#I wonder who he blames now when things go missing or something is just wrong in general

[itneverendshere]

little miss perfect - r.c (+18) - the perfect dip

pairing: siren!reader x rafe. warnings: suggestive.

Rafe hasn’t slept much.

Not because of stress, or drugs, or whatever excuse he’d usually throw around when someone asked why he looked like shit.

Today, he blames the island heat or his mattress, the sound of the water heater ticking all night. But it isn’t any of that.

It’s you; the memory of your hand around him in the kitchen burned through every slow hour of the night.

Twelve hours later, Rafe’s losing his mind all over again, standing in the same kitchen with Topper and Kelce tossing empty beer bottles into the sink.

“She’s not here?” Topper asked, eyes scanning the hallway.

Rafe turns his head, eyes narrowed. 

“The fuck you care?” 

“Jesus, alright. Calm down, man.”

He hasn’t heard your door once today, no footsteps, no car.

Your purse is still on the hook by the door, your favorite cardigan is draped over the arm of the couch, the one you always wore when the AC got too cold.

Rafe hates that he keeps thinking about it, about what he heard, about what you did. How your voice sounded on the phone, or after you quite literally fucked the soul out of him.

You don’t sound like that unless you’re protecting yourself.

Topper watches Rafe now, realizing he said the wrong thing. 

“She your girl now or somethin’?”

Rafe scoffs.

“She’s not anything,” he lied.

Except you are.

You are everything he doesn’t know what to do with. Last night’s blur flashes once more behind his eyelids, that tight breath you let out when your hand wrapped around him and you leaned your forehead against his shoulder.

Topper’s still grinning.

“Chill, dude. We’re just saying she’s hot. It's a compliment, not a threat.”

Rafe tosses the beer bottle in his hand into the sink.

“You ever talk about her again, I’ll knock your fuckin’ teeth in.”

Kelce stares. Topper blinks, unsure if Rafe’s serious. He is; the last thing he needs is either of them thinking they have a shot with you.

Topper clears his throat, awkward as hell. 

“Okay, psycho,” he grimaces, trying to laugh it off.

Kelce, ever the peacemaker, grabs another beer from the fridge and hands one to Rafe without looking at him. 

“Can we go back to talking about the boat party or whatever? I didn’t sign up for a domestic.”

Rafe doesn’t answer, pops the cap, gulps half the bottle in one go, and stares straight ahead.

Topper shifts gears fast, talking about a touron girl he hooked up with last weekend—theatrical as fuck, using his hands too much, trying to prove something. Kelce is laughing again, feet kicked up on Rafe’s coffee table.

They’re back to being dumb, rich, and clueless and Rafe isn’t listening. His head’s still in the hallway.

You’re driving him insane.

He wonders if you’re sitting in bed right now with your knees pulled up, in flimsy pajamas. Topper’s still talking, something about coke on the golf course and almost crashing the cart. Rafe hears every third word, half-tempted to kick them out.

He could, they’d leave, no questions asked. He could walk straight to the bedroom door you left cracked wide enough for him to notice.

You wanted him to notice. You never left anything to chance.

He forces a lazy half-smirk as Kelce launches into a story about a girl from Boneyard who “definitely had a boyfriend but definitely didn’t care.” Topper interrupts every few seconds with unnecessary sound effects and finger guns.

It’s the same bullshit as always. Dumb, loud, harmless; a show they’ve all been running since they were kids.

“You know what we should do?” Topper slamms his empty beer bottle onto the coffee table. “Get the boat out. That bitch hasn’t touched water in a month.”

Kelce perks up. “We get some girls, bring a speaker—”

“We always bring a speaker,” Topper cuts in, laughing. “It’s not a fuckin’ seance.”

That gets a laugh out of Rafe.

“You coming or what, Cameron?” Kelce calls over to him. 

That’s when the hallway creaks.

He hears it, the scuff of skin on hardwood, you appear, timing it down to the fucking second—effortless, shirt slipping off one shoulder, eyes still half shut from sleep or boredom or both.

Topper freezes mid-sentence, one arm halfway in the air. Kelce chokes on his beer.

You give them a polite smile.

Fuck’s sake.

“Oh,” you sound taken aback, tone featherlight, “I didn’t know we had company.”

Kelce stammers, straightening up like he’s in church. 

“Hey, we—we were just hanging.”

You nod, walking to the fridge after apparating out of nowhere. Your fingers wrap around a water bottle as you turn back to them, face glowing.

“You want anything?” you ask Kelce, soft as spun sugar.

He looks like he might cry. “Nah, I’m good. Thanks.”

You finally glance at Rafe, no expression or twitch to spare. But he sees the glint in your eye when you take a sip of water, then turn to the boys again.

“You staying long?”

Kelce starts to answer, but Rafe cuts in.

“None of your business.”

That’s what you desserve after the shit you pulled last night.

He’s not guilty, you are.

“He’s so funny,” you giggle gently, folding your hands around the bottle. “You guys talking about the boat?” you ask, as if the idea itself is delicate, sipping your water with lashes lowered.

Topper’s nodding too hard, grinning again, probably thinking this is going somewhere for him. 

“Yeah. You should come. Water’s perfect.”

Rafe’s head snaps in his direction. Oh fuck no.

“What?”

You laugh—a breath of sound. “I couldn’t possibly…”

“Why not?” Kelce jumps in too fast, “We’ll bring drinks, music, just hang.”

Your eyes flick between them, a small, self-effacing smile curling your lips. He sees the faint smirk you hide as you turn your back to them again, tugging the fridge door open just so, the hem of your sleep shirt rising an inch higher when you reach.

None of this is accidental.

You want them looking at you.

“I’d be in the way.”

Rafe nods, brows furrowed. “Exactly."

“No, you wouldn’t,” Topper insists. “Seriously. You gotta come. I mean, unless you’ve got something better to do…”

You tilt your head, pretending to ponder over the invitation.

You’re not. You already decided. If only he could lock you in this stupid house, make you look at him the way they think you want them.

Rafe watches you toy with them, smiling politely, asking too many questions, making sure your eyes never stay on one of them long enough to mean anything.

How can you be so diferente when you’re alone?

“If Rafey doesn’t mind...”

You know what that nickname does to him, how it gets under his skin like sugar in an open wound.

Topper turns to Rafe like a dog who just heard the word walk.

“Dude!” he breathes, eyes wide. 

Kelce snorts, nudging him, all in on something now.

“Bro, what the fuck? You can’t be an asshole to your guest.”

Rafe’s staring at you—at the way you lean casually against the counter, that glimmer of mock-shyness in your voice, always the plan, puppeting the whole room with one shoulder and a smile.

“How the fuck is this on me?”

Topper raises both hands, grinning. “It’s my boat. She's invited."

“She’s not coming.”

“Why not?”

Rafe grits his teeth. “She just woke up.”

“So?” Kelce grins at you. “You still down?”

“Yeah.” You step closer to Rafe, enough that they notice it. He notices it too. “Sorry,” You chagrined, “Didn’t mean to step on any boundaries.”

You did.

Yeah—this spot, right here, right where you’re standing now, it’s where you had your hand down his pants twelve hours ago.

Now you’re gloating in his face, in front of his idiot friends, letting the hem of your shirt graze his thigh like you forgot what happened.

Rafe’s vision goes a little red.

He’s going to fucking kill you. He can’t even look at Topper or Kelce right now, if he sees either of them drooling at you with those dumb, dazed expressions, he’ll black out.

He stares at your face instead, at that sickeningly sweet grin, the one he knows is fake, the one you save for him.

He breathes in hard through his nose, lifting the bottle to his lips, eyes never leaving yours, and grinds out: “Fine.”

You lean in close, pouty lips pecking his cheek.

“Thank you, Rafe,” you whisper, acting like you’re doing him a favor, “I’ll go get dressed.”

You’re gone in seconds, that sweet sway in your step. He stands there, still as stone.

“Wow,” Topper breathes, staring after you like he just saw God. “Lucky fucking bastard.”

Rafe pinches the bridge of his nose in pure annoyance, wishing he could physically push the rage back down. 

Kelce follows. “You’re living the dream, man.”

The dream, yeah. 

The dream is waking up hard as a rock at four in the morning with his hand wrapped around nothing, thinking about you.

He swallows the last of his beer and sets the bottle down hard.

“Gonna grab my swim trunks."

He’s already moving toward the hallway.

They barely acknowledge it—Topper’s mid-sentence again, and Kelce’s laughing too loudly. Neither of them clocks how Rafe’s jaw flexes or how his eyes are fixed ahead, like a sniper. He’s not going to get his swim trunks; he’s going to you.

If you pick one of those bikinis, the tiny black one you wear when you want his hands around your throat, the strappy green one that makes his pulse spike like a fucking heart attack, he might drown you for good.

Or kill someone else, trying not to.

He hits the bedroom door with his knuckles and doesn’t wait before cracking it wider. You’re by the closet already, fingers drifting past hangers, selecting a weapon.

Your back’s to him, but he knows that curve of your spine, the way your hips move when you know he’s watching.

“You’re not wearing any of those.”

“Any of what?”

He closes the door behind him, crossing the room in even steps. 

“You know what.”

“Oh?” you murmur, all saccharine. “I thought I had options.”

You pull a hanger from the rack. Red. Strapless barely qualifies as fabric.

His eye twitches.

You’re holding it up to your chest.

“You don’t like this one?”

Rafe’s already in front of you before you can finish the sentence, snatching the hanger from your hand and tossing it onto the bed without looking.

“You wear that in front of them,” he murmurs, breath warm against your cheek, “and I swear to God I’ll crash the boat.”

You blink up at him, filthy fingers sliding up his chest, testing that theory.

“They'll look at me no matter what I wear.” 

“You’re not gonna fuck with me in front of them again,” he says. “Not like that.”

“Why would it matter if I did?”

He’s still thinking about the way Topper’s mouth dropped open when you walked in, how Kelce straightened up like he’d just gotten his first fucking erection. He yearns to dump the stupid boat idea, the friends, the sun, and pounce you back onto the mattress.

He releases you and points to the drawer.

“Pick something normal.”

“Define normal.”

“If I can see your ribs, it’s a no.”

“Noted,” you hum, turning back to the closet like you haven’t already decided on something that’ll drive him mad.

Then your fingers are at the hem of your sleep shirt, lifting it like no one is watching. His pupils blow wide the second your arms lift, and you peel the fabric up and over your head in one long, unhurried motion.

Rafe stops breathing.

No bra, no warning. The shirt drops to the floor behind you.

You don’t turn around, continuing to move, opening a drawer like you’re alone. All that steel in his spine, the warnings, the threats—they dissolve into arousal in his gut.

His mouth parts slightly, and he thinks—

"Still here? Is this a thing now? Watching and doing what you’re not supposed to, Rafey?”

Nice dig.

Your bare back is lit up in the golden spill of light, smooth skin gleaming, and all he can think about is how you sounded on that call when you told your mom it wasn’t a good time. 

“I wasn’t watching,” he lies.

You straighten up, tugging on a white bikini top, letting the fabric cover what he’s already memorized. You don't turn around.

“Weren’t you?” you ask, “You’re getting good at hovering.”

He huffs, crowding behind you.

“You think I give a shit what you say on the phone?”

You glance over your shoulder, “Thought you were getting your trunks.”

Of course you change the subject. He swears, if you look at him for another second, he’s going to lose the last shred of whatever control he walked in with.

“Pick a one-piece,” he grits out.

You grin. Slow. Fucking victorious.

“Make me.”

“You’ve got five minutes,” He warns without looking back. “If you’re not in the car by then, I’ll leave without you.”

You hum.

“Sure, baby.”

He slams the door.

Back in the living room, Topper’s on his fourth beer, still talking like nothing’s happened. Kelce raises his eyebrows when Rafe storms past, shirtless now, accompanied by a god awful migraine.

“You good, bro?”

Rafe doesn’t answer, grabbing his swim trunks from the hallway closet with enough force to rattle the hanger, and slams the door shut behind him.

Thirty minutes later, Rafe glances over his shoulder when you start to peel your clothes off on the boat. Then he looks again.

Your bikini is not the one he let you pack, not the modest one. Not the one he approved, no. You changed for the millionth time.

This one’s black. Small, the strings on your hips are tied in bows he wants to rip apart. You’ve got sunglasses pushed up into your hair and a towel slung over one shoulder.

He can feel a heat prick at his collarbone and it's not a sunburn.

You walk around, pretending you don't feel his eyes drilling holes in your skin. Like you don’t know you’ve already made three guys choke on their drinks. You toss your bag near the cooler, peel your towel off, and stretch your arms like you’ve just woken up from a nap.

He storms over to you.

“What the fuck are you wearing.”

“A bikini, Rafe. That’s what people wear on boats.”

“Not that bikini.”

Your lashes flutter, feigning a thought.

“You meant the boring one?” You finally look at him. “You should’ve fucked me before we left. You wouldn’t be so tense.”

He gets a full blackout, bone-deep insanity. He steps back because he might put his hands on you if he doesn’t. You watch him with that poisonous smile as he turns away and clenches the railing hard enough to break it.

Topper walks by, wide-eyed. “The water's great man."

Rafe doesn’t answer, watching your reflection in the metal trim of the boat, the way you laugh with some girl he doesn’t recognize, how you arch your back when you sit, how the tie on your bikini hip seems to be slipping.

He ignores you like it’s his full-time job for the rest of the day.

When you laugh, he doesn’t look. When you lean over the side of the boat, stretching that stupid bikini across your back, he stares off toward the horizon like he's never had eyes.

Even when Topper elbows him with a dumb grin, looking at your ass, Rafe nods like he didn't hear a thing. He’s tired of pretending he doesn’t want to fuck you into next week every time you so much as tie your hair up, drowning the rest of his beers and pretending you don’t exist.

You glance at him once—he sees it out of the corner of his eye—but he grabs another bottle, and walks to the opposite end of the boat where the sun doesn’t hit as hard and neither do your eyes.

Topper laughs. “You’re going to jump?”

That makes him pause.

He turns just in time to see you laughing on the edge of the deck, one hand thrown up in mock celebration, the other girls cheering behind you. You glance at him and then you jump.

It's a perfect arc, clean splash. Water sprays the edge of the boat, a few people clap, some fucking idiot yells “Holy shit!”

Good, he hopes you drown. 

He stares at the choppy water with his jaw clenched so tight his molars hurt like a bich and a half, fists balled at his sides. Maybe you’ll stay down there long enough to come back with some fucking sense.

The water ripples, then stills.

You don’t come up.

Topper leans over, squinting. “Wait… where’d she go?”

Kelce laughs, a little uneasy.

“She’s probably swimming around the other side.”

You swam varsity for three years, and you used to brag about holding your breath longer than any guy could keep you interested.

Rafe's not worried.

His gaze slides back, still no sign of you, no arms slicing up, no smug-ass hair flip.

She’s fucking with me, he tells himself that twice. You have to be, you're probably under the boat. Waiting, that’s what you do.

“She’s not up yet?”

Rafe’s bottle almost slips from his fingers and clatters to the deck.

“She’s playing,” he mutters, low, tight.

Right?

But he’s already moving, shoving past the cooler, practically snarling by the time he reaches the edge again. His eyes scan every inch of blue. Still nothing. It’s been—what, a minute? More?

His stomach flips, and he dives in. Cold water slaps his skin as he hits, eyes burning, lungs tight with adrenaline. His brain blanks. 

There you are, beneath the hull, hair floating in slow motion, your back to him, arms stretched lazily, not moving. He’s on you in seconds, dragging you up with panic.

You’re limp in his grip.

He surfaces with a gasp, and that’s when you break.

You start laughing, coughing a little, sure, but mostly laughing, head tilted back, water beading down your face.

“What the fuck,” Rafe breathes, stunned, furious, blinking water from his lashes.

“I was bored. You weren’t paying attention to me.”

“I thought—” He can’t finish the sentence. He grips your waist so tight it’ll bruise. “You think this shit is funny?”

You’re smiling again, breath heaving, but smiling.

“You jumped in after me.”

“Drowning is a fucking joke to you?”

You’re giggling still, gasping wet air.

“You jumped,” you breathe, eyes bright with wicked glee.

He doesn’t hear that; his hands are locked on your waist, thumb digging too hard into your hipbone, breath ragged as he snaps.

“What if I hadn’t? Huh? What if you actually—Jesus fuck, do you ever think?”

Your arms wind around his neck like it's the most natural thing in the world, water slicking down your back as you float closer, legs looping behind his thighs.

“You do care about me,” you sing under your breath, a dare.

“I don’t!” he growls.

He’s gripping your ass now. Full palm, busy trying to burn a hole through your skull with his glare.

“I should leave you out here.”

“Okay,” you hum, lashes fluttering.

“Next time, I’ll let you sink.”

 “Liar.”

He looks down, and that’s when it hits him. Your legs wrapped around his waist, toned thighs snug at his hips, your arms hanging from his shoulders while his hands are clenching your ass like it belongs there, your breath mingling with his.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

You grin. “Comfortable?” 

“Get the fuck off—” he glowers, but doesn’t move. Neither do you.

He could shove you off, throw you back, and swim away. But he’s standing there in open water with you clinging like a koala, and he’s not doing a goddamn thing about it.

You tilt your head, close enough now that your noses brush.

“I should’ve worn something smaller,” you whisper.

“I’m going to drown you.”

You kiss the corner of his mouth.

“Stop that shit."

Your lashes are clumpy from the water and pretty, and your skin is glowing. He's fairly certain the fucking stupid sun cracked open only to sit on your cheekbones.

Your lips brush closer, against the corner again.

“Why not?” Your hands are tangled in the back of his hair now, like they had been last night. “You gonna stop me?”

He doesn’t breathe or move, except for his fingers, which dig tighter into your thighs. You want him distracted; he knows it, and it’s working.

“Y’know I wasn’t actually in danger, right?” you murmur his ear, “I can hold my breath for over two minutes. Coach said I was built for underwater.”

Of course you were built to swim, to tease, to drown men like him.

Siren.

That’s what’s making him crazy. You weren’t scared, but he was. 

You hand slips up the back of his neck, brushing his hair off his nape, comforting him now, rewarding him for worrying.

“I’m serious,” he grits out, but even that sounds like a lie. “Stop looking at me like that."

“Like what?”

You’ve always been better at games than grief. His forehead drops against yours, eyes closed. He’s breathing hard—so hard—and you can feel it, right there between you.

You kiss him then.

Rafe fights it for half a second, less even, then it’s over.

He drags you in, mouth slanting over yours like he wants to leave bruises in the shape of his tongue. His teeth scrape your lip, your breath stutters, and he swallows the sound because it belongs to him.

He’s lost. 

The second your mouth parts for him, Rafe's brain goes quiet, his hands pull you flush to his chest, dragging you against him, craving to climb inside and drown right along with you.

You moan into him, and that’s it. Game over.

His tongue chases after yours, desperate, trying to punish you for making him jump—but your mouth is so sultry, and you taste like trouble, lakewater and a dare he couldn't turn down.

It’s obscene the way you grind against him underwater. He's hard—of course he is—and you’re not helping. You’re rubbing right against it, wet skin gliding with every wave that rocks you together, whimpering like it’s his fault you started this.

“Fuck,” he hisses against your mouth.

You’re still kissing him like you need to.

Rafe breaks it off, panting, his forehead pressed to yours again, eyes wild.

“See?” You purr, drunk on the high, on him, even with your lips kiss-swollen. “Good thing you jumped. Imagine Topper did.”

It lands like a slap.

His hands fall away like you burned him. You’re still clinging to him like some waterlogged siren sent to ruin him. He’s shoving you off, and you let him.

he distance is small, but it feels like a mile as the water chills between you.

Rafe’s chest is heaving, water lapping at his ribs, wanting to soothe him, but nothing can touch the heat in his blood.

It's always you. With your goddamn eyes, and that fucking mouth, and the way you say his name—a knife you want to stick in his ribs to see how deep you'd have to twist before he bled.

“You were thinking about that shit while I was kissing you?”

You tilt your head, calm as glass. He's two seconds from losing it completely, from dragging you under and letting the lake take both of you.

“Not while you were kissing me. After.”

After.

Rafe stares at you, something ugly boiling behind his eyes. His hands curl into fists under the water, wishing he had it in him to just swim the fuck away before he does something he can’t come back from. 

“I should’ve let you die.”

Your mouth twitches in satisfaction.

He surges forward without meaning to, water sloshing around his shoulders as he crowds you again, nose to nose, hate and want and heartbreak written in every jagged line of his face.

“And I should’ve twisted your dick off last night, but I didn’t.”

You go for him again—always—hands ghosting up his shoulders.

He’s afraid of what he’ll do if he keeps seeing you like this, half-naked and dripping and looking at him like he’s the only boy in the world while stabbing him straight through the heart with your words.

“You knew I’d jump after you. You were counting on it.”

You nod. “I was.”

You knew he felt guilty.

He lets go of your wrists, but you’re on him again, sliding back around his waist. Your skin fits to his like it belongs there, your fingers curling around his shoulders with practiced ease. 

Rafe’s body reacts before his brain does—he catches you, like the idiot he is. He grits his teeth as your tits press against his chest, mouth ghosting over his like you’re about to apologize.

But no, you don’t say sorry. You bite him.

Right on his lower lip, and he groans into it, head tilting back because you stole it. The sound claws its way out even though he doesn't want to give it to you.

You make out with him in answer.

He shouldn’t let you. He knows it once his hands get on your rack, knows it when your tongue slips past his lips again, and he doesn’t stop you like the dumb broad he is.

You hum, pleased while he’s melting into it, mirroring your rhythm, kissing you as the fool who doesn’t remember what came out of your mouth.

He breaks it off to breathe, and a second later, you swim off. Your laugh carries over the water as you paddle toward the boat, lazy, unbothered, the picture of summer mischief.

Rafe stays frozen in place for a moment, water up to his chest, mouth still stinging from your bite. His heart’s pounding. Thudding so loud it echoes in his ears over the sound of the lake

What the fuck just happened?

By the time he climbs back onto the boat, seething and horny, you’re already flopped back in your spot like a satisfied cat, sunglasses on, mouth smug.

He yanks a towel off the bench, scrubbing at his face praying it’ll erase the past five minutes, scrubbing you out of his system. 

You peek at him over the rim of your glasses, your expression all mockery, and know it when he still wants to go back in the water with you, drown himself again.

He always should’ve known better with you.

[adustoflove]

If yall ever see me start profusely sobbing out of absolutely nowhere just always assume I randomly remembered an event where my dad called me a dumb fucking bitch for something genuinely innocent or for no reason at all actually. Just assume I'm remembering how badly my dad used to verbally assault me and tell me I was the one who ruined his marriage and got him fired when all I did was sit in my room absolutely terrified for my life most days because he was constantly yelling and throwing things

[staticthread]

Hangman

Phainon left that day throwing you a blinding smile as he said, 'see you tomorrow!' A day later he did come back but you're sure that this Phainon isn't your Phainon.

pairing: phainon x reader (gn.)

tags & warnings: unhealthy relationship dynamics, mentions of blood and implied murder

masterlist 𝄂 ao3

The first thing you noticed was his missing smile.

Phainon never not smiled. No matter the circumstance, no matter what he felt, Phainon always smiled. If you couldn't see it on his face, then you'd see it in his eyes.

That smile.

That shining smile.

It was a constant, a piece of Kephale's dawn within your Deliverer.

You hated seeing it on his face.

Yet it chills you to see it gone.

You don't bring it up during your reunion, nor do you do so in the following days.

Because he has the flame-chase in mind, you'd attempt to justify. You won't bring it up for his sake. The burden of the flame-chase is heavy, and you don't need to make it heavier.

You blame your suspicions in the heat of the moment, never bring it up, even if your mind screams Wrong! Wrong! WRONG!

Affection came easily to him. Hugs, kisses, cuddles, he'd always be the one to initiate. It made it look like Phainon loved you more than you love him.

You, yourself, wondered if that's the case.

It's only in the weeks following his trip into the abyss that you realise it wasn't.

He's more withdrawn, quiet. Conversations are shorter, less mundane. He'd talk to you when he needed something, and you would do the same.

This should be a none issue. The solution is right infront of you. Talk. Talk his ears off. Talk until you start a conversation. Talk until you fill the silence. Just. Talk.

You don't do any of that.

Talking had never been your strong suit.

Instead, you double your affection. You give him more kisses, hug him a little harder goodbye, squeeze his hand when you hold it.

None of it works.

He remains cold, like his heart had frozen over. He tries to fake it, forcing a smile here and there, awkwardly returning your embrace. It's obvious, though. Phainon's a terrible liar.

Thankfully, he still is.

You try to push your doubts away, find a reason to justify why. It doesn't work.

Your suspicions only increase.

It boils over one night, when you wrapped your arms around him, seeking his warmth.

He doesn't pull you closer, no.

He grabs your arms and tosses you off the bed.

You don't even realise what he has done until you see him watching. Your dazed mind screams danger, but you stay, because despite what just happened, you still trusted Phainon.

"I'm sorry," is all he says, before picking you up and returning you to your side. He goes back to sleep, back turned to you and never asks if you are alright.

The next morning, you kiss him as usual and go about your day.

You never bring it up, but now you suspect that Phainon isn't Phainon.

You get your confirmation when he returns home covered in blood. Golden blood.

"Do you still believe in Era Nova?" he asks.

"I do."

He lets out a shaky breath, ichor-stained hands held out in front of him.

You reach out for them, intertwining your fingers with his. You try your best to ignore the shimmering gold, to not think of who he killed.

"I know, you'll bring it."

He tenses.

You force yourself to look up, to look him in the eye, "And I know you're not him."

And despite your disgust, you kiss him because the alternative is accepting that your Phainon is gone.

[luveline]

I’d love to see hotch finding out that Spencer and his sister have told Each other they love each other, like he realizes holy shit this is serious, yk?

”No, I’m okay.” 

Aaron wonders who’s to blame for the way you talk, your shared father or himself. You aren’t quite as expressionless as Aaron’s told he is, and you’re nothing like your father, a tense, angry man, but it's possible you learned to be as calm as possible. Nothing unnecessary can be read from your tone. No snark, no attitude. 

So you sound like you’re just making polite conversation on the phone at first, and when your voice softens, Aaron’s too nosy to walk away. 

“Yeah? That’s an interesting one. You’ve been learning fun facts for me. No, all your facts are fun. I wasn’t lying,” —you laugh, giggly and caught— “I like when you tell me stuff. You know everything there is to know about everything.” 

You’re sitting on the porch swing with your legs crossed, posture terribly bent, phone held to your ear. Aaron and Jack had been tending to the flower beds around the side of the house, but Jack spotted a paper kite butterfly and wandered off to find it while Aaron finished watering. 

He knows you’re telling the truth. Aaron’s watched you and Spencer together many times now, and he knows you truly enjoy one another’s company. It’s why you’ve made a good couple. It’s why Spencer comes to work each day with a sense of settlement, and why you’ve calmed down some. There’s security in things. Still, Aaron knows how fickle younger relationships can be— 

“I love you.” He stands straight. He frowns. You make a humming sound. “I love you,” you say again, like Spencer’s heard you wrong. “Yeah. Yeah, I love you more… I miss you today. I’m fine, just–” You stand up, the porch swing creaking. “Maybe I can come over? After dinner, it’ll be late, I just want to see you. Is that– Okay, good.” 

You walk to the end of the wrap around porch, just a foot from Aaron where he’s hiding in the shadow of the side of the house. He can hear Spencer’s voice now, too. 

“I don’t know why you’re asking me like I won’t say yes! Please come over, I begged you to come over yesterday!” 

“Don’t make me feel guilty,” you say, a loving murmur. 

“I’m not trying to do that! Just, you tell me you love me and then we don’t see each other for two days, which is fine, it’s not that you can’t be busy, but try and see it from my point of view.” 

“What’s gotten into you?” you ask. 

“Y/N, I love you. And you love me, and I was hoping you’d let me earn it by taking you out or something. You just ran away.” 

Aaron breathes out, alerting you to his presence accidentally. You turn on the porch with an incredible embarrassment in your screwed lips, glaring at him, and almost dropping the phone in your hurry to see the screen.

“Spencer, I gotta go. Aaron’s being a creep.” 

“What?” 

“I’ll call you back.” 

“Uh, okay? Is everything–”

You click the phone off and squeeze it in your hand. “Eavesdrop much?” 

“I’m very sorry. But in my defence, I’m watering the flowers.” 

“You’re so embarrassing.” 

“I’m embarrassing? What did I do?” 

“That was a private conversation.” 

“I didn’t hear anything.” 

You know he’s lying in the same way he knows you’re not as angry as you wish you were. You are embarrassed, though. 

“I had no idea you and Spencer were that serious,” he says mildly. 

You drape your arms over the porch railings. “Well, it is, I think. It’s serious for me. Does he– d’you think he’s serious?” 

“As a heart attack.” 

You bite your cheek. He can see you doing it, see the concern in your eyes. “I didn’t mean to say it out loud. I wasn’t sure I wanted him to know, but he’s been so nice about it.” 

“Nice isn’t the right word.” You talk about love like you’ve confessed to something awful. It’s love. “You should let him take you to dinner. Then you should tell me where you went and I’ll work out if he deserves you or not.” 

“That’s not funny.” 

Aaron smiles as you turn away, seemingly to call Spencer again and make arrangements. It was funny, and you’ll think so too once you forget he was being a busybody.  

[spicyspiders]

old man logan

wolverine x male reader smut

1.3k words

warning for highly dubious consent. the reader is home for their college summer break. logan is the mean old man living in the reader's neighborhood, and when one of the neighbor's kids loses a ball in his backyard, the reader retrieves it.

You come to the conclusion that Logan is a miserable old man after your first meeting with him.

Children can be annoying, you could understand, but with the way Logan spoke to them after accidentally throwing a ball into his yard, you didn’t like him too much. 

You weren’t sure if you like kids all that much, but you could empathize with them, especially when you saw them crying. 

“Hey,” you say to your neighbor. You were only outside to check your mail, so seeing a crying child on the doorstep next to your house caught you off guard. “What’s wrong?” 

You couldn’t remember the kid’s name, but who could blame you, summer break was your time away from college to relax with your brain off. His small face was full of tears when he lifted it up and his eyes were rimmed red. The boy’s lower lip trembled before he responded to you in a shaky voice. 

“I lost my ball in Mr. Howlett’s yard,” he sniffled. 

Mr. Howlett had moved in sometime during your first semester away at college, and he wasn’t exactly a welcoming presence when you had gotten home. He always looked so gruff and angry when you tried to speak with him, which left you to steal looks when he wasn’t looking. Though you didn’t like him, he was luckily nice to look at. 

You weren’t sure how old he was, but from the glances you stole, you assumed he was young enough to somehow retain the muscle mass he had. 

You couldn’t remember if it was him, or if it was another one of your neighbor’s, but this wasn’t the first time a toy had accidentally been thrown into his yard. In fact, it was why you disliked him. You thought that it might just have been the kids, but when you tried to get one of the toys back after seeing another child’s tearful face, Logan slammed the door in your face. 

“It’s okay,” you said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, “we can get it back.”

”He won’t give it back,” he whined, his voice an octave higher and more tears came out. 

“Have you tried?” You asked, trying to ignore the anger welling up in your chest. You didn’t know how Logan could be so mean to a crying child. 

The boy ducked his face down to where you couldn’t see it, like he was trying to hide, “he’s mean,” he answered, his voice small. 

“I know he is,” you said quietly. It wasn’t the right thing to say, you should say something like: he’s not mean. He can just be grumpy, but you didn’t feel like being nice to him right now. “I’ll go get it.”

The boy’s head snapped up to look up at you with wide eyes, “really?” 

You smiled softly at the boy, “I’ll be right back,” you said before standing up. Instead of going to Logan’s you went back inside your house first to get the boy a tissue, “wipe you face,” you told the boy after handing him a few tissues, “I’ll be right back, okay?”

”Okay,” the boy said, flashing you a watery smile. He had a few teeth missing, the sight making your heart strings tug. It made you wonder just how Logan could get angry at a child with a smile like that. 

“What do you want, bub?” Logan asked after he opened his door.

Though you were angry, you couldn’t ignore how the man intimidated you. He was tall and broad, his muscular body filling up the entire door frame. He could split you in half if he wanted to, and not in a good way.  

“Can you give him his ball back?” Pointing over your shoulder with your thumb to the boy. 

Logan’s eyes flicked from your face to over your shoulder before returning, “he shouldn't have thrown it over there.”

“It’s not like he meant to throw it over there,” you said back.

”Did he tell you that, or was he too busy cryin’?” He asked, crossing his arms.

”Can you give him his ball back?” You repeated, your teeth gritted in anger.

Logan titled his head, “he shouldn’t have thrown it over there,” he repeated, just as you did. His arms fell to his sides before he stepped closer to you, his chest pressed to yours. Through the thin shirt of the tank top he wore, his chest ran hot like a furnace. 

Old man Logan is fucking bully. A bully with a big broad chest surrounded by muscular arms. He's a bully in his words and with his actions.

Old man Logan is a fucking bully when he brings you inside and he pushes you down onto your knees and pulls out his cock. “You want his ball back, college boy?” He asks as he strokes his cock to full-mast. Right in front of the door to his backyard.

Old man Logan is a fucking bully as he pushes the head past your lips and onto your tongue, “put yer fuckin’ hands down,” he commands when you try to keep his cock from going deeper. 

Old man Logan is a fucking bully, especially when he says, “pretty boy like you,” he says, groaning as he pushes his cock deeper, “I bet you’re popular all over campus,” he says over the sound of your gags on his thick cock. 

He finally lets you breathe, but only after he wraps a tight hand around the back of your neck and pulls you off his cock. You suck in grateful pulls of air that taste like the salt of Logan’s precum. You glare up at him as he traces the slick head of his cock along your swollen lips. his smug eyes locking with yours.

“Bet you’re popular with your professors, too,” Logan murmurs, as he pushes his cock back into your mouth, “they let you suck their cocks for good grades?” He questions, his sentence ending with a groan as your throat clenches around his cock. 

You roll your eyes even as they well with tears. It sounds like he’s projecting, but it’s not like you were able to ask him, with your mouth being full of cock and all.  

Old man Logan is a bully, especially after he goes too deep and you gag again, “probably not too high of grades,” he says to himself, but still loud enough for you to hear the jab at your cock sucking skills, “but good enough,” he says with a moan as his cock pulses along your tongue and he cums down your throat.

You try your best to swallow all that you can, but some of it dribbles past your lips and down your chin. 

“Clean yourself up and go get that ball,” Logan says, stepping away. The clink of his belt buckle echoes with him as he steps past you and into his kitchen. You hear the noise of a paper towel ripping and a faucet turning on and then off again as you swipe your arm across your mouth to collect the mess on your face. 

Your knees ache as you pull yourself up and walk to the door, but you ignore the burn and instead search for the ball. You find it quickly, but you also see other toys that other kids have thrown over. You don’t grab them though, and instead think of the cold shower waiting for you at home to get rid of the hard on tenting your pants.  

“You didn’t want to grab the others?” Logan asks once you’re back inside. You make sure not to watch as he tucks his soft cock back into his jeans and just hopes he ignores the bulge in your pants. “Or do you want another reason to come back over here?” He questions, his voice much closer. 

You walk briskly past the man, paying no attention to the heat of his eyes on you, “not gonna answer me, little brat?” Logan’s voice calls after you as you leave his house. 

You scrub a hand over your face, trying to make yourself presentable, but let out a sigh of relief when you see the boy has gone back inside. You place it on his doorstep and knock softly on the door before heading back inside your house. 

---

Part 2

[theonottsbxtch]

ITS OK IM OK | LN4

an: it's ok im ok by tate mcrae is out and i had this idea the minute i heard it the first time so i've been writing this the last two hours. this was very rushed so please be nice, slight oscar x yn (no use of yn)

written and smau

face claim: pintrest and queen t8

newgirlfriend just posted

liked by landonorris, maxfewtrell, maxverstappen1 and 159,382 others

oh he's so perfect

**coments have been restricted**

When she’d first broken up with Lando, she’d been distraught. He was the love of her life, or at least she’d thought. For over a month, she’d spent every passing moment reminiscing on all the good parts she could remember of the relationship, but as that month came to a close, the fog began to lift. 

There was no good.

At first there was, there had been the dates, the gifts, the flowers and the continuous travelling alongside her. The texts of ‘I miss you’ and ‘I love you’ at least once a day had diminished into a ‘gn’ and ‘gm’ eleven months into the relationship. 

The affection that once felt so constant had turned into something routine, something obligatory. She’d ignored the signs at first, brushing off the growing distance as just a phase, believing things would eventually go back to how they were in the beginning. But they didn’t.

She remembered the nights when he would cancel plans at the last minute, claiming he was too tired from work, yet his social media was filled with stories of nights out with his friends. The times he’d forgotten important moments — her promotion at work, her 21st birthday, their anniversary. Every time, he had a perfectly reasonable excuse that she had willingly swallowed, desperate to hold onto the image of the man she’d thought he was.

The excuses, the half-hearted apologies, and the lack of effort slowly chipped away at her, until one day, she woke up feeling emptier than ever, wondering where she’d gone wrong. She’d blamed herself, convinced she was being too demanding, too needy.

But now, with some distance, she could see it all for what it was: she’d been in love with an idea of him, a projection of her own desires. The real Lando was far from the prince charming she had made him out to be. He was just a guy who knew how to charm his way through life, good at saying the right things but never following through.

She realised now that the man she’d loved never truly existed; he was a mirage, built from wishful thinking and her own desperation to be loved.

So when Mclaren invited her to celebrate the new season, she took it knowing she was a mature adult, after all he’d moved on. So could she.

“She’s posted him again,” Her best friend spoke from the sofa where she’d been waiting for her to touch up her makeup. “Caption is ‘Oh he’s so perfect’ with some flowers and a teddy bear.”

“Poor girl.” She muttered to herself as she applied some gloss. “She’s still in the honeymoon phase,”

Her best friend hummed and laughed as she continued to scroll through the photos.

Unlike many ex girlfriends, she didn't hate the new girl, no if anything she pitied the next girl and the inevitable one after that, it wasn’t their fault that he acted like the perfect gentleman at the start.

She sighed, putting the lip gloss down and meeting her own eyes in the mirror. "I mean, she’s just like I was," she added, more to herself than to her friend. "I remember thinking he was my perfect match, too. All those little gestures, the compliments, the way he always seemed to know exactly what I wanted to hear. I fell for it, hard."

Her friend glanced up from the phone, a knowing look in her eyes. "Yeah, but you saw through it eventually. And you got out."

She nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Yeah, I did. And I’m not gonna pretend that was easy, but I did it. I’ve just gotta hope she figures it out sooner rather than later."

Her friend grinned. "I bet you’re dying to go up to her tonight and give her a friendly warning."

She laughed at that, shaking her head. "Oh, no. I’m not getting involved unless the opportunity comes up . She won’t listen anyway; no one does when they’re in the thick of it. Besides, it's not my place."

Her friend tilted her head, watching her closely. "You’re really okay with all this?"

She paused for a moment, considering her answer. Was she really okay? Seeing those photos had stirred something in her, but it wasn’t jealousy. It was more like a dull ache, a memory of a wound that had already healed. "I think so," she said finally, smiling a little. "I mean, it still sucks to see, but not in the way it used to. I guess... I’m more relieved than anything. Relieved that it’s not me anymore."

Her friend nodded in approval. "That’s growth, babe. And tonight, we’re gonna celebrate that growth with some champagne and dancing. No thinking about exes, just fun."

She laughed, grabbing her bag and turning to face her friend. "Deal. Now, let’s get out of here before I change my mind."

They headed out the door, a cool breeze greeting them as they stepped into the evening air. As they walked to the car, she glanced at her phone one more time, catching a glimpse of Lando’s face on her social media feed. His arm was around the new girl, that same easy smile on his lips, the same charm in his eyes. But this time, it didn’t sting. It didn’t make her chest tight or her stomach drop. She felt...nothing.

“His teammate was fitter anyway,” At first she hadn’t heard it but when she did, she turned to face her friend, “What? I’m saying what we all saw.”

“I’m not stirring that pot.”

“You’re not but I am.” Her friend laughed as she pulled out of the parking lot, “Think about it, he’ll be there tonight, freshly broken up. Maybe you two can bond over that.”

Her eyes widened as she looked at her friend, “He broke up with his girlfriend?”

“I knew you were interested!”

She rolled her eyes, feeling a flush creep up her neck. "I’m not interested," she insisted, but the hint of a smile played at the corners of her lips, betraying her. "It’s just… surprising, that’s all."

Her friend shot her a knowing look. “Oh, come on. I’ve seen how you look at him. All those race weekends, sneaking glances when you thought no one was watching. You can’t deny it.”

She laughed, a light, genuine sound she hadn’t heard from herself in a while. "You’re imagining things. Besides, just because Lando's teammate is single doesn’t mean I’m ready to jump into something new."

Her friend raised an eyebrow. “Who said anything about jumping? Maybe just dip a toe in. Have fun for once. You deserve it."

She hesitated, biting her lip as the car sped through the city streets. "I don’t know… it just feels too soon."

"Too soon? Or maybe the perfect time?" her friend challenged. "It’s not about replacing Lando. It’s about letting yourself feel good again."

She stared out the window, watching the city lights blur into a kaleidoscope of colours. Her friend was right. She had spent so long grieving over Lando, replaying every mistake and wondering where she went wrong. Maybe it was time to let someone else in, even just a little.

“Okay," she finally said, her voice steady. "If I see him tonight, I’ll talk to him. No expectations, no pressure. Just… a conversation."

Her friend grinned. “Now, that’s the spirit. And who knows? Maybe you’ll find out he’s more than just a pretty face.”

She laughed again, this time with more ease. “Or maybe I’ll find out he’s just another disaster waiting to happen.”

Her friend chuckled, “Only one way to find out.”

By the time they’d pulled up to the club and handed the keys to the valet, there was a solid blush on her cheeks. After all, she had spent the rest of the car ride looking at Oscar’ photos. 

She felt the bass of the music underneath her feet as she and her friend handed their ID’s to the bouncer, waiting as he checked their names off the list.

“Right let me find some virgin cocktail, you go find Oscar.”

“Absolutely not, I’m getting a drink first.”

When they reached the bar, they eyed up the drinks board, everything seemed so tempting. Starting easy she ordered herself a vodka coke. No point trying to talk to Oscar if she was sloshed. 

“Your replacement, 12 o’clock.” She heard her friend shout over her drink.

She turned around, subtly glancing in the direction her friend had pointed. There she was, the new girl — bright-eyed, smiling, and looking like she had the world at her feet. Her heart clenched for a moment, a tiny pang of something she didn’t want to name, but then she felt it ease just as quickly. It wasn’t jealousy; it was almost… nostalgia.

The girl was everything she remembered herself being — full of hope, dressed to impress, standing a little too close to him as if she needed to mark her territory. And there he was, Oscar, just as charming as ever. Leaning in, whispering something that made the girl laugh loudly, the kind of laugh that begged for attention.

Her friend nudged her side. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, swallowing a sip of her drink. “Just feeling pity, really.”

“Well,” her friend prompted, “you gonna say hi or what?”

She took a deep breath. “I think I’ll let them have their moment. Besides, I’m not in the mood to play the ex-girlfriend card tonight.”

Her friend snorted. “What, you don’t want to ruin their Instagram-perfect night?”

She grinned. “Tempting, but no.” She took another sip, feeling the warmth of the alcohol begin to relax her nerves. “Let’s dance, yeah?”

“Don’t have to ask me twice.”

Grabbing her phone off the bar and shoving it down her bra, she took her friend’s hand and brought her to the middle of the dance floor, some Flo Rida song making the walls shake. 

Moving to the beat of the music, she looked as her friend began to dance on her, pulling her hand on her hip as they danced in sync enjoying the moment and ignoring the fact that she could see Lando looking at her and not his new girlfriend.

She felt the bass thump through her chest, each beat syncing with her pulse as she lost herself in the music. Her friend’s laughter was infectious, and she couldn’t help but grin, the tension in her shoulders easing as she swayed to the rhythm.

Lando’s gaze was heavy on her, almost burning through the crowd. She could feel it, a mix of curiosity and maybe a hint of regret. She didn’t look directly at him — not yet. Instead, she let her movements become more carefree, twirling with her friend and raising her arms in the air as the chorus hit. The whole room seemed to pulse with the beat, and she revelled in the feeling of letting go, if only for a moment.

Her friend leaned in, her voice barely audible over the music. “He’s staring,” she said with a sly smile.

She shrugged, flipping her hair back with a casual flick. “Let him,” she replied, her voice loud enough to be heard over the music but still cool and collected.

And then, on a whim, she spun around, facing him across the crowded room. Their eyes met, and she held his gaze for a heartbeat longer than she intended. His expression was unreadable — a mix of surprise, maybe a flicker of something else. But she didn’t want to decipher it; she didn’t care to.

Instead, she raised her drink in a mock toast, a sly smile playing at her lips, before turning her back to him again. She felt a surge of confidence, a quiet thrill in knowing she no longer needed his validation or attention. She was here to have fun, to enjoy the night, not to relive old memories or make a scene.

Her friend noticed the exchange and leaned in again. “You sure you don’t want to give him a piece of your mind?”

She laughed, a real, genuine laugh that felt good in her chest. “Nah, he can watch if he wants. It just shows he’s not as over it as I am.”

She turned her attention back to her friend, giving her a playful spin. “Anyway, I have a much hotter date.”

This time her friend laughed loudly, “Uh huh you do, I’ll go get us refills.”

“I’ll come with,” she offered, even though she was beginning to feel herself in the middle of the crowd.

“No, you just stay here.” Her friend gave her a final wink before disappearing into the crowd, leaving her alone on the dancefloor. The bass of the music pulsed through her, making her heart race in time with the beat. That’s when she spotted Oscar — tall, confident, with a warm smile that seemed to cut through the throng of people. He was one of the few people who had been genuinely kind to her since she’d met him, and there was a sense of magnetic energy between them.

He extended his hand with a charming grin. “May I have this dance?”

Without missing a beat, she placed her hand in his, feeling a thrill of excitement. They moved closer, the heat of their bodies melding together as the music swelled. He guided her into a slow, sensual dance, their movements smooth and synchronised. His hands rested lightly on her hips, and she could feel the tension of his touch, a mix of confidence and tenderness. Overlapping her hands on his, she tightened his grip on her hips.

As they danced, she felt a rush of freedom, the worries and old feelings from earlier dissolving into the rhythm. She glanced to her side and caught a glimpse of Lando across the room. He was watching them, his expression a mixture of surprise and frustration. For a moment, their eyes locked, and she saw the flash of jealousy in his gaze. She raised an eyebrow slightly, a smirk playing on her lips as if to say, “Look at me now.”

Returning her focus to the Oscar, she let herself be completely immersed in the moment. His touch was intoxicating, his eyes locked on hers with an intensity that made her feel desired and cherished. They moved together effortlessly, each step and sway adding to the intimate connection they were building on the dancefloor.

Oscar leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “You look amazing tonight,” he murmured, his voice low and husky. “I mean you always have, but tonight things are different aren’t they?”

She shivered at his words, the tension between them palpable. She responded with a soft laugh, her fingers trailing up to his neck as she whispered back, “They are, aren’t they?”

As the song reached its climax, they pulled closer, their bodies pressed together in a way that felt both exhilarating and soothing. She let herself be lost in the sensation, feeling a newfound sense of liberation and sensuality. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them in their own private dance.

The song ended, but they stayed close, their breaths mingling. “I’m going to the bathroom, but I’ll see you here for round two?” she said, trying to be heard over the music.

“I won’t go anywhere,” he replied with a teasing smile, his voice like velvet. She wanted to linger in his warmth a moment longer, but she knew she needed to regroup. The minute she snapped out of her trance, she found the bar and her friend, dragging her to the nearest bathroom.

Finding the handicap stall, she pulled them inside and slumped against the wall, grabbing her drink out of her friend’s hand.

“Fuck me,” she whispered, her voice a mix of exhilaration and happiness.

“I am not Oscar, but I’m sure he would if you asked nicely,” her friend quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

She let out a tired laugh, shaking her head. “Not what I meant. I just… I don’t know. It’s weird being back in this place. Wow. That dance - I.”

Her friend gave her a knowing look. “At least give me a heads up if I’m going to drive home alone tonight.”

As she took another sip of her drink, she heard the bathroom door swing open, followed by the sound of animated giggling. It was Lando's new girlfriend, chattering excitedly with a friend. Her voice carried through the thin bathroom walls, brimming with admiration.

“Oh my god, he’s just so perfect!” she gushed. “I can’t believe how lucky I am. He’s got everything—charm, looks, and he’s so sweet. I feel like I’m in a dream.”

Her friend raised an eyebrow, glancing at her. “Are you okay?”

Suppressing a laugh, she stood up and pushed open the door to the cubicle. As she emerged, she locked eyes with Lando’s new girlfriend in the mirror.

“Hey there,” she said, her voice smooth yet edged with cool detachment. “So, which version of him is perfect, the off-season version or the regular season?”

The new girlfriend blinked, visibly startled. Her smile faltered, and she looked momentarily confused. “Uh, I don’t really understand what you mean.”

She could sense her best friend trying hard not to laugh behind her. Shrugging lightly, she maintained a mix of sympathy and detachment in her gaze. “Just a thought. Sometimes people have different sides to them, you know? What you’re seeing now might not be the whole picture.”

Before the new girlfriend could respond, her friend besides her chimed in . “You’re just jealous.”

She turned, a knowing smile on her lips. “Oh, sweetie, it’s okay. I’m perfectly fine. After all, I had him first.” Without giving the new girlfriend a chance to reply, she gently but firmly guided her friend out of the bathroom and back into the club.

As they re-entered the lively atmosphere, her friend grinned at her. “That was hot.”

She chuckled, feeling a sense of empowerment and closure. “Glad you think so. Let’s enjoy the rest of the night.”

ynprivate just posted

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, yourbestfriend and 38 others

it's ok im ok

**comments have been restricted**

[mcflymemes]

AS SAID BY KARLACH *  assorted dialogue from baldur's gate 3

i can't tell if you're flirting or threatening me. i'll take either one.

don't want the youths to think i'm not, you know, up with the times.

sometimes i look at you, and i just don't have words for this feeling. you are everything i ever hoped for. everything i thought i could never have. never deserve.

i just love listening to you speak.

i know i can make you melt.

i want all of you.

i don't think i have it in me to share.

will you stay with me? when it's time.

what the fuck is happening to us?

you know, [name], i'm not sure i can trust you anymore. you're... different. a bit scary, to be honest.

i'm sweating bullets. what if i blow our cover?

it's good to see you smiling, [name].

look at you. the years have been good to you.

we're in the city on some urgent business, but can i come find you when it's all settled?

whose idea was this? was it mine? am i insane?

i'll rip your tongue out, you liar.

you can't possibly believe this shit.

what i wouldn't give for another hour together. another minute.

i can't believe you saw that. you're too young for that.

once you start, it's hard to stop.

now there's a name i'd hoped never to hear again.

this is it. i can practically taste his blood from here.

you're asking a lot. but i can wait - for a while, at least.

i don't want to put you in harm's way either. i'll wait for now.

now you're speaking my language.

sorry i haven't visited. i've been... away. but i'm back now! and i brought friends.

i miss you so much. but i'm happy. and getting up to some really important shit.

i just want to understand. i just want to know why.

the fucker has to die.

this handwriting looks familiar.

do you know what you're doing?

sorry, i think you have the wrong person.

would you believe me if I said i've got to save the city?

i love good news.

glad to see you're so well set-up here.

if we can help them, we will.

could i see your wares?

you'll still be able to do your wizard thing, though, right?

i wouldn't mind doing a little shopping in the city.

to have someone who cares about you and throw them away... i don't know how you do it.

sounds like more your thing than mine.

i was just thinking the same thing, but less poetically.

you're good at staying in character. i'll give you that.

i was just being nice.

what a pesthole. can't wait to clear this place out.

i smell a fight brewing.

care for a dip?

it looks good on you.

good to know love is on the table though.

how could we let this happen?

let's just keep moving. i don't want to talk.

this place is absolutely beautiful. what a wonder.

hey, can i try something on you?

my heart isn't a toy, got it? treat it like one and you're going to get burned. badly.

my heart is telling me i love you.

if i didn't know better, i'd say you're falling in love.

will you excuse me?

you'd better step away before i do something i regret.

i'm glad you chose me.

you give me chills, baby.

i'm not going anywhere. i've got plans for the future, you know. and they involve you.

to be honest, i'm kind of shocked you chose me.

if i can have you back, i've got a place for you here. cozy. warm. safe. and you can stay as long as you want.

it sounds like you really meant it.

revenge sounds so sweet until you've taken it. then all you have is... no one left to blame.

you know, for a while there, i wasn't sure you'd come back. but look at you. you've done what few could ever do - created your own path.

is it almost time for dinner?

don't tease me. my lonesome heart can't take it.

you really are the best of the best. of the best.

you know i'd do just about anything for you.

if he lays a finger on you, i'll break it off. that's a promise.

what's on your mind?

you and me. let's imagine. we have a whole life ahead of us. what do we do?

i'd love for you to show me where you came from. hear your stories. meet your people.

no moment is guaranteed. except this one. and this one. and maybe this one too.

i'm going to live. i get to be alive. i get to stay.

i've never felt better. like i'm finally complete.

and here i thought you had half a brain. how wrong i was!

i love you. and i know you'll choose your destiny, and choose it well.

you're lucky i love you.

you hear me? you're all i could ever ask for.

come on. there's something i want to show you upstairs.

i will miss you. but i wish you luck.

[cressidagrey]

The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Chapter 23

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes: 

Mention of epilepsy and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose.

We are wrapping up loose plot threads so: Hungary 2024, WHICH I FIXED (kinda). My questionable understanding of racing strategy? Crocheting.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Lando had seen Lizzie nervous before—before a book signing, even before their first public appearance together—but this was an entirely new level. She was sitting in the passenger seat, gripping the hem of her sweater so tightly that he was surprised the fabric hadn’t ripped yet.

“Lizzie,” he said gently.

She exhaled sharply. “Lando, I don’t think you understand. Your sisters have read my books.”

“Yeah, they love them.”

“That’s the problem!” She turned to him, eyes wide with panic. “What if your mum has read them? What if she’s read the spicy parts? Lando, I wrote those scenes!”

He tried—he really did—to keep a straight face, but a laugh escaped before he could stop it. “Liz, I hate to break it to you, but my mum is a grown woman who had four kids. She’s not going to combust if she reads a bit of smut.”

Lizzie looked at him like he’d just blasphemed. “That’s your mum! God, Lando, you’re missing the point.”

“Oh, I have a point,” he said, still trying not to laugh. “And that point is, you’re making this way too big a deal.”

She scowled at him, whacking him with the back of her hand. “You’re being extremely unhelpful right now.”

He caught her hand, grinning. “Hey, I’m just providing perspective. But if you want to keep being nervous on your own, be my guest.”

Lizzie huffed but didn’t pull away from his grip. “Why do I feel like you’re enjoying my freaking out?”

He squeezed her hand, still amused. “Because it’s entertaining to watch.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but the effect was diminished by the way she was worrying her bottom lip. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

Lando bit back a smirk, bringing her hand to his mouth and pressing a small kiss to her knuckles. “Maybe I am.”

“Your dad is a millionaire, Lando,” she muttered as they pulled into the driveway. “What if he thinks I’m using you for your money?”

Lando couldn’t help himself. He laughed. “What?”

Lizzie huffed, glaring at him. “Don’t laugh at me! It’s a valid concern!”

He tried—and failed—to regain his composure. “You’re worried my dad is going to think you’re a gold digger?”

Lizzie nodded, looking at him with wide, earnest eyes. Lando bit back another laugh, shaking his head. “Liz, love, you really worry too much.”

“I’m serious, Lando!” she protested. “People talk, okay? And with your family’s background, I can’t blame them. How am I supposed to convince them that I’m not just some fangirl with a talent for writing dirty scenes?” Her eyes widened. “Oh my god, I am,“ she whispered.

“Come on,” he coaxed, reaching over to squeeze her knee. “They already love you.”

“They don’t know me.”

“They know of you. And they’re excited to meet you properly. Trust me, they’re more likely to make me uncomfortable than you.”

Lizzie lifted her head, narrowing her eyes. “Why?”

Lando smirked. “Because they’re probably going to tell you all the embarrassing things I did as a kid.”

That seemed to help—at least a little. She huffed a small laugh, shaking her head. “If they bring out baby photos, I’m taking pictures.”

“Traitor.”

“Survival.”

He chuckled, shaking his head before unbuckling his seatbelt.

Lizzie did the same, taking a deep breath. When Lando walked over to her side of the car and held out his hand, she took it, gripping it tightly.

“Ready?” he asked.

“No,” she replied, but she climbed out of the car anyway.

Mara jumped out of the backseat with a wagging tail, immediately tucking herself against Lizzie's side.

Lizzie laughed, giving the dog a quick scratch on the head. Lando watched her intently, noticing how tense she still was.

He moved forward, placing a hand on the small of her back. “Breathe,” he told her softly.

She let out a shaky exhale, leaning into his touch. "I'm trying," she muttered, sounding a little less nervous.

They began the short walk toward the door, Mara trotting happily ahead of them. Lando could feel Lizzie trembling a little under his touch.

“Remember," he murmured against her ear, "they’re going to be just as nervous as you, if not more."

Lizzie shot him a disbelieving look but didn’t have time to say anything as the door swung open.

The front door opened before they even reached it. His mum stood there, beaming, and before Lizzie could get a word out, Cisca pulled her into a warm hug.

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s so good to finally meet you.”

Lizzie tensed for a split second, then melted. “You too, Mrs. Norris. Thank you for having me.”

“Cisca,” his mum corrected, stepping back. “And please, we’ve been waiting for ages to meet you. Lando keeps you all to himself.”

Lizzie shot Lando a look, and he just grinned. “Told you.”

His mother stepped back, still smiling. “Well, now that I’ve got you in person, it makes sense why Lando's been so distracted." She cast a sly glance in Lando's direction. He just rolled his eyes.

"Mum," he said, a warning tone to his voice.

His mother just laughed, patting his cheek affectionately. “Oh, don’t you mum me.” She turned back to Lizzie, linking their arms together. “Now, come on. We’ve got lunch ready.”

Lando let them walk ahead, watching how easily his mum settled Lizzie. Even when he was a kid, his mum had always had a way of making people feel comfortable. Now, it seemed Lizzie was on the receiving end of that skill.

They headed inside, the rest of the family waiting in the living room. They all stood when they entered, and though Lando wasn’t surprised to see the eager curiosity on their faces, he still shot them a warning look. His brother in particular looked like he was preparing to say or do anything to embarrass him.

“Finally!” Oliver stood , arms crossed, grinning like an idiot. “The Elizabeth Treshton, in the flesh. Lando has been hoarding you." His brother wasted no time. “Alright,, I have questions,” he announced brightly. “First of all, how did this idiot pull you? Second, how long did it take before you realized he’s an absolute menace? Third—”

Adam Norris appeared in the doorway, shaking his head fondly. “Leave her alone, Oliver.”

Oliver just grinned. “No can do, Dad. She willingly signed up for Lando. I need answers.”

Adam shot Lando a look. “You should’ve known bringing her here would be opening her up to interrogation.”

Lizzie was trying hard not to laugh, but her eyes were sparkling. Lando couldn’t tell if that was from nerves or amusement.

"I have questions!" And there was his youngest sister. He should have known that neither Flo or Cisca were going to be normal.

"Of course you do," Lando muttered.

Flo ignored him and beamed at Lizzie. “I have questions too!"

His mother rolled her eyes at her children, stepping forward. “How about we hold off on the interrogation until after lunch?” She placed a hand on Lizzie’s shoulder, offering the slightest bit of reprieve. “I think poor Lizzie here needs a moment to readjust before we barrage her with questions.”

"But I have book questions!" Flo said quickly.

"And you can ask those during lunch," His mother assured her, steering Lizzie away. "Give the girl a chance to breathe."

"Fine, fine," Oliver said, flopping back onto the couch like a disgruntled teenager.

Adam chuckled. “Maybe try not to scare the poor woman off in the first five minutes?”

"Oh, no worries there," Oliver drawled. "She put up with Lando, right? Everything else will be a breeze."

Lando just rolled his eyes.

Adam laughed, clapping Lando on the back. “Don’t act like that comment wasn’t 100% accurate.”

Lizzie slipped right in the midst of his family, like she always had belonged there. Keeping up with his sisters' rapid-fire Q and A, his very fascinated toddler niece who kept staring at Mara, who sat next to Lizzie, as well-behaved as always...

It was almost surreal to watch the scene unfold. Lizzie was already comfortable with his family, chatting and laughing, easily deflecting questions and answering others. Even his sisters had given up their attempts at embarrassing him, too interested in Lizzie to bother with him now.

He watched all this, trying to keep the smile off his face. It wasn’t until his dad walked over and stood next to him did Lando realize he hadn’t said anything in a while.

Adam clapped Lando on the back, his tone warm. “You picked a good one, son.”

Lando’s chest filled with quiet pride as he watched Lizzie laugh at something Flo had said.

“Yeah,” he said, smiling. “I really did.”

He should have known that something was going to go wrong.

It started with Mara.

She’d been lying calmly at Lizzie’s feet one second, then suddenly sprang up, ears perked, tail stiff. She nudged Lizzie’s leg with her nose, then her arm. Insistent. Focused.

Lizzie stilled.

Lando was already frowning. “Liz?”

She exhaled slowly, looking down at Mara before turning toward him. “I’m going to have a seizure.”

Just like that. Simple. Direct. As if she were telling him it might rain later.

Lando shot to his feet. “What—what do I—”

A tense silence fell across the room as the others picked up on the situation. Lizzie reached out, fingers skimming Mara’s head as she struggled to keep her breaths even. She was already pale, a thin sheen of sweat gleaming on her forehead.

His mum was the first to recover, her expression calm but her voice sharp. "How do you want to handle this, sweetheart?"

"I need to go lay down," Lizzie said, her voice careful. "I should have a few minutes until it hits."

Everyone else was still reeling, frozen in shock, but Lando’s mind snapped into focus. “Right. Yeah. Come on.”

He crossed the room, gently tugging Lizzie to her feet. She leaned on him, her weight a little heavier than usual.

“Lando,” Adam said, “we can—”

“I’ve got it,” he said, cutting his dad off. He shifted Lizzie’s weight, supporting her as best he could. “Just...give us some space, okay?”

His dad nodded, clearly wanting to say more, but holding back for Lizzie's sake. Lando appreciated the effort.

He half-carried Lizzie out the door, Mara sticking close to them. The dog knew as well as Lando did �� something was wrong.

The walk to his old room felt like it took an eternity.

As soon as they reached it, Lizzie was already moving, sinking down to the floor like she’d done this a hundred times before. Maybe she had.

"What do you need?" he asked her, sawllowing.

“Nothing,” she said. “You don’t have to do anything.” She stretched out, lying flat on her side, arms loose, legs bent just slightly. Mara settled near her head, pressed close but not touching.

Lando hated how practiced it was.

His pulse hammered in his throat. He dropped down beside her, panic clawing at his ribs. “Lizzie—”

“If you can’t watch it, I get it,” she murmured, voice calm, even as something flickered in her expression. “But don’t touch me.”

Lando’s hands clenched into fists.

“I— I can watch,” he said, even though his entire body screamed otherwise. “I’m not leaving you.”

Lizzie managed a weak smile, but her eyes were already going glassy. "Okay," she whispered. "But don't blame yourself." And then her breath hitched, and her body began to tremble.

And then she was gone.

Her body tensed, jerking suddenly, violently. Her hands curled, fingers twitching erratically. Lando could hear her breathing shift—harsh, uneven. It was awful.

He dug his nails into his palms, forcing himself to stay still, to stay calm.

It felt like forever.

In reality, it was barely a minute.

Then, as quickly as it began, it ended.

Lizzie sagged against the floor, still, quiet except for her uneven breaths. Mara whined softly, nuzzling against her arm.

Lando moved carefully, shifting onto his knees.

“Liz?” he asked, voice tight. “Can you hear me?”

A long pause. Then, a weak murmur: “Mm. Hate that part.”

Relief hit him so hard he nearly choked on it. He exhaled sharply, pressing a shaking hand over his face. “Yeah,” he said, voice thick. “Me too.”

Lizzie cracked one eye open, exhausted but there. “You okay?”

Lando let out a strangled laugh. “Am I okay?”

Lizzie blinked at him like it was a genuine question.

“Jesus Christ, Lizzie.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “That was awful.”

She hummed, voice drowsy. “Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Don’t—don’t apologize—”

“I’m fine,” she mumbled.

Lando swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Yeah. Okay. But I still hate it.”

Lizzie sighed, shifting slightly, her limbs sluggish. “Me too.”

He watched as Mara pressed in closer, her body warm against Lizzie’s side. Lando reached out slowly, brushing damp hair away from Lizzie’s forehead.

She leaned into the touch, just barely.

Lando swallowed hard. “You’re okay,” he murmured.

Lizzie didn’t answer—already half-asleep in the aftermath.

But she was breathing.

She was safe.

And he would make sure she always stayed that way.

He wasn't sure how much time went by, but eventually, soft footsteps sounded at the doorway. He glanced up to see his mum standing there, her face pale, expression carefully neutral. She took in the situation for a moment, her eyes lingering on Lizzie before looking to Lando. There was a silent question on her face, and Lando nodded to her. She exhaled softly, nodding to herself, before speaking quietly.

"Is she alright?"

Lando's voice felt like gravel in his throat. "She's fine. She'll probably sleep for awhile."

His mum stepped more into the room, taking in the sight of Lizzie on the floor. A deep frown pinched her brow, like she was trying to hold back her emotions.

Lando looked back at Lizzie, reaching out and brushing his fingers gently over her damp hair. Just the sight of her sleeping peacefully was enough to soothe some of the wild panic from earlier, but his heart still ached.

"Does...has this happened before?" His mum's voice was quiet and careful, as if she were worried about upsetting him.

"I've never seen it," he admitted weakly. "I knew she had epilepsy. I have seen her after a seizure...but I never saw her seize," Lando admitted, swallowing. "How can a mother see this and then decide to leave?"

"Lando..." his mum's voice was gentle, almost like she was bracing him for something.

Lando's heart felt heavy. "I just don't understand how someone could—" he cut himself off when his voice broke, trying again. "I don't understand how someone could just leave their child like that."

His mum crossed the room, sitting beside him and pressing a hand to his shoulder. "I don't think most people will ever be able to understand that, hon. I can't," she admitted freely. "If I imagine that it's Flo or Cisca in her place...nobody would have gotten me away from my daughter," his mother said fiercely.

He swallowed down a lump in his throat, his voice tight. "That's because you wouldn't leave her," he said, voice low. "You'd never go without her. You'd fight to stay every step of the way. And you sure as hell wouldn't give up on her."

There was a beat as he stared at the floor, and he barely registered his mum wrapping an arm around his shoulders. She pulled him into a tight hug, and he couldn't help but bury his face against her shoulder, eyes stinging.

His breath hitched. "I just... I can't imagine just walking away from her."

"Then don't," his mother said simply. "Don't be like her mother. Don't walk away. Talk with her and the next time it will happen, it will still feel horrid. You'll never get used to it. But you'll learn to live with it."

The words hit Lando like a weight to the chest. For a moment, he just sat there, absorbing them. His first instinct was to disagree. He would never, ever be like Lizzie’s mother. He could never abandon her like that.

But then...

His mum was right. He'd never get used to the idea of him just standing by and watching while she suffered. No matter how many times he would see her seize, it would still be torture for him.

But this wasn’t about him. 

This was about Lizzie. Lizzie, who needed to live with an invisible illness that could be controlled to the best of modern medicine's knowledge, but never cured completely.

And Lando would rather live through the torture of seeing her have a seizure a hundred times than to let her go. To leave. To let her deal with it alone. 

***

Lizzie woke up feeling like she’d been wrung out, every muscle sore and heavy, her head pounding with the dull, familiar ache of exhaustion. She blinked at the ceiling, willing herself to move, but even that felt like too much effort.

Then she remembered.

Lando.

The seizure.

How he’d seen it—how he’d stayed.

Her stomach twisted.

Carefully, she turned her head.

Lando was lying on his side, facing her. He was awake. Had he even slept? His hair was an absolute mess, his expression unreadable, but his eyes were sharp, studying her closely.

Lizzie had always known this moment would come.

She’d warned Lando about it early on—matter-of-factly, no dramatics. She had epilepsy. She had seizures.

But knowing about something and seeing it were two very different things.

And she’d lost people to the latter before.

Her mother couldn’t handle it. The fear, the helplessness, the exhaustion of watching and not being able to do anything. It was too much. So she left.

Lizzie didn’t blame her.

But she also knew what it felt like to be too much for someone to love.

Lando held her gaze, the silence stretching painfully between them.

She swallowed hard, bracing for it - the looks of concern, the pity, the thinly veiled excuses.

Then Lando spoke, his voice rough and quiet.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I lost a fight with a freight train.”

Lando’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I figured.”

The silence between them was heavy.

Lizzie forced herself to push up onto her elbows, ignoring the way her body protested. “Lando—”

He cut her off with a shake of his head, his eyes never leaving her. “Stop talking.”

She went silent, staring at him. His gaze was like a steady weight, pinning her in place.

He inhaled slowly, as if steeling himself.

“I’m not going anywhere, Liz.”

Her breath caught. She'd been bracing herself for rejection, for distance. For fear and confusion and pity.

But Lando was just...looking at her. Just like that. Not like she was broken. Not like she was different now. He was just looking at her.

“You’re not?” Her voice was a whisper, vulnerable and terrified in spite of herself.

He shook his head. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Something stirred in her chest. Hope, maybe.

Or maybe it was something else.

She swallowed, trying to get control of her emotions. “Most people don’t stick around after they see it.”

Something flickered across his face—something sharp, something angry. “Well, they’re idiots.”

Lizzie huffed a small, tired laugh. “Maybe.”

Lando shifted closer, hesitating before reaching out. His fingers brushed lightly over her wrist, careful, almost hesitant.

“Did it scare you?” she asked softly.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his fingers curled around her hand, grounding both of them. “I hated seeing you like that,” he admitted, voice low. “Knowing and seeing aren’t the same thing.”

She sighed, exhaustion pressing against her bones. “No. They’re not.”

Lando shifted again, his thumb sweeping over the back of her hand. “Your mum couldn’t handle it.”

It wasn’t a question.

Lizzie swallowed. “No.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then—“I’m not her.”

Lizzie’s chest ached, and not from the seizure.

“I know.”

Lando’s fingers squeezed hers. “Do you?”

She let out a slow breath. “Yeah. I do.”

“Good.” His voice softened, but the weight of his words remained. “Because I need you to believe that I’m not going anywhere.”

Her eyes stung with held-back tears. She clenched her jaw, willing herself not to cry. “You can’t possibly know that.”

Lando’s expression remained steady, but she could see the determination in his eyes. "I do know that,” he said softly. “I know me, Liz. How I feel. What I can handle. And I can tell you with complete certainty that I’m not leaving. You can’t get rid of me now even if you tried.”

She tried to keep her voice steady, but her breath hitched on a stifled sob. “What if it changes though? What if one day you can’t—”

“Liz.” He cut her off, his tone firm but not unkind. “Stop it. Stop worrying about what-ifs. This is my choice. I’m staying. End of story.”

“But—”

He cut her off again, his grip on her hand tightening, as if he could force her to believe him through touch alone. “No buts. This is a non-negotiable for me.” He took another deep breath, his voice growing even quieter. “I’m not your mother, Liz. You are not too much. And I’m not scared. Got it?”

Something crumbled inside her, some long-held piece of fear disintegrating in the face of his steady, certain gaze.

Her throat felt tight, and she could feel the tears threatening to spill over.

“Got it?” He repeated, his thumb rubbing softly over her knuckles.

There was something pleading in his voice—a silent plea for her to understand, to believe him.

And she realized in that moment, as he held her hand and looked at her with so much certainty...she did.

She believed him.

[back2bluesidex]

Slide - That Night - MYG (18+)

Pairing: Producer!Yoongi X Lyricist!Reader 

Theme: Angst, smut, unplanned pregnancy. Fwb to ?

Word count: 1.1k+

Summary: 

"I know that you've never been this high Promise, baby, I'll take you to heaven if you want it I'll take you to heaven if you die"

Alternatively,

You would give yourself up willingly again and again if it means Yoongi will stay close to you. for whatever purpose.

Warnings: angst, somewhat explicit smut, drinking, Yoongi is being kinda talkative and also lowkey confessing things. Reader and Yoongi both are quiet people.

Listened to Slide by Chase Atlantics

Minors do not interact!!

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Patreon (for early access)

A/N: This is another chapter from The Past. This chapter is important for understanding Yoongi and Gyuri's break-up scenario and why reader would make choices she would make. hope I make sense.

Taglist requests are closed for now

Read the main chapter from The Present in Patreon.

“I said no to the engagement.” Yoongi reveals, as quiet as vapor. You might have missed it if it wasn’t for your utmost attention trained on him and only him. 

It is probably in the middle of the second or third beer when he lets himself go. Or more like opens himself up for you to see. 

Ever since that night, Yoongi seems to have gotten comfortable with your presence. He has loosen up much more in these couple of weeks than he did in the years of knowing you. It makes you feel good, makes you feel important. 

Even though you have always been curious about what went wrong in his and Gyuri’s exemplary relationship, you never pried. Of course, it isn’t your place to ask. You don’t even know if you have that right or not. 

But you always waited. And it seems like your patience was worth it all. 

“I wasn’t ready.” Yoongi continues automatically. You still choose to stay silent, let him decide the pace of the conversation. “It’s not that I didn’t love her. I loved her. Shit. I love her and I always will. But something about sharing a life with someone else always freaks me out. Marrying, having kids - all these, freaks me out.” he groans. 

“I loved her. Shit. I love her and I always will” these are the words that you register the most. You replay these in the back of your mind and let your heart weep in silence. 

Now he laughs, and you find it tough to decide whether it is generated from pain or sarcasm. 

“She said that my decision didn’t even shock her, that I have been aloof and distant all these times. That I made her feel like she was the only one in the relationship and she knew this was coming. And you know what? She was right. I am like that. I always have been. It’s just sad, you know..” he inhales a sharp breath, “it’s just sad that she couldn’t love me for who I am.” 

How ironic. You think. 

Yoongi’s quiet, aloof, reserved persona is what had drawn you towards him. 

“I think you are intriguing like this. Cold, aloof, distant, it all makes you more and more lovable.” you confess and right after a moment you regret. You try to blame it on the alcohol right when Yoongi laughs again. 

This time his laugh is more of the amused kind. Is he really amused with your admission? 

“You find me intriguing because you are the very same. Cold, aloof, distant and… loveable.” Yoongi voices, the last bit of smile disappearing from his voice. 

You never thought like this. You never thought how similar you and yoongi are and how that could have played a big part in producing the feelings that you harbor for him. 

Now that he has pointed it out - you wonder - if opposites attract then this means Yoongi will never feel the same for you. 

“I guess.” you chug down the rest of your beer, subsiding the sinking feeling of your heart. 

“Have you ever been in love?” Yoongi asks now. His eyes pierce through yours. 

“I don’t think I have.” you admit. You divert your eyes from his, there is something swirling behind his irises and you think that phenomena would swallow you up alive. 

“What about a heartbreak? Ever had one?” Yoongi places his next question as if you are playing trivia. 

“The night I picked you up. My heart broke upon witnessing your condition.” you have always been straight forward. But you also know how to play safe. Hence, choosing a statement that would both tell the truth and conceal it at the same time looks like the safest option to you. 

“Oh. why?” Yoongi’s voice comes from a closer distance now. He must have shifted closer while you were busy staring at the ceiling. 

“We are similar after all.” you finally look at him again. And that has been a mistake because Yoongi is very definitely staring at your lips. 

Again, it is the alcohol to be blamed but you don’t pay half mind to all the alarms that set off when you take the initiative of closing the distance between your lips. 

You expect him to push you away. You expect him to look at you with disgust in his eyes and storm out of your apartment. 

But Min Yoongi rarely does what you expect him to. 

So he grabs you by your neck and kisses you back with all the force and lust he could gather in himself. 

Yoongi’s fingers slide through the most secret parts of your body, where you have hardly ever given any access to anyone. But when it’s Min Yoongi, you give up readily and willingly. 

His mouth plays with the skin on your throat, biting you, marking you with excellence. 

You must be in heaven right now. 

If not then how come Yoongi is marking his territory on your skin? How come his hands are exploring your body like this? 

You know this is forbidden. By whom or what you don’t really have an idea. But that doesn’t change the fact that Min Yoongi can’t be yours and that you should stay away from him when he is broken. 

He is like a broken mirror, he reflects you but the moment you touch him, you get hurt. 

And you are past the stage of touching him now. 

Yoongi slides inside you with ease, his hands rest on your waist as he slams his entire length inside you. 

You hiss because of the initial stretch. 

He gives you time to adjust and once you are done he starts moving. 

He places his pretty mouth beside your ear and starts chanting your name, “Y/N. oh. Fuck. Y/N.” it sounds like the sweetest melody known to humankind. 

You let out occasional moans and groans with his lethal moves. His fingernails dig into your skin as if they are bound to be planted there. 

You wander through the haze - is this a dream? Is this one of those twisted dreams that you often end up having but never manage to finish? 

Yoongi groans again in your ear as he starts increasing his pace. He rutts in you like an animal in heat. 

Your bed starts creaking and you realize this is definitely not a dream. 

Min Yoongi is actually inside you, fucking you as if there’s no tomorrow. 

When he finishes inside the condom and flops down on you, you wish for the time to stop. You wish for your wish to come true. 

Even though you know, not even in your dreams Min Yoongi will ever love you back. 

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[dollwhite]

𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇

Siren reader

Made by Dolling

Ps this was rushes at the least minute pls read my note at the end!!

Ok so imagine siren reader walking home from the grocery store? Right and like it’s the middle of the night crmnals and crooks r out. So siren reader is just walking with 2-3 bags filled with snacks and junk food when all of a sudden the young boy wonder jumps down infant of reader.

And gos like “Miss.. r you ok?”

AND you’re like “Oh yeah dude my days been great!” Because yeah u eat men but that doesn’t mean u have to be a villain. Like your just trying to live your life , ur taking a break from music, ur not really on social media anymore. Overall everything’s been good.

“Oh um well it’s a villain attack so I think u should go inside.”

That.. wasn’t what you were expecting?.. I mean you weren’t expecting a vigilante to drop down and ask u if you were ok in the first place. But it made you think?

What do you think about vigilantes.? You don’t hate them….. no but you don’t like them either. But this one? What was his name?.. Red Robin yeah that’s it Red Robin.

He could maybe change your mind about that, who ever is rising him their rising him right. But eh not really having a kid that looks no older than 16-17 fight villains like Joker and Bene weren’t good parenting choices. But what would you know? You didn’t have ANY kids or pets for that matter.

So you wouldn’t know anything about parenting but one thing you do know is that if you ever have a kid you wouldn’t want them fighting villains in their teenage years, that’s even worse than them going out partying or drinking.

“Oh would you look at the time, sorry kid I would love to stay and chat but I have to get home! Stay safe though.!!” You shouted, time passed quickly and before you even realized it had been 15 minutes. The trip to the store was only supposed to take at most 8 minutes, as you only like 3 minutes from the store.

𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤

Bruce is going to kill him.. and that’s if the others don’t get to him first.

Tim doesn’t know why but… he was just drawn to you… but could you really blame him? Seeing someone carrying groceries bags in the middle of a big villain attack, wasn’t an every day thing. Maybe it was the way you just seemed to not care about your surroundings.

Or the fact that you were the only one not running indoors, trying to find shelter. Also the fact that your bags were fuller with junk food.

Shit what time is it? Before you run off Tim could have sworn you said something about it having been 15 minutes?? He hopes you read the time wrong.. because if you didn’t than Bruce was going to kill him.

He should start going, any minute now and the coms are going to be filled with them asking what’s taking him so long. He should get going now, when all of this is over. He’s going to look into you look about 21-24 You didn’t look that much older than him maybe more around Jason’s age or Dicks.

Nah you couldn’t be Jason’s age, When Jason died Tim research his class. And Tim never forgets a face if you were in Jason’s old class or school he would have recognized you at lest.

Maybe you’re younger than Jason? Maybe a year or two. Oh look his back at the manner….. in the cave.

𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝

It was a good thing you were friends with ivy, if not?…. Your Condo would have been boomed a while ago. It was a crazy day to be a ‘hero’ glad you aren’t one. Your not a villain either

Your just a woman that eats men..

Today was chaotic to say the least. Five different villains had teamed up to take down the hero’s. This was not what you were expecting when moving toGotham, maybe you should go back to star city or just somewhere. You chose Gotham because wellll… it’s a shity place with shity people.

Mostly Man but, it was a lot easier getting man to follow you. All you had to really do was go to a club or bar and just take them to the back.

Hiii so Dolling here I just wanted to say this is kinda short notice because my internet is down, and idk when my mom is going to pay the bill. So ima just try and finish most of my drafts on google docs. And when I’m around internet I will post them! Reblogs and likes are always appreciated!! Also I think I’m going to change my theme every two/month AND my top follower at that time will be able to choose the theme!!

Or should I do a poll with 3 different themes and the one that wins will be the heme for that month, and the one that was close to winning will be my theme for the next month? U guys can pick between those two options!

Love you all

Dolling shining out 💗

[writtenbyan-aries]

I was unsure if you had a specific way you receive/handle your requests so I'm sorry in advance. But, I've been in sort of an angsty mood recently and was wondering if you could do like an all angst, no comfort type thing for Sam or Colby, or both, it truly doesn't matter to me. I've been reading through fics and whatnot, none are angsting the way I want them too😭. Please don't feel like you have too, I just thought it wouldn't hurt to ask, and your such a good writer, I love your work!!💞

∶ Summary: reader deals with the breakup between her and Sam

∶ Warnings: angsty, fighting, arguing, swearing, sad!reader, happy ending.. kinda

∶ Word Count: 3.6k | unedited

────────────────────────

“Do you even remember being happy together?” You tilt your head, tears streaming down your face, “Because I do.”

Sam stands across from you, “I don’t even know why I came the fuck home.” He runs his hand over his face, “Fuck, y/n, what do you want me to say? Do you want me to stand here and lie to you, tell you that the last year has been a walk in the park or something?”

“No.” You shake your head, “I just can’t remember the last time we were together and it wasn’t spent fucking screaming at each.”

“Can’t tell you.” He shrugs, “I don’t know what you want me to say, y/n. I work, I have to travel for work. You have the complete ability to come with me, but yet you choose to stay here.”

“Because I have a job, Sam. A job that makes it so you don’t have to constantly have to pay for me. I know what you say to your friends, bitching that I can buy my own coffee when you and I both fucking know that I can.”

“I have never bitched about buying you anything to anyone, so who ever told you that is a fucking liar.” He laughs, letting out a groan, “Fuck, but it doesn’t matter, you’re not going to believe me anyway.”

“There you go again, blaming everyone but your fucking self.” You scoff, shaking your head, “Whatever. I can’t keep doing this. It’s fight after fight anymore. We’re supposed to be happy, and we can’t even spend five minutes together without one of us having some dumb shit to say that sparks an argument apparently.”

“I travel, y/n.” He stares at you, “You would how know hard that is if you came with me for once.”

“You said that already, Sam.” You laugh, sniffling as you wipe your face, “You know what, no. I’m not doing this.” You look around, grabbing anything that’s his and throwing it at him, “Just go.”

“What the fuck.. are you doing?” He catches his sweatshirt and throws it on the couch, “Y/n, what-“

“Maybe we’re just better apart, Sam.”

You stand there staring at him as he stares at you.

“Do you think we’re better for it?” He asks lowly and you shrug, “I know I can’t keep doing this. Being good to each other and then listening to my friends tell me just give it till summer, knowing one of us will..” You motion at the strewn objects on the floor, “fuck it up again.”

He nods, “Okay. Fine. We’re done.” He beds down and you walk into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as you try to collect yourself.

He walks in and you press your hands into the counter, “Can you just fucking leave already?” You storm out and he follows, “Is there someone else?”

You stop in your tracks, “No, Sam. There isn’t anyone fucking else. If there was, why would I fucking put up with almost two years of fighting with you, trying to make our relationship work if I was just fucking you over?”

He nods, “Jesus Christ, it was just a question.”

You laugh in disbelief, “A wrong one to fucking ask, and you know it.”

“Right like I know all the answers to everything.” He walks into the kitchen, the sound of glass breaking makes you jump slightly and you walk over, “So now you’re breaking my dishes because you’re disappointed? Fucking great, Sam. That’s just fucking great.”

You bend down, picking of the large pieces of the broken plate and leaning over to put them in the trash.

“I didn’t do it on purpose.” He bends down, “But yeah, since you brought it up, I’m just disappointed in how much you couldn’t be there for me. You have time saved up to take off of work.”

“I’ll just take the blame, you can go tell your friends and the people that care about you that I broke up with you because I couldn’t-“ you stop, taking a deep breath, “Just go, Sam. Just get the fuck out of my house.”

“Why can’t we just work through this, we did times before.” He sits on the floor and you rest back on your calves, reaching over to dump the smaller pieces into the trash, “Because each time we fought before, you called, said you missed me, and I bit back onto it.”

You shake your head, “But now, I’m just starting to think that we’re just believing our own lies, forcing two pieces of a puzzle that won’t fit together.”

You stand up and walk back out to the living room, fighting back tears as your eyes scan his stuff on the floor in a pile.

You lay your hands over your face, turning away from him as you hear him walk out. You wipe your face, holding it together as you turn back around, “Lock the door when you go.”

You walk into your room and close the door. You rest your forehead against the wood, sniffling as the tears start flowing.

You hear shuffling and before you know it, the door closes behind him.

You open the door, walking back out. Your eyes scanning over the silent area. Your hand presses to your mouth as you sob, bending down to the ground.

You were cursing yourself, begging yourself to chase after him, but if you go, it’ll just make things worse.

You lift your head, your eyes moving to the couch.

“You didn’t start it without me did you?” Sam runs in, stepping over the back of the couch, “I love the beginning of this movie. It’s so funny.” You shake your head, “No, I waited for you. I know the beginning is your favorite part.”

He looks over at you, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead, “Thank you for knowing me.” He smile and you roll your eyes with a laugh, “You’re welcome.” You cuddle into his side, pressing okay on the remote.

He pulls you closer, letting out a sigh, “If we could make money just by doing this, I think we would be set. It would be the best job in the world.” You look up at him, “Why, because you’d get to sit on the couch and watch movies all day?”

He shakes his head, “No because I’d get to spend all the time in the world with you.”

You walk over to the kitchen, peering in as you rest against the entry way.

“Oh my gosh, I love this song.” You reach over, turning the speaker up louder. You spin around, sliding over the tiles in your socks to Sam, “I like shiny things, but I’d marry you with paper rings.”

Sam sings along, “Uh huh, that’s right.” He takes your hand, spinning you around, “Darling, you’re the one I want.” He dips you down, pressing a kiss to your lips as he stands you up, “Would you really accept a paper ring from me?”

You give him a shrug, “Depends on the kind of paper.” You smirk and he laughs, “I mean, yeah. It’s gotta be stuff that won’t rip or tear easy.” He snaps and points, “I know, I’ll laminate it.” You break out in laughter, “Not a bad idea.”

You can feel your body shaking as you reach up to lay your hand over your eyes, letting out a shaky breath as you drag it down over your face, “Fuck.” You shake your head, “What the fuck is wrong with us?”

You walk over to the bathroom, staring at your red and puffy face in the mirror. You turn the water on, staring it as you replay yet another memory that Sam must have forgotten about.

Sam walks into the bathroom, stopping when he sees you relaxing in the tub, “So I’m just assuming that my invitation got lost in the mail or something?”

You laugh, “I don’t think we’ll both fit in here.”

He pulls his shirt up over his head, stripping down before walking over, “Um, we can make it work? Now scoot.” You laugh as you sit up, turning to watch him step in and he sits behind you, “Now lean back here.”

You lean back, your back pressing against his chest as his arms slide over your shoulder, and you let out a sigh, “Oh I could get used to this.” He runs his hand over your wet hair, pressing a kiss to your head, “So don’t let my invitation get lost next time.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, small sobs slipping from your lips as you shake your head. You turn the water off, giving up the thought of trying to help the redness around your eyes go down.

You walk over to the bedroom, your eyes instantly moving to a dresser drawer that’s still half open from when he came over earlier today.

You walk over, pulling out one of his tee shirts and you clench it in your fists, pulling it to your chest as you sit on the bed.

The same bed where you have given yourself to him over and over again. The same bed that holds countless hours of deep and pointless conversation.

“What do you think you’d be doing if you weren’t a ghost hunter, Sam?” You whispers, breaking the peaceful silence. He hums lowly as his fingers softly rake up and down your arm, “Mm, not sure. I know I’d still want you in my life either way, though.”

“Really?” You smile and he presses a kiss to your head, “I can’t picture my life with anyone but you.” You grab his hand and pull it to your lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles, “I’m glad we feel the same way, babe.”

“Plus, I mean..” he laughs, “Not to brag, but I’ve liked you for as long as I can remember. I had a big crush on you in high school.”

You cover your face with his shirt, using it to muffle your loud sobs. You pictured your future with Sam. Having a family with him. Buying a big house.

You sat up, pulling your phone from your pocket. You were hoping to see a text or something from him, but there was nothing. Just his face on your Lock Screen and that was just salt to the wound.

You locked your phone, tossing it behind you onto the bed.

Your eyes scanned over your room, gazing out the open doorway. You feel like you couldn’t breathe. Your chest was tight, and you were shaking like a leaf.

No matter where you looked, you were reminded of Sam. Every corner of this house was haunted and you wanted nothing more than to have him come back and tell him how much you loved him, how much you missed him, and just how sorry you were, how sorry you are.

You felt like it was all your fault. Doing long distance when you had the choice not to. Choosing making your own money over spending time with him in whatever place he was in that day.

Nothing happened the way you wanted, and for that, you were kicking your own ass, and you were kicking it hard.

You let out a gasp as your phone started to vibrate. You flipped it over, seeing it was an incoming call from one of your friends.

You hesitate, but decide to answer, “h-hello?”

“Hey I- wait, what’s wrong?”

“W-we’re over.” The words coming out of your mouth brought everything back, and you break down, “We.. got.. into it again..” you press your hand to your mouth, “I-I told him.. to just.. get out.”

You press your hand to your chest, “Fuck, it-it feels like.. I can’t breathe, Vee. I-I-“

“Okay, okay. I’m right here. I’ll come get you. I’ll stay on the phone until I’m there. Just get around, you can stay at my place tonight.”

“O-oh-Kay.” You lay his shirt down on the bed and walk over to grab a few items of clothing. You pack them into your backpack, sniffling and gasping uncontrollably as you stuff them inside.

“I’m coming onto your street now, okay. You still with me?”

“Y-yeah.” You grab your phone and walk out to your door. You grab your keys, stuffing them into your sweatshirt pocket as you slip on your shoes.

“Are- are you.. here?”

“Almost. I’m almost there.”

“Ok-ay.” You open your door and step out, taking a deep breath. The cool air calmed you down, but only for a second. You seen Vee’s car pull into your driveway and you walk down, running to her as she gets out and opens her arms.

“I’m so sorry.” She holds you tight, “You can talk about it if you want, okay?”

“I-I miss him..” you sniffle hard, “When- when we were.. g-good, we-we were.. good, y-you kn-know?”

She walks you around, “Come on. We’ll go for a drive.” She opens your door and helps you in before running around and getting in herself, “I was hoping you and Sam would work out. I really liked him for you.”

“It’s..” you take a deep breath, closing your eyes as you try to calm yourself down so you can speak, “The f-fighting. It was so-so, constant now.”

“Why were you guys fighting?” She glances over at you and you shrug, “I had standards for myself, o-or morals, fuck, I-i don’t know.” You lay your hand over your face, “I was focused on working, like that wou-would be what I would do while he’s gone, but he wanted-wanted me to go with him, and I fu-fucked up up by not going.”

“That’s not your fault. You like making money, there’s nothing wrong with that.” She shakes her head, “I mean, maybe you guys needed this. Maybe some time apart can get you guys to really think.”

You scoff, “I- doubtful. I just think t-that.. doing the long distance when we didn’t have to came between us and it’s my fault for that.”

“You did what you thought was right, and yeah, maybe working all the time wasn’t sufficient, but that’s what you are used to. I can’t remember a time you took off of work for anything other than being violently sick.”

“R-right.. I mean I know- I know you’re supposed t-to put your-your partner first, and for that, I’m paying the price for not doing it.” You groan as your hands cover your face, “Fuck, why am I like this?”

“Don’t beat yourself up. Sam could have pushed for you to come more, he could have called in for you, talked to your boss? He knows him right?”

You nod, “I just feel bad blaming him.”

“That’s because you love him, y/n, but even though we love someone, that doesn’t give them a pass at being not held accountable.” Vee looks over at you and you nod, “You’re the only one who supported me. Everyone else thought I was wasting my time with being with him.”

“As I said, I liked Sam for you, and a big part of me is hoping that you two find your way back together.” He reaches over, letting out a sigh as he squeezes your shoulder, “just don’t push it. If it’s mean to be, it’ll happen.”

You nod, wiping away a stray tear, “You’re right.”

She gives you a small smile, “I just got a big tub of ice cream, and right now, it has your name written all over it.”

────────────────────────

“I miss fighting in his old apartment.” You laugh slightly, “And I don’t mean big fighting, we’d argue over who was making dinner, what we were watching on tv, who’s hogging the blanket.”

“Um, didn’t you say I could have picked the movie for tonight?” He points to the tv and you furrow your brows, “Oh, did I say that?” You glance at the tv, “I think it’s a spooky movie kind of night.”

“Do you ever think that maybe I wanted it to be a chick flick kind of night?” He scoffs playfully and crosses his arms, “No, I don’t think you did.”

You sigh, “Fine, if you want to watch Mean Girls, we can.” He laughs, plopping down next to you on the couch, “No, I want you cowering in my lap when you’re scared.”

You snort, shaking your head as you hand her back the thing of ice cream, “Everything I know brings me back to us, to him.” You look up at her, “Do you really think he’s done?”

She shrugs, eating a spoonful of ice cream, “I wouldn’t say he’s done, I just think he knows that you both just need some time away right now. Simmer down before you guys end up going at it all over again.”

You nod, “Right, yeah.” You let out a sigh, reaching back for the ice cream, “I just.. I don’t want to leave him, we’ve been here before, but no one ever actually left, you know? Like we always found our way around it. This time, it just-“ you purse your lips, fighting back tears, “Feels different..”

“Everything is fresh, y/n.” Vee sighs, “Going through a breakup, especially with someone who you’ve been through so much with, is not easy by any means.”

“Yeah.” You bring your hands up to your face, sniffling into them, “Sorry, I-“

“Don’t be sorry.” She cuts you off, moving over to sit right next to you, “You helped me last year, so now it’s my turn to return the favor. I’m always here, you know that.”

The door bell rings and she perks up, “Pizza’s here, finally.” She gets up and walks over to the door. Your heart was racing, a part of it hoped it was Sam.

“Y/n.” Vee calls out and you jump up, “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry, but do you have change for a twenty on you?”

You nod, “Yeah, yeah. Here.” You bend down to your backpack and pull out your wallet. You walk over two tens and exchange it for the pizza.

“Thank you, have a good night.” The driver smiles and walks away. Vee closes the door and walks back over to the couch with you.

The rest of the night, you ate pizza, ice cream, and talked until what felt like you were out of tears.

The next morning, you woke up and went to the bathroom. You were appalled at how puffy and red your face was.

You splashed some cold water on, patting it under your eyes and dried off.

You walked out and Vee gives you a smile, “How are you feeling?” You give her a shrug, “The same, just without tears.” You laugh slightly and take the mug she hands you, “Thank you, for everything.”

She gives you a smile, “Anytime.”

After a little while, you got the urge to check your phone, but you were doing alright for right now, and you didn’t want to bring it all back.

So you left it go.

“Theres a new movie in theaters, a showing at six if you want to go?” Vee looks at you and you nod, “Yeah, sure. I’m down to see a new movie.”

She smiles, “I’ll get two tickets now.”

You nod, “I want to stop at my house first, I don’t want to go out looking like this.” She laughs, “Yeah no problem. I have a few things to do, I can drop you off on my way into town?”

“That’s fine.” You get up to gather your things and on the way home, everything hits you all at once, but you hold it together until you’re at your front door.

As soon as you open the door, you start to sob, seeing everything that you and Sam once shared slaps you in the face.

You pull out your phone, ignoring all of the built up notifications on your screen as you call into your job.

“Thank you for called Mistian’s Inc, Juliet speaking, how can I direct your call?”

“Hey, Juliet, it’s y/n. Can you patch me through to Dean?”

“Sure can. Give me one second.”

“Thanks.”

The phone rings a few times before Dean picks up, “Y/n, what can I do for you?”

You sniffle, “Hey, I had something come up. Can I use my time and take a few week off of work?”

“Are you okay? You sound upset.” He asks, “But yes, I’ll put that down right now for you.” You let out a laugh, “Um, Sam.. and I broke up again, and I just need a little bit of me time.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that, y/n. I’ll put you down to return next month, say the fifteenth?”

“That’s good, thank you.”

“Of course.”

You hang up and let out a sigh. You check your texts, nothing from Sam, but one from your sister that says she has stuff to drop off for you.

You text her back, Just leave it on my porch. When are you coming? She instantly replies, I can drop it off in a few. You answer and walk over to the kitchen to get a drink.

As you stand staring at the floor, there’s a knock on your door and you sigh, “I told her just to leave it.” You mumble, angry that she can’t listen to a simple request.

You open the door, freezing when you see Sam standing there, eyes just as puffy and red as yours, “I miss you, I’m sorry.”

────────────────────────

Thank you so much for reading! I love you all so much! Catch you in the next one! 🖤

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

[mirrren]

Major spoilers for ep 17 of 911

Ughhhhh okay I’m gonna get beat up for saying this but we throw around words like “gaslight” and “narcissist” so much online that sometimes I feel like there are a lot of people that don’t entirely realize what those words mean. Allow me to give a perfect example, from someone who was raised by a narcissist (hi daaadddd): watch the newest 911 episode and listen to the way Eddie talks to Buck when Buck gets home. I’m not even going to get into the train wreck of an argument they had before, no, for now we’re just focusing on the after.

Something narcissists love to do when they know they’re in the wrong is to shift focus. They’ll give you a gift they know you like, or take you somewhere special, all while ignoring the elephant in the room. It’s a way to manipulate your emotions. You’re so mad at them and then woah! Now you’re going to a fancy restaurant or you have a new diamond necklace. Or someone you miss has just come home from Texas. What a big family reunion this is. It’s a way to make them feel better about themselves, make them seem like the good guy. Remember in Tangled when mother gothel and repunzel got into an argument about seeing the lights, and then mother gothel came back home she announced she was going to make hazelnut soup? She doesn’t bring up the argument until she notices that her “gift” hasn’t shifted the blame effectively. Now, in Eddie’s case it actually works, and Buck doesn’t bring up their argument, so Eddie gets the glory of being the good guy.

Let’s rewind a little bit now. Folded sheets and a note that says “gone to the airport.” Do you fold your sheets when you sleep on a friend’s couch? Maybe if you’re polite. But the inclusion of this detail better serves as a way to hint to the audience that Eddie may be gone forever. Still it works to prove that Eddie had malicious intent. He could’ve put the note on the fridge. He could’ve written “brb” or hell, maybe even texted Buck to let him know. But he didn’t, I wonder why? Gaslighting 101 tells you that if you want to actually make someone feel like they’re crazy it has to be significant and insignificant at the same time. You can’t just say “no” and expect someone to be efficiently gaslighted. If you want to manipulate someone it has to be plausible, something you can twist or something you know they’ll forget. I was born at 10:50 but my dad always insisted I was born at 11. He was able to gaslight me through this because he knew 1. I didn’t have proof and 2. It was so close in time that it really didn’t matter. A few years ago he started to say I was born at 10:50 and any time I tried to argue that he always said 11 before, he would deny. I didn’t have proof that he said that, and I felt like I was going crazy.

Now, mirrren, you ask, what does your traumatic backstory have to do with Eddie Díaz of 911 fame? Hang on I’ll get to it. When buck came home surprised that Eddie was there, Eddie said “my note said I was going to the airport. The airport and Texas are not the same. They don't even have the same amount of letters in their—” which is true, but he never said he was going to be back either. It’s his tone that gets me. “Buck is so stupid for not realizing that he was coming back, Buck should’ve known, Buck is so lucky I’m around because I’m the only thing keeping him attached to sanity, I am a great person for doing this to Buck.” It’s patronizing, and it’s insulting. Narcissists do this a lot. Most of what makes gaslighting insanity inducing is the fact that the manipulator makes you feel like you’re stupid, like you’re just a kid. Maybe Eddie wasn’t intending to manipulate Buck, but his words and his tone indicate the opposite. If he wanted to make Buck feel like he left to Texas that’s still messed up for a friend to do. Even if I shipped buddie I would feel that way. Because this interaction was just so similar to how my dad made me feel every day of my life.

It’s understandable if those of you didn’t know that this behavior was a red flag. I don’t want to hate on any buddie shippers out there. But this behavior is concerning, even if it’s just a plot device or bad writing, it’s indicative of unfavorable characteristics and I can’t support Eddie after that interaction. I know it was an apology. He says “heard some dick was being mean to you” and sure I guess that is apologizing but does he ever say sorry? Does he even say that it was him that’s being mean? And if he did say sorry, or even if he did say it was him, what kind of apology is that? Make your best friend think you’ve left forever just to return with two people you know he likes? Nah I’m still mad, bud.

I had a lot more I wanted to say, but this is already so goddamn long I’ll cut it short here.

[rafespuppyy]

us.

pairing: rafe cameron x crazy ex girlfriend!reader

inspired: us by gracie abrams ft. taylor swift

summary: you and rafe broke up almost one year ago, but you can’t seem to let him go. plus, he thinks he’s crazy, you can be just as crazy.

warnings: angst, mentions of smut, stalking, mdni!!🫶🏽

authors note: i’m crying i love that song so much. kinda rushed at the end, but turned out so goos. sorry if it’s a little longer than my others!!

————————————————————

i know you know, it felt like just a joke, i show you don’t, and now we’re talking

the pain you had felt. the pain you had felt in your gut, making you feel sick. you saw him kissing that girl, and that was just sickening to you. when you went home you were planning on throwing up. it had been something of a prank, maybe he knew you were at the party, standing there, watching him. it hadn’t matter nonetheless, the hurt you had felt. it had been like rafe to do something that stupid and rude, but you hadn’t realized that maybe he had moved on.

i know your ghost, i see her through the smoke, she’ll play her show, and you’ll be watching

maybe you were stalking, maybe you weren’t, but it didn’t matter, you needed to see what rafe was up to. he was with that bitch and you knew it. her long blonde hair, her shimmering ghostly skin, and those blue eyes: she was just perfect for him. maybe he had been over you, but you were just as beautiful.

with your dark skin shimmering under the sun, wearing a red sundress, you were better than her in every way. but it hadn’t mattered because he had chosen her. and now you were broken.

and if history’s clear someone always ends in ruins, and what seems like fate becomes ��what the hell was i doing?”

“i love you,” you would say to rafe as he fucked you slowly. “i love you so much, rafe.” and he would hold onto that promise, saying every word under the sun that made you love him more.

you had promised rafe and he promised you: together forever, nothing seemed better. that promise was broken when that blonde bitch was riding him roughly, him feeling her up and down, his head thrown back into the pillows, his toes curled tightly. her moans felt like gunshots to your heart as you shouldn’t even be standing there, but you couldn’t help it. you knew it was wrong to lie to sarah and say you were using the bathroom, but ended up at his doorway.

her skin looked like a porcelain doll. she was beautiful and now you understood everything. rafe opened his eyes and glanced at his doorway where you were standing. you didn’t even move, not one muscle, not even a flinch. he was supposed to be yours. yours. and now he wasn’t.

he stared at you with those piercing eyes. you stared at him right back, tears falling down your cheeks. this was it. he didn’t give a fuck as he came with a loud groan, making sure to keep the eye contact with you.

babylon lovers hanging lifetimes on a vine, do you miss mine?

okay, so maybe stalking him wasn’t the best option, but who could blame you? you were in love. and stalking him had been the only option you could think of. you believed he knew what you were doing, but never said a thing. you predicted he secretly liked it.

“do you miss her, rafe?” the blonde bitch asked. you figured out her name was amelia, and she was a pogue. why would he want a pogue when you were right there, a kook. you had almost felt bad for her. almost.

“y/n?” rafe asked as if it wasn’t the obvious answer. “no. bitch was crazy.”

ouch. that one hurt a little. you didn’t care as you stood in his closet. you grabbed a button up shirt and smelled it, then turning your attention back to amelia and rafe.

“she’s gorgeous, rafe,” said amelia. “i just want to know you’re for me and me only.” for only a moment you had felt bad for doing this because amelia deserved rafe in every shape and form, plus she had been so sweet, so perfect.

do you miss us, us? i felt it, you held it, do you miss us, us? wonder if you regret the secret of us, us

you missed him skin and bone, flesh and heart, soul and body.

i know you know, it felt like something old, it felt like something holy, like souls bleeding, so

“you told her you loved her rafe,” you exclaimed when you finally confronted him. “what am i supposed to do with that?”

rafe sniffed before saying, “you were the one watching like a fucking pervert. are you sick in the head?” he had been right, have you been sick in the head? that thought left you mind as soon as it came. it had been his fault, why was he turning the situation around?

“i’m not, but you’re not even getting my point of view, babe,” you said.

“i’m nothing to you because you’re nothing to me,” said rafe. “now fucking get out of my house.”

it felt like what i’ve known, you’re twenty nine years old, so how could you be cold when i opened up my home?

you say on your bed, thinking about everything you have done with rafe. your love was a toxic, filthy, messy kind of love, but you had known each other. the curves of each others body, the way you would fit together so easily. you knew what each other liked and did not like. you knew each other like the back of your hands.

and rafe was the one who pursued you first. it had been like a perfect love story of some sort. he loved you as much as you loved him (though you may have loved him a little too much), and everything had been so surreal.

from kindergarten to now, it had always been rafe cameron. so for once in your life, it had to be y/n l/n. it was time.

plus he was crazy, but you were crazy too.

[parfaitblogs]

scared of my guitar ❀ s. reid x reader

in which you fall out of love, and he notices. 

pairing: spencer reid x reader genre: angst tags: established relationship. they suck at communicating. whole lot of nothing again why can't i write guys. no happy ending.  word count: 1.2k a/n: this is for the girls who are the problem in their relationships!! i see u!! i hear u!!! thank u olivia rodrigo for representing us.

also posted here on my ao3 !

You were perhaps the most awful and cruel person in the world.

Those were the self-deprecating thoughts you had every single night, morning, and every hour in between. Thoughts you have been having for a month now, and thoughts you were praying would go away. Because the longer you have them, the more solidified they become in your brain, and the closer you get to knowing you need to address them. With him.

The man currently in your kitchen, making two separate cups of tea, like he did every night he was home. Putting all his love and care into making it the way you like, the way you had taught him. Which, truthfully, didn't take long to teach him — he was a fast learner. Always taking the first sip and telling you if it was still too hot to drink, burning his own mouth and allowing you to scold him for it. A nighttime routine that went on for as long as you could remember. 

But it wasn't enough.

You knew he'd crack you open eventually. He didn't need to be a profiler to read you — he knew more about you than you sometimes thought you knew about yourself. He used to coax you to open up to him about past traumas, never going too far, always pushing just enough to get you to share what you needed to. He was sometimes so in tune with your emotions you wondered if he had crawled into your brain and set up camp the day you two met. 

But no, that was just Spencer. 

The first time he asked if something was wrong was three months ago. He had come home from a particularly long case, and you didn't greet him at the door with the same enthusiasm you usually did. Sure, you were happy, but there was a certain spark behind your eyes missing. But it was two in the morning, and you were technically exhausted, so you were able to blame it on that. He was skeptical, but he knew you, and he knew not to push it. 

The second time he confronted you, you had spent an entire week without spending time with him. You both worked full time, but you also always made time for each other. Whether that be as planned as a Friday night movie, or as simple as picking the other up from work. But you had successfully avoided him outside of simple 'good morning's' and 'good night's'. 

He had sat you down the following Tuesday night, and asked if things between you two were okay. You lied, and said yes, and you watched him become even more suspicious than the time before. He didn't believe you. Again, he didn't push it. 

A small part of you wished he would've. Maybe you could've had the difficult conversation, and it would be over, and you'd be sitting on your couch with a shattered heart over a broken relationship, instead of a shattered heart over one that still exists. 

You knew it was coming when he had sat down with the teas, placing both of them on the coffee table, and you two sitting in an awkward silence for a few moments. 

You lifted your head to glance at him, expecting him to be staring at you, but he wasn't. His eyes, instead, trained on the two coffee mugs, cogs turning in his brain. A sight — watching him think — that used to bring you so much joy, now filling your stomach with an uncomfortable sense of anxiety. 

You opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off before you could, his gaze unwavering from the mugs. 

"What's wrong?" 

What a layered question, you thought, bitterly. Because what wasn't wrong? 

You wanted to deflect it, tell him nothing, again, say you were fine. But with how serious he seemed, you decided against it. He wouldn't let that pass this time.

"I don't know," you settled on saying, voice shaky, unsure how to actually say what you were feeling. 

He slowly nodded his head, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "Can you try to know, please?"

He still wasn't looking at you.

You inhaled, eyes fluttering as you attempted to regain your emotions, blinking away the tears filling them already. God, confrontation was hard. 

When you were silent for probably too many minutes, he turned his head to look at you, the sight cracking right down the centre of your heart. 

He wasn't sad looking, per se. Exhausted was probably the better word for it. His eyes devoid of most emotion, his naturally downturned lips frowning further. And that wasn't even the most painful part of it. No, it was the barely audible,

"You don't love me anymore, do you?"

His voice impossibly small, eyes blinking a few times, as if he was doing what you had done and fighting back his own tears. If somebody had shoved a knife in your abdomen fifty times over, twisting it every time, you decided it would hurt less than that.

You couldn't find an answer, your lips parting and closing three or four times as you wracked your brain for something — anything — to say that would take that expression off his face. But anything like that would be a lie, and he would see right through it. You knew that.

So, you settled on a small shake of your head, averting your eyes for your own sake. 

He didn't say anything; simply inhaled sharply and nodded his own head, fingers flexing and stretching against each other in a nervous habit you had noticed what felt like years ago. 

"How long?" he then asked, and you, for the umpteenth time that night, wanted to lie. 

But you didn't. "I had my first doubt four months ago," you said. "But three months ago."

"And you waited four months to tell me?" his voice was impossibly strained. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "I didn't know if it was just a fleeting thought because you weren't home or not."

"Right," he answered, hands running down his face, index fingers digging into his eyes. "So then you waited three months after you realised?"

"I didn't know how to bring it up."

You could see the frustration slowly settling in his chest, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"Spencer—"

"—No," he cut you off, shooting a bullet through your heart as his eyes fluttered shut, and he paused, swallowing back what you figured would be another sob. And you couldn't even blame him. "No, don't—don't justify it. Please. You strung me along for three months?" 

Yes, you did. And you felt awful, staring at him as he drummed his fingers against his thighs; an anxious tic, his eyes settling back on your body. 

"I'm sorry."

It was a pathetic apology, as if it could take back the past three months of interactions he was no doubt overanalysing inside his brain. It couldn't. You knew that, he knew that. 

"Why did you stay?" he finally asked after an eternally long silence between you two.

"I was scared," you whispered. Not intentionally — that's just how small your voice comes out, and it's embarrassing. 

"Of what?"

"Regretting it."

He let out a sigh, nodding his head. He could at least understand that. "I wish you would've told me."

"Me too."

More silence, more anxious heart-beating and more uncomfortable eye contact to each other. 

"I'm sorry," you repeat, breaking the silence. 

He merely nodded his head, eyes searching over your face for a few more seconds, before he stood up, picking up his phone from the coffee table and pocketing it. 

"Yeah," he said, quietly. "So am I."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly ♡

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Love and War III

Summary: Trapped within the Illyrian War Camp, Reader must decide the best course of action to get home, even if it means trying to seduce the enemy

Content Warnings: Mentions of Past Abuse, Descriptions of Scars/Blood, Canon Typical Violence; NSFW (a little bit of SMUT, just a tease 😈) at the end.

Previous Chapter/Masterlist

__________________

I can’t sleep.

It’s not because my enemy sleeps with his back to me, inches away, only a couple of furs and pelts between us, though it certainly doesn’t help. All night, staring at the tent wall, the strange patterns etched into the dark leather, the images of my parents, my brother, my people, flash behind my eyes every time I close them. I can hear Tamlin calling me a traitor; hear my parents final, dying screams. They are gone and the male that killed them sleeps inches from me. 

My dagger is next to my boots near the edge of the bed. Several times over the last couple of hours I’ve debated on crawling for it, imagining the heavy feel of it in my palm before I drive it between Rhysand’s shoulder blades and pierce his heart. I have never killed anything but game before, it’s the specifics and all their complications that stop me. What if I miss and he wakes up? What if I manage it but can’t get past the ward, condemning me to the mercy of his entire camp? And worse yet, what if it is not enough for Tamlin to take me back?

I chew my lower lip as I roll over onto my back. I know he would do just about anything to have Rhysand’s head delivered to him on a platter, or at the very least, those great wings to keep as a trophy. But killing a warlord doesn’t remove the threat of his camp, shy of slaughtering every last male, women, and child here, there would always be a chance of retaliation. A new lord would take his place if there was so much as a single survivor, and the bloodshed would start all over again, even if it took a few decades to get to that point.

No, my people deserve peace, to not have to look over their shoulder every day expecting an ambush. I would not live to see any children I might have, grown and subject to the cruelty of this war band. I would not birth anything into a world where my pain could be their own. So killing him is out of the question, at least for now. 

So what can I bring in lew of that? Camp movements? Numbers? Do I try to steal some horses or resort to outright sabotage so that someone else is always to blame when things go wrong? 

My head hurts from all the questions. 

My chest hurts from all the things I know I might have to do. My mother would be ashamed of me. And yet, I hear my father’s voice, telling me to stop being so useless and do something. He tells me I am selfish for hesitating, stupid for not seeing the opportunities in front of me.

I roll over onto my side so I can get another look at the male who claims to be my mate, the male who ruined my life. He’d brought me more food than I’d seen in years last night, had stumbled through the most awkward conversation of my life before offering the whole bed to myself if I was uncomfortable having him near by. An insane notion really, the bed was big enough for us to sleep in without being in arm’s length of each other. Even then, he’d wrapped his wings around himself and slept on the opposite edge, never once rolling any closer, even in sleep. It was an awkward kindness, but a kindness I had not prepared to face. I had spent the better part of the evening with him wondering how I’d deter him from trying to sleep with me, since he’d been so casual with touching me earlier in the day, but it had never come up. Maybe today it would, but for now, he had not entirely made himself as bad as I remembered him to be.

Again, it is my father’s voice in my head, “He’s a male, there’s a clear way to get him to reveal his secrets.” 

He is a dangerously attractive male. I have to admit I’m surprised he has not taken after many of the other warlords and formed a harem of captive brides. Between his power and his looks, he could have had dozens of wives already, yet this tent is void of any feminine objects to imply he’s anything other than single. He would not be hard to seduce, he is already so eager to have me nearby.

I roll over onto my stomach, trying not to huff my annoyance. It is not as if I’m some blushing virgin, I wouldn’t be giving anything over to him that I hadn’t already offered, in secret, to other males. He’d be the most attractive male I’d ever bedded, at that. I shouldn’t need that much convincing, or alcohol, to tumble into the sheets with him. Especially if it means he lets his guard down and tells me something useful. Especially if the distraction keeps him from thinking about asking me to take his mark again. What need for it would there truly be if I’d already surrendered myself to him?

Yet, my stomach rolls at the mere thought of it. Those hands had shed my peoples’, my parents’, blood! In a matter of minutes, those hands had stolen the only security and safety I had ever known, and I haven’t felt a shred of it since, and I was going to let them touch me?

A shiver runs down my spine. No, there has to be another way to get information out of him without trying to seduce him.

I lay there, mind spinning, as soft gray light starts to filter in through the small gap underneath the tent. Rhysand will have to leave me alone in here eventually, I will just have to wait for the right opportunity to start snooping through his stuff and then maybe a better plan will come to me. Perhaps something in one of those stacks of untouched chests in the corner will reveal a weakness I can exploit, some hidden secret I can use to my advantage. I have to hope they hold something, I have little options otherwise.

With that plan in place, I finally close my eyes, and try to let sleep fill the void. No amount of worrying will make him up and leave this early in the morning, there is little else I can do at this moment other than sleep. But it’s not even a full minute after I close my eyes that the tent flap is tossed open, the stiff leather slapping so hard against the wall Rhysand springs up with a dagger in hand, wings flaring behind him, so large they nearly span the expanse of the tent.

“We have a…” I feel eyes on me, over Rhysand’s shoulder, as I sit up, “situation.”

Rhysand lowers the dagger to his side, hand shaking, knuckles white from how hard he’s gripping it. Strange, did he often expect to be attacked in his own tent?

“Ready the men,” he orders and the intruders withdraw before I can get a good look at them.

He smooths a hand through his hair, loose now from the knot it had been tied on, the braided strands drifting over his sharp cheekbones. His wings droop until they’re dusting the floor, like a giant leather cape. “You’ll stay in here,” he says, voice still thick with sleep. Dark circles rim his eyes and I can’t help but wonder if I was the only one drowning in my thoughts last night.

I nod, biting down on my cheek to keep the grin pulling at my lips away. Perhaps the Mother is looking out for me after all! This is just the opportunity I need! “You…” I need to play it safe, sounding too submissive too early might get suspicious. I don’t want him to think I’ve so readily accepted this arrangement, but I don’t want him thinking I’m going to try and run off either. I let the words come out slowly, like I’m unsure to say them. “You don’t want me to come with you, like you said yesterday?”

He rubs a hand over his face as he goes to a chest at the edge of the bed and starts pulling out his fighting leathers. “Not yet, not until you’ve taken my mark and I can guarantee it’ll protect you.”

Shit! I need him to stop thinking so much about that stupid mark.

He peels off his shirt, the early morning light coming through the open door illuminating the swirl of dark ink tattooed across his bare chest. I’d been too panicked about our sleeping arrangements to get a good look at him when he’d changed last night, or else I also would have seen the scar across his side, the four lines like claw marks across his bronze skin. There are other, smaller marks, a burn on his hip, a jagged slash across his collarbone, but none are so pronounced as the claw marks. 

My hand goes instinctively to my own side. I know those claw marks. I know how they scar, because I have the same ones on my side. “Stupid, useless girl!” I know them, because like the voice that keeps ringing in my ears, they came from my father.

I don’t know if that’s a sign of what I need to do, as if, even in death my father’s will is still forcing itself on my life, or some cruel twist, like the matching stars on the back of our hands.

“Are you all right?” Rhysand asks.

By the time I’m able to focus on him again, he’s already laced up his leathers and sheathed that massive sword between his wings. I give myself a little shake, let my hand fall back down into my lap. “Yeah.”

Like last night, he looks like he might say more, but then thinks better of it as he tightens a belt of knives around his waist. “Stay here, you’ll be safe. I’ll be back soon.” And then he’s gone. 

I stare out the empty door long after his large form is no longer visible, sunlight slowly creeping further and further into the tent’s cave-like darkness. No guards. I eventually crawl out from under the mountain of pelts, the lack of heat obvious as a draft of icy wind blows through the open door. I wrap one around my shoulders as I pad, barefoot, over the rug covered floor to the door. The encampment around me still slumbers, no drum beats to be heard this early. Some of the other tents nearby have their doors open, I glimpse a body or two still sleeping in their own fur covered beds. No guards. No horses. Beyond the camp, the mountain walls of this secluded haven are dusted with early morning mist, the path the men had taken out invisible from this angle.

I do not want to trek through those mountains on foot and see just how well the shield holds up, not yet anyway. Holding the fur a little tighter around my shoulders, I turn back to the tent and decide the best place to start snooping is here. The outside world can wait a few more minutes. 

I go to the chest at the end of the bed first. It’s full of more fighting leathers, some worn and battle scarred, some shiny and new; an old pair of boots, some mismatched socks, another cloak and two, pitted daggers, the wyvern carving in the handle worn down from years and years of use. Nothing interesting or useful. I close the lid and head to the table to assess the piles of random collections Rhysand has made. It’s a lot of books on strategy and star-charting, I flip through a couple of them, looking for things written in the margins or scraps of paper tucked within the worn pages, but there is nothing but dust. 

“Come on,” I whisper to myself as I move to the next stack. There’s a book of poetry and things written in Illyrian I can’t read, the only thing in the margins of the old paper is some random swirls and markings that match the tattoos on his chest. If I have to learn Illyrian just to find useful information, I am going to be here for years, and there’s no way I’d make it that long without being forced to take Rhysand’s mark.

The remaining scattered items on the table are trinkets and gloves and a couple scarves with stains that look suspiciously like blood. Not a map or log book among them. Does he not keep records of his fighting men? Does he not chart supply lines and keep tabs on his merchants? 

I rub my temples as I go to the stack of dust covered chests in the corner. This might make it obvious that I was snooping, considering the dust is thick enough to be drawn in, but if he asks, I can lie and say I was looking for extra clothes, considering I’m still wearing the clothes I came in. 

The top chest is filled to the brim with swords and knives, a couple of bows and arrows, and a wicked looking mace. All well polished and cared for, the blades carefully wrapped as not to be damaged in transit. I pull a knife out to examine it, the ruby in the top casting rays of light over the tent walls. It’s an expensive weapon… if I start collecting enough things, could I find a place to barter them and bring the money back to Tam? Mother knows we could use the extra cash for supplies!

I put the blade back. If I start stashing things now, I’ll have nowhere to hide them and nowhere to take them until I can be sure that I can get out of these mountains, but it is comforting to feel like I have options here. The more things I can bring back, the better my chances at appeasing Tamlin are.

I’ve just closed the lid when someone clears their throat behind me and I all but throw the pelt around my shoulders at them in surprise.

“Snooping are we?” Laughs a feminine voice.

I keep a hand pressed to my racing heart, even as I inch over to where I’d left my hunting dagger. “Mother’s tits!”

In the doorway, stands a blonde female, her hair braided and tossed over one, bare shoulder. The strapless red top she wears, made of lace, baring just a strip of midriff and a swirl of ink, disappearing over the hem of a flowing skirt stitched in gold thread, must be expensive. I’ve never seen anything like it in our markets; I’d never dare touch it even if we had. I hate the spike of envy that bubbles up in my chest. I’ve never particularly cared about such things, not when the comparison wasn’t so in my face every moment. How was it fair? These people took so much from us, and yet they faced no punishment, it was starting to feel like they’d been rewarded for it even.

“Don’t worry, I’d snoop too,” she says as she steps in, holding a tray of something steaming that smells divine. “I’m Mor, by the way.”

“Hi,” I’m not totally beyond pleasantries, even if I do feel like biting the next stranger to come marching into my life as if they have free reign. “I’m Y/N.”

“My cousin says you’re his mate, is that true?” She sets the tray down then sits and puts her feet up on the corner of the table, sprinkling mud everywhere. 

“I don’t know,” I admit. I don’t want it to be true, but this is a chance to do something for my people, and I’ll play that part best I can, but it would feel fake if I just suddenly pretended to believe it after my comments on the way here. Better to play it safe.

Mor pats an empty seat next to her in invitation, or perhaps demand, there is a regality to her that doesn’t make me feel I have room to tell her no. I am used to people moving me wherever they see fit, my feet start moving as directed before I can decide that I actually want to. “Show me this scar of yours.”

I sit and offer my hand. Hers are soft as she inspects the eight point scar atop my hand, not a callus to be felt. Definitely some form of royalty. 

“How did you get this?” She asks, turning my hand this way and that to get a better look, as if I’m a piece of meat at the market in need of inspecting. 

I bite my cheek to keep from yanking my hand out of her grip. “I was young and stupid, and my father had sent me out to hunt as a punishment, I stumbled into the Middle, and came across the Weaver. When I tried to escape, she threw a hot poker at me, the end was shaped like a star, I guess. She basically branded me.”

“You fought the Weaver?” A mythical monster, no one really knows where she came from, all we know is she lives in the Middle, in a place where other monsters hunt, in a cottage dripping in dark magic known to lewer in weary travelers, as I had been.

“Fought? Goddess no! Played a very terrifying game of cat and mouse, yes.”

“I’m sure your father was proud of such an accomplishment,” she says as she finally releases my hand and pushes a tray of steaming buns, meats and cheeses, and what looks like tea my way. 

My hand drifts over my scarred side subconsciously, and I do not miss the way her blue eyes track the movement, even as I blurt, “Yeah the beating I got when I got home was a little shorter than usual.”

She drops her legs off the table so she can turn and look at me fully and I wince as I realize my mistake. “My father is like that too,” Mor confesses with startling gentleness.

I’m even more surprised when she reaches out to take my hand, not to inspect this time but to comfort me over our shared past. My chest tightens; a lump forming in my throat. My father was not the worst male in the Grasslands by any means, he kept us all fed and alive, and sheltered for the most part, but he was never kind. 

Mor gives my hand a squeeze. “You are safe here, Y/N. I promise. Rhys won’t give you any trouble.”

I’m supposed to hate her. She is a part of this warband, she answers to Rhysand, she bears his mark--a swirl of stars across her right arm--she is my enemy. I aim to steal all her secrets and use them against her, to take from her all the luxuries my people were never afforded, a life we were never blessed to live. We have nothing! They had everything because they took it. And I wanted to take it from them, from her. So why, when I looked into her eyes did I suddenly feel so godsdamned guilty?

When I don’t say anything, Mor pushes my plate towards me again. “Eat. You’re thin as a board. Then maybe later, I can show you around camp? I’m sure my cousin will give you his tour or whatever, but it’s never the same without a girls’ perspective, right?”

I snag the tea, hoping the heat will burn away the lump still lodged in my throat. Why is she being so nice to me? These people are not supposed to be nice! They’re supposed to be cruel! They’re supposed to be evil, ruthless monsters! 

“That sounds like fun,” I say, the words as bitter as acid. I am a terrible person. She is genuine and kind and going out of her way to be nice to me and I intend to manipulate all of that.

Mor grins as she walks back to the door. “Holler if you need anything, ok? My tent is just down the way.”

“Thanks,” I say as I reach for a warm, sticky bun. It’s so sweet and gooey in the center and I don’t think I’ve ever eaten anything so good in my life, yet, when I swallow, it might as well be sand. What have I gotten myself into? What kind of monster am I if I do this?

I set the bun back down on the tray and put my head in my hands. If I do this, am I just as bad as Rhysand?

------

Rhysand doesn’t come back until nightfall. Mor had come by hours ago with a tray for dinner, and had stayed for over an hour, talking about a lot of nothing, just to keep me company. I found out that she’s married to someone named Cassian, though she confessed after a bit of wine that Rhysand had orchestrated the union to get her away from her father, and that neither of them cared for each other in that way. It served the both of them to have the title, and while they shared a tent, there was little more than friendship between them. She’s very talkative, even with the smallest bit of wine, not that I minded, after several hours alone with my thoughts, it was nice to have something else to think about other than how I might sell my soul to get out of here. By the time she’d left and I’d made myself comfortable in the massive bed, I could only faintly make out the sounds of hoofbeats in the distance.

I’d be a liar if I said my heart rate doesn’t spike at the sound.

It isn’t like I was still snooping through his stuff--truth be told I’d forgotten there was still stuff to look through--but I sit up in a panic all the same, trying to figure out where I need to be to look the most innocent. Had I left anything out of place? 

I’m about to jump out of bed and double check the locks on the chests when Rhysand stalks back into the tent, completely covered in blood.

I can’t do anything other than stare, unsure if the blood dripping from his hair and down his face is from the gash across his temple or the gore that looks like it had been hurled at the left side of his head, chunks of something clinging to his ear.

There’s a small area behind the bed with a basin of water and some clean towels and he goes right to it, tearing off the leather gauntlets at his wrists and then his very damaged chest piece. Both make a heavy thwack as they hit the rug, a puddle forming beneath them. 

“Are-are you ok?” There are too many questions in my head, this one slips out first as I twist to look at him over the headboard of the bed. 

He winces as he pokes at the cut on his temple, “Fine,” is all I get before he cups water in his hands and does his best to clean the gore off his face. He’s making a mess. I’m tempted to crawl out of bed and throw a towel on the floor to spare the rug from damage, but the shadows that drift from his skin make me think better of it. 

Powers aren’t rare, especially among warlords, most of the fae need them to survive this barbaric society we live in, but I’ve never met anyone with such an obvious manifestation of them. Shadows trail off his shoulders, over his wings, twining around his powerful thighs. I can almost taste the darkness that leaks from him, even with the space between us. It is palpable and tangible and tied to his anger. A button I don’t want to push in any way. I sink a little lower into the mattress, using the headboard as a shield, just in case. 

“What happened?” I ask softly. 

He yanks a towel off the little drying rack next to the basin so hard it snaps like a whip and I flinch a little involuntarily. “We got ambushed.” He wets the towel and starts running it over his hair. When he unties the braids in the back, clumps of gore fall to the floor. “My sentinels spotted some enemy scouts this morning, when we followed them back, they led us right into a trap.”

Please don’t be Tamlin. Please don’t be Tamlin. “Did you find out who it was?”

“I have my suspicions,” he tosses the ruined towel on a floor and reaches for another to wipe off his arms and chest. “But none of them were marked.”

Not typically my brother’s style, but I can’t be totally sure. My anxiety sits like a weight in my stomach. “Any casualties?” 

“None of mine,” he growls. “Just some scrapes. Even unprepared, my men are lethal.”

Not as reassuring as I assume he thinks it is.

“We brought a few survivors back, I’ll know who sent them by morning at the latest.”

If I can get a good look at them, I can know for sure they’re not Tam’s men… “What will you do with them?”

He starts untying the laces of his pants and I hurriedly turn away, a blush creeping up my cheeks. I know he thinks we’re mates, but Cauldron have a little decency!

“Azriel will get the information I need out of them,” he says and I hear the sound of his boots and pants hitting the floor. “And then I will make an example out of them.”

It’s suddenly colder in here than it was a moment ago. I grab a pelt and pull it up to my chin as I draw my knees up to my chest.

There’s a beat, the only sound the scraping of a towel over his skin, and then I’m suddenly very aware of his presence at my back, his shadow looming over me. I sink a little deeper into the mattress, heart in my throat.

“This bothers you?” He asks quietly.

I’m glad there’s a thick layer of wood between us, it means I still have time to reach for my knife. “I-” Mother’s Tits what am I supposed to say?! It’s not like it matters, and maybe I could spin it to fit the narrative I need him to see in me, but the words escape me. No one has ever asked me what I think of the senseless violence that has plagued us since Hybern destroyed the world. Regardless of our boundary lines and markings, we all kill and maim each other to survive; we bleed and die and force others to do the same all for the slightest chance that we might escape that fate one more day. And I hate it! I’ve always hated it. I clung to my parents’ stories of better worlds because I’d wanted so desperately to be in one. 

“I don’t like violence,” I whisper. The first unaltered truth I’ve given him; the only unaltered truth I’ll give him.

He leans against the headboard, the wood groaning beneath his weight. “I don’t either,” Rhysand confesses.

I almost laugh. Death Incarnate hates violence? But when I tilt my head back to look at him, I see the weight of that burden in his eyes. He places his forehead atop his hands, sighing heavily and it’s like I can feel that weight in my chest. 

“I didn’t…” another breath, “I will do what is necessary for my people, no matter what it costs me, but… but it is heavy.”

I know the burden of leading a people is heavy, I have watched it tear Tam apart for decades. My brother had been kind once, had loved and laughed and had stayed up for hours teaching me how to play the fiddle when we were kids. Becoming the leader of our people had taken all those good and kind things and hardened them. The brother I had grown up with and the one I now answered to wouldn’t recognize each other. I hated myself for it, but the empathetic part of me can’t help but wonder if Rhysand had been like that too? Had he been kind and happy before he took over this position? Had becoming a lord stripped him of the things that had made him loveable and turned him into the monster that I knew?

Would being here turn me into a monster I didn’t recognize?

“It must be hard, to carry it alone,” I say slowly, weighing each word like it could be my last. This is a very vulnerable and volatile position to be in. I’m still very aware of the power that drifts off, his still bare, skin. I cannot upset it. But, can I find something useful here?

I’m playing with fire and I can feel it.

“I am used to it,” he replies.

Another beat and then he softly adds, “It’s nice to have someone to talk to.”

His response simultaneously makes my heart ache and my mind spin. I hadn’t found anything of use in this tent, despite the hours I’d spent searching, and maybe that was a sign. Maybe there was nothing in this tent, because the information was all contained to one thing: The male standing behind me. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was a coincidence that this morning I had been wondering if I should try and seduce him. My assessment about it being easy to do was already confirmed with this conversation, he was vulnerable, now more than ever, all it would take was a push in the right direction…

I push myself back up onto my knees and turn so I can face him. He looks small here, the wet strands of his hair clinging to his face. 

His violet eyes watch my every move like a snake tracking a mouse. 

There’s still a headboard between us. Still time to change my mind. Still time to keep my soul intact. What kind of person am I if I do this? 

I swallow the lump in my throat as I tentatively reach out to take his hand. At least there is no more blood on them. Touching him doesn’t immediately make fire rain down from the heavens so maybe that’s a sign the world won’t totally end if I do this. This male took everything from me, and yet, under his own admission, he’d damn his soul for his people. If a monster could do that, couldn’t I do it for the sake of my people?

“How can I help you?” I ask softly. I hope it sounds convincing, that the shakiness in my voice sounds like a lack of confidence and not because I’m trying not to throw up. This was not the plan this morning! But I’ve gotten nowhere all day and suddenly there’s an opening before me and I have to try and take it, don’t I? It might be my only chance, especially if there is fighting on the horizon. If I can distract him, or figure out who Tam needs to join forces with to finally be rid of Rhysand once and for all, I have to take it. 

His violet eyes widen as they settle on the placement of my hand on top of his, as if he hadn’t thought it possible that I would willingly comfort him. 

Am I doing this too fast?

“If… if this thing between us is real, I want to be useful. I want to be a good mate.” Kill me. Please, put me out of my misery, what in the Seven Hells am I doing?! “Please, show me how I can be a good mate?”

My parents are rolling in their graves.

He moves faster than most fae should be able to, hand sliding out from under mine to reach out and thread into my hair, pulling my body flush against the headboard as his lips meet mine. Cauldron, for a male who looked so awful seconds ago, his lips are sinfully soft. It takes a second for me to even register what I’m doing, and by the time that my brain catches up, he’s sliding his tongue past my teeth and I’m letting him, lips parting, head tilting to give him more access. Having the headboard still between us is both an uncomfortable angle to be at and a relief, because at least I have a little time to accept the fact that I just told Death he could bed me if that would make him feel better.

Tamlin can never find out this is how I saved our people. 

But this is for my people. I can play with fire for them.

There are worse ways to do it, I suppose. He’s certainly not a bad kisser. 

Hell, he’s actually a really, really good kisser, if I let myself stop thinking for two seconds and just relax, I might actually enjoy it.

He pulls away by a mere fraction, forehead resting on mine, chest heaving as he catches his breath. “Distract me?” He asks, voice so low and husky I think he might actually be begging.

I hate to admit it, but I do get a thrill of seeing such a powerful male so desperate in my hands. Of course, I can’t let him know that. “Show me?”

It’s all the prompting he needs to release me long enough to climb into bed. I’d forgotten he was already undressed until he was pulling the blanket off and climbing on top of me, all warm skin and damp hair and more desperate kisses. Large hands slide under my sweater, exploring every inch of me as he continues to kiss me like a man starved.

My reservations begin to slip with each new brush of his callused hands over my skin, trailing higher and higher. It’s been awhile since I’ve taken anyone to bed, even longer since I’d had the time to let anybody explore my body so meticulously. It’s good. My eyes drifting shut, body arching into his touch. I don’t know which of us comes up for air first, or which pulls the other back for more. As easy as it is to end up in this position, I’m surprised how readily I want it, him. Something tugs at the skin beneath my breastbone, like there’s a thread being yanked on, warmth flaring down that little spot, hotter and hotter with each passing second. I don’t have enough time to consider what that is, what it means, before his lips trail down to my neck, teeth scraping my tender flesh.

I instinctively drag a hand through his hair as he nips and bites at my throat, surely leaving marks. If I ever had any intention to push him away, I lose it as his large hand kneads my breast, slender fingers moving to tweak my nipple. I squeeze my eyes shut tighter as a moan slips out of me. 

Aren’t I supposed to be distracting him?

Before I can ask, he’s yanking my worn sweater over my head and tossing it over his shoulder. Those intense violet eyes run over me,  a grin stretching across his handsome features as he gives my breast another squeeze, but the teasing stops when he spots the scar across my abdomen. Or maybe the fact that you can count my ribs. Maybe both. His hands drift lower, methodically, not teasing but studying, like he might crack open my rib cage and dissect whatever is beneath my skin. 

“Who did this to you?” He growls, hand trailing over the scar.

My whole body trembles under his touch, mind reeling as I try to make sense of the sudden shift in tone. I don’t want to talk about this. Not with him. I’d already admitted too much to Mor earlier. We need to get back to the distraction. “Hunting accident,” I lie.

His hand remains over the scar, “Don’t lie.”

This is too intense, I’m too vulnerable in this position, I’ve lost all my power. My head spins, trying to think of something clever, trying to get myself back on track. Why did I think I could do this? Seduction is not my skill set. Outright anything is beyond me. I move behind the scenes, quietly with my head down, I am not anyone’s first line of defense. I’m not even sure I’m the last line of defense.

My heart’s pounding in my chest and I know he can feel it beneath his hand, because his face softens. His free hand comes to brush my cheek, pushing a few wild strands of hair from my face. Now I’m really shaking. This is far, far too intimate. 

“You’re my mate,” he says gently. “I will kill anyone who hurts you.”

I don’t want that kind of power looming over me the rest of my life. I swallow the lump in my throat. “You wanted a distraction. This-”

The tent flap bursts open without warning, a flurry of shadows rushing in. Rhysand barely has time to grab a blanket to cover the both of us before a male steps out of those shadows.

“Azriel!” Rhysand snarls. “This better be fucking important!”

The male stands at the edge of the bed, fighting leathers splattered in blood, his dark hair falling over a set of deep hazel eyes. He spins a bloody dagger between hands scarred beyond repair. “They’ve talked.”

Shit.

Rhysand is still leaning over me, body and wings shielding me from Azriel’s view. “And?”

Hazel eyes flick to me before returning to his lord. “Amarantha.”

I don’t know if I should sigh with relief or not. Tamlin is still safe. My people are still safe. But having Amarantha knocking at the door while I’m trapped inside here is not on my to do list. My whole life we’ve avoided her and Hybern’s forces by not making too big a fuss. If they want some of our territory, we push into another lord’s to make sure there’s space for us without any direct confrontation with her. We keep our heads down. We don’t make deals or bargain with the other more tolerable lord’s for aid. We stay within our own borders and we stay out of her way. But the Illyrians? They pick fights with her. They apparently have no qualms with torturing her men. 

“I’ll be right there,” Rhysand says in dismissal and his shadowy companion disappears as quickly as he came. 

“I have to deal with this,” he sighs, leaning back on his knees.

I’m relieved, I really am. I tried to do this way too quickly. I am relieved.

So why do I feel a knot in my stomach?

Rhysand leans in long enough to press a kiss to my forehead, the move tender and gentle, and nothing like the male that had entered this tent covered in blood just moments ago. It makes my head hurt. I know the kind of male he is. I know the monster that lies behind this pretty package. So why is he pretending to be anything else? Why act like this with me? What game is he playing?

“Maybe we can finish this later?” There’s a hint of teasing there, but it feels more like an apology.

I want a later. I want to feel those full lips on my skin again.

I absolutely don’t want a later. This whole thing is a mistake.

“Yeah,” I saw anyway.

He’s dressed and gone before I can ask myself why I agreed to it again. I put my head in my hands, palms pressed into my eyes. What am I doing here? And why is it starting to feel more complicated than it should be?

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

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[ledesaid]

Seeking a Father for Saturday ►○◙◄ #2

“Are you sure this is necessary?”

“Absolutely!”

“But I don’t recognize myself in the mirror... I feel like one of the kids who used to tease me in school...”

“Wrong, if you dress with style, nobody is going to bother you.”

Billy tried to undo his styled hair back to its classic natural fall, but Guy stopped him and added even more gel.

Billy just sighed. Defeated, what he did for a double gift and a mountain of sweets...

In addition to his hair, he now had an American football jacket that fit him, luckily in a yellow tone... A Green Lantern t-shirt and some bulky sneakers. Oh, and some red glasses to complete the "style."

It was almost time, and Billy had butterflies in his stomach. He was so nervous that he didn’t want anyone to discover him, but he wanted to go!

“Courage and willpower, Cheeky!”

“Billy.”

“Is that your name, kid?”

“Something like that.”

“Great, because it sounds just like what I’d call my fake son. You can call me whatever you want, kid, just remember it will haunt you forever.”

“I don’t understand...”

“Remember” —Guy placed his fingers behind his ears and a pair of black pointy protrusions came to mind. Right, Batman.

“No fear of success, Cheeky. Remember, stand straight, puff out your chest, and laugh loudly. You’re a Gardner for the next eight hours!”

“I’m Billy...”

“Gardner! Cheeky! Visualize it and go for it!”

“Eat me, mother earth,” his magic common sense was telling him.

The welcome committee was headed by Superman and Wonder Woman, the dream of every kid if you were going to meet your superheroes...

Well, Billy wasn’t going to admit that seeing his companions in his kid form, without the height and confidence of Captain Marvel, made him feel like a fan boy. And no, he wasn’t jumping for joy as he approached the other heroes... Well, maybe he was...

“H-hi!”

Billy awkwardly extended a hand to Superman.

It was exhilarating. This meet and greet was the best thing in his life as Billy!

“Hello, little one. Guy surprised us a lot when he told us you were coming. What’s your name?”

“Billy, sir Superman, sir!” He spoke loudly, not on purpose or because of Guy’s advice, but... he was shaking Superman’s hand as Billy Batson!

No, wait, wait, Billy Gardner, yes, yes, remember to stay in character.

“He’s quite the fan,” Guy started laughing openly, but Billy didn’t blame him...

“I am, sir!”

Superman, cheerful as he was, sat him on his shoulder and carried him to the cafeteria.

“Are you also a fan of Wonder Woman, Billy?”

Diana accompanied them, walking behind along with Guy.

“Of course, Miss Wonder Woman, you are very amazing and powerful!”

The walk to the cafeteria felt so short when Superman put him down. Billy was going to remember this, it was the dream of his life! Billy with the League without repercussions of being handed over to social services!

“Go ahead, Billy, the program will start shortly, you can take whatever you want from the dessert bar.” This time Wonder Woman tried to ruffle his hair, but the gel made it impossible.

“Behave badly, Cheeky!”

Billy didn’t see the disapproving looks they gave Guy, because hearing that he had free pass was the only thing that mattered as he darted towards the goodies. Finally, he could have the feast he had dreamed of. His champion form couldn’t taste, and taking food to his hideout made him feel uncomfortable.

Everything tasted so delicious!

He didn’t stop until the second cake and the third slice of pizza when he noticed sharp eyes on his back. There were only children aged four to ten who were studying him... He supposed it was part of being one of the older ones in the room and, yes, maybe the floating plates around him.

“Are you magical?”

And Billy coughed his spirit out.

“Are you okay?”

He didn’t expect to be confronted so soon by this blond kid...

“N-no... Not that...”

Billy darted towards the door in a desperate attempt to avoid more questions he wasn’t going to answer. He didn’t expect someone with such sharp eyes; a bit of air would give him more ideas... As he supposed, the door wouldn’t open and in his five-minute crisis he practically fried the circuits of the entrance console. It was an accident, his magic occasionally played tricks on him...

But everything went out of control when two blurs shot out of the cafeteria followed by a small legion of superpowered kids...

Did it count as a breakout? Did Billy just cause a breakout?

The sound of Black Canary’s screams in the distance said yes.

And the small champion of magic hoped to grab a juice and sit to wait for his scolding, but two arms grabbed him by surprise...

Was it the blond kid? Were those gelatinous magic arms?!

“Super Sons, attack!”

Someone shouted, and yes, Billy was dragged as the ringleader of the breakout and he wasn’t laughing, just awkwardly enjoying... Well, he was laughing; he had just seen Hawkman unconscious on the ground and Elastic Man tied in a knot. The chaos was unbelievable, yet Billy couldn’t help but find the situation both hilarious and surreal.

Was that Black Canary stuck to the ceiling?

Oh, holy moly! He’s in big trouble...

How much damage could a group of excited and unsupervised kids do?

“So, you are magical?”

“Yes, something like that...”

“Arthur Curry Junior, nice to meet you.”

“Billy B-Gardner, nice to meet you too, Arthur.”

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

Parte 1