#Morning Glory x Sting

[millieduboisart]

*Thinks about that one ship I had when I was 11* huh…

Ko-fi/Commissions

[catfern]

lap dog.

in support of palestine ∙ the reality of tlou ∙ resources

pairing: ellie williams x afab!reader x abby anderson

music: master of none - beach house

word count: 2k

summary: abby and ellie are best friends, never more. when you come into the picture, competition bleeds into something else entirely.

warnings: porn, ellabs, sub-ish!abby, sub-top!ellie, dom-ish!reader, marijuana use, got high and watched challengers this is what happened

fern says ⎯ this one goes out to @heavenbloom & @atyourmerci the only two pookies keeping me going at this point! rawr!

it was innocent, at first. you suppose.

a pit sinking in your stomach at the all-too-looming feeling of a foreign school, the kind smile offered was an olive branch. white teeth, skin blemished only with the soft indents of a splattering of freckles and moles, it put you at ease. this definitively friendly tour guide.

“hey, m’abby.” the squeeze of her hand was gentle, but firm. practiced. her eyes on you felt like a studied gaze, a flicker over your body that made your ears burn, your name on her tongue a syrupy temptation. “i’m s’posed to show you around, so…”

you clung to abby, in your first few weeks. you would’ve felt bad, this dependence on your only friend growing, if she hadn’t returned the sentiment almost tenfold. 

hey

want coffee before class?

- abby

the blaring screen of your phone dunking on you like ice water, bleary eyes and a dopey smile typing a response in the early morning manufactured darkness of your dorm room. 

she’d show, fifteen minutes later, in all the gloried aftermath of her morning run, shoving the iced latte at you with easy conversation. she’d wait on your bed while you dressed, poorly pretending to be wildly interested in her instagram explore page.

ellie happened later.

“she hot?”

“i don’t wanna answer that.”

the ball hits the roof, before bouncing with a mean thwack into the tangle of abby’s hair. ellie pulls herself up on the bed, teetering on her tired forearms with a servile smile. “come on,”  the rasp in her voice gives her a malignant edge, “objectively, is she hot?”

abby looks at her, swallowed in her gaze even from across the room. she rolls her eyes before returning to roughly running a brush through her hair, “she’s nice.”

“fucking prude!” the palm of ellie’s hand comes down like a rough punishment, a sting on the sculpt of abby’s shoulder that rings a small wince. her laugh is complimentary, “what? she a secret or something?”

abby shakes her roommate’s sliding hands off her, fighting her languid, teasing embrace, “no, no, she’s just- i dunno.”

a light hum fills the quick silence in the air, ellie pulls away.

“i wanna meet her.”

“what? ellie —“ abby whips around quick, something akin to a firm, stubborn fear tracing her face, “no. no.”

you shift on the floor, the scratchy carpet under your ass stinging with a strange itch. the joint is hanging weakly between ellie’s lips as she holds the lighter to it, off-handed smoke swirling and ebbing in the close air of the room. abby is sequestered on her bed, trying her hardest not collapse in on herself.

you’re taking the joint from ellie, ellie. her iced gaze flickers between the both of you, something unrecognisable sitting, gnawing at her very soul.

“so,” smoke spills from your mouth, dripping from your lips like it never wanted to leave you. you hold the blunt, firm between two fingers as you trace your thoughts with your hand, “what is this?”

ellie laughs faintly, her eyes meeting the terror of abby’s briefly, before falling over the way you’re sat, cross legged, the thin fabric of pyjama shorts riding up your thigh. her laugh is dopey, saccharine laced with a bite, “what d’ya mean?”

you’re pinned, like a dead butterfly behind glass, inspected. abby leans forward, a pique of interest crawling up her spine, her elbows digging nasty red welts into her knees. they both, as if practiced, stare, like careful animals on the other side of a zoo exhibit fence. they know they cannot touch you, but they deign still to think they can try.

 you laugh, something elevated, untouchable, bringing the joint back to your mouth, “you two — you seem, close.”

a shared look of panic and something deeper sets between them, ellie stretching her legs to knock yours as she plucks the joint from you, shooting abby a teasing glance. she pats the battered carpet next to her, “come on abs.”

the nickname is a taunt, an echo of some wild, buried intimacy that ellie wanted — needed  you to know. she’s answering your question, in a way.

abby slides off the bed, scooting over at her roommate’s beck and call. she takes the blunt tenderly, leaning back and letting ellie hold the lighter to her, the movement eased, familiar. she shakes her head, “we’re friends.”

you smile, lopsided, a low-flying buzz hanging in the air. your body loose, uncaring, as you canvas the look ellie has on her face. pensive.

“right.”

“what?”

“nothing, i just - i don’t believe you.” 

“it’s true!” the laugh shared between them is something too close for comfort to be true, but abby persists, “we grew up together, we play tennis together, we’re friends.”

“well…” the soft abrade of ellie’s voice was a testament, a challenge. for you, it was a tantalising peak behind a curtain so well guarded, a piece of themselves so rarely shared. for abby, it was an unnecessary torment. she looks at ellie, she sees the competition in her eyes. abby knows the sting of shared desire, of the punishing hand of her best friend. the brunette pouts, studying her roommate’s look of resigned pleading, “come on! i think it’s a — it’s a cute story. abby had a little, teensy crush on me when we were kids.”

“oh fuck off!” the edge in the swell of abby’s voice demanded attention, commanded respect in the abhorrent violence of something unexpected. the closeness of the two sat thick, heady in the face of the thin layer of smoke in the air. ellie’s hand slips from her thigh.

a silence befalls the three of you, foreign and raw in the space of casualty. the air of times past is not lost on you, as you watch the humiliation creep through abby’s skin in red flushes. ellie’s advantage.

“i think it’s cute,” you muse with a misaligned shrug.

— a beat.

“really?” that changes everything, in a pathetic sort of way. abby has the eyes of a puppy, a tortured lap dog as she looks at you, wide and wild, tamed on your word. a certain honey of victory sits in her stomach.

“yeah, i mean -“ you laugh, such an ardent reminder of their own pursuits of you, fresh and recognisable. of who stands on their feet, and who kneels before them. “i just don’t intend to be a homewrecker.”

“we’re not together.” they choir together in rehearsed concordance, in defence of themselves. strange, how their voices melt together in a harmony so well matched.

you hum, as if to challenge them quietly, before standing. the stretch of your legs provides a curious path, their gazes dripping upwards of you like forlorn magnets, drawn to your body. you look down on them with a quirk of your brow, pulling your pj shorts to rest higher on your hips, before perching yourself on the edge of ellie’s bed.

they look at you as if they had just lost you, something childishly snoopy glinting, matched, in their eyes. your hands run along the scratch of ellie’s bedsheets, exploring, before you pat either side of you, gently.

in a scramble, they pull themselves to your side, infringing on your summoning. ellie pressed to your left, abby to your right, inescapable, the both of them.

you meet abby’s gaze, swallowed nearly in the startling kindness of the blue of her iris. she looks so meagre, so shrunken and teetering on the edge of your existence, a planet in orbit of a raging star.

gently, with the softness you label so deserving of her, your hands wander, pulling her in, letting the chasteness of her lips fall away into a fevered triumph, the taste of the salt of her lips and the bitterness of the weed a chaser to her touch.

ellie, sat so humbly, waits in a quiet, angry defeat, her fingers ghosting the edge of your bare thigh. oh, to be the only child, so unused to sharing. impatient and derivative, she almost whines, a soft call for your attention. you answer, to the surprise of both, abby’s taste still on your lips, something so familiar.

she’s more callous than the girl she so aptly loves and despises, her movements quick and domineering as she seeks to own you. abby, tasting you and wanton for nothing, slips down to the stretch of your neck, pressing her kindness into your skin with the pliant pull of her teeth.

ellie’s hands are needy creatures, pulling over you like the ebb and flow of a vicious tide, snaking up your shirt for just a taste.

“..fuck.” your heavy breath fills the room like smoke, a complying pass for her to tease the stretch of her fingers under the waistband of your shorts. control was just a fleeting delusion, your hand grabbing at the bone of her wrist, “come on, let her go first.”

ellie, once again left waiting; abby, so all consumed with the pulse of your neck, is despondent, desperate, her breath shaky in your ear as her hand slips beneath the fabric, a soft groan dripping from her lips at the velvet of your walls enveloping her.

she’s slow, languid and unpracticed with her indigent circles around your clit. a sweet intoxication hanging heavy in the air, you laugh, coy and soft and somewhat mean. you had thought abby bigger, more unobtainable than she really was.

here, she is human. here, she bares her unspoken inexperience.

you pull a desperate, evil ellie from the swirl of your tit, so keen to pull your attention away. your thumb mindlessly swipes along the hang of her bottom lip, her breath warm and savouring in your sunlight.

“y’know what to do?” ellie nods into the palm of your hand, eager to show off, to please. “teach her.”

leaning up on the back of your elbows, you watch through a half-lidded honeyed gaze as ellie slinks down, conflicted. a certain affection in her touch, deeper than that of anything else, she finds abby’s fingers in the heat of your legs, leading them along the strings of your impulse.

a shaky moan leaves abby’s lips, the callous of ellie’s fingers along her own a dream unfounded. she can feel the press of her chest against her back, her breath in her ear, her chin on her shoulder. this was not unlike of them, not a foreign feeling, but new, still. the need in ellie’s throat is rotted, estranged to her touch.

they assess you on the bed, like an experiment. the arch of your back is artwork along the ripple of the sheets.

“go slow, you see that?” ellie’s voice is low in abby’s ear, tracing the breathy moans you drip beneath them. “just like that — good, abs. good girl.”

ellie’s hand slips from abby’s, running your slick along her arm, your thigh, a trail up your stomach as she comes to palm your tits, her mouth finding your neck, biting down on your wicked pulse in such difference to the other.

abby is lost, chasing feelings that no longer belong to her. she watches you writhe under her touch, under ellie’s touch. something wanting sits in her throat, unknown to her.

ellie is her best friend. but this — mean competition abandoned, this is something else. something buried, aged, ready to rear its head.

the blonde brings her lips to the dip of your stomach, pressing a soft trail up the curve of your hips. unsure of what she wants, what she’s looking for on the crest of your body, she presses the crook of her nose into your naval, her fingers burning, picking up their speed.

ellie comes to her, drawn to her like to her a flame. pressing a kiss to the curve of your breast, she finds the cotton of her friend’s lips so easily, as if fated. messily, they meet along the plume of your ribcage, you, an instrument for their own aches. esoteric, their tongues swirl on your skin, on their lips, tracing each other as if they had never known the other at all.

like dogs tugging at meat with the bare of their teeth.

homewrecker, indeed.

⎯ kofi

taglist; @whore4abby @endureher @beemillss @afraidofheightss @sentimentalyellow

[beneathashadytree]

HUNGOVER - VINSMOKE SANJI X READER

Warnings : Sanji’s self-image issues, hangover, passing out, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : fluff <33

Additional notes : This is part 2 to a fic I posted 2 years ago (crazy, I know) called Intoxicated, so I recommend reading that first! Inspiration suddenly hit me ig🙏🏽 To anyone else reading this, my requests are still closed!! These are just old requests I had in my inbox🫶🏽

Tip jar!

Masterlist

It was at times like these that Sanji cursed his entire being—most especially his body, for having gotten so used to waking up at a set time every day. Because here he was, with a pounding headache that threatened to split his head in half and squash his brain into a mush, and yet he was still unable to sleep in for more than 4 hours.

Delaying the inevitable, he tried his best to keep his eyes shut, even if just for a little while. Dread filled him at the thought that opening them would send lancinating pain shooting through his eyes and the back of his head, and that was an issue he did not want to deal with now.

Especially not after colossally mortifying himself like that last night. Actually, he’d much rather forget it all together. Maybe completely wipe the memory from his head.

Much of the second half of the night was a booze-induced haze, flashing images swirling behind his eyes like they’re floating in water, and he couldn’t bring himself to try and remember the rest of it. After all, why would he want to think about how he embarrassed himself in front of the one person he yearned for more than life itself?

Baring his heart like only an idiot would, skinning himself alive and prostrating himself in front of them without a single ounce of the dignity he’d tried so hard to preserve for ages… he truly was a lost cause.

“Putain,” Sanji swore under his breath, even his raspy voice sounding grating to his ears, and he buried his head further into—

—his jacket?

All inhibitions instantly cast aside, his head shot up from where it was, and he was hit with the surging pain of an unbearable crick in his neck. Eyes flying open and completely ignoring the sting of the light, it was only then that he realized that he hadn’t, in fact, stumbled his drunken way back to bed after his whole blurted confession and tumbled face first into dreamland.

No. In reality, he’d actually just slept an uncomfortable few hours on the kitchen table, his head just barely hanging on after being supported only by his crumpled jacket.

Shit. The kitchen.

It was at that moment he came to the sudden realization that the thrumming headache wasn’t only caused by him waking up, but also from the loud banging of another person in his kitchen pulling out his precious pots and pans.

It must be well past morning. Everyone was probably ridiculously hungry by now.

It took all he had for him to stop himself from snapping at whoever it was that decided to step up (and also make a wreck out of his sacred space and possessions) for only that reason. In his desire to drown himself in his sorrowful miseries, he’d completely neglected his duty as a chef. If not to sustain his crewmates and friends, what use was he outside of battle?

Nothing, he thought to himself, blearily blinking the sleep out of his eyes as he began to turn around with a sigh, not looking forward to the confrontation that was to come, nothing at all—

“There you are, darling,” came a soft voice from behind him, barely above a whisper. A blooming warmth rushed to his cheeks, and he almost toppled out of the chair as he recognized just who it was that was saying those saccharine words.

It couldn’t be. There was no way he he’d be so blessed by the angels first thing in the morning.

And yet. And yet.

Here they were, in all their fresh-faced, tender-hearted glory, leaning down to gently stroke his cheek with a deft thumb. If Sanji let slip a broken whimper of half-relief, half-agony, they made no comment on it. “You’re hungover, then?”

With his mouth feeling like it was filled with cotton wool, no words could come out, and he instead just nodded his head weakly. Thankfully, that too they let slide. “I got Chopper to help out with that.” They pushed a cup with an odd liquid and two pills towards him. “Should help.”

For a couple of seconds as Sanji downed them and sent a silent prayer to whoever decided to let Chopper have the lack of common sense to join their crew, they turned around, probably on their way back to the stove that now sizzled and emitted the lovely smell of caramelized onions and garlic—and if his nose wasn’t betraying him, simmering in some balsamic vinegar and soy sauce—that he had memorized long ago. But after a moments’ hesitation, they walked up to him once again, sliding his jacket out from underneath him and carefully folding it.

“You should go to your quarters and get a proper sleep in. I’ve got it from here.” With that sweet smile of theirs that threatened to send his heart into overdrive, they began to usher him out. “When you’re up again, I’ll reheat your food for you. You don’t look so ready to eat now.”

If he was looking as green as he felt, he couldn’t blame them one bit for calling it out as it is. Clearing his throat once then twice, he tried to speak again, voice awfully raspy (even more than after he’d had a smoke). “You… you cooked?”

They hummed in affirmation, now with their back turned to him as they began to crack eggs into a pan. “Not done yet, but yeah. You’ve only slept a couple of hours, so I figured it would be better if I managed to get us through breakfast in your place. Won’t be as good as yours, but I hope you can trust me to try.”

As they waved off to their left, he saw how they’d propped up his notebook against the pepper shaker. And maybe this was just him feeling extra sensitive and still a little in a haze, but something stirred in his chest at the thought of them carefully following every step in his recipes and diligently trying to emulate his cooking.

“Mon ange, you shouldn’t have…” His voice was still a little rough yet trembling with the emotions he couldn’t even try to hide; emotions that were bigger than his own feeble heart could take. His fists curled at his sides, eyebrows furrowed as he watched them elegantly handle the kitchenware like they were their own. This was too much for him. “I can handle my own hangover. It’s… it’s not your responsibility to do my own job.”

With a sigh, they turned down the stove and looked back at him with an exasperated yet incredibly fond look in their eyes. “You silly man, no one’s forcing me to do this.” At the affectionate lilt of their voice, Sanji’s mouth went dry, and he tried to swallow (with much difficulty) past the lump in his throat.

What could he have possibly done to deserve this? He can’t have earned this much goodness. There simply was no way.

“You don’t have to earn my love, Sanji.” Fuck. Had he really said that out loud? Their soft-spoken words and the sympathetic look in their eyes told him that yes, he had. He hadn’t intended to make himself sound so pathetic, and yet here he was, accepting the way they brushed his curly eyebrow with slivers of shame curling inside his chest. “I’ve already told you, my love is yours to keep,” they softly said.

“Your… pardon, quoi?” His heart came to a stuttering stop, all his movements halted and his eyes blown wide open almost comically as the words they said finally hit him.

One look at how utterly confused and shocked he looked, and realization seemed to dawn on their face. “I guess it would be too ambitious of me to expect you to remember much of last night,” they huffed out a laugh, before taking to the chopping board and beginning to chop up some fresh vegetables as they slowly spoke, as though hoping to break it gently. “You weren’t the only one who had an indirect confession in store.”

Digging the palms of his hands into his closed eyes, Sanji threw back his head and groaned as the memories came back to him bit by bit, achingly slowly and then all at once. “Merde,” he hissed out, the throbbing in his head doubling with every image that replayed in his head. “I can’t believe…” It was almost like he’d set a personal challenge for how much a person could embarrass themself within less than 12 hours.

What other explanation was there for him just completely forgetting that the one person who’d burrowed into the depths of his heart had somehow expressed that they felt the same for him? How else could he explain not remembering that they’d said that they wanted to be with him, in some miraculous way that he still couldn’t quite believe was real?

The chop-chop-chop of the knife stilled, and they set it down with a chuckle that sent tingles down his spine and his heart into near cardiac arrest. Lovely, lovely, lovely. His hangover seemed to have a weak spot for their laughter too, because why else would his headache somehow chip away just at the sound?

They were quick to soothe him with their words, their hands reaching up to tug his arms back to his sides. “It’s fine, I promise. You’re just a bit disoriented now.” Looking into such a fond gaze didn’t help the heat rushing to his cheeks, and he found himself being reminded of just how desperately in love he was; so much that he could swear it burned him alive. “I mean it though,” they earnestly mumbled, tenderly cupping his face, “and I’ll wait till you’re well-rested. Then we’ll talk.”

“Alright,” he managed to whisper out between breaths, “But—“

“Go.” They gave him a gentle push, before turning around to stir something in a small pot and add some spices that made the smell even more tantalizing. “If you don’t want breakfast to be a disaster, that is. Wouldn’t want to send my boyfriend’s kitchen up in flames.”

That’s it. A sharp pang in the deepest crevices of his chest and he was gone, his head floating with dizziness and his vision swimming. Sanji was long dead and on his way to whichever heaven would accept him; a heaven where he was somehow inexplicably loved and wanted; a heaven where he’d hear those words from their lips and know that they were indeed—thanks to some ridiculously generous higher power that blessed him beyond his wildest dreams—referring to him.

The last thing he felt were his limbs failing to keep supporting him, and a lightheadedness that overtook him so suddenly, crumpling to the ground in a helpless heap.

I think I’m gonna die a lucky man, he dazedly thought to himself, before finally succumbing to a blissful unconsciousness against the cold kitchen floor.

“Sanji!”

Taglist: @stories-that-shaped-me @finch-ya @wifeofkyojuro @fluffismystaplefood @angry-and-yandere @semi-orangeapple @carsonology @respitable @spotted-salamander @musiclover2119 @thatbaepizzalover @scentisterror @shengbiao-shiny @jammycheese @klutzycora-san @hyunskz

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[dancing-with-draegons]

A Gilded Cage

pt. 1

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Aegon's wife!reader (she/her pronouns, Lannister colouring)

summary: One night, alone in his chambers, Aegon's wife can no longer bear her husband's indiscretions. Aemond witnesses her outburst and is intrigued.

warnings: Aegon bashing (he's in a loveless marriage with reader), suggestive themes, dark themes, systemic sexism, reader has been raised to be a pretty doll and nothing else

word count: 2.9k

Aegon's wife has often seen him go into the city and return the next morning, still in his cups, with his doublet lost, his breeches unlaced and the rank smell of brothel all over him. It was always humiliating to find your husband unfaithful, but worse than the sting of infidelity was the public shame that came with it. She could see it in her ladies’ eyes: a mixture of glee and pity, to see one who had risen so high reduced to a spurned wife.

It had not always been so. When her father had given her to the prince in marriage, he had been proud. She had been the prettiest maid in all seven kingdoms with her golden curls and deep green eyes. A true Lannister. And Aegon had been charming. She had rescued him from a marriage to his own sister, all because her father had insisted that she be wed to the prince to forge the alliance Princess Rhaenyra had once turned up her nose at. And Otto Hightower had agreed, knowing full well they would need the westerlands in the war to come.

She had been so proud to wear the red and black and green of her new house, always chased with gold. And how she had loved Aegon at first sight! Her handsome prince. Her love. Her knight and champion. She had known before their wedding that he would be a wonderful husband, a doting father, and a great king, like his namesake.

The only fly in the ointment had been the prince's younger brother. Aemond had called her father greedy, and her a prize calf. Perhaps he had been annoyed that he would now have to wed Helaena, who was only half as beautiful as she herself. Or so her father had told her when she had come to him crying. Aemond was always kind to Helaena. She remembered how surprised she had been when she had first seen him with her, how quiet, how gentle he had been with her. She had doubted her father's words then, and anyway, no marriage between them had happened, so it had all been wrong.

 Now, it was not Aemond who made her cry, though he still looked at her with derision. It was her husband, who'd sooner bed every unsavoury whore in the city than his charming and beautiful wife.

A few times he had lain with her, and it had been sweet enough. She had been well prepared not to expect the same sort of pleasure her husband felt, so it had all been well. To hear him moan and shudder had been enough for her. But now, he would moan for another woman, and find his release with her. And she would be blamed for the lack of an heir.

Had she known back then, when she had been a little girl despite her looks, how this marriage would turn out, she would have begged her father to wed her to one of his bannermen. But no such luck. 

She was the prince's wife, and would be his queen should he ever ascend the throne, and would one day have to bear him his son. That was her duty.

Half a dozen times had she resolved to go to his chambers and seduce him, only to do her duty. She had had a nightgown made for that especially, daring and well-cut, so that everyone in the room from the seamstress to the guard had ogled her. It lay, folded carefully, in the chest at the foot of her bed, and a few times she had donned it only to lose her courage at the last moment.

She had envisioned it all: how she would enter Aegon's chambers, where he would be drinking with his knights and followers. How she would let the cloak fall to her feet and stand in all her beautiful glory before them. Aegon would rise from his chair then, not at all drunk yet, and, with his eyes on her, would send away his friends, who would leave reluctantly, eyes only on her. Perhaps one or two of them would stumble over their feet, too distracted by her beauty and she would help them up and chuckle good-naturedly. And once they were gone, Aegon would make love to her the way he had once, before they had even been wed, and fill her with his seed. A few moons later, she would give birth to his heir, and they would call the silver-haired, green-eyed boy Jaeson to honour their alliance, or perhaps Aegon, she had not quite made up her mind.

But for her dreams to come true, she would have to act.

That night, when her maid had combed her hair until it looked like molten gold and left, she put on the nightgown, fastened the hooks and laced it up tightly to cinch her waist and lift her bosom. It was more uncomfortable than a court gown, but it was a good pain, as she knew it made her beautiful.

She donned her green velvet cape to hide the revealing gown and set out to visit her husband.

Aegon had decreed that her chambers should be far from his, so as not to wake her at night, and the halls of the holdfast were draughty and cold this late in the summer.

At last, she reached his door. None of his usual guards stood vigilantly at the door but that meant little. Often her husband asked them inside to drink and gamble with him and his friends.

But as soon as she had entered, and closed the door carefully so as not to disturb the queen – and, in truth, not draw attention to herself in this state – she saw that she had come in vain.

The table was littered with cups and flagons of wine, playing cards lay in puddles of wine and ale, bowls of bread, oil and cold meat were becoming a feast for flies and other vermin. 

She was too late. They had already moved on into the city, where now some whore earned her pay under him or on top of him, if he was already deep in his cups.

And it was all too much. The disgrace, the indecency of it all, and Aegon's sheer ignorance, worse, his open and downright disregard for her after all she had done for him. 

She seized one of the flagons – no doubt fine Myrish glasswork with a brass handle shaped like a proud dragon – and threw it against the wall with all her might. It shattered not, as she had hoped, into a thousand pieces. The glass was thick and well made, and the flagon had only broken in two, the curved front with its spout now in the fireplace, the other half with the dragon handle on the soft rug in front of the fire.

This failure to truly wreak havoc only enraged her more, and a glass chalice and a finely carved clay bowl followed. Soon enough, the floor was littered with shards of glass and pieces of broken stoneware.

She was out of breath now from the effort, and her cape had long slid off her shoulders to pool at her feet like a forest pond.

Her heartbeat quietened as she took in the sight of destruction around her. There was no need to panic, no one would suspect her. It was like Aegon and his cronies to leave the chamber in disarray for the servants to clean up.

Not even Aegon would know. He would have forgotten the events of the night before sunrise.

At first, it had felt good, to see it all go to ruin, to see it broken beyond repair, just as she herself felt at times, when she saw them all laughing, when she was once again alone in her chambers, with no one to call friend, when Aegon had once again made her the butt of his joke, or flung some insult at her in his cups.

But now that the rage had abated, it left her cold and empty as a grave.

She turned towards the door to leave and froze.

Her good brother stood there, the door closed behind him, his one eye trained on her with an unfathomable expression.

She had never heard him enter. Had she just thrown something against the wall when he had come in?

It was just like him to stay and watch while she was at her lowest.

She loathed the way he looked, his moon pale hair smooth and silky, and bound back with a simple ribbon, his long, harsh, scarred face, his sensitive lips, and his one eye, periwinkle blue and staring at her.

How could a man so cruel be so handsome?

Now that she was facing him, he surveyed her attire dispassionately and she knew he had deduced why she had come here as swiftly as only Aemond could. 

She would have felt better with her cape on but could not bend down in the tightly laced nightgown, and even if she could, her bosom would tip out of the low neckline and it would all look very grotesque and inelegant, so she stood still as a statue.

“He has long left for the city,” her good brother informed her tonelessly.

“Thank you,” she replied, though her tone made a barb of her gratitude. “My husband has left his quarters in quite a state.”

Aemond's lips pulled into a smile like a longbow. So he had been here for some of her performance. Good to know.

Would he tell on her? He loved her little, yes, but he hated his brother.

“Mh.”

“I meant to pay my dear husband a visit,” she said, because she loathed the way he shut her down with his cursed little hum.

“What is your excuse to be here?”

His gaze travelled over the broken cups in reply.

Of course, she must have made a racket.

“I was awoken by the noise, too,” she lied, daring him to object. “So I went to see if my beloved husband was hurt.”

His smile intensified. Naturally, he enjoyed himself most when he was playing cat and mouse with a mouse that gave him a chase. 

“You should not have left the safety of your chambers,” he said, and that was the longest sentence he'd ever directed at her. “You might have got hurt.”

What a tragedy that would have been, his mocking smirk seemed to say, my brother's upstart wife struck down at his side.

“I'm now a princess,” she said, although they all still called her lady, but her father had said so, “I'm free to go wherever I please.”

“Free?”, his voice was delicately inflected and she thought he was being derisive, but there was something else there too that she could not place, “you are bound up like a fish in a net.”

“Well, if you are lucky, your own wife will one day make an effort with her appearance as well.” She put her hands on her hips and the fabric of her tight sleeves dug into the soft flesh of her upper arms.

Again, Aemond made no reply, though his smile had lost its amused edge.

For a long moment, he stared at her and fear rose inside her like a morning sun. He was known to be fierce and terrible when roused, and he could not bear being taunted. Aegon had done it once too often in the yard  and Aemond had been pulled off of him, fists bloodied and mad rage in his eye.

She only noticed that she had edged away from him when her hip made sharp contact with her husband's dinner table.

Aemond turned around without warning, and it seemed he meant to leave –

“Why?” she asked, and Aemond halted with his hand on the door handle his back still to her.

“What have I done wrong? I have done my duty, I have smiled for him, dressed for him, I have done everything he wanted and yet –”

Aemond did not turn around. 

“I shouldn't be asking you of all people, I know you think I deserve this for reaching so high. I'd wager you're pleased that he's humiliating me.”

“No,” he said at last, and turned around. “You should not.”

That was the straw that broke the mule’s back.

“Fine. You've always looked down at me and my family, but let me tell you that Lann the Clever has settled here many thousand years before the Targaryens. Let me tell you that my ancestors needed no dragons to conquer a kingdom, their wits sufficed. Go on, talk about how I am an upstart, greedy, ambitious. But remember that you were a boy when you set out to claim the largest dragon in the world, the dragon who lost his rider less than a week before. Look me in the eye and tell me I am overly ambitious, I am greedy, but know that you are the same. Do you think I do not see the way you look at Aegon, at the throne, the crown? Do you think I do not understand why you study the histories, philosophy, geography, like a young king should? Because you lust for a crown, just like I did. And let me impart this wisdom upon you: it is not worth it.”

She meant to storm past him but his hand shot out and suddenly, she was with her back against the wall, the door handle just out of reach, and a very angry Aemond Targaryen was towering over her with a thunderous look on his face.

A part of her, the one that logic and thinking did not reach, was cold with fear.

He would not harm her, she thought, not here, not her, his good sister. He knew she was the key to the west. He was no fool. 

But he made no move to let go of her neck, her waist, and his body did not allow her so much as a twitch.

Gingerly, she tried to wrench free her left arm, caught between their bodies, but only succeeded in pressing it firmly against Aemond's hard stomach.

“Let me go,” she said and tried to push him away. Aemond was slim as a lance, though tall and strong, and he wouldn't move.

“You hate him,” Aemond said, giving no indication that he had heard her.

He seemed surprised by this revelation, as if it was somehow strange and unheard of that a spurned wife might loathe her husband with all her being.

The rage that was so close to the surface these days erupted once again: “Of course I do. Did you think you were the only one he humiliated? The only one he likes to make fun of, taunt, play fool's games with? Ever since one night, he was too soft to do his duty, he's taken it out on me, he's shamed me with his whores, taken them to bed, paraded them around the keep for all to see. He has a dozen bastards by now, but no trueborn son, and that is seen as my failure, not his.”

She had never told anyone about that night. How he had laboured on top of her, reeking of old wine and other things, how he had tried and tried to get it in with fumbling fingers, scratching her skin down there, bruising her thighs. And she had asked him to stop, to try again some other time, but he refused, told her to shut up and bear it silently.

“A son,” Aemond repeated softly, and there was something sinister in his tone. He was taller than her, though not by much, and she could not escape his gaze. Intense. Questioning.

And she understood.

A way to pay back years and decades of humiliation.

At the cost of righteousness, of morality, and, if it all came to light, at the cost of their lives.

She threw all common sense to the wind and kissed him.

~Aemond~

Her vehemence took him by surprise. He had never thought she would agree, let alone agree so readily.

For years had he loathed her, her and her greedy father whose bidding she did at all times. How she had revered Aegon, with large, bidding eyes, grateful for whatever shred of courtesy he bestowed upon her in his grace.

And Aegon had been pleased enough with his bride at first. That had angered him, too.

How perfect they had been, the golden prince and the golden princess.

But then Aegon had shown his true colours, as Aemond had long known he would, and his wife had not faltered. She had continued to admire him, be soft and gentle with him when she should have raged.

Raged as she had today.

Aemond was glad now that he had come. She was pretty but he had never had a taste for beauty. Had never had the opportunity to acquire it.

What he had seen…the heat of her anger, her destructiveness.

All her treacherous softness was gone, her simpering smiles, her honeyed voice.

He, and he alone, saw her how she really was. Raw. Angry. Wanting.

The ease with which she betrayed Aegon, the swiftness with which she had kissed him. Aemond could taste desperation and fury on her lips. It was a powerful aphrodisiac, he knew best.

He held her tightly as he walked towards his brother's bed.

[yaut-jaknowit]

Idk if this has been asked before but can we get a little something of Gawtin in heat?

- 🥤

Always

Pairing: Gawtin (female Yautja) x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: cunnigulius, wlw, Gawtin in heat, mean Gawtin, rough sex, face fucking, crying, oversensitivity.

Word Count: 2632

Summary: When you wake in the morning to find your bed empty, you aren't concerned. Yet... with a sweet scent in the air you've never smelled before, you follow it out into the living room. In all of her glory sat Gawtin, your goddess, waiting for you.

Author Note: To be honest, I can’t remember if I’ve written one about her being in heat. I’ve written so much that it’s starting to get jumbled around. Even if I did, I will always write for Gawtin. I love my girl.

Masterlist

Ao3

There was this sweet, alluring scent in the air when you first woke up. Not one you’ve ever smelled before. You groaned and stretched out in your expansive bed, only to realize that there wasn’t a warm body pressed against you. Concern dripped into your veins. You stood up from the concave bed and wandered out into the living room.

In all of her muscular, massive glory was Gawtin, the goddess herself. Her head was thrown back, neck fully exposed to the world. A position rare for her to be found in. Both of her arms were thrown over the top of the couch, leg spread as wide as possible.

That’s when you realize how thick that scent filled the main area of the house. Without realizing it, you felt yourself growing hotter, more bothered. You toed into the living room and walked up towards Gawtin. It was her that emanated that odor.

The very second you were within range, Gawtin swiped out and snagged you. You were jerked into her lap as she heavily rubbed her jaw all over you. Her scent being messaged into your skin, forever stuck there.

“Whoa! Gawtin, love. What’s going on with you?” you questioned, truly worried if something had happened during the night to this morning. She’s never acted like this before.

Her muscular arms surrounded your waist and kept you pressed tightly to her sweaty chest. There was no chance for escape, not like you wanted to anyhow. You hummed and pulled your head away from all the scent marking. Your hands cupped her jaw and gave a small scratch to distract for a moment. “Love, what’s wrong?”

A growl built up in the back of her throat. Her claws gripped your covered skin and refused even a hair of space between the two of you. She dove back into the comfort of your neck and began to nip at the fragile skin. The flesh becoming flush with warmth and bringing blood closer to the surface. You gasped at the slight stinging. Your bottom lip was caught between dull teeth as you endured her strange treatment.

“Need,” she groaned into your neck and latched on with a particularly harsh bite. Her hips rocked up and forced yourself to grind down onto her waist. You sputtered a gasp and tightened your thighs around her hips. “Need you.”

Out of all the time you’ve been around Gawtin, for her to act this way was completely different. She was in such a needy, desperate state, you almost didn’t know what to do. You had to act fast.

You wrapped your hand around her throat and pushed back with all of your strength. If she didn’t want to be moved, she wouldn’t. But, the Yautja was feeling generous and all for you remove her from your neck.

Drool was dripping from her mouth, some of it wiped across the expanse of your throat. “Gawtin, what is happening to you?” You needed answers before continuing with this. You wouldn’t allow her to continue until then.

Gawtin huffed, hips rutting up but only causing you to grind against her. Your hand faltered around her neck before you tightened it and kept her pinned to the couch. Her mandibles twitched with irritation. “Heat. I’m in heat,” she answered with a gruff voice then caught your hair and yanked back on it. Your entire throat exposed to her now. Which, the Yautja happily took up the opportunity to latch on again.

“And that heat drives me beyond insane when you’re around,” Gawtin snarled against the column of your throat and nipped on the fragile skin. The sharpness of her fangs sliced your flesh and drew blood. The red substance dripped down from the opened wound. Her tongue was quick to swipe it up.

The vibrations of her growl tingled against you skin, causing goosebumps to rise. You squirmed in her lap, hands tightened before falling away.

“It’s your scent in the air. Tasting it, smelling it.” She groaned and dug deeper into your throat without realizing it. Her arm around your waist moved so her hand cupped your hip and kept you snug to her torso. She needed you pressed against her at all times. Not an inch of space allowed to disturb the two of you. “I need you, little one.”

The sweet scent in the air didn’t help your situation at all. You curled your hand into a fist on her chest and held back a groan that wanted to be released. “Okay, okay, Gawtin. I’ve got to go the strap on, alright?” You attempted to push back on her to gain some space to move off of her lap, but she wasn’t having it. She snarled dangerously low, claws biting into your skin. You hissed at the flare of pain that rushed through you. But you didn’t do anything to stop her.

“Gawtin, I have to go grab it,” you explained and tried to push again to no luck. You found yourself on your back with Gawtin shoving into your space, nearly suffocating with how much of her weight she forced upon you. Her talons pierced into the flesh of your hips and forced you to stay to her.

“Mine!” she snapped and growled from the back of her throat. A warning for all. Even to you. Not to touch what is hers. Including you. Especially you. You are hers.

You groaned at the pain and clenched your teeth. It hurt yes, but you knew you weren’t in any actual danger. She slotted herself between you legs and forced your thighs to your chest. A mating press. You gasped as she pinned you to the spot. Only one hand needed to keep you trapped to the spot. Gawtin leans up to admire her prize.

The smell only grew stronger the more she played with you. You began to pant, squirming underneath her. Your clit started to throb and swelling with blood the more she rubbed against you. It grew to a point that it hurt not being touched. All because of Gawtin.

In an instant, Gawtin rips every last shred of clothing that blocked the two of you. Her skin was hot, blazing to the touch. It nearly felt like it burned. No kidding this was called a heat.

One of your legs was let down, the other still forced to your chest. She placed a foot to your side and lowered her soaked pussy to yours. Everything that has been effecting had made you sensitive to the slightest touch. You groaned and clawed at her scales, causing her to jerk her hips up. The slickness pooling between the two of you caused her to easily glide.

This position opened both of you up. Her three clits bumping into your lone one. You jerked your hips up and causing a spike of pleasure to race up your spine. It hurt so good. Your toes curled as you gripped her scales. “Fuck, Gawtin. Ca-careful,” you warned her as if that would do a thing.

She growled again and buried her face back into your neck, taking in your scent. Her tongue dragged across your skin while her hips jerked between your open legs. Your jaw dropped with a pitiful whine, head thrown back.

In the back of your mind, oversensitivity raged but the pleasure she forced upon you was hard to deny. Your brows furrowed together, hands gripping her shoulders firmly. “I-I think I’m, ah, too sensitive for this, lo-ve.” Your voice trembled, trying to keep it together for a second longer. Yet, the electric shocks sprouting from your engorged clit crumbled any walls.

All you got in return was a snarl and her harshly grinding her hips down. Your hands flew to cover your mouth to stop yourself from screaming out. Every muscle locked down tightly, pinching you in place. Gawtin gasped herself then latched down on your shoulder, teeth piercing your flesh. Another mark added the many others she adorns you in.

A muffled cry sounded from behind your hand. Blood pools from around her teeth and drips down onto the couch. The Yautja ruts faster against you. Your combined slick making the movement swift and smooth. You bite down on your knuckle as an outlet. Tears began to well up in your eyes. You attempted to angle your hips a little down, hoping she was distracted enough not to notice. But, Gawtin only followed the movement and continuously assaulting your puffy, swollen clit with each thrust.

It was all too much at once. Every thought between your eyes were wiped clean, fading away into nothing. Your teeth go slack on the knuckle, mouth dropped open as you pant. Your hands shake, unsure where to grab. They didn’t know where to go.

Gawtin snatches both of your wrists and pins them far above your head. You were strictly at her mercy.

Fire blazed to life and flew across the expanse of your skin. A silent cry on your lips. Your back arched off of the couch and pushed you chest to chest with Gawtin. More slick gushed out to join the pile pooling between the two of you. Your walls pulsed around nothing, pushing more of juices out.

Gawtin didn’t stop.

Your thighs attempted to shove the massive giant of muscles back in reaction. But, if she didn’t want to move, the goddess wouldn’t budge a centimeter.

The oversensitivity stung harshly and caused big, fat tears to drip down from your eyes. Her jaw locked down and kept your shoulder trapped with deadly teeth. The pain long gone washed away. You trembled and shook tremendously underneath her lumbering form. She did not stop, not even for a second to allow you time to breathe. She was taking what she wanted, not caring about your pleasure.

Her jaw squeezed hard and pushed her teeth into your muscle even more. She shuttered and groaned above you, muscles tensing. You felt a new warm gush of fluids cover your already sticky, messy mound. If it wasn’t for the fact you were brainless and driven to oversensitivity, you would praise her.

She had stopped moving and slowly unlatched her fangs from you. The warmth from your blood poured from the newly created wound. The green Yautja was quick to lean down and swipe up some of it. Your taste on her tongue was paya grounds sent. A groan tumbled out from the back of her throat. Her pruple eyes narrowed down on your sweaty, shaky form spread wide underneath her form.

The beast was hungry for more.

Swiftly, the Yautja pinned you to ground with her huge thighs on either side of your head, framing it. Her dripping alien cunt in front of your face. The sweet smell you’ve only taste once before was before you, taunting you just out of reach. You looked up at the towering Yautja. Gawtin ran her fingers through your hair before clenching down on the strains. A low moan slipped pass your lips.

Sweet, tangy. You eyed her cunt before she lowered herself down onto your face. Your eyes snapped open. A curse ready to fall from your lips was prevented. Both of your arms blindly curled around her muscular thighs and clutched onto her scales. They were barely able to reach the halfway mark of her thighs.

Instantly, you got to work tongue swirling around her three swollen clits. The longest one nearly reaching two inches. You sucked the nub into your mouth, muscle drawing the tip. Gawtin’s dangerous claws dug into your scalp and tugged you somehow closer into her soaking heat.

By the end of this night, you were going to be a sweaty, bloodied, crying mess. The good kind.

You tilted your head to get to her entrance and shoved your tongue in. Her essence easily dripped free and onto your awaiting muscle. Your taste buds sung while you lapped away, taking in every drop she offered.

She jerked your mouth back to he clits shoved them against your lips. Happily, you opened your mouth to allow them entry. They filled your mouth as you laved at them, bring her pleasure.

The Yautja bowed her head and moaned at the feel of you between her thighs. Gawtin squeezed her legs, reminding you are trapped. In the best place possible. You would latch your lips around the three and attempt to suck on them in fervor but found yourself unable to. The dizzy effect of lack of oxygen to your brain just made you want her even more.

It was only her taste that filled your mind. That was all you needed in life. You whined around her three nubs and sent vibrations up the sensitive nerves. Gawtin gasped and dropped more weight down on your face and chest area. You could barely take in a breath from the weight. But you pushed through, not caring if this was the way you died.

A moment of clarity must have hit Gawtin as she removed the added weight off of you. Not that you cared. You kept your face forcefully buried in her soaked heat and gulping down her sweet juices.

Her hand left your scalp to rest on the ground. Both of them side by side. Long tresses curtained around the two of you, letting the world just be two lovers. Her hips began to rut harshly and stole any pleasure you gave from you. You did your best to keep up with the chance of pace while slurping her taste down your throat.

Grunts and growls surpassed the wall of muscles fucking your face. Her mandibles flared then snapped shut and roughly clicked against one another. Despite your arms on her hips, there wasn’t a force in the universe to get Gawtin to slow down.

Fluids dripped down your chin, neck, and finally falling to rest on the floor. A mix of Gawtin’s slick and your drool created a mess underneath the two of you.

A bellow sounded from the female in heat, back arching. Talons that have killed grounded into the floor and dug marks for someone to see. Your head was smashed between two thighs that could crush your skull if not mindful. You groaned at the headache flaring to life but still dug into the meal before you. The last thing to be on your tongue before you perished.

The pressure that nearly made you black out was released. Your lungs greedily sucked oxygen in. The black growing in your vision started to fade away with each breath. Still in a dazed mindset, you lightly giggled at just the thought you nearly died to Gawtin in heat. It was funny to you.

Purring caught your attention. You weakly picked your head up and looked over at Gawtin. The giant had gotten off of you. She had her legs spread still wide and leaned back on her hands, purring away with a content tone. When she noticed you gazing at her, she moved to kneel at your side.

Gawtin leaned down and pressed her forehead to yours. “What have I done to deserve such a sweet think such as yourself, little one?” she hummed then licked a stripe through the slick that clung to your chin.

A soft smile graced your blazing face. Love sparkled in your glassy eyes. “Feeling better?” you croaked out, throat hoarse from your former screaming and guzzling of her juices.

Something flashed in her eyes. Gawtin cupped your cheeks, claws just lightly pressing into your scalp. “This is just the beginning,” she snarled then shoved her tongue into your mouth. You gasped harshly through your nose then moaned at the feeling of her exploring. Your eyes slide shut as you let her have her fun.

[seenoversundown]

For Death Or Glory : Chapter Sixteen

Jake Kiszka x Charlotte (Fem OC)

Warnings: Brief mentions of sex (nothing too deep) Mentions of Loss / Grief / Death, Sad / Anxious themes briefly, Fluff, RomComs (Char is a crier) , Jake being the little sweetie pie that we know and love him to be, and last but certainly not least- A LOT of references to John Tucker Must Die (may include some spoilers if you haven't watched the movie, but also go watch it?? What are you doing? It's incredible.)

Word Count: 4k.

Summary: After a long night with him, Charlotte finds herself in a bit of a predicament.

Author's Note: Oh, this turned out to be a cute one guys! I honestly went into this chapter with a vague idea of how I wanted it to go and then suddenly had the Jimmy Neutron-style brain blast when I realized what they needed to be doing. I really hope you enjoy it; it's a bit of a niche chapter but, it's actually kind of important in the grand scheme! Can't wait to hear your feedback and I really can't wait for next week. 🤭

Feels Like - Gracie Abrams "Met you at the right time, this is what it feels like."

The feeling of him pulling me back into him as I’m half asleep, letting a little ‘mmm’ slip out with his face tucked into me. Our bodies tangle into each other as he slides one of his legs between mine, keeping me as close to him as possible. The warmth coming from him made up for the lack of clothes we had on. 

We lie there for a while, in and out of sleep, sharing gentle touches occasionally; he’d slide his hand up and down my thigh a few times and then fall back to sleep or kiss the base of my neck slowly. I’ll never understand how he’s real. 

“I have to pee so bad,” he mumbles into me. His morning voice is extra raspy, and despite him being a little too honest, it really is adorable. I just quietly laugh at him as he tightens his grip around me. 

“You should probably go take care of that,” I whisper back, trying not to laugh more. 

He lets out a long breath against me, “I’d have to stand up, and that just sounds awful.”

“Yes, but if you pee on me, I'm never letting you live that down,” I tell him, making him laugh. 

“Alright, alright,” he groans. “But, don’t move– I’m coming right back.” He leaves a kiss on my shoulder before sliding out of bed. I turn around to watch him as he just pulls on a flannel, his legs still fully on display from how short his boxers are. It's hard to believe that no girl has tried to get with him; he is effortlessly gorgeous. 

Once he’s left the room, I grab my phone, unlocking it to see the dreaded email from my boss that I knew I would be receiving. We’ve been going back and forth the past few days trying to figure out what I'm doing. To be honest, I don’t really know what I’m doing. Not cooperating with your job is what you’re doing. Be so for real, Char.

Knowing I’d probably regret my choice, I decided to open his reply. 

‘Charlotte- I’ve been trying to be as flexible as I can with you, and I understand that you’re technically doing work—I can’t stress how much this isn’t an option for you. You were hired as an in-office employee. Now, I know you’re still grieving, but our bereavement days are only supposed to be for immediate family members, and we are already letting that slide for your friend, so I would really appreciate it if you were a little more cooperative.  I need you to figure out a return date within the next week or so and give it to me by the end of the day.'

‘Letting it slide for your friend,’ the sting from that specific line, making my heart pound and my eyes start to well up. I can’t cry right now; I doubt he meant it to be mean, Char. I don’t care how he meant it; it hurts. She may as well have been family, in my mind. Now, the daunting task of how I’m supposed to go back into the office after all of this will plague my mind today. 

My hands are shaking as I scroll up and down through the email. I swallow hard to try and stop the sadness that’s forcing its way up my throat. I quickly lock my phone and toss it to the other end of the bed as the door to his room opens. 

“I had a feeling you’d be up,” his soft voice rang through the room. He looks so sweet, carefully walking over with two mugs full of coffee. I figured you would want this.” He holds it out for me, his gaze finally meeting mine. 

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. 

“Thank you” comes out a bit more strained than I would have preferred. His eyebrows pull together. He sets his mug down on the nightstand and sits in front of me. 

“What’s going on?”

I shake my head, my throat feeling tight all over again. 

“Hey,” his hands gently rubbed my legs, “Whatever it is, you can tell me.” 

My eyes betray me as they well up. I set my coffee down with his, quickly wiping my eyes as the tears started to come out. 

“It’s a long story,” I choke out quietly. 

“I have time.” 

The tears instantly fall as I sit there in front of him, feeling like he wants nothing more than just to make sure I’m okay. My hands fly up to cover my face, feeling dumb for crying in front of him.. again.

His hands moved to my arms, gently pulling me towards him. He whispered, “Ooh, come here, honey.” 

Without hesitation, I crawled into his lap, resting my face against his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around me. We sit there for a few minutes like that before I finally decide to say it. 

“Um.. my best friend passed away,” I tell him, doing my best to keep it together enough to explain. “Her funeral was the day I came in to help and cried in your office.” I can feel him take a deeper breath before saying anything. 

“I can’t even imagine,” he says softly, “I’m so sorry.” Resting his face against the top of my head. 

“Yeah, it’s just a lot.” My heart aches, replaying the thoughts in my mind before I choke out,  “I miss her so much.” 

“Tell me about her.”

What? He— oh. I shift myself to face him, sitting in between his legs. He sweetly wipes underneath my eyes, his hands dropping to find mine. 

“Her name is Cassie,” I start. Telling him everything I could, how we met, and how she always made me laugh. The way she was so naturally beautiful and inspiring to watch exist. I was explaining how we would always end up spending the night at each other's houses because we would just get too caught up in talking. I found myself laughing at one point while explaining, even with tears still falling. 

He held my hands the whole time. He listened so intently, keeping eye contact and only letting go when I needed one to explain something or if he was wiping a tear away from my face. He was everything I needed at that moment.

“She sounds wonderful,” he says, softly squeezing my hand. 

My eyes well up as I look at him, forcing out a laugh as I stare up at the ceiling, trying to prevent the tears from falling. She would have loved you. The look on his face makes it harder to keep it together, his eyes looking so concerned as more tears sneak out. 

“She really is,” I let out with a sigh, which swiftly turned into a laugh. “I swear I can hear her in my head half of the time.” 

He smiles for a second, “That’s how you know she was a good one.”

A tear falls and lands on his hand, feeling the little spray as it bursts against him. Pulling me out of the moment and realizing how close we are. He's so gentle the way he runs his thumb over my knuckles as we talk. He quickly pulled me into his arms, and as soon as he saw tears, there was no hesitation. My heart shakes at the thought. 

“You know what,” he starts, bringing me back to earth and gently squeezing my hands. Let me talk to Josh real quick. I have an idea.” His eyes are soft, gazing all over my face. 

“Can I know what it is?” I ask quietly. He leans forward, pressing his lips to my forehead carefully. 

“If I can make it happen, yes.” 

I grab the coffee he brought. It’s questionably cold at this point, but I'm sipping on it anyway. Cass, I wish I could get confirmation from you or something. How am I supposed to know if you were right? 

He leans against the doorframe and looks at me. “Okay, are you comfortable hanging out for a little bit?” 

“I can.” 

“I’m going to go down to the bar for a few, and then I need to grab a couple things, and I’ll be back,” he says,  talking faster than I think I’ve ever heard him speak. “If that's okay?”

I nod, “I might try to read a little then.” 

He wanders over to sit in front of me again, “are you positive?”

“Mhmm,” I can’t help but chuckle at him a little, “Do what you need to.”

He gets dressed quickly, which is unfortunate for me, before walking over and kissing the top of my head. 

“You promise you’ll be alright?” he asks, squatting down in front of me and instinctively grabbing my free hand, looking up at me, waiting for an answer.

I can’t help but laugh, “Yes, I’ll be okay.” 

“There she is,” he says, “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

After he left, I spent a few minutes debating whether to reply to my boss but choosing not to do that while I was still emotional felt like the right option. I curled back into his bed, holding his pillow close to me as I drifted in and out of sleep for a while. Hearing the door open, he was definitely carrying something when the thud of it hitting the door rang through the apartment. I crawled out of his bed and snuck out into the living room. 

“Hi,” I squeak out, feeling oddly excited to see him. 

He turns around, a sweet little smile on his lips, “Hey you.” 

I wander over to the couch, pulling the throw blanket over me while he’s putting things away. 

“Okay, so,  I got us some shitty food to make and some Downeast,”  He looks over at me, holding up his hand out of defense,  “I can cook, but it just felt appropriate for today, alright?” 

“Do you not have to work?” I ask, letting my eyebrows pull together as I stare at him. 

He shakes his head, “That’s why I went down early, so I could be free for the evening.” He took the night off for me? 

“You didn’t have to do that!” 

“No, I know,” he says, his smile making my heart melt, “I wanted to.”  

He practically took the wind out of me with that statement. He wanted to..? He’s far too nice to me. It’s almost like I deflated but in a good way. Nobody has ever cared enough to do something like this..  Not realizing how zoned out I had been until his voice brought me back. 

“Want to pick something to watch, hun?” 

Something about the pet name always makes my body tingle. Last night probably didn’t help.  I know immediately what I want to watch, opening Hulu quickly. 

He wanders over, handing me a drink. 

“What’s the verdict?” He asks, sinking into the couch next to me as I click play. 

“John Tucker Must Die,” I tell him, sipping on my drink before setting it on the coaster near me. I have to tell Josh how cute these are. 

“I don’t think I could tell you the last time I watched this,” he admits. 

“Really? We watch it—” I start to say, but being hit by reality again, “Um... Cass and I would watch it all the time when we’d hang out.” It feels like he can tell that I am having a moment because he quickly grabs my hands. 

“Well then, I apparently have been sleeping on a cinematic masterpiece!” He spits out, making me laugh. He sinks back into the couch, propping one of his legs up on the corner of the coffee table. 

I was readjusting myself a little, partially for comfort but also because he was so close, and I didn’t know what to do with my legs. He glanced over as I was trying to get situated, silently grabbing my ankle and pulling my legs over on top of his. There were those butterflies again. 

The opening segment of the movie showcases how terrible John Tucker really is. Unfortunately, I have wasted plenty of dates on men like him. 

“This dude sucks?” he mumbles. 

Giggling quietly, “Well, you’re not really supposed to be rooting for him, so I’m glad you think so.” 

A few minutes later, Scott Tucker, as we know—he is the better brother—shows up on screen. I look over at Jake. He’s focused on the movie, but his hand is holding my leg, casually running it up my calf, and occasionally giving it a little squeeze. 

Watching him for a minute as he’s focused on the TV, I notice that his expression is naturally so soft. I lean forward, pulling some of the throw blanket over him, not realizing I had the bulk of it. 

“Didn't mean to hog the whole thing,” I giggle as I tell him. I was still trying to toss the excess blanket over him. 

The way his eyes smile when he says, “Well, thank you.” He grabs the edge of it, helping me before bringing his hand back to my ankle. How he keeps some form of contact is so funny to me. It’s very clearly an absentminded thing that he does, and I won’t argue that it isn’t nice that he just wants to be touching me casually. It’s a wildly comforting feeling that I didn’t realize I enjoyed. 

His giggles when John has the estrogen meltdown have my heart melting. Just the organic laugh out of him is such a nice sound, especially after earlier. I’ll take any ounce of serotonin I can get. It takes me a few minutes to focus on the TV and not just look at him because I’d almost rather spend the entire movie watching his reactions. 

“Yeahhhh .. been there, bud,” he mumbles, as John is tripping over his words because Kate’s in red lingerie. He looks over with an exaggerated scowl at me as I bark out a laugh. 

“Hey now,” I start, “You seemed to enjoy it!” 

His mouth falls open, “Of course I enjoyed it? I would have enjoyed it more if I wasn’t behind the bar fighting demons the entire time, you little shit.” 

“Oh, was it so terrible?” I tease him, trying not to laugh. 

He grabs his phone, quickly swiping through our messages and clicking on one of the pictures I had sent. He turns it to face me and slowly blinks at me, “How was I supposed to be okay when you look like THAT?” 

“Okay, maybe it was a little unfair,” I let out through a laugh. 

His eyebrows pull together, “A little? God, I was sweating, honey.” 

There’s that pet name again, and I don’t know what makes the butterflies show up, but they do every time. I pull myself closer to him. He looks over at me, lifting his arm for me to get closer to him. 

Staying pressed against his side, his hand lightly drawing little circles on my arm while one of my hands found comfort on his stomach. Something about him, in general, just made me feel safe. The doom and gloom in my brain seemingly lessen when I'm around him.  

I look up at him as Scott asks her to be his lab partner again, feeling my eyes well up a little. It’s him, isn’t it, Cass? Seeing the way his eyes light up at their interaction before glancing over to me.  

“Oh?” He questions, his eyebrow popping up quickly. 

“No, I’m fine,” I laugh out, trying to blink the tears back into my body. “It’s just sweet.” 

“It is,” he says quietly, holding eye contact for a minute. I feel my heart start to pound as he stares at me. Why am I nervous, like we haven’t kissed before? My eyes wander to his lips just for a second. He really does have such a pretty mouth. It's hard not to admire him when he’s so close. 

His stare drops to my mouth now. This is like the worst game of chicken we could ever play. A smile slowly pulls on the corners of my lips as he gazes at them. 

Clearing his throat he starts to sit up, “Do you want some food?”

“Please, I’m shockingly hungry.” I almost couldn’t respond fast enough. 

After a couple of minutes, I can’t help but move into the kitchen with him. 

“You know,” I start, “it’s really unfortunate that they never kissed at the end.” 

“You think so?” he glances over.  

“Mhmm,” I say, “You can’t tell me you weren’t waiting for it.” Folding my arms over myself, waiting to see if he argues against it. Even though there’s not a good argument against that. 

“Mmmmm...” his voice gets quiet. " It probably would have been a good one, too, huh?” He leans against the counter, holding his hands out to me. 

“I feel like it had to be, right?” I move closer, and he smiles as I take his hands. 

“Maybe something like,” he pulls me into him, “this?” 

His hands held my jaw, pressing his lips into mine. Slowly, we moved against each other, my hands pressing against his chest. He lingers over my mouth for a second; his smile grows as he looks at me. Oh, oh no. The butterflies in my stomach go crazy as he smiles a breath away from me. 

“Yeah, that would work,” I mumble. We’ve kissed countless times at this point; I mean, we literally had sex less than 24 hours ago.. Twice even. Something about him today is making my body react differently.  

The oven beeping scares the shit out of me and brings me back to real life as I flinch, still in his arms. 

We fall back into our regular routine of telling each other little stories that we can recall as he makes food; I’m just physically present rather than watching him through Facetime. And it’s not three a.m. 

Not even eating could stop us from laughing about some ridiculous story he was telling me about him and his brothers as kids. I could listen to his stories all day, how he’s so happy when he’s talking about them.

“Should we watch your favorite now?” I ask quietly.  “It is November now.” 

He beams over at me, “I’ll never turn the opportunity down.” 

He steals my plate away from me once I’m done eating, putting all our dishes in the sink. I watch as he just takes care of everything without question, which only encourages those pesky butterflies. I didn’t know who was in control of my body when I stood up, moving over to him at the sink. 

“You can go get comfy if you want,” he tells me, glancing over.

I shake my head at him, “Not yet.” 

His face was visibly lost, grabbing the towel from behind him to dry his hands off when he turned to me. I move into him, wrapping my arms around him. 

“Oh?” he mumbles against me, pulling me tight into him. I soak in the feeling of his arms and chest against me; it’s becoming one of my favorite feelings, and that’s terrifying. 

We just stood there quietly for a moment until I finally said what had been on my mind. 

“Thank you,” I whisper. 

He leans back to look at me, “For what?” 

“Everything,” I start, “You didn’t have to do all this for me, but.. I just really appreciate it.” And you.

“Sometimes we need people, but we don’t know how to ask for that,” He tells me, his calm tone lacing the words. “You deserved this. I couldn’t just send you to be home alone after that.” 

My throat tightens at his words, and I can feel my breathing get heavier; oh, he’s–. 

His hands rub my back a few times before sliding down the back of my arms; he giggles as he says, “C’mon, let’s go so you can laugh at me for loving this movie too much.” 

Sitting back onto the couch but quickly fell into a more comfortable position this time, pulling a blanket over us and tucking his arm back around me. He’s slumped against the arm of the couch, and one leg stretched out so I can lay against his chest. It’s hard to focus on the movie when I’m listening to his heartbeat in one ear and feeling his hands holding onto me, with the subtle little thumb rubs to remind me that he’s still there. 

“This movie really is good, isn’t it?” I mumble. 

His chest vibrates as he giggles, “I’m glad you agree.” 

The warmth coming from him is comforting, but the sudden heaviness of his arms around me makes me look up. He looks so delicate as he’s drifted off to sleep, sweet boy. I snug back into him, just enjoying the occasional little sounds of his breathing.  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The sound of the door opening startled me awake; I don’t remember falling asleep. I saw Josh and Quinn sliding their shoes off and quietly walking through the apartment. I made eye contact with Josh, sitting up a little to acknowledge him. 

“Hi,” I whisper. 

His grin shines even in the dark, “Well, hello there.” 

“I can wake him up, so you two can do whatever,” I say, not wanting to inconvenience the two of them. 

“Not necessary, love,” he mutters, looking over at his twin, who’s still out cold. “He hardly sleeps before four a.m. Keep him warm, and I’ll see you in the morning.” He shoots me a little wink as he pads off to find Quinn. 

Looking back at this precious sleeping boy, he probably needed the day off. I reach down, grabbing one of the throw pillows that had fallen off the couch. 

“Hey,” I whisper, carefully letting my hand rest on his cheek for a second, “lift your head for me.” Seeing his eyebrows pop up like he didn’t fully hear me.

“Mmm,” is all that comes out of him. His arms pulled me back into him, making me giggle quietly. 

“Jake, let me help,” I laugh out, trying to push myself up again, but he’s tightening his arms around me. Peeking up, he has his eyes closed, but his little grin makes my heart flutter. His silent protest keeps the giggles coming from me. 

“Baby, come on,” slips out; my face warms after calling him that, but his arms relax a bit so I can sit up. “Here, scoot down a little.” He never opens his eyes, but he listens, moving so he should be more comfortable. Slowly, he reaches up, his hand holding my chin and pulling me to him; he gives me one very tired kiss before he mumbles, in the cutest, little, husky tone, “Thank you.” 

“Of course,” I whisper back. I move his leg over so I can squeeze between him and the couch cushions. My leg draped over his, pulling myself into his side and snuggling my face into his neck. His arms tightened around me for a second before I felt his hand run down the back of my head, leaving it there as he kissed my forehead. I can feel his lips smile against me; closing my eyes as a tear sneaks out, hopeful that he doesn’t notice. 

I lay there, listening to his heart slow and his breathing change as he drifts back to sleep. I was just looking at the necklace he had on carefully, trying not to wake him. Occasionally, I softly scratch his chest, just trying to be in the moment, even if the tears are still slowly falling. His hand moved from my side to his stomach, so I decided to take the chance. I grab it and bring it up over his heart with mine, lacing my fingers into his. The sight of it caused a slight smile on my face despite the tears falling this time. 

“Oh, Jacob,” I whisper to him, “what am I supposed to do with you?” 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Seventeen

FDOG Master Post | Masterlist | Playlist

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[deathblacksmoke]

the gentlest feeling

a dramamine story

pairing: nick ruffilo x noah sebastian

summary: shortly after the conclusion of the original dramamine series, nick and noah move into their first home together.

cw: fluff <3, boys in love, domestic bliss, brief mentions of the afterlife & guardian angels

word count: 825

author's note: it might be a little bit too fluffy but i just wanted a soft thing and i missed writing these sweet boys. minimally proofread.

title from "blue light" by bloc party.

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As he flits about the house — their house — he can’t help but count his blessings that they were able to get here. That Noah didn’t give up on him.

He places their dishes in the cupboard, their spices in the pantry, their toiletries in the shower, their linens in the closet. He makes the bed — their bed — the new queen-size they saved up to split. They’ll wind up squished to one side most nights, because Nick hates to have distance between them, even now, when the Virginia nights are hot and humid. Noah still likes to sleep with a window open and the fan blasting so he can hear the crickets and see the lightning bugs.

They’ll wake up sticky and warm but he wouldn’t want anything else than to wake up like that in the morning — every morning — with the sunlight flickering through the open window and stuck to his sweet boy, an excuse to huddle together in the shower before breakfast.

As odd as the idea feels passing through his mind, he can’t help but think that Jasmine would be proud of him, that she would see him and feel thrilled that he allowed his life to be turned around.

He doesn’t know if he believes in God, but he knows that he still finds her everywhere. She’s in the disembodied laugh he hears bellowing through the bar, the one that can only be traced back to her. When he gets a Jeopardy question right and Noah’s smiling wide and nudging him, they’re back at trivia night at The Rabbit’s Foot, Jasmine whispering the answer in his ear so he can get all the glory. She’s tucked in the corners of every bit of his life and while sometimes the reminders sting, leaving a deep ache in his gut, they usually wrap themselves around him like her warm hugs always did.

He didn’t always believe in Heaven, but for her sake, he hopes she’s somewhere lovely, listening to her favorite records. He feels guided by a gentle hand and knows that it’s her doing, one way or another.

He’s taken out of his thoughts by Noah beckoning him into the living room, a distant Nicky that always sends him excitedly rushing in its direction. He finds his love sprawled on the green velvet chesterfield they plucked off a curb, the perfect find.

“How’s it look?” Noah asks him. He doesn’t have to look around him to know it’s perfect — he blindly trusts Noah’s eye — but he makes a show of doing it anyway. Their listening station has been set up in the corner, and at the sight of their collections mixed, he feels his heart clench. Somehow, that’s what makes this the most real.

What catches his eye the most, though, is the shelf of framed photos that Noah set up in the entryway. Photos of them, of Noah and Autumn, of Nick and Jolly, of Noah and Folio — among all of the little memories they’ve made together in the past 6 months, an old one stands in the middle, drawing his attention the most. The photo from Autumn’s 30th, Nick and Jazz, still happy.

Without asking, and without being asked, Noah carved out a space for her memory in their home. If Nick didn’t know any better, he would think Jasmine sent him.

Holding back tears and nearly failing, he turns his attention back to Noah, who’s lounging on the sofa and looking up expectantly. His feet take him on their own accord, dropping himself on top of him and blanketing Noah’s body with his own. He wraps himself around him, happy to save the remainder of the unpacking for later.

“It’s perfect, sweetheart,” he speaks into the side of Noah’s neck, peppering his skin with delicate kisses. “Thank you for being here with me.”

“Thank you for paying the security deposit,” Noah responds with a laugh, tightening his arms around Nick’s middle. He settles further into the sofa, bringing Nick with him.

He used to believe in one true love. He believes it less and less every day.

He struggles to imagine anything less true than the love he had with Jazz, the safety he felt there and the warmth of her delicate touch. He can’t think of anything less true than the love he has with Noah, the laughs they share, the peace he feels, the warm glow that encompasses everything.

He feels relief, again, for the privilege of a mind gone quiet. He never thought this was something he could have, the freedom to build a home again, the two of them and all of their things — their grief, their memories, and the people that will stay with them.

He runs a hand under Noah’s shirt, a comfort in the feeling of soft, bare skin beneath his fingers. Noah places a kiss to the top of his head, and everything blurs around the edges.

He’s safe again.

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[luvrrszn]

Godspeed

SIRIUS BLACK x FEM READER

summary in which sirius black leaves you with a letter

warnings angst, bad writing, um idk!, spelling and grammar errors probably hehehhe i'm writing this in the dark my eyes r a little blurry whoopsies

a/n took songspo (song inspo? idk!) from Godspeed by FRUNK OSHENNN; sirius and you are both in your twenties! u guys r married already but let's skip right over any possible plot holes please n thank u

masterlist

I will always love you How I do Let go of a prayer for you Just a sweet word The table is prepared for you

When you wake up in the morning, you can't seem to find Sirius in his usual spot next to you. You assume he's probably just getting washed up, or making a pot of tea for when you woke up.

You pull yourself out of bed, heading to the bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face before heading downstairs. You expect to hear the whistling of the kettle, or maybe a little ding from the bread toaster, but you were met with silence. Brushing it off, you continued making your way down the stairs.

However, when you reach the kitchen and still have no sight of Sirius, you feel something off. Never has there been a day where he hasn't been all over you within five minutes of you waking up.

You start thinking the worst.

What if he left you? For good?

Your heart sinks when you see a folded piece of parchment on the kitchen island. Next to it is his wedding band.

You try to keep it together as you reach for the letter, your hands trembling. Steadying yourself with a deep breath, you unfold the parchment.

Wishing you godspeed, glory There will be mountains you won't move

"My dearest bug,

I love you. Please do not think that my leaving was because of you.

Well, it was, but not for the reasons you think.

I need to leave in order to keep you safe, my love. They are looking for me, and I cannot take the risk of them finding you when they come for me.

There are no words to express how sorry I am for leaving you like this. I do not expect you to forgive me, I do not expect you to forget what I have done.

I just hope that you know that I love you. With all my heart and my soul.

I love you, my dove.

Forever yours,

Sirius"

Still, I'll always be there for you How I do

You look at the picture of Sirius on the mantle of the fireplace. It's your favourite picture of him, in which he's holding a bouquet of flowers. Flowers he gave you on the night of your first anniversary.

You notice a new picture next to it. Your heart stings a little as you stare at the picture. Sirius is blowing a kiss at you.

You kiss your fingers, and press it to the picture frame.

I let go of my claim on you, it's a free world You look down on where you came from sometimes

Slowly, you get used to life without Sirius.

You get used to buying groceries for one.

You get used to cooking for one.

You get used to not having to sort through socks to separate yours from his.

You get used to not having to complain about the toilet seat being up.

You get used to the loneliness.

But you'll have this place to call home, always

But you keep all his things.

His clothes keep their place.

His shoes remain by the front door.

HIs unopened mail rest on the coffee table.

His favourite crisps go stale in a cupboard.

You wear his wedding band on a chain around your neck.

You never, ever forget him.

This love will keep us through blinding of the eyes (oh) Silence in the ears, darkness of the mind (until it's time) This love will keep us through blinding of the eyes (oh, oh-oh) Silence in the ears, darkness of the mind (oh, oh-oh, oh) This love will keep us through blinding of the eyes (oh, until it's time we die) Silence in the ears, darkness of the mind

On the hard days, the only thing getting you by is hope.

Hope that he'll come back.

Hope that he'll walk right through the front doors and say that the two of you are free.

Hope that he'll come back and wrap you in his arms and never let go.

But that is all it is.

Hope.

Hmm-oh-oh, oh, oh-oh I'll always love you until the time we die Oh-oh, hmm

[justaninchident-f1xreader]

max verstappen x reader part2

(incase you missed part one https://www.tumblr.com/justaninchident-f1xreader/740195080454930432/max-verstappen-x-readeer?source=share )

themes-

ferrari female driver jealousy enemies to lovers possible spice (i will put the warning accordingly)

warnings- none in this chapter, so don't worry lovelies

chapter 2 - his steely gaze max's pov-

Monaco's hangover clung to me like cheap champagne, sour and acidic. The sting wasn't just from the defeat, snatched away by a rookie in a crimson devil of a car. It was the fire in her eyes, the mocking tilt of her head when she passed me in the pit lane, the audacity of that damn grin stretching across her face. Y/N L/N, the first woman on the grid, the Ferrari flamethrower who'd dared to make me, Max Verstappen, the reigning lion, sweat.

The paddock buzzed with her laughter, a melody weaving through the drone of mechanics and engineers. I saw her across the way, surrounded by the usual gaggle – Lando, Norris, the McLaren goofball, Charles Leclerc, the Ferrari prince, and Carlos Sainz, ever the grinning peacemaker. She fit in effortlessly, her fiery hair catching the morning sun, a halo crowning her mischievous hazel eyes. I could almost taste the salt of the sea, the tang of adrenaline that clung to her like perfume.

But admit that? Hell would freeze over before I let anyone, least of all her, see even a flicker of appreciation in my steely gaze. So I schooled my face into a sneer, the weapon I wielded better than any titanium gearbox. Her laugh, bright and unafraid, pierced through the armor I'd built around myself.

"Still crying over lost glory, Max?" Lando's voice, as irritating as a tire screech, broke the spell. I grunted, a retort already forming on my lips, but Y/N cut me off.

"Just admiring the scenery, Lando," she said, her eyes flicking to me momentarily, the spark catching fire in their depths. "Never seen an orange storm cloud before."

The jab landed clean, a pit lane undercut straight to my ego. I forced a laugh, harsh and metallic. "Careful, rookie, the scenery might bite back."

The game was on, a constant push and pull, a verbal fencing match on every grid, every press conference. On track, we were predators circling each other, waiting for the right moment to strike. She was fearless, her overtaking moves audacious, calculated risks that somehow always seemed to pay off.

But every night, under the Monaco moon, replaying the race in my head, I'd see flashes of her in the cockpit, the fierce concentration in her eyes, the way her lips moved around the radio commands. Every victory felt hollow, tinged with the ghost of that 0.09 seconds, a constant reminder of her fire.

I hated it. Hated the way she made me think, made me push harder, made me see the cracks in my own ironclad confidence. But beneath the surface, a grudging respect began to simmer, a flicker of admiration hidden in the ashes of defeat.

Y/N L/N, the Ferrari firecracker, was more than just a rookie. She was a force of nature, a hurricane in a scarlet dress, and she'd turned my world upside down. And I, Max Verstappen, the Dutch lion, wouldn't have it any other way.

We were destined to clash, to burn like meteorites across the Formula One sky. And somewhere, deep down, in the pit lane of my pride, a part of me couldn't wait for the next race, for the next duel, for the next chance to be consumed by the inferno she called her passion.

The game had begun, and the heat was rising.

[whorediaries-09]

part two of maroon where they have an angsty arguement and both of them are crying and screaming and harry cries so they have to put him to sleep and then talk, but they end up kissing.

part two of maroon? sure.

the great war;

pairing- sirius black x reader warning(s)- angst, hurt/comfort. (let me know if i should add more.) a/n- i think i really kinda hate this one.

ps- changed the plot kinda cause like my mind only went with this.

the slut club

and we will never go back to that bloodshed, crimson clover

in the bustling city of london, a cacophony of sound engulfs the snowflakes falling from the transcendent sky. you clutch your hands underneath the warmth of your coat, hiding your nose under the layers of scarf you had wrapped around your neck. tom handed you a firewhiskey and you let the warm liquid flow down your throat like a bittersweet memory.

it was another day with failure. you had been trying to find a job for remus, but rarely anyone would accept a werewolf as their assistant. you worked as a healer, so you couldn't possibly hire him as your assistant. and he remained too modest to accept money without any reason.

'thanks tom,' you say, your voice muffled against warm wool. you cling a few sickles on the counter. 'keep the change.'

you disapparate to your house. the cold metal of your keys jingle under your grip, and you unlock your door.

'harry, honey, i'm home,' you call out. your heart skips a beat when the regular trotting of small steps don't ponder at your call. you shout his name louder and your voice echoes in your hollow hallway.

the silence that echoes in your dull heartbeat is stronger. flashing memories of walking past james' dead body to discover lily's corpse flooded your mind and your footsteps faltered as you walked into your bedroom. anger throbbed inside you, anger at yourself and sirius. you had told him to stay with harry. why hadn't he come?

your fears weren't true. sirius lay in his dog form with harry on top of him. both of them seemed to be fast asleep.

'sirius, wake up. i'm here.' you say, picking up harry from his body. you place a soft kiss on his forehead, and your unintentional tears wet his cheek. you wipe off the tear before it would flow down his neck.

sirius gets up from the floor. you notice a bruise on his neck, but you don't question it. you sway harry in your arms, walking towards his cot.

'let me have him for the night,'

you stop dead in your tracks. with your back turned to his face, you're not hesitant when you offer him your reply.

'no.'

'why not?'

'i'd let you have him if your trauma wasn't so fresh. you're coping mechanisms aren't fit enough to keep a baby,'

'what the fuck do you mean by that?'

you place harry in his cot, turning towards him.

'don't curse. you know very well what i mean.'

'oh- so you're going to stand there pretending you're the best mother ever?'

'i never said that, no. i just have comparatively better coping mechanisms. and i'm not shaming you for your coping mechanisms either. so really, don't take any offence,'

'no offence my foot, i'm his godfather!'

'i'm his godmother, sirius,'

'godmother? oh yeah the great mother. don't stand there acting like a saint when i take care of him throughout the day. you just go out and be a healer. you don't care about him.'

you're not sure if his words are meant to sting. but they do. like little pricks absorbing into your heart with every second you stare into his eyes. your vision is blurred, hazed but your mind is clear as day. you feel bruised like violets. it was like taking your poison all alone. your breathing is rugged, hot tears flowing down your cheeks. you were diesel, a desire.

and he was playing with fire.

'i-i'm sorry i didn't mean that,' he says, his voice cracking. he moves closer to you, holding you. and maybe it's the familiarity of his touch. but it felt like bloodshed, a lost morning glory within the grasps of an unfair war. you feel like you're sinking when his scent haunts you again. you feel like you're on fire when his touch thrives into your skin again. you feel like you gather storms, never knowing what they'll mean.

you're not sure whether he wants to haunt you again or not. you're not sure whether he wants to go with grace or not. you're not sure if you're dead to him.

your tears paint his shirt. the war was over, the battleships would sink beneath the waves. so was the bloodshed. you'd never weep in a sunlit room alone. it was a cold ghostly grace of his lips against yours. which cursed your name, wrecked you. it was your home, it was engraved in your bones.

and maybe his love would never slip out of your reaches.

[suengmi]

DUUUUUUDDDDEEEEEEEE I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR UR REQS TO OPEN AHH

okay okay hear me out on this one..

When you had a fight with Felix (god forbid) and you are sulking but it’s thundering outside and you are scared of thunder, so he comes up though you are not talking 🥺🥺 can i cry please

NYAH SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG TO OPEN ya boi was zzzz but here you go!! hope u enjoy my love!! whenever i write fluff and stuff i get so mad bc it's so cute im like BALLS FISTS and hITS THE AIR so at this point you're taking me down with you

pairing: felix x gn!reader genre: lil angst, fluff, gn!reader warnings/other: none, .9k, kinda edited there were very few times you had argued with felix. it was never to the point of yelling nor insults, but sometimes he frustrated you to no end.

on occasion, felix would do small, careless things that turned into, well, large, careless things. you weren't living together, though he was at your house enough to have a key and free range of your fridge. you'd joke about how he was your live-in farm animal because he consistently grazed on your food. you didn't mind, though, your cute calf lounging around your house.

but this time, he sent you into a rage. felix eating your food. it wasn't just food, it was the cake you had hand baked for your friends birthday, and it was very important. you slaved over the cake for three days, the first one you made was a disaster, the second the same but the third time, it was flawless. you were so proud.

the three tiers of cake perfectly aligned with the black and red fudge. pretty little pearl gems along the side with hand crafted roses. it was your shining glory. everything about it was absolutely perfect.

well, that was before felix decided to press his finger in it to try it, the pressure of his touch making the cake completely topple over in the fridge. it was ruined, not even a tiny bit salvageable.

nothing in you regretted kicking him out this morning, until now. the gentle sounds of rain trickled down the windows in the beginning, small spurts of harsh wind whispering through the trees.

it was okay at first, you liked the rain but you didn't like thunder. something about the sound clawed into your chest, burying itself deep inside you and making itself at home. it was scary, the feeling of your windows shaking back and forth with the bangs of the wind.

every minute, it got worse. you could hear the sounds of branches snapping, thunder rumbling into the walls of the house with every snap of clouds banging into each other.

you're stuck in your closet, hands pressing against your ears as you rock back and forth, trying to hum yourself to calm down, almost like a lullaby. your mind tells you if you leave the closet, it'll get worse. like somehow, your movements will change the course of nature.

another bang shutters the windows, you whimper, scared of the noises yet to come. a strangled zap echoes in your room, all of the lights switching off in an instant. it's completely pitch black, the only light coming from your phone on the ground next to you.

"please stop, please stop." you chant to yourself over and over, eyes pressing shut. the weather channel lied. this isn't light showers. this was the throat of a demon swallowing the world.

you don't even notice the closet door open at first, a small amount of light peeping through from a torch. your boyfriend is staring down at you. he takes you in, his wet hair sticking to his forehead, and he's slightly out of breath as if he ran the whole way here.

"baby, it's okay, it's me." he almost whispers. he notices the wet marks on your shirt, little droplets of tears planting themselves in the fabric.

nothing comes out of your mouth but a small whimper.

bang. the sound of thunder surrounds the house, slightly shaking the pictures on your wall. you let out a sob, mind still stinging with fright.

"here, here." felix says, showing you a pair of noise cancelling headphones. you can't move, frozen in your spot. he knows exactly what to do, this isn't the first time you've been this scared before.

ever so gently, he pry's your hands from your ears, placing the headphones over your head. it's one of your favourite songs, just loud enough to drown out the sound of the thunderstorm. you feel him slot himself behind you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, head pressed against your neck. you can't hear him, but you can feel his lips moving against you. his hair is cold, still dripping from the rain.

"it'll be over soon, i promise."

your body automatically turns to him, seeking shelter in his chest, arms wrapping around his waist. a crack of thunder pangs, but it's not as loud this time. you're melting into your boyfriends touch, his arms rubbing soothing lines along your back, rocking you with him. the anxiety in your chest lessens, every minute that goes by you can feel yourself calm just a bit more.

felix dips his head down as he delicately pulls you back, eyes meeting your own. "it's not gonna hurt you, it's okay. i'm here, baby."

a few kisses are pressed on your cheek, and then one on your forehead. he hums, cheek resting against you, the feeling vibrating through your body.

you're not sure how long you sit like this, but you haven't felt and rumbles for a few minutes. when you've calmed down a bit, you lean back, rain still pouring down on the windows.

"i'm still mad at you."

the corner of his mouth turns up at one side, his fingers rubbing along the bloated edges of your cheeks. "i'd be disappointed if you weren't."

-

GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I UPSET MYSELFFFFF

[millieduboisart]

He was a punk, she did ballet, what more can I say?

Ko-fi/Commissions

[blue-moonjelly]

A Beggar

Asmodeous x NB Reader

{degrading, humiliation, edging foreplay, mirror}

MINORS DNI

“You’re doing it again”

I could practically feel his eyes welding their intentions into my mind, every double meaning remark or “accidental” touch meant to edge me into compliance.

“It’s been so long my dear MC” Asmo sighed into my skin while peppering kisses onto the nape of my neck.

For the past week, we had been taking advantage of the unusual emptiness in the house of Lamentation, due to the rare occurrence that every brother had to be away on their own separate affairs.

Everyone except for Asmo.

And being the demon of Lust that he is, there was truly only one way in which he would want to lavish in this miraculous time, by adoring my body in every way he was perfectly capable of.

“Time runs rather long for you my dear Asmodeous” I hummed while tracing the tips of my fingers along the bruises that complimented his wrists “your bruises are still fresh from this morning”

He stopped his kisses and pulled his face away from me, maneuvering his hands in a way that cupped my own, “but yours are a fresh canvas”.

His words sent a tingle down my spine, my cheeks painting pink as his eyes continued to gaze at my wrists with such a longing look. I could practically see the image that played in his mind, a smile playing on his lips because he knew that I understood without any words having to be exchanged.

In one quick and swift motion he locked his fingers onto my wrists and pinned me down underneath his body, my back hitting the mattress hard.

“I fear that you’re beginning to take advantage of my favoritism to you MC” he practically growls from above me, the smile on his face somehow making him seem more threatening as his claws dug into my skin and his legs straddled my hips “you may be my master, but you seem to be forgetting that I am still the lustful demon of the lamentation hall”

I could feel my entire body become muddled in stimulation, and while my logic knew I could simply command him to be still, the rest of my body craved to do the opposite, choosing to instead stay still and do as I was told as the demon grabbed our toys.

After a moment of rummaging through his bedside, Asmo was quick to replace his latch on my wrist with soft velvet cuffs, keeping my hands pinned above my head tightly so as to allow him full view of my body.

“Are you scared” Asmo hummed while straddling my hips, lifting my shirt up above my chest as he licked along the base of my neck to the tip of my chin, “see, you say that you want to behave, and yet your nipples are already pinching in excitement” he then lifted my chin to direct my focus up to his ceiling, giggling as my eyes realized the reflection of us that sat above, allowing me to see it all.

“Can you see it MC” he spoke again while beginning to trace his nails down my body, marking his territory in delight as my body responded in shivers “you adore being at my mercy, so pitifully freeing”

There was nothing I could say to defend myself, nothing I could do to make either of us think differently, I was truly a dirty beggar at a demons doorstep. And as I looked up at him and stared at his sweet smile that hid dark intentions, I yearned for him to look at me with his true colors.

“Asmodeus” I breathed “I order you, to show me no mercy”.

His smile dispersed and his nails that had been lightly caressing me now dug deeply into my flesh with a sting, any trace of kindness was now gone and his true form was bound to me in all it’s glory, “yes master”

[builtbybrokenbells]

belladonna | iii (pt. 1)

too beautiful to resist, and too deadly to survive; the tragic tale of belladonna in all its glory.

masterlist | taglist

Pairing: Danny Wagner x f!reader, f!reader x OC

Word Count: 15k

Warnings: mentions of toxic/abusive parents, mentions of/toxic relationships, mentions of criminal activity/criminal records, poverty, mentions of homelessness, mentions of physical violence, mentions of blood, mentions of AA/NA, NA meetings, heavy descriptions of addictions, use of/mentions of drugs, mentions of relapsing, mentions of OD, mentions of drinking, flirting, mentions of hookups/sex, smoking, depression/anxiety, mental health struggles, swearing, sorry if I miss any!!

here’s part one of two! lots of heavy stuff in this part and some more character background, but we do get to see some romance begin to blossom. im excited to share, but even more excited for you guys to read the next part. thanks for being amazing, i love you guys 🤍

April 22, 2022

The morning was violent, so much so that it managed to pull you from a slumber fit for the dead. As you rolled over on your couch, your journal tumbled from your stomach and landed on the floor with a thump that echoed through the entire room. The large panel windows with rotted sills glistened under the blazing sunlight, too bright and warm for you to withstand. You squeezed your eyes shut again to block out the rays, but instead of blackness, the usual void seemed red with the light beaming directly on your face. You withdrew a long breath, rubbing your face in your hands to pull yourself out of the claws of exhaustion. After a moment, you managed to invigorate yourself enough to sit up straight, but it came with ample consequences.

Your body ached so desperately that it felt like your bones had twisted and morphed into something new, and your throat scratched with dryness every time you tried to swallow. Your head pounded with every breath and only ever worsened as you moved. There was a kink in your neck that you could not massage out if you tried, and your stomach was twisted with upset. You woke up the same every morning, like you were still in active addiction and your body was craving the substance with a fervor. It was a phantom pain that passed not long after you started your day, but while it existed, it was incredibly difficult to get through. No matter how long you had been sober for, you awoke every morning with the incessant urge to fall back into old habits.

That specific morning it seemed so much worse than others, and you feared that if you had even the slightest lapse in willpower, you would end up on the bathroom floor submitting to an entity so sinister that it would ruin your life all over again.

So, instead of taking the risk, you checked your phone to see what time it was. When the white letters splayed ten o’clock, you knew you could rush to the old AA hall they had donated to the druggies when the state funded a new building and catch the morning meeting. If you were lucky enough, you could make it in time to grab one or two of the stale muffins from the day prior and save some money on groceries. You noticed the pen that had once sat atop the journal (that had once sat atop you) had fallen onto the torn cushions of the couch and was now stabbing into your side. With a huff of frustration, you tossed it to the floor, where it struck the old vinyl tile and rocketed under one of the other pieces of furniture.

You stood, feeling woozy from the illness plaguing you and seemingly eating away at your insides. With a vow to ignore it, you trudged to the bathroom to comb your hair and brush your teeth. The intense mint from the toothpaste was aggravating your already sick stomach, and you fought back a gag as you struggled through the basic task. You washed your face, hoping the cold water would distract you, but the sting of the frigid liquid on your tired skin only annoyed you further. In a poor mood, you forced yourself through the rest of your routine and ran to your bedroom. You changed into a pair of jeans that once belonged to your oldest brother, and a sweater that belonged to your youngest brother. To top it off, you threw on a fleece lined plaid jacket to keep out the harsh wind, noticing yet another rip in the already worn out fabric.

You grabbed your pack of cigarettes from the counter on the way out the door, tying your boots in the hallway after deciding that tripping over laces would be the (theoretical) straw that broke the camel's back. You broke out into the bitter air, the smell of city smog filling your lungs and the nip of morning frost biting at your cheeks. You shoved your headphones into your ear, pressing play on a playlist that had been ringing through your living room all night long. With a brief check over your shoulder, you hopped to the other side of the street and began walking down the winding side road in hopes of finding a Hail Mary.

After a seemingly treacherous journey, you trudged up the wooden steps that were nearly rotten all the way through. You clasped your fingers around the large metal handle and pulled the oak door open, the creaks echoing through the barren entryway. You stepped inside, your mind still swimming with relentless thoughts and your cheeks blushed with chill. You slipped your headphones into the pocket of your hoodie and moved further inside, surveying the room before going any further. The old building was once a church, and when it was abandoned, the state took it over and rebranded it for Alcoholics Anonymous meetings. Back then, it went hand in hand with the motto, as most that turned vile due to their addictions believed themselves to be devout Christian’s. Some believed it was blasphemous to use such a building for people who had disgraced the name of god, and others thought it to be perfectly fitting. Either way, God did not have a hand in what happened in the building, nor was he worthy of credit for the recovery of the people.

When the government decided AA was worthy of a better building, they still failed to recognize addicts as people deserving of recovery (or help, even), and left the old building for anyone to do as they pleased with. For a little while, it was home to a small family of homeless people, and only once the city grew sick of them did they decide an NA program was worthwhile. State ‘funded’ and utterly disappointing, they held meetings twice a day that were led by a single member of the mental health board (and not even an addictions expert, at that) and were mostly self-guided. As much as the program lacked, you still found it comforting to sort through your issues with fellow addicts who also fucked up their lives beyond repair. That, and it was the only intervention that was consistently accessible, and free.

You hated knowing that your recovery was based off a paycheck, and that bettering yourself as a person was dependent upon affordability, yet you knew this to be reality. Treatment programs were expensive, and the only one you had ever been to had left you with a debt you would never shake off your shoulders. From then, you knew you had to be in charge of your recovery, and that started with improving your willpower to stay sober. You could not afford anything more than self-help journals, and with every backslide, you understood that medical bills were piling higher and higher. Sobriety was the only option, because if not, poverty was the punishment. Unfortunately, poverty was a breeding ground for mental illness (which you already suffered enough of), and mental illness was a slippery slope that lead you straight back to square one.

Complaining about NA would not get you any further ahead, so you often had to swallow your distaste and appreciate it for what it was. At least there was some type of intervention, even if it was lousy. Without it, you would have nothing but yourself, and you had come to realize that was one thing you could not solely rely on, as you were a nothing shy of a trained professional in bad decisions and fucking up.

You noticed the circle of fold out chairs, half filled with zombie-like shapes that only passed as people on a good day. Today, as it seemed, was not a good day. Most of the attendees were forced to be there by parole regulations, and others only came for a warm place to sit for an hour. Some, like yourself, wanted help, but most cared about the free food more. As you approached the group, you made a stop at the table with the coffee canister and expired creamer, pouring yourself two cups to sip away at while you spilled your guts. Thankfully, there were plenty of muffins left, and when nobody was looking, you managed to slip a few in your large pockets (which was the exact reason you wore that specific jacket).

As you took a seat, you surveyed for any familiar faces. There was an older women, frail looking with mousy blonde hair and sad eyes. Her name was Carol, and she was the most frequent attendee of all of the meetings. Even so, you knew her to be a woman who was sober, but nowhere near recovered. She’d been through the twelve step program a hundred times, yet never seemed to harness all that she’d learned. She was tired, sorrowful and a little timid, yet had a fiery side that matched the devil. She often talked about her mistakes like they were small blips, yet did not seem to comprehend that even if they were unavoidable, they had consequences that were detrimental to her and her family. More specifically, it affected her children, in which she mentioned their no-contact order at least once a meeting.

You felt bad for her, but not enough to extend a helping hand. She was a great example of ‘reap what you sow’ and she reminded you too much of your own mother to ignore it. Every time you began to feel some shred of sympathy, you would think of her four kids who suffered at the hands of her own lack of self control. She knew nothing about accountability, and was in so much denial that she was blaming the no contact order on the children who filed it, rather than the woman who caused it. She would never recover unless she understood the implications of her actions, and that she caused all that happened, even if she felt powerless at the time. She could abstain from using drugs until her last breath, yet she would never escape the addict mentality.

The coordinator, Liam, was by the windows organizing his meeting checklist. He hadn’t noticed you yet, but you were certain that when he did, a smart comment would be casted in your direction. He was in his mid-thirties, and he wasn’t the worst person in the world to share a piece of your soul with. If anything, over the months of going to meetings, you had actually grown quite fond of him. He was a trained mental health professional, and even if his specialty was not addiction, he still cared enough to dedicate his time to helping others. You were certain that he was not paid well for his two hours a day, and he was working it atop his other job. There was a part of him that loved the charity, and as a true councillor should, cared about helping people more than anything else.

As you sipped at your coffee, Liam approached the group with his head still nestled in his clipboard. As more people trudged in, he looked up to smile as they situated themselves, and that’s when his eyes landed on you. There was a sparkle of something you could not place your finger on, and it made you bite back a laugh. He stepped in your direction, tapping his pen against the cork material of the board as he thought of a snarky remark. “You lose your calendar?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. “It’s not Wednesday.”

“No, it’s not. Astute observation, smartass.” You replied, smirking at him. The one good thing about NA was him, and the fact that you felt like you could be yourself around him. He was not a bible thumper, nor was he a hardass; he was a person who knew struggle, taking time to help other people with their struggle. He understood that you were a barely-adult who dealt with your pain with humour, especially after watching you interact with Dylan and Vincent, and he used it to his advantage. Every now and again, he had to crack the whip to ensure you weren’t using humour to deflect, but most of the time, he agreed that it was a good coping mechanism.

“You just missed me so much, huh?” He sighed, tapping the end of his pen against the board, now. It send a dull yet steady sound through the immediate air, and it was the equivalent to nails on a chalkboard for your already migraine-ridden brain.

“Hardly,” you muttered, taking another long gulp of coffee while hoping it would ease the pain in your skull. “Figured if I had to choose between you and the detox box, I’d pick you.”

“Smart choice.” He complimented. “Where’s your company?”

“You really think they’d come to a non-mandated meeting? Are you insane?”

“Some would say so.” He shrugged. “Proud of you for choosing sobriety, y/n.”

“Oh, fuck off with your sentimental bullshit.” You grumbled, but couldn’t deny the tugging of your heartstrings. If there was one thing you loved, it was being told that someone was proud of you. Of course, you were never willing to show your appreciation for the fact, but you definitely held the words close. “You better get started before Carol starts crying or Joey falls asleep.” You said, nodding your head in the direction of the two sitting side by side. Joey seemed as if he was nodding off, and Carol was already weepy-eyed.

“Right, it’s about that time.” He sighed, nodding curtly. “Alright, everyone! Come grab a seat so we can get started!” His voice echoed through the mostly empty room, bouncing off the walls peeling of their paint. The large windows sent flutters of golden light through the room, illuminating the specs of dust in the air. When you looked above the pointed window tops, you could see the shadow of a cross that remained stained to the wallpaper even long after it was removed. The grime of the building ensured that the memory would remain indefinitely. As Liam walked towards his chair at the head of the circle, the small heels of his dress shoes clacked against the rickety floorboards. When he sat, the legs of the plastic foldout chair scraped against the already scuffed panels. It was underwhelming in its entirety, yet you found it oddly comforting.

As the bodies pooled into the chairs, leaving ample spaces between themselves as they sat down, you crossed your legs and pulled the frumpy jacket closer to your body. The building was drafty, shifting and groaning under every strong gust of wind and threatening to give out under the pressure. You picked at the threads of loose skin around your fingernails, awaiting Liam’s routine meeting opener.

“Good morning, everyone.” He spoke, his voice echoing throughout the whole room. He was cheerful, but not overly, and he was excited to get his part over with so he could sit back and observe. “As some of you know, Friday’s are completely open discussion days, just the same as Monday. If this isn’t your cup of tea and you’d like to check out the speaker meetings where I guide you through the steps of recovery, you can stop by from Tuesday to Thursday. I’m here at the same time every day, 11am and 2pm, so if you require another session outside of your normal attendance schedule, you know where to find me.” There were a few mutters of agreement from the crowd, but most of them had their eyes on the clock, waiting for the hour to finish despite it only just getting started.

“Are there any newcomers in the crowd today?” The question was mandated, even if he already knew the answer. He recognized you all from the minute you stepped in; the whole crowd was familiar with each other now. “Right, okay.” He nodded, jotting something down on his clipboard. “As always, remember that if you run into any issues outside of the normal meeting times, we always implore you to give a call to the friends you’ve made here. There’s a list of numbers available by the door for anyone who has volunteered to be a sponsor. Remember—“

“Dial it, don’t file it.” The whole group chanted back to him before he could speak. The mantra was drilled so deeply into your brain that you were sure you muttered it in your sleep. He gave a tight lipped smile, understanding the redundancy of his words.

Open speaker meetings were your favorite. You did not find much solace in Liam droning on for a half an hour, as his personal experience with addiction was nonexistent. It was a comfort to tell your story and have it touch others, and it was nice when you could hear the struggles of other people. It made you feel less alone, and it felt less clinical. When Liam took up an hour of your time, yapping away about resilience and self awareness, it was difficult not to fall asleep in your chair. You chose Wednesday’s as your regular days when you learned it was Vincent and Dylan’s scheduled day, but not for many other reasons. Sometimes, it was nice to hear advice and encouragement, but in the long run, it did not hold much value to you. You opted to go to plenty of meetings outside of your normal time, just so you could get all of the benefits of it.

“Remember to stick around after the meeting so we can hand out chips or tags, whichever you prefer. If you brought your white chip with you today, we can upgrade you to silver.” He gave a smile, as if handing in a surrender token was a victory and a 24-hour token was a milestone. You were certain that everyone around you had a million silver and white tokens littered across their homes, yet it never seemed to stick. You knew that for you, at least, a silver token was a punch in the gut rather than a pat on the back. “So, if there’s no questions, we can get started.” He said, surveying the crowd for a raised hand or an interested eye. When he was met with nothing, he gave a slow nod, crossing his legs and taking in a long breath. “Would anyone like to start us off?”

The silence was so abundant that you could hear the honking of horns from the road. You waited for the chirp of crickets, but you knew that the building was filled with too much asbestos to house any living creature, insects included. Spiders on the other hand had seemed to grow resilience when it came to the toxicity of the environment, which only made them superhuman in comparison to their former self. You could see a few dangling from cobwebs in the corners of the room.

“I’ll go,” you said, speaking up only when the silence grew unbearable. “If nobody else wants to, I can start.”

“Sure,” Liam nodded, smiling at your willingness to proceed. “Whenever you’re comfortable.”

You took a moment to gather your thoughts, making yourself wonder why you had actually shown up on that solemn Friday morning. What had been so troublesome that you rushed out your front door the minute you woke up so you could attend a meeting?

That was a loaded question, one that likely had a million answers, but you settled on the thoughts that felt most pressing to you.

“I often hear the same sentiment when I talk about my addictions. I get the same sad smiles and sympathetic eyes, the ones that tell me that I’m more fucked up then even I can comprehend. I can see the refrain in their faces, like they want to run and hide. I get that it’s hard to understand something when you’ve never experienced it, but sometimes it makes me wonder how it’s so easy to dehumanize people who’ve gone through or are currently facing struggle.” You didn’t stop speaking for a reaction, but rather to gather your many thoughts before speaking them aloud. It seemed as though you were in more of a talking mood than you previously thought, because now that you had begun, you felt no inclination to stop.

“When someone grieves, we do not go out of our way to alienate them from us. When someone gets in an accident, we parade around with bouquets of flowers and well wishes. When alcoholics drink themselves to the point of no return, we put them on a transplant list for a new liver and hand out brochures on how to live a sober life. Why is it when someone learns that I’m an addict, I am denounced to nothing but a thief and a criminal? What makes my struggle different? What makes me less worthy of help?” You posed the question to the crowd, not expecting a real answer. “All of the aforementioned reasons are worthy of sympathy and compassion, but it makes me question why my struggle is not. Why, even when I walk into an Alcoholics Anonymous hall and speak my troubles aloud, they look at me as if I’m evil, as if their addiction is better than mine? The superiority complex of an addict who deems their addiction more digestible than my own makes my skin crawl, yet I see it every day.”

“I’ve been an addict since I was born, even if I didn’t touch drugs until I was a teenager. The addiction was engraved in my brain since conception—no matter active or not, I will always have the symptoms of the disease. It was shown to me first by my father, who was willing to abandon his three children in search of a high. I learned the rest of it from my mother, who was the highest functioning alcoholic I have ever met.” You paused, forcing your thoughts away from the face of your mother, which only ever seem to enrage you.

“When I was three, I was addicted to apple juice. I used to scream and cry and kick my feet until I was red in the face and my lungs started to ache. As soon as they placed that Disney Princess sippy-cup in my hands, it was like they shot me with a fucking tranquilizer dart. Two hours later, it started all over again. When I was seven, it was marshmallows. When I was eleven, it was that stupid fucking ‘Peggle’ game on my brothers Xbox. When I turned thirteen, I drank alcohol with my best friend for the first time. We stole it from her parents' liquor cabinet and drank so much we threw up for two whole days.” You explained, leaning forward in your chair and looking towards the floor.

“Even as I spilled my guts over that toilet and spent forty eight hours in misery, I knew that apple juice had nothing on alcohol, and it had given me more satisfaction than anything ever had. On my fifteenth birthday, all of my friends were out of town, so I thought I’d have my own fun at home alone, and hopefully drown out the sound of my mother terrorizing my brothers in the living room.” You explained, giving an empty smile. “I looked through my mothers pill cabinet, pulling out bottles and typing names into my phone to find out what it would do for me. I went back to my bedroom with three little white pills in my hand, locking the door behind me and sealing my fate for the rest of eternity.” You took in a long breath, closing your eyes for a moment. “That night, I discovered that OxyContin was far more effective than ‘Peggle’, and from there, I became the worst version of myself.” You heard a few hums of agreement around the room, unable to look up at the sad eyes staring at you. You knew that they hated seeing someone so young face the evil fangs of opiates, but no matter if they were sympathetic or not, you were still hurting over it just the same. Silence became you and you were unsure if talking was making it better, or hurting you more.

“My point is,” you continued, feeling your courage begin to return. “I didn’t wake up on my fifteenth birthday and decide to be an addict. I didn’t decide to be an addict every time I used after that, because it was never a choice. If you have bipolar disorder, it was in your brain long before you ever showed symptoms. If you have cancer, half of your insides are rotten before they catch it. I had an addiction long before I ever touched drugs, and I’ll have an addiction until the day I die. It does not make me lesser than anyone else, and it doesn’t make me a bad person. I had shit luck and poor genes, and I’ll suffer for the rest of my life, but my suffering does not make me a bad person, and it does not make me any different than another person walking down those streets. I’m not inherently evil because of it; I’m just someone who’s made mistakes, trying to atone for them. I’m still that little girl crying for apple juice, or that pre-teen begging my brother to play a game. The only difference is, I’ve had a taste of something far more powerful and much more lethal. I’m tired of being painted the villain, because it was the substance that turned me bad. I hurt people, and I hurt myself, but every day I wake up and choose to be different. It does not take away from what I have already done, but it does change to who I will be. That is the difference between a good person and a bad person, not the demons they’re fighting against.”

“I’m an addict, and I know I will be an addict until the day I die. I was born that way, but I made the conscious decision to use, and I will be stuck repenting for that until my last breath. I can’t sit before you and tell you I regret my decisions, because those were some of the best days of my life. I don’t regret it, even if it was a mistake. It was the best thing I have ever felt. I wake up every day still craving the high, wondering if it’s easier to just give in and let go. I spend every waking minute chasing that feeling, and even if I know I can never have it again, it doesn’t mean I don’t want it. It’s a constant struggle, a reminder of my own mistakes that I’m still trying to run away from, and it’s torture. At the same time, I came here today because I’ve been stuck wondering if it’s possible to change, to not be this person anymore.”

“I want to be good, to love life without being dependent on substance, but I worry that it’s not possible. I want to breathe without restraint, and I want to live without chains constantly holding me down. When I think about how hard it is to stay sober, I try to remember how hard it is to be an addict, and sometimes not even that can scare me away. I want to go back to the days where ‘Peggle’ and marshmallows could make me feel the same way. I’m trying to be something I’m not, and I’m afraid it’s not ever possible to be what I want. Will I be seventy years old and happy that I stayed sober, or will I be in that rocking chair looking back at my life, surrounded by grandchildren yet still remembering what it felt like to swallow that pill? Worse than that, I worry that seventy will never be in my hands, and I’ll die of the sickness before I can ever see it.” You paused, realizing that you were taking up far too much time. You blinked hard, bringing yourself back to reality and settling back in your chair. You looked to the water stained ceilings with tears pricking your dry eyes, wondering how the hell you got yourself here.

“Sobriety has been my best friend and my worst enemy, and I came here today because it’s my enemy. I know what I need to do, but today just it doesn’t seem possible. For now, I’m here. Tomorrow, I’ll wake up and try again, because that’s all I can do. When it feels impossible, I just keep telling myself that it’s for the best. I'm no stranger to starting from zero, so what the hell is one more try, right?” A slow round of applause echoed around the room. You fought back an eye roll, knowing that all that you had said was not worthy of a celebration. It was a ugly thing, a eulogy to your former self, and sobriety had never been something you were proud of. It was a struggle, and it was something you could never seem to commit to. Trying again was your area of expertise because of how good you were at fucking up, and you did not feel right celebrating a temporary victory while the hardest battle was still looming just overhead.

“I can speak for everyone when I say that we’re incredibly happy that you decided to come here today.” Liam said, sending you a smile from across the circle. You forced one back, unable to hold his gaze for very long. “You’re not starting over again, y/n, you’re just starting to try harder.”

“Right,” you nodded, tracing the scarred stick-and-poke tattoo that was already fading away from the back of your hand. It did not feel like you were trying harder. If anything, it felt like you were closer to giving up.

If you had a shred of self awareness, you would have been able to see that because of that fact alone, you were trying harder than you ever had.

As Liam opened the floor for another poor soul, you thought over all you had said in your confessional. You wondered why you were feeling all of those things so strongly, and why they seemed to be worse today even in comparison to the days you spent sweating and shaking on a bathroom floor. Then, you remembered Vincent’s harsh words thrown your way the night prior, feeling yourself ache from the memory as if he was standing in front of you saying it all over again.

Vincent was your best friend, the one constant you had since packing your entire life up and moving across the country. He knew everything about you, held you at your worst and shared the happiest days. You cared so deeply about him, and definitely in a way stronger than friends, but you so badly wished you didn’t. Him knowing you so well made it easy for him to hurt you, and despite all the good he had and could still do, he consistently proved to you that he did not want to do good by you. He knew you so well, but it was the very reason why he had so much power to hurt you. Vincent wanted to love, but he did not know how. His feelings were fragile just as well as his ego, and he did not understand a thing about change. He was stuck in his way, never willing to see a different side of things, and because of that, it drove the two of you apart. The night prior, when he’d been so crude and unapologetic about his feelings about you and Danny, he wanted to hurt you in the same way he was hurting.

Lucky for him, he did just that, and even more so. He wanted to hurt, and hurt he did. It was so bad that you found yourself seeking comfort from strangers in an NA hall. It was so bad that it made you want to turn to drugs to take the ache away.

What he said stuck with you, and not just because he was the one who said it. Of course it hurt that he would say such terrible things to you, but you had grown used to Vincent taking his anger out on you in the form of harsh words and insults. Most of the time, you could brush it off after a while of sulking, but it hung over your head because you were terrified he was right. You liked Danny for many reasons, one being that he was nothing like Vincent. That being said, he was also nothing like you.

He did not know what it was like growing up with parents like yours, nor what it was like to spend most of his adolescence in and out of rehabilitation programs and therapy. He did not understand what it felt like to be at the police department, filing yet another missing persons report for his father, or better yet, getting detained for a night but unable to be held due to age. He did not know what it was like to run away from home every other weekend because sleeping under a park bench seemed more appealing than sharing a space with his mother. More than anything, he did not understand what it was like for drugs to take precedence over every other thing in his life. You certainly didn’t take him as such, and you were sure that by now, you would have seen some inkling that he was like you. You wanted to find anything that could relate to your tragic life, but there was nothing.

You looked back on all of your conversations, wondering if maybe you missed something he said, but it all aligned perfectly with Vincent’s venomous words. He played golf, specifically with his dad, he was traveling the world with his best friends to find ‘inspiration’ without needing to find a part time job in every city, and he confided in you once on a Sunday evening that he missed his mom.

Danny did not know what life was like for you, nor would he ever, even if he tried. Your struggle was completely foreign to him, and although he seemed like someone with a big heart and the desire to understand and sympathize with everyone he came across, you feared that once he knew all of you, he would run with no intention of ever coming back. You couldn’t blame him, because your baggage was too heavy for even yourself at times, but you would be lying if you said it didn’t hurt. It was a terrible feeling to have, knowing that no matter how much you like someone, you can never be completely transparent and honest with them about yourself. You would never expect him to accept the tragedies that accompanied you, and you felt foolish for thinking that you could have a relationship with someone so normal while you were so far from it.

You wanted him to be the one to take you away from such things, but you feared the tragedy ran so deep that you would be the one to bring him down with you.

Of course Vincent would be the one to point out your flaws and ruin a good thing before it happened.

Then again, you could not blame him, because you were equally as good at fucking things up.

You liked Danny too much to cut him off entirely, so you decided to continue on with the texting and calling, and even the laughing until 4am and the harmless flirting. You would cut it off when the time was right, just so you didn’t fall too hard for him. You knew it was best, because he was too good to get caught up in you. He was someone you could have fun with, to distract you while you built yourself back up. He would leave eventually anyway, and you would never have to think about it again. Your skies were much too dark for a rainbow, and now that you were thinking of it, you weren’t sure they had ever seen anything as bright as him. This way, you could enjoy him for the time being, but you wouldn’t get your heart broken when he decided you were too much for him. It was a win-win for both of you.

Even if you chose to believe such things, you failed to see that you had already gotten your heart broken at the idea of being too broken. Your current situation made you believe all of the previous notions even more deeply, because you had not even faced rejection at Danny’s hands and you were already sitting in a talk circle listening to people drone on about their love of smack and resentment towards their family for keeping them away from it. You were fragile enough that you’d hurt your own feelings with feeble ideas and assumptions, and you were so weak that it nearly killed your ambition to stay sober. Most of all, you were selfish for wanting to subject Danny to such things at all.

That was one habit you could not kick when you got sober; you were a selfish being who loved to feel good, and now that you could not get high, you had to search for thrills elsewhere. Danny made you feel good, and so good that you could not fathom giving that up even if it was better for everyone to do so.

The meeting wrapped up later than usual, mostly due to Carol’s inconsolable crying as she blubbered on about her youngest daughter's wedding and how her invitation got ‘lost in the mail’. You bit your tongue, knowing that correcting her assumptions about the situation would do no good and would only get you a scolding from Liam (and those were the worst). You made sure your phone and your cigarettes were in your pocket before standing, feeling the muffins bounce against your leg. As if on cue, your stomach growled at the memory of the double chocolate treat that was wrapped in plastic, awaiting your attention. Liam instructed everyone to stop by before they left, to which only some of the attendees obliged to. Despite your growing stomach and desire to leave, you complied with the request and approached him before making your departure.

You were the first in line to speak with him, but it did not come as a surprise; usually you were the only one willing to see him once the hour was up. He still had his clipboard in his hand, his pen hovering over the paper as he searched for your name and crossed it off. “You’ve got a thing for apple juice,” he noted, looking up over the frames of his (seemingly expensive) glasses.

“What?” You chuckled, curious as to what he meant.

“You talk about apple juice at every meeting. Is that code for something else, or do you really just like it that much?” Now, you laughed, finding his inquiry less invasive and much more amusing.

“Not code,” you shook your head, the smile lingering on your lips. “I just really like it. When I was a kid, it was the only type of juice my mom would let me drink. Guess it reminds me of easier times, or maybe I still wish apple juice was the only addiction I had to worry about. I don’t really drink it anymore because I worry that I’m trading a drug addiction for an apple juice addiction. In my head, neither are good.” You theorized, looking towards the ground for a moment.

“I see,” he chuckled, reaching over and grabbing his bag and pulling out a red key tag. He handed it to you, smiling at the sight. “Three months as of tomorrow. I feel like I can trust you enough to give it to you a day early. Some motivation to get through the weekend.”

“Right,” you nodded, forcing a smile as you reached for it. “Maybe it would mean more if it was my first time.” You couldn’t help but feel some resentment at the sight. It was your second time getting a red key tag, and it lost all of its novelty once you had to give up the blue tag that signified six months. You almost had your hands on a yellow one, but you fell just shy of nine months after one particularly reckless night at the Pony. You’d had an arrangement of surrender and thirty day markers, but they were less catastrophic to lose when you started over again. Knowing you had nearly a year under your belt just to throw it all away made you sick to your stomach.

“You have to celebrate the little victories, y/n. You can’t always feel like you’re failing, because you’ll never have any motivation to get better.” He said, giving you a stern look.

“But it doesn’t really get better, Liam. It doesn’t matter if I have three months or three years, I’ll still be an addict and I’ll still want it just the same.” You shifted uncomfortably on your feet. “Recovery is just a bandage to keep yourself together. The longer this goes on, the more I feel like I’ll actually be seventy and still feel this way.”

“It’s easier to see when you’re further away from it. Right now, it’s all you know, but that doesn’t mean it will always be all that you know. Life grows around you, but you have to choose if you want to grow with it, or get lost in it.” He explained. You took the tag, shoving it in your pocket. You knew he was right, but it was easier to feel miserable than it was to be hopeful. It felt better when misery was proven wrong rather than when hopefulness was crushed. “You’re doing better than you think. You have three months under your belt. It doesn’t matter that it’s for a second time, it matters that you did it. Some people don’t even get there once.”

“I know.” You cleared your throat, fighting the tears rising in your throat. “Thanks, Liam. I’ll see you next week.” You said, finally looking to meet his eyes.

“Hold on,” he said, reaching back into his bag. You watched for a moment, wondering what he was searching for. Then, after a moment of uncomfortable silence, he pulled out a bottle from his bag. You looked to the ceiling, feeling your face burn and tears rush to your eyes. “I brought it for lunch, but now I think I brought it for a much different reason. You need it more than I do.”

“Liam, I can’t take that.” You shook your head, still looking at the peeling paint at the top of the walls.

“I insist.” He said, using a tone of finality. After a few seconds, you took a deep breath and looked towards him once again. Once you saw the certainty in his eyes, you reached out and took the bottle of apple juice from him with gratitude written all over your face. “Sometimes things are just as simple as apple juice, y/n, not the big complicated mess that you try and turn everything into. It’s not a metaphor, and you’re not trading apples for oranges. It’s a bottle of juice that’s going to make you feel better, and it’s something that won’t hurt you unless you make it into something bigger. You can enjoy it and not have to feel bad about it, just like you’re allowed to fuck up and still believe that you can do better.” He explained, giving you a smile. “You’re in control, whether that means getting high or drinking juice. You decide whether you should or not. Today, you decided to come here instead of getting high, and right now, you’re deciding to drink juice. You’re capable of doing better and being better, because you already have. Don’t convince yourself otherwise.”

“Your right,” You took in a long breath, closing your eyes to regain yourself. “Thank you, Liam.”

“No need for thanks.” He brushed you off, straightening up in his seat. “You have a number to call if you need it this weekend, right?”

“I do.”

“And you’ll use it?” He raised an eyebrow.

“I will.” You nodded. He did too, happy with your answer.

“Okay. I’ll see you next week.” He gave you permission to leave, happy that he seemed to have helped. You were a tough nut to crack, between your raging self-destructive attitude and your inability to see the positive side of things, but he was happy to be the one to finally make the difference.

You walked out the front door (sipping on apple juice, thanks to Liam), finding that the air had warmed since you had gone inside. The sun was brighter and the wind was less intense, making your spirits brighten as it gave you a promise of summer. You reached into your pocket to grab a cigarette, finding your chest had loosened from its earlier tension and your migraine begin to subside. As you pulled out your pack, you grumbled at the lightness of it. When you flipped the top open, revealing one last cigarette (upside down for luck, of course), you closed your eyes as you tried not to let the disappointment consume you. You wondered if you had enough money to buy another, hating yourself and the world for having to choose between paying rent or buying the only thing that was keeping you sane.

As you reached for your phone to check your account balance, the screen lit up to show the time. It was already well past twelve thirty, yet that wasn’t the thing that caught your attention. Below the bold numbers was a missed call, which was followed by an incoming text only a few moments later.

“Fuck!” You exploded, uncaring of the passerby’s giving you strange looks.

The addiction had been so pertinent that it allowed you to forget about your anticipated plans with the incredibly cute and sweet boy you couldn’t stop thinking about.

You dialed the number back, pressing the phone to your ear. Within seconds he answered, his cheery tone warming your heart immediately. “Utah! I was wondering when I’d hear from you. Was worried you forgot about me.”

“I’m so sorry Danny,” you sighed, looking around at the people passing you by. “I, uh… I had an appointment I forgot about.”

“That’s okay. How long are you gonna be? Or do you just want to call it off and reschedule?” His understanding was astounding, but it did not make you feel better; it was gut wrenching, and it made it so much harder to keep your heart out of things. Danny seemed fun, sure, but he also seemed like someone you could easily fall in love with. You were playing very a dangerous game.

“No, I’m all good now.” You promised. “If you still want to hang, of course.” The morning has thrown you so violently off course that you were doubting everything, including his interest in your despite him being the one who called first.

“F’course I do.” He chuckled. “I called, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” you forced a chuckle, having to agree with him.

“You okay, Utah?” He asked, now seeming a bit concerned. “You don’t sound like yourself.”

“Oh, yeah. I’m fine.” You assured him. “Was just a rough morning is all, I’m okay now.”

“Hopefully I can make the rest of the day better, then.” He replied, sympathizing with your rough start to the day. He had no idea, but hearing his voice alone had already brightened your spirits. “We’re just driving around. We’re near the Fox if you want me to pick you up, or we can meet somewhere if that’s easier for you.”

“If I send you an address, you think you can find it?” You smirked, knowing he was in unfamiliar territory. You remembered how disoriented you felt when you first came to New York, wondering if he felt the same, or if he was one of those people who didn’t worry about anything at all.

“I’m sure the two of us could figure it out.”

“Whatever you say, Michigan.” You grinned. “See you in a few.”

“Can’t wait.” He said, sincerity laced within his tone.

With that, you ended the call and proceeded to check your bank account, happy to see you had more than you thought. You looked around, checking for cars before jumping off the front porch of the old church and crossing the street. As you cut through an old alleyway, you texted Danny the name of the gas station you were headed to, knowing you would be there before him. There was no way in hell you were going to let him pick you up from an NA hall on your first ‘date’.

Of course, you had little hope that it would be a real date at all, nor did you think that any date like activities would ensue afterwards. They were probably just looking for something to pass the time, and you served as a great tour guide.

As you walked through an old parking lot after the alley, you could already see the old sign for the store. You waited to cross the busy street, and when you saw a break in traffic, you sprinted to the other side. By doing so, it seemed like you instantly left the rough part of the neighbourhood. Fancy cars drove by and women in expensive clothes walked in and out of the convenience store. All the same, you felt immediately out of place.

Tired and still not feeling the best, you tossed the empty apple juice bottle in the garbage, pushing through the door and walking inside. It was moderately busy, but not enough to be bothersome to you. Before running to the register to grab a pack of cigarettes, you walked towards the back of the store where the candy aisle was located. Without much effort, you found the biggest bag of Warheads sour candy that you could see. After that, you turned towards the drink coolers and grabbed the cheapest energy drink. Satisfied with your choices, you walked to the register and placed the items on the counter. The older lady who was working gave you a long look, studying you as she rang in the items.

“Pack of reds?” She asked, already reaching towards the cabinet before you answered.

“How’d you know?” You chuckled, knowing that every few days you came in for the exact same thing.

“Think you’re the only one who buys these.” She said, looking over the bag of sour candy. “Have no idea how you can stand eating them.” She chuckled, watching as you tapped your card against the reader.

“They’re not half bad.” You smiled, waving her off as she tried to hand you the receipt. In truth, you didn’t love them. You had grown to tolerate most sour foods as it was an easy way to curb the craving for the things you could not have. The sourness was a shock, immediately distracting you from the relentless thoughts, and the sugar gave a nice dopamine rush that made you feel better for a few moments. You repeated the process until your tongue was in too much pain to have another, and by then, you were over the worst of the craving. “Have a good day!” You called over your shoulder as you walked out the door, not hanging around for long enough to hear an answer.

As the door shut behind you, you grabbed the last cigarette from your pack and struck the lighter. As the flame ignited the tip, you heard a commotion off to the side of the store where the bulk of the parking lot was. You turned, curious about the sound, but you were not stuck wondering about it for very long. As you focused your eyes under the blazing sun, your gaze fixated on a Jeep, but it was not the vehicle that kept your attention. Instead, it was the curly haired boy hanging his head out the window with a blinding smile on his lips. You could not help but smile back as he waved you over, uncaring about hiding his excitement to see you.

“Long time no see, Utah.” He greeted you as you walked within earshot. “Told you I could find my way around New York.”

“Seems like it.” You chuckled, taking a drag from your cigarette. Without any further comment, he opened the car door and stepped outside with you. “I’m glad you found me. Saves me from sending a search party out for you.”

“You really had such little faith in me?” He raised an eyebrow, his sunglasses sadly blocking your view of his pretty brown eyes.

“It doesn’t matter anyway, ‘cause you proved me wrong.” You grinned, already feeling the hurt in your chest begin to subside. When you were in his company, it was hard to feel sad about anything. He was so easygoing and excited about life that it was difficult to feel any differently than him. Then, he reached forward and pulled you into a hug, which made your stomach twist and your heart flutter. What would normally be an awkward moment, felt nothing like it. It was comfortable, it was safe, and it was right. You wrapped your arm around him, making sure to keep your cigarette away from his expensive looking jacket so you did not burn it.

The small gesture made all of your fears obsolete; he wanted to be with you, to hang out and waste the day with you. He was disappointed at the idea of cancelling plans, and overjoyed at the prospect of seeing you. He was genuine, and he was nothing like Vincent was trying to portray him as. You didn’t have to feel stupid for liking him so much in such a short time, because he felt the same way.

“I’m glad we didn’t have to cancel, Utah. Been looking forward to seeing you all morning.”

“Me, too.” You breathed. “I’m sorry I forgot about the appointment. Promise I wasn’t trying to blow you off.” You explained, still trying to hold on to the lingering scent of his cologne as he let go.

“No worries, I’m just glad you’re okay. And I’m glad you didn’t change your mind.” He confessed, a sheepish smile crossing his lips. “We still have a few hours before you have to get to work. I’m sure there’s lots we can do by then.”

“Yeah, for sure.” You nodded. “So what about this Sam guy I’ve been hearing all about? Is he imaginary?” You said, looking to the front seat to see nobody else in the car.

“That’s me,” You jumped in surprise when a head popped out from the backseat. A smiling face stuck between the two front seats let you know that Sam was in fact real. The tint on the windows allowed for him to stay concealed, but it did not answer any questions about why he was sitting in the backseat. Then, a second head popped out from between the seats, but this one was much cuter than the two boys combined. “And this is Rosie. Hope you like dogs.” Sam grinned, reaching up and wrapping an arm around her.

“Hi,” you laughed, unable to keep a straight face at the sight. “And I definitely do. No need to worry about that.”

“She is pretty, Daniel. You were right.” At that, your cheeks turned red, but not nearly as badly as Danny’s did.

“I should have left him at home.” Danny muttered, shaking his head at his friend.

“No worries,” you said, reaching out and landing a soft hand on his arm. “Good to know you think I’m pretty.”

“As if that wasn’t obvious enough.” He said, looking down at your hand on his arm for a moment, then back up at your face. The two of you shared a glance for a moment, wondering how it seemed so easy between you despite you barely knowing each other. You wanted more, to know him and to spend every afternoon making jokes and laughing. You wanted to kiss him, and you had since the very first time you laid eyes on him. He seemed like he wanted it too, yet the both of you remained frozen in place, neither one of you having enough courage to move first. “So, you have any ideas for what we can do today?” He changed the topic, too nervous to continue staring.

“Depends on what kind of day you want to have.” You said, only mildly disappointed at the change of subject. You knew that kissing him right now in that moment was not the wisest idea, especially with his best friend observing the both of you so closely. Plus, you feared that if you leaned forward and captured him in a kiss, you would only be doing so in hopes of covering up all of the misery from the morning. If you were to kiss him, you wanted to be certain it was for the right reason. “There’s a park not too far from here. It’s a super nice spot, not too many people go. I’m sure Rosie would love it.” You said, motioning to the dog that was clinging to Sam’s side. “Or there’s a few shops a few streets over. I think they’re all pet friendly. I see lots of people in an out of there with loads of different pets.”

“We can do both if you want.” Danny offered, looking inside the vehicle momentarily to see if Sam was in agreement.

“Okay,” you nodded, taking the last drag from your cigarette and tossing the butt into a nearby puddle. The snow was long gone now, replaced with rain as dampness lingered on the ground to remind you of the winter. You were excited for warmer weather, and the sun in the sky seemed to be promising of a nice day.

“Hop in, Utah.” Danny nodded his head towards his car, but quickly second guessed his choice. He took a step in your direction, but walked past you and to the other side of the car, opening the passenger door for you. You followed after him, sheepishly climbing into the vehicle after muttering a small thanks. Within seconds, he was back in the drivers side, smiling over at you. “You just tell me where to go and I’ll drive.” As he spoke, Rose seemed to be fighting with Sam to try and get to the front seat, intrigued at your presence and excited to get to know you.

You sat the bag of candy down beside your leg on the seat, then placed the energy drink in the empty cup holder. You slid your lighter in your pocket and shifted around to get a better look at the dog that seemed so eager to greet you. “Hi, baby.” You reached out cautiously, not wanting to scare her. She sniffed your hands for a moment, which quickly turned to licking, then she shoved her head into your hands so you would pet her. As you scratched behind her ear, Sam seemed to be laughing at the two of you.

“She likes you… We’re gonna have to keep you around.” Sam deducted, his hand still resting on her back. You noticed he was holding the back of her harness, ensuring she wouldn’t proceed any further than she already had.

“I guess so.” You chuckled.

“Is that… breakfast?” Danny asked, stifling a laugh as he looked down at the bag of candy and the beverage you had purchased. He’d been trying to hold the question back, but it seemed too pressing to ignore. You looked down at the items he was referring to, feeling a small blush dust across your cheeks.

“So what if it is?” You shot back, trying to keep your tone light despite feeling defensive over the fact. He let out a chuckle, shaking his head at you for a moment. You reached down, tearing the bag open and grabbing one of the candies. You extended your arm towards him with a stupid smile on your lips. “Want one?” He watched you for a moment, trying to figure out if you were being serious. His gaze flickered to your hand and eventually, he reached out to grab it.

“Do you want something to eat? You know, other than caffeine and cigarettes?” He offered, a smirk stuck on his lips.

“No,” you shook your head, reaching into one of your large coat pockets. You pulled out one of the wrapped muffins, flashing him a smile. “That’s what this is for.”

“You really came prepared, then. I can appreciate that.” He laughed, not sure if he was willing to accept you having only a muffin for breakfast. Then again, he didn’t necessarily feel like it was his place to say anything, even if he wished he could.

“Yeah, you can say that.” You chuckled. “If you cut through the parking lot and go down that little side street,” you paused, pointing in the direction of the street that was just barely visible. “And you drive down the road for a while, there’s this cute little antique shop that I think is pretty cool.” You explained, sitting back in the comfortable seat. It was way better than the leather seats in Vincent’s old car, but you neglected that thought. You shouldn’t have been thinking about Vincent at all. Instead, your focus should be on the boy sitting across from you, the very one you stayed up until sunrise writing about in your journal. The same one you had been texting until you were too tired to respond, and the one who infiltrated your dreams and put a smile on your face even during sleep.

You did not know Danny very well, but you knew him well enough to know that since meeting him, the world seemed a little bit brighter. The rain was less dreary and not even the bitter wind could bring you down. You were excited to wake up, happy even to foot the phone bill that was usually paid with a twenty dollar bill, because the new price meant that Danny had not grown tired of talking to you. You wrote in your journal until your fingers felt like they would fall off, and you had a growing collection of notes scribbled on scrap paper left on the dirty tables at the Fox. He gave you something to look forward to, and he gave you something to smile about. When you finished talking to him, you were not plagued with guilt or worry like you often were when you spoke with Vincent. You did not know Danny well, but you wanted to, and you were determined to. You made a pact with yourself to know him as well as you could by the end of the day, because you never wanted to stop learning about him.

And Sam now, too. You could not forget about him and his big personality sitting behind you just out of sight.

“To the cute little antique shop, then.” Danny said, smiling as he reversed out of the parking space and drove in the direction you told him to. “So what makes this place so special?”

“What?” You chuckled, looking over at him.

“It’s gotta mean something to you if it’s the first place you thought of.”

‘Damn him and his observant self.’

“Yeah, I guess.” You nodded. “I go there a lot. Was one of the first places I found after I moved here. I bought a journal there my first day in the city, and I used it until there was no way I could fit anything else in it.” You explained. “They have lots of old paintings and household stuff, and a huge collection of records and books. They get most of their stuff from estate sales and the rest of it from people who were sick of looking at it.”

“Do you collect records or books?” He asked, curious about your hobbies other than writing.

“No,” you shook your head. “I have some books, but I write a lot more than I read, so I don’t really see a need to buy more than I’ll ever need. I love the records, and I would buy them if I had a record player. Been trying to save up for one, but it never seems to work out.” You smiled, looking over at him. It did not break your heart that you didn’t have a record player, mostly because it was a luxury, and you were used to never having anything luxurious. You were thankful for the roof over your head and food to eat, and unless those were taken away, complaining wasn’t something you were fond of.

“What records would you buy if you had a player?” Sam asked, piping in from the backseat. You took a moment to think about it, but eventually settled on the first ones that came to mind.

“Bringing It All Back Home by Bob Dylan,” you said, confident in your answer. “I remember my grandfather playing over and over again until my grandmother was so fed up she turned it off herself.” You chuckled. “Harvest by Neil Young, too. He was a big fan of that one.”

“Good choices.” Sam commented, surprised by your answer.

“Can’t Buy a Thrill!” You exploded, unsure how you could forget such a monumental album.

“Steely Dan?” Danny looked over at you from the drivers seat, intrigued by your enthusiasm. There was a smile still lingering on his lips as you looked over at him, the sight nearly taking your breath away.

“The first time I heard ‘Dirty Work’, it changed my whole life. My brothers got so sick of it that they would pay me to turn it off. They’re not the brightest though, cause I made at least a hundred bucks off of them.” Both boys got a good chuckle out of the thought.

“Noted,” Danny said, switching between watching you and the road. “How many brothers do you have?”

“Two,” you replied. “Both older. Patrick is 26 now, and he works for some fancy tech company back home. Hunter is 25 and works at a construction company.”

“Are you close with them?” He continued to ask questions in hopes that he could know you better than anyone else. Knowing you was his top priority, much like how you wanted to know him.

“Not as much since I moved away from home, but yeah. Even when we were kids, we did everything together.” You explained, not wanting to dive too deep into it. You were close not by choice, but out of necessity. Your family was so fundamentally fucked up that relying on your siblings was the only way to survive. “You said you had a sister, right? You mentioned her the other night when we were talking.” He nodded at your words, happy that you remembered the small detail. Little did he know, you clung to every word that left his mouth. “Just her, or do you have more siblings?”

“Just her, but Sam is close enough.”

“Do you have siblings, Sam?”

“Three of ‘em.” He chuckled.

“So you were never bored growing up, I take it.”

“Never.” He confirmed, giving you a smile from the backseat.

“The store’s just up here on the left,” you told Danny, glancing over at him. You couldn’t help but admire him for a moment, finding that the sun was shining on him in the most perfect way. It illuminated his already glowing cheeks, shadowed by the curls of his hair hanging over his shoulders. The sunglasses sat atop his nose, but with the sun shining on the dark lenses, you could see him looking over at you, too.

Danny pulled into an available parking space that you pointed out, looking around the streets as people walked by. Many had leashed dogs and coffee cups in their hands. The scarves wrapped around their necks made it seem like it was colder than it was, and so did the expensive coats. You always felt slightly out of place when you visited the shops. They were decorated with people screaming with wealth. Leather handbags and clothing that had never experienced a tear or a stain. You knew you were from the poor part of town, your apartment complex falling apart and homeless people littering the sidewalks and alleyways by your home. The corner stores and bars were in just as bad shape as the Fox, and the skyscrapers stopped tickling the skyline about a mile out from the section of the city you called home.

You didn’t mind it, but you did fear that the other two would if you brought them by your place. You were always conscious of what others thought, even if you knew you shouldn’t care. It was much easier said than done, and even if you believed you weren’t doing that bad, you were doing quite poorly in comparison to the majority of the population. The discounted rate on rent from subsidized housing was the only reason you could afford your shitty apartment, and even if you had made it into a home, it was far from flashy. The entire building looked like it would give way under a strong wind, and the inside was only slightly better. You covered most of the holes and peeling paint with art, but it only went so far. The appliances were older than you, and the landlord had aesthetically fixed all of the major issues, but it did not help the structural integrity.

You always felt out of place when you were in a store, no matter fancy or not. You feared your card would decline every time, and you wondered if the few items in your refrigerator and cupboards would last you until next payday if you purchased anything extra. Most people tried not to pass judgement when they realized your economic status, but you could see it in their eyes. It was pity more than anything else, but you would be lying if you said it did not bother you. It killed you to think that Danny would look inwards at your life and feel the same things, but you knew it was a possibility. Unfortunately, as much as you wished it wasn’t, not only was it always a possibility, but a reality.

“You ready?” Danny asked, breaking your focus from your internal brooding.

“Yeah, f’course.” You nodded, pushing a smile on your lips. You got out first, stepping on the sidewalk and turning to face the vehicle as you waited for the other two to join you. Danny stepped out first while Sam made sure Rose was leashed properly. Not long after, the other two were walking happily to accompany you. You looked at the door, smiling as you saw the little sticker with the silhouette of a dog encased in a big green circle. “See, Rosie?” You grinned, looking down at her. At the sound of her name, her tail began to wag as her tongue hung happily out of the side of her mouth. “Told you they’d let you in.”

With that, Danny stepped towards the door, letting his hand fall on the small of your back. The gentle touch was barely noticeable, yet it turned your whole world upside down. Your stomach erupted into butterflies and your heart sped, and you began to question your own sanity. A man had never before made you feel so strongly from such a small action, especially an innocent one. You all stepped inside, taken by the scent of old books and oil paint. The store smelled the same every time, and when you got closer to the register, you could notice essential oils and brewed coffee. It was a comforting feeling when you stepped inside, familiar as if you had lived a thousand lives inside that store alone.

“I’m gonna check out the paintings.” Sam said, his eyes immediately catching on the fancy frames and landscapes encased inside.

“Sam’s a bit of an art whore.” Danny mumbled, turning his head down to look at you. He was standing closer than usual, definitely closer than he would at the dinner, but you certainly weren’t complaining.

“Aren’t we all?” You challenged, wishing he would move closer.

“True,” he nodded. “If you don’t like art, you’ve gotta be a pretty disappointing person.” You let out a laugh, abrupt and loud at the harsh words coming from such a sweet mouth.

“Right.” You nodded, wondering if it was possible to live in the moment forever. It was so simple with his hand on your back and a laugh stuck between your teeth. The world didn’t seem so terrible, and unlike how life normally felt, the small world the two of you were existing within seemed right. There was no fear of the unknown, no guilt or shame, and it didn’t feel forced. You felt like you’d spent 23 years of your life faking it, but with him, the connection felt real and not based on any external factors. It was simple attraction and nothing further than the fact that the two of you got along well. “Come with me,” you whispered, nodding your head in the direction of your favourite room in the entire shop.

The building was quite similar to that of a townhouse, and if you had to guess, you imagined it once was. They allocated the different rooms for each genre of items they sold. There was a record room, a room for books, home decor, and clothes that looked to be made decades ago. The main area had the register and was plastered with paintings and posters all waiting for someone to take them home, and miscellaneous items were displayed on tables within various rooms. Most of the things inside the store were much too expensive for you to even imagine buying, but every now and again you stumbled across a tiny treasure that you could afford to bring home with you. Sometimes, they heavily discounted things when they were getting ready to bring in new items, so you knew to keep your eye out for any advertising signs.

When you passed through the doorway, Danny was still close behind. He took a few moments to look around the room, taking it all in. After a while of shared silence, he let out a long exhale. “Wow.” He stated, unwilling to leave your side despite being eager to look around.

“It’s great, right?” You chuckled, taking in the shelves full of vinyl records. “I knew a music guy like you would have to appreciate it.”

“Music guy…” he trailed off, looking down at you for a moment. “You remembered?”

“Obviously.” You gave him a soft smile. “Drums, guitar, little bit of mandolin if I remember correctly.”

“You do,” he breathed, a bit surprised at how well you remembered his late night rambling.

“F’course I do.” You reiterated your point, cementing the notion in his brain. Instead of dwelling, you guided him towards the shelves holding the baskets of records. Absentmindedly, you began flipping through the vinyls, hoping he would, too. When he finally took your lead and began his own search, you spoke again. “M’sorry again about earlier. I hope you didn’t think I was trying to ditch you.”

“I actually didn’t think that at all.” He chuckled, taking his time as he read over the name of every album. “I mean, maybe for like a minute, but I honestly thought you slept in a bit longer than usual. I didn’t want to call you—was worried I would wake you.” He pulled one sleeve out above the rest, taking an interest for a moment before putting it back. “You seemed really tired when we were talking on the phone last night.” You froze as his words hit you, suddenly remembering the sleep-laced conversation and nervous butterflies that plagued your entire body. You remembered mumbling sentiments while your wrist wrote out the deepest desires of your heart on paper. Then, you remembered falling asleep, but not a goodbye.

“Did I… did I fall asleep on the phone?” You asked, looking over at him. Redness began to creep up on your cheeks as you waited for an answer.

“Yeah,” he nodded, saying it as if the instance was completely normal. “Thought it was cute.” You bit down on the inside of your lip, praying that your face wasn’t giving away your feelings yet knowing it was. Then, the strangeness of the situation hit you and you could not hold back your inquiries.

“Speaking of… what the hell were you doing up at six in the morning?” You asked, turning the tables on him. He glanced over at you without turning his head, suspicious without even speaking. “Actually, you seem to be awake every morning when I get off work.” It was a question that crossed your mind more often than not, yet you never seemed to care to ask.

“Early riser.” He shrugged, hoping to avoid the topic entirely.

“Right…” you trailed off, less focused on the crumbling vinyl sleeves and more focused on the crimson of his cheeks. “See, that would be believable, but considering you were at the diner at one in the morning last night, I don’t think that’s the case.” You pressed further. “No way you’re so cheery for a man who only got four hours of sleep.”

“Okay, you caught me.” He sighed, pretending to be upset about your discovery. Truth was, he knew he would have to fess up sooner or later, and sooner seemed to be his only option. “I usually wake up for a little while to talk to you when you get home, and then I go back to sleep when you do.”

You were stunned at the thought, mostly because you could not comprehend someone wanting to talk to you so badly. The effort and thought that went into setting an alarm every morning at six was far beyond anything anyone else had ever done for you. You wanted to chastise him, but it was a bit too touching for you to make a joke out of it.

���You don’t have to do that, Danny.” You whispered, hoping he would look over at you so you could catch sight of the beautiful brown eyes you’d grown to love so much. “I love talking to you, but not if you’re losing sleep over it.”

“It’s not like I have anything else to do.” He dismissed you. “Besides, I want to. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t.”

For some strange reason, you wished he answered differently. Not because you wanted him to care less, but because you were terrified of him caring at all.

Everything you touched always seemed to turn to dust, and Danny was someone you could not fathom inflicting that fate upon.

“Unless you don’t want me to?” He said, taking your silence as something bad.

“No,” you shook your head. “No… I mean if you want to—if you’re okay with doing it, I definitely don’t mind.”

“Then it’s settled,” he hummed, switching to a different bin to search through. “They have some good stuff here.” He said, pulling out a blue coloured album. You glanced over, recognizing the sight immediately. A smile crossed your face as you watched him.

“Joni Mitchell.” You stated, craning your neck to get a better look.

“You know this album?” He asked, looking back at you over his shoulder.

“Yeah,” you scoffed, stepping towards him. “My grandpa might have liked Dylan, but my grandma loved Joni Mitchell.” You were right behind him now, close enough that you could have placed a hand on him had you been courageous enough.

“You talk about your grandparents a lot.” He noted. “You close with them?” He could hear your breath hitch in your throat as he finished speaking, wondering if maybe he never should have spoken at all. After a moment, you recovered enough to answer.

“I was, yeah.” You cleared your throat, covering up the strain of the words. “I spent most of my time there, actually. My grandma was my best friend, and my grandpa was a close second. He passed away when I was fifteen, and she passed away not long before I moved here. If they were still around, i probably never would have moved at all.” He turned towards you, letting the record slide back to its original place. His hand landed delicately on your hip, but in no way did it appear romantic. Even if your face was stony, he could see the pain plaguing your eyes.

“I’m sorry, Utah. I didn’t mean to bring that up for you.”

“It’s not your fault,” you shook your head. “I love talking about them, and I’m glad you asked.” You assured him. A small smile crossed his lips, stunned by your resilience to pain.

“I’d love to hear more about them, if you ever feel like talking.” His hand on your hip still remained, and the longer he touched you, the more comfortable it became. You never wanted him to stop. Suddenly, it all became a little too real for you. You blinked twice, bringing yourself back to reality as you turned back towards the record bins.

You wanted it, but you did not know how to let it happen. You were so good at making bad decisions that it seemed inherently bad to choose the right thing.

“Yeah, maybe.” You nodded, knowing that you never would. Then again, never is a strong word, and for some strange reason you had the impression that Danny was someone you could trust. Maybe someday, ‘never’ would turn out to be a distant memory.

You stepped towards another shelf, your eye catching a familiar cover. Carefully, you reached out, sliding it from the stack of records to get a better look. “Oh, wow.” You breathed, buzzing with excitement and nearly forgetting about the heavy conversation seconds before. “Look at this.” You said, catching Danny’s attention without breaking your stare from the vinyl.

He stepped up behind you, much closer than you were anticipating. Your back was nearly pressed against his chest and his hand lingered gently on your side. You knew he could see perfectly over your head; the height difference made it seem like he towered over you. He did so as an excuse to be close to you, and no other reason. You were okay with it, because for the few seconds you had stepped away from him, you’d already grown to miss the feeling.

“Bella Donna,” he said, studying the familiar sight. “Stevie Nicks fan?”

“Who isn’t?” You chuckled, turning it over to check the back of it. All of the records were secondhand, but it made them all the more special. Not only did they come with fantastic tracklists, but a story within every fraying edge and fading color. “She’s fantastic. She’s… everything.” Danny was silent for a moment, taking in your statement. When he finally answered, he wasn’t looking at the album, but rather at you.

“Yeah, she is.” The conviction in his tone made you pause your previous train of thought, turning to look at him as he gazed down upon you. It was evident that Stevie Nicks has long fled his train of thought. You didn’t have the courage to call him on it, so instead, you enjoyed the fleeting feeling of finally being important to someone. It was something you hadn’t felt in a long time, and even when you could remember a time when you did, it felt nothing like it did then. You were overwhelmed with the urge to kiss him, unable to comprehend how he seemed so perfect. Every word that left his mouth drew you in, every smile melted your heart, and every touch (albeit few and far between) took your breath away.

You were waiting for something to show, or to peek through the perfect exterior he’d put on for you. You longed for something to appear that could demolish the pedestal you had placed him upon, but it never seemed to come. You knew that with time, you were bound to find something that would taint your view of him, whether it be something major or a plethora of tiny things that steadily creeped up on you. Nobody could be without fault, and the fact that he’d gone so long without showing you any bad traits made you worry that when he did, it would be worse than anything you ever imagined.

Maybe that was your problem; you could not bear the thought of something going well for you, so you self-sabotaged by actively looking for something that would force you to run away.

Most of the time, there was nothing to find, and you were running from a monster created by your very own mind.

When you thought about it for too long, the more it seemed like running was the only thing you had ever known how to do.

You could not wrap your head around the idea of wanting to stay, but as Danny looked down at you with emotion stronger than lust in his eyes, you knew there was nothing else you would rather do. You wondered if running was always your first choice because nobody ever cared enough to give you a reason to stay. You’d known Danny for a short time, so short that he was nearly a stranger. You didn’t know his middle name, or his birthday, or even his favourite color. Despite that, you knew that the feeling of his company was something you’d searched for your entire life, and up until now, you’d only ever found it in one other thing. The difference was, you were confident in saying that the aftermath of Danny’s company was nothing like the aftermath of a good high. He seemed fulfilling, like his aura would surround you long after he left and the feeling in your heart would last even if he was not within reach.

If you weren’t so stubborn, you would have noticed that it had already affected you in such ways. When you stretched your wrist, it ached from all of the writing you had been doing in the early hours of the morning. When you woke that very morning with urges stronger than ever before, your first thought was to go to a meeting rather than submitting to the temptations of substance. You weren’t dreading waking up, nor were you struggling to sleep.

Danny did not fix your life for you, but he did make it easier to cope with. He could not fix problems he did not know existed, nor could he do so even if he knew your troubles. Instead, he allowed you to see a brighter side of life than what you’d grown so comfortable with. He helped you feel excitement for the next day and the possibilities it held. He gave you a person to talk to, making your nights much less lonely. He gave you the feeling of being wanted, and for nothing greater than the feeling of mutual want itself. He didn’t want to see you for ulterior motives, and he did not want anything more out of the interaction. He simply enjoyed your company, and it made you feel more human than you had since you were a child.

You’d been standing for so long in the same position that you feared you’d both turn to stone with your faces hovering inches apart. You did not want to suffer an eternity waiting to kiss, only for the moment to never come, but in that moment it appeared to be your destiny. He was leaned down slightly, and you were straining upwards, but there seemed to be a barrier between you two. The world was begging you to harness the courage to lean forward and close the gap, and as your noses brushed together, even the still-photograph of Stevie was pleading with you not to let cowardice win. Your heart was pounding in your ears, and your stomach was twisted in a knot that seemed to be suffocating you the longer you sat there.

He was so close, the scent of his cologne surrounding you once again, this time much more powerful than the last. You were angry that he wouldn’t make the move first, but appreciated his concern for your comfort. You’d fallen into the position so easily, as if it were natural for the two of you to be together in such a way. You could practically feel his lips on yours despite the distance still existing between you. Perhaps it was so easy to imagine because you wanted it so badly. He reached up, tucking your hair behind your ear before he cupped your cheek in his hand. The touch made your lungs burn, inherently causing you to forget how to breathe.

You had never felt so good. You had never felt so alive. You wondered, if his company felt so rewarding even after such a short period of time, what would months feel like with your heart and soul entangled in his. For once, the unknown was exciting rather than paralyzing. As gravity pulled you closer, you began to believe that you could live in the unknown with Danny until the end of time, and it would be inexplicably better than existing within the known without him by your side. He was so close, and it was hard not to jump. You wanted everything all at once, but savoring him seemed like the only option. His lips were nearly brushing against your own, and despite your earlier efforts at shoving the feelings away, you needed him to close the gap between you. You needed it like water, but you were so parched that you couldn’t speak the words nor go in search of it yourself.

You knew how foolish it was to leave your fate in the hands of another, but for once, not even your own psyche seemed to be able to ruin the moment for you.

part two is soon to be yours 🤍

TAGLIST: @imleavingyoufornewyork @itsafullmoon @bladenotblaze @jessicafg03 @dont-go-home-without-me @peaceloveunitygvf @torniturntomyarrow @lostoverseer @clairesjointshurt @jordie-gvf @lallisonl @smoking-jakelane @gretavangirlie @hollyco

[divinemare]

Cruel Cauldron

✎ᝰ┆azriel x oc

ᝰ┆part five

part four

—— —͙ – -

Two weeks ago…

“Are you really making me do this?” Karina’s husky, low voice asked her mother minutes before her departure from Anthra.

“My sweet girl, I would’ve thought that you would have understood your purpose by now. I must say I’m disappointed, I raised you to be more intelligent than that, Karina,” her mother’s fake sweet voice sounded more cruel than anything, giving Karina chills.

“I’m sorry to be a disappointment, mother. Yet again. But what’s new, right? So please just explain to me why the fuck do I have to marry that pretentious batstard!” She exploded, because just at the thought of Azriel’s face —a thought that, annoyingly and inevitably had been printed in her mind since what happened in the balcony—, made her blood absolutely boil.

“A bat what?” If her mother didn’t scold her for raising her voice, it was only due to her perplexity at the ridiculous name Karina had just spilled.

“He looks like a bat and his a… you know what, forget it mother, I’m just gonna disappoint you further.”

Verena sighed and rolled her eyes as if to say that that was, in fact, true. Karina ignored the sting in her heart as she had been doing for 250 years now.

“I’m sending you there not as a bride but as a weapon. You’ll bring them to their knees, destroy them from the inside out, without them even knowing what happened. You and I, my dear, we’ll take Anthra to glory.”

The hairs in the back of her neck stood on end, and her skin went so cold with dread that she had to suppress a shiver.

Karina had no idea what her mother was talking about, and Verena would surely not elaborate any further, she would only know when her mother considered it was the perfect time. That only intensified her dread, because nothing remotely good could ever come from that look of absolute cruelty of Queen Verena Basdearg.

Oh good Mother, what have I gotten myself into.

៚ ·

Present Day…

Arisa used to compared her a lot with camaleones, claiming that her little sister had a huge ability when it came to adapting. Karina could mingle in any given space, attracting attention and looking so natural like she was just a part of.

Yet it was the start of her second week in Prythian, and in the Night Court more specifically, and she couldn’t still get used to the horrendous predicament she found herself in.

She barely left her room, only at late hours of night to explore the breathtaking castle she now apparently lived in. She knew, —not only by her power but for the instinct of already knowing him—, that Azriel watched her every step, and that was the only thing keeping her from dying of boredom, toying with him until she could feel the vein in his forehead pop without even seeing it.

That, and her brunches with Mor and Feyre. The two females had been her only consolation in here. Feyre, from the moment she arrived, had tried to make her feel as comfortable as she could possibly, and Mor and her had always gotten pretty great along in the decades of knowing each other.

But as much as she enjoyed the company of both females, and appreciated the beauty surrounding her and the way Rhysand had tried to make up for the whole mess by giving the most ravishing, luxurious gifts, it wasn’t enough to appease her sorrowful heart.

She missed her castle, her guards; those who had accompanied and guarded her since she was merely just a youngling. She missed visiting the Silver Land to make presence as their Princess. She missed her sister, greatly, their morning walks in the palace’s immense garden, their horse rides whenever Arisa was too tired from Crown Princess duties, and of course, their endless talks. Karina missed her confident, her greatest advisor, her big sister.

And, of course, she missed Maxon, so fucking much she started scolding herself and her heart for being so stupid.

Of course she could’ve never married him, marry the male she loved, marry for love. She had been stupidly naive to even believe it a possibility.

But she had, deep inside her, she had. Karina had dreamed marrying her best friend in the Talihsiz River. Moving to a Estate in the Silver Land and finally finding some peace by herself.

Now her reality was very, very far away from that.

She would no longer have a beautiful wedding in the place she considered the most beautiful place on earth, she would no longer move to a beautiful Estate in her beautiful piece of land, in fact, she may have to live in here for the rest of her life, and, most importantly, she would no longer marry her best friend, but rather the male she couldn’t stand at all, and whom couldn’t stand her at all too.

What a change of scenery that had been.

A knock on her door adverted her attention from the bubbles of the bath she was playing with. With a sigh, she sent sparks of her power to every corner of the room, covering those spots where shadows could linger.

“Who is it?” Karina asked in an innocent voice, making spirals with her fingers in the water.

“Azriel,” the rough voice of the shadowsinger sent a shiver down her back, even tho the water was hot and steamy.

“Then come back later, Karina’s not available right now,” she smiled wickedly even tho Azriel couldn’t see her, and she could almost hear his jaw and his fists clenching at the other side.

“When would that be, then?”

“When a rock falls down your head and I’m delivered with the tragically awful news of your passing.”

A frustrated groan was everything she heard for a moment, as if Azriel had to take a couple of seconds to regain patience before speaking again. That only made things much more amusing for Karina.

“It is important, Karina,” the way he used her name always sounded like a scold, like a grumble, like it was difficult for him to even pronounce every syllable without clenching his teeth.

“Ok then, come in,” she sighed dramatically, and only lifted her gaze from the water when the door closed.

Her cat-like smile only intensified when she saw the shock and redness creeping up Azriel’s face, for a moment, he looked so unlike the Spymaster she had known for so long it was… refreshing. Only for a moment, of course, because quickly enough, he recovered and went back to full seriousness, the only hint of his uncomfortableness was the way his eyes moved all around the room, suddenly finding the dust in the carpet very, very interesting.

“Really, Karina?” His clenched teeth told her he was probably mad with her.

But when was he not, right?

“What? You said it was important,” for toying purposes, Karina lifted a leg out of the bathtub, the rock beneath her skin felt cold now, and the air gave her sudden chills. But everything was worth it while watching Azriel go rigid in his spot.

“Please just… put on something, anything,” he was damn good at hiding it, but the small color in his cheeks was proof enough for her to know her game was working.

“What? Are we not supposed to get married in, what, a week?” She said it so nonchalantly that Azriel’s jaw tightened at the point of almost snapping.

“Can you please just…put something on?” He said through gritted teeth, causing a slight laugh from Karina.

As she knew Azriel wouldn’t dare to look at her, she simply got out of the bathtub and climbed the stone stairs to the floor, fully naked, to where she had left her bathrobe.

“So, what was that so important thing you came to say?” She fell to one of her bedroom sofas with a dramatic sigh, crossing her legs and playing with her wet hair.

Azriel only dared to look at her for a fraction of a second. His eyes went up to her, and as fast as they came, as fast as they stared away. Karina caught a glimpse of something in them, but they were gone so quickly she did not have the time to guess what it was.

“Rhys wants to talk to you about the ceremony preparations,” his tone was as serious as ever, his back so straightened she wondered if it hurt, and his wings so tucked in they look rigid.

At least all of this would have some fun, after all.

“No thanks,” with another dramatic sigh, she dismissed what it even hadn’t been a question, and stood up to go to her closet to start looking for something to wear.

“Karina, this is really important.”

“Well then you can do it, both of you can do it, if I only may request we add some drops of poison in the dessert so I can die before this whole thing starts, that’ll be great, thanks.”

The male tensed his jaw for literally a split of a second in an attempt to calm his anger, but by the way his eyes moved so fast, Karina could bet it was not working.

“You think I want this? Believe me, it brings me no joy to think I’ll have to be bound by you for eternity, but you can thank all of this to your mother. Now, if you want to stop this wedding, then go convince her not to start a war with us,” 99% of the time, Azriel was the most impassive, nonreactive male she’d ever known, nothing could bother him, nothing could face him, nothing could make that serious mask slip off.

But that 1%, the one he was remotely close to her, he could lose every bit of temper and calmness like nothing in this world could ever.

“Maybe you are stupider than I thought, because how in the holy Cauldron’s name do you expect me to do that. Now I may be pretty and smart and funny and charming, Azriel, but I don’t do miracles.”

“You know what? I’m gonna walk away from this conversation before you make me a 500 years older,” with a heavy sigh, and more of a defeated look than anything, he hurried out of the room. Not before turning around when he was nearly out, and speaking his last words. “Rhys wants to meet up at dinner. Don’t be late.”

Those last words felt so threatening anyone else would immediately get the message: it was a threat. But even tho the hairs on Karina’s back straightened at hearing his grave voice, she made it a point to communicate her displeasure with a huff before Azriel left the room completely.

Well, at least she could wear a pretty dress tonight.

[tuliharja]

Thank you so much for tagging me @officerjennie!

Last song: Monsters by Tommee Profitt feat. XEAH

Currently watching: TSUKIMICHI -Moonlit Fantasy- Season 2, Doctor Elise, Delicious in Dungeon, The Weakest Tamer Began a Journey to Pick Up Trash, and Mashle: Magic and Muscle Season 2

Three ships: Byakuya Kuchiki/Tomoyo-hime (BLEACH x Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicle), Kenpachi Zaraki/Kendappa (BLEACH x Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicle), and HashiMito (Naruto)

Favorite color: Different shades of purple and blue. 💜💙

Currently consuming: Chocolate.

First ship: It kind of depends. I mean, I shipped Sting/Morning Glory from My Little Pony G1, but back then I didn't exactly know what shipping was. But if not, then Kisshu/Ichigo Momomiya from Tokyo Mew Mew.

Birthplace: Hospital.

Current location: In my bed.

Relationship status: Mentally dating a hot British Devil.

Last movie: It has been such a long time since I last timed watched any kind of movie...uuuh, I think the last one was The Addams Family (2019)

Currently working on: Ino Yamanaka drawing, Frieren AMV, and Bleach fanfiction about Senjumaru, Yachiru Unohana, and two little genius brats and one wild one.

Tagging: @callmeasyouwantidk, @olliya, @joutei, @the-con-she-called-conscience, @hellbubu, and anyone else who wants to do this~.