they may be. And with Sam, well, he had already been filled in on everything else going on in her love life before the rest of the general public, it only seemed right that she tell him this new update as well. But over all, it had been kept pretty much a secret for the past month in her social group. Mostly because she needed to test if it could even last more than just a week or two before she went shaking things up by bringing Oliver Smee of all people around… and then there was the bonus fact that showing up on his arm for New Years Eve was probably the most dramatic hard launch she could think of, which was always fun in Tink’s book.

So it’s no surprise when the sight of the two of them turn quite a few heads from the younger crowd of partygoers, but Tink just continues on with her hand hooked around his arm as if she doesn’t notice a single thing. Of course there was a rush at all the attention, the same gleeful feeling she always got when she was the center of a show, but she for once didn’t let it fully get to her head. Stopping to get in line for the free bar, she looks up at her date with a genuine smile. “Is this the first time you’ve ever publicly dated a girl?” she asks, not caring at all that it might seem rude. In fact, going in and continuing her thought to add even more offense. “I mean, I know you said you’ve been laid before - but you still give off some level of never been kissed vibe, you know. No judgement, though - I mean, I’ve only like officially dated one before before this and that ended in divorce, so I can’t really judge.”

It was as though she was handing him exactly what he wanted out of getting to know her on a silver spoon, a golden platter of romance Smee couldn't have possibly imagined. It couldn't have possibly been because of his overly smooth-talking or abundance of charm that he'd gotten himself this far, but he really couldn't have imagined a more perfect scenario. From the way she posed it, it seemed Tink had something to get out of this, too: she had something to prove, whether to herself or someone unbeknownst to him. Shelly had spent months unable to be this decisive with him, and he still wasn't sure she'd ever get there. So, it really wouldn't be a terrible thing, accepting the offer, if it was mutually beneficial for the both of them, would it?

It took about a minute of consideration before Oliver was offering a shrug, followed by a nod, in response. "Okay," he agreed, "yeah. What the hell, sure." They didn't need to be in love with each other to simply date, as long as they weren't under any impression otherwise. Neither one liked the other an awful amount more, nor were they looking for something completely serious. It was perfect, really: he could continue to get information for Hook, and, just maybe, make Shelly see what could happen if she didn't want to date him, after all. "Are your friends gonna be okay with this, though? They're not gonna hunt me dead, are they? I don't expect them to like me, and I don't really care, for the record, but I wasn't sure if you do," Oliver clarified, already imagining the slew of questioning she'd be on the other end of once this was revealed.

[meamiki]

[reverse entry AU]

so glad the work week is over!

no more meetings!

what do you mean its only tuesday.

[zoskas]

(please) listen to my petrigrof playlist, boy.

[ayyponine]

art update fr april part 2/2

[inbabylontheywept]

so i left the mormon church as a teenager (15ish? 16?), but stayed in attendance until i was 20. i was pretty up front about the whole deciding-it-wasnt-true process with my bishop, who frankly took it really well, but it wasnt like i pulled all 150 ward members aside and had a heart to heart with them. anyway, i didnt believe, so at 19 i didnt go on a mission, and while some people in the ward were totally fine with that, others werent. and there was one woman in her late 50s who pulled me aside one day to interrogate me why i hadnt gone on a mission.

"the duty of every young man" she said.

and the thing is, im autistic. and a lot of people assume that when youre autistic, your social skills just arent very good. but thats not exactly true. your Be Polite skills are kind of eh, and they tend to stay that way, but as a sort of survival mechanism your Be Rude skills become amazing simply because you get put in tons of situations where your choices are to Function or Be Polite. and no one can choose Be Polite forever. the world demands function, it merely encourages politeness.

anyway, it can really catch neurotypicals by surprise, because hey, heres this kind of awkward, graceless guy, who stumbles over his words a lot and is very apologetic. hes probably a huge pushover. but i'm only like that when we're playing The Polite Game, because i am frankly kind of bad at it. but when its time to play The Rude Game, i go fucking ham and asking about the not-going-on-a-mission thing is Super Rude. so i said:

"sister hadlock... they wont let me go because i lit-er-ally cannot stop sucking dicks. i dont know why, its just so, so hard."

*dramatic pause*

"also - its very difficult to stop."

anyway, it almost killed her. i think she'd expected to just kind of steamroll me for the entire conversation, but the answer crushed her soul. instead of continuing her interrogation she made a noise like a horse drowning in a bog and left.

to add insult to injury, she went to the bishop after that, thinking he'd chew me out for being an ass, but instead he chewed her out for not minding her own business. then she went to my parents after that, who basically went "yeah, babylon was pretty rude. but youre also pretty rude. what are you, mad that he's better at it than you?"

i really loved that ward.

[readwritealldayallnight]

“-other than that, wasn’t so bad.” Simon says, readjusting the material of the balaclava across the bridge of his nose with his free hand. His other hand is busy, keeping yours warm as you lead him down sidewalk after sidewalk.

The two of you have just finished having Sunday morning brunch at a local cafe, something you insisted was becoming ‘tradition’ after the second time it happened. And according to you, after finishing eating, (Simon never wanting to hear a word about you paying for a thing) the next part of this lazy morning routine calls for strolling about at a pace that he would normally find pointless, if not downright frustrating. But for you, he slows down.

“Butcher’s an interesting first job.” You reply, nodding along in thought. You picture a younger Simon, fresh out of school, probably fresh faced as well. He was likely as tall, though not yet as muscular as the military would make him. A meat clever in hand, bloody apron around his waist, he was likely still inadvertently intimidating people back then the way he does now. “I was mostly just taking babysitting jobs until I graduated. Liked it well enough.”

“I actually had to babysit a neighbour one time, when I was younger. Actual baby at tha’ too.” He tells you with a chuckle, slightly shaking his head at the memory.

“What?” You laugh as well, the image in your mind now swapping out the meat clever in a teenaged Simon’s grip for a drooling infant. “How did that work out?”

“Neighbour comes bangin’ on our door, she’s carryin’ the thing, it’s screamin’ its bloody little head off,” You roll your eyes at the way Simon refers to the child, swatting his arm playfully but listening on. “She tells me her husband thinks he’s havin’ a fuckin’ heart attack. None o’ the other neighbours are home or answerin’ the door. ‘Fore I know it, she’s passin’ me the kid, askin’ if mum can watch her while she drives him to the hospital. Next thing I know she’s gone and I’m left with the thing.”

“Oh my gosh! Well where was your mum?” You ask, in disbelief that you’ve never heard this story from him before, half wondering if he’s pulling your leg.

“She wasn’t home, I can tell you that! Only me and the new lil’ orphan were.” He utters, strengthening his grip on your hand as you start to hunch over with laughter.

“Okay so wait, you were home alone? Oh no! How long did you have to ‘babysit’ for?” You giggle.

“Well technically Tommy was there but he would’ve only been a hindrance, told him to stay in his room.” Simon adds, pulling his hand out of yours, only to wrap it around your shoulder, now that you’ve come to a standstill at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. “Fuckin’ nearly 4 hours went by before mum came home and took over. Longest hours o’ my life. I think that might’ve been the day I enlisted actually.”

You elbow his side as you continue to laugh, seeing that he’s teasing you at the end now. You open your mouth to tease him right back, but your eye catches sight of the shop you’ve been standing in front of, jaw dropping wider.

“Simon!” You’re pulling him with a strength he would otherwise be impressed by if he wasn’t so suddenly caught off guard, senses kicking into high alert now as his head swivels in search of the cause of your distress. “How have we never seen this before??”

Oh.

He should’ve known better.

He actually had been avoiding taking you down this street for a little while now, but had been too caught up in his story telling to notice the direction you’d taken in him. His subtle effort of wrapping his arm around you to tilt you away from the storefront obviously hadn’t worked out. He opens his mouth to answer, but can only sigh when you’re already making your way towards the entrance of the pet store.

“We’re only lookin’, right?” He asks loud enough for you to hear as he follows you in.

Wrong.

[osaemu]

JJK MEN: BABY, CAN YOU CALL ME BACK?

✩ ‧ ˚. [ GOJO, TOJI, GETO ] your boyfriend's gone for work, and you gotta convince him to come back home over the phone... NSFW

contents: fem!reader. phone sex, voice kink, video taking, dick pics, blah blah blah. you can probably guess the rest. not proofread + mostly written while i was half-asleep. 2.3k words.

★ ━ SATORU GOJO

“baby, i miss you,” satoru mumbles, voice soft and sleepy from the other end of the phone. you hear the sound of sheets rustling against his phone’s microphone as he rolls over, groaning softly. “i can’t wait to come home to you.”

you plop down on your bed and turn your phone on speaker as you rest your back against the headboard, stifling a yawn before you reply. “me too… it’s so lonely without you here.”

“i know,” satoru says, and even though it’s not a video call, you’re absolutely certain he’s grinning like the cocky idiot he is. “tell me ‘bout your day, sweetheart. wanna know what you’ve been doing without me.”

you roll your eyes and smile, checking your nails as you reply. “nothing much, it’s kinda boring without you here.”

“tell me more,” satoru murmurs, and he thinks that he’s so lucky you two aren’t on a facetime call, because his hand is slipping down to the waistband of his pants and he’s tugging them off, releasing his already-hardened dick. “i wanna know everything.”

you don’t think much of the way satoru’s breathing has gotten noticeably choppier as you ramble about the little things that’ve happened in your day so far—after all, how could you know that he’s stroking himself to the sound of your voice?

“so, yeah, that’s basically everything,” you finish, exhaling softly. the moment you stop talking, you hear the soft groans that satoru’s been fighting to hide the whole time, and suddenly, it clicks. “wait, satoru, have you been fucking yourself the whole ti—”

“maybe,” your boyfriend replies instantly, pausing and taking a long, unsteady breath before he continues, “wanna join me?” you don’t reply immediately, but soon, his voice turns pleading. “c’mon, baby, missin’ you so much… lemme hear you, sweet girl. help your boyfriend out, pleeea—” 

“okay, okay,” you give in, reaching down and tugging off your shorts. a second later, your panties are discarded as well, and your fingers start to circle your clit at the sound of satoru’s voice.

“mm, you touching yourself, baby?” satoru breathes, hand still wrapped around his dick. you hum in agreement, and the hand holding your phone grows tighter the faster your circles get. satoru clicks his tongue after a couple seconds, and adds, “don’t hold back, i wanna hear you.”

“okay,” you mumble, missing his familiar touch now more than ever. “i miss you so much, ‘toru,” you whisper, voice already a little shaky from your own fingers. but it still isn’t enough to push you over the edge—you both know that only satoru has the skill to do that.

“i know you do,” satoru teases, an amused lilt in his voice. “bet those pretty hands of yours couldn’t make ya cum half as fast as i could, yeah?”

he’s right, but it doesn’t stop you from trying—god, you wish your boyfriend were here and inside of you, but for now, his voice is all that you have. “baby, these past couple days, all i could—fuck, all i could think about was that pretty pussy of yours,” satoru chokes out, hand moving up and down the length of his dick faster. “so tight f’me, all just for me,” he mumbles, throwing his head back and gritting his teeth.

“s-satoru, i need you,” you mewl out, legs starting to tremble just at the thought of him. “need your dick inside of me, plea—”

“can’t do that, princess,” satoru sighs, groaning at the sound of your desperate request. “wish i could, though.. but we gotta wait for a couple days, fuck.”

you stop rubbing your clit and instead slip two fingers inside your cunt, wrist shaking at you pump your fingers up and down at his request. “s’ not as good as you, ‘toru,” you whine, hips unconsciously rocking against your hand. “come home soon, please, can’t wait for that long—”

satoru laughs breathily and moans shamelessly into his phone, mumbling something about work or a mission or something—but you don’t really catch the details, too occupied with fucking yourself to the thought of your boyfriend. “so impatient, aren’t ya?” satoru exhales, thrusting into his own fist and fantasizing about your warm, tight cunt instead. “fuck, baby, miss you and your cunt so fuckin’ bad—”

“then come home, ‘toru,” you plead, hardly able to choke out your words coherently. “please, satoru, i need you here—”

your boyfriend cuts you off with a series of porn-worthy groans, mixing in your name wherever he can as he cums into his hand. it’s not satisfying, and it doesn’t feel half as good as it would if he were fucking your pussy instead. so, after a couple seconds, he mumbles, “whatever you say, princess, i’ll be there by tomorrow.” 

★ ━ TOJI FUSHIGURO

“you’re an asshole,” you mutter into your phone. toji only scoffs in reply, a disbelieving edge to his voice. “toji, listen to me—”

“i’m listenin’, princess,” toji grumbles. “yeah, i know i said i’d be home by tonight, but somethin’ came up. s’ not my fault i’m surrounded by idiots.” and he makes no effort of hiding his disdain at your stubbornness—some things were just out of his control, including how long it took for most of his missions to get completed.

“don’t call me that,” you snap, climbing into your bed and pulling a pillow onto your lap. toji sighs, and it’s a long, lengthy exhale that surely has to be exaggerated. “fuck you, toji, you promised you’d be home by tonight.” 

your boyfriend laughs incredulously into his phone, chortling for a good twenty seconds before he replies, “i don’t remember promising anything, n’ what do ya need me home for anyways? what’s so fuckin’ important, huh?”

well, there’s no way you’re telling him the real reason you want him home so badly—he’d just laugh at you and your desperation for him. but honestly, after going for more than a week without his dick, you’re really fucking close to telling him that. instead, you reply, “maybe i just miss my boyfriend.”

“more like you just want dick, don’t ya, pretty?”

toji sees right through your pitiful lies—he always does. you don’t respond for a long while, and your boyfriend fills up the silence by laughing again. “shoulda just said so. i missed fuckin’ that tight cunt of yours too, idiot.”

“so will you come home now?”

“mm, you gotta convince me.”

“how?” you groan, dragging a hand down your face. 

“show me jus’ how much you miss me, and maybe i’ll consider comin’ back early if you can prove it to me,” toji says, and you can hear the smile in his voice as your screen lights up with a request to facetime. 

you accept, and a second later, your boyfriend’s face fills up your screen. his dark eyes are squinted from the sudden light, but the corners of his lips curl upwards when he sees you. “hey, princess.”

“hey, asshole.”

“you want to get fucked tomorrow night or not?” he drawls, a lazy smile playing on his face when that shuts you up. “now c’mon, let’s see that pussy. open wide f’me.”

you mutter something about him being the worst boyfriend ever before you tug down the waistband of your panties, exposing your neglected, puffy cunt. your clothes are quickly discarded somewhere, allowing you to angle your phone downwards and show toji what he’s missing.

“oh, fuckin’ hell,” toji mutters, navy eyes fixed on your cunt as you slip two fingers inside and start pumping them in and out of your hole. the dim lighting of your room bounces off the slick already coating your cunt, making it look wetter than ever to toji—and you can practically see the longing in his eyes as he watches you fuck yourself.

“please, toji,” you mumble, spreading your legs even wider to show off your pussy to him. “miss you so much, please—fuck, please come home,” you plead, doing your best to put on a show for him. at this point, you’re so touch starved that you’d do anything to get him back—anything to satisfy you, since your own fingers can’t even give you half the pleasure toji can.

“so desperate, aren’t ya?” toji tuts, eying you with interest. “tch, pathetic…”

you whine in response to his words, hips rolling against your own hand as you futilely try to convince your head that it’s a dick in between your legs and not your own fingers. “fuck, toji, i’ll do anythin—”

“anything?” he instantly cuts you off, cocking an eyebrow as if he’s intrigued. you nod desperately, almost willing to do anything and everything for him if it meant he could fill up the empty spot in between your thighs. “you promise?”

“y-yeah, anything,” you whimper, throwing your head back as your hand starts to grow sore. 

toji hums in approval, and a moment later, he replies, “alright then. i’ll head back tomorrow mornin’, but you’re getting fucked for the whole night after. n’ i don’t wanna hear any of that ‘toji, it’s too much!’ bullshit, m’kay?” he snaps, mimicking your voice by raising his pitch two octaves. 

“okay, i promise,” you choke out, and the second the words leave your lips, toji hangs up.

asshole.

★ ━ SUGURU GETO

“suguru, i miss you,” you mumble into your phone, burying your face into the blankets wrapped around your shoulders. usually, it’s rare for you to feel cold within your bedroom—suguru’s presence seems to make everything warmer. but right now, he’s not here, and even your own room feels barren without his comforting aura. “it’s so empty here without you…” 

“is it, now?” suguru replies coyly from the other end of the call. he’s at some sort of meeting right now, but apparently, he’s on his break—which is good, because you imagine that it might be a little embarrassing for him to take this call if he were in the middle of the meeting. “i miss you too, baby. you and that pretty pussy of yours, heh.”

“sugu—”

your boyfriend interrupts you with a soft, teasing laugh, lowering his voice when he adds, “do you want to know what i’d do to you if i was with you right now?”

you swallow back the “yes” you so desperately want to say, instead whispering, “aren’t you in public?”

“nah, i’m in the bathroom right now,” suguru clarifies. “now c’mon, answer the question.”

“...yeah,” you admit. it’s been over a week since you last had any sort of sexual contact with suguru—you’ll take what you can get.

your boyfriend laughs again, sultry voice pouring out your phone’s speakers and straight into your throbbing cunt when he starts describing—in great detail—the things he would do to you if he was on top of you right now.

“...and then, i would flip you over and fuck you face-down ass-up for hours,” suguru adds casually, enjoying the sounds of your muffled moans—you’re trying so hard to hide them, but little do you know that it’s only too obvious to suguru. 

two of your fingers are circling your clit as suguru speaks, and your own hand is clasped over your mouth as you struggle to hide the effects of suguru’s voice on you—and he just keeps talking.

“yeah, and when i finally let you cum all over my dick, i’d just keep going,” suguru cooes, tempted to pull down his pants and take care of his own boner right then and there. but unlike you, your boyfriend has some ounce of resilience, and as he checks the time on his phone, he realizes that he has to get back to his meeting soon anyways.

“suguru—” you moan, unable to stifle your little whimpers any longer. “wan’ you so bad, please—”

“silly girl, what do you mean, you want me so bad?” suguru says amusedly. “i’m already yours, aren’t i?”

“you know what i mean,” you huff, rocking your hips against your fingers in an attempt to force yourself to cum. but unfortunately, ever since you started fucking with suguru, your own fingers aren’t good enough—even if you could hypothetically make yourself orgasm, it wouldn’t give you even a fraction of the pleasure your boyfriend could. “please, sugu, i wanna see you.”

and just like that, any remaining self-restraint suguru has snaps—the sound of you begging is enough to make him do anything in the world.

suguru hastily unzips his pants, releasing his dripping dick. he runs his thumb over the leaking tip, smearing the pre-cum all over its head. “fuck, baby, i’m at work right now,” he mutters into his phone, rolling his eyes affectionately when he hears you giggle. “one pic. then i’m going back to my meeting.”

“m’kay!” you agree, pulling the phone away from your ear and turning it on speaker as you eagerly wait for the pictures to send.

suguru holds up his phone and snaps a picture of his dick resting in his palm, stroking it with that hand and sending you the image with the other. “alright, sweetheart, gotta get back to work,” suguru sighs, unable to get his boner to settle down—he figures the only way it’ll happen is if he ends the call, which he really needs to do.

“aw, do you have to?”

“yeah, sorry ‘bout that,” he mutters, removing the phone from his ear to end the call.

“wait, what’re you sending me—oh, fuck, you’re the worst,” suguru groans when he clicks the notification and sees a video of what you’re doing to yourself right now—it’s a five second video of you pumping your fingers in and out of your puffy cunt to his voice, and there goes his resolve to stay at work.

“i fuckin’ hate you, baby… see you in a couple hours.”

[sttoru]

outlaw!toji who initially kidnapped you for money, to rob you from your valuable belongings, eventually forms a strange attachment to you. he can’t help but feel a faint twinge of guilt for robbing a pretty and delicate little thing like you.

so, he decides to let you return to your beloved family in town. though he does not let you go completely.

every now and then when toji is passing by the town you reside in - avoiding sheriffs and other people whom could possibly recognise him from the wanted posters plastered on every wall - he looks for you.

of course, you freak out the first time he sneaked up on you. however slowly yet surely, you let your guard down. the outlaw didn’t harm you in any way after all.

“how ‘re ya doin’, princess?” toji would always greet you with that signature, cocky smirk of his, leaning against a nearby wall with his arms crossed over his chiseled chest or his hands on his worn gun belt.

sometimes you reply quickly, but on other occasions you indulge him and continue the conversation. it’s often at night that he visits you, so you have less of a chance to get caught together.

you don’t know when or how toji found out where your family’s house is. he simply started showing up at your balcony once in a while, just to catch up. after a couple times, you even let him in.

those nightly visits swiftly turned into something more intimate. it feels so wrong yet so right. a dangerous criminal who’s killed hundreds, who had even kidnapped you one day, being invited into your bed— how scandalous.

though you can’t help it. his callused yet warm hands that touch your skin, his burly body that presses you into the mattress just right, his slightly chapped lips that nip at your flesh and leave marks. . . you don’t regret a thing.

especially when you’re both catching your breath after an intense encounter. toji’s muscular body, filled with countless of scars, blankets yours easily. his arms cradle you to his bare chest afterwards and all you can do is relax against him.

“i think i really hit the jackpot with ya, aye? may not have robbed ya of yer stuff that day, but i got ma prize money one way or ‘nother,” the rugged outlaw grins as he lights up a cigar and holds it between his lips.

you can’t even tell him off for smoking in your room. toji’s fingers massage your scalp so good to the point you’re putty in his hands. the scent of tobacco is also comforting. it’s one you associate with him, because he always smells like it. it’s always a combination of tobacco, nature, horses and gunpowder.

toji knows that he has to leave before anyone comes checking in on you, but he can’t leave you when you look so adorable, clinging onto him like a lifeline.

every time he visits, it’s the same exciting story.

when toji is in a more sentimental mood, he takes you out on a ride. he settles you on the back of his horse, speeding off into the sunset, letting you enjoy the view outside of town.

the beautiful freedom that comes with the life of an outlaw. the freedom of seeing nature in all its glory. you get to experience it all.

at times, when you’re out and about, he takes his chance and teaches you how to handle a gun. toji knows you’ve been spoiled rotten by your parents growing up, so you probably haven’t touched a gun a day in your life. that’s where he comes in.

“oi, watch out. yer gonna blow my fuckin’ face off, girl,” toji grunts with a faint chuckle as he notices your clumsy hand gestures while holding his revolver. it’s endearing, truly. he doesn’t yet understand why it warms his heart to see you try and shoot at the targets he set up.

what the outlaw loves more than that, is when you’re both resting against a large oak tree, with his head on your lap. especially after he gets back from a long and successful heist in a far away town.

toji often lets his cowboy hat cover his face while he naps and uses your thighs as the perfect, plush pillow. the gentle breeze only adds to the perfect moment.

when you take his stetson and put it on your head instead in a innocent gesture, he lazily opens one eye and raises a brow in amusement.

“oh? that yer way of telling me y’ want a ride?” toji teases before pinching your cheek. he loves seeing that flustered expression on your face when you’re once again reminded of the cowboy hat rule he taught you the other day.

toji never misses the opportunity, however. he sits up and leans back against the tree trunk, patting his thick thighs which he spreads lightly.

“hop on f’ me then, pretty. show me how good of a cowgirl y’ are, yeah?”

well, briefly said, it’s never a dull moment with outlaw!toji.

[unorcadox]

really good narrative wc tbh, good usage of a zoom box too

hey. make a weirdcore edit out of this image i took & add it in a reblog of this post. i'll reblog my favorites

[oh-look-car-horns]

Wondering what boop count your 3 letter word corresponds to? I gotchu:

Using a python script I wrote, I booped myself 50,000 times, saving an image of my boop-o-meter every 500 boops. Before we get into the results, there are two important limitations to this study that I should mention:

Firstly, because I only recorded the boop-o-meter every 500 boops, if a message appeared for less than 500 boops it may not have been caught.

Secondly, every now and then my computer would lose a boop or two when a click wouldn't register. This is seen in the 500 and 1000 boop images below, which in reality read 498 and 994 respectively. Because of this, boop values are slightly lower than they appear.

With that out of the way, lets dig in.

0-999:

From boops 0-999, the boop-o-meter displays your boop count, and changes color as you boop

Boop count: 0 Boop count: 500 Boop count: 1000

Boop fact: the colors do not change after 1000

LOL:

Between boops 1000 and 1500, the boop-o-meter changed to display 'LOL'. This likely took place at 1000 boops, but maybe it said 'MAX' or sumn for awhile at first? Idk this is already the misinformation website so not my problem.

Boop count: 1500 (actually more like 1490 ish)

More results below the cut

OMG:

Between 1500 and 2000, the boop-o-meter changed to display 'OMG'. Again, this probably happened at 1500 but who knows. Maybe staff made it 1523 for the bit or something.

Boop count: ~2000

WOW:

The boop-o-meter remained at omg until the 3500 boop readpoint, when it switched to 'WOW', meaning this transition happens somewhere between ~2980 and ~3480.

Boop count: ~3500

Boop fact: 'WOW' is the second longest reigning message

*-*:

Between 5000 and 5500 the boop-o-meter switched to '*-*'. You get the idea at this point so I'll speed it up.

Boop count: ~5500

WHY:

The boop-o-meter changed to 'WHY' between 6000 and 6500 boops. For science. That's why.

Boop count: ~6500

PLZ:

Next was 'PLZ', switching between 7000 and 7500.

Boop count: ~7500

AAA:

I'm not sure what bloody urine has to do with anything, but for some reason staff felt is was important to display, switching between 7500 and 8000.

Boop count: ~8000

;_;:

Huh the colon makes that one look weird. 8000-8500.

Boop count: ~8500

Boop fact: That fucking cat haunts me in my dreams

0_0:

I realized after I set my pyautogui script running that my computer wouldn't turn off its screen because of the clicking, so there was a strobing blue light in my room all night. This encapsulated my expression while trying to sleep (8500-9000).

Boop count: ~9000

MAX:

After 9000 it displayed 'MAX'. This was cap. (9000-9500 switch).

Boop count: OVER 9000 (9500)

<33:

I miss my wife. 9500-10,000.

Boop count ~10,000

TUM BLR:

THE HOLY GRAIL. The boop-o-meter switched to displaying 'TUM BLR' between 10,000 and 10,500 boops. Because my actual boop count was slightly behind my theoretical, I'd guess that this change happened at 10,000 boops.

Boop count: ~10,500 (likely switched at 10,000)

Summary:

When charted the boop curve looks as follows:

Boop curve: 0 - 10,000 boops

My script continued to run until 53,000 boops, but no further changes were observed. Again, there were quite possibly more messages at lower boop values, but my ass is not checking. Maybe I should have scaled my sampling accordingly, but it is what it is. Thank you for joining me on this journey, and if you have any corrections or more information, please add it to this post.

Boop fact: Terfs DNI