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pucksandpower · 2 days ago

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Lose Yourself

Day 31 → Mind Break 💋 mafia!Charles Leclerc

Warnings: 18+ content, dubious consent, guns, and forced dumbification

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The office is small, dim, smelling faintly of coffee and old paper. A narrow window lets in thin, grey light, cutting across the surface of your supervisor’s desk. He’s sitting there, looking at you with that familiar mix of intensity and mild concern. There’s a file in front of him, thick, overflowing with papers, and he taps it once, twice, like he’s deciding whether or not to speak.

“You know I wouldn’t bring you in for something like this unless it was absolutely necessary,” he says, finally breaking the silence.

You nod, but don’t say anything. You’ve worked for Interpol long enough to know that when he starts like this, something big is coming. Bigger than usual.

“I’m serious, Y/N,” he continues, leaning forward slightly, resting his elbows on the desk. “This isn’t like the other assignments.”

You raise an eyebrow, waiting. He hasn’t even told you what the assignment is yet. The edge in his voice is making you uneasy, though. It’s not like him to drag things out like this.

He sighs, opens the file, pulls out a single photograph, and slides it across the desk toward you.

It’s a man.

Dark hair, sharp features, eyes that seem to stare through the camera lens. He’s sitting at a table in some restaurant, probably expensive judging by the suit he’s wearing, and there’s a woman draped over his arm. But the man doesn’t seem to notice her. His expression is unreadable.

“Charles Leclerc,” your supervisor says, as if the name should mean something to you. It doesn’t.

You glance up at him. “Who is he?”

He hesitates, just for a second, and then says, “The leader of the Rosso Corsa.”

You freeze, the weight of the words sinking in immediately. The Rosso Corsa is infamous. A criminal organization that operates in both Italy and the Côte d'Azur, responsible for everything from arms trafficking to political corruption. They’re untouchable.

Untouchable, because no one can get close enough.

Your supervisor lets the silence linger for a moment before he speaks again. “Interpol’s been trying to infiltrate them for years. We’ve had no success. No one’s gotten close enough, and the few who have …” He trails off, shaking his head. “They didn’t make it out.”

“So why now?” You ask, already knowing you’re not going to like the answer.

“Because we have a lead.” He pulls another piece of paper from the file, but doesn’t show it to you yet. “Leclerc’s been recruiting. Quietly. His organization’s expanding faster than anyone predicted. He’s looking for new people, trusted people.”

You stare at him. “And you want me to-”

“Get close to him,” he finishes. “Infiltrate. Gather information. Help us bring him down.”

The air feels heavier, thicker, and you shift in your seat, trying to make sense of what he’s asking. “How am I supposed to get close to someone like that? He probably has a hundred people screening anyone who tries to-”

“You’ll be playing a role,” he interrupts, his voice firm. “We’ve been building a cover for you for months.”

He hands you a new folder, this one slimmer, but just as important. Inside, there’s a fake ID, a name you’ve never heard before, and a backstory so detailed you’re almost convinced it’s real.

“Giulia Santini,” he says, nodding toward the papers. “You’ve been living in Monaco for years. High-end art dealer. A few shady connections here and there, just enough to make you interesting to Leclerc, but nothing that’ll get you killed if someone digs a little too deep.”

You let out a breath, leafing through the details. “And you’re sure he’ll be interested?”

“His mother’s an art collector,” he replies, shrugging. “It’s not foolproof, but we’ve done the groundwork. We’ve arranged for you to be introduced through one of his contacts in the next week. From there, it’s up to you.”

You blink, trying to process the enormity of what he’s asking. “Up to me? You’re sending me in without backup?”

“You’ll have backup,” he says quickly. “But you know how this works. You’re going to be on your own for most of it. We need to keep the operation quiet. If Leclerc gets even a hint that you’re not who you say you are, it’s over. For you. For all of us.”

He’s not sugarcoating it, and you appreciate that, but it doesn’t make the task ahead of you any easier to swallow. You swallow hard, feeling a weight settle in your chest.

“Why me?” You ask softly.

He looks at you for a long moment before he answers, his voice lowering. “Because you’re the best. You’re smart and you can handle yourself. You’ve done it before, and you’ll do it again.”

“But this is different.”

“Yes,” he admits, and his eyes soften just a fraction. “But if anyone can do it, it’s you.”

You sit there, the folder in your hands, feeling the weight of everything he’s just laid out for you. There’s a part of you that wants to say no, that wants to walk out of this office and leave the impossible task for someone else. But you know you won’t. You’ve never walked away from a challenge before, and you’re not about to start now.

Still, there’s one thing gnawing at you, something you can’t quite shake.

“If I get close to him,” you say slowly, “what’s the plan? What happens then?”

Your supervisor hesitates again, and that makes your stomach twist. “We gather information,” he says finally. “Enough to bring him down. We’re not rushing this. This could take months, maybe longer.”

“And in the meantime?” You press. “What if he gets suspicious?”

He’s silent for a moment, and then he leans forward again, his voice low and steady. “Then you do whatever you have to do to keep your cover intact.”

The meaning behind his words is clear, and it sends a chill down your spine. You’ve done undercover work before, but nothing like this. Nothing this … intimate.

You clear your throat. “And how far am I supposed to go with this?”

“As far as you need to,” he says, his tone hardening. “But you keep your head. You remember why you’re there. This isn’t about you and him. This is about bringing down a dangerous organization.”

You nod, trying to focus on the mission, on the end goal. But it’s hard when you’re staring at the photograph of Charles Leclerc, at the cold, unreadable expression on his face.

Your supervisor stands up, signaling the end of the meeting. “You’ll leave for Monaco in two days. We’ll have everything set up by then.”

You stand too, feeling the weight of the assignment pressing down on your shoulders. But before you can turn to leave, he says one more thing.

“Be careful, Y/N.”

You pause at the door, glancing back at him. “I always am.”

He doesn’t respond, just watches as you walk out of the office, the door closing behind you with a soft click.

You stand in the hallway for a moment, the folder still in your hand, staring at the photograph of Charles Leclerc one last time.

You wonder, not for the first time, if this is the mission that will finally break you.

***

The Grand Hôtel in Monaco is every bit as lavish as you imagined. Opulent chandeliers hang from the ceiling, casting warm light over marble floors and deep, velvet chairs that look more like art pieces than furniture. You’ve been here before, but never in this role. Never as Giulia Santini, the art dealer with a knack for finding rare treasures.

You glance around the lobby, your heels clicking softly against the marble as you make your way toward the bar. Your heart is steady, though there’s a subtle tension in your muscles. You’re about to meet Charles Leclerc, one of the most dangerous men in Europe, and you can’t afford to slip, even for a second.

At the bar, you spot Fabien — your contact, someone who’s vouched for you enough to get you this meeting. He’s sipping a glass of wine, leaning casually against the polished counter as if this is any other evening. When he sees you, he nods once, lifting his glass slightly in greeting.

“Giulia,” he says smoothly when you approach, his voice like honey. He leans in to kiss both your cheeks in the European fashion, his cologne strong. “You look stunning. Leclerc will be impressed.”

You smile at him, playing the part effortlessly. “Let’s hope so.”

Fabien gestures to the bartender and orders another glass of wine for you. “He’ll be here soon,” he says quietly, his eyes scanning the crowd. “He’s already asked about you. You’ve made quite an impression, and you haven’t even met him yet.”

You pick up the glass the bartender slides toward you, taking a small sip. The wine is rich, expensive, but it doesn’t do anything to calm the simmering anticipation in your veins. “What did you tell him?”

“The truth, of course,” Fabien replies with a grin. “That you’re the most elusive art dealer in Monaco, and that you specialize in pieces even the richest men in Europe couldn’t get their hands on.”

You raise an eyebrow, amused. “Quite the reputation you’ve given me.”

Fabien shrugs, looking pleased with himself. “It’s not far from the truth.”

You glance at the entrance to the bar, but there’s no sign of Leclerc yet. “And what should I know about him?” You ask, keeping your voice low. “What does he like?”

Fabien’s eyes flicker with something you can’t quite place — is it wariness? Curiosity? He leans in slightly, lowering his voice even more. “He’s intelligent. He’s quiet, but not because he’s shy. He’s watching everything, always calculating. Don’t let the charm fool you. He’s dangerous, but you already know that.”

You nod, your grip on the wine glass tightening just a fraction.

“And,” Fabien adds, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, “he’s not immune to beauty.”

Before you can respond, Fabien straightens suddenly, his eyes locking on something behind you. “He’s here.”

You don’t turn around immediately, though every nerve in your body is telling you to. Instead, you take another sip of wine, steadying yourself, letting the moment stretch out. You feel his presence before you even see him — a subtle shift in the energy around you, the way people in the bar seem to take notice without even realizing it.

Finally, you turn.

Charles Leclerc is standing just a few feet away, speaking briefly with the hostess, who gestures toward the table in the back corner. He nods at her, his expression unreadable, and starts walking in your direction.

He’s taller than you expected, more imposing. His dark hair is perfectly in place, his suit tailored so sharply it looks like it was made just for him — which, of course, it probably was. His eyes, though — they’re exactly like the photograph. Cold, unreadable, scanning the room like he’s memorizing every face, every detail. When they land on you, there’s a flicker of interest, just for a moment, before his expression smooths out again.

Fabien steps forward to greet him, his smile wide and easy. “Charles,” he says, offering his hand. “Good to see you.”

Leclerc shakes his hand, his movements controlled, almost too smooth. “Fabien,” he says, his voice deep, with the hint of an accent that’s hard to place — part French, part something else. His eyes flick briefly to you before returning to Fabien. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Not at all,” Fabien replies. “In fact, I’ve been waiting to introduce you to someone.”

He turns toward you, and for a split second, it’s like the entire room goes quiet. The air between you and Charles seems to shift, though he gives no sign that he’s noticed anything unusual.

“This is Giulia Santini,” Fabien says, his voice warm and confident. “The art dealer I’ve been telling you about.”

You extend your hand, offering a small, professional smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Charles looks at you for just a beat longer than necessary before taking your hand. His grip is firm, but not aggressive, and his skin is warm against yours. “The pleasure is mine,” he says, his voice lower now, meant just for you.

You hold his gaze as long as you dare before letting your hand slip from his. Fabien gestures to the table in the corner, and the three of you make your way over. Charles sits across from you, his eyes flicking between you and Fabien, though most of his attention seems to be on you.

“So,” Charles says once you’ve all settled, leaning back in his chair slightly, “Fabien tells me you’re quite the expert in rare art.”

You smile, playing the role with ease. “I wouldn’t say expert. Just passionate.”

He watches you, his eyes dark and focused. “And what kind of pieces does someone like you find … exciting?”

The question is loaded, and you know it. He’s testing you, seeing how you’ll respond. You take a breath, keeping your expression calm, your voice light.

“It depends,” you say slowly, leaning forward just slightly, enough to draw his attention. “Art is all about perspective, isn’t it? What one person finds valuable, another might overlook entirely.”

Charles’ lips twitch, like he’s suppressing a smile, but it never quite reaches his eyes. “True,” he agrees. “But I imagine you have a talent for finding the pieces that others overlook.”

You tilt your head, meeting his gaze evenly. “It’s what I do best.”

There’s a pause, the air between you crackling with unspoken tension. Charles taps his fingers lightly against the table, his eyes never leaving yours. Fabien shifts slightly, glancing between the two of you, clearly pleased with how the conversation is going.

“You know,” Charles says after a moment, his voice soft but deliberate, “I’ve been looking for someone like you.”

Your heart skips, but you don’t let it show. You raise an eyebrow, keeping your tone playful. “Is that so?”

He nods, still watching you carefully. “Someone with connections. Someone who can move in circles I can’t always reach.”

“And what circles are those?” You ask, keeping your voice light, though you already know the answer.

He leans forward, his eyes narrowing just slightly. “The kind that deal in things not everyone should know about.”

There it is. The subtle shift from pleasantries to something more dangerous, more real. You feel the tension tighten in your chest, but you smile, pretending you’re completely at ease.

“Well,” you say, letting your voice drop just a fraction, “I’m sure we could work something out. If you’re interested.”

Charles doesn’t respond right away, just watches you, his expression carefully controlled. Finally, he nods. “I am.”

Fabien jumps in then, filling the silence with talk about upcoming events, art auctions, places where you and Charles might cross paths again. But you’re only half-listening. Most of your attention is still on Charles, watching the way his eyes flicker with interest, the subtle shifts in his posture as he listens to Fabien. It’s clear that he’s more focused on you than the conversation, and you need to tread carefully.

Fabien’s words become background noise, blending with the clink of glasses and the low hum of conversation around you. You’re not oblivious to the tension under the surface, though. Every move you make, every word you say, it’s all part of the game. And Charles knows it, too.

Fabien laughs, clapping Charles on the back. “I think Giulia could be quite useful for you, Charles. Her contacts run deep, and she’s good at staying … discreet.”

Charles’ eyes meet yours again, and you hold his gaze, refusing to look away. There’s a challenge in the air, subtle but undeniable. It’s as if he’s trying to peel back your layers, see what lies beneath the surface of the woman sitting in front of him.

“I can be discreet when necessary,” you say, your voice smooth, almost teasing. “But sometimes, it’s better to make a statement. It depends on what kind of art you’re dealing with.”

Charles’ lips quirk into a small, almost imperceptible smile, and for the first time, you catch a glimpse of the man behind the mask. “I agree,” he says, his voice low. “Some things are worth putting on display for the world to see.”

Your pulse quickens at the double meaning behind his words, but you don’t let it show. Instead, you lean back slightly, crossing your legs under the table and allowing your hand to rest casually on the stem of your wine glass.

“Perhaps we could discuss it more in private,” you suggest, your tone light but deliberate. “I’d love to hear about the kind of pieces you’re interested in.”

Charles raises an eyebrow, and for a moment, you wonder if you’ve pushed too far. But then, he nods, his smile widening just a fraction. “I think that can be arranged.”

Fabien stands, finishing the last of his wine. “I’ll give you two some space,” he says, with a knowing smile, his tone laced with implication. “Giulia, Charles — enjoy your evening.”

With that, he walks away, leaving the two of you alone at the table. You feel the shift in the atmosphere immediately. The casual conversation is gone, replaced by something far more charged, far more dangerous.

Charles leans forward, resting his forearms on the table, his eyes locked on yours. “Tell me, Giulia,” he says, his voice soft but commanding. “How far are you willing to go for a deal?”

The question hangs in the air between you, heavy with implication. You know this is it — the moment where the line between professional and personal blurs, where the real game begins.

You take a breath, keeping your expression calm, though your mind is racing. You need to keep him hooked, keep him interested, but you can’t give away too much too soon. This is a dance, and you need to make sure you’re leading.

“I’m willing to go as far as I need to,” you reply, your voice steady. “But that depends on what’s being offered.”

Charles watches you for a long moment, and you can feel the weight of his gaze, the way he’s analyzing every word, every movement. Finally, he leans back, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re good,” he says, his voice almost admiring. “I can see why Fabien recommended you.”

You smile, taking a sip of your wine. “I’m very good at what I do.”

Charles tilts his head slightly, still watching you with that same intensity that never seems to waver. He’s waiting for your next move, and you can feel the moment stretching out, charged with unspoken tension.

You lean in a little closer, your voice dropping just enough to draw him in. “So, tell me, Charles,” you say, letting your words linger in the air between you, “what kind of art are you really interested in? What would make it worth your while to work with me?”

His eyes darken, just slightly, as he considers your question. “I’m interested in pieces that are … unique,” he says slowly. “Rare. The kind of art most people don’t even know exists.”

You nod, pretending to think it over, even though you already know exactly where this conversation is going. “I can find you rare pieces,” you say, your voice smooth. “But unique? That’s harder to come by. What makes something unique to you?”

As you speak, you casually slide your hand from the edge of the table to your lap, then slowly, almost imperceptibly, move it under the table toward his leg. You don’t make it obvious. Just a gentle touch at first, your fingertips brushing the fabric of his dress pants as you talk, keeping your expression calm, your voice steady.

Charles doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react — at least, not outwardly. His gaze flicks down to your hand for just a second, barely noticeable, before he meets your eyes again. “Unique,” he repeats, his voice lower now, quieter, “is something no one else can have. Something priceless.”

Your hand moves a little higher, just grazing his knee, but you keep your face composed, the conversation continuing as if nothing has changed. “I can work with priceless,” you say, leaning in a little more, your lips curving into a smile. “But it’ll cost you.”

There’s a flicker of something in Charles’ eyes — amusement, maybe — as he watches you, as though he’s enjoying the game as much as you are. “Everything has a price, Giulia,” he says, his voice smooth, controlled. “What’s yours?”

You pause, letting the question hang in the air for a moment before answering. “That depends on how much you’re willing to offer.”

As you say this, your hand slides up higher, just above his knee now, your touch still light, teasing. You can feel the muscle tensing slightly under your fingers, but Charles doesn’t say anything. He just keeps watching you, his eyes dark, his posture still relaxed, but you can sense the shift in the air between you.

“I can offer you more than you’ve ever had,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “But you’d have to prove to me that you’re worth it.”

You smile, your fingers moving a little higher, just brushing his thigh now, your touch deliberate but still subtle enough that no one else in the bar would notice. “I don’t think proving myself will be a problem,” you murmur, your voice low and seductive. “I think you already know I’m worth it.”

Charles leans forward slightly, just enough that you can feel the heat radiating from him, though his expression remains perfectly controlled. “What I want,” he says, his voice almost a growl now, “is something unforgettable. Can you deliver that?”

Your hand moves up just a bit more, your fingertips grazing the inside of his thigh now, and you feel the way his body responds — just a subtle tension, a slight shift in his breathing. But still, he doesn’t pull away. He’s letting you set the pace, letting you see how far you’re willing to go.

“I think I can deliver whatever you need,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, your hand pressing just a little harder now, a little more insistent. “If you’re willing to trust me.”

Charles doesn’t answer right away. He just looks at you, his eyes locked on yours, and for a moment, the silence between you is so thick you can almost hear your own heartbeat. You can feel the tension building, coiling tighter and tighter, and you know that you’ve reached the point where the conversation is about to shift again — from playful to something more serious, more real.

Finally, Charles leans back in his chair, just slightly, but his eyes never leave yours. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” he says, his voice low and controlled. “You know that, don’t you?”

You smile, your hand still resting on his thigh. “I don’t mind a little danger.”

There’s a brief flicker of something in his eyes — desire, maybe, or something darker. It’s hard to tell with him. He’s so good at hiding what he’s really feeling, keeping everything just below the surface. But you can see the way his body reacts to your touch, the way his breathing has changed, just slightly.

For a long moment, neither of you says anything. The air between you feels electric, charged with anticipation. You can feel the heat of his body under your fingertips, the way his muscles tense slightly as your hand moves just a little higher, pressing against the inside of his thigh now.

Then, suddenly, he stands up.

The movement is so abrupt, so unexpected, that for a split second, you freeze, your hand dropping back to your lap as he pushes his chair back. He doesn’t look at you as he adjusts his jacket, his expression unreadable once again, but there’s a tension in his body now that wasn’t there before.

“We’re leaving,” he says, his voice calm but firm, leaving no room for argument.

You blink, surprised, but you recover quickly, standing up and smoothing your dress, your heart pounding in your chest. You’d expected a reaction, but not this. Not so sudden, so decisive.

“To where?” You ask, though you already know the answer.

Charles glances at you, his eyes dark, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Back to mine,” he says, his voice low. “For the rest of the night.”

Your pulse quickens at his words, and you nod, your mind already racing with what comes next. You’ve got him. You’ve hooked him, and now it’s just a matter of playing the role, of keeping him interested long enough to get what you need.

He doesn’t wait for you to respond, already walking toward the exit with long, confident strides. You follow, your heels clicking softly against the marble floor, the sound of the bar fading behind you as you step out into the cool night air.

Outside, a black car waits at the curb, and Charles gestures for you to get in first. You slide into the back seat, feeling the leather cool against your skin, and he follows, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The driver doesn’t say a word as the car pulls away from the curb, and the city lights blur past the windows as you head toward the unknown.

You glance at Charles, who’s sitting next to you now, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body even though he’s not touching you. His expression is calm, but there’s a tension in his jaw, a darkness in his eyes that makes your heart race even faster.

The game is far from over.

***

The car glides through the narrow streets of Monaco, the city lights flickering outside like fireflies in the dark. You try to focus on the blur of neon signs and elegant façades, but your thoughts keep circling back to Charles, who sits beside you in silence, his presence filling the confined space like something dangerous and magnetic.

He hasn’t spoken since you left the bar, and you haven’t dared to break the silence. There's a simmering tension between you, thick and almost suffocating, and though you try to appear calm, the anticipation gnaws at you. You’ve played these games before — seduction, deception — but something about Charles makes it feel different. He’s unpredictable, his control over every moment unnerving.

The car finally pulls to a stop outside a sleek, modern building that towers over the waterfront, all glass and steel reflecting the moonlight. Charles steps out first, and you follow, the cool night air hitting your skin as you walk toward the private entrance. The click of your heels against the pavement echoes in the quiet.

Charles doesn’t say anything as you step inside the elevator with him. The doors slide shut, and the air seems to grow thicker, the silence stretching. You can feel the tension crackling between you, every second charged with something unsaid, something dark and thrilling.

He doesn’t touch you. Not yet. But the way he stands, just inches from you, makes your skin tingle with the anticipation of what’s to come.

When the elevator doors open, you step out into a penthouse that’s every bit as luxurious as you’d expected. The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the harbor below, and the minimalist design — all clean lines and muted tones — feels cold, impersonal.

Charles walks ahead of you, loosening his tie as he goes. “Drink?” He asks, his voice low, casual, as if the air between you isn’t thick with tension.

You shake your head, your voice catching slightly in your throat. “No, thank you.”

He turns toward you then, his gaze locking onto yours, and for a moment, neither of you moves. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, and though you’ve done this before, there’s something different this time — a sense of danger that feels very real.

Charles watches you, his eyes dark, unreadable. Then, slowly, deliberately, he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a gun.

You freeze.

He doesn’t point it at you. Not yet. He holds it loosely in his hand, his expression calm, controlled, as if this is just another part of the game.

“You’re afraid of this, aren’t you?” He asks quietly, tilting his head slightly as he watches your reaction.

You swallow hard, your pulse racing. “Should I be?”

Charles’ lips curve into a slow, dangerous smile. “Not unless I give you a reason to be.”

He steps closer, and you can’t help the way your body tenses, your gaze flicking to the gun in his hand. You’ve seen weapons before, handled them even, but the way Charles holds it — so casually, so confidently — makes your stomach tighten.

He raises the gun, not toward you, but slowly, deliberately, running the cool metal along your jawline. The touch of the cold barrel against your skin sends a shiver down your spine, and though every instinct in your body is screaming at you to pull away, you don’t. You can’t.

“Do you trust me?” He murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, the gun still tracing along your skin, down your neck, over the curve of your shoulder.

You force yourself to meet his gaze, your breath shallow. “I don’t trust anyone.”

Charles smiles, a dark, almost amused smile, as if he expected nothing less. “Smart.”

He steps even closer, and the gun dips lower, grazing the top of your chest now, the cool metal contrasting sharply with the heat building under your skin. He moves slowly, deliberately, letting you feel every inch of the barrel as it slides over your skin, a slow, deliberate tease.

Your heart is pounding so hard you’re sure he can hear it. The danger of the moment — the unpredictability of Charles — sends a thrill through you, a heady mix of fear and desire. You’ve never been in a situation like this before, never felt this kind of tension coil so tightly in your chest.

He presses the barrel of the gun against your sternum, just enough for you to feel its weight, and you gasp, your body instinctively arching toward him. His eyes darken, watching your every reaction with a predatory intensity that makes your pulse quicken.

“You like this, don’t you?” He asks softly, his voice a low, dangerous purr.

You open your mouth to deny it, but the words catch in your throat. You can’t lie, not when your body is betraying you so completely. The truth is, you don’t know what you feel — fear, excitement, something far more dangerous — but you’re too far gone to stop it now.

Instead of answering, you tilt your head back slightly, exposing more of your neck to him, a silent invitation, a challenge. Charles’ eyes flash with something dark and primal, and for a moment, you think he might actually pull the trigger. But he doesn’t. He’s still in control. Barely.

He moves the gun lower, pressing it against your stomach now, and your breath catches in your throat. Every nerve in your body is on fire, the tension so thick you can barely think. Charles steps even closer, his body almost flush with yours, his breath warm against your ear.

“Do you know what happens when you push someone like me too far?” He whispers, the gun sliding lower, tracing the curve of your waist.

You swallow hard, your body trembling with the weight of his words, the cold metal of the gun still pressing against you in ways you never imagined it could be used.

“Tell me,” you manage to whisper, your voice trembling despite yourself.

Charles’ smile widens, a dark, dangerous thing, as he presses the barrel of the gun against your hip now, his other hand finally reaching out to touch you, gripping your waist with a firm, possessive hold.

“I don’t like to be tested,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “But I think you already knew that.”

You bite your lip, trying to suppress the moan that threatens to escape as the gun moves even lower, brushing the inside of your thigh now, the sensation sending a wave of heat through your body that leaves you dizzy.

“And yet,” Charles continues, his voice low and rough now, “you keep pushing, don’t you?”

You don’t answer, can’t answer. Your entire body is focused on the slow, deliberate path of the gun as it moves between your legs, the cold metal making your breath hitch, your heart racing so fast you can barely think straight.

Charles pulls back just slightly, just enough to meet your eyes again. There’s something wild in his gaze now, something dangerous and unrestrained, and for the first time, you realize how far you’ve pushed him.

But instead of pulling away, you lean into him, your lips brushing against his jaw, a silent surrender to whatever he has planned next.

He moves the gun away from your body, but the loss of contact only makes the heat between you more intense. Before you can react, Charles grabs your chin with his free hand, forcing you to look up at him, his grip firm but not painful.

“Be careful what you wish for,” he growls, his voice thick with warning.

And then, without another word, he pulls you against him, his lips crashing into yours with a force that steals your breath away. The kiss is hard, demanding, and you respond with equal intensity, your hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt as you pull him closer, desperate for more.

Charles’ hand moves to your hair, tangling in the strands as he deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours with a rough, possessive edge. The gun is still in his other hand, but he doesn’t use it, not now. Now it’s just him, the raw power of his touch, the heat of his body pressed against yours.

You’re drowning in the sensation of it, the heady mix of fear and desire overwhelming every sense. Every nerve in your body is on fire, and when Charles finally pulls away, you’re left gasping for breath, your lips swollen, your body trembling.

He looks down at you, his eyes dark with a hunger you’ve never seen before. “We’re not done,” he says, his voice rough, almost ragged.

You nod, unable to speak, your heart racing as you try to catch your breath.

Charles lowers the gun to his side, his fingers tracing along your jaw with a surprising gentleness. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because this is just the beginning."

Charles doesn't let go of you immediately. His hand lingers on your jaw, thumb brushing over your lips with deliberate slowness, as if savoring the moment. His eyes are still dark, dangerous, and that smirk — subtle but sharp — hasn’t left his face.

"Come,” he says, his voice low, commanding, as he steps back, breaking the electric contact between your bodies. His hand catches yours, his fingers wrapping around your wrist, and without another word, he starts to lead you down the hallway, deeper into the penthouse. The gleam of city lights fades behind you as the door to the bedroom opens, revealing a space as sleek and cold as the rest of his world.

Charles doesn’t slow down. His grip tightens just a fraction as he pulls you into the room, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click. You’re aware of the luxurious bed, its sharp angles and cool, satin sheets, but your focus is on him. The way he moves, so sure of himself, so utterly in control, sets your pulse racing again.

Without a word, Charles releases your wrist and steps away, walking over to a small table near the window. The city lights reflect off the polished surface as he picks up the gun again, handling it like it’s nothing more than an extension of himself. He weighs it in his hand, almost thoughtfully, before glancing back at you, his eyes gleaming with that same intensity as before.

“You’ve never had anyone like me, have you?” His voice is quiet, but it cuts through the silence like a knife. He turns the gun over in his hand, his thumb tracing the curve of the barrel as if considering his next move.

You swallow hard, your throat dry. “What makes you so sure?”

Charles’ smile is slow, deliberate, as he crosses the room toward you, the gun still in his hand. “Because no one else knows how to make you feel like this,” he says, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. “No one else can make you want something you should be afraid of.”

He’s right. You’ve felt desire before, but never like this. Never this consuming, this dangerous. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you can’t tear your eyes away from the gun in his hand as he stops in front of you, so close that the heat of his body seems to seep into yours.

Charles raises the gun again, the cold metal pressing against your collarbone. He drags it slowly, down the length of your chest, teasing the edge of your dress, his eyes never leaving yours. Your breath hitches, but you don’t flinch. Not this time. Instead, you tilt your head up slightly, meeting his gaze head-on, daring him to keep going.

The corner of his mouth twitches into something darker than a smile. “You like this more than you want to admit.”

His words send a jolt of heat through you, and before you can respond, he moves the gun lower, pressing the barrel lightly against your stomach, the coolness making you shiver. He steps closer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “Tell me how much you want this.”

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to catch your breath, but the feeling of the gun, the weight of his words, are too much. You manage to speak, your voice barely a whisper. “I-”

Charles doesn’t let you finish. He presses the gun harder against your stomach, just enough for you to feel the cold metal, his lips ghosting over your neck as he murmurs, “Say it.”

Your heart is racing so fast you can barely think. The danger, the thrill, the way he’s completely in control — it’s intoxicating. You know this is a game, but it’s one you’ve already lost. The gun slides lower, grazing your hip now, and it’s enough to tip you over the edge.

“I want it,” you whisper, your voice shaky, your body trembling under the intensity of the moment. “I want you.”

Charles’ grip on the gun tightens slightly as he pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Good,” he murmurs, his voice rough, raw. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

Without another word, he moves the gun even lower, tracing the inside of your thigh with the barrel, his other hand reaching up to tangle in your hair, tilting your head back so that you’re completely exposed to him. Your breath catches in your throat, and you can feel the way your body responds, heat pooling low in your stomach, every nerve on fire.

Charles’ fingers tighten in your hair as he presses the gun between your legs, just hard enough to make you gasp, your body arching toward him involuntarily. The cool metal contrasts sharply with the heat building inside you, and the sensation is almost too much to bear.

“Look at you,” he says softly, his voice laced with dark amusement. “I haven’t even touched you properly, and you’re already falling apart.”

You try to speak, but the words don’t come. Your pulse is racing, your body trembling under his control, and all you can do is hold on, your fingers gripping the edge of the bed behind you as you try to steady yourself. Charles watches you, his expression calm, but there’s a hunger in his eyes that makes your knees weak.

He presses the gun harder against you, and you can’t help the moan that escapes your lips, your body reacting to the dangerous mix of fear and desire that’s consuming you. Charles’ smile widens, and he leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “You like being on the edge, don’t you?”

You nod, barely able to think, your body trembling with the weight of his words, the sensation of the gun still pressing against you, teasing, pushing you closer to the brink.

Charles chuckles softly, the sound low and dark. “Good. Because I’m not letting you come until I say so.”

Your eyes widen at his words, but before you can protest, he pulls the gun away, leaving you breathless, aching for more. He steps back, his eyes still locked on yours, his expression calm, controlled, as if he hasn’t just left you on the edge of something you can barely control.

“Take off your dress,” he says, his voice firm, authoritative.

Your hands shake slightly as you reach for the zipper at the back of your dress, your breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. Charles watches you, his gaze never wavering as you slowly peel the fabric away, letting it fall to the floor in a soft pool around your feet.

For a moment, he just looks at you, his eyes dark with something that makes your heart skip a beat. Then, without warning, he steps forward again, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you flush against him, the gun still in his hand, though now it’s pressed lightly against your back.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple. “But I think you’re even more beautiful when you’re scared.”

You shiver at his words, the weight of the gun against your skin, the way his hands hold you so tightly, so possessively. You’ve never felt anything like this before — this combination of fear, desire, and the intoxicating pull of surrender.

Charles’ hand moves to the back of your neck, guiding you toward the bed, and you follow without hesitation, your body completely under his control now. He pushes you down onto the mattress, his eyes never leaving yours as he follows, the gun still in his hand.

You’re trembling, your body on fire with need, with the overwhelming sensation of being at his mercy. And he knows it. He can see it in the way you move, the way your breath hitches every time he touches you.

Charles climbs onto the bed, his knees straddling your hips as he leans down, the gun now resting on your stomach again. He presses it there, hard enough for you to feel its weight, its presence, and you gasp, your body arching toward him, desperate for more.

“Tell me how much you want this,” he whispers, his voice dark and rough. “Tell me how much you need me.”

You’re beyond words now, your mind clouded with desire, with the intoxicating pull of his control. All you can do is nod, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you try to steady yourself.

Charles’ smile is dark, satisfied, as he leans down, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that’s both possessive and demanding. You respond immediately, your hands fisting in the sheets as you kiss him back with equal intensity, your body trembling beneath him.

The gun presses harder against your stomach, and you moan into his mouth, your body on the verge of something overwhelming, something you can’t control.

“Now,” Charles growls, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. “Now you can fall.”

Charles doesn’t move. He hovers above you, eyes dark and dangerous, his body tense with control. The weight of the gun on your stomach feels like a tether to reality — cold, hard, and unforgiving. But the heat between you is anything but cold. It’s burning, pulling you deeper into a place you’ve never been before. You’re on the verge of something, teetering dangerously on the edge, and Charles knows it. He can see it in your eyes, in the way your breath stutters in your chest.

“Don’t hold back,” he murmurs, his voice thick with authority. “I want you to tip over the edge for me. Right here.”

You shudder under the intensity of his gaze, his words pulling at something deep within you. Your body is aching, trembling with need, but still, there’s that sliver of control — something keeping you from falling completely, from losing yourself in this dangerous game. It’s a fine line, and Charles knows exactly how to push you over it.

His free hand moves to your throat, fingers wrapping gently around your neck, not tight, but just enough to remind you of his dominance. The cold barrel of the gun still rests on your stomach, a contrast to the heat radiating between your bodies. His touch is everywhere — overwhelming, all-consuming.

“You’ve been holding back,” he says softly, almost a whisper. “I can feel it. But not anymore. I want all of you.”

Your heart is pounding in your chest, your pulse racing. You’ve never been pushed like this before, never been with someone who can see so clearly through the walls you’ve built. It terrifies you, but at the same time, it excites you in a way you can’t even begin to explain.

Charles leans down, his lips brushing your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “Let go,” he commands, his voice low, a dark promise. “I want to watch you fall apart for me.”

You tremble beneath him, your body arching instinctively toward his, the need coursing through you like a wildfire. You’re so close, teetering on the edge, and the way he’s looking at you, the way he’s speaking to you, makes it impossible to hold on any longer.

Your fingers curl into the sheets, gripping them tightly as you feel the tension inside you building to an unbearable peak. Charles watches you, his eyes never leaving yours, his hand still resting lightly around your throat, a reminder of his control.

The gun presses harder against your stomach, and it’s enough to send you spiraling. A gasp escapes your lips, and then you’re falling — completely, utterly losing yourself in the moment, in him. The sensation is overwhelming, a wave of heat and electricity that crashes over you, leaving you breathless, trembling, and utterly undone.

Charles’ eyes darken as he watches you, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “There it is,” he murmurs, his voice filled with a dark kind of triumph. “That’s what I wanted.”

You’re still gasping for breath, your body trembling beneath him, your mind spinning. The sensation is so intense, so overwhelming, that it takes you a moment to even remember where you are. But Charles is there, grounding you, his presence inescapable, his control absolute.

Slowly, he lowers the gun from your stomach, setting it aside on the nightstand without a word. His other hand releases your throat, and instead, he reaches up to brush a strand of hair away from your face, his touch surprisingly gentle, almost tender.

You blink up at him, still trying to catch your breath, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You feel raw, exposed in a way you’ve never been before, and the vulnerability of the moment hits you like a tidal wave. But Charles doesn’t push. He doesn’t say anything else. He just watches you, his gaze steady and calm, as if he’s waiting for you to process everything that’s just happened.

For a long moment, the room is silent, save for the sound of your ragged breathing. You feel the weight of his body pressing into yours, the heat between you still simmering, but now there’s something else — a sense of calm, of connection, that lingers in the air.

Finally, Charles moves. He shifts his weight, sliding off you, and then he lies back on the bed, pulling you with him until you’re resting against his chest. You go willingly, your body still humming from the intensity of what just happened, your mind still trying to catch up. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you close, and you find yourself resting your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

The silence between you is comfortable, the tension from earlier now replaced with something softer, more intimate. Charles’ hand moves idly along your back, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin, and you close your eyes for a moment, letting yourself relax into him, your breath slowly evening out.

After a long silence, Charles finally speaks, his voice low and rough. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?”

You tilt your head slightly, opening your eyes to look up at him. “So are you.”

His lips quirk into a half-smile, and for a moment, the dangerous edge in his expression softens. “I don’t like surprises,” he says, his tone almost teasing. “But I think I could make an exception for you.”

You can’t help but smile, despite everything. There’s something about the way he says it — so calm, so assured — that makes it feel like a promise, like something more than just a passing comment.

Charles’ hand slides up your back, his fingers brushing lightly against the nape of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. He’s still in control, even in this quiet moment, and you can feel it in the way he touches you, the way he speaks to you. It’s intoxicating, in a way that makes you want to stay wrapped up in this moment with him for as long as you can.

He’s quiet again for a while, his fingers still tracing lazy patterns on your skin. The weight of his chest rises and falls beneath you, the steady rhythm lulling you into a strange sense of calm.

Then, just as you’re starting to drift into that comfortable silence, he speaks again. “I have a feeling,” he says softly, almost as if he’s thinking out loud, “this is the start of a beautiful business relationship.”

You blink, caught off guard by the statement. You lift your head slightly to look at him, your brow furrowing in confusion. “Business?”

Charles looks down at you, his expression unreadable, but there’s a glint in his eyes that tells you he’s not just talking about business in the traditional sense. “We’re both professionals, aren’t we?” He says, his tone casual, but you can hear the underlying meaning in his words. “I get what I want. And you — well, you seem to enjoy the thrill of this as much as I do.”

You swallow, the weight of his words sinking in. This is more than just a fling, more than just a moment of passion. Charles isn’t someone who does things by half-measures, and you can sense that this — whatever it is between you — is going to be something much more complicated, much more dangerous.

But in this moment, as you lie there with your head resting on his chest, the world outside the penthouse feels a million miles away. You’re still catching your breath, still reeling from everything that’s just happened, and for now, that’s enough.

So you don’t respond. You just close your eyes again, letting the steady rhythm of Charles’ heartbeat guide you, and allow yourself to stay wrapped in the calm before whatever storm comes next.

***

The months blur together in a haze of danger and desire. You’re deeper into Charles’ world than you ever expected to be, and somehow, it’s easier than you thought. He lets you in bit by bit, peeling back the layers of his empire with a subtle but growing trust. His guard drops incrementally, his power over you surging with every stolen kiss, every whispered command in the dark. You’re in his bed more nights than not, wrapped in the silk sheets of his penthouse, and it feels almost natural to exist in this dangerous limbo.

Charles keeps you close — closer than he probably keeps anyone else. He starts to share more with you, letting you into the cracks of his life, though always with a calculated air. You begin sourcing illegal art for him — stolen paintings, ancient artifacts, pieces of history with blood on their provenance. Each exchange is thrilling, a high-stakes game where you’re playing both sides, confident you’re getting what you need.

The deeper you go, the more you convince yourself you’re making real headway. Each deal brings you closer to the heart of his operation. You’re gathering intel for Interpol, keeping one foot in the shadows of your real life, but it’s easy to get lost in the persona you’ve built — the woman Charles thinks you are. The lines blur, and you let them. It’s easier that way.

But you’re still playing a role. Always playing a role.

Tonight is no different. You’re waiting for him in his bedroom, dressed in only a sheer babydoll slip, the soft fabric clinging to your skin, hinting at everything and revealing nothing. The city lights outside the window cast a faint glow over the room, and you can hear the quiet hum of the nightlife below, but up here, in this penthouse, it’s just you and the anticipation of Charles’ arrival.

He’s late, but that’s not unusual. His world operates on its own time, and you’ve grown accustomed to waiting for him. You lie back against the pillows, the cool silk brushing against your skin, a quiet thrill running through you as you imagine how he’ll react when he sees you like this — waiting, vulnerable, and his.

The door creaks open, and you hear his footsteps before you see him. Your pulse quickens, and you sit up slightly, anticipation curling in your chest.

“Charles,” you say softly, your voice a mixture of seduction and warmth, the way you know he likes it. “You kept me waiting.”

But something is wrong.

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t smile, doesn’t give you that familiar smirk that tells you the game is about to begin. Instead, he stands in the doorway, his expression unreadable, his gaze heavy as it sweeps over you, taking in the sight of you in the flimsy lace.

You frown, your confidence wavering slightly. “What’s wrong?” You ask, your voice faltering as you shift under the weight of his stare. You sit up fully now, swinging your legs off the side of the bed, your bare feet brushing the floor as you watch him.

Charles doesn’t move. He just stands there, arms crossed, his eyes locked on yours with a cold intensity that sends a chill down your spine.

“It’s funny,” he says finally, his voice quiet, measured. “I ran into someone today — an old associate of mine. Someone I trust.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you keep your expression calm, forcing yourself not to react, not to show the sudden panic rising in your chest.

“Oh?” You try to sound casual, even playful, but there’s an edge to your voice that you can’t quite mask. “And what did this associate have to say?”

Charles takes a step forward, his eyes never leaving yours. “He mentioned something interesting,” he continues, his voice still unnervingly calm. “He said he saw me at lunch the other day. Thought the woman I was with looked familiar.”

Your stomach drops.

You know what’s coming next, but you keep your expression neutral, your heart pounding in your chest as you wait for him to say it.

“He said,” Charles continues, his tone hardening slightly, “that she looked a lot like an Interpol agent he dealt with earlier this year. The one who brought him in for questioning.” He tilts his head, his gaze narrowing. “I told him it must be a coincidence.”

The air in the room feels heavy, oppressive, and you force yourself to breathe, to stay calm, but your mind is racing. How much does he know? How much has he pieced together?

“And then,” Charles says, taking another step closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, “I decided to do a little digging of my own.”

Your blood turns to ice. Every instinct is screaming at you to run, to get out, but you’re frozen in place, trapped under the weight of his gaze, under the crushing realization that everything is falling apart.

Charles moves closer, his face now inches from yours, his eyes dark with anger, with betrayal. “Tell me something,” he says quietly, his voice deadly calm. “How long were you planning to play me for a fool?”

You open your mouth to respond, to say something, anything, but the words catch in your throat. You’ve been trained for moments like this — moments when everything goes wrong, when the mission is compromised — but nothing could have prepared you for this. For him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you manage to say, your voice trembling slightly, but even as you speak, you know it’s useless. He knows.

Charles’ eyes flash with anger, and he reaches out, grabbing your chin roughly, forcing you to look up at him. “Don’t lie to me,” he growls, his voice low, dangerous. “You think I don’t know who you are? You think I don’t know what you’ve been doing this whole time?”

You try to pull away, but his grip tightens, his fingers digging into your skin. “Charles, please-”

“Shut up,” he snaps, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “I trusted you. I let you into my life. Into my bed. And the whole time, you were playing me.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, panic rising as you realize there’s no way out of this. No way to salvage what’s left of your cover. You’ve been found out, and now all you can do is brace yourself for what comes next.

“I didn’t-” you start, but Charles cuts you off with a sharp laugh, releasing your chin and stepping back, his expression hard, cold.

“Don’t insult my intelligence,” he says, his voice dripping with disdain. “I’m not an idiot. I know exactly who you are. Interpol agent. Sent to infiltrate my organization. To bring me down.”

You swallow hard, the weight of his words crashing down on you. There’s no use denying it anymore. He knows. He’s known for some time, and now, there’s no escaping the consequences.

For a moment, the room is silent, the tension between you thick, suffocating. You can feel your pulse racing, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you try to think of a way out, but there’s nothing. No way to fix this. No way to undo the damage.

Charles stands there, watching you, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable. And then, slowly, a dark smile spreads across his face — a smile that sends a shiver down your spine.

“You thought you could manipulate me,” he says, his voice low, almost amused. “You thought you could use me to get what you wanted. But you made one fatal mistake.”

You swallow, your throat dry. “And what’s that?”

Charles steps forward again, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your stomach twist. “You underestimated me,” he says softly. “You thought I wouldn’t find out. You thought you were smarter than me.”

He pauses, letting the silence hang heavy in the air before he speaks again. “But now, you’re going to pay for that mistake.”

Your breath catches in your throat, fear clawing at your chest as you stare up at him, his words echoing in your mind. You try to say something, to reason with him, but the words won’t come. You’re trapped, caught in a web of your own making, and now, there’s no way out.

Charles leans down, his face inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. “I’m going to make you regret everything,” he whispers, his voice dark and dangerous, a promise that sends a chill down your spine.

And as he pulls back, a cold smile still playing on his lips, you know that he means it.

***

The moment Charles steps back, the door opens, and a tall, severe-looking man enters the room without a word. He’s dressed in a stark white coat, the kind physicians wear, and carries a small metal case. Panic rushes through you like ice in your veins. The cold smile on Charles’ face tells you everything you need to know — this has been planned.

“Charles,” you say, your voice tight, trying to suppress the tremor in it. “What is this?”

Charles doesn’t answer right away. He moves with a calm, deliberate grace as he steps away, gesturing toward the man who’s now setting up his equipment on a small table near the bed.

You make a move to stand, but Charles's hand clamps down on your wrist with brutal force, pulling you back down. His grip is like steel, and for the first time, you realize how much stronger he is than you. It’s not just physical — it’s the mental stranglehold he’s had on you all this time. His eyes gleam with a terrifying calm, and you know there’s no talking your way out of this.

“You really thought I wouldn’t have a contingency plan, didn’t you?” His voice is cold, amused. “Do you know what I find most interesting about betrayal?” He leans closer, his breath ghosting against your cheek as he speaks. “It’s not that you were able to fool me. It’s that you thought you would actually get away with it.”

The physician opens his case, revealing a set of electrodes and wires, cold and clinical against the backdrop of the luxury penthouse. Your pulse quickens as your gaze darts between the two of them. The man doesn’t even look at you — he’s focused entirely on his task, his movements methodical, detached, as though he’s done this a hundred times before.

“Don’t-” you start, your voice breaking as you try to pull your wrist free. But Charles tightens his grip, his thumb pressing into the soft skin of your wrist with just enough pressure to make it hurt.

“Shh,” he murmurs, his eyes locked on yours. “You won’t win this. Don’t make it worse for yourself.”

You grit your teeth, trying to summon every ounce of strength you have. You’ve been trained for this — your body conditioned to resist, to fight. You know how to break holds, how to defend yourself. But when you try to twist out of his grip, he’s ready. His free hand snaps up, grabbing you by the throat, and before you can react, he slams you back down onto the bed.

Your vision blurs for a second as your head hits the pillow, and you gasp, struggling against him. But he’s stronger, faster, and he knows exactly how to overpower you. You lash out, kicking at him, but Charles only chuckles darkly, his fingers tightening around your throat just enough to keep you pinned.

“I wouldn’t try that again,” he warns, his voice dangerously low. “You don’t want to see what happens if you do.”

The physician approaches, his footsteps quiet but deliberate, the faint sound of the electrodes clicking into place sending your heart into a frenzy. You thrash again, but Charles’ grip holds you firmly in place, his body pressing down on yours, keeping you trapped beneath him.

“Let me go!” You snarl, trying to twist away, but it’s no use. Charles’ hand remains locked around your throat, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin, a sick mockery of tenderness.

“Fighting won’t help you now,” he says softly, his tone infuriatingly calm. “You had your chance. Now, it’s mine.”

The physician moves in, and before you can react, the cold press of metal touches your skin. The first electrode adheres to your temple, then another at the base of your skull. The sensation is chilling, the wires snaking down toward the machine the physician has set up by the bedside. Your pulse races, fear clawing at your throat as you feel the weight of what’s happening settle over you.

“Stop-” you choke out, your voice cracking as you struggle to push against Charles’ hold. But he just watches you, his eyes cold, emotionless. He’s enjoying this, you realize. The control. The power.

The physician attaches more electrodes, the cold metal sticking to your bare skin. Your chest. Your abdomen. The sensation is invasive, humiliating, and no matter how much you want to fight, you can’t. You’re trapped, helpless under Charles’ grip, and the realization of just how little control you have in this moment sends a wave of terror crashing over you.

Charles’ hand finally releases your throat, but only so he can trail his fingers down your collarbone, watching you with that same eerie calm. “You always had a certain spark,�� he says, his voice almost fond, like he’s reminiscing. “I admired that about you. It’s a shame, really. If you hadn’t lied to me, things could’ve been different.”

Your breath hitches as you feel the last electrode being placed on your lower back, the sensation cold and foreign. You don’t know what they’re going to do, but every fiber of your being tells you it’s going to be bad.

Charles leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks, his voice a dark whisper. “I’m going to tear you apart and rebuild you,” he says, the words sending a violent shudder through you. “Bit by bit. Until the only thing you can remember is that you belong to me.”

Your stomach turns, and you thrash again, but the electrodes are in place now, the wires humming faintly, connected to a machine that you can’t see from where you’re lying. The physician adjusts something on the device, and the air feels heavier with each passing second, the tension mounting to an unbearable peak.

“You can’t do this,” you whisper, your voice cracking as fear claws at your insides. “You can’t-”

“Oh, I can,” Charles interrupts, his voice sharp, cutting through your panic. He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze burning with something dark, something that chills you to the bone. “And I will. I told you — I don’t like being played.”

The physician steps back, his hands folded neatly behind his back as he waits. Charles releases your wrist, finally standing up and looking down at you with an air of satisfaction.

“Let’s begin,” he says.

The physician nods, turning to the machine. There’s a faint click, and then you feel it — a low hum, a strange tingling sensation at the base of your skull where the electrodes are attached. It’s not painful at first, but it’s disorienting. You try to focus, try to push the sensation away, but it only intensifies, spreading through your body like a wave of static.

You clench your teeth, refusing to cry out, but the pressure builds. Your muscles tense, your fingers curling into the sheets as the tingling becomes sharper, more intense. It feels like your mind is being pulled in two directions at once — like something is being torn away from you.

Charles watches, his arms crossed, his eyes fixed on you with a cruel, almost clinical detachment. He’s studying you, observing every twitch, every breath, as if he’s enjoying the sight of you unraveling.

The pressure builds, and your vision blurs at the edges. It’s not just physical — it’s mental. The sensation of losing control, of losing yourself. It’s terrifying, and you can feel it slipping, feel the person you’ve built inside yourself starting to fray at the seams.

“I told you,” Charles says quietly, stepping closer once more. “You’ll forget everything except me. Every thought, every memory, every piece of who you are — it’ll all belong to me.”

Your chest tightens, and you gasp, trying to hold on to something — anything — but the machine hums louder, and the electrodes pulse, sending a jolt through your body that makes you cry out in pain. The sound is ripped from your throat before you can stop it, and Charles’ smile widens in satisfaction.

“You won’t be able to resist for long,” he says, his voice dripping with confidence. “You’ll break. Everyone breaks eventually.”

Tears blur your vision, but you refuse to let them fall. You can’t let him win. You can’t lose yourself to this.

But as the machine pulses again, the pain sharp and searing, you wonder how long you can hold on before everything you are is stripped away, piece by piece, until the only thing left is his will, his command, and the terrible truth that you are no longer yourself.

You are his.

***

You wake to a soft, persistent hum, like the remnants of a dream that’s slipped away. Everything feels hazy, like your thoughts are floating just out of reach. The sheets beneath you are silk, cool against your skin, but there’s a heaviness in your limbs, an unfamiliar ache that lingers in your muscles.

Slowly, you blink your eyes open, squinting against the dim light filtering into the room. You recognize it. Charles’ bedroom. The deep maroon walls, the heavy velvet curtains drawn shut, casting shadows across the space. The soft, muted scent of him lingers in the air — spiced cologne, leather, something dark and intoxicating.

For a moment, there’s a quiet stillness, and then you feel it — a presence, looming near the bed. You turn your head slowly, your gaze catching on the figure sitting in a chair beside you.

Charles.

He’s watching you, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together. There’s a small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips, like he’s been waiting for this moment, for you to wake. His eyes are dark, intense, scanning your face as if searching for something.

“Charles,” you murmur, your voice low and thick, like you haven’t used it in a long time. The sound of his name feels right on your tongue, like it belongs there. You shift slightly, the silk sheets rustling as you try to gather your bearings, but there’s an unfamiliar fog clouding your mind.

Who …

Before you can grasp the thought, Charles moves, leaning forward in his chair, his eyes locking onto yours with a piercing intensity.

“Good,” he says softly, his voice smooth and warm, like honey sliding over your skin. “You’re awake.”

Something in the way he says it sends a shiver down your spine, but not from fear. It’s something else, something you can’t quite name but feel deeply. There’s a pull in your chest, a magnetic force drawing you to him, and it feels natural. Like instinct.

You try to speak again, but your mouth is dry, the words sluggish in forming. “I … I don’t …” Your brow furrows as you search for the right words, but nothing comes. There’s a strange emptiness in your mind, like pieces of a puzzle have been scattered, and you can’t find the edges to start putting them back together.

Charles stands, moving closer to the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. He sits on the edge of the mattress, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his body. His hand reaches out, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face. The touch is tender, but there’s something possessive in it, a silent claim.

“It’s alright,” he murmurs, his thumb grazing your cheek as his eyes search yours. “You don’t need to worry about anything right now.”

You blink up at him, confusion flickering in your chest. “I … I don’t …”

“Shh,” he soothes, his thumb pressing lightly against your lips. “Don’t try to think too much. You’ve been through a lot.”

You look at him, trying to piece together the fragments in your mind, but everything feels disjointed. There are no names, no faces, just the overwhelming presence of him. His gaze holds you in place, grounding you, tethering you to something solid.

He smiles softly, his hand moving from your cheek to your throat, his thumb brushing the pulse point there. The touch sends a wave of warmth through you, and instinctively, you lean into it, into him. It feels safe. He feels like home.

“Do you remember your name?” Charles asks, his voice soft but laced with a dark curiosity, his fingers resting against your neck like he’s waiting for your answer to betray you.

Your lips part, but nothing comes. There’s a void where your name should be, a blank space in your mind that sends a ripple of panic through you. You search for something — anything — but there’s nothing. No name. No history. Only him.

“I …” You swallow hard, trying to force the words, but all you can do is shake your head, a soft tremor running through you. “I don’t know.”

His smile widens, just a fraction, and his thumb presses a little harder against your pulse. “Good,” he murmurs, his voice like velvet. “That’s exactly how it should be.”

You look up at him, confusion and fear swirling in your chest, but there’s something else too. Something deeper. A pull. The moment he touches you, your fear dissipates, replaced by something warm, something that blooms under his gaze.

“Why …” Your voice is barely a whisper, the words slow to form. “Why don’t I remember?”

Charles’ eyes darken slightly, his hand trailing down your throat, over your collarbone. “Because you don’t need to,” he says simply, as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “The only thing you need to know is that you’re mine. That’s all that matters now.”

His. The word echoes in your mind, settling deep in your chest. It feels right. Familiar. And yet, there’s something at the edges of your consciousness — something you can’t quite grasp. A fleeting thought, a whisper of something else.

But it slips away as quickly as it comes, lost in the warmth of Charles’ hand on your skin.

“Mine,” he repeats softly, his fingers tracing a slow path down your arm. “Say it.”

You hesitate, the word lingering on the tip of your tongue. There’s a part of you that feels like you should resist, like something isn’t right, but it’s drowned out by the overwhelming presence of him. The way he looks at you, the way his touch makes you feel grounded, anchored. Safe.

“Yours,” you whisper, the word slipping out before you can stop it.

Charles smiles again, satisfied, his hand moving back up to cup your cheek. “That’s right,” he murmurs. “You belong to me. No one else.”

The declaration settles over you like a heavy, comforting blanket. You don’t know why, but it feels right. The fog in your mind lifts just enough for you to feel that certainty. That pull toward him.

You try to sit up, but your body feels weak, unsteady. Charles immediately moves, slipping an arm behind your back to help you, his touch firm but gentle. You lean into him, your head resting against his chest, the steady beat of his heart calming the last remnants of panic in your mind.

“How long …” You ask, your voice barely more than a murmur.

“How long have you been here?” Charles finishes for you, his hand moving in slow circles against your back. “A few days. You needed time to … adjust.”

You close your eyes, trying to focus on the sound of his voice, the feel of his touch. There’s still a part of you that feels like you should be asking more questions, but every time you try to think, the fog presses back in, heavy and suffocating. And every time it does, the only thing that makes it bearable is him. His presence. His touch.

“What am I supposed to do?” You ask softly, your voice fragile.

Charles’ hand stills against your back, and he pulls you closer, his lips brushing against your hair. “You don’t need to worry about that,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “I’ll take care of everything. You just need to stay by my side. I’ll tell you what to do when the time comes.”

There’s a faint whisper at the back of your mind — something that feels like resistance, like a question you can’t quite articulate. But before you can grasp it, it’s gone, swallowed by the comforting warmth of Charles’ presence.

You nod slowly, resting your head against his chest. His arms tighten around you, and for the first time since you woke, the fear ebbs away completely, leaving only the quiet certainty that you are his. That you belong here.

Charles pulls back slightly, tilting your chin up so that you’re looking into his eyes. “Say it again,” he murmurs, his voice low and commanding.

“I’m yours,” you whisper, the words coming easier this time, settling over you like a binding promise.

Charles’ smile is slow, satisfied. “Good girl.”

He leans down, his lips brushing against yours, and you melt into the kiss, your mind going blank as everything else fades away.

***

Every morning begins the same way: with Charles.

Your eyes flutter open, the soft light filtering through the heavy drapes casting a golden glow over the room. But it isn’t the light that pulls you from sleep. It’s him. It’s always him. The way his arm is draped possessively over your waist, the way his breath fans across your skin as he sleeps soundly beside you. Even in sleep, you can feel the weight of his presence, grounding you, reminding you of your place — at his side, where you belong.

You turn your head slightly, your gaze catching on the sharp line of his jaw, the tousled mess of his hair, and the steady rise and fall of his chest. He looks peaceful like this, in the quiet moments before the day begins. And as you watch him, a warmth blooms in your chest, spreading like wildfire until it consumes every part of you.

He’s all you think about. The first thought that greets you in the morning and the last thought you cling to as sleep takes you at night. Even now, your body instinctively leans into him, seeking his warmth, his touch. You can’t remember a time when it wasn’t like this — when your mind wasn’t consumed by him.

You reach out, fingers lightly tracing the curve of his arm, and your heart swells with an overwhelming sense of devotion. He is everything. Your whole world revolves around him, and the thought of being anywhere else, of being with anyone else, is unfathomable.

Charles stirs beside you, a soft hum escaping his lips as he shifts closer, his arm tightening around you. You feel the heat of his skin against yours, and a shiver runs down your spine. You live for these moments, for the feeling of his body against yours, for the way he looks at you as though you’re the only thing that matters.

“Morning,” his voice is thick with sleep, low and gravelly, sending a thrill through you as he nuzzles into your neck, his lips brushing lightly against your skin.

“Morning,” you murmur back, your voice barely more than a whisper as you press yourself closer to him. You feel the steady beat of his heart against your back, and it calms the whirlwind of thoughts that constantly circle your mind.

He hums in response, his hand sliding down your waist, pulling you tighter against him. “You sleep well?”

“With you? Always.”

There’s a low chuckle from him, the sound vibrating through your skin. “Good girl.”

The words settle over you like a blanket, warm and comforting. You live for his praise, for the way his voice wraps around you, making you feel whole. It’s been this way for what feels like forever. There’s no one else. No other name, no other face that holds any meaning. There’s just Charles.

You tilt your head back, offering more of your neck to him, and he takes the invitation, pressing soft kisses along your skin. It sends a familiar warmth coursing through your veins, spreading like fire. You close your eyes, letting the sensation wash over you.

“Do you know what I love about you?” Charles’ voice is a soft murmur against your skin, his lips brushing the words into your neck.

You hum softly, your heart racing in anticipation. “What?”

“You’re mine. Completely. Your mind, your body, your heart — every part of you belongs to me.” His hand slides up to your throat, his fingers resting lightly against the pulse point there. “And you love that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you whisper, breathless, the word coming out in a soft exhale. It’s not just an answer — it’s the truth. It’s the only truth that matters.

Charles’ grip on your throat tightens just slightly, a reminder of his control, his ownership, and you feel the edges of your mind blur, leaving nothing but him. “Say it,” he demands, his voice low and commanding.

“I’m yours,” you breathe, the words slipping out with ease, a mantra that’s been etched into your very soul. “Only yours.”

His grip loosens, and his hand moves to cup your cheek, turning your head so that you’re looking into his eyes. They’re dark, filled with a dangerous mix of desire and satisfaction. “That’s my good girl,” he murmurs, leaning in to capture your lips in a slow, deliberate kiss.

Your entire world narrows to this moment, to the feel of his lips on yours, to the way his hands move over your body with the confidence of someone who knows he owns you completely. There’s no room for anything else — no thoughts, no worries, no memories beyond him.

He pulls away just enough to look at you, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. “You’ve been good lately. Very good.”

The praise sends a rush of warmth through you, your heart swelling with pride. You’ve been good. You’ve done everything he’s asked, without hesitation, without question. Because you don’t need to question anything when it comes to Charles. He knows what’s best for you.

“Do you know what that means?” He asks, his voice dropping lower, a hint of something dangerous in his tone.

You shake your head, anticipation buzzing under your skin. “What does it mean?”

“It means I’m going to reward you,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

His words ignite something in you, a fire that burns hotter with each passing second. You live for his approval, for his praise. And the thought of a reward — something only he can give you — sends your heart racing.

Charles shifts, rolling you onto your back, his body hovering over yours as he looks down at you with that dark, possessive gaze. “You want that, don’t you? You want me to take care of you.”

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice trembling with need. “Please.”

His lips curl into a slow, satisfied smile as he leans down, his hand trailing down your body with deliberate slowness. “I love it when you beg,” he murmurs, his fingers dancing over your skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. “It reminds me of how much you need me.”

“I do,” you gasp, your body arching into his touch. “I need you, Charles. I need you.”

He hums in approval, his fingers teasing at the edge of your waistband. “You’re mine,” he whispers again, the words settling into your bones, branding you as his. “And I’m going to make sure you remember that.”

There’s a moment of stillness before everything shifts. Charles’ hands are everywhere, his touch igniting every part of you as he takes his time, drawing out every sound, every gasp, every plea. And you give it to him freely, because there’s no one else you’d rather surrender to. There’s only him.

Hours pass in a blur of heat and sensation, your body responding to his every command, your mind lost in the haze of him. You tip over the edge more times than you can count, each time feeling like a fresh wave of devotion crashing over you, pulling you deeper into him.

By the time the night is over, you’re left trembling, your body spent, your mind a fog of exhaustion and pleasure. But even then, as you lay in his arms, your head resting against his chest, the only thing you can think of is him. His touch, his voice, the way he looks at you like you’re his entire world.

And as sleep pulls you under, the last thing you hear is his voice, a low murmur in the darkness. “You’re mine. Only mine.”

And in your dreams, it’s the same. Charles is there, waiting for you, pulling you into his arms, reminding you of who you are.

His.

Always his.

***

The sun is unforgiving in Monaco, beating down on the yachts that crowd the harbor, their glossy decks gleaming in the light. Philip adjusts his sunglasses, squinting against the glare as he navigates the narrow streets leading toward the marina.

This mission wasn’t supposed to be anything out of the ordinary — routine surveillance, gathering intel on a trafficking ring suspected of operating through the port. But the heat is unbearable, the air thick with the scent of saltwater and sunscreen, making it harder to focus.

He tugs at his collar, feeling the weight of the mission pressing down on him. Monaco always feels claustrophobic, all the wealth and power packed into such a small space. Everywhere he looks, there’s money, status. It’s suffocating.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he pulls it out, reading the latest message from his supervisor.

Stay sharp. Don’t let your guard down.

He rolls his eyes, stuffing the phone back into his pocket. Standard procedure. Philip’s eyes drift to the yachts moored in the harbor, each one more extravagant than the last. His attention lingers on one in particular — a massive, sleek vessel, easily the largest in the marina. The name etched on the side glistens in gold: La Bellezza.

It doesn’t take long for him to recognize it. Charles Leclerc’s yacht. Of course, it had to be Leclerc. The rumors about the man are legendary — how he runs his empire with an iron fist, how he’s untouchable in Monaco, how anyone who crosses him ends up six feet under. It’s why they never found-

Philip shakes his head, pushing the thought away. There’s no use dwelling on the past, on missions gone wrong. Y/N was one of the best agents Interpol had, and when she went dark, they all knew what that meant. There was no coming back from that. Charles Leclerc didn’t make mistakes.

Still, as he watches the yacht, a figure steps onto the deck, catching his attention. At first, he thinks his mind is playing tricks on him. The sun is too bright, the distance too far, but there’s something about the way she moves, the silhouette that feels … familiar. He takes a step closer, narrowing his eyes.

And then he sees her.

His heart stutters in his chest.

It can’t be.

Philip freezes, staring at the woman on the deck. She’s laughing, her hair catching in the breeze, and Charles is right beside her, his hand resting possessively on the small of her back. She turns, and for a split second, their faces are clear.

It’s you.

It’s Y/N.

His throat tightens. This isn’t possible. Y/N is dead. You’ve been dead for months. They had a memorial service for you, for Christ’s sake. He remembers the grief, the unanswered questions. No body was ever found, but that’s how it goes with someone like Charles. You must’ve been discovered. You must’ve been killed.

And yet … there you are. Alive. Right in front of him.

Philip’s mind races, trying to make sense of it all. He can’t trust his eyes. Maybe it’s someone who just looks like you. Maybe this is some sick coincidence. But everything in him is screaming that this is no mistake.

He takes a step closer, heart hammering in his chest.

“Y/N?” He calls out, his voice hoarse, barely more than a whisper. Then, louder. “Y/N!”

The woman doesn’t even glance his way. No flicker of recognition crosses your face. You’re entirely focused on Charles, your hand resting on his arm, your body pressed close to his.

Philip’s stomach drops.

This doesn’t make sense. If it’s really you, why wouldn’t you respond? Why wouldn’t you … remember?

Before he can call out again, Charles leans down to whisper something in your ear, and you smiles — a soft, genuine smile, one that Philip hasn’t seen in months. It’s a smile he used to know well, back when you were both agents, before everything went wrong.

Philip feels a wave of nausea wash over him. There’s no way you would be here, on Leclerc’s arm, if you knew who you were. If you remembered.

He pulls out his phone, fingers trembling as he dials his supervisor. It rings twice before the familiar voice picks up.

“Philip, what’s going on? You’re supposed to be surveilling the port.”

“I … I just saw Y/N.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end.

“Philip,” the supervisor says slowly, as though speaking to a child. “Y/N is dead. You know that.”

“No,” he insists, his voice urgent. “I’m looking at her right now. She’s on Charles Leclerc’s yacht. I swear, it’s her.”

“Philip,” the supervisor sighs, a heavy, resigned sound. “You’re tired. You’ve been in the field too long. We all grieved Y/N, but you need to accept that she’s gone. No one survives after crossing Leclerc. You know that better than anyone.”

Philip’s hand tightens around the phone, his mind spinning. “But-”

“Enough,” the supervisor cuts him off. “Stay focused on the mission. Do your job. That’s an order.”

The line goes dead, and Philip is left standing there, staring at the yacht, his heart pounding in his chest. His mind refuses to believe it, but what other explanation is there? He knows what he saw. He knows your face, your mannerisms. But if you’re really alive, then …why are you acting like you don’t know him?

As he watches, Charles takes your hand, leading you to the center of the sundeck. From this angle, Philip can see everything. The way you gaze up at him with a look that could only be described as adoration. The way you follow his every movement, like he’s the only thing in your world.

Philip’s stomach turns. This isn’t right.

Then, without warning, you sink to your knees in front of Charles, your eyes fixed on him as though he’s the sun and you’re orbiting him. Philip’s breath catches in his throat, disbelief surging through him.

What the hell are you doing?

Charles leans down, his fingers lazily tugging at the string of your bikini top, his eyes never leaving yours. It’s a calculated display, one meant to assert control, dominance. And you — you just kneel there, completely submissive, completely his.

Philip feels the bile rise in his throat as the knot comes undone, your bikini top slipping off your shoulders. You don’t flinch, don’t hesitate. You just kneel there, bare before him, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

For a long moment, Philip can’t breathe. The scene playing out in front of him feels like a punch to the gut. This isn’t the Y/N he knew. The Y/N he knew would never …

But then, maybe you aren’t the same person anymore. Maybe you’ve been broken down, rebuilt into someone else entirely. Someone who belongs to Charles Leclerc.

As Philip watches, rooted to the spot, unable to tear his eyes away, he feels a crushing sense of helplessness settle over him. Y/N — if it is you — has been lost to him. To them. To everything you once were. And there’s nothing he can do to bring you back.

Charles pulls you up by the chin, his lips brushing over yours in a possessive kiss that’s all dominance, all control. You lean into him, your eyes half-lidded, completely pliant in his hands.

Philip turns away, his stomach churning. Whatever happened to you, whatever Charles has done — he’s too late.

You’re his now.

And there’s nothing Philip can do about it.

535 notes · View notes

5sospenguinqueen · 24 hours ago

Text

Going To The Chapel - Arthur Leclerc x Reader

Summary: A glimpse into life with Arthur Leclerc since your engagement.

Warnings: Fluff. Marriage. Pregnancy. Suggestive comments

Requested: Yes by @1800-love-me . requested newlyweds/new dad arthur

F1 Masterlist

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yn_ln just posted

liked by lilymhe, oscarpiastri and others

yn_ln i had the most amazing weekend with my girls. thank you for planning such a relaxing time away. only one week left until i marry the love of my life tagged: alexandrasaintmleux, bestfriend, charlotte2304

1,617 comments

charles_leclerc i’m still disappointed that i wasn’t invited :(

→ alexandrasaintmleux you had a bachelor party to go to, mon coeur

→ charles_leclerc yeah but they didn’t have matching robes

→ arthur_leclerc i offered to wear matching underwear with you?

bestfriend thank you for not saying “only one week until you marry your best friend” because i would’ve had to kill myself, and then you

→ yn_ln oh

arthur_leclerc my beautiful girl. i cannot wait to marry you

→ yn_ln counting down the days until i can call myself your wife

→ user1 ugh, i need a love like these two

alexandrasaintmleux you’re going to make the most beautiful bride

→ yn_ln once i work off the hangover you inflicted on me

→ alexandrasaintmleux you didn’t have to keep drinking the prosecco

→ yn_ln you didn’t have to keep topping my glass up!

→ bestfriend she was getting you drunk enough that you would agree to run away with her and not marry arthur

→ arthur_leclerc hey!

charles_leclerc just posted

liked by carlossainz55, scuderiaferrari and others

charles_leclerc a day full of tears and joy. i’m so proud of you, little brother. and beautiful yn, you have been part of this family since arthur first brought you home to us but now we can officially call you leclerc 🤍

5,516 comments

user2 love how he posted an individual pic of yn but not his brother

→ yn_ln i’m the family favourite out of the two of us

→ arthur_leclerc i would disagree but you are my favourite

user3 i love how close charles would’ve had to get for that veil pic

→ alexandrasaintmleux we did have to keep dragging him away from them

→ charles_leclerc i’m just so happy!

francisca.cgomes the most beautiful bride

user4 i love that photo of the two of them sat at the table together

→ charles_leclerc thank you. i had to sneak back to get it but it was just the two of them in their own little world

→ yn_ln i was telling him how desperate i was to get out of my dress

→ user5 and he was telling you how desperate he was to get you out of your dress?

→ arthur_leclerc yes

lorenzotl i love you both so much. welcome to the family, yn 🩷

user6 oh okay. this has reminded me of how alone i am

user7 the cutest couple!

yn_leclerc just posted

liked by charles_leclerc, francisca.cgomes and others

yn_leclerc sand, sea and a new surname 🏖️

2,347 comments

user8 she changed her name!

charles_leclerc did you do anything other than kiss? geez

→ pierregasly it’s their honeymoon. i bet they did a lot more than kiss

→ charles_leclerc ew

user9 look, we all know you spent the honeymoon shagging each other but you didn’t need to post proof

→ user10 and to think these are the photos they thought were acceptable to share liked by yn_leclerc

arthur_leclerc my favourite place will always be beside you

→ yn_leclerc i may not let you leave

→ oscarpiastri married arthur is a cheesy arthur

alexandrasaintmleux i’m loving these photos!

→ yn_leclerc maybe you should be next

→ charles_leclerc don’t give her ideas!

user11 oh a leclerc thirst trap was not what i was expecting

user12 is this pr approved?

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arthur_leclerc just posted

liked by oscarpiastri, pierregasly and others

arthur_leclerc coming soon. baby leclerc

3,549 comments

alexandrasaintmleux i’m so excited for baby leclerc to arrive. is it bad that i’ve already bought loads of clothes?

→ charlotte2304 competing for favourite aunty already, i see

→ yn_leclerc favourite aunty will be whichever one of you gets me a drink first when baby is here

user1 the charles leclerc project is happening

→ scuderiaferrari we are already having a mini f1 car made

user2 you’ve only been married 6 months

→ user2 oh

→ user3 honeymoon baby

charles_leclerc i’m so glad you finally told people. the amount of baby ferrari gear i’ve had made that i have wanted to post

charles_leclerc i am going to make the best uncle

→ lorenzotl *second best uncle

yn_leclerc i didn’t realise having a baby was going to create a leclerc civil war

landonorris that is more of your wife than i wanted to see

→ arthur_leclerc just say congrats, mate

oscarpiastri i guess this means our affair is over

user4 somebody enjoyed their honeymoon a little too much

arthur_leclerc just posted

liked by logansargeant, scuderiaferrari and others

arthur_leclerc our baby girl was born late last night. she is happy and healthy, and yn is doing well

4,478 comments

yn_leclerc i love you, mon amour. i couldn't have done this without you

→ arthur_leclerc thank you for blessing me with the most amazing family

charles_leclerc can confirm, she also smells so good

alexandrasaintmleux she’s wearing the little booties i bought! please give baby and yn a huge hug from me

→ user5 you don’t get to meet baby?

→ alexandrasaintmleux i’m not currently in monaco but visiting them will be the first thing i do when i’m back

user6 girl dad arthur incoming!

charlotte2304 missing those baby cuddles already

→ yn_leclerc we’re home tomorrow so please come over

→ yn_leclerc you can cuddle baby whilst i have a wash 😂

user7 a baby girl!

francisca.cgomes you put my giraffe in the bed with her 🥹

→ pierregasly don’t let her meet baby leclerc, please. i’ve only just gotten her a puppy

→ yn_leclerc oh but how cute would a baby gasly be!

→ pierregasly no!

→ arthur_leclerc nobody warns you that your wife will be broody again the second she’s had a baby

→ yn_leclerc excuse me, i think you mean no one warns you that your husband will be begging you for a second baby

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yn_leclerc just posted

liked by francisca.cgomes, carlossainz55 and others

yn_leclerc in honour of mon bébé turning 1 yesterday, please enjoy some snippets of this past year. it has been both exhausting and incredible, and i couldn't have done it without my amazing family

2,091 comments

charles_leclerc i can’t believe my niece is one already. she’s growing too fast

→ arthur_leclerc which is why we should have a second one

→ charles_leclerc yes! that is a great idea

→ yn_ln this is why i don’t leave the two of you alone with her anymore

user8 that pic of arthur and baby leclerc sleeping?! never wanted kids before but now

→ user9 like he was cute before but now he’s a dilf?

→ yn_leclerc i can’t believe i just had to read that

→ arthur_leclerc you called me a dilf last night?

alexandrasaintmleux being aunty alex this past year has been the best part of my adult life

→ yn_ln you can take her for the week if you like. she’s teething so…

→ user10 haha this is so real if you’re a mum

pierregasly who let charles wear that goofy hat

user11 omg charles and baby leclerc though

arthur_leclerc why have you never shown me that photo of us sleeping! she’s literally smiling in her sleep from my cuddles! mon coeur! how could you keep this from me

arthur_leclerc what other photos have you been keeping from me

arthur_leclerc i’m not helping you make a second one until you show me all the photos

→ yn_leclerc does that mean i get a break from you?

→ arthur_leclerc now people are going to think i mount you all the time

→ charles_leclerc ew why did you word it that way liked by yn_leclerc

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requests are open

tag list

@peachiicherries @rosecentury @c-losur3 @heavy-vettel @evie-119 @raizelchrysanderoctavius @lilorose25

535 notes · View notes

peachesofteal · 22 hours ago

Text

Fix You

John Price/female reader 11k words - AO3 - story is set in Through Me (The Flood) but is an AU and can be read as a standalone. Tags: 18+ major character death, heavy angst, loss of a loved one. Grief. Overconsumption of alcohol. Explicit sexual content. Emotional hurt/comfort. Complicated feelings. Angry sex. Caretaking. Trauma. Tenderness. Reader is a widow.

John Price knocks on your door in the late afternoon.

When the doorbell rings, you slip the baby into her bouncer and rub Orion’s hair affectionately at the table where he’s scribbling away with some crayons.

You’re not expecting anyone, but you guess it could be Cami. Though she usually just waltzes through the front door after using her key.

But it’s not.

It’s John.

You’re silent in front of him, eyes wide. He’s holding a bag, a black duffel, still dressed for work, for battle, face pinched in despair. Your heart lurches. “What is it?” He peeks over your shoulder to where the kids are, preoccupied, happy.

“Is there somewhere we can talk?”

“No,” you tell him sharply. “No, I- what is it? Where is he? How bad is it?” His eyes soften, and he whispers your name. You barely notice when he reaches over to close the front door, too busy cycling through every worse case scenario. He eyes the chairs on the porch.

“Let’s sit down.”

“No.” You’re going to be sick. “Just tell me. Say it.” There’s a long moment where your life plays out in front of you. The stretch of before, and after. John takes a deep breath.

“He’s gone.” Gone. Gone as in, missing? Gone as in, on a different mission? What does gone mean? Your confusion must be blatant, because he reaches for your shoulder. “He’s dead. I’m so sorry.” You jerk away and laugh. That’s all you can do. Laugh. Laugh at the absurdity. Simon's not dead. He can't be. That makes no sense.

“No, he’s not, he can’t be. I literally just talked to him, like three days ago. He said you guys were wrapping up, that you were done.” He shakes his head.

“I’m sorry, he’s-“

“Stop. Don’t- don’t say that. He’s coming home. You’re all supposed to be home next week, he promised, he-“ Your mind is fighting something your heart already knows. “It’s not true.”

“We ran into a situation, there was-“

“Stop!” You back away, bumping into the railing. You’re shivering, sobbing, unable to catch your breath.

“C’mon,” he says gently, trying to guide you towards the chair, but you don’t budge. You can’t. If you don’t move from this spot, you don’t have to accept it. If you don’t move from this spot, you don’t have to move forward. You don’t have to live a life without him. You don’t have to walk inside and tell your son his father is dead. Your daughter won’t have to grow up without ever knowing him.

“Please.” Your voice cracks, and you stare up at him. “Please, it’s a mistake, it must be. It has to be. He can’t- He promised, he promised.”

“I know.” You shake your head.

“Please.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry. I couldn’t save him, I-“ His voice breaks, and then you do, sobbing so loud you’re sure it can be heard over the hills. A scream is building up inside you, burning and itching to get out, and he tugs you forward, cradles a hand around the back of your head and pushes your nose to his chest.

When it finally breaks free, it echoes directly over John’s heart.

You’ll never understand how people can say funeral services are beautiful.

They’re not.

They’re agonizing. Devastating. The last screw in the finality of your new reality.

It’s only you, the kids and his team. That’s all he had.

“You’re everything mama. I love you so much.”

Orion’s barely old enough to understand. He asks when he’ll see his dad again, and your answer is traumatizing for your child, at best. Daddy’s not coming home, you tell him. Daddy’s going somewhere else now, somewhere better.

He’s dead.

You black out during the entire thing. There are words being said, by a priest, by Johnny, by John, flowers being thrown. Cami stands at your side, holding your daughter, the child who will grow up never knowing her father. Barely five months old. Occasionally you look over at her, blissfully asleep, and you feel envy. Envy of your own child, who will never know this loss. Who will never feel the pain of losing Simon Riley.

Someone asks you if you want to do the honors of dumping the first shovelful of dirt onto his coffin.

You laugh out loud.

What a ridiculous custom.

Johnny and Kyle exchange a look of concern, you ignore them. You know what they think.

“Let’s get you home.” John’s eyes linger on your face, their sapphire and gunmetal shine holding you captive for a second as you grapple with what he’s said. If you were more present, more aware in this moment, you’d probably say they were akin to the palest hydrangeas, the color of the shrubs growing in your own front yard.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, you’re not in any state at all, you’re just here, standing at the edge of the cemetery, staring at a mound of fresh dirt.

The dirt covering your husband.

Orion hugs your legs, trying to force his way between your knees. You’ve long tuned out the sound of his wails, unable to give him more, give him anything except your relentless grief.

You should be stronger, for them. Should handle this better.

There are a lot of things you should have done. Should have told him you loved him more. Should have been the one to hold his hand as he died. Should have made sure he wasn’t scared and alone at the end.

The gaping wound in your heart tears wider, and your knees buckle.

John wraps his arm around your shoulders, steadying you, shifting your weight into him, keeping you upright. Cami watches, gaze glossed over with tears, baby in her arms. Your baby. You and Simon’s baby. Orion cries louder.

“I can’t do this.” You whisper, to no one, to the wind-

But it’s John who answers. “You can.”

There are voices in the kitchen.

It’s late now, long after sunset, the day you buried your husband almost over. More and more of him slips away. You get farther and farther away from the last time you saw him, spoke to him, heard his voice with every second.

It aches, so you close your eyes instead and tuck the blanket under your chin, curled up with your nose in the couch cushion.

The kids are asleep. You’re hoping you’ll follow. Soon.

“-want us to stay?” It’s Kyle. He’s trying to keep his voice down but you’re only in the other room, on the couch, staring at the wall.

“No,” John assures him. “You guys go home. I’ll be here.”

“You sure? The kids… if she’s not feeling up to it, or needs help…” Cami’s voice is wet, still heavy with sadness.

“I’m here. I promised him.” There’s a long pause, and he clears his throat. “I’ve got her.”

You can’t dwell on them for too long, exhaustion of the day finally dragging you down, slowing your breathing and cutting off your consciousness, giving you a reprieve from the grief by sealing you away from it in your sleep.

“Mama?” Orion’s little voice calls for you in the dark, and you jerk awake. The baby is crying. Someone is knocking on the door.

“Hey little man,” your throat is raw, your voice not your own. His little eyebrows crease together.

He looks so much like him.

You glance around. You’re no longer on the couch but tucked away in bed, slippers placed neatly on the carpet, phone plugged into the charger. Odd, considering you fell asleep on the couch.

“You hungry?” He nods as you sit up and wipe the sleep from your eyes. “Alright, let’s have breakfast then. What do you think sounds good?”

“Waffles?” “Okay. Go wash up while I go get Nix.” And figure out who’s at the door.

“John.” His hands are in his pockets, beanie folded up on his forehead, and you don’t miss the way he evaluates you, crying, wriggling baby in your arms, still in your pajamas, Orion hollering about breakfast in the background.

“I wanted to come by and check on you guys.” Right. Of course. Come check on the widow. What if she can’t get herself out of bed? What if she’s too sad to take care of her kids? He grimaces and clears his throat. “You’re uh… you’re wet.” He inclines his head towards Nix, who is mouthing at your chest over your t-shirt. Shit.

“Oh, crap. Uh, come in. We were about to have breakfast. Well, not just about. Ry wanted waffles and I was about to start them,” you’re babbling down the hall, glancing at Orion in his booster seat at the counter, banging around a bowl and spoon like a little king waiting impatiently for his meal.

“’cle John!” He claps, and John smiles.

“I’ll start them for you while…” He trails off and you smile awkwardly.

“Thanks.”

Phoenix is an easy baby. She latches easily, eats easily, goes down to sleep easily. She’s a breeze compared to Orion at this age.

Small blessings, you guess.

Simon said it was you earned it, after Ry. You deserved it.

What did you do to deserve this?

“Mama sad.” Orion whispers, his mournful little voice the first thing you hear when you shuffle out of your room. Nix went down after a change and a burp. Easy.

“She misses your daddy,” John answers, “like us.”

“Yeah.” You bite your lip so hard it stings at the sound of his voice, dejected, depressed, palm finding the wall to stay upright.

The world tilts, falling out beneath you. For a second, you can see him. Standing on the other side of the counter, black sweatpants low on his hips, pouring some milk in Orion’s little orange cup, Nix cradled against him, stretched across his forearm. Simon laughs, licks his finger, and rubs something off the corner of Orion’s mouth.

You want to scream.

It’s a memory. Nothing else.

“.. okay?” John’s standing in front of you, head tilted, cupping your elbow. “You alright?” You raise your eyebrows, and he rolls his lips inward. “Sorry, course. You just… you looked a little sickly there for a minute.”

“Mama!” Orion yells, rocking back and forth to see you on either side of where John blocks the hallway. “Waffles!” You slide your hands down your shirt, Simon’s shirt.

“You made waffles?”

“Pre-mixed batter isn’t so hard. The lad was hungry.” Guilt simmers in the pit of your stomach, pinches your cheeks inward. “Hey, it’s okay. He was fine, jus’ a little impatient.” You nod, and he jerks his head back to the kitchen. “C’mon, I made you some too. And there’s fresh coffee.”

“Did you put me in bed last night?” You’re wiping down the countertop, some movie enrapturing your toddler in the background. He hesitates, and then nods.

“You were falling off the couch. Didn’t want you to brain yourself on the coffee table.” Your fingers curl around the mug, still warm to the touch, shoulders bunching beneath your ears before you forcibly relax them.

“Well, thanks.” I guess. An uncomfortable silence settles between you, questions evaporating on the tip of your tongue.

“I was going to head into town today for some groceries, can I get you anything?”

“Formula.” You blurt. “I can’t… we’ll need formula.” You don’t want to explain to him how it’s too much now, to breastfeed. How you won’t be able to handle it on top of everything else. How you think your milk will probably dry up anyway, bowing and breaking with the waves of your despair.

“What are you thinking about for dinner?” He scratches at the underside of his chin. The beard is overgrown, something you haven’t seen on him in a while, and there are dark circles under his eyes.

He’s grieving too. You know it.

You just can’t find it in you to care.

Something is weighing on John. Something is tied around his ankles, tethered to the sea floor, waiting to drag him beneath the surface. You see it. There’s guilt in the lines of his face, tension between his brows.

You wonder if there is blood on his hands.

“Why are you here, John?” You don’t intend to ask, but the words have a mind of their own and slip free.

“Wanted to stop by.” His voice is tight, rough like yours this morning. “Check in, see if you needed anything.” There are a million things you want to say, but words fail you. You don’t know how to tell him he should just leave, because nothing will ever be okay. You’ll always need something.

Simon.

Your husband.

The father of your kids. The man whose shirts are hung up in the closet. His paperback book still sitting open on his nightstand. His toothbrush still in the cup by the sink.

The agony you’ve managed to lock away for a few brief moments breaks free again, and you clap your hand over your mouth to muffle the heaving sob. John looks past you to where Orion still sits in front of the screen, mesmerized, and then takes you by the elbow to the bathroom.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, settling on the closed lid of the toilet, still choking on the lump in the back of your throat. “I told you, I can’t do this, I can’t. I can’t be without him, I don’t know how to be without him, I can’t-“

“Hey,” He’s crouched down, evening the height difference, looking at you with an expression so serious it quells your spiral for a fleeting moment. “You can do this. You have two beautiful kids who need you to do it for ‘em.” He hands you a square of toilet paper, and you wipe your nose.

“I want him back, John, I- I need him back.” You tuck your hands between your thighs, suddenly freezing, cold from the inside out.

“I know,” he murmurs gently, “I know you do.”

“There’s a lasagna in the fridge. Cami left it last night.” He’s tugging on his jacket, your handwritten grocery list from the fridge tucked in his pocket.

“Oh.” She’s texted you multiple times today, and all have gone unanswered. You don’t know what to say. “That was nice of her.”

“I’ll be back in a few hours after I take care of a few things and do the grocery run. You’ll be alright?” He’s treating you like glass. Like you’re a bomb primed to explode, big red letters counting down to an inevitable explosion. You manage to nod.

“Yeah.” The smile you give him is painfully fake, and you know he clocks it. “I’m going to hang out with the kids. Cuddle on the couch.” His smile is more genuine, but small.

“I’ll help you with dinner later.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I don’t mind.” He turns to leave, but you call his name before he hits the door.

“John?” His eyes meet yours. Blue. Crystalline like the sapphire on your finger. You clear your throat. “Thank you.”

He nods.

John finds you catatonic on the couch one morning. Nix in her day crib, the one that’s a permanent fixture in the living room, and Orion perched in front of an old Disney movie for the hundredth time this week.

You’re failing. Failing your kids, failing as a mother, failing to keep yourself patched together.

You thought you’d be stronger if it ever happened. You promised him you would be, but the promises have turned meaningless, your integrity torn to pieces.

You can’t remember the last time you showered or brushed your teeth. You’re sure you smell.

At least the kids are clean. Dressed. Fed. You’re not a complete disaster, you guess.

Still, when John appears in your line of sight, brows knitted together with worry, you’re caught off guard.

“Oh.” You blink, his frown deepens.

“I was calling your name. Were you somewhere else sweet?” Sweet.

“Sorry, I was… lost in thought.” He takes you in from head to toe, you in all your grimy glory.

“How about you take a break?” Irritation ignites, and you grit your teeth.

“I’m fine,” you snap. “I don’t need help.” His arms cross his chest.

“It’s not a request. You’ve been wearing those sweatpants for four days. Get up, and get in the shower, or I’ll put you in myself.”

“Fuck off.” You hiss, and his eyes widen, surprised. How many people have surprised John Price? Close to none, you imagine.

“That’s enough.” He hauls you off the couch by your forearms just as Orion glances your way, little brain no doubt trying to understand the situation. “Be right back, bud.” John soothes him, and you seethe at how easily your son, Simon’s, nods and returns to his movie.

He’s gentle somehow, dragging you to the bathroom, but still forceful as he holds you by the elbow and reaches into the shower to turn the tap on.

The little fight that was inside you is gone. You wilt. “I’m sorry,” you whisper to the floor, fingers knotted together.

“It’s alright.”

“It’s not.” You’re sniffling, crying for the hundredth time in the last few days, and he rubs your upper arm.

“Nothing is going to be okay for a while,” he murmurs, “forever, even. But you’re not alone, okay?”

“Okay.”

The rest of the week goes too fast. You’re getting farther and farther away from it, from the moments when Simon was still alive in this world, when he still existed.

Desperate to slow it down, you don’t sleep. You sit in the kitchen and scroll through your phone, replaying the same videos over and over again, tears dripping down your cheeks. Grief is an emotion, but it’s a physical ailment too. It rots in your stomach and starves you. It aches between your ribs, so viscerally it’s like there is a knife twisted there, scraping against your bones, sawing between your muscle.

You take care of the kids in a daze. Feed and change Nix on autopilot. You give in to Orion’s every wish without a second thought, and he has waffles every morning. Chicken nuggets every night. Ice cream sundaes with too much chocolate syrup and a mountain of whipped cream. As much screen time as his little heart desires. You let him sleep in your bed, curled up in your arms, his little fist clinging to the neck of whichever shirt of Simon’s you’re wearing.

He can’t sleep in his own. He wakes up crying.

Cami comes over and stocks your fridge and freezer. She refills your tea canister. She vacuums the entire house. She feeds and changes the baby. You watch, listlessly, and when she’s finished, she squeezes your hand with a promise to be over again in a few days. You don’t have the words to thank her, so you don’t try. You want to believe she knows anyway.

John is the steady presence. He’s here, doing the dishes, making sure the three of you are eating, helping with the kids. He watches you shrewdly, careful.

A ticking time bomb.

One he’s afraid to set off.

It doesn’t matter how much they try to lessen the burden of living. How much they try to support you. They can’t change anything. They can’t stem the bleeding of your broken heart.

Seven days after Simon’s funeral, you crack the bottle, the one you had shipped from the states, stupid expensive Kentucky bourbon, caramel colored gasoline.

The baby is asleep. Orion is exhausted from his day with Gaz and Cami.

You’re alone on the front porch, curled up in a blanket, the hood of Simon’s sweatshirt pulled over your head. The only light you have is the green glow of the baby monitor. Otherwise, it’s just you, the moon, and the stars.

The hoodie still smells like him. So do the pillows. His t-shirts. His side of the closet. It’s a blessing. It’s agony.

You drink directly from the bottle, though you should use a glass. Simon would chastise you for not using a glass. He would tell you to sniff it from the rim of a tumbler, and then laugh when your nose wrinkled.

You should use a glass, but you don’t. It’s easier to take big sips this way.

Truck tires crunch on gravel, and then the broad figure of John Price stands at the foot of the porch. “Hey.” You raise the bottle, expecting him to laugh. He doesn’t. The stairs creak beneath his feet.

“What do you have there?”

“Bourbon.”

“Kentucky?”

“The one and only.” You take another swig, baring your teeth when it burns. You shake it. “Want some?”

“Think you’ve had enough for both of us.” Ass. You bristle, anger boiling in your blood, but you’re too drunk to stay on track and unleash it.

“Why are you here?” It’s the same question you asked earlier this week, but you still don’t understand. He holds your gaze for a long time. The only thing you find there is devastation.

“I promised him.”

“You promised him what?” He rubs the back of his neck.

“This isn’t a good time for this conversation, let’s go inside-“ You don’t budge. You can’t.

“You promised him what, John.”

“I was there,” his voice is hoarse, and there’s a heaviness to it, an agony the two of you share. “And he knew. He knew we wouldn’t get him back in time, no matter how fast we landed a bird.” You can’t see, vision blotted out by your tears. You want to put your hands over your ears. You want to know everything single thing. The two sides battle, and your cheeks grow wet like your face is upturned in a downpour. “He made me promise to take care of you. To take care of the kids. Grabbed me by the front of my vest and asked me to swear. So I did. I swore. I swore and I’m not going back on my word to him. I never will.”

“You were with him.” You’re not sure you want to know, but you have to. You have to know every piece of him, even this. Even the end.

“Yes. I was with him at the end. He wasn’t alone.” You clutch the bottle against your chest, so tight you’re afraid it might break, shatter the glass into your fingers. It would hurt less than this.

“Was he scared?”

“No. He was only thinking about you. You and the kids. He wanted to make sure you were going to be okay, that was all he cared about. He dug the pocket square out of his vest and held it over his heart.” The sob breaks free and destroys the dam holding everything together. Your body shakes with it, the ugly noises coming from within you, the pain of losing the love of your life.

“You were supposed to keep him safe.” Your voice raises, the alcohol tainting your ability to be rational or stay quiet.

“I know-“

“Mama?” You jolt, turning to ice, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes. John swears under his breath.

“Orion,” you croak. He’s stricken, holding his sippy cup, wide eyes focused on your face. “It’s okay, everything’s okay.” You try to reassure him, but his panic only increases, and you fail in the moment, unable to offer him comfort. John steps between the two of you and crouches.

“Hey bud.” He points at the sippy cup. “Need some milk in there?” Your son nods, trying to peek around him to see you. “How about,” John scoops him up, “we get you some more milk and get you back in bed okay?”

“I want mama.” His voice trembles. You feel sick and close your eyes, but the next thing you know there are little arms wrapping around your neck in a hug, your boy’s hair under your nose. You look up at John, his eyes red and his face tormented.

“Say goodnight and she’ll see you in a little bit, okay?”

“I love you, little man,” you kiss him once, twice, before rubbing his back. “Let Uncle John get you some milk and put you back to bed, okay? I’ll be in soon.” Their voices disappear down the hall, and you twist the cap on the bottle.

Down the hatch.

“He looks like him.” Orion is rolling around in the living room, playing with his magnatiles while Nix is on her back, feet in the air, kicking at the play arch. John hums, stroking a hand over his beard. He’s finally trimmed, looking more like himself and less like a mountain man.

It’s a strange feeling, to see him and notice it looks better. Good, even.

“He does.”

“Guess we’re lucky, in that way. Having these little pieces of him.” Orion has his eyes, his shoulders too. They have the same smile, even some of the same mannerisms, and it hurts so much to think about how it will fade over time, how Orion will no longer be able to mimic his father. John steers your mind away.

“Can I help you with dinner?” “No, I’m okay. But… if you want to stay, you can.” He should, but you don’t say it out loud. You don’t admit to him or even yourself that you’ve become reliant on him, his consistency, the steadfast force in your lives. Weeks have passed, and he hasn’t given up, no matter how hard you fight and fall apart. No matter how destructive you, the maelstrom at the center of your family’s life.

“We all lost-“

“You didn’t lose anything!” You’re screaming, finger jabbed in his chest, pushing him backward. He lets you. He doesn’t flinch. “He was mine! He was mine, not yours. He was ours. Our son’s. Our daughter’s. He belonged to us.” You’re barely breathing, suffocating underneath your grief, fingers going numb. He reaches, but you step away, swaying on your feet. You whimper. “F-fuck.”

“Come here.” It’s not a request, not the gentle coaxing you’re used to from him. It’s a command from a captain. When you don’t, he strikes, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you into his chest, hand at the back of your neck. “Breathe.” He rocks you side to side slowly, head down, rumble in his diaphragm soothing against your ear. “C’mon, you can do it. Big breaths.”

“I can’t.” It’s the same thing you’ve been saying over and over again. You can’t do it, you can’t do this, you can’t you can’t you can’t you-

“Yes, you can, you can. Try. I’m right here, I won’t let you fail. I promise.”

“John said you needed a break.”

“John doesn’t make decisions for me.” You snap, and Cami winces, triggering a tidal wave of guilt. “I’m sorry Cam. I… I’m having a hard time.” She rubs your shoulder.

“I know. It’s okay. You’re not going to offend me or push me away. I just want to help.” You sigh. “Let me take them for the night. You can catch up on some trash tv. Read a book. Take a bath.” She whittles you down, and you finally concede.

Except being alone is bad for you. It’s bad for your mind. It’s bad for your heart.

Hours later, John finds you in a pile of Simon’s clothes. You’re curled up, nose buried in cotton, skin swollen under your eyes. “Oh, sweet.”

“Go away.” You don’t even lift your head.

“No.”

“I don’t want you here.”

“That may be but I’m not leaving you here by yourself like this.” There’s an empty bottle of wine buried in this pile somewhere, and he plucks it free by the neck. “Didn’t save any for me?” It’s supposed to be a joke. It falls flat.

“I didn’t want… I didn’t want to have to think.” “I know.” He pulls you into a sitting position, palm cupping your cheek. “It’s okay.”

“I can help,” he motions to the kitchen. “I know how good you are with rice.” His smile turns mischievous, bright blue irises sparkling in the low afternoon sun, and you glower.

“I’m not that bad.”

The sink gets clogged one afternoon.

You try to diagnose it yourself, scrolling through google results on how to DIY it, try standing on your own. You’ll have to get used to it; you guess. Being a widow and all.

The attempts last about thirty minutes. Just in time for your front door to swing open, little feet hauling down the hallway, your son breathless and excited to tell you all about his trip to the park with John and Gaz. John follows right behind, trying to remind him about Phoenix’s naptime.

He pulls up short at the sight of you next to the sink, a pile of tools in the bowl.

“I uh… it’s clogged.” His lips twitch into a half smile. “I tried to fix it; I thought I should try. You know since…” You still have a wrench in your hand, but Orion is tugging at your shirt.

“Here,” he takes the wrench, touch casual as two fingers of his wrap around yours. It’s innocent. It’s nothing. But here he is, fixing your problems. Selflessly again, helping you out.

You’re not sure where you’d be right now if he wasn’t around-

At the thought, guilt so violent almost makes you double over.

Cami and Gaz host a spaghetti dinner, and you leave the house for the first time in weeks, months even. Time is a thief.

There’s laughter coming from the living room when you open the door, Orion sprinting from your side to where his uncles and aunt are hanging out. When you cross the threshold, Nix cooing in your arms and a loaf of banana bread in your free hand, the voices screech to a stop.

“Hi.” Your enthusiasm is lacking, but you’re trying. You really are, even though this is all you can give. Cami smiles excitedly as John stands and crosses the room.

“Let me help you with that.” He grabs the bread, warm hand briefly settling in the middle of your back before it disappears, taking the baby bag off your shoulder. You breathe him in, cigar smoke and pine. It’s calming, somehow. Familiar. “You okay?” He knows how hard this is. Knows how you tossed the decision back and forth, unsure, uncomfortable. You did it for Orion, in the end. You can’t deprive him of his community, so you nod silently.

Cami pulls you into her arms, putting her finger in Nix’s fist and pressing her cheek to yours. “I’m so glad you came.” You manage a weak smile.

“Me too, I… it’s good to see you. And everyone. Ry was really excited.” You look past her to where Soap has him in his arms, moaning and groaning about how they’re nearly the same size.

You take a deep breath.

You can do this.

They tiptoe around you all night. It should bother you, but it doesn’t. You’re not ready for anything else. For stories, for meaningful conversation. Everyone keeps it light. They veer away from work. They treat you with kid gloves.

It’s fine, but it’s exhausting, trying to keep yourself under control. Trying to quiet the ringing in your ears, trying to swallow the lump in your throat.

You almost manage it. But then someone slips up.

“- an’ that piece o’ shite. Simon was so pissed; I thought he was going to rearrange his face before he let him go.” Gaz laughs, you freeze. “He won in the end though, didn’t he? Always did, until-“

“Soap.” John cuts, and the table goes dead silent, as if they forgot. There’s a warm hand on your knee, but it’s not enough. Cami is shaking her head, blinking at him in horror, and Gaz glares. You stare down at a pile of peas.

“’m sorry,” Johnny whispers, stricken. “’m so sorry. I miss ‘im too, it helps… to talk about ‘im, ye know? I-“

“That’s enough.” John’s command is scathing.

You throw a quick excuse me over your shoulder as you make your way to the bathroom by the kitchen.

You try to breathe deep, but the oxygen doesn’t come as fast as you need it. You’re falling down the dern, despair filled hole that plagues your every waking hour. The reality you try to shove away, the fact that you’re here and he’s not.

Knuckles rap against the door. You undo the lock to come face to face with John, who steps inside and closes it behind him. You keep your gaze fixed on the floor, chest heaving. “Shhh,” he murmurs, pulling you close, “it’s alright.”

“I’m sorry.” He wipes the tears from your cheeks, tipping your face up.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. Soap is oblivious sometimes.”

“It’s not up to me to tell people how to grieve.” He wraps you in a hug.

“It’s not, but he should treat you with respect.” You nod, drifting, trying to burn the words from your brain. You’re holding onto him. Clutching at his shirt, and he rubs a hand up and down your spine. It’s good. Warm, and comforting. You sink deeper, let him hold you, seeking solace. The strength you find in John.

You rest your cheek against his chest. “I’m so tired. I want to go home.” You whisper, and he smooths a hand over the back of your head.

“Okay. I’ll take you.” There’s another knock on the door, and you grimace.

It’s Cami. She has the baby on her hip, tears in her eyes. “I’m so-“

“It’s okay. Really. I’m just tired.” You’re lying, but you don’t have the heart to tell her the truth. She knows anyway. You never should have come. “I think I’m gonna head home.”

“I figured. I packed some food to go, and Gaz has Orion at the door.” Your best friend, always so kind, so thoughtful.

“Thanks, Cami. I love you.”

“I love you too. Text me when you get home, okay?” She passes Nix into your arms, following her with a hug, and you press your face to her shoulder before pulling away.

“I will.”

It’s been three days since the dinner, despondency settling back into your routine like it never left.

The kids help, John too. They keep you focused. They keep you alive.

“An’ cookie!” John smiles. It’s the lips quirked to the side one, the gleam in his eye one, combined with his standard issue work hair and beard, thick cable knit sweater stretched across the firm weight of his shoulders. It’s navy. Complements his eyes.

A flicker of heat burns in your stomach, between your legs, taking you by surprise.

You’re staring. You’re staring and he looks away from Orion, meeting your eyes, a question forming in them until you clear your throat and glance away, focusing on the baby in your arms and the last of her bottle before trying to get Orion prepared for the end of his night.

“Come on little man, finish your dessert so we can get your pajamas on.”

“U’cle John help me.” His arms cross against his chest, and you give him a reproachful look.

“What do we say when we want to ask someone to help?”

“Please.”

“Yes, please. Good job.”

“Please ‘cle John?” John glances your way, hesitant, and you shrug.

“Sure, bud. Once you’re finished.”

The kitchen gets the final wipe down when John slinks out of Orion’s room, clicking the door shut softly behind him.

“Nix go down?”

“Easily. She’s never fussy. Sleeps like a dream. Thanks for helping with him.” There is a glass on the coffee table, and a bottle of wine. You meant to have some earlier but got distracted. “I was going to have a glass of wine and watch something, want to stay and hang out for a bit?” You love your kids, but only having a baby and a toddler to talk to all the time can get old fast, no matter how much you love them.

His fingers brush yours when he takes the second glass from your hand, and you swallow. Your throat is suddenly dry, and you shiver.

The movie is two hours long, but forty-five minutes and two glasses of wine in, your head starts to feel heavy, and your eyelids grow lazy.

“- want to go to bed?”

“No,” you sigh. Your head is quiet, and you’re curled up against something warm, drifting in the sweet space between sleep and waking, low volume of the tv murmuring in the background. “Gonna stay here.” The blanket is tucked around your shoulders, and you snuggle deeper, sagging into the cushions. You’re almost there, just on the cusp when you jerk. “Baby monitor.” You mumble, and a whisper traces an arc from your temple to jawline, touch so featherlight it’s hard to know if it was ever there at all.

“Sleep, dove. I’ll be here.”

“We were going to have another baby you know. He wanted another one so badly. Kept trying to knock me up every time he was home.” The ice rattles in your glass, and you cast a long look at the half empty bottle between the two chairs you’re in on the porch.

“He told me.”

“He did?”

“Mmm. Kept talkin’ about how you turned him into a caveman all the time.” You laugh. It’s real. A real laugh, something unbidden, releasing from your chest. John raises his eyebrows, and smiles.

“That’s how it was. He was always like that.” The stars are really bright tonight. They have been, ever since you buried him. You’re not sure if there’s less light pollution lately or if you’re just paying attention more. Sometimes you want to believe it’s something else entirely. If it’s a piece of him making them glow for you. Lighting up your sky. Wrapping you in a blanket of midnights, little collections of constellations in his arms. “They’re named after the stars, you know. The babies.”

“I know.” He sips his whiskey. “Orion the giant hunter, son of Poseidon, and Phoenix, rising from ash to be reborn.”

“Yeah.” You’re crying, again, and you wipe the tears away as quickly as you can.

“They’re beautiful names.” You don’t answer. There’s nothing to say, so the two of you sit there, side by side on the porch in silence until you break it.

“I’m angry at him. I’m so mad, he broke his promises. He broke all his promises and left me here. He left me.”

“He didn’t do it on purpose. He loved you so much.” You twist the ring on your left finger. It’s looser now, your inability to stomach most things starting to show. You wouldn’t have even noticed, or cared, unless John said something. ‘I promised I’d take care of you. That includes not letting you turn into a beanstalk.’

“He didn’t keep his promise.” There is the crux of it. All the promises made, only one kept. ‘Til death. Except he’s gone, and you’re still here.

Turning into a ghost.

“Can you hang out with the kids for a little bit tonight?” His brow pulls together, pinching in the middle, lines of his forehead wrinkling just bit, just enough to remind you of his age.

“Sure, everything okay?” Your eyes find your feet.

“I want to go to the cemetery.” His mouth opens, and whatever was going to come out of it disappears with his nod.

“Alright.”

You’re sick.

That’s the only way you can explain this, laying here on top of the plot, bottle of Kentucky bourbon in your hand. You’ve dumped some on the ground at the base of his stone, a toast of some kind, a sad, hopeless connection sitting one sided.

This is a special kind of agony. It’s the kind that wears you down. It makes you ill. It has you wishing you could dig up his coffin and crawl inside it. Sick. Rotting from the inside out.

“John’s kept his promise to you,” you manage another large swig, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “He’s always around. Helps with the kids a lot. Keeps us afloat. I guess he takes his pledges pretty seriously.” Another swig. This one leaks from the side of your lips. “I hate you, you know that? If you weren’t dead, I’d kill you myself. You weren’t supposed to leave us here. You were always supposed to come home. You promised.” You dig into the earth, dirt and grass compacting under your fingernails.

The night is dark and starless.

Figures.

You’d do anything to change this. Anything. You can’t carry it. You can’t bear it. It’s too heavy. Too much. For one moment, you’d like to not feel it, to not know the crushing weight of your grief. It follows your every waking minute. It follows you in your dreams.

When people die, there are always these fantastical stories floating around about their loved ones seeing a bird, or a cloud, or a rainbow. Some overwhelmingly positive sign leading them to believe the deceased is at peace.

It’s all bullshit.

There are no signs. There is no peace.

There’s only you, and the dead man you love in the ground.

It’s late when you make it home.

You probably shouldn’t have driven. It’s a short ride to and from the little graveyard on the hill, but you’re ashamed to have done it.

You know better.

“Didn’t hear you come in.” Your keys clang against the counter, forgotten as you turn to face him. The lie gives you pause. He knew you had come in. Simon never missed the sing of a door hinge, the latch of a window. You know they operate. How they function.

Still, you let it go. You don’t have the mental capacity to call him out.

He’s closer than you expected. Close enough you can smell him. It’s always the same, cigars and pine. Fresh needles fallen on the forest floor. He reminds you of it too in a way. The woods. Something about him, the way he fits into his sweater, the rough heels of his hands, like he’s felled a thousand trees and could go for a thousand more.

He’s got amber gold on the rocks in his hand, more whiskey. The ice has diluted it a bit, a thin watery film sitting on the bottom of the glass. You wrap your fingers around the rim and tip it to your lips. It burns. The clock ticks, the two of you breathe in and out. In and out.

“I can’t carry this.” You blurt, setting the glass down a little too hard. “I know you think I can… but I can’t. I’m drowning.”

“No one expects you to right now…” He’s talking, reassuring, supporting you, but there’s nothing except for his eyes. They’re the color of the ocean, the one you swam in the weekend Simon put the ring on your finger.

Your ears are ringing. Your blood is hot, the alcohol rewiring your brain until it conjures wild ideas about an escape. Maybe you don’t have to carry it, for a minute. Maybe you can close your eyes and share it with someone. Share it with him. Just for a minute.

“John.” You whisper, still focused on his eyes.

“What is it?” You twist your fingers in his sweater, dirt from under your fingernails getting caught in the wool, and he tenses, confused. “Hey, maybe-“ No maybes. You swing onto your toes and drag him downward, pressing your mouth to his in a rush. He grunts, but the kiss lingers until he pulls away. “You’re drunk.”

“Yes.” You can’t place the look he gives you, mind too far gone. If you were sober, you’d say it was significant. He cups your cheek.

“Let’s sit down and-“

“No. John. Please. Help me carry it. Please.” Electricity crackles in the air, his hand sliding to your neck where he holds it firm with two fingers.

“We can’t. Shouldn’t. It’s just the grief, it’s-“

“Please.” You raise yourself back onto your toes, and though he’s dead still, he doesn’t stop you. He doesn’t stop you as you kiss the corner of his mouth, beard brushing against your chin, and he doesn’t stop you when you find his lips again, parting your own, holding onto his shoulders.

He groans, hands drifting to your hips and digging into them, gripping you so tight, a pendulum swinging, pushing you away, pulling you back, until he gives in.

You’re kissing captain Price, for fucks sake. Your husband’s boss, his friend. One of the most important men in his life.

The betrayal burns.

This is wrong. So wrong, but there’s a wild piece of you that wants it. Likes it. The pieces that have taken solace in John have now turned to something else, something stronger, more vibrant.

It’s wrong. So wrong.

But in this moment, there’s nothing else but you and him and this decision. There’s no room for the other things that plague you.

It’s rough. You’re rough. He’s rough. You pin him against the kitchen counter, fumbling with his belt and zipper, sandpapered pads of his thumbs under your shirt and rolling over your nipples. You’re clumsy, disorientated, only saved when he spins you around and folds you over the cool surface. “Alright.” He murmurs like it’s just now kicked in what you’re doing, what’s happening in this moment, this sacrilege now staining you both. He kicks your feet wide, and rips your leggings to your ankles, tracing a line back up your thigh to shove his hand inside your panties and through your folds to push his finger inside you.

“Ah, John-” You hiss, arching your back, greedy for more, desperate for something, waiting and wanting, willingly going with him as he drags you to the floor, pushes you to your knees and bends you over, too big hand between your shoulder blades.

He fills you in a single stroke and you cry out, slapping a palm over your mouth to cover your scream, stifling the moans that follow. It’s a stretch, one that burns, too much and too soon, but this isn’t meant to be slow. It’s not a treasure, a sentimental unfolding of passion. It’s grief. It’s loss. It’s nothing like love. “Christ.” He grits, pinching your ass. “You’re bloody tight, sweet.” You can’t respond, your free hand digs against the hard wood, scrambling for something to hold onto as he shoves his cock against your cervix. You’re going to come unreasonably fast, already clamping down around him, tightening with the curl of your toes. “Be nice and quiet for me now, angel.” He pulls you up by your chest, mouth hot at your ear as he reaches for your clit, pinching the swollen nub and then smacking it with an open palm, your shriek barely muffled by your hand. He’s speaking, but you’re not quite catching it, too distracted by the blinding light on the outside of your vision, sparks blooming into fireworks. “Oh dove, you’re coming,” his mouth is on your cheek, kissing, nipping, and you turn to steel, vibrating with the strength of your orgasm, pathetic whines ghosting over his neck as your head tips back. He coos, brushes a hand over your forehead. It’s comforting, sick comfort for a sick girl. “Good girl, Shh, I know, I know it’s a lot.” The peak crashes, and you twitch, pulsing around him, fingernails digging into his forearm.

He comes all over you. Puts you back on all fours and curses under his breath, holding you steady, gripping your ass cheek so hard it will be tender tomorrow. The ocean rushes in your ears and you start to drift away, post orgasm, post fuck, sweaty and sated as he paints you.

“Fuck honey-“

I’ve got a lot of cum for you, honey

Tell daddy what you’re doing, honey

Can’t get over how good you taste, honey

Feel how bad I want to be inside you, honey?

The tip of the knife jams between your ribs. It penetrates your heart. It shreds organ and bone until the injury is so catastrophic, the only fix is death.

The noise you make is more animal than human.

Honey, honey, honey-

You flinch and crawl away panicked. He’s calling your name but you’re deaf to it, drowning in Simon’s voice.

Simon, your husband, who was the last man inside you. Simon who called you honey, and sweetheart, and mama. Simon, who’s body is cold in the ground. Who’s ring is on your finger.

Honey, honey, honey-

You stumble to your feet and make it to the sink just before the whiskey and bourbon comes shooting out of your mouth.

Sick.

“Promise me-“

“Shut up Simon. That’s an order.” He’s got her embroidered pocket square in his fingers, stained in blood, crimson dotting out the constellations. The radio crackles, but it only confirms what they both know.

Simon has minutes. They need at least twenty.

He shakes his head. John presses harder on his abdomen, pointedly ignoring the river of red spilling out beneath his palms. Sometimes it’s easy to forget how much human bodies bleed. It’s not like he’s usually sticking around to watch.

“John.” Simon’s free hand latches onto the strap of John’s vest and jerks it roughly, pulling him closer. “You swear to me, right now. Do it.”

“I won’t. There’s still time. Stop talking, you need the oxygen.” His lips crack into a smile, gaze already starting to fall away, and then snaps to, refocusing.

“Tell her I love her. And that I’m sorry.”

“You’ll tell her yourself, Lieutenant.” He shakes his head, fist tightening over that little square, dragging to his heart, the organ beneath the vest that’s beating too slowly.

“John. Swear it. Promise me you’ll take care of her. You’ll take care of them.” There’s blood trickling down his jaw now, flowing from his lips. “She’s strong, but it’s gonna be hard. She’ll need you. The kids will need you. Nix is only a baby, she can’t-“ he coughs, shudders, and then his brow furrows with determination. “They can’t grow up without a dad.” John’s stomach, already an open pit, now rips into a black hole.

“You’re their dad, Simon. You are.” His voice cracks.

“Swear.”

“No.”

“Swear to me!” Simon shouts in his face, blood spraying on his cheeks. Gaz is yelling at them from twenty-five yards away, but it doesn’t matter. There’s not enough time.

They stare at each for seconds that are really eternity. They’ve been together in this hell, in this job, for so long. Suffered and slogged and killed together for so long. Simon isn’t just his team member, he’s a part of his life.

A rabid fucking dog brutalized and beaten down, now a husband, a father, a leader in his own right.

John pushes away the memory of the day he met Orion. The pride on Simon’s face. The pure joy.

He would never deny him.

They hold on to each other’s forearms. It’s goodbye.

“I swear it, Simon. I will take care of them. I promise. On my life.”

“And you’ll tell her I love her.”

“I will.”

He should have stopped you.

Looking back, it’s hard to believe it happened, but it’s not hard to remember. Not hard to remember how you felt, scorching velvet plush around his cock, not hard to remember the sounds you make when you come, how your pussy twitches. Not hard to remember how beautiful you were in his arms, shaking and crying, holding tight to him as he fucked you as deep as he could.

And it’s hard to forget the horror on your face. The way you crawled away like a wounded animal. The hoarse sobbing that came after the vomit in the sink. The way your knees gave out. The way you told him to get the fuck out.

Help me carry it.

It’s survivor’s guilt. It must be. Or trauma bonding. He’s been here for you, for the kids. He’s held you and wiped your tears and scooped you off the floor.

Because it’s his duty.

Right?

He can’t deny there’s something wrong with him, though. There’s something wrong with the way he barked at Soap during dinner, something wrong with the way he let you curl up beside him with your head on his stomach the night you fell asleep on the couch. He just sat there, stroked your cheek, rested his hand on his shoulder.

The guilt builds. It’s compounding, and fueling the anger, the rage directed at himself.

How dare he? How dare he betray Simon like this? How dare he try to take something that’s never been his?

He walks it like a tightrope. It’s his duty. It’s a betrayal.

Duty. Deceit. Duty. Betrayal. An oath. A line crossed, again and again.

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do except crush and pulverize this thing trying to bloom. He rips out it by the roots.

Though he knows as well as any, determined things always find a way.

You don’t even look at him, and it gets under his skin. It feels wrong. Everything is wrong.

“Orion is almost ready.” You say over your shoulder, already moving away from him and down the hall, running but you’re not being chased. He’s supposed to take the lad fishing today. Orion has been looking forward to it all week, and you, quite frankly, don’t have the energy.

He catches you by the elbow and you jerk away, lips pressed together and eyes down. “Look at me.” You shake your head, glisten of tears catching in the early morning light streaming through the windows. He says your name, as softly as he can manage, and you tremble.

“I can’t do this right now.”

“Do what? Talk to me?” He’s pushing, and maybe he shouldn’t.

“Yes.” You hiss, venom twisting your face into a mask he’s never seen before. “I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to talk about what we did.” Your voice cracks on the last word, and it hurts in a way he didn’t expect. He wants to agree. He wants to wipe your face and tug you into his chest. He wants to bury the guilt ripping through him and turn around. Walk out the door.

He’ll do none of it. He’s a man of his word, above all else.

“When you’re ready then.” He nods as if it’s nonnegotiable, and then saved from a rebuttal when Orion runs full speed from his room. You turn on your heel and storm away.

Fine.

He’s at your door the next night for dinner.

You stand in the frame, arms crossed, anger etched into your face. “I don’t need your help tonight.”

“You going to make me a liar then?” He snaps, patience thin. The anger dissipates, and it’s replaced by that same despondent, dead look in your eyes that’s been making him sick since the day he came to the door. “Make me go back on my word to him?”

“John.” You whisper his name with shaking hands.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything.” There’s acid on the tip of his tongue. It’s stringent, bitter like the soap his mum washed his mouth out with. He doesn’t know why, but it stings. You look up at him, eyes so wide, so sad, so lost, he has to hold himself back from dragging you into his arms. “It didn’t mean anything, dove. It was just us. Just between us. Just grief.”

“Just grief.” You parrot, tears dripping from the corners of your eyes and down your temples. He brushes them away, and you surprise him by leaning into it. You smile weakly. “We’re having pasta bake.”

A few days later, and there are loads of laundry on your couch when he walks in. You throw him a desperate look, piles separated into toddler clothes, baby clothes and your own. They’re mountains, nearly at your chest when standing.

“Get a little behind?”

“I’ve been a little tired, I guess.”

“Can I help?” “Sure, want to fold onesies?” You laugh a little bit, enough to crack your lips into a small smile. He likes it. Likes your smile. It reminds him of the one you used to give Simon, the way it would break across your face, sunshine in a patch of clouds. He’d nuzzle your cheek, your neck, holding Orion on his hip with one arm, and you with another.

He stills, holding a small yellow piece of clothing.

Your husband. Simon was your husband.

And he’s the interloper.

Swear to me-

I swear it-

I will take care of them.

His ears ring with the bells of remorse, the song of at the beginning of a procession.

“John? You alright?” He’s been staring at you this entire time, but not seeing you, just seeing the past, seeing Simon, seeing everything that came before these moments where he’s being torn in two. He nods, not trusting his voice, his words.

“Will you be here for dinner tonight?” He usually is. It kills two birds with one stone. He makes sure you’re functioning; he makes sure you’re eating. It’s never been a question of you caring for the kids. The worry has been about you caring for yourself.

He can’t stomach sitting down for a meal with you and Orion today, so he lies. “I have to get home and get some work done.” You’re surprised, and then disappointed. He sees it so clearly and chooses not to dwell on it.

He can’t stay. He needs to work this out of his system.

You’re sad tonight.

Some days are really bad days, and then some of them are awful, like these. The ones where you move from bed to the couch, feeding and changing and dressing the kids on autopilot. He calls them your sad days, because he doesn’t want to call it what it is. Depressed days, despair days, you’ve given up days.

Some of the days are better, but these are the worst. It gets ugly at night, when the anxiety and fear becomes too much, when the loss crashes down too quickly.

The house is quiet, and you’re curled up in the middle of the bed under a heap of blankets, staring at the wall. You don’t acknowledge him when he opens the door or slips inside, you say nothing when he sits on the side of the bed. He lays a hand on your shoulder. You don’t react.

“Did you eat today?”

“A little.” He strokes your cheek, backs of his fingers gliding over soft skin, trying to rouse you a bit more, and you sigh.

“Kids go down alright?”

“Fine. Orion is upset he can’t sleep in our,” your face twists, “my bed anymore. But I placated him with too much ice cream.” You manage a smile then, and he matches it.

“That’s good. Nothing he won’t do for some chocolate yeah?”

“Yeah.” Your voice is small. “John?”

“What is it?”

“Do you think it will ever go away?” He smooths some baby hairs back from your forehead.

“I don’t know, angel. Eventually it will hurt less, I imagine. But the loss will always be there.” Your cheeks glisten in the dark, sliver of light shining through the crack in the door from the hallway.

“I’m glad you were with him.” He bites the inside of his cheek so hard he bleeds.

“I am too.” Your fingers curl around his.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight.” The ache in his heart is back, doubling the beat, blood churning all the way to his toes. “Will you stay?” He shouldn’t, but he folds himself alongside where you’re under the blankets and tucks your head into his neck.

“Yes, dove. I’ll stay.”

The next time it happens is filled with rage.

You’re a wild animal, a wolf starved, teeth bared and snapping, claws out.

But you beg him for it. You plead. You demand.

It’s just us. Just grief. Take it from me. Why should I be the only one carrying this?

It’s wrong as he takes you on the bathroom floor, cold tile under his knees, warmth of your thighs bracketed at his waist. You dig your nails into his back hard enough to break skin, and he pins them back, his forehead knocked against yours, sharing breath. Sharing grief.

He breaks you down eventually, pushing his cock so deep you wail, holding you firm with a hand on your hip. He doesn’t want this, doesn’t want to betray him, doesn’t want to take his place in a home that could never be his.

Still. He can’t stop. He can’t help himself. He lives for your cries, the way you tighten around him when you come, how your eyes turn into bright stars at your peak.

It angers him. He’s always been a man of control.

“Is this what you wanted?”

“Yes, fuck, t’s not… it’s just-“ He snatches your jaw, and you look away.

“Look at me sweet. Look at me and tell this is just grief.” You can’t. You don’t. Instead, he shoves his hand between your legs and rubs your clit until you come.

When it’s over, you cry.

“Is this it?” He stares at Simon’s headstone. “Is this what you meant? Is this what I promised you?” Dead men don’t answer to anyone, ghosts don’t provide explanations. John replays those last moments in his mind, burning Simon’s face into his memory so he never forgets, so he never gets confused. He’s in another man’s place, a father and a husband’s place.

It’s been days since he’s seen you. Cami visits in his stead, which is good for you, better. You need a friend now, not him. Not whatever this is. Not whatever he’s done to you or vice versa.

He claps a hand on top of the stone, the same way he’d do it to Simon’s shoulder.

“I promised on my life, but I didn’t promise this.”

You haven’t seen or heard from John in nearly a month.

It didn’t bother you at first since they were gone for work, but when Gaz opened the front door to greet you two weeks ago, you were surprised.

They’re back and he didn’t reach out.

Why?

You miss him. It’s a shameful revelation, and a surprising one.

So much for the mourning widow.

“Mama, i’cream?” Orion is huddled between your legs, tugging on your jeans while you bounce Phoenix, trying to get her to settle before bed.

“No ice cream tonight baby.” His eyes well with tears, and the guilt hits you. Be strong. Don’t give in, you’re spoiling him too much.

“Let’s go get in bed and I’ll read to you, okay?”

“No! I’cream!” Your face crumples.

“Orion, please. I already said no. Now can you help mama and go get in your bed?” He flings his hands at your thighs, little face twisted up with rage.

Normally, you’re well equipped for the tantrums. It’s part of having a toddler, but tonight, it’s breaking your back. Wearing you down. You’re about to walk away, create some space, take a deep breath when the doorbell rings.

Literally saved by the bell.

Orion’s already running down the hall, bouncing on his toes as you open the door to see John on the other side. Weary. Weathered. “U’cle John!”

“Hey, bud.” He locks eyes with you, standing on the threshold, meeting your eyes unflinchingly. “Need some help?” You swallow.

“Come in, you’re letting all the heat out.”

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” Your mouth is on his, or his on yours, you’re not sure how it started. All you know is his arms are warm, and strong, and a safety net at the bottom of your life now, waiting outstretched for when you lose your balance on the tightrope.

“I know.” He does that thing where he cradles your face, stares into your eyes like he’s seeing an entire universe, one he’s never been to, a planet undiscovered, stars recently born and exploded across a night sky. “I know sweet, but- I can’t-“ It’s why he stayed away, he confessed earlier. Why he disappeared. It wasn’t fair, he knew that.

The guilt is crushing him. It’s crushing you.

“What’re we doing then?” It’s not right, whatever this is.

But his body pressed against yours, his arms holding you tight, it’s impossible to run from. Hard to hide.

It’s not just grief anymore. A hydra with a head cut off, two more born again from the wound. It's a flower blooming in a forest of ash, life finding a through the gash of a wildfire. A small, tiny, flame, desperate to burn.

“Just kiss me,” you breathe, mouths now millimeters away from one another. His chest heaves beneath your fingertips. “Just kiss me, John.”

“Daddy.” Orion pats his hand on the stone, little fingers digging into the engraving.

Husband. Father.

Your thumb finds the sapphire, rubbing the stone it in practiced circles, and Phoenix coos beside you, half buried beneath the wool of John’s jacket. “Ready to go home, little man?” You’re crouched behind him, holding him, kissing his cheek. This is a weekly tradition, the visit, and even in the dead of winter when it’s too cold for the kids, you never miss it.

Your commitment never wavers, your gold band a mirror to the one buried beneath your feet, an eternal tie to your husband.

‘Til Death.

You will never not be Simon’s wife, the mother of his children, his moon. You will never marry again. You will never have another child.

But that doesn’t mean there isn’t room for a sunrise, a dawn, a new promise. An oath to John, though never formal or official in the eyes of the law, but true all the same.

The sun. The stars. The moon.

“Alright, we ready?” You press another kiss to your son’s face before scooping him up, taking one last look before nuzzling Orion’s face. “See you next week, Si.”

John lingers for a moment, a hand curled over the stone, fingers flexing into a squeeze. His eyes are distant, a world away, tangled up in the past for a long moment.

“Hey,” you call softly, extending a hand. “let’s go home.”

#peaches writes #price x reader #fix you by Coldplay #john price #john price x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley #through me (the flood)#captain price x reader

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flemingsfreckles · 1 day ago

Text

Jealousy (18+)

Synopsis: Your current girlfriend doesn’t take well to the fact that you have to go play with your ex during international break. When your ex calls you after the game, she makes sure you both know who you belong to.

Warnings: smut!!!! Oral sex (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), possessive sex, risky sex, having sex while someone else is on the phone (idk if there’s a name for that), semi-public sex, edging, marking, dirty talk, language.

WC: 4.1k

A/N: this fic was pretty much entirely inspired by @waltzinglikewearein1698 who gave me this suggestion back in maybe June? I’ve finally gotten around to writing it, hope you all enjoy ;)

“Are you sure you’re going to be alright?” Jessie came up, plopping herself down on the bed next to your suitcase.

“I feel like I should be asking you that.” You looked up from your phone to your girlfriend.

“Why? You’re the one who has to go play with their ex again, not me.” Jessie questions, heading over to her closet to begin picking out clothing to put in the bag.

You looked at her again, puzzled look across your own face. “That’s exactly why I feel like I should be asking you. You don’t need to reassure me, I want to make sure you’re comfortable. How are you feeling that I’m going to be seeing her?”

“Fine, I mean I don’t love the idea obviously but I’m more worried it’ll be weird or uncomfortable for you.” Jessie shrugged. “I’m not concerned about her and you, I trust you, I know there’s nothing between you two anymore.”

“I mean it’ll be weird, it’s the first time we’ve played together since we’ve broken up, but it’ll be fine.” You finally pull yourself off the bed, heading to the closet to grab your own suitcase.

You and Cameron had broken up over 2 years ago, but a mix of injuries between the two of you had kept you from having to play on the same national team until the upcoming camp. You had felt a little uneasy knowing you’d see her again.

Your breakup had been amicable, when she had been given an opportunity to leave England and go play back in her home state for Orlando, you couldn’t hold her back. You had loved her so much, you had to let her go. Things worked for only a few weeks, it was hard, taking a toll on both of you emotionally which led to a physical toll as well.

It wasn’t an easy decision but after two months of putting your time and effort into each other, you and Cameron sat down and decided long distance wasn’t made for the two of you. In a tearful agreement, you decided to, with heavy hearts, split and go your separate ways.

Trying to be friends hadn’t worked either, for the first few months after the breakup you were in off season and you found yourself on a flight to Orlando, within hours of landing in Florida, you found yourself in the bed of a familiar body. You both swore every time it wouldn’t happen again, but it did. You were a frequent visitor to her, each visit ending with the two of you tangled in bedsheets, making your feelings even more confusing. The two of you continued on, unable to cut yourselves from each other's lives completely, still emotionally tied. It was toxic, only hurting yourselves further by continuing to see each other. So you finally cut it off. Just before you returned to England you both sat down, establishing you’d both move on.

You’d gone no contact for those next 20 months, only for it to be broken by your simultaneous call ups into the most recent camp. Which led you to this conversation with your current girlfriend.

You and Jessie started dating over a year after your breakup with Cameron. You two had met at Chelsea and you couldn’t ignore your sudden attraction toward the Canadian. She was soft spoken and one of the smartest people you knew. She knew how to make you laugh in any situation, even if you were upset, angry, frustrated. She brought the best out in you, which was quickly noticed by some of your teammates who teased you endlessly until you finally mustered the courage to ask her out.

She had happily agreed to the coffee date and the two of you had quickly fallen for each other, dating for just under a year. You had aired out your relationship with your ex to Jessie, being honest with her about your history and feelings. She hadn’t been bothered, trusting you and the relationship the two of you had built, never once had you given a reason for her not to trust you do she didn’t.

Seeing Cameron for the first time was less awkward than you had expected. You’d end up sitting at the same table at dinner, exchanging pleasantries while keeping up conversation with your other table mates. Cameron had asked about Jessie, saying she was happy for you and that the Canadian seemed to make you really happy. She then jokes that you must have a thing for captains, pointing out the fact that she was the captain for her club and was also on occasion a captain for the national team.

That was something you had forgotten about, the fact that not only would your girlfriend and ex be playing against each other, they’d be captaining their respective teams against each other.

You swallowed hard watching as your girlfriend and ex girlfriend stood face to face the next day, an awkward handshake being exchanged between them as they stood listening to the referees. You were sure to the outside world it didn’t look uncomfortable or tense, but to you it felt that way. It especially felt that way when both girls' eyes found their way to you as they were dismissed from their meeting. You immediately looked to the ground, wanting to avoid whatever tension the two had.

“That wasn’t tense at all.” Unsure of who said it you send a glare down the line of your teammates, a couple of them giggling to themselves.

The game itself felt relatively uneventful. A few decent shots from both sides but the game ultimately ending in a draw 2-2. It had been easy to fall into the mindset of the game, not remembering you were playing alongside your ex, against your girlfriend, and against a couple of your club teammates, it was just another game.

When the game finished you wandered about, signing a few things, taking some photos, chatting with your teammates as well as a couple of the Canadians.

You feel the back of your shirt get tugged on and you turn to see Jessie, red cheeks from her 90 minutes of playing looking at you. ”Meet me once you’re changed.” That’s all she says before starting to walk away.

“Okay, you alright?” You question, her noticing the negativity in her tone. You knew she hated drawing, she always wanted to win but it was a good game you figured she wouldn’t be that upset over it.

“I’m fine.” She said in a tone that makes it very clear to you she was not fine. She was pissed off and it seemed like at you.

You waited outside the Canadian locker room for a few minutes, before sending Jessie a text letting her know you were there. Seconds after the text was read, the door comes flying open and out comes your girlfriend, a scowl still on her face.

“Hi.” You try to be chipped, hoping to lighten her mood.

“Not here.” Is all she says before her hand finds yours and she begins pulling you down the hallway. The two of you turn a few corners before she swings open a door.

“What’s your deal?” You turned, confused look on your face as your girlfriend stomps you into an unoccupied bathroom, locking the door behind her. She points at the largest stall, a firm look across her face. You turn so she doesn’t see you rolling your eyes as you obey her request.

She closes the door behind both of you and before you can repeat your question and ask what’s wrong she pushes you against the wall, one hand on your hips the other on your chin holding your face to kiss her.

“You’re mine.” She grumbles into your ear before her tongue drags slowly across the lobe before up and around. You gently toss back your head at the feeling of her breath on your ear. You gently push Jessie back your hands on her shoulders, your fingers keeping her close by gripping her shirt.

“Oh my god.” You can’t help but let out a small laugh before holding it in as Jessie gives you a disapproving stare. “You’re jealous.” You feel the smirk grow across your lips. Jessie wasn’t one to be jealous, she was protective, she liked that people knew you were taken but in public she was never one to be overbearing.

“I’m not. I just don’t like seeing your ex jump into your arms in celebration, that should be me, not her!”

You knew that was going to come back to get you. You had scored off a beautiful pass from Cameron, when you turned to celebrate with your team, she was flying at you, jumping into your arms. Instinctively you had wrapped your arms around her, before the rest of your team joined in on the group hug. When the crowd finally dissipated, you had made eye contact with the unpleasant expression across Jessie’s face. You didn’t think much of her glare in that moment, thinking it was more of a frustration to your team taking the lead.

“That’s the definition of jealousy, you’re jealous Jessie.” You say flatly to her.

“I just want to make sure you know and she knows, you’re mine.” She confirms her jealousy as her lips latch onto your lower neck and you feel her sucking harshly.

“Jess!” You grab the back of her head, fingers tangled in her hair. “You’re going to leave a mark!”

“I know.” She mumbles once she releases your skin. “That’s the point.” Her lips find the other side of your neck, sucking harshly again. Feeling your knees grow weak at the sensation you brace yourself on Jessie’s shoulders.

“Babe.”

“Shhhh, I’ve got you.” Jessie’s arms hold your waist firmly, aiding you in standing. She adds one more mark to your neck before putting her lips back on yours, her hand on the back of your head pulling you into her. The kiss is heated, passes of her tongue, gentle bites on your lips, it was a kiss the two of you often shared in private, not in a public place. Jessie’s hands found their way all over your body, squeezing at your chest and ass, under your shirt causing your skin to prickle under her touch.

When Jessie finally pulled away you expected her to unlock the door and the two of you to leave. But that’s not what she did. You watched, eyes locked on hers as she slowly lowered her hands to your hips before following them with the rest of her body, bending down.

Now kneeling in front of you, Jessie’s fingers dig into the waistband of your sweats. She takes a moment to glance at you, waiting for permission. Despite her suddenly controlling nature, she still had to make sure you wanted it.

“Seriously?” You couldn’t help but ask. You’d brought up the idea of semi-public sex before to Jessie, she always rejected the idea. you had always thought the added risk was fun, she did not. She had no interest in being caught or heard, at least she usually didn’t.

“Yes, if you want.” Jessie’s jealous demeanor fades for a second as she looks up at you, still awaiting your permission.

“Uh, yeah, yeah of course, just hadn’t expected it.” You nod at her. Needing no further confirmation Jessie yanks everything down your legs leaving you exposed to her.

“Need to prove your mine.” She mumbles quietly. You watch as she licks her lips, looking from your pussy up to your eyes before back down.

“Wow baby,” Jessie looks up at you with a smirk, “dripping for me and I haven’t even touched you.” She brings her hands to your thighs pushing them apart more to fully expose your core. “Did you ever get this wet for her?” Jessie asks as she runs two fingers through you before holding them up to show you how they glistened with your arousal.

Shaking your head quickly you reassure her. “No Jessie, only you.”

“Only me huh? Cameron never got you dripping like this?” Still stunned by your girlfriend’s mood, it takes you a second to respond, giving her time to dip her fingers back, gathering even more of your slick, this time giving a slow, firm circle to your clit.

“Only you Jessie.” You breathe out.

“Good girl, all mine.” She praises before grabbing your thigh and placing it over her shoulder. Taking a couple minutes she just admires your core, suddenly feeling self conscious under her stare you try and pinch your thighs together. Jessie’s hands come up to stop you, keeping your thighs apart. “Don’t hide, let me see my pussy.” She looks up at you. “That’s what it is, right? My pussy?”

“All yours Jessie, it’s yours.”

“So perfect for me.” She whispers before bringing her face to meet your core. She places a couple quick and teasing kisses on your inner thighs before running her tongue through you. Already feeling worked up you buck your hips as her tongue flicks across your clit.

She teases around the bundle of nerves, tracing light circles around it before she’d give it a firm lick making you groan before returning to the light circles.

“Jess, hurry up, we don’t have a lot of time.”

“Excuse me.”

“I, I just, I want to cum for you.” Silently using your eyes to beg her, you hope she’ll give in, making it seem like it was a reward for her, not just to satisfy you.

“Hmmm.” Jessie says bringing her fingers to again run along your thighs, just to the peak teasing before coming back down your leg to your knee.

You start to feel a vibration by your feet, your first thought is one of shock that your girlfriend brought a toy with her, before you realize it was your phone ringing. Jessie’s eyes open and she gives you one last pass of her tongue before pulling back much to your dismay.

“Just ignore it.” You whine, not caring about the phone call, you could call them back. Reaching your hand on the back of Jessie’s head you try to coax her back between your legs.

“Let’s see who’s calling you.” Jessie looks up at you before reaching into the pocket of your shorts that lay at your feet. You watch as Jessie’s eyebrows raise before she turns the phone to you.

Cameron’s name is across the screen.

“Answer it.” Jessie reaches up to hand you the phone.

You looked down at Jessie, fully thinking she was joking with you, but the expression on her face tells you she’s being serious. She wanted you to answer the phone while she fucked you. “Jessie no, not while-”

“I said answer it.” Jessie barks up at you. She wasn’t one to normally demand anything from you, you were seeing a whole new side of your girlfriend today. Your hand reached out slowly grabbing the phone, your thumb sliding across the screen to answer the call.

“Hey, what’s up?” You tried to sound normal as you answered, trying to control your breathing.

“Just wanted to see where you were at? Bus leaves in 35.”

As if Jessie knew it was your turn to respond, she leaned forward her tongue finding its way back between your already slick folds, landing right on your clit. You felt your breath catch in your throat at the sensation

“Uh,” you clear your throat as a moan threatens to escape as Jessie begins to suck where you need her most. “I um, I know, I’m, I went for a walk, just to,” you have to pull the phone away from your face to take a breath, you see Jessie shoot a glare in your direction when you pull the phone away.

“Answer her.” She mouths before returning her face between your legs.

“I just went to see Jessie, I,” you feel Jessie’s fingers begin to tease your entrance. She lets them just barely stretch you out before pulling them back and repeating the teasing thrust. “I told Coffey, I’ll be back for the bus.” You manage to whimper out.

“You alright?” Cameron asks, clearly noticing the change in your voice.

“Yeah I’m,” you throw your other hand across your mouth as Jessie begins to pump her fingers in and out of you. It takes biting your hand to keep a loud moan from escaping. Instead just a small whine comes out. “I’m good.”

You can hear your teammates chatting in the background of Cameron’s call and you just hope the phone isn’t able to pick up on the sounds coming from the stall. Between your own whimpering, the sounds of Jessie drinking you in and the wetness of her fingers you weren’t sure what would be more embarrassing. “I’m fine.” You stumble over your words, assuring your teammate you’re alright.

“Okay, hang on.” You hear Cameron start talking across the room to someone else, giving you the chance to let out a much needed moan of Jessie’s name.

“Fuck Jess, please.” You can practically feel the girl smile against your skin and she continues to fuck you, the suction of her lips releasing for a moment as she smiles before she returns sucking with more force than before. you can feel the way her fingers are stretching you out, hitting the spots she knows will get you to finish.

“What?” Cameron says into the phone.

“Fuck.” You whisper before catching yourself. “Nothing, nothing, I didn’t say, I said nothing.” Your heart is racing, the nerves of being caught mixed with the adrenaline of being caught keeping your emotions at an all time high.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yep.” The word squeaks out. Now you’re starting to panic. The tightness in your stomach and the way you're clenching around Jessie’s fingers is enough to know you’re only a few moments away from finishing. You couldn’t orgasm while on the phone. You definitely couldn’t orgasm while on the phone with your ex.

You did your best to send a pleading look down at Jessie but it was no use as her eyes were closed, fully immersing herself into you. Reaching down you grab her hair, pulling it hard, causing her eyes to flutter open.

“Please” you mean to just mouth the word in your girlfriend’s direction but it comes out as a soft whine. So focused on keeping your composure, your ears have started to go fuzzy, as has your vision. You hear Cameron say something back to you in response to your quiet beg but you can’t comprehend it. That’s when you start shaking your head, trying to let you know you can’t hold it any longer, your eyes beginning to water. A feeling of panic begins to flood your body.

You feel Jessie’s hand grab at yours, taking the phone away. Then you feel her mouth leave your clit, her right hand still thrusting, keeping you on edge. “Hey Cameron, sorry, she’s busy doing something, or I guess you could say I’m busy doing her, I’ll have her talk to you later.”

Your eyes fly open at Jessie’s words, she wasn’t a prude by any means but she usually kept your sex life relatively private. You hadn’t expected Jessie to tell Cameron that she was actively fucking you.

“I” Cameron tries to respond but is cut off by the dial tone indicating Jessie had hung up.

“That’ll prove you’re mine if those pretty marks don’t do the trick.” She says smugly before dropping your phone onto the pile of clothing. “You can cum, just make sure if anyone hears you, they know it’s me making you feel this good and not her.”

She quickly puts her face back into you, her tongue and lips not teasing anymore, immediately sucking and flicking your clit in the way she knows will have you falling apart.

“Jessie, fuck.” She hums, pleased with the way you’re saying her name. You can feel your knees growing weak, more of your weird being rested onto Jessie’s shoulder. Your hands pull her hair even tighter as you grind yourself onto her face. “Oh my god, oh fuck, Jessie.”

The feeling of pleasure races through your body, your eyes slamming shut, Jessie name escaping your lips in a deep groan as you grab her hair tighter. Collapsing your upper body over as you continue to buck your hips against Jessie’s face.

Continuing to fuck you through your orgasm Jessie only slows once she hears your quiet whine of “I can’t.” Knowing she had pushed you far enough, she eases up, pulling her mouth off of you and stalling her fingers deep inside of you.

You remain bent over for a minute, your stomach resting on top of Jessie’s head, covering her body with your own. Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you try to catch your breath. “Holy shit.”

“Good?” Jessie mumbles from under your body. You feel her shift slightly and you finally stand back up, resting against the wall of the stall again.

“Fuck, yeah, that was, good Jess, so good.” You try to string together a coherent thought, your brain still rattled from the last half hour.

“Yay!” You can’t help but laugh at her excitement before she adds. “I can’t believe I made you talk on the phone while I fucked you.” You watch her eyes grow wider. “I can’t believe I told your ex I was doing you!”

“Babe, it’s fine, she’s not going to care.” You put your hands on her face, caressing her cheeks as you watched her suddenly become very shy about her actions.

Your phone dings, interrupting your peace with Jessie. Not even reading the notification you see the time displayed on your phone. A wave of panic takes you out of your post orgasm bliss. “Oh shit! I have to go, our bus is leaving in two minutes.” You say. Jessie immediately grabs your sweats and panties that she had quickly ripped off before. She holds them both open for you to step into before pulling them up to your hips.

She stands up, you can smell yourself lingering on her chin and lips as she leans in to kiss you. “I love you, let me know when you get back to the hotel safely.”

“I will, you too.” You remind her.

“I will.”

“I love you.” You say, smiling at her as she followed you out of the stall into the rest of the restroom.

“I love you, sorry about the marks.” It’s only now that Jessie seems to have actually noticed the damage she did to your neck, her face a look of concern as she stares at the hickeys.

“It’s alright, the teasing will be worth it, and I’ll make you pay for it when we’re back home tomorrow.” You give her one final kiss as the two of you exit the bathroom and split ways.

You made a quick run through the stadium, making your way out to the line of your teammates waiting to get on the bus. Hoping you’d hide away in the back you didn’t make it known to anyone you had arrived.

“Hmm, nice ‘walk’ you went on.” Sam says coming up to you pulling at the collar of your shirt, further exposing the markings Jessie had left. ”Jessie must be a rough walker.”

“Shut it.”

“Where did you two even-” She starts to ask.

“I’m not answering that.” You interrupt her sternly, holding. A hand up to stop what she was saying. You know your face is burning red, part of you hopes it’ll help the hickeys blend in with your skin.

You climbed on the bus, trying to keep your head ducked down but it was no use as you heard your teammates wolf whistle and snicker as you walked by. You slumped in your seat, pulling up your shirt, knowing you’d hear the teasing for what would probably be years to come.

You look across the aisle only to realize you had sat across from Cameron. Your eyes met for a second before you found interest in the ground. She starts to speak, laughing as she does so. “You know, next time, just don’t answer the phone.”

#jessie fleming #jflem #jessie fleming x reader #jessie fleming imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine #jessie fleming blurb #canwnt x reader #woso smut

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aquaticmercy · 2 days ago

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Bloodlust

Summary : You are a starving daywalker who needs to feed on human blood. Bucky offers himself to you.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x half-vampire!reader (she/her in mind)

Warnings/tags : Blood. Cursing. Sexual tension. Pleasure from a vampire bite (?).

Word count : 2.6k

Note : Reader is a daywalker like Blade, though it is not specified how she became one. They are in an established relationship. Happy Halloween!

Event : Trick or treat (trick/treat, food source! Bucky, half-vampire! reader, “You’re mine. It’s all fucking mine.”)

You’ve been barely holding it together for weeks now.

You had been surviving on animal blood from clueless farmers and willpower alone. It wasn’t working anymore. You could feel the hunger taking over, the control slipping away.

The worst part of this was that Bucky saw it too. He was watching you fade into a shell of the daywalker you were, right before his eyes.

Bucky had tried everything to reach Eric Brooks. He left messages that grew more urgent, more frustrated. His pleas over the line were becoming more and more desperate. He’d even been willing to track Eric down himself, but the daywalker they called Blade was off the grid. And no synthetic serum that he concocted monthly was coming your way. Nothing to stave away your craving. Your starvation.

“You’re paler,” Bucky muttered one morning, worry carving new lines into his face. He traced his thumb along your cheekbone, tracing your hollowed cheeks. His heart broke, seeing the way your eyes had dulled from their usual brightness.

“I’m fine,” you managed to say, though even you could hear the weakness in your voice.

But it wasn’t the truth. Far from it.

The ache of starvation echoed through your ribs, a painful emptiness that you tried to hide.

You tried your best to push away the temptation— the constant, all-consuming urge to sink your teeth into the first human that came close enough.

And Bucky knew it. Every time his scent drifted toward you—warm, alive, so rich with the power of his super-soldier serum—it made you weak. Drove you insane.

You’d found yourself waking up in the middle of the night, your fangs bared, fists clenched in the sheets as you lay beside him, listening to his heart beat. You’d nearly lost it more than once.

You could feel your body betraying you, your gaze following the strong curve of his throat, watching his pulse with a raw, shameless hunger.

Bucky was keeping a close eye on you now, his touches tender, protective. He kept the distance if you said you needed it, but he lingered in your peripheral vision, making sure you didn’t die out of this hunger.

Tonight, after your latest mission, that final sliver of control was gone.

You’d been drenched in enemy blood, and that faint taste—a drop of your attacker’s blood splashed against your lips— sent your senses into a frenzy. You could still taste it, feel it. You had not tasted human blood in so long.

It was all you wanted, all you could think of. But not just anyone’s blood.

His. Bucky’s.

You stumbled back into the safehouse, body shaking, fangs clenched so tight it hurt your cheeks. You were woozy now. The last drop of your energy was gone.

You were starving.

Bucky was beside you in an instant, his hands steadying you.

“Hey. It’s alright,” he murmured, his grip strong, pulling you in. “We’re done. We’re safe.”

He hadn’t noticed your hands shaking or your eyes fixating on the bare line of his throat, following the rapid flutter of his pulse.

“No, Bucky, you don’t understand,” you whispered, as he helped you stumble into bed. “I can’t… I can’t be near you right now.”

“Tell me what you need,” he said, his voice steady, unflinching. His hand cradled your face, his thumb stroking your cheek. “Let me help.”

“Bucky…” you barely choked out, eyes widening at the implication of his words. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I know exactly what I’m saying.” His voice was lower now, rough. His fingers tightened around your wrist as he sat next to you. “I can handle it.”

The words sank in, and then came a rush of dark and heady desire, the thrill of his offer— but how could you?

“No. It’s not safe,” You were shaking your head before, backing up. You wanted to run, to protect him from you. “I could hurt you. I could turn you…”

Of course, you knew you shouldn’t be able to turn him unless you wanted to, but with no control over your starvation, who knows if it could happen by accident— you’ve heard stories of it one too many times.

He let out a frustrated laugh, his grip firm. He leaned closer, his breath warm against your skin. “I’ve survived worse. And Hydra’s pumped my blood full of so much shit…” he murmured. His blue eyes pierced yours, as if daring you to look away, “… I don’t know if I can even be turned.”

“I can’t risk it,” you whispered, your voice shaking. The hunger was clawing at the edges of your mouth, threatening to consume you if you didn’t consume him.

“You’re half-vampire. I’m a super soldier. If anyone stands a chance at surviving this, it’s me.” he countered, his hand cupping the back of your neck. “Take what you need.”

The words shattered any scrap of control you had left.

The thought of him had filled every corner of your mind. The fear melted into a raw, primal need, your fangs aching as you gave in, surrendering to the urge that had been haunting you for weeks. His grip tightened on your waist, pulling you against him. He kissed your forehead, a soft, quiet invitation.

Your fingers twisted on his tactical undershirt as you lifted it up, throwing it on the floor. You dipped your head, lips grazing along his jaw, savouring the warmth.

His breath hitched as his hands roamed down your back, his heartbeat racing faster as you trailed down, your lips brushing the pulse on his neck.

The moment your fangs touched his skin, he let out a shuddering breath. His fingers tightened around you. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the power of his blood thrumming in your throat.

He tasted like fire and sunlight, flooding your senses in a dizzying rush. His blood was different—thicker, richer, carrying that unmistakable power of the serum.

A moan tore from his low in his throat, his hands tangling in your hair. His hands gripped you as you drank, his body arching into yours, his head falling back as the high hit him.

“Fuck…” he rasped, “don’t stop.” His voice was rough. His grip on you unrelenting, desperate, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t bear to let go. He was so potent that it drove you mad with need.

His body trembled against you, his breath coming in ragged gasps, a low groan slipping from his lips as his hands moved down, gripping the curve of your ass. The rush was mutual, his heartbeat thundering in your ears, his voice roaring with urgent pleasure.

When you finally pulled away, your tongue trailed over the wound.

He let out a broken sigh.

“More,” he murmured, pleading, “Please.”

It sent a jolt through you, fanning the flames of your hunger.

You felt his hands exploring your back, his breath hot against your skin, peppering kisses on your shoulders.

“Are you…” you started, voice barely a whisper. He cut you off, his lips capturing yours in a fierce, desperate kiss. His fingers slid through your hair.

The taste of his blood still lingered in your tongue.

“I’m fine,” he whispered against your lips, his voice soft but exhilarated. His fingers traced down your cheek, stopping at your jaw.

Before you knew it, Bucky’s lips were on yours again in a feverish kiss. His tongue searched for the remnants of himself in your blood, almost pleading. When he pulled back, his breathing was ragged, his eyes dark and filled with a wilderness you have never noticed before.

“Bite me again,” he whispered. His fingers tightened around your waist. He pressed his forehead against yours. “Please. I didn’t think… I didn’t know it could feel like that.” His voice dropped. “I’ve never felt anything so good.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the intensity of his words, of the way he was looking at you—like he’d tasted something addictive, something he couldn’t live without now.

His hands slid down to your thighs, pulling you against him, his body pulsing with that same primal energy that hummed through your veins now.

It was more than just hunger now. It was pleasure.

“Bucky…” You tried to keep your voice steady, but you eyed the open wound you had created. “If I do this again, I might…”

“Might what?” he murmured, one hand moving up to brush his thumb over your lips, “Hurt me?”

His mouth tilted into a slight, knowing smirk. You could sense how much he wanted it, how much he trusted you.

How much he knew you would never ever take more than he could give.

You whispered, unable to look away. “I might not be able to stop.”

But he only pulled you closer, “Then don’t.”

Bucky’s lips crashed against yours once again, his hands running feverishly over your body, fingers exploring, like he couldn’t get enough of you.

His fingers slipped under the hem of your shirt, tracing up your sides with insistent, deliberate touches. His body trembled beneath your touch, pleading for more. Your hands moved over to his chest as you followed the hard lines of his muscles and scars.

“Bite me,” he whispered, his voice rough, edged with a need that was eerily similar to your own. He tilted his head back, offering his throat, his fingers tangling in your hair, guiding you there with an urgency that sent a shiver down your spine. “Take what you want.”

Your hands roamed over his shoulders, gripping, pulling. Your lips hovered at the base of his throat.

You could feel his pulse fluttering beneath his skin, steady and strong, drawing you in like a hypnotic pattern.

Your teeth grazed his skin, and his metal hand slid down to grip your waist, pulling you so close it felt like you might sink into him entirely.

The second your fangs pierced his neck, he let out a low, guttural noise. His nails dug into your hips.

His blood rushed over your tongue —a heady, intoxicating rush that flooded your senses, burning and sweet.

It was an overwhelming heat spreading through you both at the same time.

His hands explored every inch of you, fingers tracing down your spine, gripping your shoulders, roaming across your back with an unrestrained passion.

Every drop of his blood bound you closer to each other, connecting you in a way that went beyond flesh.

He was gasping, his breath hitched against your earlobe.

His voice let a hoarse murmur of your name out of his lips, the quiet sounds of pleasure leaving his lips like a prayer.

He succumbed to the rush, the sheer ecstasy of it all.

“Don’t stop… please, don’t stop,” he begged, his voice filled with both desire and surrender. He was giving himself completely to you.

It was erotic, maddening, the rush binding you in a loop of pleasure and need. You could feel his every reaction, every small gasp, every desperate shiver. The sounds he made—raw, breathless—were as addictive as his blood, music to your ears.

You could feel his pulse slowing as you finally drew back.

Still, his hands pulled you closer, his eyes dark and hazy, beautifully vulnerable.

In that moment, with his blood coursing through you, his heartbeat was still a steady anchor.

It felt like the world had always been just the two of you. The intensity of the bond was stronger than any pull you’d ever felt before.

Bucky’s eyes were hazy, darkened with the remnants of that high, his lips parted, cheeks flushed, looking at you like he was seeing you for the first time.

“I’ve never felt anything like that,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s like… like you’re part of me now.”

You felt your chest tighten, his words resonating in your stomach. He smiled softly, running a hand through your hair, pulling you in for a slow, gentle kiss that left no doubt in your mind that he would want this again, that the need wasn’t yours alone anymore.

You held him close, savoring the warmth radiating from him. Whatever blend of serum— Hydra experimentation, maybe multiple super-soldier tests— that coursed through his veins had left him remarkably steady despite everything you’d taken. In fact, he seemed almost… blissful. Euphoric.

You gently eased him down, guiding him back against the pillows, brushing his hair from his face.

You were amazed at his strength. This would have killed a full grown adult, and here you were, marvelling at how peaceful he looked. His face was bright in the low light, eyes heavy-lidded, just slightly unfocused as he gazed up at you. Bucky’s hand slid up to yours, his fingers threading as he gave you a lopsided smile.

“Whatever Hydra did to me left some silver lining, huh?” he murmured, his voice thick with the remnants of that heady pleasure, a quiet wonder behind his tired gaze.

You gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “Maybe it’s the reason you’re okay, the reason you found it… pleasurable.” You hesitated, brushing your thumb along the edge of his jaw. “The reason I couldn’t turn you. Even if I wanted to.”

The thought filled you with relief. The fear you’d held for so long—that you’d lose control, that you’d harm him in a way that couldn’t be undone— it had finally eased. Whatever Hydra had broken in him had given you both something unbreakable. A chance at a bond you hadn’t thought possible.

He nodded, a small grin playing at the corner of his mouth. His thumb traced slow, comforting patterns against the back of your hand. “Makes us even more perfect for each other, doesn’t it?” His voice was steady with certainty, as if he’d known it all along.

“Perfect for each other,” you echoed, a warmth spreading through you as he pulled you to lay in the pillow next to him. He let his arm rest around your waist. You could feel his heart beginning to recover to a steady, unhurried rhythm.

His fingers traced idle circles on your skin. His voice was a low rumble that reverberated against your shoulder. “I don’t want you biting into anyone else"

You blinked, feeling his words settle deep in your core— primal. Almost jealous?

He brushed his lips along your collarbone, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Your bite is mine. And my blood is yours."

He lifted his head to meet your eyes, those stormy blue eyes dark with a possessive hunger that made your stomach flip.

“You’re mine,” you traced your hand over the bite mark you left. “It’s all fucking mine.”

"Fuck Eric and his subpar serum," he continued, "All you ever needed… is me.”

You were his in that moment, bound by more than hunger or desire—it was an instinct, a natural bond now—shared and undeniable.

"I mean it," he murmured, "If anyone else so much as tries, I'll… fuck, I don’t know what I’d do."

It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.

“Just ours,” you promised.

Pressing a kiss to his temple and enjoying the silence, you finally muttered. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He let out a soft, contented sigh as his eyes finally fluttered closed.

For the first time in weeks, maybe months, you felt a peace. The super-soldier blood would be enough to last you weeks, maybe months. When the time would inevitably come that you’d need to feed again, you knew he’d be there, waiting.

You brushed a final, lingering kiss against his brow, murmuring a soft goodnight.

You both knew that the pieces of yourselves that had been broken and twisted by forces beyond your control had somehow, impossibly, found a way to fit. The bloodlust you’d carried, the pieces that Hydra had broken in him—they’d found a home together.

-end (?)

—

Companion piece / bonus text: What is a blood bond?

I might make a part 2 to this story.

204 notes · View notes

mbsneur · 1 day ago

Text

Secret Games

Alexia Putellas x Ona Batlle

Summary: friends? Lovers? Friends with benefits?

WC: 4,5k (a long one)

Warnings: Smut18+,vibrators,rough sex,oral sex, Dom!Alexia, strap-ons, cunnilingus,overstimulation,squirting

My Masterlist

please just read the text before you start reading :)

It has happened what some of you have been waiting for all this time I AM BACK and then with Alexia x Ona you all wished for it and your wish is my command it has been time to think and if I post now it does not mean I will post every day or every other day understand and let me come back in I will post when I am well and have enough time maybe in the next few weeks this fic may not be my best work yet I appreciate any kind of feedback it is a fic I wrote with @patrywoso a collaboration and I love it! !

every mistake and the punctuation was taken care of @melissabarreraswife lots of love <3

I'm curious how you like the fic, let me/us know and if you have any wishes or want to write something, my requests are open :) now u can read

Lots of love <3

spain camp.

Alexia and Ona played against Canada yesterday; it was a tough game that ended 1-1.

The two sit in the meeting room. Montserat just gave her speech about things that need to be improved and that could be better.

Ona sat in the second row with her arms crossed in front of her chest. Her tongue clicked against her palate, and her head rolled to the side. Her eyes met Alexia's.

Alexia and Ona were friends with benefits; they didn’t know what they were; maybe friends who had sex from time to time; nobody knew about it, only the two of them. Alexia looked at Ona as if she would undress her at any moment, preferably in front of all her teammates.

After every game, the captains had to give a speech about how things went from their point of view, so Alexia had to do the same.

Alexia’s eyes left Ona’s before she stood up and walked forward. Ona naturally admired Alexia, her powerful eyes that made her melt, her breathtaking smile that she always uses at the perfect moment, and her defined muscles. Her biceps peeking out of her t-shirt, her god, her veiny hand

Ona had other thoughts than this soccer game and it‘s mistakes. Ona thought about what Alexia could do with her hands. Ona couldn’t hold back her heavy breathing as she hastily crossed one leg over the other and pressed her thighs together. Her jaw visibly tensed, and her eyes bored into Alexia’s form.

Ona watched closely as Alexia’s lips moved. She noticed how nervous Alexia became at her looks. Alexia tried to look away.

Ona noticed that someone next to her was keeping an eye on Alexia, the new player in the squad. Sheila, you all called her "shei."

She looked at Alexia as if she were in love, and Alexia gave Shei a little smile. Ona didn’t know if she should be jealous or what it was that made her feel that way. She wanted to be the only one for Alexia.

Ona looked away annoyed and decided to concentrate on the game and alexia’s speech. She leaned back in the chair, and her face turned into an annoyed look.

The Team meeting was over, and Ona walked with Cata and Patri towards the exit.

“Ona-Onita”

She heard shouting from behind as she tourned around, smiling Alexia came towards her with the biggest smile she had seen in a long time.

Alexia put an arm around Ona’s narrow shoulders and came closer to her hairline.

“Why don’t you wait for me, idiota?” says Alexia ironically

Ona rolled her eyes in the back of her head. “Why don’t you go with Shei? i think you can ask. Maybe you’ll be assigned to a room with her.” Ona says annoyed, and Alexia starts laughing.

“What’s wrong with you? Why are u being mean to her? We should be nice to the new ones,” Alexia replies with a laugh.

Ona looks angrily at Alexia. Her breathing becomes loud as if she could burst at any moment. “I’m serious, Alexia, go to her,” says ona, more annoyed than before.

“Mh, do you want to go to our room and I’ll massage this anger away from you? How does that sound?” Alexia whispers in Ona’s ear, gently stroking her auricle

Ona’s breathing becomes heavy at the light but intense touch. “i want to rest, Ale,” Ona says and shakes her shoulders to remove Alexia’s arm.

Alexia sighs and lets go of Ona. She groans annoyed and trots after Ona.

The others have gathered in the common room as they do every evening. Will it be

noticeable that Ona and Alexia are the only ones who will be missing?

When Alexia and Ona reach their shared

room, Alexia's arms immediately wrap

around Ona's narrow hips and pull her close to her chest.

She lays her head gently on Ona's shoulder, and Ona tries to squirm, but Alexia pulls her closer to her.

"What's wrong with you, Bonita?" Alexia whispers in her ear and nibbles on her earlobe. Ona lets herself fall close to alexia

and sighs against her, her eyes closed and her body tight against Alexia in her arms.

Alexia's lips move to the side of Ona's neck, and she gives out lots of firm kisses that combine with sucking and nibbling ona‘s

mouth wide open before she gets a word in edgewise.

"Talk to me, what's wrong," Alexia says

emotionally and leans closer to Ona. One of her hands moves up Ona‘s belly and pulls lightly on the hem of her shirt.

"Because she wouldn't stop fucking looking at you like she wants to eat you out," Ona says, annoyed and tries to push away from Alexia.

Alexia starts to laugh. Her hand moves to one of Ona's breasts and pinches her nipple. Ona yells, "Shh, are you jealous, Cari?" Alexia says in a deeper voice. Her finger pinches Ona's now-hard nipple again.

"I am not," Ona sighs.

"I think it's fucking hot when you're

jealous," Alexia says, taking Ona's whole

breast in her hand. Ona moans and lets her whole weight fall against Alexia now.

With a quick movement, Alexa turns Ona around, and her mouth presses down on Ona's Her strong hand grabs Ona's neck, and Ona gasps into Alexia's throat.

Alexia's grip tightens, and she takes the opportunity to slide her tongue into Ona's mouth. Alexia suckers on Ona's tongue. Alexia's hands go from Ona's neck to her breasts. She squeezes them tightly.

Ona finds it hard to kiss Alexia; her kisses

become wet and a wild mess.

After a few seconds, Alexia lets go of Ona, breathing heavily, and looks at her swollen, wet lips.

"Take your clothes off," said Alexia and tilted her head up slightly.

"Ale, if someone hears us and we are the only ones not there," says Ona with slight fear and takes a step back.

"Now," Alexia said confidently.

Ona liked playing around with Alexia; she

loved being a brat who gets punished.

Ona pulled her shirt over her head and

threw it straight into Alexia's arms cheekily

with a mischievous smile.

"Ona, behave or you'll get the fucking

punishment," Alexia says dominantly, and

Ona just rolls her eyes.

"Don't you want to play with me?" Ona asks

cheekily and winks at Alexia.

Alexia hates this cheeky way Alexia could fuck her until she can't spell cheeky anymore.

Ona removes her pants and sees Alexia's

hungry eyes staring at her, at which Ona could only smile

Alexia crosses her arms and doesn't let the little girl out of her sight for a second. She loves it when Ona does what she wants and how every single one of her muscles tenses with these movements. Alexia's eyes widen as Ona bends down to fold her clothes carefully.

Alexia put Ona's clothes aside and then

took up her form. She wore Alexia's favorite underwear, the white lace bra and the

white thong, and with the little bow, Ona

knew what she was doing.

"Thong out of bra on," Alexia said bossily

and pointed to Ona's bra and thong.

Alexia walked past Ona and sat with her legs apart on the edge of the bed. Ona stood small and frightened in front of her. "Where is your big mouth? Are you scared?" Alexia asked with her lip hanging out.

Ona just shakes her head. "Come on my lap, ass up in the air, babygirl." Alexia spits out, and Ona walks tenderly towards her. She knows exactly what's coming. Alexia is leaning back. Her arms hold her up. She watches Ona as she lies down on her lap.

As soon as Ona lies completely on Alexia's lap, Alexia's hand gently strokes Ona's back. "What a pretty girl." Alexia moans, and Ona's lower lip lies firmly between her

teeth. Her whole body is tense.

"Say it," Alexia says before reaching into the meat in Ona's ass. Ona grunts and thinks about her next words, "Imma, pretty girl."

slap

"Fu-fuck," Ona groans and supports herself, but Alexia presses her head firmly onto the

mattress.

"Say it again, baby," Alexia says with raised eyebrows.

"I'm a pretty girl," Ona says out of breath.

slap

"Fuck ale," Ona moans in pain.

One of Alexia's hands grabs Ona's bun and pulls her up. "You're a pretty girl, my pretty girl, lo entiendes?" Alexia says harshly and pulls harder on Ona's hair.

"I understand," Ona gasps and tries to look

at Alexia.

"What do you understand?" Alexia pulls harder, and her teeth clench tightly.

"That I'm your pretty girl, please," Ona says tearfully, and Alexia drops Ona's head. Ona bounces back onto the varnish, and Alexia's

hand lies flat on her tailbone.

"I'm going to have to remind you who you

belong to, relax, Valerie?" Alexia says,

watching Ona's every reaction.

"You want to beat me? You want to torture me," Ona says cheekily, and with a raspy voice, Alexia smiles at her words.

"Count them for me," Alexia says with a

grin, and Ona sighs hard into the sheets.

slap

"one..."

slap

,,two.."

,,Good girl," Alexia says proudly and massages Ona's ass cheeks.

slap

,,Three fuck ale."

"You can still take some, I know it," says

Alexia, whimpering and pressing against

Ona's cheeks.

slap

,,four-,,

slap

,,Five.. I can't ale."

"Have you had enough? You have to understand if you behave like a brat, I will treat you like a brat, mh?" Alexia says, stuttering and looking at Ona's now red ass.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. Will you fuck me now, please?" Ona asks tearfully and turns her head to look at Alexia.

Alexia smiles, and Ona's legs spread

automatically.

Alexia's fingers graze the inside of Ona's

thigh. Ona trembles at the gentle touch.

"Are you wet, Bonita?" Alexia asks, and her fingers move on to Ona's core.

"So wet, please, Alexia," Ona says slightly out of breath and tries to rock herself

against Alexia's finger. "God, you're so desperate," Alexia says nervously, and her middle finger goes straight through Ona's folds and absorbs her wetness.

"F-uck," Ona whimpers, and Alexia's finger

plunges into her dripping hole. She moves painfully slowly; her walls squeeze around her finger. "You are so tight. How long have you not been fucked, mh?" Alexia asks, and Ona moans, "I need more, please."

"Answer my question," Alexia said,

croaking, and gave her another slap on the bottom. Ona squirmed.

"Stop moving so much," Alexia says and

clicks her tongue. Alexia pushes another

finger in, which immediately makes Ona moan louder.

"The last one to fuck me was you, and it's been 3 days," says Ona, moaning and

pushing her body upwards.

“That’s right, it will be the last thing you remember,” says Alexia and bends down to kiss Ona’s back

“You feel so fucking good fuck,” Ona screams and arches her back. Her legs spread wider as Alexia’s pace became more erratic.

“Do you want to cum like this spread out?” Alexia asks out of breath, and her eyes widen as she notices Ona’s arched back.

“Fuck yes, please,” Ona begs and tries to cover her moans.

“Don’t you dare cover your mouth. I want to hear you, and i don’t care if the others hear it,” Alexia warns and pulls ona up by her bun again, this time with more force.

Ona’s eyes are glassy, so desperate for an orgasm, “I want to cum please,” Ona moans and looks at Alexia.

“Will you do what i want without being a brat?” Alexia asks, and her fingers hit the perfect spot in Ona’s hole. Ona’s legs tense and tremble against Alexia’s hand.

Ona grinds her teeth. She tries to delay her orgasm as much as possible. “Yes, please, can i cum?” Ona whimpers and rolls her eyes into the back of her head. The sounds with each thrust are obscene and pornographic.

“Good girl, cum for me,” Alexia whispers and speeds up. Ona’s walls get tight around Alexia’s thick fingers. Her thigh muscles are tense, and Ona’s head rests on the lacquer. With her little scream, she comes on Alexia’s fingers.

Ona rides out her orgasm when she has fully relaxed, and Alexia removes her fingers from her Ona’s juices stick to her hand— quite a mess. Ona’s inner thighs are soaking wet, and Ona whimpers to herself

Alexia caught sight of Ona. The aftershocks of her orgasm rushing through her body caught Ona’s gaze and stared into her hazel eyes. “Suck on it,” Alexia said energetically and stretches her wet fingers into Ona’s face.

Without thinking, Ona takes Alexia’s fingers in her mouth up to her knuckels. Alexia moans at the feeling and watches Ona as she licks a long strip from her knuckels to her fingertips to make sure everything is clean.

“Swallow it all of it,” Alexia orders and rams her fingers deeper into Ona’s throat, making her gasp with a loud pop. Alexia pulls her fingers out and spreads her saliva over Ona’s cheek.

“You’re so fucking hot, baby,” Alexia says with a grunt and gives Ona an intense kiss on the lips. Her hands reach for Ona’s hips to place her gently on her back

Alexia works her way to Ona's jawline and

nibbles at her skin. Her hands find their

way to the clasp of Ona's bra; she removes it and throws it somewhere in the room.

Ona's mouth is open. Her breathing is heavy. Alexia's tongue is now working on her neck. "You will take my cock... the big one, Cari," Alexia says in a low voice, and Ona's eyes meet hers. Ona nods at her words, "Talk to me, Onita; I won't fuck you for the next three months otherwise." Alexia spits and rolls her eyes, annoyed.

"You won't make it anyway." ona grin

Alexia doesn't like the words at all. She slaps Ona on the thigh and runs to her suitcase. ona startles. The pain spreads over her entire left side.

She looks up and down as she pulls her shirt over her head, her eyes full of lust. "See my little slut to ruin," Alexia says devilishly, and she pulls her trousers down her strong thighs. Alexia's legs are tense.

ona watches Alexia bent down to her

suitcase. Ona wasn't a butt girl, but something about Alexia's bum turned her

on. It was defined and muscular, and with every walk it tensed and moved slightly. Ona's bottom lip is between her teeth. Her eyes wander over Alexia's whole body, and she can't suppress the moan that comes out of her mouth.

Alexia wasn't lying when she said that Ona would take the big strap; it was really

bigger than the ones they usually use.

Ona's eyes widen at the sight of the cock. between Alexia's legs uncontrollably. She opens her legs wider and slides up and down. She is impatient.

Alexia steps forward to the edge of Ona's bed. She kisses her shin and takes her other knee firmly in her hand. Her other hand caresses Ona's thigh. Ona's skin is flushed. Her cheeks burn. Alexia's mouth moves higher and opens Ona's legs wider. She kisses all the way up to Ona's neck, and she now hovers completely over her.

"You want my cock inside you, don't you?" Alexia says, breathing heavily against Ona's sensitive skin, "Yes, please." Ona whimpers tearfully and presses herself against Alexia to create some kind of friction. "Please, who?” Alexia says, stunned, smirking slightly at what she knows is driving Ona crazy

"Please, ma'am," Ona says breathlessly and reaches for Alexia's body to pull her closer to her.

"You're so pretty when you know how to use your words." Alexia whispers, and her cock gently brushes the inside of Ona's

thigh. Ona's breath hitches, and her hips lift against the cock.

"Be gentle, Ale," Ona whispers against Alexia's lips. Alexia strokes her cock right in front of Ona's entrance; her hips gently

thrust in, causing a deep croak from Ona's throat.

Alexia pushes deeper into Ona; her lips

collide and catch in a frenzied kiss. "Mark

me; everyone should know who I belong to," Ona moans against Alexia, and Alexia, lets out a harsh grunt. Her lips land on the crook of her neck. She nibbles and sucks on

it like the world champion she is.

"Fuck faster-shit-harder, please," Ona

moans.

Alexia doesn't need to be told twice, and her hips start to find a fast rhythm, her hips. slapping hard against Ona's bare skin with every trust.

"Arch your back for me." Whimpers Alexia Ona's back lifts and presses against Alexia's tits. “You take me so well, Bonita.” Alexia croaks againts Ona’s chest, her lips still firmly against her skin to mark her.

Alexia gets faster, and Ona’s noises get louder.

“Ah, fuck you close so well around me,” Alexia croaks against Ona. Her fingers press firmly into the sides of Ona’s hips.

Alexia’s teeth scrape over Ona’s neck. A shiver flies over Ona’s back.

“You’re mine,” groaned Alexia, and Ona cried out her thighs, squeezing tightly around Alexia’s hips. “Naw, do you want to cum already, baby?” Alexia asks, and Ona just moans and presses her head deeper into the sheets.

“I need to cum please, Alexia.” Ona’s words were coiled in her throat. Her voice is rough, and Ona’s legs start to tremble, and Alexia realizes how tight Ona gets around her cock. it’s a rush of emotion.

Alexia’s head falls to the side, and she realizes how close she is. “That’s it, cum for me, baby,” Alexia says, yearned. Her legs get heavy. She struggles to keep one open. Ona is a big mess. “so desperately for my cock, cum finally,” Alexia adds.

Ona's walls squeeze around Alexia with a

moan of her name, Ona Cum, on her cock.

Her breathing has become heavy just a little bit of life. She is so fucked, but Alexia is far from done with her.

Ona was just about to relax when Alexia takes mine and presses it over her head. Ona screams at the feeling of the cock going deep inside her "sensitive ale." Onal cries and knocks against Alexia's thigh.

Alexia doesn't stop pumping into her. Her hips get faster.

"No, take it." Alexia grunts and feels her orgasm getting closer and closer. Ona is overstimulated; her tears are shaking, and Alexia's hips are getting faster and faster.

Alexia holds Ona's legs in the air. Ona cries; only tears form at the corner of her eyes.

"Tell me who you belong to." Alexia's words become stuttery. Her eyes roll, and her

mouth is wet. "To you, Ale, go on, cum

inside me," she moans, and her hands

scratch Alexia's back.

Alexia gets weaker. Her legs get weak with

her last trust. When she comes into Ona,

she drops Ona's legs and falls on the little, now weak girl.

Ona's arms immediately close around Alex's neck to pull her close for an intimate hug. She kisses Alex's temples. Alexia's

breath is faint, as is her whole body.

“What’s going on? Are you done with me yet?” says Ona playfully.

Alexia lifts her head, and her eyes darken. “Una zorra así no se cansa de mi polla.”

Alexia says angrily before grabbing Ona’s hips and turning her onto her stomach. Her Cock hasn’t left Ona for a second. “Ask me that again after a few more orgasms, you fucking little slut.” Alexia spits and starts pumping into Ona again from behind.

Ona screams out; she wasn’t prepared for the speed Alexia puts on.

“Ale, a little slower, please.” Ona cries, but Alexia doesn’t slow down; on the contrary, she only gets faster.

"You like being such a naughty bitch; you'll

take what I give you," Alexia says with clenched teeth, her hands firmly around Ona's hips.

"Fuckfuck," Ona screams, her legs giving

way.

"You're doing so well; we'll keep going until you've learned what a brat you were once

again," croaks Alexia and gives Ona a slap on the shoulder.

Alexia gets faster. Ona can hardly think straight; her next orgasm builds up; her

belly is kind and Alexia merciless.

"Ale, you're going to make me cum fuck-

right there," Ona cried out. Alexia hits the perfect spot inside Ona.

"No apology first."

"please alexia I'm sorry it won't happen again, please." She begs, and a small smile spreads across Alexia's lips.

"I can't hold it anymore, ale, please." Ona is

a trembling mess.

"yeah baby? Do you have to cum?" Alexia asks playfully, her nails scratching over Ona's sensitive cheeks.

"Such a pretty girl, let me give you what you

need, mh?"

"Ya, please, I beg you." Ona grunts; her noises are getting smaller; it's too much.

"There is it; what a good girl cum on my cock," Alexia says she feels relaxed around her.

Ona comes over to Alexia; Alexia's thighs

are wet from Ona's juices. "Look what a pretty pussy you have. You are so fuckable, you know that," Alexia asks.

"Stop; I can't take it anymore. Too much

ale." Ona cries; she tries to move away from Alexia. “Sh, you can take another one for me, mh.”

“I swear I’ll get Shei in here.” Ona shouts angrily and overstimulated. Her fingers are sore, and her hips will probably be blue from Alexia’s hands tomorrow.

Alexia grabs Ona’s bun and pulls her head up a little. “Stop with these stupid statements; otherwise, I swear I’ll fuck you in hotel corridor, and we’ll all take turns on you; better behave yourself,” Alexia says, and then immediately drops Ona’s head on the sheets.

Alexia keeps pumping into her without a break.

"Come on, babes, I got you; you just want to fuck you dumb, mh."

Alexia's hands glided over every sensitive part of Ona's body. "So good for me."

Alexia's voice was soft, yet her thrusts were rough.

Ona's breathing is interrupted with an obscene moan as she pushes the toy into her alexia's hands. Feel Ona's flushed cheeks before she thrusts hard. Her hips move backwards before she pulls the toy out completely until only the tip is left

inside her before Alexia thrusts hard into Ona again.

"Fuck-oh god," moans Ona as Alexia starts to fuck her again at a brutal pace so that the bed starts to shake with evers trust. The back of the beds hits the wall. Ona was sure the whole house would hear it.

As Alexia thrusts her hips forward and hits places Ona didn’t even know existed, screams escape Ona as she alternately tries to bury her face in the sheets. “Stop it, I want to hear you; I want to hear you scream my name, fuck.” alexia whimpers

“Please, can i cum?” begs ona and moves her hips in a rhythm with Alexia.

“Cum for me,” she gasps as she pushes her hips further into Ona. Ona tenses up immediately. She lets go and lets orgasm come over her with a scream of Alexia’s name.

Ona twitches underneath her. After a few seconds, Alexia removes herself from Ona’s dripping cunt. With a pop, the cock pops out of her. Ona’s juices are spread on her and Alexia’s thighs. She literally drops her arse cheeks redden, and her legs struggle to hold herself up.

Alexia lets the toy fall off her before standing up and going to her suitcase again. “Turn around and lay down, baby, and open your legs wide. I want to your dripping pussy,” Alexia says with her back turned to ona.

She rummages in her suitcase and pulls out a black vibrator. Ona lies weakly on the bed, her legs wide open, her juices running out of her, her chest rises and falls only weakly, her belly is wet, and her breasts are full of hickeys. Alexia smiles at the sight of her fucked brat.

Alexia scurries over to Ona and lies down between her spread legs. She switches the vibrator on to the middle, and Ona lifts her head to meet Alexia’s eyes. “ Look at you all fucked up, mh?” She taunts and presses the vibrator against Ona’s clit, causing her to squirm. “Sh, stay calm, baby, I’ll take care of you,” Alexia says caringly and brings Ona legs back to her place.

“My little slut, my good girl,” Ona’s legs tremble. her eyes shake in the back of her head. She feels her coming closer. A guttural sound escapes her as Ona comes again.

Ona hopes Alexia will stop, but she doesn’t. “i can’t fuck” Ona sobs. Ona is mixed with pain and tears. Her legs try to close, Alexia pushes her head between them and starts to lick the juice from Ona’s thighs.

“Yes, you can,” assures Alexia, and she licks her thighs mixed with little kisses. “Come again for me, Bonita; you look so pretty.”

As if on cue, Ona’s body tenses under Alexia one last time fluid pours out of Ona as she squirts over the vibrator and Alexia’s mouth

A series of screams echo through the room. Ona’s hips jerk around wildly until Alexia sets up the vibrator and puts it aside.

“Shh, baby, you were so good. I’m so proud of you.” Alexia whispers and crawls up to Ona.

“What do we actually do here every time?” Ona asks sentimentally and lies down gently in Alexia’s arms.

“I don’t know. i don’t if i can try.” Alexia says and spreads kisses on Ona’s face. “What do you want to try Ale?” Ona asks and closes her eyes while lying tightly on Alexia’s chest.

“To love you, Alexia says nervously and quickly moves away from Ona. “I’ll get something to clean you up, then we’ll cuddle for a while, okay?” Alexia says and sits up. She makes her way to the bathroom to make a rag with warm water.

a loud knock on the door

“Stop fucking yourselves and come play Fifa, my god,” yells Jenni from the other side of the door.

Fuck

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hotchshands · 3 days ago

Note

for kinktober/cocktober hotch using his handcuffs on you? 😩😩😩 (i feel like her be so hesitant but the reader would be SUCH a whiny little bitch about it 🤭)

tyty <33 MWAH

How did you know I’m a slut for handcuffs🤭

Okay, so imagine it’s Halloween night, and Hotch dresses up as himself, basically because you and Jack begged him to join you all in some trick-or-treating. At the end of the night, Hotch has a surprise for you…

"Come on, it's Halloween. You have to dress up!" you shout from the kitchen at Hotch, who is putting together his last-minute Halloween costume in the bedroom. The two of you have just started living together in Hotch's tiny apartment, so it was your first Halloween as a couple.

You and Jack were patiently waiting for Aaron to finish up. You were dressed up as a witch, and Jack was dressed up as Spider-Man. Things at the BAU have been crazy busy, so you and Aaron forgot to plan for Halloween. Jack, on the other hand, has had his costume for weeks now. Your costume was a backup for years like this when you forgot to plan a more elaborate costume.

Jack and you were nibbling on the Halloween cookies you all made when Aaron walked out of the bedroom and inside the kitchen. "Well, it's not much of a costume, but it's all I got," Hotch says, looking down at his costume. He was wearing his FBI vest, and a pair of handcuffs were attached to this belt.

"Cool! Let's go, Dad!" Jack said, putting down a cookie and pulling on Aaron's leg, eager to go trick-or-treating. You laughed at his response and accepted Aaron's lame attempt at Halloween, following the two out. On your way, you caught a glance at Aaron's butt in his tight pants. You've seen him dressed on the job, but it takes your breath away every time.

After hours of trick-or-treating, you all decided to call it a night. Jack had gotten a bunch of candy but grew tired after a few hours, plus Hotch, and you were exhausted. By the time you stepped into the apartment, Jack was ready for bed.

While Hotch put Jack to bed, you cleaned up the house, ensuring all the candy was put away. After putting the boy to sleep, Hotch joined you in the kitchen. "I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted. I think I'm gonna turn in," Hotch said.

You sighed, "Me too. Mind helping me get out of this costume?"

Hotch's brows raised at that. He knew you didn't mean it in a dirty way, but his mind went gutter diving. He approached you and leaned toward your ear, "I'm glad you asked. I've been thinking of getting you naked all night."

"Aaron!" you yelped in surprise.

He couldn't help but laugh, walking away down the hall and toward the bedroom. You smirked, turning off the lights before following him. When you reach your bedroom, you can see Aaron standing in front of the bed, still in costume. Seeing him in the vest gave you a boost of much-needed energy.

"So, officer, are you gonna help me?" you asked, walking toward Hotch slowly.

Hotch looked you over before placing his hands on your shoulders, "That depends. Have you been a bad girl?"

"Me?" you point to yourself, knowing you were the only two in the room. "Well, everyone knows that I'm a good girl, officer."

You could tell your words affected Aaron even though you've never called him "officer" before. He traced the fabric of your costume before ribbing the black dress. You were shocked, stunned, really. He never acted that eager ever. He was a very patient man, but tonight was different. He didn't wait for permission.

"Is that so?" he said, tilting your chin up. He removed the remains of the dress from your body, leaving you in your lingerie. He then moved a hand toward your center and felt a hint of wetness there. "Good girls aren't such filthy whores. Now turn around," he commanded.

You slowly turned around, unsure of his next move.

"You're under arrest for trying to seduce a federal officer," he says, handcuffing you.

The cuffs were tight against your wrists, making it impossible to use them in any capacity. "But, officer, please let me explain," you pleaded, playing in the fantasy.

"No need. I'm gonna teach you a lesson, sweetheart."

He tosses you toward the bed. Your chest falls on the mattress while your hands remain tied behind your back. You couldn't see him, but you could hear the sound of a zipper coming undone. The sound made you whine. Your fingers reach out to touch him but to no use. He slaps your ass, telling you to stop whining.

"Bad girls don't get to touch. Got it?"

He grabbed your throat and lifted it up as he pressed against you, his other hand holding onto the cuffs that tied your hands together. You hated that you couldn't see or touch him, but you ended up having the best Halloween [sex] ever.

#gabriella's mail #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #hotch x reader #hotch #cocktober #kinktober #aaron hotchner x you #hotch x you #hotch imagine

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space-cowgirllll · 2 days ago

Text

I did boy mom Abby during the fall so you know I had to write some domestic fluff for Ellie too 🫶🏻🎃🍂

let’s ignore that I’m posting this less than an hour before Halloween is over 🥸

"Mama no! That's Rex's chair!"

"Well I don't see his name on it." The soft thud of the stuffed animal hitting the carpet is followed by the stomp of a tiny foot.

"Mama!"

You lower the volume on the halloween music playing on the tv, watching your wife get locked in stare down with a mini version of herself. Margo's legs wobble on unsteady plastic heels and the pink material of her dress wrinkles as she places her hands on her hips. Ellie had managed to squeeze herself into one of the bigger dresses in your daughter's closet, the thing looking like it was about to bust at the seams whenever she moved. Her tiara lopsided as it slowly slips off her head.

From the color of their hair to the slope of their noses, it was actually scary how alike they looked at the moment. Their profiles damn near identical.

The two stare at each other from opposite sides of the coffee table where a "spooky" tea party was being held with hot chocolate and Halloween cookies. Action figures and stuffed animals line the sides, with the newest addition to your little family sitting at the head of the table. Your seven month old son, Theo, sits in his infant chair watching the drama unfold as he chewed on a yogurt puff. His little body swallowed up by the tulle of his dress, with a sparkly clip in his short hair. Neither you nor Ellie able to save him from the older sister effect.

"He's a stuffie, he can't even eat the cookie." Ellie says matter of factly, reaching over to fix the girl's tiara.

The four year old's eyes shift from Rex's spot to her own empty plate, nodding in understanding. "Get more from mommy." she whispers loudly, pointing to where you stand at the counter with a fresh batch. Their eyes widen at the sight of the tray in front of you.

Ellie has a full blown one sided conversation with the infant in her arms, stopping at the large window facing your backyard. She points out the swing set under the large tree in the far right corner.

"Pretty soon you'll be out there with mama and margo having competitions on who can swing the highest." She bounces the infant on her hip.

"Mama cheats." Margo pipes up from the living room.

"I do not!"

Ellie jumps to defend herself, launching into story after story about the times she's lost to the four year old. Theo watches her in fascination, his eyes glued to Ellie's face. Your wife never stopped talking, and you swear it's the reason Margo's vocabulary is as good as it is.

You pretend to ignore Ellie as she saunters over to where you stand at the kitchen island. Her front presses up against your back, lips pressing against your bare shoulder as she reaches for the cookies. "Don't mind if I do."

"I do mind, actually." You push her away. "Dinner's almost ready."

"Oh c'mon just one more."

"You said that like five cookies ago Els." Taking the baby from her arms, you move the tray further away from her grabby hands.

She pouts. "So you hate me."

"Oh, shut up." You roll your eyes, pulling her in for a kiss. "How about you two go wash up and you can have one more AFTER dinner." The little hand reaching for the tray pauses, slowly retreating when you pull it further away. Ellie snorts as the culprit click clacks back towards the couch.

The doorbell rings, pulling your attention away from the kitchen. Ellie moves to stir the soup currently simmering in the pot, ignoring your warning look.

"Babe, did you order something?" You question, staring at the large plastic bag on your front porch. The logo didn't look familiar, her name is on the label when you squint.

"Oh, yeah! This wasn't supposed to come until next week." The package is snatched from your hands, a flash of pink and purple fly past you and down the hallway. Your two dogs manage to slip in the room just before the door slams shut.

"We're the only sane ones here bub." You turn back towards the kitchen, undressing the infant and placing him in his high chair. He babbles happily while you clean up the mess on the counter.

It's then that you notice the two cookies missing from the tray. Your wife and daughter's muffled giggles reach your ears.

"Ellie!"

———

"Okay oneeee more for Grandpa Joel."

"No more." Margo pouts "Papa has lots of pictures already."

The three of you wait impatiently as Ellie props her phone up against one of the steps on your front porch. She rushes back to where you stand as the timer counts down. Her hand reaches down to adjust the dog's dinosaur costume, the hood covering his eyes.

Theo sits happily in the wagon your wife had spent the last week turning into a little cage. His little green dinosaur costume just thick enough to keep him warm from the chilly weather.

You quickly make sure your pink button up is tucked properly into your shorts. Ellie gives you a grateful look when you push the hair out of her face. The two of you smiling just as the timer goes off, praying that the kids were looking.

Your wife had insisted on picking out the theme for Halloween this year. Knowing she had at least one year left before your already opinionated daughter decided she wanted to pick out her own halloween costume. With how busy you'd been at work you happily let her take charge.

And that's how you ended up wrangling a family of dinosaurs out the door.

"Let's go!"

You bite your lip when your daughter wobbles in her inflatable dinosaur costume, the head throwing her off balance. Her little hand reaches for Ellie's, dragging her down the driveway and out into the throng of people already out trick or treating. Pink plastic pumpkin swinging at her side.

The four of you make your way through the neighborhood, you and Ellie taking turns walking the kids up to knock on doors.

Like most four year olds, Margo gets tired after a couple of streets. Her plastic pumpkin now full of candy. Theo snoozes away in his wagon, checks rosy from the cold.

"Last house?" You point at the tiny craftsman at the end of the street.

Ellie gives you a thumbs up and follows after Margo as she hobbles up the path towards the front porch.

“Well aren’t you two the cutest.” The elderly woman sitting on one of the steps gushes. “Matching costumes!”

She reaches into the big yellow bowl, pulling out a full size candy that has the little girl’s tired eyes widening.

"A big candy! Thank you!" She clutches it in her tiny fist, rushing back to where you stood on the sidewalk.

The elderly woman laughs at the way her costume wobbles as she runs down. "Is that your family?" She asks pointing to where you stand.

"It is." Ellie smiles.

"They're so cute." She gushes, patting her arm. "You're very lucky."

Ellie watches you gently pry the melting chocolate from your daughter’s grasp, putting it in her overflowing bucket. Theo now perched on your hip, a big gummy smile on his face at the sound of his big sister’s voice as she bounces around dancing to the loud music coming from down the street. The two dogs swore she didn’t want sat at your sides.

Ellie’s heart warmed at the sight. Her smile widens.

"Yeah, I am."

—

"Margo's finally down." You sink down into the spot next to Ellie on the couch with a sigh. A hand reaches into the plastic bag on her lap where you'd dumped all the candy, digging around for the full size candy bar from earlier. Your wife searches for a movie to watch, clicking through multiple streaming apps.

"Told you we shouldn't have let her have that second lollipop before bed." She mumbles through a mouthful of chocolate. Her eyes glued to the tv. You stretch out on the couch, legs thrown over her lap.

"Nothing scary." You remind her. "Don't need you waking me up to walk you to the bathroom at 3 AM again."

"That was ONE time!" Ellie scoffs, but quickly exits the horror section. She sprawls out on top of you, her head resting on your chest.

“No cartoons either.” You press a quick kiss to her hair. “Get enough of that with the kids.”

You settle on Hocus Pocus after ten minutes of bickering only for the two of you to end up asleep only fifteen minutes into the movie.

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams x female reader #ellie x you #ellie tlou #ellie x fem reader

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woniehugs · 2 days ago

Text

The Touch of Extinction

—✧ summary: in a future plagued by a deadly virus, scientist Y/N is unexpectedly paired with the enigmatic government official, Lee Heeseung, as they work to save a fractured continent. What begins as a mission for survival transforms into an intense, forbidden connection, only to be shattered when Heeseung’s own secrets come to light. With danger lurking and time running out, the truth behind their mission and their connection unravels in ways neither could foresee. Will their shared sacrifice be enough to leave a lasting mark on the world they tried to save? This isn’t a love story, it’s a story about love.

—✧ pairing: lee heeseung x fem! reader

—✧ genre: dystopia, futuristic fiction, not really romance

—✧ warnings: mentions of blood and abuse (only brief), non-consensual sex, let me know if i missed anything!

—✧ word count: 4.3k

—✧ author’s note: putting this out here in the meantime because i’m not finished writing the next chapter for “operation: fuck sim jaeyun” yet. i wrote this for a school project, and no, i didn’t actually use y/n and heeseung’s names lmao. and also, this is actually inspired by the handmaid’s tail and manacled, so if you’re familiar of those, you’ll know.

══════*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*══════

Who would’ve thought the future would end up like this? We could never have predicted that life would slowly cease to exist.

50 years ago, in the country of Netherlands, a group of young and intelligent scientists from BioCorp worked on experiments that focused on enhancing human genetics. After much hard work, they had made vast progress, thanks to the advancement of technology over the years and took a week-long break to celebrate Christmas. However, during a hazy night on the 24th of December, the night of Christmas Eve, one of the scientists had gone inside the laboratory that contained their equipment and supplies, completely out of their mind— drunk. The scientist had accidentally knocked one of the containers used in their experiments, breaking each flask containing what seemed to him as “mystery fluid” and spilling it all over the laboratory floor.

Knocked backed into consciousness realizing what he had spilt, he panicked, and tried to clean it up before it could contaminate the entire room, but because of the state he was in, the broken flasks and test fluids had caught onto his dazed and drunken state, causing the scientist to drop on the floor, unconscious. It took 12 hours until the whole building was contaminated due to the open vents, notifying security and the other scientists about the situation.

Luckily, the scientist woke up the next day, completely healthy and well, which was a surprise. Authorities had brought him to the hospital, along with his colleagues who waited for him to wake up. While the other scientists continued working on the experiments a week after Christmas, they were stopped by the news of another colleague’s sudden death in the comfort of their own home, exactly a month after the laboratory incident. Days after, the scientist’s own wife was laid to rest on her deathbed, a month after she had made contact with her husband who had gone home from the hospital. This prompted BioCorp into a mass crisis. Taking multiple hours of rigorous research, studying, and hypothesizing, the scientists discovered that the incident had caused a new infectious virus to erupt. …Infectious, how? With the knowledge of the deaths of the scientist and his wife, the scientists concluded that the virus was transmitted by skin-to-skin touch and that the virus’s effect didn’t accelerate despite how much one has touched another infected person.

By the time the scientists had made this horrible discovery, hundreds and thousands of people had died in the lower parts of Europe. The virus had spread rapidly, with no one knowing who had it or didn’t. There weren't any symptoms showing and one could only know they had caught the virus when they had taken their final breath. The moment the Dutch government was made aware of this tragedy, they took in scientists from BioCorp, while in the meantime, putting the whole country on lockdown to protect the people from the virus and could conjure a cure. They supplied the scientists with everything they needed for their research, but as they did so, many Europeans died at their expense, the number of deaths increasing with every single day that passed. Choked up by guilt, the scientists persevered, but even so, they still had little knowledge of what they could do to solve the pandemic they had caused, and some died never seeing the day they could fix this mess.

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and months turned into years, the European population dropped to an all-time low. Due to the pandemic, the continent of Europe was divided into two: the Eastern and Western Parts. A boundary was placed, dividing the Netherlands, Germany, France, Italy, and more countries in the eastern part, from the entire western part of Europe. A military base was placed upfront on the boundary to prevent anyone from trespassing. This sent the Netherlands government into turmoil, as the situation had not been handled well years prior, affecting their neighboring countries, most especially their own population.

The division wasn’t enough to make anything but a benefit. Soon, the governments of each country worked together and came up with a repopulation effort, a program attempting to revive the dying population. Women, from the lower class, and the ones who are single will be assigned to men and will bear children for them. Whether the men have wives and children is out of the question, they will still have to participate in the program. They will be monitored frequently by authorities if they have done the job, if not, a punishment shall be done. The selected women were quarantined in a prison-like building, yet still being fed well. However, because of how many of them were trying to escape the hell they had to go through, having to bear children they didn’t want with men they didn’t even know, the government grew strict and eventually became a totalitarian regime. For all the women, it was hell on Earth.

Y/N L/N, the daughter of one of the scientists who took part in the failed experiment, and followed in the footsteps of her parents, happened to be a part of the selected women for the repopulation program. With your last name at the forefront of people’s minds, “the daughter of one of those evil scientists who caused this animosity”, you get assigned to one of the higher-ranking government officials in Europe.

On your first meeting, you had been dragged by the authorities, hair secured in a bun at the base of your neck, wrists manacled behind your back, lip busted, one of your cheeks bruised purple, and your face bloody fighting off the authorities. You wore a robe as white as snow, streaks of your blood painted the areas near your waist, a skirt spreading down to your feet, and long sleeves covering your entire arms.

Screaming at the top of your lungs to let you go, the authorities pushed you until you fell to the ground, your face first hitting the ground with a loud crack. You heard the door close behind you, clicking with a lock as you groaned in pain, tears falling down her face. As you slowly tried to stand up from the ground, you hear a chair creak, someone standing up from their seat. You look up, coming face to face with the man you had to endure. Lee Heeseung, the son of the prime minister of the Netherlands. He had an unreadable look on his face, his eyes dark as he examined you carefully, looking you up and down. Filled with disdain, you gathered enough saliva and spat at his feet, a drop of spit landing perfectly on his polished shoe.

Before you could get any more disrespectful, you were brought up to your feet, Heeseung’s hand gripping your forearm as you yelped in pain. Dragging you across the room, he turned you around and pushed your body down on his desk, pressing your manacled wrists behind your back with one hand. You struggled to get out of his grip, trying to kick him but to no avail. He was too strong, and so much taller than you. You feel tears prickle on the corners of your eyes, one side of your face scraping against the wood of the table.

With your eyes shut, Get this over and done with, you think to yourself, hope slowly leaving your body as you count down the seconds until he is done with you. Barely 5 minutes had passed until he stopped moving, and as swift as a fox, backed away from you. You felt your wrists free from the manacles, and planted your palms on the table, slowly guiding yourself to stand up and turn to face him, but before you could utter a word to him, he was gone. Uncontrollable tears fell from your face then. You felt pain, disgusted, and used. Your whole world had been reduced to a room where you’d be forced to do things you didn’t want to do, and that hurt you. You could do better things than this. But no. For now, you fall back down on the ground, your body sprawled out on the floor as sleep takes you in.

You wake up the next day on a bed and in a room you don’t recognize. This wasn’t where I was yesterday, you think to yourself. Looking to your left, you see a doctor scribbling on his notebook with medical equipment laid out on a small table on top of the bed. The doctor notices you, a sad smile on his face, “How are you feeling, dear? You passed out on the floor yesterday and Mr. Lee had to carry you to your bed.”

Confused, you shake your head, “After being forced to do things against my will? Yes, I believe I’m feeling a lot better.” The doctor lets out a sigh, letting you drink your medicine before leaving your room quietly. You take in your room. It was huge and filled with everything she needed to survive this hellhole. Keeping yourself busy, you took a shower, changed into clean clothes, and read. There was a long shelf of books at the side of the room, so you grabbed everything that caught your eye. You read, and read, and read until you couldn’t anymore.

Food was served by two maids during breakfast, lunch, and dinner. When you asked if you could get out of your room, one of the maids answered that you needed to rest and could only get out the next day as said by their master. Rolling your eyes, you nodded your head, grabbed the dinner from their hands, and sat back on the bed. As you ate, you thought about how grateful you were that Heeseung hadn’t gone into your room and took advantage of you again. Peacefully, sleep takes you in once again when you finished eating.

The third day. “It’s not so bad here”, you think — yet. While you ate breakfast on your bed, the door opened. Your eyes looked up to see Heeseung close the door behind him. You feel your heart race, dropping the utensils on the plate. The sound catches Heeseung’s attention, quickly looking at you to see what’s wrong. He takes a few steps towards you but you raise a hand to stop him. “N-not yet.” you managed to speak out despite your voice and hands shaking. Heeseung shakes his hand, and continues his way toward you, “I’m not here for that. Not this early, at least.” Releasing a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, you nod at him in relief, picking your utensils up to continue eating. You feel his eyes on you the entire time, hands trembling.

“I wanted to let you know that you can come out of your room now, anytime you want.” Heeseung starts, “However, I expect that you’ll be back here by 6 pm. I have duties I need to attend to later that night, so we’ll have to…” he clears his throat to get his point across, “...do it, before I leave. Is that okay?”

“It’s not like I have a choice. You’ll do it anyway.” you hear his breath catch at that.

“How frequently does this have to happen?”

“Once every two days.”

“What? Who do they think we are? Rabbits?” you try to joke but Heeseung’s face remains expressionless. “I have something to ask from you. It’s the least you can do for, erm… me.” You cringe at your words but proceeds nonetheless when Heeseung doesn’t say anything. “I need a laptop so I can research, and books and studies on anything that could help me on knowing more about this virus. I can’t not do anything here but bear your children, the thought disgusts me as it is.” you explain, your tone desperate. “That’s all I ask for. I’ll do anything you wish, just let me continue my research. Please.”

Heeseung nods his head, “Of course. I’ll provide you with everything you need.” you thank him. He hesitates for a bit before returning to the door, about to leave. Before he does, he looks back at you, “I apologize for how I acted before. I had just been made known about you that day, and I acted… out of remorse. I’m sorry.” you nod your head at his apology, “It’s quite alright. I acted irrationally too. I was scared.”

“We all are, aren’t we?” Heeseung replies, a ghost of a smile forming on his lips. “Let me know if you need any help with your research. I’ll see you tonight.” The door shuts close behind him, leaving you alone in your room. That night, Heeseung visits you in your room, only this time, he acts gently and — you let him. Your business was finished as quickly as it had started. When you fall asleep in his arms, he carefully positions you back on the bed, covering you with a blanket, and delicately pats your forehead. Once Heeseung is sure that you are deep into your slumber, he leaves.

You immediately rise from your bed to start your fourth day with some research. A stab of pain erupts from your abdomen, making you groan in pain. You slowly get up on your feet, to the chair in front of the desk placed on the right side of the room. The moment you sat, you noticed a stack of books placed neatly on the table and your very own laptop that you were sure you left behind at home. You smiled at the effort that Heeseung had put into making sure you had everything you needed. Shaking your head, you began as you took a bite of mango and chocolate toast specially made for you. Hours passed and you were able to read most of the information you had already known: about the incident years ago, the non-existent symptoms, the lockdown, your parents along with other scientists locked away and dead, and the division. Searching on the Internet, most of the articles you came across were more on people’s predictions and not based on scientific evidence. That was all you did that day. Research, read, study, and make your hypotheses. — Why aren’t there any symptoms? you think to yourself. It was the most bizarre thing you had known, it was a virus with no symptoms. No wonder everyone was dying around you because, to this day, no one had found the answer to that question.

“I see you’re still up.” A voice interrupts you from your reading, dropping your highlighter on the book she was reading about viruses. You had been so distracted you didn’t even hear Heeseung enter your room in the first place. “I can’t seem to figure this out on my own. I’ve been reading for hours.” you answer, rubbing your temples with the pads of your thumbs. Heeseung hums behind you, taking a peek at what you were reading. “What I’m about to tell you might help.” you turn your head to him, “I’ve been feeling some strange sensations. My head’s been feeling light since yesterday. I’ve taken some painkillers but it doesn’t seem to go away.”

Your eyes widened in shock, “A-are you implying you’ve caught the virus?” Heeseung shakes his head, “No, or wait, maybe a little. I’m not so sure honestly. But seriously, anyone could have caught the virus by now, even indoors. We’ve also already made skin-to-skin contact. Shouldn’t we not be surprised about that possibility?” You think carefully before answering him, “I’ve never thought about that, but you’re right. Anything could happen.” But I don’t want any of us to die. A few moments pass before you clap your hands together, bringing Heeseung’s attention back to you, “You’re right. I’ll keep that in mind, just in case, however, it doesn’t mean you have the virus.” you send him a look that makes Heeseung sigh, “Right, but I just thought I should tell you.”

“And you didn’t do anything wrong by telling me. I appreciate it, Heeseung. Really.” you assure him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Heeseung looks you dead in the eyes when you do, and you quickly put your hand away once you realize. “Right. It’s getting late. You should be going. I don’t think I’ll be getting any sleep tonight.” Heeseung didn’t end up leaving you that night, and it wasn’t entirely his choice. He stayed with you until you fell asleep on your desk, and he carried you once again over to her bed. Half-asleep, you manage to pull Heeseung towards you, whispering “Stay with me.” and Heeseung does, falling asleep next to you.

The next morning, you woke to the sound of soft breathing beside you. You blinked, momentarily disoriented, before realizing Heeseung was still in bed with you. The realization brought a mix of emotions—confusion, and fear, but also a strange comfort you hadn’t expected. You gently removed yourself from his embrace, careful not to wake him, and moved to the desk where you had been working the night before. Your thoughts were swirling with everything Heeseung had revealed to you. His admission about the strange sensations he had been feeling gnawed at you. If he was indeed showing symptoms, this could be the breakthrough you had been desperately searching for—a lead that could explain the virus’s behavior. You needed to gather more data. If Heeseung truly was infected, how much time did he have left? How much time did you have left? If Heeseung was infected, then that would mean you were too. You both didn’t have much time left.

You pulled up a document on your laptop and began typing down everything you remembered from Heeseung’s account. You noted the onset of his symptoms, their progression, and any possible environmental factors that might have contributed to his condition. If you were going to make any progress, you needed to treat this as a case study—methodical, detached, and purely scientific. The hours slipped by, and when Heeseung finally stirred, you had already compiled a preliminary report. You turned to him as he sat up, running a hand through his tousled hair. His expression was unreadable as he glanced at the clock, noting the late hour.

"How are you feeling?" you asked, trying to keep her voice steady. Heeseung frowned slightly as if considering the question. "A little better, I suppose. The lightheadedness hasn’t completely gone away, but it’s manageable. Why? Are you worried about me?"

You hesitated. "I’m just trying to understand what’s happening. If you’re showing symptoms,” You hesitate finishing your sentence, “...if I’m showing symptoms, it could be critical information for my research. But more importantly, I don’t want anything to happen to you."

Heeseung’s eyes widened at your words. "You think you’ve caught it too?” you nod your head, “It’s plausible since we’ve been together… for the past few days.” You cringe at your choice of words, “So it’s best that I entertain the possibility. If we both don’t have much time, we should stay here until we’ve figured this out. Together.”

His gaze softened, “I agree. I appreciate what you’re doing. I didn’t expect you to care so much, given the circumstances."

You shrugged your shoulders, "I may not have a choice in this situation, but that doesn’t mean I’m heartless. We’re both victims of a system neither of us controls." He looked away, a muscle in his jaw tightening.

"The world has gone mad, hasn’t it? People reduced to numbers, in a repopulation program, and those responsible for the mess are either dead or hiding behind closed doors." You sighed, feeling the weight of his words. "We’re trying to survive in a world we barely recognize anymore. But if there’s even a chance that what we’re experiencing could lead to a solution, we have to pursue it." Heeseung nodded slowly. "Then let’s work together on this. If we’re both infected, we need to know how it’s progressing and what we can do to stop it … if anything."

Over the next few days, you and Heeseung settled into a strange routine. During the day, you focused on your research, cataloging Heeseung’s symptoms with clinical precision, while also poring over your parents’ old notes and the limited data available on the virus. Heeseung made sure you had everything you needed, from medical supplies to access to secure networks that could aid your research. At night, you did what you had to. The only difference is that afterward, the two of you shared a bed, a tenuous bond formed out of necessity, and a growing, unspoken understanding.

Heeseung continues to visit you daily, and with every visit, you sense that he is hiding something. There’s a restlessness in his eyes, a kind of weight that he carries with him each time he steps into your room. One night, as he sits at the edge of the bed, a quiet question slips from your lips before you can stop yourself.

“Why are you doing this, Heeseung? Why did you bring me all these things when you could have just kept me locked away like the others?”

He looks at you, a flicker of something like regret in his gaze. “Because, Y/N… I owe it to you. I owe it to everyone who’s been affected by this virus. My father and his colleagues may have failed, but I… I won’t. If there’s any chance you could help find a cure… I’ll give you everything you need.”

His words stir something deep inside you. You can’t decide whether it’s hope, resentment, or both. You’re still unsure whether to trust him, but as days turn into weeks, you notice a subtle shift in the way you interact. There’s a tension that lingers between you, unspoken but palpable—a tension that is not entirely borne of fear or obligation.

As time goes on, you and Heeseung start to talk more. He tells you about his childhood, about his strained relationship with his father, about the weight of expectations that had always loomed over him. It’s not much, but it’s enough to remind you that, like you, he’s just a person caught up in the chaos of a world turned upside down.

One evening, as you sit together in silence, you find yourself blurting out, “What if this virus can’t be stopped? What if we’re all just… delaying the inevitable?”

He meets your eyes, his voice soft. “Then we fight it anyway. Because that’s all we can do, Y/N. We fight until there’s nothing left to fight for.”

You don’t respond, but his words echo in your mind long after he’s left the room.

The next evening, as you sat together, you noticed a slight tremor in Heeseung’s hand as he passed you a cup of tea. Your heart sank, but you kept your expression neutral. "Heeseung," you said softly, "Have you felt any other changes? Anything new?" He shook his head, setting the cup down with more care than usual. "Just the tremor. It started yesterday, but it’s not too bad. I can still control it for the most part." You bit her lip, your mind racing. "We need to accelerate our research. If the virus is progressing, we’re running out of time." Heeseung nodded, his expression grim. "I’m with you, Y/N. Whatever it takes."

Weeks pass, and the once suffocating atmosphere of your confinement begins to change. The tension between you and Heeseung continues to grow, evolving into something more complex. Conversations that once revolved around the virus and research now include moments of shared silence, subtle glances, and small admissions. There’s an unspoken understanding between you, as if the mere act of surviving together has created a fragile bond. You can sense that he’s struggling with something more than just the weight of the world outside—something personal that he hasn’t yet shared.

Days after, the usual routine is disrupted when Heeseung arrives later than usual, his expression troubled and distant. You notice his hands shaking as he sets down a tray of food. Before you can ask him what’s wrong, he steps closer, his voice low and strained.

“There’s something I need to tell you, Y/N. It’s… it’s about the virus.”

Your pulse quickens as you watch him take a seat across from you, his head bowed as if weighed down by a burden he can no longer carry alone.

“My father wasn’t just one of the researchers involved,” he begins, his voice barely above a whisper. “He was one of the first to become infected. They kept it a secret, covered it up because of his position, and… they used him as a test subject for the early trials of the cure.”

The revelation hits you like a cold wave, leaving you speechless. The pieces begin to fall into place—the rushed experiments, the hidden agendas, the urgency in Heeseung’s actions. You feel a pang of anger for being kept in the dark, but it’s quickly swallowed by an unexpected sense of empathy. Heeseung’s determination to find a cure isn’t just about the greater good; it’s personal.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” you ask, your voice trembling with a mix of frustration and understanding.

“I didn’t know how,” he admits, his gaze finally meeting yours. “And… I didn’t want you to think that I was using you for the same reasons they used him.”

For a moment, the room is silent. You look at Heeseung, seeing the torment in his eyes and recognizing a kind of vulnerability that you hadn’t allowed yourself to acknowledge before. It’s as though, in sharing his secret, he’s offered you a glimpse of the person he is beyond the government official, beyond the virus. And perhaps, you realize, it’s the same for you. This whole time, you’ve been hiding behind the walls you built around yourself to survive, afraid to let him see the parts of you that long for connection in this cold, fragmented world.

“You could have told me,” you say softly. “I would have understood.”

Heeseung gives a faint, bitter smile. “I didn’t know if I could trust you to understand, or if you would see me as just another monster.”

Before you can respond, a wave of emotion sweeps over you, and without thinking, you reach out and touch his hand. It’s a small gesture, but it’s enough to break down whatever was left of the barrier between you. His fingers curl around yours hesitantly, as if he’s not quite sure if he should accept the comfort you’re offering, but then his grip tightens, and you realize just how much he needed it.

The days that follow are marked by an unspoken shift in your dynamic. The tension that once existed has transformed into a closeness that you’re both wary to acknowledge, and yet neither of you can deny. When he’s with you, the air feels warmer, the silence less suffocating. But in the back of your mind, you know this fragile connection is built upon the uncertainty of a world ravaged by disease—a world that could take everything away in a heartbeat.

It’s in this closeness that you begin to notice Heeseung showing signs of fatigue. He tries to hide it, but you see the subtle winces, the way his hand trembles when he thinks you’re not looking. The truth becomes impossible to ignore when, one night, he collapses in front of you, a fever burning through his skin.

“Heeseung!” you cry, rushing to his side. As you help him to the bed, the realization hits you with a brutal clarity—he’s infected.

The weight of the situation crashes down on you like a tidal wave. Everything you’ve come to understand, every unspoken moment between you, is now overshadowed by the one thing you feared most. Heeseung is dying, and you don’t know if there’s any way to save him.

The next few weeks were a blur of research, testing, and increasingly frequent moments of quiet despair. You were relentless, pushing yourself to the brink of exhaustion as you combed through every piece of data you could find. You reached out to the few remaining scientists who had survived the initial outbreak, sharing your findings and seeking their input. But the virus remained an enigma, its origin rooted in the nightmarish accident that had taken place decades ago. The more you learned, the more you realized how little you knew, and how close you all were to the edge.

As Heeseung’s condition worsened, you felt a growing sense of urgency. The lightheadedness had evolved into dizziness, the tremors into violent shakes that left him bedridden for hours. You continued to document everything, but your fear for him, something you had tried to keep at bay—began to overshadow your scientific detachment.

Then, one night, as Heeseung lay in bed, his breathing labored and his skin pale, he reached for your hand. You took it, feeling the tremor in his grip, and held on tightly.

"I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

"Don’t be," you replied, your throat tight with unshed tears. "We’re doing everything we can."

He managed a weak smile. "I know. But if this is it...if this is the end...I want you to know that I don’t regret these last few weeks. I’m glad we met, even if it was under these circumstances."

You swallowed hard, unable to find the words to respond. Instead, you leaned in and kissed his forehead, your tears finally spilling over, with Heeseung sharing an embrace.

"I’ll keep fighting," you promised. "For you, and everyone else. I won’t let this be in vain."

Heeseung closed his eyes, his hand tightening briefly around hers. "I know you will."

In the early hours of the morning, Lee Heeseung took his final breath. You stayed by his side, holding his hand until it grew cold. When the sun rose, you gently released him and began writing down the final stages of his symptoms, your tears blurring the words on the page.

Two days later, your symptoms began to manifest. You felt the same lightheadedness Heeseung had described, followed by the tremors. But you didn’t stop working. Every moment you had left was dedicated to your research, to the hope that your final notes might contain the key to stopping the virus.

When the end came for you, it was peaceful. You had finished your last entry, detailing the progression of the virus within yourself, and had left instructions for the remaining scientists on where to find your work. You lay down on the bed you had shared with Heeseung and closed your eyes, a sense of calm washing over you.

Your body was discovered a day later by the authorities, just as Heeseung’s had been. The room was quiet, save for the hum of the laptop that still displayed your final research notes.

On the desk, beside the neatly stacked books and papers, laid a single handwritten note:

"To whoever finds this, remember us not just for what we did, but for what we tried to do. The virus may have taken our lives, but it will not take our legacy. The answers are here. Please, finish what we started.”

Signed,

Y/N L/N

And with that, Y/N L/N and Lee Heeseung’s story came to an end, but their fight continued on in the hands of those who followed.

══════*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*══════

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suugarbabe · 16 hours ago

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omg ok ok ok, I love your Sirius, so, I'm wondering if you could write a sirius x fem!reader who is maybe the grumpy to his sunshine? he's the one who is always super flirty and outgoing and the life of the party, and she would sort of rather die but begrudgingly puts up with it for him? OH but maybe one day she has a bad day and he gets to see a softer side of her 🥹 IDK idk I'm too excited to request this is so bad sorry my love xoxoxoxo kisses for youuuu

I am *living* for this okay. l i v i n g. because Sirius is my sunshine to my grumpy. I am the grumpy reader. okay let’s do this baby. kiss kiss kiss yoooou <3

Opposites attract right? At least that’s what others seemed to deem as the explanation for your relationship. Sirius was in a category all his own as far as you were concerned, but that category was nearly the opposite of where people would place you. Sirius was a people person, it came so easily to him it was like he never even had to try. It annoyed you to no fucking end when you first met him.

Being a descendent of the most noble and ancient House of Black had its advantages. Like incredibly sharp cheekbones, beautiful alabaster skin that contrasted perfectly with onyx locks and eyes so deep and blue you could drown in them. Sirius exuded this energy that seemed to pull people towards him; like he had his own force field. He could walk into a room and everything shifted, like he breathed extra life into the area and everyone was desperate to live.

Most people when asked about you would say you were…short-tempered. Your housemates tended to steer clear of your presence. Which was fine with you because you were easily annoyed by most of them. Ravenclaws were known for being know-it-alls and truthfully you found it rather repugnant. Thankfully you had Pandora as company. Usually her overly sweet demeanor would drive you insane, but you knew more than the rest. Being a Malfoy sorted into Ravenclaw essentially meant she was the black sheep of her family. But that seemed to be your soft spot.

Pandora would tease that this was why you started falling for Sirius. Despite your more grumpy demeanor, you were never quite as grumpy when it came to Sirius. Hearing the ins and outs of what was going on over breaks from Pan made you want to take care of him.

The first time Sirius brought you around the rest of the marauders it was not without sideways glances. “Er, Pads, you seemed to have picked up a shadow,” James nodded towards your frame just behind Sirius. “Sod off, Potter,” you’d grumbled, Sirius’s palm big and flat against your back moving in slow circles. “S’alright love, he’s just teasing. Be nice, Prongs or she’ll hex you into next week and I won’t be able to stop her.”

“Not that you’d try to stop her, would ya mate. I’m Remus, but all these miserable gits call me Moony,” Remus gave a small fingered wave as he plopped onto the couch ceremoniously. He would eventually turn into the one that’d help you gang up on Sirius, if ever needed.

On this particular night, though, you were feeling just…down. It wasn’t often you felt like this, despite outward appearances. However when this feeling did hit you, there was only one person that could fully get you out of it. You knew that the Gryffindors were having their annual Halloween party. Which meant if you wanted to find Sirius that’s where he’d be.

You had of course agreed to come to the party ages ago; much to do with Sirius begging and pouting his pretty pink lips and sucking you in with his pretty blue eyes. Sirius had insisted that costumes were required, “Even for an angel like yourself” which earned him a particularly large eye roll. Thus, you threw on some fishnet tights and a black minidress with your signature black boots. Atop your head a small pair of black cat ears, thanks to Pandoras charm work.

She was dressed as an actual angel, charmed halo floating above her nearly white blonde locks. Any muggle would think they were truly hallucinating if they would have seen her. You greeted the fat lady with the password, “Hiddlypunks,” and she swung open. Within the first few steps one would be none the wiser. But two steps into the commonroom and the barrier was broken, music and singing and murmuring filling the room.

“Drinks yes? Please yes,” you nodded at Pandora who found her way to to the drink table to create what you were hoping were very strong concoctions. You didn’t need to look around in order to find him. That magnetic pull leading you closer and closer until you heard the boisterous laugh of Sirius Black. You were quiet in your approach, not drawing any attention to yourself on purpose. Even though you yearned for his touch you knew how much he enjoyed entertaining and didn’t want to interrupt.

Remus spots you of course, the observant bastard. He throws a playful wink in your direction; you responding with a middle finger and a forced smile. Sirius is in the middle of recalling “a truly amazing play, great play” from the last quidditch match, but Remus’s low chuckle from your display of affection towards him causes your boyfriend to turn around in search of who could have possibly pulled attention away from him.

His furrowed brows disperse as you catch his sights and smile lights his face, “Well, hello there, Kitten.” You give a weak smile in response, “Hi Siri.” His brows are furrowed once more. The others try to greet you but immediately you’re swept away to a farther corner of the room. Sirius swirls his wand around you both, muttering a quick muffliato, coating you both in silence. “Okay, out with it what’s wrong?” Sirius’s hands were laid gently on your waist, head dipped down to force your avoidant eyes to keep contact with his. “Come now, pet. You know I can’t do anything without knowing what’s wrong,” he urged, giving your waist a small squeeze.

You met his eyes and yours immediately began to brim with tears. In an instant Sirius has engulfed you, one hand grasping your head and holding you close to his chest while the other wraps around your back, squeezing you as close to him as possible and hoping the pressure of his pull is soothing. His heart breaks ever so slightly at the muffled sobs against him. Your emotions seem to be everywhere but embarrassment is toping the list as you begin to pull away, aggressively wiping your face with the heel of your palms, hoping no one but Sirius is noticing you in this state.

"I-I'm sorry Siri, 've just..." you trailed off, choked breaths causing your intake of air to stutter. Sirius's touch has yet to cease, one hand cupping your cheek gently while the other finds solace in the dip of your waist, "Rough day, love?" You nod once, looking to the ceiling and willing any tears to fall back into your head instead of trailing down your face. "Alright, let's go," his head tilts towards the spiral staircase that would lead to his dorm.

You sniffle quickly, shaking your head, "N-no, I'll be okay. I'm not going to take you away from the party, Siri. Not gonna steal you from your friends like that." Sirius can't help but scoff, "Fuck my friends." You laugh a little at his brashness and the sound makes Sirius grin again, "There you are, love." He takes a quick peek over his shoulder, "Now. Let's just go tell the others we're going up, Remus will make sure we're left alone for a good few hours then, hmm?"

You nod, agreeing, knowing that there's no use in arguing with Sirius when he's made up his mind. His fingers laced with yours and the cool feeling of his rings are such a contrast the the heat in your body that it's calming. He gives your hand an extra squeeze as you approach the group. You decide to try and stay hidden behind Sirius, almost burying your face against his shoulder blade, barely peeking one eye out to see the others.

Sirius explains that he's feeling tired and wants to go back to the room with you. James does not look convinced in the slightest. He looks even more confused by your seemingly shy and reserved demeanor. He doesn't think he's ever seen you look so...vulnerable. Remus is the only person you make eye contact with and he gives you a simple wink and a nod. The reassurance from the smallest action making you sigh in relief.

It's almost like Sirius can feel you relax slightly, turning to you and asking if you're ready to go. You give a feeble nod and a shy wave to the others, most of which look a little skeptical but say no protests in return.

When you make it to his dorm Sirius immediately goes to his trunk, pulling out his favorite concert tee and handing it to you. You take off your outfit slowly, pulling his shirt over your head and letting it consume you, the additional scent of Sirius now enveloping your body and adding to your relief. Sirius changes himself and then pulls back the duvet, "In you go, pet."

You oblige, going and getting comfortable on your back. Sirius climbs in after you, crawling over your form and placing two soft kisses on either apple of your cheek before giving you the most gentle yet firm kiss. He rests his head against yours, asking you almost in a whisper, "D'you wanna talk about it?"

"No," your response so soft it would've been missed had it not been only you two in the room, "Will you just...lay on me?" Sirius kissed you softly once more, scooching down just enough to lay his head on your chest. He wrapped his arms around your, relaxing himself and allowing his full weight to now lay on top of you. The weight of your boyfriend was the grounding you needed, your breathing now finally able to even out.

#i hope you like it 🥺#for my elle <3 #sirius black x reader #sirius black fluff #sirius black x you #sirius black x fem!reader #sirius black being a fucking gem #sunshine!sirius black x grumpy!reader #reader insert #x reader #the marauders #marauders era

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padfootagain · 3 days ago

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Love in Verses (XXIII)

Chapter 23 : ‘Even the dearest that I loved the best are strange – nay, rather, stranger than the rest’

Hi! Here is a new chapter! One of my favs, to be honest, it’s one of the first chapters I wrote for this fic, so it had a special place in my heart.

Also, Saoirse and Sean are back! I’m also making a reference to a documentary in this chapter, I was thinking about Brainwashed directed by Nina Menkes, you can check it out if you’d like!

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 3694

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

I am

I am—yet what I am none cares or knows; My friends forsake me like a memory lost: I am the self-consumer of my woes— They rise and vanish in oblivious host, Like shadows in love’s frenzied stifled throes And yet I am, and live—like vapours tossed

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise, Into the living sea of waking dreams, Where there is neither sense of life or joys, But the vast shipwreck of my life’s esteems; Even the dearest that I loved the best Are strange—nay, rather, stranger than the rest.

I long for scenes where man hath never trod A place where woman never smiled or wept There to abide with my Creator, God, And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept, Untroubling and untroubled where I lie The grass below—above the vaulted sky.

John Clare

Andrew was fucking panicking.

Bloody panicking.

Desperate times called for desperate measures, and it had to be useful at one point to have an older brother… right?

Andrew would never admit that he needed reassurance, that he needed guidance, a protective figure to pat him on the back and tell him what to do next, and that it was the reason why he had driven to his brother’s on that Monday night. Of course not. Jon was his brother after all. Andrew would never admit any of that out loud, even if it were true.

The hike had happened the day before, that moment he had realised he was falling in love with you. That he was in love with you.

Bloody hell…

“So, let me get this clear…” Jon spoke with his elbows resting on his knees, bent over and leaning towards Andrew, struggling to gather his thoughts. “You thought you were still in love with Sam. Who left you for your colleague’s ex. And you thought ‘hey, what dumb idea could I bring to the table today’ and it led you to try to get back with the woman who cheated on you…”

“She didn’t cheat on me, she left me before she got with Frank.”

“How do you know that? Did you ask her?”

“Frank told Y/N he broke up with her before anything happened with Sam.”

“And she dumped you two weeks after he dumped her. You don’t know what happened.”

Andrew felt a lump creeping up his throat again, and he averted his gaze, rubbing roughly at his collarbone.

“Anyway, let’s move on…” Jon brushed the argument away with a quick gesture of the hand. “You tried to get back with Sam and to help Y/N get back with Frank… and then you fell in love with Y/N. Your colleague. Whom you share an office with.”

“I mean… yeah, kind of… I guess…”

Jon buried his face in his hands.

“I swear to God, Andy… it looks like you purposefully want to ruin your own life.”

“I can’t control the way I feel, Jon!”

“This is madness! She’s in love with her ex!”

“I know!”

Andrew’s voice was shaking more than he wanted it to. Jon looked up at him, reading him like an open book, and Andrew hated it.

“I know, okay?!” Andrew went on, voice still shaking while his throat tightened. “I know! I know I’ve fucked up everything with Sam! I know she got better than me! I know I’ve never stood a chance at getting her back! And I know Y/N is too good for me! I know we’re colleagues and that would complicate everything! And I know, I fuck… fucking know that she’s in love with someone else! I know! I know but I don’t know how to fix this! So can you, for once, be useful and tell me what to do now? Cause… I… I don’t know… Jon, I don’t know…”

God, Andrew hated himself for breaking in front of his brother, for letting the tears escape, but he couldn’t help it. This was too much. He simply couldn’t handle this…

Before he could add anything, Jon had stood up from his armchair and was sitting next to his brother on his couch. He didn’t say a word as he pulled him into a hug.

“Come on, Andy… it’s gonna be fine. You’ll be just fine.”

“Christ… I’m so fucking lost… I don’t know what to do Jon…”

“Do you truly love her? Y/N? Or is she just a rebound.”

“I don’t know…”

He was lying. Of course, Andrew was lying, because he couldn’t say it out loud, how could he? He couldn’t say it to himself… he couldn’t feel like that again…

“Say it. Say it out loud.”

Jon would get it out of him, and Andrew knew that he needed to let it out, to embrace the feeling, but it was so painful… pulling on a knife stuck in a bleeding wound…

“Andy… say it. Answer me.”

Andrew closed his eyes, resting his cheek on his brother’s shoulder, looking across the room. There were posters in black and white of old movies on each wall, and across from Andrew, James Dean was staring at him, a cigarette in his mouth. And Andrew stared at those eyes in black and white, and they stared back. Unwavering. Immortalised on paper and ink. Young, free, rebellious, without a cause…

“I love her,” Andrew whispered. “I love her, Jon. I’m falling more and more every time I see her.”

“Is it serious? Or just a crush?”

Andrew shrugged.

“I’m in love. I feel… like I could love her more than I’ve ever loved Sam… How can I feel like that? I thought Sam was the one! I thought we would stay together, I… I thought about marrying her at one point!”

“She wasn’t good for you, Andy.”

“You sound like mom. And dad.”

“When were they ever wrong? About anything?”

Andrew sniffed, knowing damn well the answer, refusing to admit it.

“She was nice enough,” Jon conceded. “She was smart, beautiful, successful… but she didn’t care enough, Andy. She didn’t care enough about you. She was selfish, in her way of loving you. You deserve better than that.”

Andrew pondered these words, wanted to believe them, couldn’t…

“What do I do now? It’s a mess…”

“Yeah, it’s messy… But you’ll be fine. You need to do whatever makes you happy.”

“What a shitty answer. Did you find it in a bloody fortune cookie or something?”

“Do you still want to be with Sam?”

Andrew took a moment to think.

“I’m not sure. I don’t think so… I don’t know…”

“Do you want to be with Y/N?”

“She doesn’t want that…”

“That was not my question.”

Andrew struggled to swallow, but nodded.

“Yeah… yeah, I want her.”

“Then, love her. Maybe, with a bit of time, she’ll love you too.”

“What do I do to make her love me?”

But Jon chuckled.

“I’m single, remember? How am I supposed to know that?”

Valid point. But Andrew reckoned that he could at least try. He could find the things you didn’t like, he could change… maybe… be better for you…

There was silence for a moment, Andrew sniffed, looking at James Dean still. It was raining outside, as per usual. On the windowpane close to the poster, raindrops formed lines that turned the world into a blur. Dublin was but rough shapes and patches of brown, grey and white.

“How did you realise?”

“What?” Andrew croaked.

“That you love Y/N.”

“I won’t tell you. You’re gonna laugh at me.”

“I won’t laugh. You’re crying.”

“Like that has ever stopped you before!”

“Come on, I know you’re truly upset, I won’t take the piss. Tell me.”

Andrew heaved a sigh.

“We went hiking yesterday. And the day was so great, she was so funny… and then we took a break and she had brought snacks, and… she had all my favourites. Like… it was so fucking sweet…”

Jon started chuckling.

“She brought you snacks, and you fell for her?”

“You don’t understand.”

Andrew broke their hold, got up in a jolt. He was rubbing at his collarbone again.

“She… she did that for me. And she… she knows me… like… she knew what I liked. That’s… I don’t know how to explain it. I felt so… understood… like… Like I wasn’t on my own for a moment, you know? Like there was actually someone who cared enough about me to go through all the trouble of learning what I like and showing it… just to make me happy. Like…”

Andrew heaved a sigh.

“Anyway… I knew you’d laugh at me.”

“If I give you a cracker, will you declare your undying love for me?”

“Fuck off!”

Before he could tell his brother another insult, Jon was throwing a cushion at his head, making Andrew huff as he lost his balance for a second.

He was laughing again as he picked up the cushion and threw it back.

But that didn’t answer his question.

What would Andrew do now?

When he eventually got home, he wasn’t sleepy at all. Instead of going to bed, he scrolled aimlessly on his phone, wasting his time on social media. Once he had enough of it, he decided to organise his photos on his phone. He put them into files, kept some messily saved without any home.

And then he reached the pictures he had taken the previous day, of your hike. Landscape, trees, clouds, and you… you standing on top of that hill, while the world laid at you feet. Your red scarf, Elwood sitting by your feet. Your beanie, your warm coat. You were a silhouette on this picture, and yet he loved it, loved that feeling that you were towering over the world. His world.

He pressed his thumb on his screen a few times, and then admired his work. When he unlocked his phone again, instead of seeing Sam’s smiling face, he was seeing your frame among the Wicklow Hills.

He heaved a sigh.

What would Andrew do now?

Saoirse was fucking panicking.

Bloody panicking.

Essays were piling up and it was a bloody nightmare. A FUCKING NIGHTMARE.

She was going to fail. She was going to fail all of her exams, and especially the one about 20th century literature, because… who the fuck was mad enough to make a class about the fucking modernist avant-garde, huh?

Professor Hozier-Byrne was, of course. Of bloody course. It had to be the nicest of them too, and the hottest, and the one who actually gave two fucks about his students… which meant that she couldn’t even be mad at him and curse at him for the suffering she was enduring as she struggled with this James Joyce novel… For Christ’s sake…

She heaved a painful sigh, hitting repeatedly her head against her table. Sean merely laughed at her.

“Come on, it’s not that bad.”

“It is that bad. It is worse. It is DEATH! I don’t understand a bloody thing about that fucking novel.”

“It could be worse, we could be studying Ulysses, it’s only The portrait.”

“Yes, and I could catch the plague and meet my certain death, but I can still die if I catch pneumonia.”

“You’re exaggerating. Wait until we switch to Beckett. And apparently we’re gonna study The Third Policeman as well…”

She let out a long moan, faking a sob, her forehead pressed to the table, where her notes and books were scattered. She looked up at her computer screen.

“As if Woolfe was not enough already… Please… kill me… death will be a sweeter fate than this torture…”

She didn’t notice the way Sean smiled, with something tender tugging at his lips. But he did. He did, because warmth was spreading across his chest at her antiques, and he thought about how adorable she looked like this, being silly while studying and being ten times smarter than him.

“I’ll help you with that essay if you give me a hand with Y/L/N’s… Oscar Wilde is kicking my arse.”

“Ha! That I understand!” she sat up, happy again, and speaking a little too loudly in the busy but quiet library.

She mouthed a silent sorry as a couple of students glared at her.

“Y/L/N’s class is so much easier to me,” she went on. “I can’t with this bloody… stream of consciousness and whatnot.”

Sean was about to answer when he noticed that Saoirse wasn’t listening anymore, looking over his shoulder.

“What…?” he made a movement to turn around, but the girl stopped him with a hiss, reaching across the table to grab his forearm, and the contact dazzled him too much to allow him to move again.

“H-B and Y/L/N are right behind you.”

“And?”

“And… I want to listen on their conversation, obviously. Don’t you want to know the tea?”

He rolled his eyes, but focused to catch their words too anyway.

“Mr. Darcy? The Jane Austen character? Really?” Andrew said in a whisper, clearly unimpressed. “You’re saying that the perfect man, the fictional character that sets unreachable standards… is a guy from the 19th century? That’s not very modern of you…”

You turned around, eyeing him up and down in a judgemental way.

He was following you across the library, the book he wanted to borrow tucked under his arm. He didn’t need to go through the 19th century section, he wasn’t working on that. But you did. So, Andrew followed you around, just to keep you close for a moment, just to keep talking to you for a little longer than your impromptu encounter in the hall of the library about fifteen minutes ago, when you entered and he was about to reach the counter to borrow his book. You didn’t know that though. He had pretended that he had another book to look for but had asked for help. You had believed him, of course, why wouldn’t you?

And now you were giving him a lecture on the female gaze in literature, apparently…

“Mr. Darcy is the perfect example of the use of the female gaze, as opposed to the male gaze.”

“I mean… he’s kind of a jerk at the beginning. He fixes his mistakes, but he started as a gobshite.”

But you shook your head, scanning the shelf while you kept on talking.

“But that’s the point. He fixes his mistakes thinking it will change nothing. He doesn’t improve and changes because he thinks it’s going to lead to Elizabeth loving him. He changes because she makes him see how much of a jerk he can be, how he acted from only his point of view, without taking her into account. And her rejection makes him reevaluate his decisions. He fixes things because he realises he hurt her and those she loved, but his intention is not bound to have what he wants, only to stop her suffering. Female gaze, versus male gaze. And that is, obviously, without mentioning the treatment of female characters in Austen’s novels. Characters with minds, and feelings, and wants, and wills… who make mistakes, and take decisions. Instead of a passive vessel under a male gaze, either to project a want, a longing, lust, love, fear, morals… ”

You were expecting Andrew to argue, because men always did. No matter your degree, and your expertise on the female gaze, on this very question, they always did.

Female gaze versus male gaze. Bloody misogyny…

But Andrew merely stared at you, and you could see in his slight frown that his brain was working at full speed. And when he spoke, it was to ask a new question, not contradict you.

“So… the fact that Darcy acts in a self-sacrificing way is what defines the female take on a character of his type?”

There was no judgement in his question, you were surprised by it.

“You can put it like that. It’s more… the fact that after being rejected for good, he steps back. Yes, you can see it as something like sacrifice, or genuine altruism or compassion. He still loves her, but he understands that she doesn’t, and instead of showing off and trying to make her change her mind, he steps back, accepts it, and reassesses his choices accordingly, without the occasion of winning her heart by doing so. He fixes his mistakes and keeps on protecting her because he loves her, not because he can get her back that way.”

Slowly, Andrew nodded.

“I think I get it. And that’s… unreachable for any real man for you?”

His tone was less serious again, drawing the conversation towards something less theoretical. You scoffed.

“Well, I haven’t found a counter-example yet.”

Andrew seemed to hesitate before speaking again, but he couldn’t hold back his question.

“Do you think Frank would have failed that test? That he would have disappointed you in that situation?”

You scoffed again.

“Like he hasn’t already disappointed me…”

You heaved a sigh, picking up a book and checking the summary on the back.

“Anyway, it’s alright. That’s why Mr. Darcy is fictional.”

Andrew gave you a smile, nodding and deciding to stir the conversation away from Frank again. It was making his heart ache a little too much…

“I saw yesterday that there is a documentary on TV on Sunday afternoon, about the male gaze in cinema. It seems very interesting. Would you like to watch it with me? I could cook us lunch too.”

You looked at him, blinking in surprise.

“Yeah, I… I saw that but… you want to watch that?”

He frowned a little, tilting his head, puzzled by your surprise.

“Yeah, totally. It seems to be very interesting. And… I mean… you’re literally an expert on the subject, even if you’re specialised in literature rather than cinema… So, it would be nice to have your input on that.”

You blinked, still surprised.

“I… yeah… yeah, that would be great.”

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Andrew chuckled to hide his burning cheeks. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No! That’s… surprising, that’s all.”

“How so?”

“You… never mind.”

“No, tell me. How is it surprising? I think your research is very interesting, and very much needed. I… I genuinely want to hear your take on this.”

“That’s…” you heaved a sigh, but gave him an earnest answer. “It’s just that… coming from a man, it’s pretty surprising.”

His face fell.

“Oh… I see.”

“Misogyny in the academic world is more common than feminism…”

“Yeah… yeah, I understand. I get it.”

“It’s just… usually men try to pretend that they are the expert on the subject I study for a living. So… that was impressive enough to hear you recognise that I’m the expert here. But then you’re even curious about women’s point of view… yeah, surprising, to say the least. I shouldn’t react like that though. I know you’re a feminist, I’m sorry. It’s just… a biased reflex.”

“I’m sorry you have to go through that. What a band of fucking pricks…”

You raised a surprised eyebrow again.

“Wow… he can curse like an actual sailor!”

Andrew rolled his eyes at your teasing, an amused smile on his lips still forming.

“Right… so, are you coming over on Sunday? Or am I making you work extra-hours and you’d rather just sleep and eat your weight in ice-cream?”

“I’ll come. And if you’re nice to me, I’ll even bring dessert.”

“Deal. Can’t wait.”

You opened your mouth to speak again, your eyes glimmering happily, but Andrew shut you down.

“No, you can’t buy a new toy for Elwood! My dog will end up loving you more than he loves me.”

“That has been my devilish plan from the beginning.”

You tucked the book you had been looking at under your arm.

“Okay, I’m all set.”

But Andrew had one more question, another one that he hesitated to ask, but he took the risk anyway, nervously rubbing at the back of his neck as he spoke again.

“Y/N?”

You turned to him again, silently inviting him to continue.

“If you were Elizabeth, and Frank was Mr. Darcy, what would you ask him to change for you?”

You blinked, surprised at his question, and you pondered on his words for a moment. But your answer was still earnest.

“Not breaking my heart.”

“Fair enough,” he smiled.

“And just… I don’t know… to…”

You hesitated, but answered anyway.

“To ask me about my day. I would have really liked it if he had asked about my days when we were together.”

You exchanged a sad smile. And Andrew spoke his next question the final one, the most important one too, the one that made him truly scared of your answer.

“And if you were Elizabeth, and I was Mr. Darcy… what would I need to change?”

You frowned at his question, and opened your mouth to answer, before closing it again.

“I… I don’t know. Honestly, I… I don’t know. I can’t really think about anything. I mean… you were never a jerk to begin with, so…” you added with a warm smile.

And at first, he smiled back, but then you turned around and he clenched his jaw. He tightened his hold on his book as you moved along the shelf. He couldn’t help the longing in his eyes.

Despite that answer, despite having nothing to change in him at first sight… you still wanted Frank, instead of him… God, he wished you could have told him what was wrong with him. What had made him unworthy of Samantha, but most importantly… what made him unworthy of you.

Andrew heaved a sigh, followed you with his head and shoulders bent, and he tried to hide his feelings when you turned around again, stirring up a new topic of conversation while you exited the room.

Meanwhile, Saoirse and Sean had listened to the conversation. When she focused on him again, Saoirse grabbed both of his arms and energetically shook him, shouting in a whisper.

“OH. MY. GOD!” she whispered, her voice made raspy by the cry she was refraining. “DID YOU HEAR THAT?! DID YOU SEE THAT?!”

“Huh… yeah, they… were… talking…”

“Talking? TALKING?! Sean! THEY ARE IN FUCKING LOVE! H-B is at least. HEAD OVER HEELS! Did you not see that longing in his eyes when she answered? AND THAT FUCKING QUESTION?! WHO ASKS QUESTIONS LIKE THAT?! WHO IS READY TO CHANGE FOR THE WOMAN HE IS FUCKING PINNING OVER?!”

“God’s sake, stop shaking me!”

She let go of him, out of breath.

“Oh my God, they are so CUTE! Do you think they will end up together? I hope so, they seem so cute! They would be so cute! And they’re both so nice, they totally would make each other happy! I hope he’ll make her change her mind, cause the girl seems fucking oblivious…”

“Don’t you think that you’re… overreacting? Overreading into this?”

She rolled her eyes, slapping her palm against her forehead.

“Men are so fucking stupid,” she complained.

Truer words were rarely spoken…

#andrew hozier byrne #hozier #the hoziest #hozier x reader #hozier x you #hozier x y/n #hozier x fem!reader #hozier au #hozier professor au #hozier series #professor au #hozier fanfiction #hozier fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #series

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hookhausenschips · 14 hours ago

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Stages of Love

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Summary: Y/N, a famous R&B singer on tour, gets a surprise visit from her boyfriend, Lando Norris, who joins her backstage for an intimate, unforgettable night. As she pours her heart into her songs on stage, Lando watches from the sidelines, captivated by the love and magic between them.

WC: 3.8k

Warnings: sappy, romance, surprises, cheesy moments

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

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A/N: I took some inspo after watching Naomi Jon’s tour video (I got emotional leave me be😂)

As the tour rolled into another city, Y/N was in her element. She was halfway through her tour, filling arenas night after night, but the distance from her boyfriend, Lando, was starting to weigh on her. They’d been texting and calling when they could, but it wasn’t the same as having him there. Her team noticed her quieter moments, the wistful glances at her phone when she thought no one was looking.

But what Y/N didn’t know was that her team had orchestrated a surprise. Lando had flown across the world to be there for her tonight. It had taken weeks of planning, a carefully coordinated travel schedule, and a fair bit of deception, but it was finally happening.

The day began with soundcheck, the empty arena echoing with Y/N’s voice as she tested her mic. She stood center stage, strumming her guitar and singing softly. The band joined her, filling the empty seats with music. As she hit the opening lines of one of her slower songs, the quiet strum of her guitar wrapped around her gentle voice: “Hold me close, don’t let me fall / In a world so big, you’re my all…” She closed her eyes, singing the chorus with a raw vulnerability. The band fell silent as her voice lingered in the air. “Every time you leave, I lose it all…”

Lando, hidden below the stage with her team, felt his heart tighten. It was as if she was singing directly to him, every lyric resonating with the longing he felt whenever they were apart. Y/N’s camera guy, Eric, who had known her for years, watched the effect she had on him and nudged Lando.

“She’s something else, huh?” Eric grinned, filming Lando’s reaction.

“Yeah,” Lando said softly, his gaze fixed on her. “I’ve never met anyone like her.” He smiled, almost bashful. “It’s like… she’s got this magic that makes everything else disappear.”

One of Y/N’s dancers, Zara, leaned in, a teasing glint in her eye. “You’re totally whipped, aren’t you?”

Lando laughed, his cheeks flushing. “Guilty. Every time I see her on stage, it’s like I’m falling all over again.”

As Y/N moved to another song, a high-energy anthem, she began dancing alongside her backup dancers, their movements perfectly in sync. She was laughing, her joy infectious as she moved across the stage, her voice powerful and confident. “I’m stronger now, I’m my own kind of free / No one else completes me, just me, just me!” She threw her hands up on the beat, and her team clapped and cheered as she hit the final high note, flashing them a grin.

A few hours later, Y/N was backstage, getting ready for the VIP session. She had no idea Lando was just a room away. Her makeup artist, Alex, was applying the finishing touches to Y/N’s base, chatting with her as they worked.

“You look incredible, as always,” Alex said with a grin, dusting her cheeks with a soft glow.

Y/N sighed, glancing at her phone. “Thanks, Alex. I just wish Lando could be here. It feels like forever since I’ve seen him.”

Alex shared a knowing look with Bree, Y/N’s hairstylist, who was perfecting her wig. “You never know,” Bree said with a smile, trying to keep her tone casual.

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “If only! He’s probably busy getting ready for his next race or doing simulator work. But I know he’d be here if he could.”

When the lights dimmed, Y/N took her place on a stool in the center of the small stage set up for the VIP acoustic session. Her fans, buzzing with excitement, filled the front rows, eagerly waiting for the intimate set. She adjusted her guitar and smiled out at them.

“This is my favorite part of the night,” she began, strumming a gentle chord. “It’s just us, no big production, just the music.”

She started playing the opening chords of a fan favorite, her voice soft and warm: “When the lights go down and I’m all alone / It’s your voice, I hear, like I’m already home…” The crowd sang along, their voices blending with hers, and her heart felt full. As the song ended, she leaned into the mic, looking out at her fans with a grateful smile.

“You guys are amazing. Thank you for making tonight so special!” she said, earning a round of cheers.

Then came the Q&A portion. A fan near the front called out, “Y/N, what do you miss most about home?”

Y/N smiled, her gaze softening. “Well… I miss my family, of course. And my friends. And… my boyfriend, Lando. He’s usually off racing, but he’s always so supportive, even from afar.”

Just as she finished speaking, she noticed a ripple of excitement in the crowd, people turning and pointing. Confused, she glanced to the side of the stage—and froze. Lando was walking out, his grin wide and his eyes shining with pure happiness.

“Oh my god!” she gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. “Lando! Are you really here?”

He laughed, his face lighting up as he reached her. “Surprise, babe,” he said, opening his arms.

She rushed to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder. “I can’t believe you’re here,” she whispered, her voice shaking with emotion. The fans cheered louder, snapping photos and videos, capturing the sweet reunion.

Lando held her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I couldn’t stay away,” he said softly. “I had to see you.”

Still in shock, Y/N pulled back slightly, laughing as she looked up at him. “You’ve been planning this? I had no idea!”

He chuckled. “I had to keep it under wraps. Your team’s pretty good at secrets.”

She turned to her fans, her smile brighter than ever. “Everyone, this is my incredible boyfriend, Lando,” she said, as if they didn’t already know. The fans erupted, cheering and chanting his name.

After the VIP session and that unforgettable surprise, Y/N and Lando headed back to her green room, still buzzing from the excitement. The green room was alive with energy—her team bustling around, preparing for the main show, organizing outfits, makeup, and everything in between. But for now, Y/N was focused entirely on Lando, who had his arm around her as they settled into the cozy couch in the corner.

“So,” she said, looking up at him with a mischievous grin, “want a sneak peek of tonight’s outfits?”

Lando’s eyes lit up. “Absolutely. Show me everything.”

She laughed, grabbing his hand and leading him over to the rack of costumes her stylist, Bree, had meticulously organized for the show. Y/N picked up a glittering silver jumpsuit with fringe that sparkled under the lights. “This one’s for the opening number,” she explained, her fingers tracing the fabric. “It’s dramatic but comfortable enough for dancing.”

Lando raised his eyebrows, clearly impressed. “That’s insane. I can already picture you in it on stage.” He smiled, his fingers brushing hers as she held it up. “And here I thought race suits were cool.”

She chuckled, moving to the next outfit, a stunning red ensemble with intricate detailing that flowed down the sides (just the gloves and the hair). “This is for the ballad section. Something a little more elegant. You know, a moment to slow down.”

Lando nodded, clearly taken by her enthusiasm and passion. “They’re all so… you. I mean, they’re powerful but still have that touch of elegance.” He looked at her with an affectionate smile. “Like you.”

Her cheeks flushed at the compliment, and she stepped closer, wrapping her arms around him for a quick hug. “Thanks, Lan. You don’t know how much it means to me that you’re here to see all of this.”

One of her makeup artists, Alex, came over, holding a makeup brush and smiling. “Alright, lovebirds, time to start getting you ready, Y/N!”

Lando stayed close by, sitting on the couch as Y/N went through her pre-show routine. Alex began working on her makeup while Bree helped adjust her hair, styling it just right. Lando watched her with admiration, taking in every detail—her calm focus, her warm interactions with her team, her genuine laughter as they joked around.

Between touch-ups, Y/N kept glancing over at him, catching his eye and sharing a smile. She finally laughed, leaning toward him. “You’re going to make me blush if you keep staring like that.”

Lando shrugged, grinning. “Can’t help it. It’s amazing seeing you in your world like this. You’re in total control, and everyone’s so inspired by you.”

She beamed, her fingers brushing his for a moment before turning to Bree, who handed her the first costume. “Alright, costume change time. No peeking!” she teased, heading behind a curtain set up in the corner of the green room.

When she emerged, dressed in the dazzling silver jumpsuit, Lando’s eyes widened. “Wow,” he whispered, completely taken aback. “You look… unstoppable.”

She laughed, doing a playful twirl. “It’s all thanks to this incredible team.” She glanced around, gesturing to her crew. “They’re the real magic behind this.”

Next came her vocal warm-ups. She took a deep breath, launching into a series of scales and exercises that resonated through the room, her voice filling the space with strength and control. Lando watched, his admiration clear as he took in how serious she was about every part of her craft.

Just as she wrapped up, Maya, her tour manager, called everyone together for the pre-show team pep talk. “Alright, everyone!” Maya said, her voice commanding attention. “Tonight’s a big show, and you’ve all been incredible every step of the way. Let’s give them everything we’ve got.”

Then Maya looked over at Lando with a smile. “And since we have a special guest with us tonight, I think it’s only fitting that Lando join us in our pre-show huddle.”

The team all cheered, pulling Lando in as they formed a tight circle, each person’s hand stacked one on top of the other. Y/N beamed, looking around at her crew and at Lando beside her. She placed her hand on top of the pile, then reached for his, giving it a quick, reassuring squeeze before laying it over hers.

Maya counted down. “Alright, on three… One, two, three—”

“VENOMOUS!” they all shouted in unison, the energy palpable as they broke the huddle, each person giving Y/N a quick hug or a pat on the back.

Lando, still holding her hand, leaned down and whispered, “You’re going to crush it out there. I’ll be cheering you on the whole time.”

She gave him one last, lingering hug, resting her head against his chest for a moment as she took a deep breath, grounding herself. “Thank you,” she murmured, pulling back to look at him. “Having you here… it’s like a dream.”

He smiled, his voice soft but full of conviction. “Then go make this your best show yet. I’ll be right there watching.”

With one last look, she turned and headed toward the stage, her heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and calm, knowing that the person she loved was right there, supporting her every step of the way.

As Y/N took the stage, Lando stood just off to the side, peeking out from behind the curtain. She was electric, moving effortlessly through her songs, her voice carrying through the arena. Every now and then, she’d glance over at him, her gaze holding his for a beat before she turned back to the crowd. Halfway through her set, she paused, catching her breath as she gazed out at the sea of fans.

“This next song is dedicated to someone very special,” she said, her eyes finding Lando’s. “He’s my biggest supporter, even from a thousand miles away. Lando, this one’s for you.”

She began to sing, her voice filled with emotion. “When I’m lost, you’re my light / When I’m weak, you’re my fight / In your arms, I find my home…” Her voice cracked slightly, the vulnerability raw and beautiful. The crowd swayed, lights flickering as they held up their phones, the arena transformed into a sea of stars.

Lando felt his throat tighten, overwhelmed with pride and love as he watched her pour herself into every note. She was incredible, and she was his.

After the song, she slipped backstage for a quick outfit change, meeting Lando with a breathless smile. He caught her in his arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You’re killing it out there.”

She grinned, cheeks flushed. “It’s because you’re here. Now wish me luck for round two!”

As she headed back out, the crowd’s chant filled the air: “Y/N! Y/N!” She beamed, waving to them before diving into the second half of her set. She was glowing, her smile never leaving her face as she moved through each song, her voice ringing with joy and strength.

As the final chords of her last song faded, Y/N took a deep breath, the weight of the entire night settling over her. The crowd was on their feet, cheering and chanting her name. She looked out at the sea of faces, a mix of strangers and friends who had supported her from the beginning, and then to Lando, who stood just offstage with the proudest smile. She mouthed a simple “I love you” to him, feeling the tears prick at the corners of her eyes.

Lando mouthed it back, his expression as full of emotion as hers. They were worlds apart in their careers yet so deeply connected, and tonight, it felt like they were in perfect sync.

After taking her final bow, Y/N slipped offstage, still buzzing with adrenaline and joy. Lando was waiting just outside the wings, his arms open, and she practically leaped into them, burying her face in his shoulder as he hugged her tightly.

“You were incredible,” he whispered, his voice full of pride. “Absolutely unstoppable.”

She pulled back, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes and a smile that refused to fade. “Thank you for being here,” she murmured, her fingers tracing his jawline. “You don’t know what this means to me.”

“I think I do,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I saw how you lit up out there. It’s like you were made for this, Y/N.”

Just then, her tour manager, Maya, approached with a smile, holding up a camera. “Alright, lovebirds, the night’s not over yet. We’ve got a bit more to film for the tour documentary. How about we capture this moment?”

Lando laughed, shaking his head but agreeing nonetheless. Y/N nodded, glancing up at him. “Are you okay with being on camera?”

“For you?” He smirked, squeezing her hand. “Anything.”

They both turned to face the camera, Y/N still tucked into his side as they answered a few questions. She was glowing, her happiness evident with every word.

Eric, behind the camera, asked, “Y/N, how does it feel to have him here?”

She looked up at Lando, her smile widening. “It feels… like everything is right. Like all the pieces are here, and I can finally just… breathe. Having him here tonight? It made this show unforgettable.”

Eric then turned the camera on Lando. “And you, Lando? What’s it like being with Y/N on tour?”

Lando chuckled, glancing down at her. “It’s amazing. I mean, I know how talented she is, but seeing her do this live… She’s a whole force of nature. It’s inspiring.” He paused, his eyes softening. “And it just makes me that much more proud to be hers.”

The camera captured the way they looked at each other, a quiet understanding passing between them. As they wrapped up filming, Maya gave them a nod, signaling they were done for the night. The two of them slipped back to her dressing room, the crowd’s fading cheers still echoing in the background.

Once inside, the world seemed to slow down. Y/N kicked off her shoes, sinking onto the couch beside Lando. She leaned against him, closing her eyes for a moment, soaking in the peace after the whirlwind of the night.

“Did you like the dedication?” she asked, her voice a quiet murmur.

He pulled her closer, his lips brushing her temple. “I loved it. Every second of it. You make me feel like the luckiest guy in the world, you know that?”

She looked up, her gaze soft and vulnerable. “I feel the same way, Lando. You… you ground me in all this chaos.”

They stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms, talking about everything and nothing as she rested her head on his shoulder. She was exhausted, but with Lando beside her, she felt like she could take on anything. For a while, they forgot about the cameras, the crowd, and the next show. It was just the two of them, in their little bubble of love and calm.

As the night wound down, Lando and Y/N slipped out of the venue hand in hand, making their way toward her tour bus parked under the glow of streetlights. But as they walked, they spotted a small group of fans who’d waited by the barricades, hoping for a last glimpse of her. She paused, giving Lando’s hand a squeeze.

“Want to go say hi?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with that same warm smile he’d fallen in love with.

He nodded, grinning. “Absolutely. Lead the way, superstar.”

When the fans noticed her coming over, their faces lit up with excitement, some gasping in disbelief as she walked right up to them. “Oh my god, Y/N, you were amazing tonight!” one girl exclaimed, her hands shaking as she held up her phone.

Y/N smiled, reaching out to hug her. “Thank you so much for waiting. I’m so glad you could come tonight. It means everything to me.”

One fan shyly looked at Lando, eyes wide. “Um, is it okay if we get a picture with you two together?”

Lando chuckled, pulling Y/N close and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Of course! Just don’t tell her fans that she’s cooler than me.”

Y/N laughed, nudging him playfully. “We both know they already know that.”

As they posed for photos, Y/N took time to chat with each fan, asking them about their favorite parts of the show, taking selfies, and signing whatever they handed her. Lando admired how patient and genuine she was, watching as she made each fan feel seen and special. Her kindness and warmth radiated, making her more than just a singer to them. She was a friend, a confidante, someone who truly cared.

Before they left, one fan whispered to Y/N, “You two are, like, perfect together. You can just tell he loves you.”

Y/N glanced at Lando, her cheeks flushing as he caught her gaze, his eyes soft. “Thank you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I think so too.”

They finally said their goodbyes, waving to the fans as they continued toward the tour bus. Once they were out of earshot, Y/N sighed, smiling up at him. “Thank you for stopping with me. I love seeing them happy.”

He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close. “I think it just made me fall for you even more.”

When they reached her tour bus, they climbed aboard, finding a quiet corner at the back where they could just be themselves, free from the spotlight. Y/N curled up beside him, resting her head on his shoulder as they talked late into the night. Every laugh, every shared look, and every quiet moment together felt like a gift.

As the bus rolled on toward the next city, they fell asleep side by side, knowing this night was one they’d remember forever—a perfect memory captured not just on film, but in their hearts.

———————

Behind The Scenes:

Y/N’s voice echoed through the arena as she ran through the first song, a hauntingly beautiful ballad she’d written in the early days of her career. It was raw, personal, and every note seemed to vibrate with emotion. “I wanna run away with you,” she sang, her voice filling the vast, empty seats around her. “Just take me to places I've never known…”

As she moved through the song, she closed her eyes, letting herself fall into the lyrics, unaware that Lando was watching her every move. He was mesmerized, unable to keep his eyes off her. She had this way of pouring herself into every note, and today he could feel it more than ever. Her camera guy, Eric, caught the look on Lando’s face and couldn’t resist nudging him.

“So, Lando,” Eric began, smirking. “What’s it like watching her do her thing up close like this?”

Lando laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s surreal, honestly. I mean, she’s always this amazing, even when we’re just hanging out. But seeing her like this…” He trailed off, his gaze fixed on Y/N as she began to dance, moving with her backup dancers through the intricate steps she’d spent weeks perfecting. “I’m in awe of her. Every time.”

One of the dancers, Zara, overheard him and grinned. “Yeah, we can tell. You look like you’re about to melt every time she so much as glances over here.”

“Can you blame me?” he replied, eyes never leaving Y/N.

Eric chuckled, the camera capturing Lando’s look of pure adoration. “How do you handle being apart when you both have such crazy schedules?”

“It’s hard,” Lando admitted, his gaze softening. “But we make it work. She’s worth it—more than worth it. I’d fly across the world just to see her smile like this.”

Up on stage, Y/N was running through another song—one of her high-energy anthems that had become a fan favorite. As she hit the chorus, she threw her hands in the air, singing, “I said R.I.P. to the fake and the famous/ Kiss goodbye to the shade and the shameless!” Her energy was contagious, and her team couldn’t help but clap and cheer along as she hit the final high note, her voice filling every inch of the space.

Lando felt his chest swell with pride as he watched her. She was so much more than the girl he fell in love with; she was this powerhouse who commanded the stage, who made thousands of people feel understood. Eric leaned in, catching his reaction on film. “She’s amazing, isn’t she?”

“More than amazing,” Lando said quietly, a soft smile on his face. “She’s… everything.”

As Y/N finished her set, she called down, “How’s it sounding, team?”

Maya, her tour manager, shot her a thumbs-up. “Perfect as always, Y/N!”

Satisfied, Y/N left the stage, unaware of the extra pair of eyes watching her every move. When soundcheck wrapped, her team kept the secret well-guarded, knowing that the surprise was only hours away.

LN4 Taglist: @esserenorris, @tallrock35, @yourbane, @lightdragonrayne, @really-fucking-tired, @evie-119 , @ilivbullyingjeongin, @ggaslyp1, @icecoldtires, @cmleitora, @cheyennep3107, @d3kstar

F1 Taglist: @tallrock35, @yourbane, @hiireadstuff, @really-fucking-tired, @evie-119, @donteventry-itdude, @spookystitchery, @dhanihamidi, @decafmickey, @cmleitora, @d3kstar, @mellowluka, @ysnhua, @omgsuperstarg, @qxeenjen

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auspicioustidings · 3 days ago

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Kinktober Day 31

SUGGESTED POTENTIAL NON-CON

You have completed your contract admirably soldier, I think our mutts may miss you - Laswell

It’s strange. You wake up without your alarm in your own bed and it’s strange. You go put the kettle on for a cup of tea and it’s strange.

You are no longer under contract for the Kennel. The month had been defined as 30 days, so here you are with more money than you know what to do with, a body that is aching from all the hedonism of the past weeks and an utter uncertainty about what comes next.

You suppose what comes next is taking a week off to recover and not have to think about it yet.

So you showered (had you had to wash your own body at all in the last month or had there always been someone to do it for you?), dressed and went to get groceries. You caught up on TV shows mostly once everything was packed away.

It was sort of nice having alone time but sort of not knowing that it was probably going to be like this for the foreseeable future.

You had still been contracted at the end of the day, so it wasn’t like you were suddenly going to develop the ability to date. It was just sex. Just a release for people who needed it and were too dangerous to get it from civilians.

So why did you feel so conflicted about the likelihood of never seeing them again?

—

The day went quickly, but the evening lasted forever as you laid on the sofa and just tried to process. At least until you heard something from your bedroom. Could have been nothing, but you didn’t have a veritable shit ton of military and special forces training to dismiss things that could be nothing.

You had checked your house as soon as you had gotten back and it hadn’t been touched, so you knew there was a gun safely stowed away in a drawer of the coffee table. You got it out slowly and stood, going to investigate the bedroom.

Now you had never actually seen Ghost masked up before, it wasn’t like he cared about hiding his identity in the Kennel and the people he was around weren’t in any position to judge his scars, but you’d recognise those eyes anywhere. He was looking at the photo on your bedside table, you and your cat (she had died a few years back and it didn’t seem fair to adopt another when your work meant they would be staying with a neighbour most of the time).

“Gonna shoot me princess?” he asked, still looking at the photo.

“The Kennel shouldn’t be escapable” you said, keeping your gun trained on him.

“It’s not. Not if I was trying to get out alone. But give me a group of very motivated soldiers? Becomes a lot easier then” he said as he placed the photo back where it was and turned to you, arms crossed. “Get your sweet arse packed, I’m taking you home.”

“Nice try” you said, both hands steadying the gun.

“Gonna shoot me?”

“I don’t want to Ghost. You need to leave.”

“Then sink a bullet into me princess, because I’m not leaving without you and I don't much care if you're conscious for the trip.”

You aimed for his shoulder, just a warning graze but it must have hurt like a bitch as it took off a chunk of skin at the surface and his body jolted with the force. Good thing you picked a rural house, there were farms around here so gun shots weren’t totally uncommon with critters coming to feast on chickens.

“Yes you are.”

“Hmm” he chuffed, seemingly a little surprised you had actually shot him but not at all put out by it. “You never did let Mace fuck you with a gun did you? Could be fun you know.”

You were hopeful that it didn’t show on your face that your dumb hind brain found the idea a little hot. Mace had threatened it when you were playing the part of the doe-eyed step-daughter who idolised a daddy that definitely wanted to fuck her. Would he have went through with it?

“And if I said red?” you asked because there in lay the issue.

Under contract you had some protection. You did not imagine the same would apply if he took you back now.

You were furious with yourself when your wrists were twisted and Price disarmed you. You should have been paying attention behind you, should have considered that Ghost would hardly have come alone.

“Depends on my mood sweetheart. If I really think you need it I’ll let you safeword.”

You went for him, tried to get him down so you could rush past and get out of the situation. But your hand to hand was rusty and he was stronger than you, so it didn’t take him long to get you pinned against him and restrained.

“So what you just kidnap me? You’re supposed to fucking run the Kennel but I’m starting to think you should be a resident sir.”

“So am I sweetheart. Of course if you lived there then being a resident doesn’t sound so bad.”

“I’m not spending the rest of my life in a prison because you want a personal whore.”

“You’d be free to come and go so long as you came back to us” Ghost said, calmly watching the whole exchange.

“And what? I just get a brief everyday of who I’ve to service?” you asked, bitterness flooding your tone.

God it was so stupid. The deal was technically good. You got to live a life of luxury, got freedom to come and go and got to be intimate with people that you foolishly held affection for. Would it be so bad? So what if it wasn’t real? So what if you were just a means to an end for them while you would be doomed to pine forever for reciprocation of what you were sure would bloom into love?

“You’d get briefs from people who want to spend time with you so you can choose if you want to or not” Price answered, squeezing you a little.

“And if I never say yes?”

“Unlikely. We all owe you orgasms after being so mean with them yesterday, don't you want what you're owed?” Ghost laughed.

“I told you I’d only listen to a safeword if I thought you really needed it sweetheart. What you’re describing is a situation where what you’d need is a good fucking to remember who you belong to.”

“I belong to myself John Price.”

“Technically that’s true in the eyes of the law and God” Ghost said, considering, sly.

You could feel Price harden against your ass and you made a sound of protest.

“Can’t help it sweetheart, he’s got wedding bells in my head.”

“I- excuse me?”

“Seems a fair trade. You’d agree to belong to me and by extension all my dogs in the Kennel, I’d agree to belong to you and by extension they would too. Fuck you’d look stunning in white” he groaned, hips rutting against you.

“White?” Ghost said with a smirk.

“Doesn’t count if she was under contract. I’m sure Farah will lend her something borrowed if it comes down to it.”

—

She did. You wore a little reddish bead on a necklace on your wedding day. Price barely made it though the ceremony given that he was rock solid the whole time. Fucking wife kink.

It took place in the Kennel of course so everybody could attend. Things had changed. Velikan was a temporary resident now, mostly because he enjoyed trailing a step behind you when you went out shopping. Soap was permanent on account of Ghost saying he was sick of not having 24 hour access to his holes. You’d have thought it was romantic from how Soap preened about it. Valeria was gone but she visited sometimes. That iron control of herself she had meant the Kennel didn't have much justification to keep her locked up.

You met Nikolai in person and discovered him and Price made a hell of a tag team.

And you got to see what it was like when someone new was brought in with Kreuger. It wasn't pretty. You wondered if they had all been as untameably violent and angry about it when they first got here. If not for Mace and König you weren't sure the guy would even be unchained ever, but to your surprise they gelled well with him and turned out very good at keeping him in check.

By the time there was a second wedding he had calmed a lot. Enough that he got to attend with everybody else when Farah got a ring on Alex (another ring you thought given the ink that looped around his cock).

The only mention of the gunshot wound Ghost had was jealous looks from Nikto. Sometimes you thought about that little brand sitting on Ghost's skin and how it might look burned into yours. There were still silvery marks from the knife and you were almost sad thinking about how they would likely fade entirely.

You didn’t stop working, but then you were one of the monsters now so may as well do what you were trained for. Your radio and signals room was state of the art and half the kit in it was definitely not legal, but at this point legal was a pretty meaningless concept. You did horrible things, but at least there were always warm bodies to keep the nightmares away. Plus you had a little fluff ball companion keeping you company since a cat had shown up out of the blue (you were fairly certain exactly who had brought her in but he never mentioned it).

Sometimes you got whisked away. Ale and Rudy took you to Ale’s family vineyard for a week in the Mexican sun. Calisto surprised you with a romantic night in Paris. Keegan shoved you in a ridiculous dress so he could show you off to his team and you paid him back for every dig he took at you that night. Gaz took you to a football game during which him, Nova and Price argued the whole damn time. Lots of holidays, lots of laughter and dare you say contented happiness.

Now you just had to avoid giving in to that pesky fucking pregnancy kink half of them had.

#mhairi'skinktober

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bloatedandalone04 · 2 days ago

Text

To The One I Love - Part 10

Series Masterlist

➪in which tyler finally gets everything he’s ever wanted, and you are finally his wife.

PSA: strongly suggested to read the warnings before proceeding.

WC; 3.3k | Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡ | HAPPY HALLOWEEN 🎃

3 weeks later.

“Okay, so maybe vintage was the wrong choice,” you muttered as you tried to guide your arms through the thin sleeves of your wedding dress without poking a hole through the lace. “Seriously, I might actually rip this soon.”

Lilly, who had been watching, and filming you, shook her head and smiled as she set the camera down after letting you struggle for a little longer. “I think it’ll look great once it’s on. Here,” she rolled the sleeve up until it was pretty much a ring of fabric, then you carefully slid your wrist through it and let her pull the rest of it up your arm. Once your other arm was through the other sleeve, she stepped back and nodded with her lips pursed. “Oh yeah, Tyler is definitely gonna start cryin’ when he sees you in this.”

You laughed and turned to look at yourself in the full length mirror, the white skirt of the dress draped along the wooden floor behind you, and you knew you would have to be careful to not trip since you were wearing your white converse under the dress. You weren’t the biggest fan of heels, and they didn’t like you either since they always hurt your feet after wearing them for only a few seconds, so you decided to wear something flat and comfortable. No one could see them anyway, and Tyler was expecting you to be one hundred percent genuine all day, so that’s what you were doing. He knows you’d never willingly wear heels, anyway.

“I feel like I’m going to be sick,” you mumbled as you ran your palms along the lace corset of the dress. “I can’t believe I’m getting married.”

“I can’t believe you’re marryin’ Tyler,” Lilly snorted, but not even she could keep that facade up for too long before she was grinning. “Yeah, I can. Y’all are perfect for each other.”

Your smile grew as you turned to face her again, but before you could get another word out, the doors to the room you were getting ready in swung open and your mom came rushing in. “There you are-oh, my God!” She gasped, covering her mouth as her eyes instantly filled with tears.

“Mom,” you warned, your own eyes stinging already as she looked you up and down at least five times before she began silently sobbing. “Don’t…don’t do that, you’re going to make me ruin my makeup.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she practically wailed, accepting a tissue from Lilly as she stepped closer to you. “You just look so beautiful, sweetheart. So damn beautiful.”

Then you were wrapped up tightly in her arms as she swayed you back and forth, and you gave Lilly an embarrassed look over the top of her head as your mom sobbed into your shoulder. “Oh, mother,”

“Don’t oh, mother, me,” she muttered, pulling away to dab at her eyes with the tissue. “You’re gettin’ married. My baby’s gettin’ married.”

You grinned from ear to ear as you let Lilly adjust and smooth out your dress. “I know,” you whispered, refraining from jumping up and down as you asked, “Where’s dad?”

Your mom sat down on the bed next to your veil, still dabbing away at her eyes and nose. “Oh, he’s with Ty’s dad. He said he didn’t think he could handle seein’ you like this until he needs to walk you down the aisle,” she answered, running her hand along the thin, lacy material next to her that would soon clip into your hair. “He’s a little torn up about givin’ his baby girl away.”

“Mom, I’ve been with Tyler for almost half my life,” you laughed, sitting down at the mirror as Lilly began fixing your hair. “I think he gave me away a long time ago.”

“I know that, and he knows that, but it all just kinda hit him today, I think,” she mumbled, meeting your gaze through the mirror with a proud smile. “You are so beautiful.” She said again, handing Lilly the veil once she had pinned your hair into a low bun.

Once she had slid it into place, you were officially all done up and ready to become Mrs. Owens, and that thought had you screaming a bit on the inside as you turned to face your mom and close friend. “Well?” You asked nervously, giving them a small spin as you waited for their reactions.

Your mom, of course, just started crying again, and Lilly gave you a big smile and another nod. “Don’t worry, Tyler might actually cry more than your mom is,” she said and your mom scoffed slightly with a watery smile. “He’s been waitin’ for this day for a long time now. I remember when he told me he was thinkin’ about proposin’ to you when I first met him, and that was quite a while ago.”

Your eyes welled up with more tears that you held back as you let out a shaky breath. “God, I can’t believe I made him wait so long,”

Lilly shook her head, reaching for her phone as she stepped away from you. “Don’t do that. You got there eventually, and I know for a fact that he would’ve waited another eleven years if he had to,” she said, holding the device up in front of her face to take a photo of you. “Get in there, ma, it’s almost time.”

Your mother quickly tossed the tissue aside before standing next to you, her arms wrapped tightly around you as Lilly snapped countless photos of you. Then she moved onto a few solo ones of you, one being when you weren’t ready as you were reaching up to adjust your veil, but funnily enough, that one was the best out of all of them since you still managed to look pretty, even when caught off guard.

“That’s the one,” Lilly hummed, favoriting the photo before setting her phone aside. “That will definitely be Tyler’s new wallpaper once I send it to him later.”

You blushed and took your mom’s hand when it was time to go meet up with your dad so he could officially hand you off to the love of your life.

Tyler’s hands were shaking as he debated on whether or not to down the mini bottle of whiskey Boone had brought for him to ease his nerves.

He knew he wasn’t going to actually drink it, at least not until after the ceremony, because he was going to be completely and one hundred percent sober during this part of his wedding. He’d be damned if even a second of yours and his vows was a blurry memory. He needed it to be crystal clear.

Still, holding the bottle in his hand helped just a bit as he leaned against the barn doors, getting the last breaths of fresh air before he spent the next half an hour inside the barn. “I’m shakin’,” he muttered, looking at the pretty field of grass and wildflowers that surrounded the barn. “Why am I shakin’?”

Boone, who had already downed his shot, placed a comforting hand on Tyler’s shoulder. “‘Cause you’re gettin’ married, dude,” he answered, “My boy’s gettin’ married.”

That had Tyler grinning as he looked over at the farmhouse across the property. You were somewhere in there, getting ready in one of the rooms so you could walk down the aisle to him, and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to physically let you go after tonight.

For as long as he’d been with you, he wanted to marry you. He knew, even when he was a seventeen year old kid, that you were the one and only person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, and he’d dreamed of this day for so long.

He still couldn’t quite believe that it was happening. “I know,” Tyler murmured, looking down at the small bottle in his hand before quickly looking back up at his best friend. “Wait, what if I forget my vows?”

“I think forgettin’ is Y/n’s thing,” Boone said, and Tyler gave him an unimpressed look that quickly had his best man shaking his head. “You won’t forget your vows because you didn’t write any. You said you knew what you were going to say to her when she meets you at that altar in there.” He gestured to the interior of the barn, and Tyler let his shoulders relax a bit.

“Right,” he mumbled before putting the bottle of whiskey in his left hand as he patted his pockets down with his right. “What about the rings? What if I left them at the house by accident?”

“T,” Boone said sternly, patting his own suit pocket. “I have them right here. You have everythin’ you need, and everythin’s in order. Lil and I made sure of that, okay?”

Tyler nodded slowly, willing himself to calm down because he knew Boone’s words were true. Tyler had been waiting for this day for what felt like forever, he knew he was only nervous because he wanted everything to be perfect. You deserved that much.

When it was nearly time, Tyler felt his phone go off with a text, and when he opened the message, he suddenly felt a lot calmer.

My Babe 💕: I can’t wait to see you in exactly nine minutes. I love you so much, Ty. The next time we see each other, it’ll be when we say our vows.

You added a multitude of hearts at the end, and Tyler wanted to turn around and search every room of that house for you so he could pull you into his arms and never let you go.

“Fuck, Boone, I need you to take this,” he muttered, shoving his phone into his best mans hands as he turned around and walked into the barn, deciding that he was going to stand at the alter for the next nine minutes until you would come join him there.

The barn was full of both yours and Tyler’s family and friends, both old and new as Dr. James and Nurse Karson were a few rows down from the front. Your mom and Tyler’s parents and aunt were in the front row, his mother barely keeping it together as she looked at him all done up in his tux.

And after those nine minutes had passed painfully slowly, Boone was standing a few feet away from Tyler while Lilly stood across from him, and then it was your turn.

You walked into the barn with such grace, Tyler felt himself become unsteady as your father walked you towards him. He had no doubt that you’d look stunning, because you always did, but you were drop dead gorgeous in your lace dress, your veil trailing behind you as you clutched your bouquet of wildflowers, similar to the ones that made up the field this barn was in the middle of.

Tyler cursed at himself in his head when he felt his eyes start burning with tears, and he couldn’t even process the soft laugh from Lilly as your dad pressed a kiss to your cheek before officially handing you off.

Once your dad was next to your mom, who was crying next to Tyler’s mom, that’s when it began.

Tyler’s hands were shaking, and he discovered that yours were too as he reached for them after you handed your bouquet to Lilly. The officiant began speaking, but it was all muffled to Tyler as he took you in as if he didn’t know every inch of you off by heart.

Every part of you was familiar, and had been for nearly a decade and a half, and Tyler never wanted to forget any of it. The way you fit in his arms, the undeniable look of love in your eyes that mirrored the look in his own, the way everything felt right in the world every time your lips touched his.

Before he knew it, the time came for Tyler to begin his vows, and he remembered why he didn’t bother to write them down. Because after everything you and he had been through, and seeing you right here in front of him, he knew he would always have all he needed. And that was you.

“Y/n,” he started, and even your name sounded a bit shaky as he squeezed your hands. “I remember the exact moment I first saw you. I was fourteen years old and scared that I wouldn’t make the football team in high school, and then I saw you, tucked away under that tree behind the field. You were reading Wuthering Heights for your English class, though I would later find out that you had already read that book before, because of course you did. When I saw you, I wasn’t scared or nervous anymore. Just one look, and you took all that away and replaced it with the very same feelin’ you give me to this day. Peace. And so much happiness, I knew I was going to find a way to talk to you so I could keep you in my life forever.”

Even through the blurriness of his vision, Tyler was still able to see the tears gathering in your own eyes, and he knew his vows were going to just be him rambling at this point, but he didn’t care since they made you react like this. Since they made you look this perfect and in love with him.

“But even forever isn’t long enough with you. No time will ever be enough. You complete me in every single way. You make me feel like the luckiest man in the world that you chose me to spend the rest of your life with. Every look, every smile, every touch makes me fall more and more, hopelessly in love with you, and I hope you keep lookin’ at me exactly like this every day for the rest of my life,” his hands squeezed yours gently as he wrapped it up, knowing damn well he could go on for hours if he was allowed to. “I promise you, right here and right now, that I will love you until I take my last breath, and even after. You’re my first thought when I wake up, and you have been every single day for the last eleven years of our lives. You’re my forever person, the only one I want to start and end my days with, and I promise you that I will continue to always be your biggest supporter, fan, and to love you unconditionally.”

You were sniffling now, trying to carefully wipe under your eyes as you turned your head away from him and towards your mom, who gave you an encouraging smile.

Once you were decently composed, you turned back to Tyler, and he grinned, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. “I guess you’re right, I can be sweet when I want to be,” he murmured against your skin and you laughed tearfully.

“You’re always sweet,” you said back, “And not only to me. The way you are with Lilly, Boone and everyone else who has ever gotten to spend more than a few minutes with you, that’s the version of you that drives me crazy. Every part of you, every single inch has me totally screwed, because you’re the best person in my life. And definitely the craziest.”

Well, that was very true. But you were pretty crazy yourself. You chose him to be your husband, after all.

“But that’s what makes you perfect for me, because you bring out my crazy side too, and yet we somehow fit together so well. And I can tell you right here and right now, that no matter what life may bring us, I will always love you with every fiber of my being. And you know I mean that, because very recently I managed to forget us for a short while, but you stayed by my side every single step of the way. You gave me hope and support and love, and you are my endless supply of all those things, and I love you so much for it,” you were getting a bit quiet now, but Tyler could still hear you as clear as day, and he noticed that you weren’t reading off a piece of paper either, and he knew that you couldn’t memorize anything to save your life, so it was clear that you hadn’t written your vows down either. “I never forgot about how you own my heart completely, and I never doubted that I’d spend the rest of my days with you. You’re my protector, my safety when things get scary. I promise you, Ty, that I will never leave your side, and I’ll adore you and love you, and be your partner in every sense of the word. Forever.”

Now Tyler was damn near sobbing, his teeth nearly piercing his lip as he tried to keep it together. But how could he after all of that?

His teary eyes stayed locked on yours as he blindly reached behind him, taking your wedding band from Boone and sliding it onto your finger above the engagement ring you had finally accepted only three weeks prior to this. “I love you,” he mumbled, his right hand cradling your face as if you were the most precious thing in the world to him, and you were.

“I love you,” you said back after taking his wedding band from Lilly and sliding it onto his finger, where it would stay for the rest of his life.

Then he was allowed to kiss you, and he went all in.

His hands were on your face, guiding your lips to his in a deep kiss as your fingers cradled his jaw. He kissed you over and over again, his heart feeling unbelievably full as he realized that you’re his wife now. You were all his, forever.

As if you weren’t before, but now it was official.

Later that night, after countless photos and lemon cake and kissing, Tyler took you back home. Lilly had sent him some of the most gorgeous pictures he had ever seen of you while you were getting ready, and he instantly made one of them his phone’s wallpaper. He would probably never change that. Well, maybe he’d swap it out for a picture of you holding his baby in your arms, but that was it.

When he got you into your bedroom, he carefully unzipped your dress as if it was the most fragile thing he had ever touched, and left it on the floor as he lifted you into his arms and carried you to the bed.

Your bodies were bare, his skin feeling like it was on fire as it brushed against yours. His hands were everywhere, as were yours, and his lips were pressing kisses anywhere they could reach.

“I love you,” he mumbled against your collarbone before he lifted his head and pressed a deep kiss to your lips. “I love you so fuckin’ much, baby.”

He was met with a soft whimper, and the feeling of your legs wrapping tighter around his waist as he guided himself inside you. “I love you too,” you breathed out, tangling your ring-clad fingers into his hair as you pressed your forehead against yours. “So much, Ty. Forever, and ever…and ever.”

You continued like that, whispering sweet words into his ear as he made love to you for the first time as your husband, the love and trust you had for each other undeniable, even in private moments like this one.

And as he got you to your high multiple times, he knew he would always be feeling his own high, because you were his addiction, his soulmate, and the love of his life.

The End ! Thank you for reading this series, I adored writing every part of it !

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