#PART! TWO!! i can only write at night so. once again will check tomorrow for legibility. and probably get a beta before continuing it on ao3

[carlyraejepsans]

When he woke up again in the morning, it was to the chinking of ceramic at the breakfast table.

Papyrus also barged through the door with a loud greeting, bootin' his way into the house like a tornado about a second later. But it was the cutlery that woke him. Honest.

"Ah, hello Papyrus!"

"Good morning miss Toriel. Sans!!" his brother glared in his direction, crossing his arms over his chest, "Oh my god, did you fall asleep on the couch again?? Seriously! I can't leave you alone even a single night."

He snorted, "morning to you too, bro."

"Good morning!" Papyrus perked up, "You're still unbelievable."

Sans chuckled. He made to get up and—nope, okay, going back down. Turns out his neck really didn't want to, well. Turn. Not out, not up. Definitely not to his left.

Yeah, he had to give it to him there; he wasn't getting any younger.

...Something about neck pain, huh.

Eh. He should probably forget it.

"I hope I'm not too late to join you."

"Do not worry, my friend. You are just in time. I have already set your milk on the stove."

"Oh-ho, your foresight precedes you, as usual!"

"yeah. call that pre-mom-nition."

"Sigh... and he hasn't even left the sofa...!!"

When he finally sat down at the table, the kid was already digging into their grub. Something that might have been cereal just a few moments earlier, but looked more like paper marche with every stab of their spoon. They looked up from their improvised mortar and pestlè to give him a grin. He winked back. Bone appetite.

Toriel slid a plate of toasted bread under his face and he murmured his thanks.

"you got everything worked out last night?"

"Nyeheheh, I did! However! I'm afraid I shall have to break my fast... even faster than usual! Your handsome ambassador is still required elsewhere."

Frisk furrowed their brow. They let their spoon drop into their bowl to sign, "Is something wrong?"

"Of course not," his brother waved a hand in the air dismissively, "Just lots of meetings and talking no one really sees the point of, trying to get stuff approved. Seriously. I had fun doing daily reports to Undyne, but this is just ridiculous."

"yeah, they don't even let you supplex the other guy."

"They don't!! Human bureaucracy... I'll never understand it. What's that thing on your shirt."

…huh?

Papyrus pointed at him, "There! On your shoulder? sort of??"

He looked down at himself and—ah. Heh. Probably should've assumed something like that'd happen.

He shrugged. "dunno. ask Frisk. they were the one drooling on it."

The kid shoved another spoonful of cereal paste into their mouth and shrugged as well, "It was decent."

"oh?"

"I've had better. 6/10."

"woah. scalding critique. after ruining my outfit for today too… you're pretty ruthless."

Frisk snorted, then signed, "You were gonna change it anyway."

"why? it passed the smell test."

"It did nOt."

"yeah you're right. it passed the taste test though."

"Barely," Papyrus grumbled.

"Enough bickering, you three," Tori laughed to herself as she got up to put the milk in the fridge, "rest assured, if Sans here holds off on his cleaning routine any longer, I will take drastic measures."

Oh boy. "really. by hand or measuring tape?"

She looked over her shoulder. Talk about angelic smiles.

"The garden hose."

He didn't even have a chance to say "promise?" that bam, kid started kicking up a stink worthy of a shower too. How HE gets to play with the hose now and that's supposed to be fair? Where's justice gone off to die to, and so on. Tori laughed, saying something about how summer was ending and SOME people could stand getting blasted with water out in the cold without being sick for a month; all while rattling 'round the fridge.

Then she suddenly stopped.

When she turned around, she had The Face.

"Frisk," she said. She had The Voice, too. She narrowed her eyes, "I believed I had made myself clear. No human sweets after ten in the evening."

She held up the incriminating evidence.

Huh. Oh yeah, he'd seen that chocolate bar around before. Had been in the fridge since dog knew how long.

He was pretty sure it hadn't been bitten in half though.

The kid's eyes widened. "It wasn't me!", they gestured wildly in defence of their innocence.

Toriel's goare narrowed further.

Obviously she was out of the question. Paps too, since he'd left in time with an alibi. That only left two options.

The kid turned towards him. He looked back.

"who, me?" he said with a wink, "sorry, not a fan of that stuff. my sweet tooth fell out years ago"

Their face was… heh. Okay. Who knew pure betrayal could look that adorable.

"My child…" Toriel began again.

Aand yep. That was the time to tab out. He couldn't leave the kid thinking they'd been framed. Pranks were fun, but groundings aren't stuff to be trifled with. Besides, as much as his instincts were dying to let the matter fade into oblivion, he'd put a couple things together about last night.

"but, uh, personally I would lay off on time-outs this time," he jumped in, parrying Tori's scolding glare with a wink, "as it turns out. Seems like we've got a sleepwalker in the house."

She blinked at him.

"Is that so?"

"Yup."

He laid back in his chair and shoved his hands in his—right, no pockets. Oh well.

Looking back at the kid, their face was carefully blank.

"woke up tonight when they face-planted off the couch. they got as far as the fridge and then came back, but they were uh, clearly out of it. i didn't try to stop em in case they did something funny."

"...Sleepwalking," the kid repeated.

"Hey, I used to do that too! Sans had to get me off the roof once."

Even Tori had to concede after watching their back-n-forth, "Well, I suppose I can see your reasoning. Sleepwalking can make for very entertaining stories."

Yep. There it was. He threw her a wink; ever a woman after his heart.

"gotta be honest, though. the special effects were a surprise. do all humans have glow-in-the-dark eyes or didja snatch a special edition somewhere?"

He threw a glance to the side at the kid, but they weren't looking at him. They looked, well, pensive.

…Tori too. She blinked. He couldn't help noticing her eyelids fluttering closed for just a second too long.

"It is not unprecedented, no."

Right. He really oughta try his best not to send her down memory lane.

Frisk looked up at him again and… yeah. Okay. He forgot that too sometimes. The kid had a gift just for unnerving him.

"Did I say anything strange?"

Sans looked at them. Maybe, he thought, he shouldn't have worked himself up over the red eyes thing. Not when the kid looked like they'd had a staring contest with King Midas on a normal day.

"Actually… you did."

It was something with the way they held themself. He couldn't explain it any other way.

He leaned in. The kid leaned in too. Even his brother and Tori gathered just that much closer.

"Well????" Papyrus actually whispered.

He smiled.

"I'm the greatest booger eater."

A loud snort broke the silence. Tori looked guilty around the room.

"Forgive me, I was not expecting that."

Then the groaning began.

…He'd changed his mind. THIS was his favorite moodsetter.

Amidst his brother's theatrics, Frisk scrunched their nose up at him.

"Secret secret password?"

"of course not," he said, "that would be extremely childish."

Papyrus stood up first.

"Well, I'll be off then. I won't be running late to entertain my brother's shenanigans."

"Can I come with?" the kid piped up. Something in their face still held something serious in it.

His brother hesitated, "W-Well."

"Just to the edge of the woods," they went on, "There's someone that I want to see again."

"My child, are you sure you—" Tori began, but the kid shook their head.

"I already know the way back. It's just to make the trip easier. I'll be home for dinner. Promised."

"sounds to me like you're just itching to hitch a ride on a cool car."

They stuck their tongue out at him. Rascal.

"Humm! Well, if miss Toriel doesn't object, there is in fact a very cool car we need to take right now!! Nyeheheh, quickly, on board!"

Frisk climbed onto his brother's back. Barely a second later, they were already out the door, hooting and cheering like goofballs.

Heh. Talk about their average monday.

He'd have cracked another joke, but he noticed Tori staring into space again. Chocolate bar in her hands. Mind away and away.

But he wouldn't have needed to see her to tell. After all, they'd talked in silences for so long, he would've know she was in a reminiscence spiral with his hands in his pockets, and a door behind his back.

Still, there were things a door didn't let you do.

He reached out to put a hand over one of hers. They were big enough that he could cover only a few digits, but hey. It was the thought that counted.

"you good?"

She smiled at him and squeezed his hand back.

"I am. Thank you, my friend."

"don't sweat it. looks like you're gonna need to make a sugar stash against the kid."

"Yes. I was considering my possibilities, in fact."

He grinned. "my vote's on the electricity panel."

"The… electricity panel?"

"yeah. it's already choc full of the stuff."

"Leave."

Technically speaking, he was a light sleeper.

Which was just hilarious for two different reasons. One, he topped at twenty pounds soaking wet—and that was after he'd reached for the towel. The joke basically wrote itself. The other reason was, of course, that nobody believed him. Honestly, he could kinda get it. It's pretty hard for irony to escape him, even on a bad day. The way he saw it, though, maybe he wouldn't take as many naps as he did, if he just managed to get one to stick.

...heh, nah. Probably not. Late to rise, early to bed, makes a man lazy or clinically dead, or however the saying went. Still.

The kid stiffened against his ribcage and that was all it took for his eyes to fly open.

The popcorn ceiling of the living room stared back at him through the darkness in all its tacky glory. Now that's another joke that writes itself. It wasn't a movie night at Tori's without some comment about her taste in decor. That always earned him a round of groans. Or a halfhearted pillow to the head. It was one of his favorite moodsetters.

His hand dangled in the air at his side. Not on the floor. Just a few months earlier, that alone would've told him he wasn't in his room, but oh boy, had things changed. He had a bedframe now, not to mention enough self respect for one. AND fitted sheets—that was a lifetime first. You had to be careful not to fall off, but all things considered, it was the fanciest bed he'd slept on since he'd tried using his worker bonus at MTT's. If he risked falling off the bed now, he'd risked never finding his way out then. Not to mention the guy in the other room calling for room service the entire night. He almost retired the midnight snacks bit on Undyne out of sympathy the next time she came over.

Almost.

The kid's head twitched.

Right. Popcorn. Living room. Springy mattress. He didn't need to smoke a pipe to realize he'd fallen asleep on the sofa. Didn't need a goofy hat either to see that someone must've thought he'd make a good pillow. Go figure. He'd gotten real good at making himself look softer under his clothes, but still, it wasn't exactly the kind of magic a guy could keep up with his eyes closed and a pillow behind his head. He just hoped they weren't too uncomfortable.

He must've dozed off sometime after Papyrus left the house and Toriel turned in for the night, 'cause nobody had stopped by to throw a blanket over him. Most nights that would've been fine. Nice thought aside, skeletons didn't really feel cold "to their bones", on account of lacking all the soft and fleshy stuff on top of 'em.

Yeah, well. Most nights. Most nights he didn't have a human kid sleeping on top of him, either.

Sans looked down. He resisted the urge to blow a strand of hair out of their face.

Most nights, skeletons didn't have hearts beating against their ribs.

Ba-dum—ba-dum—ba-dum.

He would've asked them if it felt any different, having it beat on the other side of their ribcage, if they hadn't already crawled their way inside his months before.

Heh. Not like they hadn't done the same with everyone else. Or ever asked for permission, the little freeloader. But he supposed that part came free with being monsters. The whole HOPE and compassion and everything nice kinda shtick. As a rule, they were, uh, very prone to attachment. It was hardwired into their SOULs or something. Of course, he knew better than anyone that compassion had its cost, and he'd ran low on HOPE for a long, long while, but...

There was a ray of light coming through the kitchen at night like he hadn't seen in an even longer time. The kind with a moon and stars hung at the other end of it.

Yeah. Maybe he could afford something nice for once.

Frisk stirred again. He kept as still as possible as they wriggled around, pushing themself off of him—trying, he assumed, not to shove their boney little knees somewhere unpleasant.

Then they flopped to their side and fell to the floor with a thud.

See, THAT'S the kinda issue you don't have when you have no self respect.

Slowly, the kid got to their feet again. They stood perfectly straight for a moment, then took an unsteady step forward. Then another.

To call it "walking" would've been an act of mercy. It was more of an ambling. Maybe a shambling. Sans watched their journey towards the kitchen mentally listing of adverbs. Stumbling. Fumbling. Trailing. That one didn't have a mbl in it, points for originality.

Mostly, he was ecstatic. Nothing made for fun breakfast stories quite like sleepwalking. And well, he hadn't had one of those since Papyrus turned fifteen and stopped sleeping entirely.

When the kid finally reached the fridge, they all but shoved their head inside it. He heard them do... something in there. There were definitely teeth involved. He was about to ask them to bring some goods back to homebase.

The door of the fridge clicked closed.

He didn't.

Then, he almost made a joke about forgetting their headlights on, but thought otherwise. He was glad he'd left his own off.

Besides, it was the taillights that were supposed to glow red.

Eyesockets dark and still pretending to sleep, he kept watch as the kid turned around and retraced their shambling steps to the living room like a miniature zombie.

Halfway to the sofa, they stopped, making a small sound like a grumbling of annoyance. For a second their eyes grew even more unfocused.

"Sleep," they rasped out in a low, halting whisper, "I saved you a crick in the neck."

It took him a second to register that the kid wasn't talking to him. Mostly 'cause Frisk didn't speak. To him. Or ever.

By the time they reached their starting point again, his excitement had died off into quiet confusion and quickly curdled into caution. They stopped at the edge of the sofa and fixed him with a stare, looking at where they'd been sleeping before. Sans waited.

"I am not doing that," they rasped to themself again.

Then they climbed onto the other end of the sofa and curled around themself as small as possible. So tightly it looked like they wanted to tuck their tiny body into a ball.

When they stopped moving, they didn't move again.

Sans didn't lift a finger. His brain whirred in his skull, ready to chalk up the past few minutes to the sleepwalking and forget they ever happened. Staring up at the popcorn ceiling again, though, he couldn't shake off a wave of uneasiness; like he'd seen something he wasn't quite supposed to put together.

Any man would've spent the night awake.

He cast a glance at the kid, huddled in their corner. There was no heartbeat against his ribs now: something about the silence felt foreboding.

Sans closed his eyes.

Ten minutes later, of course, he was out like a light.

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 OFFER ME MY DEATHLESS DEATH

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: one drunken encounter with dazai sends everything spiraling. suddenly, all of your problems are catching up to you at once and you're lost as to how you should proceed... or that's not entirely true—you know how you're going to proceed but it's impossible for you to come to terms with how far you've let this go.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: sorry that i haven't really been active this week </3 i've been so busy. ill try to get to asks and everything soon. forgive me</3 i hope you guys enjoy part 5, i rlly had fun writing this chapter. as always, comments and reblogs appreciated!

GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, civilian!dazai, dazai's struggles w suicide & sh, reader partakes in mafia business, dazai isn't dazai without a bit of obsessiveness and possessiveness (the possessiveness doesn't come til later but the obsessiveness starts from day 0).

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: hardly edited - i've been busy. reader and dazai argue, reader is a bit intoxicated, dazai heavily implied suicide attempt (not outright said/described bc he can't remember, but he assumes that's what happened) & he dissociates, dazai is in a pretty bad mental state the first half of the chapter, i don't think i'm missing anything but pls lmk if i am, i didn't have time to reread

SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST

You stopped seeking him out after that night.

Dazai sits in his apartment, knees curled to his chest and back pressed against the wall. He has to forcibly keep his breath steady—his homework for his engineering class is discarded somewhere to his left, he’d been working on it for class tomorrow before he made the mistake of checking his phone and seeing that you’d once again stopped reading his messages. 

Two days straight now of silence on your end. He could go to your apartment like he’s been doing for the past two weeks but every time he tries to push himself to his feet with the intention of going to you, he finds himself rooted to the ground. Your words ring damningly and persistently through his head—how you told Nakahara Chuuya that you’re only doing this because he found the proof of your occupation, how you told him that you tried to cut him off.

Dazai knew what he was doing by using the video as leverage over you. He knew he was forcing you into indulging him, that he was backing you into a corner, but he’d allowed himself to be blinded by your treatment of him. 

Even if it was coerced, no one has ever treated him the way you do—you remember the things he tells you off-handedly like he matters and you buy him the things he wants without him having to say anything like you care. You’re gentle with him—Dazai has only ever experienced bruising touches; Oda and Ango weren’t physical people and he can hardly remember his mother. He remembers the way his aunt dragged him out of the car kicking and screaming, tossing him to the ground in Suribachi before driving away. He remembers all of the nights he would get drunk at bars, ending up in strangers’ beds and waking up with a body that ached painfully and dark marks littered across his bandaged skin.

It’s hard to remember that you don’t actually want him when you treat him the same way he’s dreamed someone would treat him one day. It’s hard to remember that you turn your head away when he leans in to kiss you, that you ignore his lingering touches and change the subject whenever he almost gathers the nerve to bring the topic up to you.

You don’t want him. 

He’s forcing you to do this by using the video as leverage. 

You don’t want him. 

He rests his forehead on his knees. That gaping hole in his chest that had started to return that night after Nakahara Chuuya showed up at your apartment is all consuming now. His entire body feels numb and prickly, he feels uncomfortable in his own skin.

He needs to put a stop to this.

His gaze draws from his knees to the floorboard he’s hiding the flash drive under. He could just… get rid of it. Get rid of it and disappear—you probably wouldn’t even notice. Maybe you would, he remembers how you came to his apartment when you hadn’t heard from him after sending the couch. Then again, you might’ve only shown up because you wanted to lie about why you were cutting him off. Dazai just doesn’t know with you.

Maybe he should just go to talk to you. 

But if he talks to you… and the thought of leaving his apartment right now…

Dazai sighs, leaning back against the wall, tilting his head to look up at the ceiling, weighing both options carefully before coming to a heavy decision.

You’re not in your apartment when he gets there.

Dazai would usually wander around and find something to make himself busy with while he waits for you. You have a piano on the opposite side of the room that he sometimes likes to fiddle with—he’s taught himself a few basic songs while waiting for you to get back from work the past few weeks. He ordered a gaming console and a few games to go along with it when you made the mistake of leaving your laptop open last week, but he doesn’t even have the energy to go look for one; not that any are even particularly standing out to him. Sometimes, he just snoops around, but his legs feel like lead, like they’re bolted to the ground, so he just sits on your couch and stares at the black television screen as the minutes tick by.

He doesn’t even know how long he’s been sitting there—too long, it was still light out when he walked his way over to your building in Naka-ku and the sun had set a long time ago. He’s never felt lonely in your apartment before; in fact, he usually seeks out your apartment because he feels lonely and whether you’re here or not, it eases the void that grows in his chest.

But now? Each passing second, he feels colder and colder. A part of him thinks that he should take this as a sign and just leave, but his body is uncooperative, keeping him rooted to your couch as he awaits your return.

He’s planned out what he’s going to say to you; he’s rehearsed it in his head so many times that he thinks he could say the dreadful words while sleeping. Now, he just-

Dazai’s head snaps to the side when he hears the fateful ding of the elevator arriving at your floor. His eyes widen and his tongue swells with anxiety as he stares at the doors, his breath slows and his fingers bite into his pants as he waits to see you step into the room but when the doors finally start to slide open, he freezes when he hears laughter.

“I can’t stand you,” an unfamiliar male voice snorts and Dazai’s mouth dries as his gaze darts around, trying to figure out what to do. The last thing he wants is for a repeat of the other night—if this is another one of your mafia friends, Dazai has to move, but he doesn’t know where to go.

His gaze settles on a nearby hall leading to the bathroom and an unused room—it’s closer to him than the kitchen, he’d never make it to the kitchen because he’d have to go right past the elevator. His legs feel so heavy that it’s an effort for him to push himself to his feet. He almost stumbles right over them as he rushes into the spare room, keeping the door cracked open so he can hear and see what’s going on.

He peeks carefully through the crack, watching as two men enter your apartment—you’re with them and Dazai’s chest tightens painfully at the sight of you. You’re smiling as you lean against one of the men—Dazai recognizes him as the man who had come with you to his apartment complex the first time, he’d been waiting by the car for you—and you’re dressed prettily in a short black dress. You’re so dazzling to him that Dazai nearly tumbles right out of the room he’s hiding in, but luckily, he’s drawn out of his dazed state by another unfortunately familiar face: Nakahara Chuuya, the executive who had been at your apartment the other night.

Dazai quickly leans back into the room when the ginger’s eyes snap down the hall as if he could sense someone watching him. He lets out a puff of air as he looks around the empty room—he’d looked in here before when he first started coming to your apartment, but had been sorely disappointed by the fact that there was nothing in the room for him to snoop around in.

Now, he blinks because while the room is still mostly empty, there are some tools in here as if you’d had someone come in to take measurements to start building something in there. His gaze slides from the far wall to the one nearest to him, dragging his feet against the wood floors to slide his fingers against the lines drawn on the wall in pencil, realizing that it’s about the same size as the piano in the other room.

His throat tightens as he remembers your offer from the other day, wondering if you’d gone ahead and started having it done even after the argument with Chuuya and Dazai not showing up for two days. 

God, he doesn’t understand you—he doesn’t understand you at all. He starts to doubt every conclusion he’s come to the past two days because why would you go to these lengths for someone you don’t care about? For someone who’s forcing you into indulging him through blackmail? It doesn’t make sense, Dazai has never had so much trouble reading someone before you.

He leans against the wall, lashes lowering as he looks down at the floor. He doesn’t know what to think and now his well-rehearsed speech starts crumbling in his head. Distantly, he can hear the conversation between you and the other two mafiosos—you’re talking about something happening in Tokyo and Dazai wonders if it has anything to do with that argument from the other night.

But regardless of the topic of discussion, what matters more is that you sound happy. Your voice is light and airy, and you seem entirely unbothered by the fact that you hadn’t seen Dazai in days. Dazai doesn’t think you’ve ever sounded so happy with him before and why would you when he’s blackmailing you? Your laughter rings bright and pretty like a chime and Dazai feels sick to his stomach at the thought of you laughing like that for someone else; he imagines the way your laughter will fizzle when you see him, all of the liveliness in your face dying at his unanticipated appearance.

It feels like an eternity and all too soon at the same time when Dazai finally hears the two leave. He takes one deep breath, preparing to force himself out from where he’s hiding but then freezes at the sound of you raising your voice.

“Dazai, you can come out now.”

He blanches, staring at the partially closed door in front of him, half-debating on not even coming out because how did you know he was here? He thought he’d been careful, there’s-

“I know you’re somewhere in here, the cushion was warm where you were sitting.”

Dazai has half a mind to throw himself out of the window.

He takes in a deep breath as he pushes the door open, stepping out into the hallway that’s suddenly too cold and all too short. He swears it was twice as long when he was stumbling from the couch to hide in the spare room. His feet scuffle against the ground as he walks forward, not coming any closer than where the hallway meets your living room.

You’re laying on the couch he’d been sitting on, head resting back against the pillows and a curious expression on your face as you watch him. He can’t read it—if he didn’t know any better, he’d almost say it was fond, but he refuses to let that hope bubble up into his chest only for it to be crushed again. He thinks he should say something, tossing around a few options in his head, but he doesn’t get the chance to.

You hold out your hand to him. “Come here,” you say.

Dazai hesitates, eyes lingering on your extended hand before flitting back up to your face. He shouldn’t—he knows he shouldn’t—but he finds his feet moving forward before he can stop himself. He stands in front of you awkwardly for a moment, not sure what you want from him, but then his eyes shoot open when you reach out and grab his wrist, tugging him forward onto the couch with you. 

He pretends he doesn’t yelp when he lands on top of you, face flaming up when he shifts himself into a sitting position so that he’s straddling your waist, trying not to drop all of his weight onto you. He also pretends that he’s not entirely thrown off by the way your hands rest on his thighs, absently running them up and down the sides of them. 

“Where have you been the past few days?” you ask him quietly.

Dazai’s blood pressure spikes at the curious look you give him, as if he hadn’t been texting you for days with no response. He can smell the alcohol on you now that he’s closer and he wonders how much you drank—he thinks that’s probably why you looked so fond before and that’s probably why you’re suddenly being so touchy with him, it has nothing to do with him. That empty feeling in his chest starts to return.

He should have just left, should have just destroyed the flash drive and disappeared. 

“I texted you,” he replies tightly, feeling wildly uncomfortable as he’s unable to get a hold on the way he’s spiraling internally. “I can see you’ve been busy though.”

You tilt your head to the side as if you’re unsure of what he means and Dazai almost wants to get up and leave but the feeling of your hands on him, his lower body pressed to yours, it leaves him dizzy and slow. His breath catches as your hands slip beneath his sweatshirt, smoothing out against his bandaged sides, thumb drawing slow circles over the covered skin as if trying to calm him down.

Dazai thinks he might hate you.

He thinks he might hate himself more because it works. His heartbeat slows and relaxes into you a bit more. He wants to take you by the shoulders and shake you, wants to demand answers, wants to know if you actually care about him or if this is all just some big show for the flash drive. 

“I haven’t looked at my phone,” you finally say. “I’ve been the one dealing with the issues in Tokyo. It’s just been meeting after meeting the past few days. I thought you’d be here when I got back but you weren’t.”

Were you waiting for him? He wants to ask. Expecting him? Or are you just saying that because you can tell he’s unhappy and don’t want to deal with his attitude? Dazai just doesn’t know, it’s hard to concentrate with your hands on his body.

“Can we talk?” Dazai asks quietly after a few moments.

“What about?”

About the flash drive. About you. About him. Dazai doesn’t know—about everything. So, instead he just says: “About this.”

Instantly, you turn your head away from him and Dazai’s frustration rises at your attempt at blatantly ignoring him. He reaches out to grab your cheeks, forcing you to look up at him and Dazai’s breath catches when your lidded stare lands on him.

“I’m drunk,” you tell him flatly. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Bullshit,” Dazai immediately snaps, the pads of his fingers digging a bit too hard into your cheeks but you’re unfazed by it, staring up at him with an unreadable expression. “I think-”

Dazai doesn’t even have the chance to finish his sentence because you’re pushing yourself up from your laying position, one hand slipping out from his sweatshirt to cup the back of his head, the other still firm on his hip as you drag him down against you. Dazai’s breath catches when you press your lips against his, lashes fluttering shut. The hand on his hip slides around to his back, holding his body flush to yours—he lets out a low moan into your mouth when you nip at his bottom lip.

No, he thinks hazily, trying to push himself off of you but instead, his hands cup your cheeks and he tilts your head back to deepen the kiss. Your tongues dance in a way that leaves him dazed, it feels almost intimately familiar to him, somehow so in tune with one another that it’s like you’ve kissed hundreds of times before. 

He shouldn’t be doing this, he knows this. You said it yourself that you’re drunk, he knows you only kissed him to get him to stop talking but…Dazai sighs into your mouth when he feels the tips of your finger card through his hair, feeling you shift beneath him to let his hips slot between your legs.

But isn’t this what he’s wanted this whole time? 

Aren’t you finally giving him what you’ve denied him for weeks?

Your lips are intoxicating against his, and not because of the gin staining your tongue, he can hardly focus on anything with the way your tongue traces the back of his teeth, dragging against the roof of his mouth. He groans when you shift beneath him, one leg hooking around his waist. He separates his lips from yours to gasp for breath.

Shit, he thinks, lips parting when you kiss his jaw, trailing your lips to his ear to suck gently on the skin there before kissing slowly down his neck. He swears his entire body is on fire, breaths quick and shuddered; his mind feels so muddled and hazy that he has to actively tell himself to put a stop to this and even that is almost not enough.

It takes all of his willpower to push himself off of you, still breathing heavy, lips wet and swollen, his whole body tingling everywhere your lips and hands had touched. You stare up at him and Dazai’s body aches with need when he sees you’re nearly as breathless as he is, your own lips wet from his, eyes a bit glazed over. Heat burns in his lower abdomen but he can’t, not when he knows you’re drunk and not when he knows you’re only doing this to get him to stop talking.

Before Dazai can say anything, you look away from him again and he knows that it’s over.

“I’m tired,” you say. “Help me get to bed. We can talk in the morning.”

Dazai’s lashes lower as he nods, leaning down to help you to your feet. Even with your heels kicked off, you wobble on your feet, so he wraps an arm around your waist to keep you steady. The silence is almost foreboding as Dazai guides you up the stairs to your bedroom; you don’t make any move to break it, so Dazai does.

“We’re not going to talk about it in the morning, are we?” he asks quietly, looking down at you. You don’t look up at him and Dazai just wants you to at least look at him so when he gets you to the door of your bedroom, he stops and looks at you. You still don’t look at him. “Can you at least look at me?”

Dazai thinks he might be sick from the way you have to seemingly force yourself to look at him. Even drunk, he can see the displeasure plain on your face and it makes him want to curl in on himself again.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Dazai,” you finally say, your voice is tight. “I want to go to bed.”

“I want to talk about it,” Dazai stresses. “I-”

Frustration flies across your face, emotions loosened in your intoxicated state. You turn away from him and slam open your bedroom door and Dazai winces, taking half a step back.

“It’s always what you want, Dazai,” you hiss. 

Dazai’s heart sinks, shaking his head because he doesn’t want to hear where you’re going with this. “Stop.”

“For weeks, I have been catering to what you want and now I don’t want one thing and you throw a fucking tantrum over it. I don’t want to talk about this—I don’t want to talk about it now, I don’t want to talk about it in the morning, I don’t want to talk about it. Can you just leave it be?”

Dazai takes another step back, staring at you silently. His ears ring as your words echo through them and though he can watch your face shift from frustration to guilt, it doesn’t process in his head—not really, not when all he can hear are your words on repeat over and over again. 

You reach out for him, fingers curling around his wrist but Dazai pulls his hand back, taking a step away from you, closer to the stairs. All of his fight or flight instincts are triggered, his body itches to run, to flee downstairs and get out of your apartment, but his legs are uncooperative, feet rooted to the ground as he stares at you blankly.

“I didn’t mean that,” you say after a few moments. “I didn’t-I just-”

“It’s okay,” Dazai replies, voice a bit distant even to his own ears. “I’ll drop it.”

“Dazai-”

“Let me help you get into bed,” Dazai interrupts, forcing a smile onto his face as he pushes himself forward. His movements feel weird and clunky, unnatural almost, but he successfully leads you into your room, pulling back the sheets to help you into bed. “C’mon.”

He helps you slip into the bed and pulls the sheets over you, there’s still that hazy look in your eyes as you look up at him and Dazai tries his best to make sure that the smile on his face doesn’t look strained. He’s pretty sure you can see through it even while drunk. You reach out to grab his wrist again and this time, Dazai doesn’t pull away. 

“Stay here tonight,” you say quietly. “Lay down with me.”

“I have class in the morning.” Dazai shakes his head, as much as he might ache to stay in your presence, he thinks if he stays in it a moment longer, he might actually break down—he can’t get your words to stop echoing. Only a steadily crumbling dam is holding back the torrent of emotions ripping apart his chest. “I can’t.”

“I’ll drive you.”

“I have to get all of my books, and finish my homework,” he tells you. “I can’t.”

“We’ll leave early,” you press, leaning up on your elbows. “C-”

“I can’t,” Dazai stresses, taking a step back and shaking his head. “I can’t. I have to go.”

You look conflicted, but to his relief and distress, you finally let go of his wrist. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow. After your classes. You finish at three, right? There’s a restaurant in Minami-ku I’ve been meaning to take you to.”

Dazai’s throat spasms as he swallows, shaking his head again. “I’m busy after class tomorrow. I have meetings for group projects.”

“When are they over? I’ll pick you up after.”

He feels a bit sick to his stomach as he looks up at your ceiling, in turmoil and unsure as to what to do. He knows you’re not doing this because you feel bad—not really—he knows it has to do with the flashdrive. He knows it. He thought it would be easier having someone to talk to, someone to hang out with, even if it was only because of blackmail because at least he would have someone, but he was wrong because this is a type of torture that Dazai just can’t endure any longer.

“I’m not going to want to do anything after, I’ll be drained.”

“Then we don’t have to do anything.” God, you won’t stop trying. You won’t stop trying and Dazai knows that if it wasn’t for that stupid flash drive, you’d have laughed in his face and told him to get out. He thinks he might actually throw up. “I’ll pick up the food before going to get you. We’ll stay in. Watch a movie.”

“No,” Dazai says, raising his voice now. “No. I’m just going to go back to my place. I have to go.”

Though his legs feel like lead and his body still yearns to be near yours, he forces himself to leave your room. Doesn’t look back when you call his name. Doesn’t hesitate at the top of the stairs when you tell him to wait. He nearly stumbles as he makes his way down the stairs and when he gets to the bottom instead of rushing toward the elevator, he sits on the arm of your couch, resting his head in his hands as he tries to gather his thoughts.

You’re so frustrating. So impossible to read that it’s beginning to take a toll on Dazai. He doesn’t understand why you’re so adamant on not having a conversation about all of this. He thought you would’ve wanted to have a conversation about it for the chance of getting the flash drive away from him. 

You’ve done everything in your power to avoid any physical contact with him until now; only finally giving it to him when there’s an issue you really don’t want to talk about to try to distract him. Hell, you’d prefer to even talk to him about mafia business—you vented all about the issues with the Shimazaki-kai to him, and Dazai would think that’s the last thing you’d want to talk to him about. 

It doesn’t make any sense.

He’s drawn from his thoughts at the sound of something buzzing against the ground a few feet away, frowning as he looks around and spots your phone on the ground, probably lost in your drunken attempts to get to the couch. He hesitates before pushing himself off the arm of the couch, taking a few steps toward it before kneeling down to pick it up. 

He chews at the inside of his cheek as he stares down at the home screen of your phone, staring at Nakahara Chuuya’s name in the text notification. He knows that he shouldn’t go snooping. He knows it.

He does it anyway.

He spares one last glance up the stairs before unlocking your phone with the code he’s seen you put in hundreds of times by now, clicks on your message app and lets out a puff of air when he realizes that no, you hadn’t been lying. You have at least twenty unread message threads—Dazai’s is pinned at the top with Chuuya’s and someone called Mori, who you’ve never mentioned to him. There’s only one message thread you’ve evidently been reading the past few days considering there’s no dot next to it: Tolstoy, the last message being from a few hours ago.

He shouldn’t look. He knows he shouldn’t look.

He clicks on it anyway.

He bites down hard on his bottom lip as he scrolls to the top of the conversation—only a few message exchanges between the two of you, but they’re decently long.

Tolstoy: Do you still want Ilya? I can have him there by the end of next week, I just need him to finish up some business in Moscow first. You: Haven’t decided. You haven’t even given me the rundown on the side effects of his ability. I’m not going to use it if it’s going to fuck up his head—stop playing salesman and tell me what’s actually up with him. No ability comes without consequences. You know that. I know that. So stop fucking around. 

Dazai suddenly has a sick feeling in his stomach, vision tunneling on the ‘him’ you’re speaking of in the messages. A foreboding air settles over him, dark and oppressive, he has to physically force himself to keep reading.

Tolstoy: We don’t know of any side effects. Haven’t used it enough to figure it out.  You: So, you want me to use him as a lab rat? Be real, Tolstoy. Thought you had more respect for me than that. Tolstoy: I’m trying to help you. You want that kid’s memory wiped, I can have it done for you, it’s just a matter of how badly you want it done.

Dazai doesn’t read anymore than that. He drops your phone onto the couch, takes a step back, a step away. His mind spins, ears ringing as he stares down at—he doesn’t even know what he’s staring at. His vision is swimming and blurring—with tears, maybe? Or just from exhaustion? From panic? He can’t tell but he knows he’s not breathing properly and he knows he needs to leave, everything suddenly feels too suffocating, too enclosed. 

He stumbles over to the elevator, slapping the button and leaning against the wall as he waits for it to come up to your floor. It takes long—too long, each second that passes feels like an eternity and he can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe.

There’s only one “him” that your texts could be referring to. And it makes sense—it makes sense, doesn’t it? It makes sense why you’re so willing to divulge confidential information if you don’t intend for him to keep the knowledge of it. Makes sense why you’ve been notably careless with leaving files around your apartment. Makes sense why you told him about your ability. He’d thought you were finally letting him in, letting him know you, but-but of course, you weren’t. 

Of course, you weren’t. 

You were just…you were just trying to keep him placated, feed him bits of information to keep him happy because you knew you weren’t going to let him keep the knowledge of it. That you were gonna wipe his memory of it, of you, and send him back into that cold, dark void that’s been following him around his entire life and-

The bing of the elevator startles him, he flinches and still, he can’t breathe. His skin feels numb and prickly, his bandages are scratching uncomfortably at the scars hidden beneath them and he can hardly see straight.

Dazai needs to go.

He needs to go.

You wake up with a dry mouth, a pounding headache and an oddly foreboding feeling hanging about you. You push yourself into a sitting position, grimacing at the sun blinding you through the window—you don’t remember much of the night. You vaguely recall leaving the club last night with Albatross and Chuuya, the two of them incessantly bitching about dealing with you while you were drunk but in your defense, you think you deserved it after three days straight of meetings with the Shimazaki-kai on behalf of the Sun and Steel. 

Everything after leaving the club is a blur. You grimace as you push yourself out of bed, glancing around to see if you’d dropped your phone anywhere near the bed only to come up empty-handed. You don’t even bother to go to the bathroom and brush your teeth, anxious to find your phone and figure out what happened once you left the club.

You pray to god that it’s downstairs and you hadn’t left it at the club, making your way out of the bedroom with a sigh. You doubt Chuuya or Albatross would’ve been dumb enough to leave it there, but you’re pretty sure they were both drunk too and neither of them are functioning drunks.

You’re not even halfway through the door frame when pain shoots through your head, sharp and uncomfortable and then-

“It’s always what you want, Dazai.”

Suddenly, that foreboding feeling you awoke with makes sense. You stare ahead blankly as you remember who exactly was waiting for you at your apartment after you got back from the club. You remember the argument, you remember the crushed expression that crossed his face when you snapped at him, you remember pleading with him to stay or to at least let you take him out today and you remember him refusing, his voice pitched and cracking, wobbly, on the verge of collapse because-

Because of you. 

Fuck.

It’s with increasingly more urgency now that you rush yourself down the stairs, a small lingering hope remaining that maybe Dazai had stayed in one of the guest rooms or on the couch, that you could do something to fix this before it escalates even more. 

You don’t even know why you said that—it’s not like you mind giving Dazai what he wants, in fact, you enjoy it. You enjoy it a lot. You like seeing his face light up when you do nice things for him, you like when he tries to hide the way he gets all flustered, you like that he’s allowed himself to have hope with you—something he’s clearly denied himself for too long—and you what? 

You ruined it because you got scared? 

You ruined it because you didn’t want to talk about… whatever you have going on with him? 

You ruined it because you were terrified he was going to force you to come to terms with the fact that you’re using his stupid flash drive as an excuse to indulge yourself in him. That it would take minimal effort to have it destroyed but you’re putting it off because you want to be able to rationalize what you’re doing.

You feel sick to your stomach when you realize that your apartment is empty, eyes darting around to try to find your phone. You need to call him—he told you that he wanted to be alone today, or maybe he didn’t say exactly that but he implied it, but you need to at least talk to him now that you’re sober and can think straight. 

A distant part of you, a cold and logical part of you, tells you to just use this as the excuse to cut him off—you don’t need to get Ilya to fuck with his mind if he just hates you, you don’t want Ilya to fuck with Dazai’s mind. The thought of it makes your chest feel tight with guilt, so maybe you should take this opportunity for what it is, no matter how shitty it might make you feel, but-

But you won’t.

Finally spotting your phone on the couch, you snatch it up and unlock it, grimacing at the low battery percentage and then grimacing even more when there’s not a single message from Dazai lighting up your home screen. There’s seven from Chuuya, three from Albatross, and two from Mori, but you’re more concerned by the missed call from an unknown number and the unread voice message.

The foreboding feeling that has been looming only grows more intense when you click on the message for it to play out loud.

“This is Doctor Okamoto of Keiyu Hospital calling on behalf of a recently admitted patient… listed you as his emergency contact when he was brought in last night… unable to disclose any information regarding his injuries over the phone… suggest that you get here soon…”

At once, your vision tunnels and everything around you becomes white noise, your gaze is pinned on the ground, a smudge on the tiled floors as you try to keep yourself grounded because what? Dazai is in the-he’s in the hospital?

Because of you? 

You hadn’t been subtle approaching him that day in the library, it’s been a lingering thought since then, wondering if unsavory eyes had caught sight of you talking to him. The bar and the cafe were different, he had approached you—if any of your enemies had happened to see it, they wouldn’t think twice about it. But you approaching him had been dangerous. 

It had been a mistake.

Had it been a mistake to cost him his life?

And it’s not just that—you’ve taken him out to dinners. Picked him up at his apartment building. Places that you or your trusted affiliates own but there’s always the chance… and if he left the Port Mafia building last night in a rush, upset and not thinking straight…

Oh, you might throw up.

You’re not dressed properly. You’re still wearing your dress from last night and you fumble to put on the heels you must’ve kicked off in your drunken state. You don’t even care to get dressed, more intent on getting to the hospital and figuring out if—nausea builds in the back of your throat—if Dazai is alive, if he’s okay. You need to re-listen to the voicemail because your hearing had been unfocused and you’d only been able to catch bits and pieces of the doctor’s message.

And-

And you don’t even get into the elevator because your phone is ringing again as soon as you click the button. You don’t even look at the number before picking up, fearing that it’s the hospital again—it’s not, it’s Chuuya, and you immediately regret your decision because you aren’t even able to bark out a ‘what’ before he’s speaking.

“Where the hell have you been?” Chuuya snaps on the other side of the line. “We’ve been trying to get ahold of you for hours, we-”

“I’m busy,” you hiss right back, interrupting him. “I can’t talk-”

“You can talk,” Chuuya says harshly. “Get to headquarters. The Guild is in Yokohama now. We don’t have time to fuck around anymore.”

You don’t respond to Chuuya, heart sinking to your feet at his words, distress clawing at your chest so painfully that you think it might be easier if you just carve out your heart and toss it out the window. You hang up the phone without another word just as the elevator makes it to your floor, but instead of going inside, you make your way back up to your room, numbly changing into one of your suits so you could at least look somewhat presentable. 

You hardly even recognize yourself in the mirror as you wipe off your smudged makeup from your night out. Your eyes are vacant and your expression so empty that you think you could almost be looking at a statue. 

War with the Guild. Dazai in the hospital.

Everything is catching up to you at the same time and your mind is fraying at its seams, collapsing in on itself as the weight of everything bears down on you. You do your best to compartmentalize, focus on one thing at a time but you can’t even concentrate on one issue. 

You try to figure out what to do about the upcoming conflict, try to determine what exactly Fitzgerald might be planning so you can figure out what the Port Mafia will retaliate with, and your mind drifts to Dazai, you wonder if he’s okay, if he’s in critical condition, if it was one of your enemies that got to him or if it was something else.

You think about Dazai, all of the fear and guilt and anxiety tearing you apart, and your mind shoots straight to the Guild. Because if Fitzgerald knows about Dazai—if he knows about Dazai—then it’s over. It’s all over. If the Guild gets their hands on him, they’ll kill him when you don’t give them what they want because you can’t give them what they want. They want Yokohama and you can’t give them that. 

You can’t, not even for Dazai.

You don’t even register that you’re standing in front of the elevator again until it bings, startling you right out of your thoughts. You can’t leave the building while you’re spiraling like this—you need to get a grip on yourself, you don’t even know where you’re going yet. You need to figure out if you’re going to go meet with Mori and the other executives or if you’re going to go find Dazai. 

As you step into the elevator, it takes all but five seconds for you to make a decision.

Dazai wakes up to the familiar scent of antiseptic and a citrus-scented floor cleaning solution, the air is too stale and the air-conditioning is cranked up too high. He forces his eyes open, lids heavy and uncooperative, but he immediately lets them fall shut again briefly when he’s met with too white walls and the steady beeping of the heart monitor next to him.

His throat feels swollen as he stares up at the ceiling—the last time he was here in the hospital he was seventeen and had nearly bled out in the bathtub in Odasaku’s house. The only reason he hadn’t was because Ango happened to stop by the house to pick up papers that Odasaku had left for him, finding Dazai unconscious and face half-submerged in the water. He woke up here to find both of them hovering over him, Ango concerned and Odasaku visibly upset for the first time since Dazai met him.

He wakes up alone now because Odasaku is dead and he hasn’t spoken to Ango in four years—doesn’t even know where the man is anymore, doesn’t even know if he’s alive, doesn’t want to know either.

“Dazai-sama.” He hears a nurse say from the door to his room. “You’re awake, how are you…”

The nurse’s voice becomes white noise with the beeping of the heart monitor and the vents blowing above. Dazai retreats back into his own mind—a dangerous place, but right now it’s safer than the white walls that surround him, knowing he’s going to be badgered with questions that he doesn’t want to have to answer. 

How are you feeling, Dazai-sama? 

What happened, Dazai-sama? 

We need to ask you a few questions, Dazai-sama.

Dazai feels defeated.

His head falls to the side as he stares out the nearby window, watching as a bird swoops down in view before taking off into the sky.

He doesn’t even remember what happened. He remembers leaving your apartment, he remembers… he remembers seeing your texts, your plans to wipe his memory. And… that’s about it? He vaguely remembers the familiar feeling of his lungs burning, remembers being tossed around by the rough currents of Tsurumi River. He doesn’t remember how he got there but it’s not exactly hard for him to piece together—even now, Dazai thinks he would rather be dead than have his memories forcibly erased.

“… to know what exactly hap…”

A dark and familiar cloud settles over him. His eyes feel heavy and his chest hurts. Dazai—he doesn’t even know what to think anymore. He’s so tired that his bones ache and his muscles feel so weak that he just sinks into the stiff mattress of the hospital bed.

He doesn’t know what he expected—he thinks that to some extent he expected you to leave him. Everyone has left him. His mother, his aunt, all of the brief friends he’d made over the years before they see him for what he is, Odasaku and Ango—everyone has left him, so he knew that you would too but… in this manner? Using an ability to wipe his memory of you?

Dazai has considered it before. He’s wondered if maybe his life would be easier if he could just… forget. If he could live without the memory of everyone who has left him hanging over him. Some days, on really bad days, he thinks it might be easier. To try to make himself feel better, he thinks that maybe he isn’t the issue, maybe it’s all just a self-fulfilling prophecy, that it’s his past experiences cursing him to make the same mistakes over and over again; that without them, he might stand a chance.

But then when he thinks about it—when he really thinks about it—he knows in his heart that it’s not true, and he knows that without the memory of them all, Dazai will only feel more empty. And to think that you were trying to take his memories of you from him… without even asking, without giving him a choice in the matter… it almost makes Dazai-

“Dazai.”

His gaze snaps to the side when he hears your familiar voice come from the door leading into his room. Instantly, he’s shaking his head and looking away again, he can’t even bear to look at you but you’re walking over to him, you’re coming to his bedside, you’re sitting next to him on the hospital bed and you’re reaching out to cup his cheek, forcibly turning his face to make him look at you. You look worried, something sharp and concerned in your eyes that makes his throat swell and he wants to spit at you and call you a liar but he can only sink into your touch.

“Why are you here?” he asks. His voice is hoarse, almost painful for him to use. 

“What happened?” you ask him quietly instead of answering his question—you never answer his questions, you always deflect, always maneuver around them. The ones you do answer, it’s only because you plan to- “Dazai, what happened? Are you okay?”

Dazai doesn’t know how you can look at him like this all the while planning the most diabolical betrayal that he could ever imagine. You’re either an actress deserving of international recognition or… or Dazai doesn’t even know.

“I’m fine,” he says, voice clipped. “Why are you here?”

“The hospital called me-”

“But why are you here?” Dazai cuts you off, grateful that his voice is firmer than the turmoil wreaking havoc through him. He must’ve given them your number while he was half-delirious when he was brought in—he figured that out already—but that doesn’t explain why you actually came. “Why did you come?”

“Because you’re hurt,” you say as if Dazai should believe you. 

And he wants to believe you. Wants to believe that you’d come running just at the mere idea of him being hurt, wants to believe that you would care enough to come for him. He wants to believe you so bad, but he knows what he saw. 

“Don’t lie to me,” Dazai tells you, finally gathering the willpower to pull his face away from where it’s resting in the palm of your hand. You don’t even let him shift away, hand slipping behind him to cradle the back of his head, fingers entwined with his hair. “Stop.”

“I’m not lying to you,” you say like a liar. “Tell me what happened.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

You sigh heavily and Dazai hates the way you’re absently drawing circles against the nape of his neck with your thumb, hates how it makes him feel at ease and especially hates the way his lashes instinctually flutter shut.

“I didn’t mean what I said last night, Dazai,” you say so quietly that Dazai almost believes you. Almost. “I was drunk, I didn’t… I don’t know why I said that. I didn’t mean-”

“I don’t care about that,” Dazai says, proud of the way his voice stays sharp and cold. “I saw the messages between you and Tolstoy. I know what you’re planning. I don’t want to talk to you, I don’t even want to look at you, just leave me alone.”

You draw back at his words, concerned expression melting into a blank slate as you pull your hand away to sit back straight. Dazai misses your touch instantly, longs for the warmth to return but he forces himself to ignore it all, keeping his gaze pinned on you, watching the way your mind races behind your eyes. He wonders if you’re trying to figure out if you can salvage this, wonders if you’re going to lie.

Instead, a heavy look settles over your face as you frown, glancing back at the way you came and for a moment, Dazai thinks you’re just going to leave. You rise to your feet and words lodge in the back of his throat, preparing to spit insults at you: he wants to call you a coward, a liar, wants to tell you that you’re cruel and vile and he can hardly even stand to look at you.

But then you look back at him and hold out your hand to him. “Come on,” you tell him. “Let’s sneak you out of here… I’ll explain everything when we get out of the hospital.”

Dazai wants to be spiteful, wants to turn his head away and ignore you, wants to slap your hand and tell you that there’s no explaining what he saw.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he places his hand in yours and lets that treacherous, treacherous spec of hope bloom in his chest again.

Dazai hasn’t spoken a word since leaving the hospital. You’ve tried to make small talk with him, but every time, he just turns his head away to look out the window. You gave up twenty minutes ago and Dazai is already regretting not indulging conversation with you because the silence is agonizing. He knows he should break it, but he doesn't know how to now. 

He glances at you from the corner of your eye. You’re leaning back against your seat, one hand on the steering wheel—he can’t see your eyes because they’re masked by sunglasses, but he can see the way your free hand rests on the gear stick, knuckles tense.

“What is this place?” Dazai clears his throat as he leans forward in his seat, peering out the windshield of your car to try to figure out where you’re taking him. He forces his tone to lighten, the smile on his lips strained. “Are you kidnapping me? Oh! Or are you taking me to some remote cabin to kill me? Bella, you truly know the way to a man’s heart.”

You let out a heavy sigh, one that makes Dazai toss a sweet smile in your direction. 

Some type of beach house, he recognizes as you pull up a windy road to the top of a cliff looking over the water. He can see to his left a path leading down to the water and to his right a nice view of a distant pier. It’s not a large house, but it’s nice—well-kept and refurbished with a view over Sagami Bay. It’s not too far out from Yokohama, probably only a little over an hour, but considering Dazai’s never left the city in his entire life, this might be the furthest he’s ever been. He can almost feel a bit of excitement bubbling in his chest. 

“I wanted to take you here, away from the city for a bit,” you finally say, fingers thrumming against the wheel of the car as you slowly guide the car up the gravel path. “So we can talk in peace.”

Your bland words whittle away his excitement and Dazai’s smile falters. He tries to distract himself with counting the strands hanging off the sleeve of his sweater but keeps losing count.

“Something you couldn’t have talked to me about in Yokohama?” Dazai asks airly as you pull to a stop in front of the beach house. 

He doesn’t turn to look at you, doesn’t move until you finally get out of the car, reaching into the back seat to grab two duffle bags, nodding for him to follow you.

Wow, he thinks dryly, you came prepared.

Dazai feels distinctly like he’s walking to his execution as he follows you to the steps leading up to the house, but instead of walking up them, you toss the bags on the porch and then continue up the path.

You’re going to push him off a cliff, Dazai thinks, feet dragging against the gravel as he follows you. This is it, all of the years that he’s longed for death and it’s finally about to find him at your hands. 

“I might not die from the fall,” Dazai says, words drawn long as he pouts. “You wouldn’t really leave me to suffer in freezing water, would you?”

“No,” you say, glancing back at him. He lets out a quiet breath of relief that’s quickly snuffed out when you add, “I’m not that sloppy with my kills. I’d kill you before dumping your body over the side of the cliff.”

Dazai blanches, but your lips curl up into an amused smile so he settles down, sighing as he purposely knocks his shoulder with yours.

“My bella is so cruel,” he sighs dramatically. “She hates me.”

You sigh as you reach the edge of the cliff, not turning to look at him. The wind whips around the two of you—it’s a cool, early spring night, the temperature just enough to be uncomfortable but you don’t seem bothered by it as you stare out across the water as the sun starts to set.

You’re beautiful, Dazai thinks, breath catching at the sight of you beneath the setting sun. The golden rays cast an ethereal glow over you, the wind ruffles your clothes and hair, and your expression is solemn in a way that’s become terribly familiar the past few weeks.

“I’m not going to do anything with the video,” Dazai finally says, voice quiet—finally taking the chance to say what he wanted to say last night. “You don’t have to keep… pandering to me because you’re trying to protect yourself. I was never going to do anything with it, I just… wanted you to give me a chance.”

When you look over your shoulder, you give Dazai a small, genuine smile that makes all of the air whoosh from his lungs. 

“Dazai, I’ve known you weren’t going to do anything with that video since day one,” you say, amused. “If I thought you were, I would’ve had someone confiscate it from your apartment.”

Dazai’s lips part, mind racing. “But then why-”

Your smile softens at the edges and you sigh as you lower yourself down to the ground, feet dangling off the edge of the cliff. Dazai joins you, thigh brushing yours and shoulders absently knocking together. Your hands rest in your lap and Dazai’s fingers twitch to reach for yours. He only hardly refrains himself.

“I don’t remember a life before this,” you say after a few moments, a distant look in your eyes as you stare ahead. “When I was seven… eight, maybe, I was pulled out of a warzone by the current leader of the Mafia. I don’t even remember my parents—anything about them. Their names. Faces. What they sounded like, what their job was. Mori… he found me in my town sitting in the middle of a whole pile of bodies and I couldn’t even point out which pair of corpses were my parents. I don’t remember anything before him… It’s all just black. Blurred.”

Dazai stares at you, eyes a bit wide as he listens to you speak. His lips part to say something but he decides against it, instead he seals his lips back shut and presses his shoulder against yours. Mori—that was the other name pinned up with Dazai’s message thread and Nakahara Chuuya’s—he must be the Port Mafia boss. His gaze traces your face as you stare ahead, catching the melancholic expression on your face. He itches to reach for your hand.

“I could hardly remember anything about myself. My first name… that’s just about it. My new birthday became the day Mori found me, my new surname—when needed—was his, he… he became my reason to live when I had none. Gave me a purpose,” you tell him faintly. “I spent two years on a warfront trying to figure out what my ability was so I could be the finishing touches of the immortal regiment that he was trying to create. As far as I remember, all I’ve known is… this. Him.”

Dazai wants to say something but every word he tries to push out dies on his tongue. Instead, he finally does reach out to grab your hand, fingers curling around yours tightly. You look down briefly, an unreadable expression on your face before it softens and… and for a split second, Dazai can see you, he can see you: not a hardened executive of a mafia, but an eight-year-old girl, lost and confused and landing in the arms of the wrong man, and it makes him sick.

The traitorous part of him wonders if you’re only telling him this because you still plan on following through with the memory wipe, so Dazai does what he always does when someone threatens to take one of the few things he wants—he digs his claws in and doesn’t let go. 

“The war ended before I could figure out how to use my ability and I followed… him to the underground. We ended up with the Port Mafia while the previous boss and his family were still leading. He was…” You trail off, frowning. “Dangerous. Yokohama was a terrible place under his leadership. He slaughtered civilians who spoke poorly about him and the Mafia, killed his own men for looking at him wrong… Mori became his doctor and for the good of the city, he decided to kill him.”

“I remember the old boss—what he did to the city,” Dazai says quietly—how could he not? His aunt was terrified of being in Yokohama because of him, was constantly talking about leaving the city… she finally did after dumping Dazai off in Suribachi and leaving him to fend for himself against the wolves. “It was bad.”

“It was,” you agree absently. “Mori—he wanted it to be as bloodless as possible. He tried every route, but the only way for it to be bloodless was if he had someone to corroborate that the previous boss died in his sleep and left the Port Mafia to him.”

Dazai almost scoffs.

“No one would believe that.”

“We’d hoped maybe one of his grandchildren would step up. Even if it was clearly a lie, people would have to listen because they were his blood,” you say with a wry smile. “They didn’t.”

“So, what happened then?” he presses when you don’t immediately continue. He frowns when he catches the sudden change in your demeanor, like you’re sick to your stomach, unable to push out the next words. He feels a bit dreadful, squeezing your hand gently. 

“We had to wipe out the whole family,” you whisper, looking down at your lap, “and any loyalists. I was fourteen when I killed someone for the first time. She was a girl my age—the previous boss’s granddaughter—she was asleep, had a bear tucked in her arm and a nightlight on the right side of her bed. I slit her throat, then both of her older brothers. They were kids.”

Oh.

Dazai’s throat spasm as he swallows, the picture forming in his head cold and chilling, but instead he forces out:

“You were a kid too.”

“No, I wasn’t. Hadn’t been for a long time,” you say, voice flat, leaving no room for argument. “We hunted down the whole bloodline, immediate to extended family. Mori was insistent on it, said we couldn’t risk one of them ever returning and upending everything we’ve built. He’s still searching for some to this day just to make sure.”

That’s… foreboding to say the least. Dazai watches you carefully, the grim expression on your face and the frown on your lips. He pulls your hand into his lap, tracing your fingers gently to try to ease you and he watches from the corner of his eye as your expression softens again when you look at him. It makes his chest feel tight and fluttery.

“I was sixteen when I met Itou.” The cold expression on your face warms at the unfamiliar name. Dazai watches as the corner of your lips curve up into a fond smile, as if you’re reminiscing. “He was seventeen. We were partnered up for years. This was his beach house—or, well, I don’t know whose it was but Itou took it. He was awful, honestly. A terrible fucking person, had more blood on his hands than any other member of the Mafia, found way too much joy in tormenting people. He was awful, but he was the closest thing I had to family. He tried to show me a world beyond just… bloodshed and violence. Took me to amusement parks on days off, snuck me onto school trips with random groups of kids and told me to ‘blend in’ as training for infiltration missions, showed me how to live, not just… survive. He died on a mission a few weeks after I turned eighteen, made me promise him that I wouldn’t go back to how I used to be without him, that I’d at least try to be happy.”

Double oh.

Dazai almost does throw up now, mind drawing back to a face that has been haunting Dazai for four years now, Odasaku’s last words ring through his head painfully—a reminder of his own inadequacy, of his failure to fulfill his friend’s dying wish.

He remembers the way your face shifted when he told you about Odasaku at Kido’s Boutique and he wonders if he’d reminded you of Itou back then when he spoke of the man and his promise, just like how he was reminded now. His grip on your hand tightens unintentionally—as if you can sense his thoughts, you squeeze his fingers gently. 

“I didn’t,” you say with a tight smile. “Threw myself into work, accepted that my fate was to live, breathe and die for the Port Mafia. I didn’t see the point of anything—well, not until I met you, at least.”

Dazai’s eyes flicker up to you, breath catching when you meet his gaze this time. And god, you look beautiful—so beautiful that Dazai thinks that if he dies now, he could die happy. He almost wishes that he could die now, fall off the side of the cliff with the image of you burned behind his eyelids. It would be a better death than he deserved.

“You made me happy. Make me happy,,” you tell him quietly and Dazai’s heart leaps into his throat. “So effortlessly that I can’t even understand how you do it, but it’s impossible for me to justify dragging you into this world just because I’m selfish.” Dazai parts his lips to disagree but you don’t even give him a chance to speak. “So when you came to me with your stupid blackmail, it was so… easy to just use it as an excuse for me to indulge in you.”

Dazai doesn’t get it. He still doesn’t get it. You’re sitting here talking to him, explaining everything, and Dazai still doesn’t understand. He makes you happy—he makes you happy and you make him happy, there doesn’t need to be any more complications than that. You don’t have to push him away, you don’t have to cut him off, you don’t have to use that memory wiping ability on him.

“I don’t understand,” Dazai says, voice hoarse. “You make me happy too, so why is…”

“Because Chuuya is right,” you say with a smile that doesn’t meet your eyes. “The risks… Dazai, you can’t ask me to put you in danger like this. It’s not fair.”

“It’s not fair to cut me off because you’re scared,” Dazai counters, voice a bit pitched. “It’s not fair that you want to wipe my memory without my consent. I don’t care about danger, I don’t-”

You look at him sharply, an intense expression on your face that makes Dazai hesitate.

“I never would have done it without talking to you first,” you say tightly. “Do you really think that little of me?”

Dazai looks away, not answering the question. “I never would have agreed to it,” he replies, voice equally tight as yours. “Never. It’d be a waste of your time.”

You sigh and Dazai feels you shift next to him but he pointedly keeps his gaze trained ahead, refusing to look at you. He feels your fingers brush his cheek before the pressure becomes a bit firmer as you turn his face so that he’s looking at you. You’re so close that his nose brushes yours, the pads of your fingers are warm against his skin; if he leans in just a bit, he’d be able to kiss you.

He wants to kiss you.

“You don’t know what’s at stake,” you say softly, breath fanning across his lips as you speak. He can almost taste the mixture of mint and nicotine on your lips—you smoke when you’re nervous, he’s noticed it over the past few weeks with you. The more nervous you are, the more cigarettes you run through; he wonders how many cigarettes you’ve gone through since you’ve gotten the call from the hospital. “The danger-”

“You want me,” Dazai whispers, squeezing your hand, leaning in a bit more. “No one has ever wanted me before. Not like this. Not for me. You want me.”

The last sentence—it doesn’t come out as a statement, it comes out as a plea. He wants you to say it. You didn’t the last time, but he needs to hear it now. Desperately. His nails dig into your hands, he doesn’t even dare to breathe as he waits for you to speak.

“I want you,” you agree, voice so quiet like you don’t even dare to speak the words out loud in fear of the consequences of them. “I want you. I want you so bad that it scares me, Dazai Osamu.”

And Dazai breathes. The breath he lets out is long and shaky, the relief that sweeps over him is almost debilitating. He searches your eyes to make sure you mean it and when he only finds honesty and a type of fear that he’s never seen in you before, Dazai knows.

“You think it doesn’t scare me?” Dazai asks you, voice cracking. “Everything I ever come to want is always lost. Ever since that first day we met, I-I knew that I wanted you more than anything I’ve ever wanted before and I’ve been terrified that one day you’ll leave me. Promise me that you won’t. Promise me.”

You stare at him and for a terrible moment, Dazai thinks that you’re about to shake your head and say you can’t, but then you swallow, nod and say, “I promise.”

Dazai kisses you. And then he kisses you again. And again. And again. Until his lungs burn and he can feel your lips curve up against his and even then, he kisses you still. Kisses you as the sun sets over the bay and the moon rises above the mountains. Kisses you until the wind becomes too bitter for the two of you to stay outside and still, he smiles as he peppers kisses across your face, walking back down the path to the beach house.

He ignores how your phone has been buzzing incessantly all night, praying for at least one day of peace before reality slaps the two of you in the face again.

[duchesschameleon]

one night, one bed - a pierre gasly fic

warnings: none, this is fluff

summary: “it’s just for one night, we can handle it.” famous last words for when two people have to share a bed.

authors note: i was sitting at my gate waiting for check in when i decided to write this. it’s unbetaed, all mistakes are my own and i hope i did the trope and pierre justice! been a minute since i wrote xreader, i hope you enjoy!

He’s the last person you want to be sharing a bed with. The last person you want to be stuck in this position with.

But here you are, standing in the doorway to the only hotel in the vicinity with a room available for the night.

And of course, there’s only one bed.

“What’s wrong?” Pierre asks when you let out a groan, your head falling back to stare at the ceiling, willing a second bed to appear when you look at the room again.

No luck, because the universe hates you.

“There’s only one bed.”

“Ah,” he says, stepping around you and into the room. “Well, this just got more interesting.”

“Interesting? That’s what you have to say, this has gotten interesting? This is a disaster!” you exclaim, shouldering past him to sit on the bed. “We’re already stuck here, instead of being in Milan like we planned because you just had to take a detour and got us lost and out on the road later than we should have been, so now we have to share a room and the only place in this town with a room available just has to only have a single bed!”

Pierre blinks his eyes, stares at you, and then moves to sit beside you.

“Please, don’t. I just, I need a little space right now,” you plead.

He stops and moves instead to a chair in the corner, much to your surprise.

And look, it’s not like you hate Pierre. Not really. He’s just, not your favorite person. But you met in the circus of the junior formulas years ago, and now you’re more or less stuck together. Begrudging friends as your shared careers and interests keeps you in close proximity to one another for most of the year, traveling the world to race. Or assist in the racing in your case.

Pierre has just always gotten under your skin, something about his cocksure attitude rubbing you the wrong way. It’s irritating, but you also can’t stop spending time with him.

Which of course, is how you found yourself agreeing to accompany him on the drive from Monza to Milan after the race. You’re questioning the decision now, after a day of impromptu sightseeing and too little sleep, but a small part of you has been enjoying it.

“You know, you will survive sleeping next to me for one night,” Pierre says suddenly, breaking you out of your thoughts. “The bed is plenty big, we will stick to our own sides and be okay.”

You look at the bed you’re sitting on, assessing it. Turning everything over in your head. It’s not like there’s a couch in the room for one of you to sleep on. Not that you could even convince Pierre to do that this late into the season. It’d be hell on his back and you know you wouldn’t be willing to take it either.

“Come on,” he pleads, leaning forward towards you, “it’s just for one night, we can handle it.”

You look around one more time, trying to see a way out of this.

There isn’t one.

You sigh and nod your head. “Alright, but just this once. And make sure you stay on your side of the bed.”

“Of course.”

Forty five minutes later, you’re finally settling into bed. It was only a little awkward, shuffling around each other to shower the long day off and get ready for bed. You shuffle under the covers on your claimed side as Pierre exits the bathroom, shirtless and toweling off his wet hair.

“Seriously? No shirt?” you ask, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Stop acting like I have the plague, you’ll be fine.” He rolls his eyes, throwing the towel over the chair before sliding into bed. “It’s one night, okay? One night and then tomorrow we’ll get back on the road and back home.”

You turn on your side, facing him. “Fine. But I’m not kidding, stay on your side of the bed , Gasly.”

He looks down at you, a familiar smirk spreading across his face and eyes sparkling with mischief. “Only if you promise to do the same.”

You snort and roll your eyes at him before turning back around and getting comfortable to sleep. “Good night, Pierre.”

—

He doesn’t stay on his side of the bed.

But, neither do you.

By the time you wake up in the morning, both of you have migrated to the middle of the bed and despite falling asleep with your back to him, both of you are facing each other.

As you slowly rejoin the waking world, you realize his chest has replaced your pillow, and the two of you are inexplicably tangled together. You blink your eyes, trying to calm your heartbeat and not move a muscle.

You take stock of the situation, of your position wrapped around him. It’s not…the worst thing in the world you find. His arms are comfortable, familiar around you after years of casually hugging and keeping you close in the paddock or wherever. Even his chest isn’t the worst place you’ve laid your head, warm and soft beneath your cheek.

Your heart pounds in your chest, face flaming as you realize you like being cocooned in Pierre Gasly’s arms. The one person you swore you wouldn’t fall in love with, and yet here you are thinking it would be nice to wake up like this more often.

“So, seems like we both broke our promises.” Pierre’s voice is rough with sleep, gravelly and low and you file away how nice it sounds for another time.

“Mhmm,” you hum, stretching as much as you can in your current position. “I guess we did.”

“And you aren’t going to chop my balls off?”

It startles a laugh out of you and you shake your head. “No, I won’t,” you finally manage to say. “I guess sharing a bed with you isn’t the worst thing in the world.”

“Not the worst thing in the world?” Pierre squaks. “You slept solidly for longer than I know you have in weeks. Since summer break maybe!”

“How do you know that?”

“Because, I know you,” Pierre admits, looking down at you fondly. “I can see when your smile is pinched, eyes sleepier than normal. When your temper runs shorter than normal, even with Max. I know you.”

You blink at him, completely taken aback by the confession. His cheeks are pink, eyes darting around the room, trying to look anywhere but at you.

“You noticed all of that?”

“I notice you.” He waits a beat before placing a hand on your chin, tilting it up towards him, forcing you to look into his eyes. “I notice you, because I like you. A lot.”

“Oh.” It’s all you can manage to say, brain not fully firing on all cylinders to understand what he’s saying.

“Oh? I tell you I’ve liked you for years and all you can say is oh?”

“Hey! I just woke up!”

“In my arms!”

“Yeah, and I was just processing how much I liked it when you dropped this on me!”

“So you like waking up in my arms?”

You bit your lip and try to duck your head but he puts a hand on your cheek to keep your gaze on him. He tips his head, silently asking the question again.

“Yes, I liked waking up in your arms, Pierre.”

“Good, you should get used to it,” he says before ducking his head down to capture your lips in a kiss. Its slow and soft, the promise of heat building in his urgency to get even closer to you.

You pull back, breaking the kiss and frown a little at him. “So was this whole thing orchestrated so you could wake up with me in your arms?”

Pierre throws his head back in a laugh and pulls you into his chest, kissing the top of your head. “No, but I’m glad you think I’m smart enough to pull that off.”

[gejo333]

A Misunderstanding

Father Miguel O’Hara x Mother Spider Reader

—> pt. 2

Summary: Your relationship with Miguel was doing amazing. But when you find out your pregnant Miguel begins to close himself off . You decide it’s best not to tell him and end things. But what happens when you see him again after five years and learns that he is a father?

There is a sensual scene, if you feel uncomfortable just scroll past it.

I was going to write it all in one post but I decided to do a part two. Part 2 will be posted tomorrow. I apologize for any grammatical mistakes I missed.

Hope you enjoy🤗

Wc: 3.2k

____________________________________________

A heavy breath leaves your lungs; sitting on a piece of rubble, you stare at the anomaly being taken away by another spider back to HQ. On a mission like this one, an anomaly of this low stature wouldn’t make you sweat. But for some reason, you had a hard time defeating it.

Peter B comes up to you, lending you a hand. You gladly take it rising from your makeshift seat. After walking through the portal back to HQ, Peter puts his hand on your shoulder, stopping you.

“Are you feeling alright, Y/n?” Peter looked concerned about your tired complexion.

“I’m fine. I must not have slept well last night. But thanks for checking in and for your help with the mission.”

“No problem. Are you reporting back to Miguel?”

“Yeah. I should tell him about the mission getting out of hand. I’ll see you around.” You wave goodbye before making your way to Miguel’s office. When reporting missions that didn’t go exactly to plan, spiders asked you to report to Miguel.

Before you began dating him 6 months ago, you still had a close relationship with him. Ever since he recruited you, he’s had a soft spot for you, never once getting mad with you.

Walking into his “lair,” as most spiders called it, you tried to shoot up a web to him, but your web shooter malfunctioned.

Miguel jumped down from the platform, walking towards you. His gaze crossed your entire body, checking to see if you were hurt.

“I heard the mission went a bit south.” Miguel wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you against his chest. He lifted your chin and leaned down to kiss your lips lovingly. You wrapped your arms around his neck, lifting your toes to press deeper into the kiss. Breaking apart, you caress his cheek as he leans into your touch.

“Yeah, I needed to call backup. The anomaly was more to handle than I thought. I’m not sure why. I just don’t feel my best today.”

“How about we get some delicious empanadas near my apartment and watch a movie. How does that sound? We can leave right now if you want?” A smile graces his lips as he gazes at you with so much love waiting for your response. You smile back at him as your e/c meets his mahogany eyes. You were the only person to see his true eye color.

“That sounds perfect.”

Pressing a few buttons on his watch, Miguel opens the portal back to his universe. The two of you walk through, entering an ally a block away from Miguel’s place. Both of your suits dissolve underneath casual clothing hiding underneath.

The two of you walked into the little store that sold the best empanadas in all of Nueva York, as Miguel had told you multiple times.

“Miguel! Mi cliente favorito. Cómo te va?” An older woman walked around the counter, hugging Miguel, which he gladly accepted.

“Estoy bien. Y usted?” Miguel said as he led you fully into the store. You loved seeing this side of Miguel. He only revealed his true warm side when he was back in his world or alone with you on missions or at HQ.

“I’m doing good. Business is good. And who is this gorgeous woman by your side Miguel?” The woman looks at you with a bright smile. You look up at Miguel as he looks down at you with a smile.

“This is Y/n. My girlfriend.” Miguel’s response made the woman beam with joy as she hugged you.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Y/n. It’s so nice for Miguel to find such a nice woman as you. The usual order Miguel?” The woman returns behind the counter, grabs a box, and puts in empanadas.

“Sí, plus a few extra.”

“Of course!” She adds a few more before handing them to you. Miguel pays her before adding $500 to the tip jar. The woman looks astounded and takes the money out, trying to return it to him. He closes her hand, pushing gently back towards her.

“Miguel, this is too much.”

“Nonsense. You make the best empanadas in all of Nueva York.” The woman hugs Miguel again as tears brim her eyes.

“Thank you so much. You truly are a good man Miguel.”

“Until next time!” He waved goodbye before leading you out of the store.

Miguel opened the door, letting you go first before making your way to the kitchen, setting the empanadas down on the counter. Miguel places both arms at your sides, trapping you against the counter. You turn to face him, leaning back a bit against the counter. Hands run up his chest and wrap around his neck. You run your hands through his hair as he leans his back, enjoying the sensation of your hands through his hair.

He leaned down, lips centimeters from yours. His gaze goes to your lips, his eyes starving for your touch. You give him a quick kiss.

“Let’s choose something to watch.”

“Yeah.” Miguel calms down his breathing before letting you go. The two of you grab an empanada and head to the living room as you get comfy on the couch, putting a blanket over the both of you. You rest your head against him.

Almost halfway into the movie, your gaze is directed toward Miguel as he stares ahead. He shifts slightly, uncomfortable. Your gaze falls down to his lap, where a tent appears. Sliding a hand to his lap, you pull down his sweats, setting him free as you give him a handjob.

Miguel’s head leans back, a groan escaping his lips.

“Y/n” You continue your movements as you feel your hand getting covered in precum.

“You like that?” You lean towards him as you kiss his neck towards his lips, where he hungrily captures yours.

“I need more of you, mi vida.” He groaned before removing the blanket. He grabbed you by the waist, sitting you on his lap as he ripped your panties off, thrusting himself fully into your wet folds.

“Those were my favorite.” You moaned out. A pout was on your face before Miguel captured your lips.

“I’ll buy you all the new pairs you want,” Miguel whispered into your ear as he thrust his hips into you.

“Miggy!” Your moans grew louder as his pace quickened, sending you into euphoria.

You awake from your bed in a sweaty state, your breath uneven. Sitting up from your bed, you place your head against your knee as you calm your heart. Why that memory again? You’ve had that same memory plague your dreams for the past week.

Looking at your phone, it was 8 am. You get up from your bed and go to the room next to you. Opening the door, you walk up to the small race car bed. Leaning down, you brush the dark brown hair from your son’s face and press a kiss to his forehead.

You watch his eyes flutter open, his big brown eyes tiredly staring at you.

“Good morning.” You say, gazing at your five-year-old as he wakes up. He jumps into your arms as you pick him up.

“Are you excited for today? It’s your first day of kindergarten!”

“Yes!” His arms went up in excitement. You set him down as you grab the outfit you prepared for him today. After the both of you got dressed, you went to the kitchen to start breakfast.

“What would you like?”

“Pancakes! With chocolate chips!”

“How about pancakes with blueberries? Make it a bit healthier.” You suggest as you already begin making the batter.

“I love blueberries!” He cheered.

You place the small pancakes in front of him as you finish getting ready in your room. After you finish putting on your makeup, you see your son walk in with a face covered with syrup. You chuckle at the cute site as you get up and bring her to the bathroom to wipe her face and hands.

“Mommy, can you do my hair how I like it?”

“Of course!”

You set her on the bathroom counter as you brush his hair. You combed your fingers through his hair. You look at him through the mirror. Distinct brown hair and eyes. Warm honey-toned skin. He was the spitting image of his father.

It’s been almost six years since you last saw him. Ever since that fateful day, you wonder if you made the right decision. But he made it clear to you.

“Mommy?” You’re brought out of your thoughts.

“Sorry, sweetie.” You finish the combing his hair. You grab your purse and his brand-new fire truck backpack. Grabbing his hand, you walk out the door and towards the school.

Arriving at the school, you walk through the front doors to his classroom. You see the other 5-year-olds entering the classroom or clinging to their parents. Arriving at the door, you see the teacher come out.

“Hi! My name is Ms. Williams. And who might this be?”

“This is Mateo (L/n). Say hi, Mateo.” You say to your son, who clings to you. Hiding his face behind your leg.

“Hi.” Mateo slowly waves to the teacher. Ms. Williams holds out her hand toward Mateo. Mateo looks up to you as you smile.

“It’s ok, Mateo. Go make some friends. Mommy will be here to pick you up in a few hours.”

“Promise?” He holds his pinky out to you, which you hook with yours.

“Promise.” Mateo smiles at you before taking his teacher’s hand, walking him into the room. He turned to wave goodbye before disappearing into the room.

A tear escapes you as you wipe it away. You couldn’t believe he was already 5. It went by so fast.

After drying your tears, you make it back to your apartment. Sitting at your desk in your bedroom, you stare at the drafted article before you. Since you quit Spider Society, you got your job back as a journalist.

Your mind drifts off from the work before you.

Sitting on the edge of the toilet seat, you stare down at the small object in your hands.

Two lines. These two lines answer the question that was in the back of your mind all day.

You were pregnant. Your body jumps up when you hear someone walk into the bathroom. Unlocking the door to the stall, you quickly wash your hands and clean off the stick before hiding it in a secret pocket of your spider suit.

A beep from your watch tells you to go to Miguel’s office. Miguel… what would he think? You rush out of the bathroom and towards his office.

Ben Reilly and Jess are talking with Miguel about a mission. Standing next to Miguel as he continues talking. However, everything he said was unheard as your thoughts raced.

“Y/n?” You came back to reality as Miguel placed his hand on your shoulder.

“Yep! Understood.” You say, hoping he didn’t notice you drifting off into space. Miguel dismisses Ben and Jess as he turns to face you.

“Is everything ok?” His eyes grew concerned as you weren’t your usual happy self. You decided not to tell him yet. You were too nervous to tell him. Since movie night, Miguel has been nonstop busy and stressed from work. You didn’t feel you should stress him out more with your news.

And it’s only been 6 months since you started dating. You didn’t know if he wanted children, especially after what happened to his daughter.

“Yeah! I’m good. Just tired. So my mind is a bit off.”

“How about you go home and rest. I’ll do the mission with Jess and Ben.”

“It’s ok. I can still go on the mission.” You try to reason with him.

“No mi amor. Go home and rest. I don’t want you getting hurt on the mission if you’re tired.” You decided to listen to him as he would not change his mind.

“Ok, fine. See you later tonight.” You give him a kiss before saying goodbye.

…

“You’re 2 months pregnant.”

The doctor’s words shocked you. You didn’t think you were that far along. It’s only been two weeks since you found out you were pregnant.

After leaving the doctor’s office, you head back to HQ. Going to the doctor at HQ was free, but you knew word would get back to Miguel, as everyone knew you two were in a relationship.

Spider HQ felt off today as barely anyone was here. You go to Miguel’s office but find all the lights turned off except one of his monitors.

Miguel sat in his chair, his head resting in his hand. He looked so sad. You never had seen him this way before.

“Miguel?” You walk closer to him, resting a hand on his shoulder. You look at the monitor. It was a video of him and his daughter.

“Y/n? I thought you weren’t coming in today.”

“I wasn’t. But I’ve barely seen you for the past two weeks. I wanted to just check in on you.” He moved his chair to face you. As he opens his arms to you, you sit in his lap. Wrapping his arms tight around you, he nestled his head in your neck. You comb your fingers through his hair to help comfort him.

“Today’s her birthday.” He mumbled against your skin. His words clenched at your heart.

“Miguel…” You lifted his chin to look at you as you softly caressed his cheek. He leans into your hand, looking at you with red eyes. Not his normal ruby red, but red from tears.

“She would have been ten this year.” A tear slipped from his eye, trailing down his cheek, which you gently wiped away. You never have seen him in such a vulnerable state before. It made your heart break seeing him like this.

Would it be ok to tell him now about the pregnancy? To try and lift his spirits? Maybe it was too sudden. It was Gabriella’s birthday, after all.

“The thought of having another child is unbearable. I couldn’t handle the pain again if something happened.”

His words shattered you. He didn’t want to have more kids. You placed a hand on your stomach. It would be pointless to tell him. He didn’t want to be a father again.

His watch suddenly beeped, indicating that there was an anomaly he needed to deal with.

“Maybe you should let someone else do the mission.” You got up from his lap as he continued to sit in the chair.

“No, I’ll do it. He stands from his chair as he opens the portal. Before he leaves, you gently grab his arm.

“I can go with you.” He smiles at you as he brushes some of your hair behind your ear.

“I’m going to do this one myself, Hermosa.”

“Oh, ok. Be safe.” You say before he walks into the portal.

…

You gaze at the surroundings of HQ, seeing various spiders interacting with one another. Ever since Gabriella’s birthday, you’ve barely seen Miguel. He buried himself in work. You tried several times to see him, but he was so distant from you that you decided to stop visiting him.

That was a month ago. Now 3 months pregnant, you have a baby bump, so when you came into HQ today, you decided to wear casual clothes that hid your bump. For what you’re about to do. You didn’t want anyone to know, especially Miguel.

Anxiety blossomed at the bottom of your stomach as you walked to his office. Were you being selfish? Maybe you should wait until he’s better. But time would run out in 6 months, and you didn’t want to face the truth of him rejecting his child. You wouldn’t be able to bear it.

You reach his office, where he talks to Peter B. and Jess about past missions. The three turn when they notice your presence.

“Y/n! It’s been so long! You’ve barely been to HQ this past month!” Said Peter as he went to hug you. You quickly give him a side hug so he wouldn’t find out your little secret. Peter gave you a confused look at your gesture but decided to ignore it.

Your gaze shifts to Miguel as he looks back at you. He’s barely seen you this month. Longer even.

“Jess, Peter. Is it ok if I talk privately with Miguel for a few minutes?” Your serious tone makes the two briefly look at Miguel and back at you before leaving his office.

Miguel walks up to you and places his hands around your waist.

“Is everything alright, cariño?” His gaze turned serious when you didn’t wrap your arms around him like you used to. Bile felt like it was threatening to come out of your throat. Not from the pregnancy. But what you were dreading telling him the past few days.

“I’m quitting Spider Society.” His eyes widened slightly before worry and confusion replaced them.

“What for?”

“Other life commitments need my attention back in my universe.”

“Like what?” He pushed you to tell him.

“Just other things.” You can see hurt in his eyes by your answer.

“You don’t have to quit. You can take a break if you need it.” He suggested.

“No, I’m sure of my decision.”

“Fine. But we’ll talk about it later. I don’t think you should quit. You’re an amazing Spiderwoman. I’ll come over after work with some food.” He wasn’t happy about your answer, but he let it slide.

“Miguel…” His heart dropped when you moved out of his arms.

“I have loved every second we’ve spent together…”

“Y/n?” You held up your hand to stop him from talking to let you finish. Tears began to threaten to spill out.

“But our lives are starting to go in different directions. I think we should stop seeing each other.” Tears spilled down your cheeks as you saw how hurt he looked. You felt terrible.

“Mi amor…” He tries to caress your cheek, but you move your face away, breaking him further.

“It’s for the best, Miguel. I hope you find someone who brings you happiness and love.” You turn away from him. But he grabs you by the arm and pulls you into an embrace. He kisses gently up your neck.

“You brought me that. I’ve never been happier in my life when I’m with you. Please don’t leave me.”

You wanted to melt into his arms and forget everything you said. But you couldn’t let your guard down. Removing his arms from your waist, you walk away from him. You turn to look at him one more time.

“Goodbye, Miguel.”

Tears fall onto your computer as you relive those memories. Even after five years, the look in his eyes broke you. Your heart still aches for him. There were times when you thought of reaching out. But you remembered he never came to your universe to fight for you both. To say he wouldn’t accept you breaking up with him.

You knew you told him it was over. But you still hoped he would run after you. Looking at the time on your computer, you realize you need to pick up Mateo.

You wipe your tears before grabbing your wallet, phone, and keys. As you were about to open the door, you heard a knock. Your spider-sense was going off, which you didn’t know why.

Slowly you open the door. The air from your lungs briefly left you as you dropped everything in your hand.

“Miguel?”

____________________________________________

Hope you enjoyed it.🥰

[cherrycola27]

Red, White, and Rooster

Series Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption. Frenemies to lovers, relationship of convenience. Political situations. Allegations of affairs, military and political inaccuracies. Eventual smut. 18+ Minors DNI. Banner Credit: @thedroneranger

Series Masterlist Previous Part Next Part

...........................................

Chapter 4: A Wedding of Presidential Proportions

You couldn't sleep when you got back to the White House. You were pacing the floor of your room, trying to fabricate a believable love story for you and Bradley.

You would say that you'd gotten close during his campaign, and he proposed the night he was elected. That would explain why he risked his life for you after the last debate and why you held the Bible and danced with him at the inauguration. That would be believable.

You also had to think of a wedding date. It would need to be soon. Now that the people knew, they would push for a wedding. You settled on October. That would give you two months to figure this out.

You'd have to tell your parents tomorrow because you knew they would have questions, but you couldn't tell them the truth.

You were furiously trying to write notes down when you realized you should probably check on Bradley. It was almost two in the morning. You hoped he was still awake.

You grabbed your robe and note cards before sneaking down the hallway. You knocked once on his door before it flew open.

"You can't sleep either?" He asked you. "No. But I've been productive. You say as you enter his room.

You spend the next twenty minutes going over the tale you have spun for the two of you. He sits silently and nods along as you pace back and forth across the carpet of his bedroom.

"So, does it sound believable?" You ask him once you finish. "It does. You've really put a lot of thought into this." He agrees with you.

"Now, for a wedding date, I was thinking October because by the time the story gets out, we will have been 'planning' one for a few months." You tell him.

"Do we really have to get married? I mean, William and Kate dated for ten years before tying the knot." Bradley points out. "Yes, but their engagement was about a year. Trust me, I've thought about dragging it out, but with the digital age we live in, it gives people too long of a chance to find out we are lying." You explain to him.

"Okay, so after we get married, how long until we can get divorced?" He asks you. You stop in your tracks. You hadn't even thought about that.

"Well—" you begin, "If we get divorced in less than two or so years, people are going to be extremely upset. It will look bad on you, and the tabloids will start fabricating stories of infidelity between us, and it would tank your chances at reelection and my chances of ever working again." You continue.

"But, if we get divorced after two years, that would be peak reelection campaign time, and again, people would be angry that their favorite first couple is breaking up and it would give your opponents fuel for a smeer campaign and probably tank your ratings and cause a scandal." You tell him. Then it hits you like a ton of bricks.

"Oh my god." You breathe out. "What?" Bradley asks you as he sits up from his chair.

"The only way to prevent this whole thing from killing both of our careers is to stay together and get divorced after you get reelected or lose the 2028 election. It would be at least four years of marriage. Four years of a lie." You state.

You can feel the heat rising in your chest as the anxiety sets it. You being to pace faster around his room. Your eyes are wide with a far off look in them.

"Oh my god, we can't do this. We can't commit to this for FOUR YEARS Bradley. What was I thinking when I said that? I'll tell you what—I wasn't thinking. I didn't want the media to brand me as someone who slept her way to the top, but now I've sentenced both of us to a life of scrutiny in the public eye!" You shout at him.

"We can't do this. I was wrong about everything I said. I didn't have a plan, I wasn't thinking I just did, and now I've screwed everything up." Your voice starts to tremble. Your chest tightens, making it harder for you to breathe. You can feel the tears welling up in your eyes.

Bradley can see the cracks in your armor starting to break. The facade that you wear so well is slipping. His heart breaks when he sees the first tears slip down your cheeks. He's never seen you cry before. Come to think of it, he's never seen you as anything other than put together. He's shocked to see you like this. Emotional, vulnerable, raw.

"Where's my phone? I have to call Jaycee. I have to have her publish a story saying that I was lying and that we aren't a couple." You choke out. Your hands are trembling as you try to unlock your phone, but it's no use. The device falls from your fingers and crashes to the carpet.

That's all that it takes for you to fall to your knees and sob. Rooster immediately jumps from his seat and pulls you close to him. You're babbling about how you're sorry to him and about how you can save his career by tanking your own.

It's killing him inside to see you like this. To know that he's the reason you're having a panic attack at three in the morning. He doesn't know how to respond. Normally, you're the one picking up the pieces for him. So he does the only thing his can think to do. He sinks down on the floor next to you and pulls you close to him. He tucks you under his chin and rubs your back to soothe you.

"Y/N. Y/N—please, take a breath. Look at me." Bradley tells you softly. He takes your chin and gently directs it to meet his eyes.

"Let's take a couple of deep breaths together. Come on, breathe with me. Breathe in—and breathe out." He directs you. He repeats this several more times until your breathing is back under control, and you aren't crying anymore.

"Okay, let's talk through this slowly. We have two options. We can get married, spend the four years together, and then get a quick and amicable divorce after the election. If we do that, we both have a good chance of being able to continue our political careers, right?" He looks to you for your approval. You nod your head.

"Or, you commit political suicide by saying what? You made up the whole thing because you didn't want the media slandering you?" He asks. "It seems like they would slander you even more if you said we lied." He tells you.

"I can tell them that I can onto you, I was harassing you. Trying to blackmail you or something. If I did that, it would save your image. I could never work in politics again, though. I'd have to leave D.C." You stutter out, the anxiety still not fully gone from your body.

The thought of you leaving made Bradley sick to his stomach. He couldn't let you give up your dream for him.

"No." He says. "I won't let you do that. I can't let you do that. I wouldn't be in this position of power if it wasn't for you. I can't do this without you. I need you." He tells you earnestly.

"We are already friends. We can do this. We'd only have to pretend for the cameras and in the public eye. Behind closed doors, it doesn't matter. We can fake it til we make it." He laughs.

"You sure?" You ask him. "Positive." He confirms. You nod your head and smile at him. He helps you up. You take a deep breath and feel some relief.

You pause for a beat, and Bradley can see the exact moment you put your mask back on. Gone is the vulnerability you'd just shared with him, and back was the bravado he'd seen you wear so well.

"You know you'll have to make sure any hookup you bring here signs and NDA, right?" You ask him.

"Come again?" He blurts out with a look of confusion. The sudden change in your demeanor has his head spinning.

"Look, Bradley, even if we have to be married for a bit, I don't expect you to be celibate the entire time. You won't be the first president to have a mistress, but you'll be the first with permission. You snicker at the last part.

"I mean I'll do the same." You reassure him.

Bradley is too stunned to speak. The idea of either of you having a lover made his heart ache. He couldn't stomach the thought of another man touching you or getting to see the side of you that you kept closed off from him.

"Yeah, I understand." He hesitated. The silence around the two of you was uncomfortable.

"Right. So, I'm going to call a jeweler in the morning so we can pick out a ring and make sure you memorize these cards." You tell him as you hand him some flash cards, breaking the tension.

"I have the ring covered." Bradley tells you. "What?" You ask him. Unsure if you heard him correctly. "I have the ring covered. I'll memorize the cards. For now, we both need to get some sleep." He rubs your arms in a reassuring way.

"Okay. You're right. Goodnight, Bradley." You tell him as you leave his room. "Goodnight, Mrs. Bradshaw" He calls down the hallway after you. You roll your eyes and try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach.

The next day around lunch, Jake storms into your room. "Wise-woman! Girl, what the fuck?!" He asks you.

"Jake, I don't have time for this. I was in a life or death situation. It was either fake engagement or political ruin. I did what I had to do." You explain to him. "I know, I know. Rooster already gave me the same speech. So you're really going to do this interview. Get married and all that jazz?" Jake asks as he comes to sit with you.

He flops down on the couch in your sitting room while absent-mindedly tossing a baseball in the air.

"Yeah, it's not ideal, but it keeps all of us employed. Well, let me rephrase that. It keeps you and Bradley employed. Meanwhile, I get to be paraded around as a piece of arm candy, and the only thing people are going to care about is what time wearing." You sigh.

"You know there are way worse things than being the First Lady of the United States. You think that no one is going to care about what you have to say, but Bradley will. He values your opinion more than any of his advisors. And you could have a serious social impact. Doesn't every First Lady have a platform that she focuses on during her time? Think of the change you could make. The good you could do in the world." Jake tells you. You hadn't really thought about it that way.

"Plus, do you know how many women in America would gladly take your place? I do, because I've seen the tweets and the tiktoks. Marrying Bradley isn't the prison sentence you're making it out to be." Jake finishes his pep talk to you before silently tossing his ball some more.

You sit there, taking in his words and processing them.

Neither of you is sure what to say until Jake speaks again. "So, on another note, your friend at the Post who's interviewing you—is she single by chance?" Jake asks you.

You laugh at his comment. Of course, he would ask you about Jaycee when you're having a crisis moment.

"Jake! You're such an asshole!" You laugh as you throw a pillow from the couch at him.

"Knock knock." Bradley comes in. "And that's my cue to go." Jake says as he gets up to leave.

Bradley comes and sits down next to you. He puts a small box on the table in front of you. "Go on. Open it." He tells you.

You open it, and your breath catches in your throat. Inside is the most beautiful ring you've ever seen. It's an oval cut diamond, easily five karats or better. It's flanked by two pear cut amethysts and set on a silver band.

"Bradley how—" you ask him. "Called in a favor." He tells you. You stare at it a moment before he takes it out of the box and slips it on your hand. "Size eight. Just like you said." He smiles at you. "Oval because of the Oval Office, right?" You joke with him. "Exactly." He breathes out.

"So, are you ready for this interview?" You ask him. "If I'm being honest, no. But I know that just like everything else, we can get through it together." Bradley kisses your cheek and pats your leg before getting up to leave. The skin where his lips touched buzzes with a familiar feeling that you're desperately trying to push back down.

Thanks to your careful planning, you made it through the interview with Jaycee. By the time you and Bradley arrived back to the White House, you were trending on social media, and #Wiseshaw was going viral. You had succeeded in pacifying the nation for a while.

Now, the real challenge began: planning a wedding.

..................

"Does it really matter so much about the flowers!" You groaned into the sofa cushion. The wedding was a week away, and instead, if sitting in on interviews for who was going to take over your position once you became the First Lady, you were with Jake and Jaycee picking out center pieces.

You had hated all of the aspects of planning the wedding. You hated them because over the past two months, you'd found yourself unable to deny the fact that you had feelings for Bradley. He truly was the man of your dreams, but the only reason you were able to have him was because of a lie.

Magazines, news outlets, and social media called you the perfect political power couple. The people ate up the engagement shoot you'd released, and the buzz of your upcoming nuptials was all anyone could talk about. People were rabid wondering what your dress was going to look like, who would be on the guest list, and most importantly, people wondered how long it would be until the two of you had children.

Of course, there was speculation that you were already pregnant due to how fast you were getting married from the time you announced your engagement. If only the people knew that your husband would never touch you like that.

You were broken from your thoughts by Jake.

"Yes, it really does matter, Wise- woman. You and the president are getting married. This is the closest thing America is ever going to get to a royal wedding." You looked at Jaycee and rolled your eyes because you knew Jake was right. This would be the first time a president had gotten married in office in over a hundred years. In the minds of many, this was a royal wedding. The two of you were the American Will and Kate.

"Jakey is just trying to be helpful as the best man and all." Jaycee tells you as she gets up to wrap her arms around him.

"If you two could keep it in your pants while I'm here, I would appreciate it." You tell them. You shuttered at the memory of finding out they were seeing each other. You had gone to Jake's office to ask him to sign off on some things, and instead, you found him and Jaycee, using his desk for purposes that it was not intended for.

"Oh c'mon, don't be such a grumpy gills. You'll be getting your taste of a man in power soon enough." Jaycee laughs.

"No, I will not. This marriage is a business arrangement. I'm not going to sleep with Bradley. I'm not even going to move out of my room." You tell them. You get up to leave as Jake and Jaycee shoot each other a knowing look.

.......................

Saturday comes quicker than you expected. All morning, people are fussing over you and helping you get ready. Jaycee is doing her best to keep you calm. You aren't nervous because you are getting married. You're nervous because your life is about to change.

You wonder if Bradley has the same knots in his stomach or if he is calm and collected.

The funny thing is, as he's getting ready, Bradley wonders the same thing about you.

He's paced around his room about five hundred times since he woke up this morning. You had no clue that Jake and Bradley's godfather Maverick had been trying to keep him calm.

He knows it's just about time, and his hands shake as he tries to tie his bow tie. You always make it look so easy. He growls in frustration before Maverick takes over. "The last time I saw a Bradshaw, this nervous was when Goose was getting ready to marry your mom. He was awful with ties, too." Maverick smiles at him, trying ease the tension. "They'd be so proud of you, kid." Maverick smiles as he smooths out Bradley's collar.

Soon, the wedding coordinator is coming to get them. It was time.

The wedding is to be held in the Rose Garden with a reception to follow in the banquet room of the White House. Everything is perfect. The chairs, the flowers, the table settings, the center pieces, the decor. All of it is fit for a wedding of presidential proportions. You'd spent two months going over seating charts, menu options, and cake flavors. Every time you asked Bradley what he wanted, he always responded with, "Whatever you want dear." You roll your eyes at the memory. Of course, he would be better in a fake relationship than any of your previous real ones.

As you put the finishing touches on your makeup, the thought of running crosses your mind.

You don't have time to ponder it though. It's almost show time. Your mother and Jaycee help you into your dress. It's a soft taffeta ball gown with ruching on the bodice. Its sleeves are slightly off the shoulder, and it has a jeweled belt at the waist. You could describe your dress best as "a modern take on Jackie Kennedy." Your mother helped you secure your cathedral length veil in your hair. She brushed a few stray hairs from your face before making sure your oval pendant was centered on your neck. Jaycee handed you your bouquet of lavender roses before grabbing the train of your dress and veil to help you out of your room.

Your father smiled when he saw you. Both of your parents were so proud of you. Their daughter was about to be the First Lady.

You took a deep breath as you walked out of french doors to the top of the staircase.

Your heart felt like it was about to beat out of your chest as your feet carried you down the steps. It felt like you were in autopilot.

The violin quartet began to play "august" as Maverick walked down the aisle, holding framed photos of his parents before sitting them in two reserved seats. Jake followed him with your mother before coming back. Several of his former Navy friends escorted your bridesmaids down the aisle. Then, Jaycee and Jake made their way down the aisle. As the song looped, you could help think about the irony of it all. The man that you were about to marry would never be yours, not really.

Soon, it was your turn. You smiled as you heard the first bars of "Wildest Dreams" start to play. If it was one thing Bradley knew about you, it was how much you loved Taylor Swift. It only seemed fitting that he would pick two of her songs for your wedding.

Damn him and his ability to give you butterflies. It wasn't fair.

Everything moved in slow motion. The walk down the stair case and down the aisle felt like the longest ten minutes of your life. You did your best to look the part of the perfect blushing bride, but it was so hard.

Looking out at the perfectly place chairs with their perfectly draped cloth covers and perfectly tied lavender bows made you feel sick.

The sight of the wooden pergola draped in in greens and tulle made your knees weak. The meticulous rolled out white cloth that was covered in dainty lavender flower petals for the aisle had the bile in your stomach rising to your throat.

Everything was so perfect. Or at least it would have been if this was real. Your father could feel you tense up as you reached the bottom of the stair case and turned to stand at the end of the aisle. He patted your hand to comfort you. Everyone rose up from their seats, and for the first time, you allowed yourself to look up and look at Bradley. He was standing at the top of the aisle beaming at you. Suddenly, all of the anxiety you were feeling melted away. A genuine smile crossed your face as you began to almost float towards him.

You watched him brush a few stray tears from his eyes.

Your eyes stayed trained on Bradley the whole time. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was actually in love with you.

"You look beautiful." He whispered to you as you joined him at the altar. "Your tie's crooked." You whisper back. "Sorry, I didn't have help." He chuckled before the officiant asked everyone to be seated.

The ceremony goes by in a flash. You and Bradley exchanged vows and rings. And soon you heard the officiant say, "Mr. President, you may kiss your bride."

You lean forward to press a polite kiss to Bradley's lips, but in an unexpected turn of events, he sweeps you into his arms and dips you before kissing you. Everyone erupts in applause. The officiant speaks once more. "Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to present to you, for the first time, President and Mrs. Bradley Bradshaw!"

Bradley grabs your hand as Jaycee hands you your bouquet before you walk back down the aisle under a sea of flower petals.

During the entire reception, Bradley doesn't leave your side as the two of you mingle. You have your first dance as husband and wife to a slowed down version of "I've Had The Time of My Laugh. You grin at his nod to the first time you danced with him. After you finish, its time to cut the cake. You enjoyed smashing some of it in his face more than you should have. Your smile never leaves your face. You can't believe how easy it is to pretend to be in love with him.

But that's all it is, pretend. You've signed yourself up to continue this charade with him for the next four years.

After the reception, you change into a white lace tea length dress. You and Bradley board Air Force one. You have three days for a private honeymoon. Bradley releases his duties to Jake for the time being before you leave.

Soon, you're touching down somewhere tropical.

You're exhausted by the time you make it there.

The two of you get settled into your bungalow. All you want to do is change and get some sleep.

"Can you unzip me? I want to take a shower. There's two bathrooms here if you want to shower too." You inform Bradley. He's happy to help. He unzips your dress. He sees the white lace of the bra and panties you are wearing.

"Thanks." You tell him before trapsing off to a shower.

Bradley groans and adjusts himself before heading off to the other bathroom. God, his right hand is going to be tired after this trip.

After an hour in the bathroom, you finally come out. You find Bradley sitting in a chair watching TV.

"You aren't in bed yet?" You question him.

"I wasn't sure which side you slept on, and I didn't want to assume." He says as he gets up and gestures to the huge bed in the middle of the room.

"Oh, it doesn't matter. I'm not sleeping in here." You laugh. He looks at you confused before you go to the other side of the room and on unlatch a door he hadn't noticed before.

"Did you really think I wouldn't plan a head to make sure we had two rooms?" You ask him.

"I—I shouldn't have doubted your abilities." He tells you, with a hint of sadness in his voice.

"It's fine. Look, we've had a long day. We'll talk more in the morning." You smile and kiss his cheek before walking into your room. "Goodnight, Mr. President." You call to him.

"Goodnight, Mrs. Bradshaw." He calls back.

He hears the sound of the lock on the door clicking. He sighs before dropping back into the armchair. He runs his fingers through his hair before taking a look at the silver band that now adorns his finger. He twists it a few times and sighs.

How was he going to get through the next four years of this?

Little did he know that just on the other side of the door, you were dying inside too.

A special shoutout to @thedroneranger for beta reading this chapter and listening to my rambles!

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[angel-kyo]

Okay, so it's probably just too late to get it out of my head now. I think I am obsessed with writing him obliviously obsessed.

Warnings: Mentions of obsessive/stalkerish behavior and invasion of privacy.

I guess this is a second part to this: Part I

^--------------------------------------------------------

ObsessedSatoru who randomly passes by your house on the days and the hours he knows you should be there. He tells himself he just cares about you and wants to make sure you made it home and the lights are on.

ObsessedSatoru who wonders if you are okay when you fail to attend the bakery one Friday. "I just wanted something sweet before starting the weekend", you had told him once, and he couldn't agree more. Seeing you was sweet for him too. Since that day, it had become some sort of tradition meeting you there on Fridays. Why would you not show up? This changes the script a bit, he thought.

ObsessedSatoru whose first thought is that you may be still at work but changes his mind after making a quick call to your workplace and having no one pick up. So they are closed already? Any other day he had wanted to check, he had called and spoken a few words to the receptionist. 'A nice woman', you had told him once, 'she won't leave until all of us have left the office.'

ObsessedSatoru who decides to check your home in case you had headed there earlier. Confusion, disappointment and worry, exactly in that order, bloomed in his head when he saw the lights off. A quick inspection inside confirmed you were indeed not there.

ObsessedSatoru who has memorized your weekly schedule as well as his own. He knew you were free that night and had planned for the two of you to not so casually meet after work. He would then have persuaded you into grabbing dinner with him and asked you to go out the following day on a 'friendly date' to try a new coffee shop, nothing out of the ordinary, although he was actually planning for something a bit more elaborate than just coffee this time.

ObsessedSatoru who calls you to ask if you are free for dinner right now. A direct call had not been part of his plan. He knew you were most likely to agree if spoken with in person, but he figured it was the fastest way to reach you.

ObsessedSatoru who frowns lightly at you not picking up. Were you busy? With what? Not at work, not at home and he was sure you had no plans for tonight. You had his number and would usually pick up quick enough. Had you ignored him? No, he didn't want to think like that. Maybe lost your phone? He wanted to call again, but wouldn't that be too pushy? No, he was your friend, so it should be okay, right?

ObsessedSatoru whose mood lightened when you call him instead. "Satoru? Sorry, for not picking up before." He could almost hear your apologetic smile. "Is everything okay?"

"Are you home yet?" Maybe he was being too forward, but wasn't he always? And his tone was as friendly as it had always been with you. Still, he felt funny asking such a question in the middle of your living room. He knew you were not home. "If you're free, do you want to grab dinner?"

You went silent for a bit, and he heard some voices in the background. Maybe you were busy after all.

He was going to ask you where you were, but you spoke sooner. "Sorry, we went out for dinner with some colleagues. Maybe..."

"What about tomorrow?", he interrupted. He could still save his plan.

You were hesitating. This is what he feared. "Sure, we can do something tomorrow."

Score. If you could only see the smile you put on his face.

ObsessedSatoru who ponders whether or not he should come back to your house later while eating his dinner alone. 'We went out for dinner with some colleagues.' He didn't know much about the people you worked with. Maybe he should fix that. Just for safety. You can never know these days, right?

ObsessedSatoru who decided to check on you and smiles when he sees you entering your home from afar. You are okay, so he can go to sleep soundly now.

ObsessedSatoru who plans one of the most exhausting 'dates' you have ever been on. 'What should we do next?', he kept saying, coming up with more things to do every hour just because he did not want your time together to end. Not that he would admit that though.

ObsessedSatoru who invites you to his place after the rain caught you at the festival where he had taken you. Contrary to what you may have thought, he keeps a neat apartment. "So neat that it is almost as if you didn't live here", you had said with a smile. He took it as a compliment.

ObsessedSatoru who laughs it off when you mention you buy the same shower gel as him after using his bathroom. What a coincidence that he also seems to like the same brand of coffee as you, no? "Great minds think alike", he grins as he pours your cup. If you looked through in his fridge and cabinets, you would probably find more 'coincidences'. Right, maybe his most recent grocery lists had been slightly inspired by his findings in your home. But he liked you, in the friendliest of ways, of course. What could be wrong with wanting to try the same things you seemed to like?

ObsessedSatoru who thinks there is only one thing in the whole apartment he doesn't want you to see: the bottle of perfume in the drawer of his nightstand. It was the same you wore almost every day. The same you were wearing when he met you and the same you had worn today. He had bought it on a whim a few weeks ago, when he passed by a store and suddenly thought he had smelled you. A silly buy, nothing more, but he knew that could make you raise an eyebrow.

ObsessedSatoru who keeps his eyes on you without realizing he is staring and blushes lightly when you put your cup of coffee down and speak in the most serious tone "You have been staring. Are you obsessed with me or something?" Your expression immediately changes when his eyes widen. You laugh at his reaction.

ObsessedSatoru who laughs too, but maybe he is being completely sincere when he replies "How could I not be?"

[mingiiwingii]

Mastelist. Chapter 1. Chapter 2.

SUMMARY | Hes your baby daddy but he’s also part of the mafia- the boss at that. He left you without saying anything but leaving a note explaining how it was the best for you guys and he would miss you. Then disappearing completely out of your life never being seen again a month before you found out you were pregnant.

PAIRINGS | mafia boss father Bangchan x mother!female reader

RATING | 18+

WARNINGS | suggestive parts in the middle but not to detailed, swearing

NOW PLAYING | Too Sweet: Hozier

LENGTH | 3,377

It was your normal Tuesday, you woke up at around 6:00 like usual on weekdays. You got your stuff out for the shower and your outfit for the day. As you were moving things around on your night stand that you hadn’t rearranged since you first set it up after moving 3 years back, you saw a little piece of paper. You being curious as to what it could be you picked it up and opened it, your hands started to tremble as it was the note. The note that had the very words that broke your heart.

You were on your way for work super excited since your day off was tomorrow and you’d be able to spend the rest of your night with your boyfriend. That meant you got to stay up all night long and wake up tomorrow at 11 but your excitement was later ended when you got home. You checked in every room for you boyfriend of 5 years now but you couldn’t find him nowhere. It then hit you that his car wasn’t in the driveway so he must still be in the office or worse one of those mafia meetings.

Your boyfriend was a boss, but not any boss. He was a mafia boss and although you hated it but, you loved it at the same time. Having a mafia boss as a boyfriend meant protection for life nobody messed with you when they found out who you were dating. But you didn’t really care about that as much as your mother protested against your relationship with the boss you couldn’t help but rebel agaisnst her wishes. After all you loved him he was your first everything since you guys started dating at 17 and 16.

He was your first love, first kiss, first boy you liked, first man to embrace you, first man to tell you that he loved you since your grandfather passes away younger than he should’ve and your father was a piece of shit. Not to mention he was your first time but he was also your last in all of those things.

You decided to just shower since you thought why not since you were at work all day and it’ll be good to unwind and relax. Even when you got out the shower he wasn’t there you went to sit on the couch and watch some tv as you walked past the kitchen to go to the livingroom you saw a piece of paper on the counter but you didn’t bother with it since you thought it was nothing. Even after an hour he still wasn’t home you decided to go to the gym for about two hours by time you got back home it was already 9 but also raining so you rushed back in the house still not seeing his car.

You took your third shower of the day which you only do if you go to the gym which is usually once in a blue moon. You got settled back in your night dress and decided to go make dinner since you were hungry and figure he would also be hungry since he had been out since 7 AM. As you stepped foot in the kitchen you came across the paper again as you went towards it and picked it up to throw it away you then seen the paper had a lot of hand written writing on it.

You decided to read it since you noticed it was your boyfriends hand writing and when you read the full note you immediately trembled and wanted to juice burst into tears.

The note read “hello my sweet girl I don’t what time your reading this at but I just want to say sorry for all of this. Sorry I couldn’t be a better man for you, sorry I couldn’t be there when you woke up every morning and when you went to sleep most nights. I’m so sorry that I can no longer play the leading role in your life, I’m not good for you but your to good for me. I’ll always love you and you’ll always be the only women in my heart for as long as I’ll be alive. Sorry that I have to end our relationship like this but I truly hope you can move on in life and find a man who’s good for you. I may be stuck up on you for as long as I can live but I truly want you to be able to move on find a good man who can make you his wonderful wife, give you his beautiful children because they’ll take after you. With all do respect goodbye y/n.

A month later you kept throwing up once you woke up and your realized your period was late so your best friend said that she’d buy you a pregnancy test and so she did. You took 3 tests and they all read the same thing POSITIVE. You cried all night and day threw your whole pregnancy wondering how could you be a single mom and that the baby would constantly be a reminder of the man who had left you with a huge wound in your heart. When you finally gave birth the baby girl looked just like him when he was a baby.

You would always giggle with his mom over his baby pictures when the two of you were together but seeing that baby girl didn’t make you giggle it made you cry tears for days some were sad a lot were happy. You were just happy that she came out healthy and oh was she full of energy as she grew up just like her father. You struggle sometimes to be her mother because a lot of the stuff and things she did reminded you of him.

You wanted to toss the note but you just couldn’t since beside your daughter it was the only thing you had left of him. You threw the paper back where you got it and undressed yourself to get in the shower. As you were about to enter your bathroom you received a text. Unknown number •is this Ms.L/N?• you felt that it was really weird that you got such a message so you responded back •why do you ask and who’s asking•. You then threw your phone on your bed and went to take your shower.

Why you got out the shower you dried off and quickly got dressed you then remembered the text you got so you opened up your phone and seen they texted you back •I want to meet up and talk about some important business we can meet up at a local café if you don’t feel safe about things• you didn’t know what to do but you took up the offer since it was a public area. •Alright fine meet me at le café at 9:45 am I have to drop my daughter off at school and I’m being something to my mother•

The person like your message then texted back •Would you mind waiting there for 15 minutes since I’m not free till 10:00?• you didn’t mind to wait •yeah sure• they replied back quickly •okay thank you I’ll get us a booth now and do you mine to order me an expresso?• you really didn’t mind •yeah sure what do I say when I get there since your booking the booth?• it took them about 5 minutes to reply back •sorry I was booking the booth I put it under your name• •okay I’ll see you then mysterious person•

You had finally put the phone down around 7:36 which made you a few minutes late to wake your daughter up but that didn’t matter since you don’t drop her off till 9 am. When you woke your daughter up she looked at her clock and realized it wasn’t 7:30 on the dot like usually “mommy why’d you wake me up late?” The little girl questioned you. You smiled and replied “sorry I was busy something” she then nodded her head in an understanding way jumping up out of her bed getting her clothes out. You left her room since she knows how to get her own clothes out and get ready for her own shower after all she is a big girl now.

About twenty- five minutes later she comes out of her room all dressed for the day wearing a pretty floral outfit. Your daughter grew up to be very pretty and cute maybe because she looks like her father. When she came downstairs she could smell her favorite food for breakfast cooking. You were only able to cook for her on Tuesdays since you didn’t have work every other day she would eat different cereals.

Todays you made her waffles with a home made batter, 4 pieces of bacon, 2 pieces of sausage, a scoop of grits, and some scrambled eggs. She may be 6 but she can eat a lot that’s something she got from both you and her father. She ate all her food within 15 minutes and after that you guys were out the door. When you dropped her off to school you happened to see the little girl again and she just so happened to see you as well. You didn’t see her coming but all of a sudden you felt a little girl hugging you legs. Following her was the the women who always brought her there. She kept on apologizing even after you said it was alright and you told her that you had recently ran into her at the ice cream shop with her father Mr.Bang.

The little girl looked at you puzzled “how do you know that my daddy’s name is Mr.bang when you guys didn’t talk that day?” You looked at her feeling that you were in some deep crap “well me and your father have run into each other multiple times even though they weren’t very good interactions.” She looks at you with bright look “so is that why you kept rolling your eyes at him and he just stud there like he was full of regret?” She questions you and you look at her and say “yeah sure that… anyway I have to go I hope to see you again soon sweet thing.” You guys then wave goodbye to each other.

When you got to the café they asked what was the name under and you told them your name. They then lead you to a booth to the further back and asked you what you wanted and you told them an expresso and a cup of green tea. After 5 minutes they brought you the drinks and you continued to wait for the next 10 minutes. When the booth opened you were annoyed with who decided to reach out to you then sit in front of you like they had the right to after all they’ve done.

It’s you” you say as you roll your eyes. “It’s me” he says in husky playful voice. “Mr.Bang since when did you drink coffee you say confused and intrigued that you didn’t get to see such a huge change in him since he always hated it. “Since I’ve been stressed and up all night Mrs.Bang” he says back in a husky tone.

You snort almost busting out in laughter “It’s Ms.L/N we were never married, anyway what did you want to talk about?” He lowers his head and says in a low town that “we never had the chance.” You tilt your head “what was that I didn’t quite catch it” He looks up at you and says “nothing I didn’t say anything anyway I was wondering about something.”

You look at him with a questionable face “alright speak while I’m willing to hear you out, I’m all ears.” He looks at you then intertwines his fingers and rests them on the table “who’s her father” You look at him puzzled wondering if you should tell him the truth or lie but you didn’t want him around nor in her life because you didn’t know if he would leave again so you decided to lie. “Not yours so it shouldn’t matter and for your information my daughter isn’t business she’s a human being.”

He nods his head “darling if you planned on lying to me at least make it more believable like come on Yerim bang. Last time I recall I was the only man you’ve ever been in bed with plus she has my last name and if her and my daughter go to the same school that means their around the same age. Six years old.”

You get mad at hearing him say his daughter meaning the other little girl he was with the other day at the ice cream shop “see you already have a daughter why do you have to worry about mines just worry about your own” you say slight loud with it being obvious you annoyed. He smirks a little “listen she is also my daughter that’s what I meant when I said we needed to talk about business because she’s my business as much as she is yours.” He bites back a little furiously

You scoff “Christopher bang the audacity you have to say that she your business as much as she is mine. SHES NOT YOUR DAUGHTER BECAUSE YOUR NOT THE MAN I SLEPT WITH TO CREATE HER OKAY.” You strike back slightly loud. You can see the hurt on his face it hurt you but you didn’t care he then says “SO WHY THE FUCK IS HER LAST NAME BANG?” He yells raising an eyebrow.

You slam your hands on the table “because that’s her fathers last name idiot.” He looks at you puzzled “see I am her fucking father you big small liar” angered.

You look at him mad and cross your arms “well you wanna know the truth Mr.bang” you ask raising an eyebrow. He nods his head oddly fast so you come up with the biggest fatest lie but it somewhat makes sense. So you nod your head slowly then lean forward “well to be honest with you Yerim is only my daughter not yours” you stop then continue. “When you decided it was a good idea to leave me I booked a flight for the next morning to Australia” you looked away for a quick second then looked back at him.

“When I booked my flight I took my best friend with me since I didn’t want to go alone. When we arrived she hit me in the head and asked me ‘what was I doing out her in this man home town looking for him when he clearly left you.” He cut you off “that’s not-“ you cute him back off so you could continue your story. “Her words hit me and really got threw to me and really wondered what am I doing her looking for a man who left in a house he brought all alone. So she suggested why don’t we go out to a club so I could get my mind off of you and I thought that was a pretty good idea.”

You took a deep breath as the next words came out of your mouth “when we went there about 20 minutes of being there this very handsome man walked up to me while I sat at the bar and sat with me. He complimented me and ask what was my name so I told him my name was y/n l/y and he said on nice to meet you y/n my name is Junseo bang. At first I thought so weird but then I didn’t care. He brought me some drinks took me to the dance floor we danced for a while then he said why don’t we get out of here”

He looked at you with a shocked but her hurt face and it semi broke your heart but you couldn’t back down so you finished talking “we went back to his house and I wasn’t really drunk so I knew where to go when I needed him. Anyway when we got to his house at first he gave me a glass of water and turned the tv. He put on of very good show until sensual scenes started to pop up and that made us keep looking at each other until we both ended up making a move on each other.”

You paused for a second then finished “I ended up on top of him we made out a little then we ended up tumbling to his bedroom while we took off each others clothes once we got into his bedroom the rest was history. You know how babies are made so I don’t think I have to tell you the rest to that beautiful night. Anyway a few days later I started to get morning sickness and me and you hadn’t had Intercourse for about two days for about a week before you left so I knew it wasn’t you but after I slept with him two days later I started throwing up and my period was late so I decided to take a pregnancy test. It came back positive so I went back to his house and told him since me and my best friend planned on staying there for the week.

You look at him while rubbing your hands on your legs “when I knocked on the door he was surprised to see me again but he smiled and asked what I was doing there and stepped aside to let me in then again he handed me a glass of water then I told him at first he was stuck and shocked at first then he nodded his head and sat back. But then he told me that he would come back to Korea with me and he would live there with me threw the pregnancy and our child’s birth so when I flew back to Korea he flew back along with me best friend. Anyway I have to get back to my moms I promised her I wouldn’t be gone for to long and if you don’t believe me I’ll send you a picture of her birth certificate and pictures of her and her father together.”

He looks at you for a second “I would like that actually.” You didn’t expect him to say that you expected him to except it but you already knew what you had to do “okay I’ll send them later I’m going back to my mothers house Junseo is there waiting he’s supposed to be taking her to the park school and he just likes to talk to my mother.” What you were saying wasn’t a lie except he’s not her father but it was true that he was there for you threw all this time and still is today.

You stood up and bowed to him then took your leave on your way out you quickly texted your best friend Junseo about what happened and he flew straight to your house to wait for you. When you got to your house you explained every little thing that happened. “Ok so whats the plan because I know you have one.” You look at him with a sneaky smile “ I’m going to print out a copy of her real one and since the real one is blink for the father’s signature your going to sign on the copy.”

He looked at you and smirked “that’s actually perfect and we’ve always taking pictures with each other because I’m her favorite uncle.” You couldn’t help but burst out into laughter when he said that because she would always beat him up. About two hours after that you took a picture of the fake birth certificate and sent him a little over 10 photos of the two together whether she was to beat him up or if she was actually enjoying time with him and the ones on her birthday all he replied with was a shallow •oh I see I’ll leave it be then• and he actually did or so you thought.

[amethysts-tavern]

Forgive my typos or grammar. Writing this one on my phone rather than the laptop.

Gale x gender-neutral bard reader. Gale needs some reassurance.

———

I choose you.

Every night before bed, you make the circle around camp to check in with your companions - to see if they need additional healing or want to talk about anything, maybe tell them that they did well in the day’s adventure or recommend some battle tactics.

This night in particular, camp is pretty quiet. It was an extremely rough day. Half of the party went down entirely while you and Gale were the only two who remained standing by the end, likely from staying back from the melee where you could cast your spells without fear of being run through with a pike.

Karlach thanked you for finishing the fight and helping to revive her at the end. She had done the most damage to the enemy, but had also suffered the most.

“That fucker just would not die!” she exclaimed rehashing her last few swings to you. “I’m glad you were able to finish him off.”

“Lucky shot on a dissonant whisper,” you tell her. “Had he advanced on me and Gale, we would have been toast. Thank goodness Gale thought to cast sleet storm, essentially holding those cultists at bay.”

“Yeah, that was amazing! Well, I hope you get some good sleep tonight. We all deserve it,” Karlach says before turning in.

“G’night, Karlach. Good job today.”

You make your way over to where Astarion is standing outside of his tent, staring up at the clear sky. He takes in a big cleansing breath as you approach.

“Enjoying the evening, Astarion?”

“You know, the one thing about being a vampire that never gets old is seeing the stars every night. It’s like a big comforting blanket in the sky.”

“I won’t keep you then. Just wanted to say good job today.”

“I was great, wasn’t I? I spilled so much cultist blood on the ice. Let’s do it again tomorrow. Tell Gale to have that spell ready,” Astarion says with a twinkle in his eye.

You chuckle as you turn to move to Gale’s tent. You usually save his visit for last, sometimes staying the night with him in his tent. But he usually waits outside for you. Tonight, he’s not where you expect him.

You approach his tent slowly, listening hard to see if you can figure out why he didn’t wait for you, but the tent is quiet.

“Gale, are you there? Can I come in?” you ask in the voice reserved especially for him, softer and warmer than what you use with the others.

There’s no answer for a moment, but you do eventually hear a quiet, “you can come in.”

“Are you ok, love?” your concern apparent, as you enter Gale’s tent, only to see his back to you. “Are you hurt?”

“No, no. I’m… I’m fine,” he replies, leaving you convinced that he is entirely not fine. You step gently toward the wizard, trying to suss out what’s bothering him. You put a hand on his shoulder to comfort him. “What’s going on, hon? You know can tell me anything.”

There is silence for a moment and then he starts, “I’m not strong like Karlach. I’m not sneaky like Astarion. I couldn’t even help our friends when they fell,” he says just above a whisper. “I’m completely inadequate in battle. I don’t deserve to be in your party. I don’t deserve to be with you,” he hangs his head at the last part.

“What are you talking about? There’s a very good reason I choose to have you in my party every day. Your sleet storm was exactly what we needed in this battle! You slowed the enemies down so we didn’t have to deal with the entire mob at once! Without that quick thinking and spectacular ability, we would not have walked away with a victory.”

It was true. The giant mob of Absolutists would truly have done far more damage to your party if they advanced as a unit. But the moment they had to deal with a sheet of ice, they were sliding all over, not able to control their balance and landing on their backsides.

“And as for that last bit,” you say, wrapping your arms around the man that you love in a tight embrace, “I think I get to decide who is worthy of my affections. And I chose you. Brilliant, funny, loving you,” you punctuate the last sentence with kisses and nips at his neck. “And I will choose you every day for the rest of our lives.”

“But I could be so much more for you…” he starts.

You cross in front of him so that you can stare into his eyes. “Gale, I don’t want you to be anything else. I love you because of the man you are and how you make me feel. You are enough. In fact, you are everything I’ve ever wanted in a love. You are an honest and kind man. Your wit keeps me on my toes. You openly share your thoughts and feelings and listen to mine in return. I have never once doubted this relationship.”

You step in and give him another long, tender embrace. Your voice drops to a whisper, “And good gods! That thing you do with your tongue… it drives me wild!”

Finally, the corners of his mouth curl upward into a smile.

[y0urm4m]

No Time to die ch.3

Warnings: smoking, swearing, arranged marriage (it is consensual so don’t come for me!!), alcohol consumption, weapons, blood, arguing, possible smut, fighting.(This includes all parts!!)

Summary: What will happen when two strangers with awful backstories are forced into an arranged marriage but one is seeking revenge.

┏━━━ 🀥 ━━━┓

A few days had passed since everything had happened with my dad and Darren. My dad ended up firing Darren which was utterly ridiculous and unnecessary as he hadn’t done anything wrong. Once I had found out about him being fired, me and my dad once again had a massive argument and I was sent to my room for the rest of the day. Like always.

it was currently the night before the wedding, I was sat in my room with Nick as I painted my nails a pearly colour. “What do you think about this colour?” I asked Nick, showing him my nails. “I love it, it will definitely go with the dress.” He replied, inspecting the nail polish bottle. “I’m glad and if you really like the colour I’ll see if I have some spare,” I offered smiling. “It is one of the only colours that I use.” I added, giggling. “Oh before I forget I brought an early wedding gift for tonight!” Nick exclaimed jumping up, he walked over to where his bag was grabbing something. “I got some more of wine we had the other night!” He grinned. “Oh gosh, well I will not be drinking as much as I had the other day.” I giggled.

— Once I had finished my nails, me and Nick grabbed a couple of wine glasses and brought them back up to my room. “Soo, have you spoken to Chris?” He asked, pouring a glass of wine for himself and I. “A little bit.” I said as nick passed me a glass. “Oh well, you’ll have all the time to speak to him tomorrow,” “That’s another thing, have you written any vows?” He added.

Shit I had completely forgotten about writing vows.

“I can tell by the look on your face that you forgot,” He giggled. “I can help if you want?” He offered, sitting up. “It’s fine but I’ll have to write some now.” I said, getting up and grabbing my notebook.

I sat for 5 minutes staring at the blank lined page, what was I supposed to say. I barely knew Chris.

“Just write from the heart, trust me it’ll work.” Nick said softly, sipping from his drink.

Me and Nick ended up scrapping the personal vows because my mind had gone completely blank, we ended up lying down to watch a film which also was scrapped as we ended up falling asleep.

— “Are you excited?” Nick asked from beside me. I nodded. “Time has gone so fast!” I replied, as the woman behind me styled my hair. “Is it okay to start doing your makeup?” Someone else asked. I nodded my head in response as they walked over with loads of makeup products. “I’ll be back once your make up and hair is done. Okay?” Nick said, patting my shoulder. “Okay that fine, I’ll see you then.” I smiled as he left the room.

My hair and makeup was finally done.

I decided to put the dress on once I had got to the venue so it wasn’t creased or potentially damaged.

“Nick I’m done.” I said, walking out the door. “Great, let’s head to the venue now as we’re still early.” He said, leading me towards a car.

“Your hair and makeup looks breathtaking by the way.” He grinned. “Thank you, I’m honestly scared I might ruin it if I’m not careful.” I giggled. “You won’t, don’t worry. We’re Almost there anyways.” He replied, looking out the car window.

— We eventually arrived and went straight to put the dress on. “Holy shit y/n you actually look amazing.” Nick said, as I showed him the finished look. I smiled, as a faint knock was heard. “Who’s that?” I whispered, looking towards the door. “I don’t know, one second I’ll check.” He whispered heading over towards the door.

After 5 minutes of Nick having a conversation with the person, he finally opened the door revealing my dad. His eyes widened as he looked at me. I smiled walking over to him. “Do I look okay?” I asked, looking at him. “You look wonderful, your mom would be proud.” He smiled, pulling me in for a hug. I felt my waterline fill as the words left my dad’s mouth. “No water works before the wedding, please.” Nick said which caused me and my dad to laugh as I pulled away from the hug.

“Everyone should be arriving and sat down soon so I suggest staying in here for now.” Nick said, looking down at his phone. “Yeah Matt, Chris and some of the others are actually already here, I saw them just before I came in here.” My dad replied, also looking down at his phone. “Right I’ll be back once everyone is sat down, I love you.” My dad said, leaving me and Nick in the room.

“Y’know, I actually really appreciate the fact that you wore my mom’s dress.” Nick smiled, sorting out his tie. “I’m glad I could wear it, it’s a beautiful dress,” I replied, smoothing out the sides. I looked up at the clock, surely everyone was sat down by now? “Nick, you should probably go after all you are one of Chris’ groomsmen.” I said, patting his shoulder. “Alright, I’ll tell your dad to come and get you, I’ll see you soon!” Nick replied, giving me a quick hug before leaving.

I sighed, looking at myself in the mirror, this was actually happening it wasn’t just a dream. “You can do this y/n.” I whispered to myself and with that someone was knocking on the door again. “Y/n, it’s me,” My dad said entering the room. “Everyone is settled down now, so are you ready?” He asked, walking Towards me. “I’m ready, before I forget let me get the bouquet.” I replied quickly grabbing the bouquet from next to me. “Okay let’s go.” I took a deep breath, as we left the room.

We began walking the corner, arm in arm. “I’m so proud of you.” My dad whispered.

It’s felt surreal the moment me and my dad made it to the start of the aisle. The decor that filled the venue was absolutely enchanting and made the ceremony feel as if it were a dream.

“Please rise.” The priest declared as I finally was in sight for the family, friends and guests. Everyone who was sitting arose from their seats turning to look at me and my dad :who was on my left, as we walked slowly down the aisle. I could see Nick grinning as I walker closer towards him and the others but that’s when Chris caught my vision, his mouth agape as he watched me finally reach him.

As we reached the end of the isle, my dad let go of my arm giving me a kiss on the cheek as he sat down.

Chris took a step forward, smiling at me as we took our places in front of the priest.

“In the name of the father, and of the son, and of the Holy Spirit,” The priest began.

“Amen.” Everyone else replied.

“Grace to you and peace from God our father and the lord Jesus Christ.”

“And with your spirit.” Everyone replied once again.

“I will now start with an opening prayer. Be attentive to our prayer, O lord, and in your kindness uphold what you have established for the increase of the human race, so that the union you have created may be kept safe by your assistance. Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son, who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one god, forever and ever.” The priest said, nodding his head.

After the priest read a few readings from the Old Testament, the New Testament and the Gospel.

“Are you prepared, as you follow the path of marriage, to love and honour and honour each other for as long as you both shall live?” The priest asked.

“I am.” Me and Chris said together.

“Since it is your intention to enter the covenant of holy matrimony, join your right hands, and declare your consent.” The priest announced, as me and Chris joined our right hands together.

Chris took a deep breath. “I, Chris Sturniolo, take you, Y/N Y/L/N, to be my wife. I promise to be faithful to you, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love you and to honour you all the days of my life.”

I smiled. “I, Y/N Y/L/N, take you, Chris Sturniolo, to be my husband. I promise to be faithful to you, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love you and to honour you all the days of my life.”

After the priest blessed the rings and said a few more prayers it was now time to give one another them.

“Y/N Y/L/N, receive this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity.” Chris said, sliding the ring on my finger.

“Chris Sturniolo, revive this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity.” I replied, sliding the ring on his finger.

I looked over slightly to see my dad, who was now wiping tears off of his face as he smiled at me.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife!” The priest declared.

“You may now kiss the bride.” The priest said to Chris.

I looked at Chris before his lips met mine for a quick peck.

As we pulled back, the room filled with claps from everyone around us.

— After everyone had congratulated me and Chris we headed to the reception but before I entered Chris pulled me to the side. “I just wanted to say thank you for wearing my mom’s dress it really means a lot.” He said pulling me in for a hug. I was taken aback by the hug but I didn’t pull away from him, instead I hugged him back. “I really loved wearing this dress and I’m glad I was able to wear it.” I replied as we pulled away from each other.

We walked into the reception as I was immediately taken over to the dance floor where my dad stood. “You ready for a father, daughter dance? He chuckled. “I’m not going to let you go that easy.” He added as I walked over towards him.

The song ‘father and daughter’ by Paul Simon started playing which caused me to immediately tear up as it was a song my dad would play to me all the time when I was younger and we’d dance around the kitchen whilst my mom made sure we didn’t break anything. We began dancing slowly and carefully, as the song continued.

“I know I’ve already said it once but I really am proud of you.” My dad said to me as we danced to the song. “Thank you dad.” I replied as my lip quivered. “How about we dance just like we did when you was little, and if you keep crying it’s going to make me cry.” He chuckled, spinning me round just like he did when I was little which caused me to giggle. “There’s my happy girl.” He said as the song came to an end.

Chris walked towards the dance floor smiling at me and my dad as he put his hand out. My dad nodded, leaving me and Chris to dance. The song ‘At Last’ by Etta James started playing as Me and Chris began dancing. We danced to the soft beat of the song.

One of my hands was on his shoulder whereas his situated on my waist, our other hands were clasped together. Our movements were slow and synchronised as we danced around the dance floor. As we moved around, I looked at everybody who was watching. I smiled at Nick and Matt who was watching from the side as my dad put his thumb up and me and Chris. As mine and Chris’ dance came to an end he gave the top of my head a quick kiss.

“What would you like to do now?” He asked, my hand still holding onto his. “I’m not too sure.” I replied, looking towards Nick and Matt who were walking towards us both. “How are the newly wed feeling?” Nick asked. “Happy and excited.” I replied, smiling at him. “Same here.” Chris added.

— After having conversations with Matt, Nick and all the other guests we decided to eat some food.

Me and Chris were sat next to each other with my dad and some of Chris’ other family members including his brothers.

My dad arose from his seat, getting everyone’s attention. “If it’s okay I’d love to say some words for the newly wed,” He announced. I nodded, smiling at him.

“Y/n the moment before and when I walked you down the aisle will be a memory I will cherish forever.” He said, smiling down at me.

“And Chris, I don’t think any amount of preparation can ever make you feel ready to give your daughter away, but if I really had to choose someone, just know I would choose you every time without a doubt.” My dad said, toasting his drink.

After my dad’s meaningful toast, everyone ate their food, drank their drink and got lost in conversation.

“I hope you’re all having a great night so far but most importantly I hope you’ve all saved some room for something sweet because it is indeed that time! Please may the happy couple make their way over towards the cake so we can get this dessert party started!” The MC announced.

I looked over at Chris as we both got up from our seats making our way over towards the cake.

“Don’t they make the perfect couple? Let’s get some great pictures whilst they cut the cake!” The MC signalled for the photographer to come over.

Me and Chris grabbed the knife from next to us getting ready to cut the cake.

“Now if you’ll both do us the honour of cutting the first slice together.”

Me and Chris cut the first slice of the cake, placing it carefully on the plate in front of us.

“Wonderful! Let’s give them an applause.” The MC started clapping as everyone else around us joined in.

“And now, I invite the couple to feed each other a bite of the cake.”

I picked up a fork from next to us, collecting some of the cake as Chris did the same. “You ready!” I smiled, Chris nodding in return as we fed each other the cake.

“Wasn’t that lovely? Now, friends, family and honoured guests feel free to enjoy some cake and refreshments but most of all enjoy the rest of your night!” The MC said as pretty much everyone approached the cake.

The night was slowly coming to an end, everyone had eaten their slice of cake and had more drinks. Including me, I was currently sipping on wine having a conversation with Nick, Matt and my dad about today.

“Today has flew by it feels like moments ago I was walking down the aisle.” I sighed, looking at the few people who were dancing. “It really has.” My dad agreed. “It’s also been an emotional rollercoaster.” I giggled.

“Good evening everybody! Before this special day comes to an end, let’s have one last dance!” “Feel welcome to come join the others on the dance floor!” The MC announced.

“Are you guys up for one last dance?” I offered, standing up. “Chris is already there.” I added motioning towards where he was. They all agreed heading towards the dance floor.

An upbeat song played through the speakers as everyone spent the rest of their time dancing. The floor was highlighted by bright strobe lights: which flashed colours of yellow, red, green and blue. I rotated through dancing with Chris, Matt, Nick and my dad but we eventually started dancing all together resulting in a laughing mess as the song slowly came to a halt.

— Most of the guests had left leaving me, my dad, Chris and his brothers who were all helping clean and pack stuff up. “So are you coming back with me or do you plan on going with Chris?” My dad asked collecting all his stuff. “Uh I’m not too sure,” I replied. “Chris!” I called out, Chris’ head immediately shooting up and look over at me. I ushered him over. “My dad would like to know if I’m coming back with you or not?” I told him. “Me and your mom stayed the night in a hotel to get away from all the stress for the night,” My dad said. “I wouldn’t mind paying for you guys to stay in one.” He added. “I would love to. But only if Chris wants to.” I replied, looking at Chris. “Why not, thank you sir.” He thanked. “It’s no biggie and you don’t need to call me sir.” My dad chuckled, patting Chris’ back.

After my dad said his last goodbyes to the rest of us, he gave me some money and headed home.

— “Did I hear that the newly wed are staying at a hotel!” Nick teased as we left the reception. “You did indeed.” I chuckled, wrapping my arm around Chris’. “Well you guys have fun!” Nick winked which was followed by immediate laughter from us all. “We will do.” Chris chuckled.

After me and Chris said our goodbyes to Nick and Matt, we headed towards the hotel.

And if I was being honest I was excited to finally have more time with Chris.

Maybe this whole marriage wasn’t that bad after all, today had been amazing.

┗━━━ 🀥 ━━━┛

A/N: hope you enjoyed this part. For the super delusional people, No this does not mean ur married to Chris!! (Just had to clear that up). You all are going to enjoy the next part and no one come for me for writing out like half of a wedding ceremony and basically a whole reception. — hugs and kisses Gracie 💋

Tag list: @watercolorskyy @junnniiieee07 @patscorner @mattyb4dominicans @brooklynn0103 @imwetforyourmom @stasiesturn

[padfootagain]

The Last Chance (I)

Chapter 1 : Meeting

Hi! Coming back with a request for my Comeback Event!! Woohoo!!! Today we are answering an anonymous request : ‘Ben Barnes & #23 for the event? 💗’. Prompt 23 was ‘wrong time to right time’.

I was actually super happy to receive this prompt for Ben, because I had already planned to write something of the kind for Ben using his acoustic video for 11:11… you’ll see what I mean when you read the third part of the fic, but it fits my plans perfectly! So, thank you so much for your request!! Although this was meant to be a one-shot, it got completely out of hand, and I had to split the fic into three parts! So, here is part 1, and you’ll get part 2 on April 29 (2023) and part 3 on May 1rst!

I hope you enjoy your fic, anon!

****

Pairing: Ben Barnes x reader

Warning: angst… with a happy ending 😉 But for this first part, it’s rather a fluffy beginning and an angsty ending…

Summary: you and Ben have been caught in a game of hide and seek for decades now; always loving each other at the wrong time in your lives. Can this finally be the right moment for the two of you?

Word count: 4693

It’s late. It’s raining. You’re bored out of your mind, actually.

Amazing idea to follow your friends from university as they crash every bar in town… Wonderful plan. Especially when you have to wait for your roommate to go back to the campus, to finally go to bed. You check your watch. It’s almost 1am. You have an exam tomorrow at eleven. Great… So much for your good night of rest and quiet.

There’s only so much space under the porch of this bar. You’re partly soaked already.

Great…

You look inside once more, to see your friend snogging some guy. You don’t know him. He’s cute though, you guess. Black hair. Warm sweater. Lean. He blushes when your friend pulls away, you guess he’s a little shy. Maybe that’s the guy she’s been talking about, the cute one Cassie met in one of your classes… which class is it again? It has something to do with 18th century literature, you reckon, but you can’t put your finger on it.

Anyway, it doesn’t matter. You give the couple five more minutes before storming inside and pulling her out by the neck yourself…

You go to the bathroom for five minutes, and that’s all the time Cassie needs to meet the guy she’s trying to date and to start snogging him in public… wonderful…

Or well, maybe snogging is a bit much. Kissing is more accurate.

You decide that a cigarette is going to calm you down, so you light one up and take a long drag. The feeling of the intoxicating smoke does help. You feel yourself relaxing, but you don’t give up on your resolution to kick your roommate’s arse, and to do so rather sooner than later.

You’re taking your second drag when the door behind you opens, and you move a little to the side to let the young man walk out. He gives you a shy smile and a nod to silently thank you, and you copy his polite gesture. But instead of walking away in the street, he remains under the shelter of the porch next to you, glancing inside through the glass door. He buries his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

“Waiting for someone too?” you ask him, trying to be nonchalant.

Actually, you’re a little uncomfortable that a stranger shares your hiding spot. He seems nice enough though. Dark hair. Tall. He gives you a shy smile.

“Yeah, waiting for a friend. Sorry, if I’m bothering you during your cigarette break.”

“No worries. I’m waiting for my roommate to go home.”

“Looks like we both have some lousy friends,” he jokes, and you decide that you like his smile.

He accepts the cigarette that you offer him, and he lights it up with your lighter. He inhales deeply the smoke, holding it in his lungs for a few seconds, before puffing it out in a white cloud. You can’t help but notice that he’s rather handsome doing that…

“Yeah… and I have a test tomorrow morning,” you go on, looking for a distraction as the stranger raises the cigarette back to his lips. “So, I will probably murder her if she doesn’t come out soon.”

He chuckles with you.

“You’re studying at university?” he asks, deciding that doing conversation is better than merely waiting in the cold night. He’s already half-soaked because of how small this porch is and how hard it rains.

“Literature.”

“Really? Kingston too?”

“Yes…”

“I’ve never seen you in class.”

“You’re studying English as well?”

“Yeah, junior year.”

“Oh… you’re one year ahead, that’s why!”

You take the last drag off your cigarette, and rub the incandescent tip against the sole of your shoe, making the blaze die out.

“You like it so far?” he asks.

It’s only November but it’s cold already, and you can see the white puff of air escaping his lungs as he speaks; it dances in the cold air and the golden light coming from the streetlamp a few feet away, along with the one shed by the pub.

“Yeah, it’s alright. You?”

“Sure.”

You don’t really know what to say, and you look for your friend again, who is still snogging her date…

“Which one is your lousy friend?” the stranger asks, looking inside as well.

“The blond one with a tongue in her throat, at the back.”

You don’t understand why he starts laughing. It’s loud and infectious though. You like it.

“Well, looks like we share the same doom. My friend is the one with his tongue in her throat.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

You check your watch, heaving a sigh.

You look cute. It’s the first thought that comes to his mind as he looks at your annoyed expression. You’re crinkling your nose, and it’s adorable. He finds you pretty, even like this: clearly frozen, half-drenched, your hair and clothes dishevelled. Really pretty, actually…

“What a pair of morons,” you mumble under your breath. “I give them two more minutes before committing a murder.”

He can’t help but chuckle. You’re funny.

“I can be your alibi if you’d like,” he offers, making you laugh.

“Works for me.”

He’s about to speak again, ask about your name, yourself, what you like, if you’re free tomorrow night, but you’re faster than him. You blurt out a triumphant shout.

“Hallelujah! They’re standing up! We can go home!”

“A bloody miracle!”

He can’t help it. The way he’s kind of… disappointed. He takes one last drag out of his cigarette, staring at you and the way the golden light of the pub dances over your features.

A minute later and your friend and her date are finally in the street with you.

“Oh, Y/N! You haven’t met my boyfriend yet!” Cassie says, looking excited.

“Nope. Haven’t had the pleasure. But, huh… well, I’m Y/N,” you tell the dark-haired guy who’s still holding your friend’s hand.

He gives you a crooked smile, a little arrogant around the edges. He looks cute, you’ve got to admit. You do find his friend cuter though. You like the way he blushes now that all of you are cramped under the small space of the porch.

“Nice to meet, Y/N. I’m Jonathan. Oh, but… looks like you’ve met my friend already. Hmm, Cassie, this is Ben. We’re in the same year.”

He waves at her, and she greets him too. But Ben’s eyes land quickly on you again.

So… your name’s Y/N. That’s a cute name…

You’re there.

He’s been trying to see you again for the past two weeks, but couldn’t find a way to reach you. You were never around when Jonathan met Cassie, and Ben wanted to talk directly to you, instead of asking to one of your friends. He’s been about to abandon this crazy idea of his, these past couple of days. But now… here you are…

You’re sitting at a table alone in the middle of the library; focused on a large book, he recognizes the cover even from afar. Poetry. He knows, he went through the same book the previous year. He can’t help an amused smile. It’s a rough class, you’ll struggle for sure, just like everyone does.

He takes a deep breath, trying to control his quickening heartbeat and the sudden shakiness in his hands.

Damn, you make him so nervous… and he has barely talked to you at all for now.

He can feel his cheeks reddening, the heat creeping up all the way to the tip of his ears, but he can’t help it, can’t fight it. Just like he can’t fight the way his heart stops when you look up at him.

You must have felt that he was staring, that’s why your eyes lifted from the yellowed pages to settle on him. He can’t look away anymore.

You’re terribly pretty. Damn… you make him so nervous.

He’s not good at this. But he’s got to try, because after a small frown, you seem to recognize him and you’re smiling. You’re smiling, bright and warm and welcoming.

Right… it’s nothing really. Worst case scenario, you’ll simply say you’re not interested in him at all, and your two lives will go on as if this never happened.

He forces a smile on his lips, clenches his fists behind his back to help calm his nerves.

You can see he’s nervous though. He’s shy, you can tell. You read it on his lips despite the smile that takes shape there; the gesture’s small but earnest. You see it painted in red over his nose and cheeks. You find it adorable, to be honest…

“Hi, Y/N,” he speaks in a shy voice, whispering as he doesn’t want to disturb the quiet of the library.

“Hi, Ben! It’s nice to see you again, especially not at 1am under the cold rain.”

“Yeah, it’s nice to see you too,” he answers with a breathy chuckle, and his smile is bigger now, merrier too. “Would you mind if I sat down with you?”

“No, not at all. Please, sit down.”

You move some of your pens and papers to the side so he can sit opposite you.

“I see you’re struggling in Barrows’s class too,” he teases you, nodding towards the book.

“Yeah… this class is complicated. But then, I feel like everybody is struggling as much as I am, so it must not come from me.”

“No, I struggled a lot with it too. I can help you, if you want.”

“Oh, that would be nice of you, thank you. But I don’t want to bother you...”

“You wouldn’t be bothering me, I’m offering. I’ve got about an hour before I need to leave, gives us plenty of time.”

“Okay, then. Thank you.”

Ben struggles at first to remember precisely what was taught in the class, but it comes back quickly as you ask him questions, and the two of you spend about half an hour studying. But then, the conversation drifts away from poetry; and it’s his fault really, he’s the one who makes a hilarious joke. The words you exchange change from literature to your favourite movie, to this play he’s seen a few weeks ago, to your love for stories, to his love for acting, to your mother and her funny habits, to his brother who’s growing up too fast to his liking. He is more relaxed now, the blushing has subsided, and you find him funny. There’s something gentle and kind in his gaze, you can feel he’s a nice guy.

The more the conversation goes on, the more you notice how handsome he is, and it’s hard to control your heartbeat when he intensely stares at you with these black eyes of his. You’re the one avoiding his gaze now, not as confident as you were when he arrived.

Damn, he makes you so nervous…

He checks his watch as you try to quieten your laughter against the palm of your hand, but you fail miserably to do so, and the student at the table next to yours sends you a glare.

Ben’s eyes grow round, and he suddenly jumps on his feet.

“Shit! I’m so sorry, I’m late.”

“Oh, yes, you said you had something… I’m sorry, I didn’t check the time.”

But he shoots you a reassuring smile, and you find it infectious; the gesture spreads across your lips as well.

“It’s not that bad, don’t worry. But I need to go.”

“I hope you won’t get into too much trouble…”

“No, don’t worry. I’m just meeting up with some friends for rehearsing.”

“Rehearsing? Rehearsing what?”

He smiles, red back to colour his cheeks, and he seems to hesitate before speaking.

“I play the drums.”

You quirk an eyebrow.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“Like… you’re any good?”

“Enough to play in the West End.”

“Wow… I have to admit I did not see this one coming.”

Ben’s standing by the table now, his bag haphazardly thrown on his shoulder, but he’s not moving yet, not even if he’s late. He doesn’t want to.

“Why? Not bad-boyish enough?” he chuckles, but you can see he’s only half-joking.

“Well, you’ve got to admit that… basic jeans and a plain blue jumper don’t really strike me as ‘drummer in a rock-band’ type of clothing,” you tease him.

“No, I guess not.”

You can’t believe you’re the one speaking the next words that pass your lips, but they still tumble out of your mouth, in a whisper so low you almost hope he doesn’t hear you.

“Despite the comfy clothes, it’s still quite sexy, though.”

But he’s heard you just fine. As proof, you’re staring at each other in silence for several seconds, both your heartbeats erratic, and your breathing a mess. Slowly, a smile curves up his lips, until he’s properly grinning.

“Well, then… if I use the argument that I’m a drummer… maybe you’ll find me interesting enough to go out with me this Friday?”

You struggle not to smile, but miserably fail. You look away to hide your reaction.

“Depends on what you have in mind, I guess.”

“Well… they’re playing When Harry Met Sally at a little cinema nearby. What do you say? The movie is at nine.”

“If we can grab a pizza before that, then I’m down for it.”

You exchange a grin.

“That could be arranged. Then… let’s say… seven thirty before your dorm?”

“How do you know where my dorm is?”

“Jonathan.”

“Oh… and Cassie?”

“Sadly, yes.”

You chuckle together, and you nod your head.

“Sounds good. I’ll see you on Friday, then.”

When he leaves, you watch him walking out of the library, with his blue jeans and navy jumper too big for him, and you can’t refrain a dreamy smile.

Looks like you’ve got a date…

Your sides are painful, he makes you laugh too much.

He’s making silly voices to comment the TV show you’re watching on your tiny television screen. You’ve forgotten altogether what the show is about, Ben is too distracting. You don’t mind though. It feels good to laugh. Finals are over, summer is upon you. It’s a happy time to be alive. Night quiet, goofy boyfriend and warm clothes, with an empty pizza box discarded somewhere on the floor.

You’re cuddled into his side, with his hand on your waist and your head on his chest. It’s warm and safe in his embrace, you love the sound of his breathing against your ear, the way you shake a little as he laughs.

It’s peaceful and happy and you feel lucky to be with him.

“You’re insufferable, I can’t even watch TV with you,” you tease him; the grin on your lips and the laugh making your voice hoarse are enough to show you’re merely joking.

“What are you talking about? We are watching TV. If not, then what are we doing? Snogging? I wish…”

You playfully swat his shoulder.

“Perv!”

“You weren’t complaining last night.”

You fake outrage.

“Benjamin!”

“Yes, darling?”

You look at each other, before bursting into laughter.

“I’m joking!” he reassures you, before suggestively wiggling his eyebrows. “Unless you’re in the mood…”

You push him away, laughing some more. Actually, you push him so much he almost falls off your bed, and you have to pull him back towards you so he won’t fall.

You both gasp, before losing yourselves in an uncontrollable laughter.

It takes you two a while to finally calm down, both of you crying with laughter and struggling to breathe.

“Darling… you really will be the death of me,” says Ben, still struggling to catch his breath.

“Well, not your death… but your ticket to the hospital, probably…”

Before you can joke some more, you’re back into his arms. You don’t stop him when he pulls you close, you’re used to it. That’s his way of saying he cares.

He’s a little surprised when you kiss him. He thought you’d banter some more, he knows you like it. But instead of your playfulness, he’s met with your soft lips that taste like the sweet soda you’ve been drinking tonight. It’s not hard for him to forget about everything while you kiss him. No plans for the summer, no TV, no world outside your lips on his, your tongue teasing him, your hands in his hair, the soft fabric of your t-shirt, and the warmth of your skin as he cradles your cheek.

When you break away, you’re both out of breath.

Ben struggles to clear his throat, nose brushing against yours, eyes still closed.

“So… snogging then, huh?”

You laugh. You should speak about the summer, about what you’re going to do about your relationship in the coming months, but you don’t want to. This evening is too nice, you’re happy. Unbelievably so.

As you stare at him, getting lost in his dark eyes, you reckon that now is not the time for this serious talk. You’d rather bathe in the feeling of his embrace, of his lips upon yours. You’d rather linger for a while in this state, where you feel safe and cared for.

Instead of talking about plans, and obstacles, you choose merrier words, tender ones.

“Maybe I just love you.”

You see he’s surprised. After all, none of you have said it yet. You’re not worried though, he looks at you with too much tenderness for that.

“Well, maybe I love you too.”

You kiss while grinning, it’s messy and affectionate and it tastes of carelessness and a happiness you ought to hold onto while it lasts. It’s ephemeral, yet you wish it could last for a lifetime.

“I can’t come on Saturday.”

“Oh… okay.”

“I’m sorry, darling.”

“That’s alright, love. It’s not your fault.”

“I have an audition for a play in the West End on Monday, I need to work as much as I can.”

“Do you want me to help you with your lines? We could practice.”

“Jonathan is going to help. It’ll be easier, the scene is between two guys. Besides, you haven’t taken any class about acting this year. I don’t mean to offend you but…”

“Jonathan has more experience, I get it. No need to worry. I need a little bit more than that to be offended.”

“I know… still… it makes me feel awful. It’s the third time in a row I’m cancelling a date night…”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. It’s alright, really. I get it. You need to get a job. I’m sure it’s going to work out. I’m expecting nothing less but a leading role for you, mister.”

Your voice is teasing, and you pull on the collar of his white shirt to drop a sweet peck on his lips, his stubble tickling your skin, but none of you are fooled.

You’re disappointed. Almost mad.

He feels guilty. Almost sad.

It’s not the first time it happens, you reckon it won’t be the last. You should not take it so seriously, and yet you do. You take this too seriously, because you haven’t had a proper date in over a month. You haven’t spent more than two nights together in three weeks. You’ve barely had a full conversation in the past few days.

You’re drifting apart. You’re drifting apart because he’s got all these things to do to get a job, and you’re still a student, and you don’t live with the same rhythms anymore.

Still, you love him. You’ll make it work.

“If your audition is on Monday, what if we have a pizza and a movie on Tuesday?” you offer, hugging him close, as if you’re scared he’s going to leave too soon.

“But you have classes early in the morning on Wednesdays…”

“It’s okay. I can skip one class, it won’t kill me. Cassie will give me all her notes. It’s just this once. It’s okay.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I’d rather spend my evening with you.”

He gives you a tender smile, taking you in his arms to hold you in a tight embrace, dropping sweet kisses on your hair.

You’re drifting apart.

Still, he loves you. He’ll make it work.

“Alright, then. Date night on Tuesday. And if I get this job, I’ll treat you to a nice restaurant. Would you like that?”

You enthusiastically nod, before burying your face in the crook of his neck.

You hold onto each other for a long time.

You’re drifting apart. It’s alright though. You’ll both make it work. You have to.

It’s funny how life works haphazardly sometimes, it would seem.

It’s random, really. The fact that you met, the fact that you crossed path again in this library, the fact that you fell in love with him, the fact that you have to say goodbye now.

Because you know already how this is going to end. You’re having a conversation, but you both already know all the arguments.

You’re flying to Dublin to get a job in a small newspaper, and he’s flying to Australia to play in a huge movie. He wants to focus on acting. You want to figure yourself out. It’s not that you don’t love him anymore, it’s just that you don’t want to sacrifice this opportunity for him. And it’s not that he has stopped loving you, it’s just that he wants to give his career a try. A reel one. And to do that, he needs to travel across the globe.

You’re barely out of college, you could feel it was coming. Ben has been working for a while now, and you know your worlds are not aligning as much anymore. Instead, they feel more like two strangers standing next to each other. They felt like an embrace before.

It’s been here for a while, the acknowledgment that this is not the right time for the two of you. You’re young, you love him but you’re not sure what you want. And he’s young, he loves you but he has dreams in his head he wants to catch before they pass out of reach. You’re lost, and he’s determined. You love him, and he loves you. But everything else in your lives have stopped matching a while ago.

He's got an opportunity, and an amazing one. And you have an opportunity as well. And the two are thousands of miles apart.

“We could give it a try,” he offers, but you can hear it in his voice that even he doesn’t believe in his own words.

“It’s never going to work,” you argue.

“No need to be so pessimistic about it.”

He reaches for your hand across the mattress. The sheets are soft under your palm. You wish you could resist him, but you can’t, and so you entwine your fingers together.

“I’m still in love with you,” Ben lets out in a shaky breath.

“I love you too. I think… I think I always will, in a way.”

You look up at the ceiling to prevent any tear from escaping. You don’t want to be crying. It would be silly. You knew it was coming, it has been there for months.

You’re not parting ways because he cheated, because he’s stopped loving you, because he’s a jerk, because he’s treating you badly...

He’s a sweetheart. He’s a nice guy. Your lives have drifted apart, that’s all. You’ve drifted apart. And it’s killing you, because you love him, but you can’t make it work.

“I don’t want this to be over,” he goes on, “but I don’t see any other way. Cause… cause it’s… we’ll never see each other, how can this work?”

“I know, Ben. I know. That’s why we need to stop this, before it goes sour. Before our love for each other becomes bitter because we’re frustrated with the distance, and your job, and mine, and our different goals… It’s alright. It’s not you. It’s not me. It’s not really our fault. We just… want different things. And no one can have everything they want in life.”

You’re right, and he knows it. Still, as he looks at you like this, on the verge of tears, with your fingers in his, with this sadness painted all over your features… he still loves you. He’s crazy about you, really.

But you’re right, and the two of you don’t want the same things. Still, he’s pretty certain he’s making the wrong choice right now. He knows he’ll regret this as soon as he’ll walk out of your bedroom, as soon as he’ll exit your dorm. He’ll regret this. But then again, he would regret not giving his career a chance too.

Which one is worse? He’s not sure. But he knows you’ve drifted apart. And it’s killing him, because he loves you, but he can’t make it work.

“I want… I want us both to be happy, you know that, right?” he says, his voice shaking. “I want… I want to give my career a try, and you want to take that job in Dublin, and I hope you know that I support you in this. I… You’re… you’ve always been fearless. And I want you to be free to do whatever you want in this life, I want you to find your own path. But above all, I want you to do whatever makes you happy. Do you understand? I support you in this, even if it means that we can’t be together, and I am not blaming you for it. It’s my fault as much as it is yours. Alright? Do you see what I mean?”

You nod, giving him a smile.

“Our lives are just… heading in opposite directions, but I really want you to be happy and brave and to do what you love most,” he repeats himself, as if to make sure you get it, as if he’s afraid you might imagine his feelings for you have changed, when they haven’t faltered at all. “Okay?”

Again, you nod, and silence settles in the room. You’re still holding hands, and you don’t want to let go, even when you speak once more.

“I don’t think we should stay friends, though,” you add, your voice shaking, but nonetheless, he doesn’t fail to recognize determination in your tone. “I mean… We still have feelings for each other. And we need to get on with our lives, get over this. And I don’t think I could get over you if we stayed in touch. So… I think it would be best if we broke up and… never saw each other again.”

He looks up at the ceiling to fight the tears that threaten to escape.

Outside, it’s raining. Late afternoon drenched with raindrops that paint strange patterns on the cold windowpanes. You haven’t turned on the light, despite the dark sky, and the light that comes in is dim, weak, almost trembling. You listen to the rain while Ben tightens his hold on your hand. You don’t want him to let go, but you know he will.

“Alright, as you wish.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be. I get it. I think… I think you’re right. In the end, it will be better if we don’t stay in touch.”

He doesn’t tell you that he simply… doesn’t want to get over you. Not yet, at least. But then, when he thinks about it, he reckons it’s normal. It’ll pass. Soon, he’ll want to get over you.

It’ll pass…

He gets up all of a sudden, without warning. He lets go of your hand, like you knew he would. It hurts the same, whether you were prepared for it or not…

He puts on his coat, bends to pick up his black umbrella stranded on the floor. Outside, it’s still raining. You hear someone shouting. Cars in the distance. A whole world you’re aware of.

He walks to the door, and he doesn’t turn around one last time when he speaks again. He knows you’re looking at him, he can feel your stare on his back. He knows he won’t have the strength to look at you like that…

“Goodbye, darling.”

Before you can reply, he’s opened the door, walked out, and disappeared.

[thatbanditqueen]

The Late Night Dayton Gig

A One Shot Written for the Prompt: Do it again. Please.

From Elvis’ concert performance in Dayton, OH April 7, 1972

Warnings: Drug use implied and being fucked up described. Curse words. Angst. Somehow this is even less smutty than the last one. And I have a “at least one scene” general smut rule for my writing. What has happened to me? I wrote this very quickly and there are many typos.

Summary: Alex is helping her mom close up the family deli in Dayton, OH when they get a last minute rush catering order for a special VIP client.

Word Count: 2,788

Friday, April 7, 1972 5 p.m. Katz Delicatessen

Not far from the University of Dayton Arena

The cool air carried a loose piece of paper and it hit the window next to where Alex sat, startling her as she finished writing out the inventory she had just taken in the deli’s ledger. She stopped to clean her glasses with the hem of her simple, brown floral dress and looked up to see her mother lean against the office door way.

“I’m almost done, Mama, have you boxed up the cake for Ellie’s birthday yet? Think we should do it before or after I take her out?”

Mama sighed, wiping her hands on her dirty apron.

“You have to cancel tonight, tell Ellie we’ll celebrate tomorrow.”

Alex put her glasses back on, frowning.

“What? No, it’s all set, Randy is meeting us for dinner at home, then he got us on the guest list at that new night club down down, The Nitty Gritty. Ellie only turns 21 once. Why would I cancel?”

“Oy, because I just got a call from Stu.”

“Myerwitz?”

“Mhmmm. They have a rush catering order, and the hotel kitchen is already overwhelmed with two weddings and a Christening. And the party is tonight.”

“Tough titties Mama.” Alex stood, slamming the ledger shut. “Not our problem.”

Mama walked over, looking to Alex’s face, her hand on her shoulder.

“Oh babushka, I hate when you talk like that. It’s too much money to turn down. Stu won’t tell me who, but it’s a VIP client, very very VIP. Five thousand dollars.”

Alex’s face dropped. “Well, that should have been the first thing you said, I guess.” She sat down and took out a piece of paper. “How are we gonna prepare that much food in time for a dinner party? And who can I get to work it?” She started making notes on her piece of paper, writing the date at the top, and then “VIP River West Hotel Dinner Party.”

“It’s a late dinner, party, midnight I think. And who else, Sasha? You, Randy and Ellie.”

Alex looked back out the window, reaching up to adjust the messy brown bun at the top of her head.  “Ughhh, happy 21st birthday, and by the way, you’ll be spending it working with me and your boyfriend at a dinner party for some schmuck who can’t plan in advance.” She looked at her mother. “Please tell me that part of the five grand was the rush order, it’s not really five thousand dollars worth of food and wait staff?”

“Stu said 100 people, so I told him $50 a head.”

Alex smiled. “Good.”

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

“I’m not paying $50 a head, sorry lady, but that’s highway robbery.”

Alex’s eyes narrowed at the chubby, jowl faced bastard in front of her and she whistled at Ellie and Randall to stop plating the deviled eggs and the brisket appetizers.

“Um, that was the agreed upon fee when this booking was made, so unless I get a check for five grand right now, we are taking our food and walking.” Alex tucked her leather notebook under her arm, and smoothed her black, button down blouse before clenching her right hand into a fist. She was about to blow her top if this small, horrible little troll said another word to her that wasn’t yes. Ma’am. Right away.

“Lady, that wasn’t a part of any agreement I made. I’ll do $25 a head, no more. What are you going to do, throw this food away?”

Alex tightened her jaw, squishing up her mouth in contempt as she walked over to the side of the kitchen where food trays sat lined in three enclosed, steel carts, and began returning the food on the counter to them.

“OK, guys, start packing up, I’m done. I’d rather give this food to a homeless shelter than take any money from a two-bit, schister trying to hustle us on a last minute rush order for some mysterious VIP.”

Ellie swallowed a guffaw, grinning in disbelief at her sister, before nodding, and boxing the eggs back up. Randy stirred himself and followed suit.

Joe put his hand on Alex’s shoulder as she closed up a full trolley and moved to push it out of the kitchen area and back through the Presidential Suite.

“Now honey, listen, why don’t we —”

Alex nudged his hand off her shoulder with a scowl, the trolley wheels squeaking out as she began to push it out of the kitchen.

“Don’t you honey me, you snake. We received a phone call at 3:30 pm. That’s seven hours ago, ordering a full buffet dinner for a 100 people, with staff. The type of order I book months in advance. And I was told that if we could swing the rush timeline it would be a sweet five thousand. Now you’re trying to honey me into half of the agreed upon amount?”

Alex stopped at the large double doors at the front of the suite to shake her fist at Joe.

“Fuck you, fuck your VIP boss, and here’s a tip, if you want a woman to know you take her serious in any professional negotiation or discussion, don’t call her honey, ok?” Alex grabbed the door and pulled it open as she looked back at Joe. “Cuz I am not your —”

Just as she rotated to pull the cart into the corridor, Alex found herself lurching into the pale, sweaty, hairy chest of one Elvis Presley, who paused wiping his face with the towel around his neck to catch her by the shoulders as she gasped.

“Whooo there honey, you ok?” His lavender glasses were upside down, and he had been laughing with the group of guys snaking behind him into the hotel corridor.

Alex stepped back, dropping her clip board and then shaking off her stunned reaction to murmur a low “Fuck me baby Jesus,”  before knocking heads with the shaggy-haired singer as they both bent down to grab her things.

“Hey now, sugar, we keep meeting like this I reckon people round here ‘ll start to talk.” He smirked, grabbing Alex’s leather bound note book and clipboard, and handing it back to her with a dramatic flair.

She nodded. “Mhmmm, yeah, usually the slight graze of bare skin is quite the scandal here in Dayton, but since your business manager has been trying to fuck me since I walked into this joint twenty minutes ago, I think the newspapers will find that more titillating, don’t you think?”

Just then, Ellie and Randy emerged from the kitchen pushing the other two trolleys, and Alex held the door wide for them as she motioned them in front of her. Ellie’s jaw dropped as she recognized Elvis and tripped on herself as she moved through the door frame.

“Go right along kids, I’m behind you.”

“K Sasha!” Randy called back, as the sound of heavy trolleys moving over the hotel carpet echoed through the hallway.

One of the younger guys stepped forward to hold the door for Alex as she grabbed the her trolley and began to shuffle back wards, only to hit the white gaberdine fabric of Elvis jumpsuit, covered the arm he had swung down to stop her retreat.

“Now, hold on just a goddamn minute, what the hell’s goin’ on? Joe? Is that my food?”

Alex’s lithe body became a battering ram as she jolted into his arm.

“Oh, it’s just a classic failure to communicate scenario. Now,” she banged harder, dislodging his arm as he pulled it back in discomfort. “Thank you, we’ll be out of your hair in just a jiffy.”

Alex stuck a terse smile over her face, and turned to drive the trolley forward while Elvis looked back at Joe, then down at her, with a confused, hurt quizzical expression.  Two minutes later, she was pulling her cart into the freight elevator, only to see a long, wide hand grip the edge of the closing door and Elvis pushed his way in.

Alex looked up at him, pushing her glasses up at the bridge of her nose.

“No.”

“Honey, you don’t even know what I’m a gonna say.”

“Ok,” she sighed. “What are you gonna say?”

The elevator started to  move down and Alex got a better view of his taut, thick body, emphasized by the low  v neck cut of his jumpsuit that pushed up to his shoulders. Blotches of black eyeliner was smudged around his eyes, and Alex fought the urge to lick her thumb and lean up to wipe them away. She blushed as he grinned down at her, and then he fell forward over the top of the trolley toward her, resting his arms across it and then leaning his chin down in a pitiful sideways tilt.

“Don go, please sugar, bring that food back up. Joe’s getting your check ready right now. I told him six.”

Alex put her hand on her hip and quirked her mouth in a frown.

“Don’t do that. I just wanted the amount we had agreed on.” She looked up at the tiled, white lights above her, listening to the faint whir of the machinery lowering them to the bottom of the hotel.

Elvis had some how turned the tables on her, reading her like an open book that would respond to abject vulnerability as he leaned down on to the trolley and looked up at her with needy, pitiful eyes.

“OK, honey you the boss, just don’t let ol’ Joe’s repulsive manners drive you away. We are starving.  Got any food in there I could have right now? ‘fore I go shower?”

“Ughhhh. Ok.” Alex shook her head back up at the tiled lights, and looked Elvis in the eyes. The black eyeliner around them made them shine brighter and sparkle in the bright florescent light of the elevator.

“OK, you’ll come back up?” He grinned. "Or, ok Elvis I got something I can put in your mouth right now?”

“Both.” Alex exhaled exasperatedly.

When the elevator doors opened, Ellie and Randy were greeted to the sight of Alex giggling as she held out a mini quiche and Elvis smacked lips open, leaning closer over the metal top of the catering trolley. “Go ‘head, honey, throw it in. I don’t bite.” Then he gnashed his teeth as she put the quiche on his tongue. “Muuuck” he said, mouth full of food.

Alex immediately jerked back, her smile dropping to a serious look as she told the others to follow back upstairs in the next elevator because the gig was back on.

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

It was well past 3 a.m. when they got to the van and loaded up the equipment. Alex held Ellie tight in her arms while Randy warmed up the car, squeezing her as she wished her a happy birthday.

“I’m sorry we didn’t celebrate your birthday tonight.” Alex smoothed Ellie’s beautiful blonde hair. At ten years older, she had a perpetual idea of her sister as a little kid, but she wasn’t, she lived with her boyfriend and worked in a daycare. Alex had wanted Ellie to get out of Dayton, have the life she hadn’t been able to pull off. There was still time.

“It’s ok, Sasha, we’ll go out tonight, and it was worth it. I got to meet Elvis, he gave me this diamond ring.” She flashed up a golden band with a square top covered in diamonds and black stones. “And, we made seven thousand dollars -”

“Oy vey, no wonder his manager is tight, I completely sympathize with that man now. Ok, well, we have some extra for drinks tonight then.”

Waving as Randy drove the big van off,  Alex went to her car, then kicked her tire as she realized she’d left her notebook upstairs. Standing up straight, she sighed and turned to drag her body back inside and up the elevator. She smiled at the young guy standing at the door of the Presidential suite, and he winked with recognition.

“Hey, um, everybody’s left - it’s just him, in there, and um —”

Alex pushed passed him, rubbing the boy’s arm. “Don’t worry, I just have to grab something quick, in and out.”

The suite was dark and she almost didn’t see the bodies on the living area couch as she quickly darted towards the kitchen.

“Hey, who’s there?”

Alex turned to see Elvis stagger up, a gun in his hand and a blonde reclining below him on the couch.

“Oh, god, fuck, I’m sorry, I left someth—”

Elvis wild demeanor softened as Alex walked closer and a grin radiated over his face. “Oh, it’s you, food honey baby. What wasss ya name….Satch ya, right?”

“Only my family gets to call me that. It’s Alex otherwise.”

“Sho baby, come here Satcha ya, come here! Come hang out…. this is, this is, what’s ya name honey?”

The blonde slurred as she fell back. “Cherrreeeeee.”

Elvis sat down, slipping his derringer into his black boot, and patting the seat next to him. “‘is is Carrie, Carrie baby, like the soong.”

45 minutes ago, as they had began packing up, Elvis had been alert and wide awake, demonstrating karate to his guests. She had smiled over at him in amusement at this and the other eccentricities he had participated in over the course of the night, including singing gospel music and lecturing people on his own interpretations of the bible. Elvis had particularly liked the brisket sliders and potato fingers they had made, and Alex had found him beguilingly charming when he snuck into the back area of the kitchen asking for her to feed them to him because they were so good he couldn’t bear to wait for her to re-plate them.

“Just slip ‘em into the old feedbag right here, darlin’. Hmmm. Ya pretty good with meat, aintcha? MMmhmmm MM!” Alex had shook her head with a playful grin as he flirtatiously sucked the brisket juice off her finger.

Now he was completely the opposite: subdued and lethargic. Alex came to sit by him, and he pulled her onto his lap while she watched the girl next to him fall over, passed out.

“Is she ok?”

Elvis looked at the woman next to him, and then back up at Alex.

“Oh yeaahhhhh, don a worry bout that chick, she jus took a sleeping pill. It’ll help her quiet down. Get closer to God”

Alex raised her eyebrow and shook her head, a knowing pull in her stomach told her this was probably a bad idea, but Elvis’ hands pulled her closer and she followed. She smoothed Elvis dark bangs across his forehead, thne parted her lips to blow some of the more stubborn hair wisps away. He took her hand and kissed it.

“Do it again. Please.”

“What?” Alex steadied her self against his shoulder, watching as his eyelips fluttered open and closed.

“Blow onnnn meEEE… baby, your cool breafff felt gooow…” he muttered, his eye lids became visible heavy and heaver, drooping half way down over his eyes.

Alex stood, pulling him behind her. “Hmmm, let’s get you to bed.”

He followed her as she led him back to the bedroom, his hands gripping her waist. Books and guns were scattered around, and a glass award stood on the top of the dresser. She wondered if he had been presented with something at the concert that night.

“Kneew it. Jus came back cuzz ya wanted ta see me neked…” he chuckled, nuzzling into Alex’s neck as she tried to politely create space between her body and his mouth. She felt the slight heat of attraction to him because Elvis was charming. And handsome. And funny. And totally fucked up. It made her feel as though she was taking advantage of a drunk puppy she had found on the side of the road.

“You got me. It was my plan all along” She pushed him back on to his bed and turned to go, but he grabbed her.

“Stay… stay baby, don’t make me sleep alone.”

Alex looked to the door, and heard the loud snoring came from the living room. At least I know she’s alive.

“What about… your friend out there?”

“Who?”

“Um, Cherry?”

“Oh yeah.” Elvis sat up, and pulled Alex by her waist to him. “You naughty girl, you wanna bring her in to bed too? Like for a three.—”  before he could finish, Elvis’ eyes closed, and he fell back on to the bed.

Alex sighed, pulling off his shoes, and putting the gun in his boot over on the dresser. She came back to drag him up further, and straighten him over the pillows. Unfortunately this roused Elvis again, and he grabbed her arm as she tried to unbutton the top of the paisley dress shirt he'd put on after his shower.

“Please baby, please. Don a go.” He kissed the palm of her hand softly, drawing her toward him. Alex nodded.

“Ok. But no funny business.”

Elvis bent his chin in assent, but then his eyes rolled back, followed by his head. Alex took off her shoes and her pants, and curled up on the bed, at first turned inward to watch the man she had grown up seeing in movies and television shows breath slow, labored breaths. At some point she drifted off her self from the exhaustion of the day, stirring slightly when she felt a pair of large hands grasp around her waist and pull her into the warm body behind her.

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

Thanks to my co-conspirators

@whositmcwhatsit​

@ellie-24

@missmaywemeetagain​

@be-my-ally​

@vintageshanny​

@from-memphis-with-love​​

[humanitys-strongest-bamf]

loving this influx of followers and interacts! <3 pls feel free to msg me and if anyone's interested and i can open up requests so i have an excuse to write more juicy content uwu

actually pls msg me i'm going to run out of oneshot ideas eventually and just be sad

Stay With Me | Canonverse Fluff Oneshot

✧ word count ➼ 1.6k ✧ notes ➼ canonverse, slight divergence from s4 plot (idk i wrote this in the middle of the night ok), just overall sweetness ♡

The sun had just set and you knew you had roughly 10 hours before you had to leave to face both Eren and Zeke, who had full control of the Titans on the island and were leading them down a path of destruction.

You stood outside your tent as you took off your cloak. As your eyes traced over the symbol of the Scouts that was supposed to symbolize the wings of freedom, you felt your breath hitch. Nearly everyone that you had met when you first got initiated into the Scouts all those years ago was gone. It was now literally only you, Hange, and Levi—maybe even less after the battle the following day.

The odds were overwhelmingly against you. The enemy had the ability to transform into deadly Titans. Your ranks have been devastated by just Zeke alone and now you were going to face off against both Zeke and Eren with minimal forces.

Levi was an Ackerman that had a stupid amount of strength when it came to combat. While you could not be fairly compared to Humanity's Strongest Soldier™, you were also a formidable force on the battlefield. However, those factors paled when it came to the Jaeger brothers. Zeke alone, even while injured, brought both of you to the brink of death through a cleverly set trap. If the cards hadn't lined up correctly, both you and Levi would be dead.

A part of you did wish that you had just died so that you could join your fallen comrades, but you knew how much that would destroy Levi.

With a solemn look on your face, you gently undid the buckles around your waist that held your mobility gear in place. As you raised your arms off to pull the harness over your head, you felt a sharp pain on your upper right side and let go of the harness as you lowered your arm, letting out a soft groan of pain.

You took a deep breath as you prepared to lift your harness over your head again.

However, before you were even able to exert any force to lift it, you felt someone walk up behind you and the harness was gently raised off of you. You glanced back and saw that Levi had noticed you struggling and came over to help.

“How’s your wound?” he asked quietly.

"I feel pathetic," you whispered without answering his question, watching as he set your gear down next to your tent. “How the hell am I supposed to fight those two monsters if I can’t even take my own gear off?”

Levi remained quiet as you spoke, lifting up your right arm to check on your bandaging. Seeing that it was starting to come undone, he gently nudged you towards his own tent.

“Come, I’ll swap out your gauze.”

~~~~~

You sat on the floor of Levi's tent with your arm raised, staring at the door with a blank expression as he unwrapped the old bandaging and began replacing it with new ones. You frowned as you saw the fresh blood that had begun to stain the old set of bandages. Levi had said that your bandages were becoming undone, but it seems that the wound had started bleeding again as well.

You looked over at him, grief entering your heart as you thought about what the most likely outcome was for tomorrow's battle that was rapidly approaching.

Once he was done, you both got out of his tent and saw that the majority of the remaining Scouts had gone to sleep in their individual tents. You turned towards him without quite making eye contact and spoke quietly.

“Big day tomorrow.”

"Yeah?" he replied, matching your volume.

"We might not survive this battle," you said with your voice devoid of emotion.

“I know.”

“He already fucked us both over when we least expected it. We should be prepared for anything.”

"I know," he repeated. He knew what you were trying to say. He knew about the thoughts that were running through your mind about not surviving the upcoming battle.

You sighed tiredly as you began to turn and leave for your own tent, unsure if you were going to be able to get any sleep.

"Wait," Levi said before placing his hand on your arm to keep you from turning further. His voice was so quiet it was barely audible.

You stopped turning, but frowned.

“You going to take me off the mission again?”

“No,” he said before pausing, as if he was thinking about how to choose his words carefully.

As you watched him, you realized you knew where his train of thought was going. You felt your heart pounding harder and harder as you slowly looked up at him, staring right into his steel blue eyes.

It was agonizing for the both of you to stand there, wondering what the others' next move was going to be. You both knew what you wanted, and what the other other was offering. You've known it for years at this point. You knew when you brought it up the night before the battle of Shiganshina. You knew when you brought it up at your camp a few weeks ago before Zeke got away. You've known, but by the time you were ready to address it, disaster had struck and you ran out of time.

As a result, Levi felt incredibly pressured on this final night before a big battle. You both had a very close call where you lost nearly everything. It was a miracle that you were still alive.

Before you could think of a proper response, he pulled you into a gentle kiss, relief soaring through his body as he felt you relax into him. He knew why he had latched so hard onto the idea of protecting you. He knew why his mind became murky and cloudy upon the idea of you being in danger. He knew why he was absolutely devastated when he saw your state after the explosion. He had loved you all along, but was too scared to acknowledge it.

You stood there for a few seconds before he slowly pulled away, resting his forehead on yours.

“Keep this between us,” he whispered. “And don’t-”

“-die on me, you idiot.” 

You finished his sentence for him with a small smirk before pulling back and looking up at him. He had noticed that you were slightly blushing and he found himself in one of the rare instances in which he was smiling and sustaining it for more than 5 seconds.

“I’ll see you tomorrow…Levi.”

You shot him another smile as you said his name.

He felt his own smile fade away as you shuffled around, preparing to turn and walk away. His grip on you tightened a bit, signaling you to stop turning. The idea of being away from you placed a strong pressure on his chest that was making it hard for him to breathe properly.

“Stay with me tonight.”

"Hmm?" you said quietly, looking up into his eyes again.

“If we might not live to see tomorrow, then stay with me tonight.”

Your gaze softened as he spoke.

“What happened to keeping this between us?”

"I'm sure I'll think of something," he said as he gently nudged you and you both walked back into his tent.

You were both short enough to be able to fully stand even inside the tent. For the first time ever since you first met him, you felt nervous around him, suddenly aware of the weight that your words now mean to him. Given Levi's past, you recognized that it likely took every ounce of strength he had in him to make that first move.

You saw him begin to take off his own mobility gear and you slowly moved your arm up and down to try to ease the newly wrapped bandages in.

He noticed your movements and walked over to you, gently placing his hands on your shoulders and turning you around to face him.

"Don’t move around too much or it’ll open again. We’re going to run out of bandages eventually."

"Well, I'm not going to be able to sit still while in battle, am I?"

He gave you an exasperated look.

"At least make it so that you don't bleed out in your sleep. You'll stain the sleeping bag."

You had to stifle a chuckle at his comment. Even in this very post-apocalyptic scenario in which you were surrounded by death and destruction, Levi Ackermann was still a neat freak.

"You know, I'm surprised you're even okay with a sleeping bag, given how dirty it can get sleeping on the ground," you teased, a playful grin showing on your face.

"I'm not, but it's not like we have much of a choice."

Just as you were about to retort with some ridiculous, unrealistic method to maintain his need to be clean despite being in the middle of the woods, he had pulled you into another kiss, although you weren't sure if it was just his way of shutting you up.

Regardless, you didn't mind. You shut your eyes as you pressed your body up against him.

Even if you might not survive to see the day after, even if disaster continued to strike, even if you might never see him again, you acknowledged that you at least had him here now—embracing you and loving you like nothing else existed except for the two of you in this very moment.

A/N: yes you can probably tell they're going to do the naughty but it's sweet uwu-vibes naughty

[mybiasisexo]

For the drabble game can I request 13 + 34 with Chanyeol?

And yes I am using this to hold me over until the next chapter of Entangled drops cuz I love the way you write that man🥴🥴

Comfort 🏡

Genre: Slice of Life (?) | nonidol!au | Pairing: Chanyeol x f.Reader Length: 1k Warnings: Sexual Themes

a/n: You wanted this drabble to hold you for entangled and yet I took just as long to post it 😔 im so sorry 😔

DRABBLE GAME | MASTERLIST

The last month of your life has been the most difficult you’ve ever experienced.  

Your childhood pet passing away was the first domino to fall. Then you got fired from your job, and the final nail in the coffin was discovering your boyfriend of two years was cheating on you. With all that terrible news weighing you down, you decided to take a long vacation to properly heal or else you’d go insane.

For two weeks, you were going to isolate yourself in the most calming place you knew: a fancy beach house your best friend, Park Chanyeol’s family owned. You’d spent many summers there, so it rang nostalgic.

You should’ve known Chanyeol would pop up eventually.

You made his mother promise not to tell him, but that lady could never keep a secret.

You were crying on the couch when the door unlocked and your best friend came tumbling in. You both froze at the sight of the other.

Blinking away your tears, you checked your phone for the time. “What are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night.”

“Come on,” he said, dropping his overstuffed bag onto the ground with a heavy thud before joining you on the couch. “There’s no way I’m letting you enjoy the beautiful scenery alone.”

You understood what he really meant. He wasn’t going to let you suffer by yourself. You gave him a weak smile, touched, and immediately broke down again. Chanyeol wasted no time wrapping you into his arms, comforting you the best he could.

The next few days, Chanyeol kept you busy. He forced you out into the water, made you fish and surf until you were exhausted. He’d cook for you, and on days that he felt you could handle it, would take you into town to eat. Nights were rough. Everytime he’d check on you, he’d find you crying. By the fifth night, he simply went to bed with you and held you tightly, as if the pressure could squeeze out your grief.

It was his affection that drove you into his arms in a different way. You just wanted someone to care for you, and he was exactly what you needed at that moment. On the ninth day, you hooked up. It happened suddenly. One moment he was cutting fruit, retelling random memories you both shared within the home you currently sat in, the next he had you pinned against the counter, kissing you like he’d longed to do it for years.

The two of you created a small little world where only you both existed. There were no rules, no consequences. That safety lowered your inhibitions, erased all pretenses and allowed you to love each other in a way you’d never had before without shame.

But you had to go back to the real world eventually.

That fact dawned on you on the last night at the beach house. The two of you spent it the same way you’d spent the last few days: playing in the water, having sex in the shower, eating lunch while half dressed, sleeping together again on the couch. You’d pretty much christened the whole house by that point. A part of you felt bad for his parents.

Dinner was when it grew awkward. Neither of you really knew how to bring up what happened next. To be honest, you weren’t sure what you wanted once you left here.

But as you watched Chanyeol play with his food, you realized that it was him. He was what you wanted. But you weren’t sure how much of this was real to him, and how much of it was him selflessly giving whatever he could to make you feel better. If it was the latter, you felt guilty knowing that he cared so much for you he’d give himself away like that.

“We leave tomorrow,” he finally broke the silence to say.

Your heart plummeted at the reminder. “Yeah.”

You could feel him watching you, but you were too much of a coward to meet his stare. 

“Do you feel any better?” He asked.

“I do,” you said, and you meant it. His presence healed you more than you think he’d ever know. You needed this trip, needed him. Finally, you met his gaze. “Thank you. For everything.”

He nodded his acceptance. “I’m glad to be of service.”

He threw you a small grin that didn’t reach his eyes. You didn’t like that. Didn’t like the pain he attempted to hide from reducing himself to that.

“Look,” you started. “What happened between us–”

“Don’t worry about it,” he brushed off. You frowned. “You were craving comfort. I get it. We can pretend it never happened. Go back to being just friends.”

“I don’t want to go back to how we used to be,” you confessed. His head jerked back in surprise. “I want more. I want you.”

“You do?” He asked hesitantly.

You nodded. “I do. I want to be with you, Chanyeol.”

He swallowed thickly and looked away from you. You swore he started blinking back tears.

“Is that okay?” You asked.

He coughed a laugh. “That’s more than okay. I…I want this too. I just didn’t want to push you when you were in a vulnerable spot.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his explanation. “That’s exactly why I love you.”

His head snapped back at that. “L–love me?”

You chuckled, embarrassment painting your face red. “Ah….”

“I love you too,” he said in a rush. A pleased yet teasing smile splitting his face. “God, I’ve wanted to tell you that for a long time.”

You laughed again, giddy from his confession. You stood up and walked over to him. He pushed his chair back, sinking into it and spreading his legs for you to stand between.

You cupped his face in your hands and searched his expression. He did the same to you, both finding the love you never thought you’d ever outwardly express to the other.

“Thank you,” you whispered. “For being here for me. For taking care of me. For…for loving me. Thank you, Park Chanyeol.”

He smiled gently and reached up to wipe a few stray tears that fell without your knowledge. “Any time.”

His hand went to the back of your neck, bringing you down to kiss you. This kiss was different from the others. It was slow. A promise. The start of a new beginning.

You knew coming to this house was a good idea, because by the end of your trip, you were properly healed.

[attzi-gearburst]

Day 6 - February 24: Devoted (Iranji)

Word Count: 1000 Summary: I love how it took Iranji almost a full year to articulate why he's helping these two.

@daily-writing-challenge

Iranji’s feet hit the deck with a thud, and he grunted as he felt the ship rocking beneath them. Port and Starboard appeared on either side of him with loud squawks, and then immediately flew up into the rigging to roost for the night. He nodded in thanks to Silas and then looked up at the sky to orient himself, checking to see which constellations were in view to get an idea of where the Prize was on the water. His shoulders relaxed when he saw a familiar skyscape, and he took a deep breath before heading to his quarters.

Nothing else he’d found in the world during his lifetime felt quite like coming back to his ship. A few things had come close, over the years, but the Glittering Prize remained the most consistent source of calm in his current life.

That didn’t make her the only source. When he got to what had been his door, up until about a year ago, he knocked firmly, to see if the other one was still awake.

After a few seconds, the door opened, and a blonde human woman looked up at him, smiling happily. “Iranji,” she said, voice soft.

“Hey. It too late?” he asked in common. 

Tabitha shook her head and opened the door fully. “He’s not asleep yet. Come in, please.”

He ducked the doorframe and stepped into the small room, which in recent months had been completely overtaken with children’s things. His attention went first to the crib bolted against the wall, where he could hear soft noises that indicated the half-eleven infant inside was, indeed, still awake.

He hung his rifle on its rack and then began unbolting his pauldron. “It okay if I hold him?” 

Tabitha raised an eyebrow at him. “You don’t want to get cleaned up first?”

He shook his head. “Nah. Will once he’s down.” 

“Go ahead. But at least come sit and let me do your hair.” She sat down on the bed, crossing her legs, and gestured for him to sit down on the floor in front of her.

He took a moment to scoop Ira out of his crib, then smirked over at her. “That bad?”

“Look, I didn’t learn how to take care of your hair only to not do it,” she said with a soft laugh. “Come on. I know it relaxes you.”

He silently moved her way, taking care to hold her son close as he settled onto the floor as requested. The boy fussed, and Iranji immediately started murmuring to him in Zandali, rocking him gently until he settled again.

Meanwhile, Tabitha began running her fingers through his hair, occasionally pausing and retwisting parts that needed it. He closed his eyes and let himself relax as he felt her fingers work. 

“I know you were iffy on growing it out, but I think the white streak is going to look really striking when it’s longer.”

“Thanks,” he said. He wanted to turn his head to smile at her, but knew from experience that she’d scold him for moving. 

“It’s late now, but I can help you wash it tomorrow,” she said after a moment. “It’s a little dry, too, but I know you have oil. Priority on the wash, though. There’s… I’m pretty sure this is blood.”

“Probably,” he replied. “Not mine,” he decided to add for clarity before returning to humming to her son.

“Thank the Light for that,” she said. “More work with your goblin friends?”

Iranji chuckled and nodded. “That easy to tell?”

“Salvage doesn’t usually send you home covered in other people’s blood, so yes.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, he humming and rocking Ira to sleep while she sorted out his hair. The boy was a blissfully heavy sleeper once he actually went down, which Iranji always personally attributed to the way his ship rocked on the water. He always slept best here, so it made sense to him that everyone else would, as well.

Still, he hummed, just to help speed things along a little. Old habits died hard, after all, which is why he didn’t go quiet when the boy slipped off to sleep. Tabitha liked his voice, anyway.

A few minutes later, her hands fell to his shoulders. He turned his head, odd eye focusing on her in a silent question.

“So,” she said, voice soft. “Do you think that tonight I can finally get you to tell me about your family?”

He looked down at Ira, and didn’t respond for an uncomfortably long time.

“I’m sorry–” she began, pulling back from him. He cut her off, though he kept his voice quiet. “Nah. I’ll tell you. Been ten years. It’s okay.” 

If she were someone he was sleeping with, he never would have agreed to say anything. He didn’t like sounding either old or responsible to a bedmate, but the two of them had had a unique dynamic since the day they’d met. She was living in his quarters, and he was helping her take care of her son, so it was probably time for her to know just why he was so good with infants.  It was going to take words, which were difficult for him, but at the same time… he would do anything for Ira. And she needed to know why. 

He told her about meeting Elaina when he was twenty, and about their twin daughters, who had come along a few years later. The words came haltingly, but he found them.

She was crying by the end of the night, but that’s what happened when you talked about living through where the Cataclysm hit hardest. He caught her looking his scar over more than once, clearly drawing conclusions about just what had caused it, but she didn’t ask outright. He appreciated that, because he wasn’t sure he had enough words in him to cover that story, too. If her son hadn’t been sleeping peacefully in his arms for the entire conversation, he might not have even been able to finish talking about his girls.

He expected nightmares once they went to bed, but as happened so often these days, all he dreamed of was the open ocean.

[the-duckless-pond]

triggering rant below

I could totally get away with SH right now. No one is checking on me. No one gives a fuck. Further, both of my arms are covered in tattoos so I would have to do it on my legs and I haven’t worn shorts in like two decades. Truly, no one would know.

And honestly? I want to. I have wanted to for several months now. But especially now, with all my friends abandoning me and losing my steam on writing and my cat getting a terminal diagnosis. I really, really want to. So much so that I actually bought the stuff to do it about a month and a half ago. I don’t have any bandages but I have the means to actually do it.

And with how lonely I’ve been without my friends, how stressed and worried I’ve been about Boo, how anxious I’ve become about Callie’s seemingly good health… it’s the perfect storm. I honestly might. It would be throwing away a decade of progress. But… I don’t know.

I won’t try to justify it. I have coping skills that I would be actively choosing not to use. It’s just too much all at once for one person, you know? To lose all your closest friends, to basically lose your mom who you thought you were close to, and then to find out that one of the beings you care for most in the entire world is going to die and at the end of the day there is nothing you can do about it. It’s just too much all at once. And it happened to me all at once.

And I’m honestly just… tired. Exhausted. Done. I just want to relapse. Get it over with. They’d be baby cuts since I’m a wimp now. I wouldn’t even need a bandaid. I do have regular bandaids that I guess I could use if I was careful about the size. So there’s that. Honestly, I’d Instacart bandages and gauze but my building is hard to find and also it’s 11pm and I’m not going to ask someone to do that. Maybe tomorrow. Since I’m probably staying up all night and all day so that Boo can have her medicine but I can maintain my sleep schedule as much as possible.

Ugh. It’s just all too much. I really think I might end up doing it.

The worst part is I bet if I texted my bff that I wanted to SH she still wouldn’t respond. And I know she is up now because we have opposite sleep schedules. The one person that is supposed to always be there for me is ghosting me. It’s just too much. I’m going to cry again if I don’t do something about it and I hate crying.

It’s a good thing no one reads these otherwise I’d probably get reported or something. I don’t know how these things work anymore. I took a long break from tumblr and when I came back there were new rules about things like this.

Also my muffins? Sub par. I will not be buying that mix again. I wrapped them and put them in the fridge because I think I might feel differently later or they will taste better cold, but I am prepared to toss the whole lot. So that’s another disappointment to add to the list.

Literally the only good thing I have going for me right now is that my sick cat climbed on my lap and seems happy and comfortable.

Oh well. I guess I’ll finish my decaf and then see how I feel. Maybe I’ll do it. Maybe I won’t. I probably won’t. I’ll probably just maintain status quo because I am weak and that is all I know how to do.

Sigh. I am so fucking lonely.

[sillyrabbit81]

Even If You Don't Mean It - Part Two

Summary: When Sy returns home, things escalate quickly.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Female Reader

Word Count: Approx. 8.3k

Warnings:

Series Warnings:

Smut including oral sex (m and f receiving), hand job, fingering (f receiving), p in v sex, dirty talking, implied masturbation (m and f), anal play, showering together, slight praise kink, mentions of PTSD, descriptions of PTSD, mentions of war, angst, fluff.

Part Two Warnings:

Smut, oral sex (m and f receiving), hand job, fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, discussion of masturbation, slight praise kink, slight angst, fluff.

Authors Note:

Thanks once again to my wonderful friends and beta readers @amberangel112 and @henryobsessed . Your constant support and friendship means the world to me.

A massive thank you to @radiantheartbeat for editing you have truely lifted my writing and inspired me to be better. It has meant the world to me and I have enjoyed getting to know you through the process as well. Everyone, if you want some more great Henry content, please check out her blog here . You won't be disappointed.

Divider made by me.

Masterlist

Parts Masterlist

Part 1 Part 3

The night before Sy is due home, you can barely sleep. You’re unable to keep your body or mind still, restlessly tossing and turning until you finally begin to doze. However, sleep does come in short waves, exhaustion makes your heavy lids close, only for them to pop open minutes later with excitement and nervous energy. Thoughts race through your mind as if you’re on a coffee binge, sometimes rushing through so fast you can’t pin them down. You’re elated, jittery, and terrified all at once.

Never in your life have you felt such a cocktail of emotions. It makes sense though; there is so much riding on tomorrow. What if you and Sy don’t click like you had when you last saw each other? What if he realises that you’re not what he really wants in this life?

Pushing aside your worries and insecurities as best as you can, you finally succumb to uninterrupted sleep in the early hours of morning and don't wake until well into daylight. In a way, this was good, Sy was planning to come to your apartment after lunch, so there is plenty of time to get yourself ready.

You take a long shower, using the time under the warm water as a way to stay calm. After you dress, you put on makeup and fix your hair, deliberately keeping your pace measured and unhurried. You don’t want to be ready too early, knowing that waiting around for Sy with nothing to do will send you into an anxiety induced panic. You double check that the apartment is clean, that you have all the ingredients for dinner, and that you have plenty of beer.

When the security buzzer goes off during the next unnecessary inspection of your apartment, you freeze like a deer in headlights. You can barely breathe. Every muscle in your body tenses and you have to force yourself to move. Will you even be able to make it to the door?

Your hands tremble as you press the intercom button.

“Hello?” you rasp.

“It’s me, Sugar. It’s Sy.”

Your hand flies to your mouth, your body can’t decide if it wants to sob with relief or squeal in excitement. Your stomach churns in on itself, you feel faint and lean your head against the wall for support.

“Sugar?” Sy repeats. “You there?”

Oh shit! How long have you left him standing there? Your face burns so hot you think you might break out in a sweat.

“Yeah, I’m… uh… I’m here,” you stutter.

“You gonna let me in, baby?” Sy says and even through the crackling static of your intercom you can hear the amusement in his voice.

You press the security button to open the door. Your breathing grows shallow as you wait for Sy to make his way up the stairs, and you find it hard to swallow.

You’re trying not to lose it.

You have to get a hold of yourself or you’re going to ruin everything. You fill your lungs with air until they’re nearly bursting, holding it in for a count of three, then slowly letting it out. You do it again, and again, hoping to reach some level of calm before he arrives at your door.

The next moments happen in slow motion: he knocks— you open the door, and he’s standing there within your reach. You could lift your hand and touch him, if only to make sure he’s real, but all you can do is gawk. He’s taller than you remember, his eyes are bluer too, and you’re surprised to see he still has his beard.

You swallow hard and try to smile, to say hello, to say anything, but you just stare at him. You would feel embarrassed, but it seems he has been struck motionless as well. Well, not quite motionless, you can see his chest heave with every hard and heavy breath. He’s so big, his chest strains against his t-shirt, revealing the outline of his pecs with every inhale. His jeans fare no better, so tight against his thighs you think there was no way they could be comfortable.

Tearing your gaze from Sy’s body, you meet his eyes. Beneath his lowered brows they are dark with a hunger that you’re not sure you are ready for. It’s overwhelming, threatening to consume you from the inside out, until there’s nothing left except your craving for him. He starts to move, taking small but deliberate steps into your apartment. You barely notice the overnight bag that is slung over his shoulder until he drops it in your entryway.

Your fingers slip from the door knob as you move back to give him room, and the heavy door swings itself shut with a solid thud. Like a lion stalking his prey, Sy follows you step by step until your back hits the wall. He catches your hand as it falls and his eyes lower to watch as he entwines your fingers together; your hand is so small in his. Bringing your joined hands to his chest, he closes the distance between you with one short stride. Your heart skips a beat at this gesture, his tenderness is so unexpected.

With the tips of his fingers, he steadily glides them up your bare arm. His touch is so light that your skin tightens into goosebumps, and you shiver. Sy’s lips curl into a smile as his hand moves across your collar-bone until he holds your chin, raising it just enough to look into your eyes.

He’s so close that his scent fills your nose like a vapor. The subtle masculine fusion of spice and leather makes your mouth water with a greedy desire. You lick your lips, just as Sy’s pink tongue darts out to sweep over his own.

He moves closer still, his body crowds yours, and though you’re trembling, you reach your free hand for his lower back and draw him towards you. He raises his eyebrows, and he dips his head slightly as if to ask; Are we doing this? Is this what you want? He must be as tongue tied as you are.

You nod in response and close your eyes. You feel his warm breath first as it tickles at your wet lips, and your breath catches in your throat. His thumb strokes your cheek as he gives your hand a squeeze.

Then his lips press against yours; closed, firm pillows beneath a layer of soft flesh. They stroke over yours, moving with a dreamy ease. His beard gently grazes over your skin, the sensation of his soft whiskers is new and electrifying. His mouth parts, and his tongue slowly laps at your top lip, coaxing you to open for him. You yield, you have to, you couldn’t have stopped him even if you tried.

Meeting his tongue with yours, the contact makes you both moan. Sy’s hips press against yours as your hand fists in his t-shirt, gripping firmly and tugging him closer. For a moment you’re both uncontrolled, lost in each other. Your hand lifts his shirt to feel the warm skin on his back. His body feels hot, hard, and dense. His hulking, powerful physique is undeniable as his hips begin to roll in tight circles against you.

Sy’s hand slides down your neck, clutching your throat momentarily before moving lower. He brushes his flattened hand over your chest, palming your breasts with a low growl. Your legs are no longer strong enough to hold you up and you melt into him, becoming boneless in his embrace.

As quickly as you get lost, Sy brings you back, breaking the kiss with a gentle peck. You both open your eyes as he moves his hand to caress your cheek while you straighten his shirt.

Sy is grinning widely, seemingly satisfied for now. His face is flushed, and he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth as his eyes drink you in. You want to look away because your cheeks feel aflame under his gaze, but you don’t, and you’re sure he can feel how your skin burns. You let him look, because you’re looking too. You’re searching and examining for the details of him that you remember and also trying to discover what is new. His light freckles, his unique blue eyes with the slash of brown within the left, the small scar on his nose, those are familiar; there is a new scar on his cheek, and a deep tan to his skin.

“Hi,” Sy says, finally.

You laugh, for the first time in nearly eighteen months you hear his voice without the filter of some sort of electronic device and it's wonderful. “Hi.”

Sy huffs with a smile and shakes his head as if in disbelief. You can’t quite believe it yourself; to have him finally here with you, in the flesh, it’s like a dream. He kisses your mouth again, just a soft brush of his lips before he groans.

“Christ, baby, I just wanna…” His eyes are scorching and he presses himself into you. “You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous.”

His lips meet yours again. He’s rougher now, and his kisses leave your mouth, trailing down your jaw to your neck. Teeth scrape at your skin, his mouth sucks, and you squirm in his arms, giggling as he growls into the juncture of your neck and shoulder.

“Sy,” you half whine, half laugh.

Leaving you with one last nibble, he stands back. He draws his lower lip into his mouth and folds his arms over his chest as if he needs to deliberately hold himself back. Maybe he does.

“Damn, baby, look at you.”

Looking down at your summer dress and bare feet, you shake your head and walk down the hall, past the bathroom and your bedroom, into the kitchen and family room. You glance over your shoulder and smile as Sy follows you. You’re still a little rattled by his kiss and the anxiety that led up to today, but you also feel a giddy high and you don’t think the smile on your face will fade easily.

“Want a beer?” you ask.

He nods, “Thanks.”

Going to the fridge, you get a beer for Sy and a wine cooler for yourself. You open them both and hand Sy his. His eyes haven’t left you once.

“Well, cheers,” you say, lifting your bottle to Sy’s.

“Cheers.” Sy grins and meets your bottle with his.

You rest against the countertop while Sy leans against the island. Unable to take your eyes off him, as he brings the bottle to his lips and takes a sip. His bicep curls into a ball, straining the sleeve of his shirt as lifts the bottle higher, and his Adam's Apple bobs as he swallows nearly half of his beer. As he pulls the bottle from his lips, his tongue peeks between them, licking them with satisfaction before sucking first the bottom one, then the top one into his mouth. He is so effortlessly sexual and masculine, just watching him drink feels pornographic, and you hurriedly take a drink before he notices how you’re staring at him.

“You’re quiet,” Sy notes.

Shrugging, you finally escape the capture of his gaze and bring your drink to your lips, “It’s different having you here.”

Sy hums, as if thinking about his response, “It is,” he agrees.

You peek at him, his attention is still on you, and you don’t know how to act. This new dynamic seems strange to you. He’s so familiar; his voice, the tone and rhythm, is one you’d easily pick out of a crowd. You feel like you know him so well, but the man in front of you, the physical embodiment of that voice, is practically unknown.

“I like it though,” Sy says with a grin, “Bein’ here with you.”

“Me too,” You smile back at him then drink.

Sy puts his beer down on the counter and, widening his stance, opens his arms. “Come ‘ere.”

You hesitate. After the heated moment you exchanged in the entryway, you worry another kiss like that will send you both straight to the bedroom. Would that be a bad thing though?

Sy sees your hesitation and cocks his head a little to the side. You feel your cheeks warming as Sy softens his expression and lifts his chin in a beckoning gesture. “Come ‘ere,” he repeats, a little more gently.

Taking a deep breath, you step between his legs and his arms encircle your waist. He pulls your body close with a satisfied hum. Your body is a little stiff with anticipation.

“What did you plan for us to do today, Sugar?”

“I thought we could watch a movie,” you say, “Then I’d cook you dinner.”

“You don’t want to go out?” Sy asks.

“Sorry, I thought…” You turn your head away worried you’re assuming too much. Sy puts a crooked finger under your chin and lifts your face to his.

“Go on,” he says.

“I thought it would be nice… to be alone.”

“That sounds perfect,” Sy says, drawing out each word, showing his genuine affection for your plan.

Tension rises in your body, your muscles grow taut and expectant as he moves his hand to your neck. He gently fondles your throat then moves down your chest, his eyes follow the path of his hand until it rests between your breasts. Your lips part as your chest heaves beneath his hand, you can’t catch your breath.

You think he’s going to kiss you as he licks at his lips and places his hand on your cheek, instead he closes his eyes and leans his forehead against yours. You’re both still, neither of you moving as you stay in the moment. He murmurs something you don’t quite catch, something about being real. Then he opens his eyes, and they blaze with heat.

“What movie?” Sy asks throatily, as he lifts his head from yours.

“Huh?” You have no idea what he’s talking about.

Sy chuckles and the tension breaks, suddenly you can breathe again, “What movie do you want to watch?”

“We don’t have to,” you say, downplaying your suggestion, “It’s silly now that I think about it.”

“No, Sugar. Tell me.”

“Freddy versus Jason?” Sy’s eyebrows raise when you say the title, and you cringe a little, it was a dumb idea.

“You remember that?” he asks, smiling crookedly.

“Of course,” you smile, hesitantly.

“God damn, baby. You’re such a sweet thing.” He kisses your forehead, and his beard prickles your skin. He leans back a little and looks at you while you struggle not to squirm under his intense gaze.

“What?” you ask.

He keeps staring at you, but slowly the edges of his mouth lift into a smile, “Nothin’. Let’s go watch the movie.”

Sy smirks as you take him to your couch. You give him a questioning look as he sits and pulls you onto his lap, your legs straddling his huge thighs.

“I remember this couch,” Sy says. “Thought about it a lot while I was gone.”

His hands slide over your waist and he cups your ass. Your eyes widen as he pulls you closer and raises his hips until you can feel his jeans between your legs. He is so strong, manhandling you with ease and you giggle at his display.

“I remember too,” you laugh.

Sy puts a hand on your neck and gently brings your face close to his. Sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, his eyes study your face before they roam lower.

“I remember you just like this,” Sy says in a deep, rough tone, “Every time I’d think of you, you were sittin’ just like this.”

Words fail you as you swallow hard, and your heart picks up its pace. You place a hand on his shoulder and run it over to his neck. Sy’s eyes close as your hand glides over the short velvety hair on his head and he makes that noise, that deep satisfied groan you heard on the phone so many times.

“You would touch me just like that,” Sy mumbles. He opens his eyes, and he doesn’t even try to hide the scorching urgency in them, “Keep doin’ that.”

Because you can’t speak, you nod as you put your other hand against his chest. It slides down his shirt, and biting your lip, you savour every curve and dip of his muscles that you can feel through the thin cotton. You tug lightly at it, lifting the hem. Sy sits forward quickly, and you both pull it off.

It barely hits the floor before Sy’s arms are around you and his lips find yours. His kiss is rough and hungry, without a hint of softness as his beard stings your lips when you kiss him back. His tongue slips past your lips instantly, demanding and dominating as he explores your mouth.

Sy clutches you to him, his kiss doesn’t stop as his hands move over your back and presses his chest hard against yours. You hold onto his arms, moaning at the feeling of his dense muscles beneath his smooth skin.

“Fuck, baby,” Sy breaths into your mouth, “I want this so much. I need you so bad.”

Your hands move to his shoulders and down his back, and you pull him closer too. Soon he is touching you everywhere, squeezing at your breasts, running his hands under your dress and up your thigh, kneading your ass through your panties.

An ache grows between your legs, a deep urgent desire pulses through your veins. You want him, you want all of him. Your hips begin to move, grinding against him as you seek to ease your need. Your head falls back, your throat exposed, and Sy latches on, sucking and nipping at your sensitive skin.

“I want to fuck you right here,” He growls into your neck, “I wanna taste you… I wanna be inside of you… I wanna be all fuckin’ over you.”

You feel Sy move beneath you and he holds your waist and the back of your head as he rolls you over into a sitting position on the couch. He’s on his knees in front of you, lifting your dress, and pulling desperately at your panties.

“Sy,” you say, pushing a flattened hand against his chest.

Sy looks at you, his face a picture of pure animal lust. His jaw is clenched tight, his nostrils are flaring, and his teeth are almost barred. You gasp and your core clenches, you have never had a man look at you like that before.

His hands go to your hips, and he pulls you to the edge of the couch before leaning his body over yours.

Sy’s brows come together, lifting, wrinkling his forehead like he is pleading, “Please, don’t ask me to stop.” His arm wraps around your lower back, lifting your body against his and his hand rests on your neck. “I’m just gonna touch you.”

“I don’t want you to stop,” you tell him softly. He growls, and you cup his cheeks, holding his head close to yours. “But… slow down. Don’t rush.”

“Okay,” he rumbles, brushing his lips against yours so delicately that you shiver. “Okay,” he repeats, losing some of his urgency, but none of his desire.

Sy drops his head to your neck, and he kisses you, using his lips, tongue, and breath to caress your skin with the lightest of touches. His shoulders are bunched tight and you wonder if it’s an indication of how hard he’s trying to hold himself back for you.

“Sy,” you moan.

Sy kisses your jaw, down your throat, making his way to the tops of your breasts. His mouth is wet as he sucks at your exposed skin, and you run your hand over his close cropped hair.

“I wanna make you say my name like that over ‘n’ over,” Sy groans into your chest, “Fuck, baby, I just wanna make you feel good.”

Sy kisses you over the fabric of your dress, you can feel the heat of his breath through the thin cotton as he warms your skin with his descent. He keeps moving lower, over your breasts, down your belly, and across your hips. He puts his hands on your knees and his thumbs rub the inside of your thighs. They’re warm on your skin, comforting, though rough and calloused. They’re the hands of a man who knows how to touch a woman.

“Will ya let me, baby?”

He moves his hands up your thighs slowly, kissing your knees as he waits for you to speak.

“Yes,” you can barely breathe.

Sy groans as his teeth sink teasingly into the flesh above your knee. You mewl and your body twists as his hands continue to climb. His fingers hook into your panties at your hips, and he looks at you.

“I’m gonna take these off.”

“Sy…”

“I ain’t finished,” Sy says quickly. He brings his face to yours, so close that you’re sharing each other's air. “I’m gonna take these off, then I’m gonna touch you there, put my fingers inside you.” He pauses, to softly skim his lips over yours, gliding his tongue delicately over them. “Then I’m gonna put my mouth on you,” Sy murmurs through his kisses. “Gonna taste how sweet you are… and darlin’ I can’t wait to hear how you say my name when I make you come.”

“Fuck!” Your hands grip his arms, your fingers digging into his flexed muscles, your whole body feels restless with unspent energy and desire.

“Will ya let me do that for you?”

You bite your lip, look directly into his stormy blue eyes, and nod.

Sy groans and kisses you as he tugs at your panties. Without needing to be asked you lift your ass a little and he pulls them down where they fall to the carpet. With his mouth still on yours he spreads your legs and moves between them.

His hands move up your thighs, lifting your dress as he goes.

“Want me to take this off?” you ask, pulling at your dress.

“Not yet,” Sy says, “When I went down on you in my head, ya always had a dress on.” Sy grins and clamps his jaw tight as he growls through gritted teeth, “You don’t wanna know the things I’ve done to you in my head. The things I wanna do—”

“Don’t I?” you interrupt. Fuck yes, you want to know, “Maybe I’ve thought of the same things.”

Sy’s eyes close as he breathes deep through his nose. “You thought of me? Doin’ things to you? Touchin’ you?” He asks, as he digs his fingers into the meatiest part of your thighs and eases your legs further apart.

“Yeah,” you say hoarsely and lick your lips. .

“That’s so hot,” Sy murmurs. His hands go higher, until his thumbs reach the crease at the top of your thighs. “Did ya touch yourself?”

“Yes,” you say, somehow not embarrassed to admit it.

“So. Fuckin’. Hot.” His thumbs run over your swollen, soaked slit and he curses. “Shit, baby, you’re so fuckin’ wet. You want this too, don’t ya? You want me to touch ya?”

“Please.”

“God damn baby, you’re so good to me. How did I touch ya when you thought of me?” Sy slips his hands under you and shifts you to the side until half of your ass is off the couch. “Hmm? Tell me.” He grabs a couple of throw pillows and puts them in the corner.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

Sy just grins and leans over you. He cradles the back of your head and splays the other hand against your back.

“Lay down.”

He guides you until you're laying against the corner of the couch. He bites on his bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth as he looks over you. His eyes are dark as he studies you and runs his huge hands over your sides until he’s sitting back on his heels, “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, I can barely stand it.”

Your whole body trembles with anticipation, you had no idea it was going to be like this, how much you need him. You want to scream “fuck me already”, but this languid pace, his gentle touch, feels so good.

“You still haven’t told me how I touch ya when you think of me.”

Sy holds the ankle closest to the couch and lifts your foot until he can place it on the cushion, leaving the other on the carpet. You’re spread open now, your body is on fire, but your skin feels cool where the air touches your bare wet centre. He doesn’t look though, instead he kisses your thigh near your raised knee.

Your mouth feels dry, and you swallow hard. “At first, you touch me… like you are now,” you tell Sy. He closes his eyes against your thigh and groans. “Soft, and gentle. It makes me feel like you care about me.”

“I do, baby. So much,” Sy shakes his head, “You’ve got no idea.”

“Then later, you’re rougher… harder.”

“God damn it, I—”

Sy stops talking mid-sentence and his eyes are fixed firmly on your exposed pussy. He doesn’t move, he barely blinks, then he licks his lips before pulling the lower one into his mouth. You wait, thinking he’ll move, that he’ll do or say something, but he doesn’t. Feeling exposed, and unsure, you bring your legs together.

“Don’t you dare,” Sy says with an authority that makes you freeze instantly and your core clench. He finally lifts his eyes to yours, “You are so gorgeous.” He looks slowly over you, all the way down to the hand still wrapped around your ankle, the rough pad of his thumb brushing over the bone. He moves his hand up your leg, following its path with his eyes before diverting and he brings his face close to yours. “Even when I dreamed of this… God, you’re just so much more…”

A small smile plays on Sy’s lips as he trails off, his fingers rising up your thigh, making you quiver with agonizing anticipation of his touch. Your heart is beating so hard you feel it everywhere, your cheeks, your ears, your thighs and your core, they all throb in time.

Sy looks back between your legs as his fingers glide over your wet and swollen skin. One of them brushes over your clit and you gasp. His smile widens as he slides a finger into you. You feel yourself tighten, but you’re so wet he slips in easily.

Sliding in and out slowly, Sy’s mouth parts as he watches, his chest puffs harder and heavier. You start to relax as he moves, surrendering to his touch. He sighs and kisses your thigh again.

“That’s it, baby.” Sy says. “You’re so good for me. You’re so soft and so pretty.”

He adds a second finger curling them inside you. Your body twists, your eyes close, the urge to seek friction is too strong and your hips start to roll.

“Sy,” you moan, “Sy I…”

Something soft and velvety brushes over your clit. You open your eyes to see Sy staring back at you, the tip of his tongue against your sensitive nub. Still kneeling on the carpet, he’s bent at the waist chest on the couch, his mouth hovering over your pussy.

Sy. His mouth. Your pussy. Oh God!

“Oh fuck,” you say with a shuddering breath.

Sy grins as he sweeps his broad, wet tongue over you. Your body quivers, every muscle coiling tight. He closes his eyes and growls.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath, “You’re fucking breathtaking.”

Sy puts his head down and takes you into his mouth. He sucks gently, while his tongue moves over you and his fingers pump against your spot.

“Oh, fuck!” you cry.

You throw your head back against the pillows, your back arching as you try to push yourself against Sy’s mouth. He is so warm, his tongue subtly rough, and his soft beard rubs against your delicate skin; the contrasting textures mingle and heighten every sensation.

It doesn’t take him long to have you mewling, quickly discovering what you like, he uses it to his advantage, deliberately teasing, drawing you out. It’s like he wants to stay between your legs and never leave.

Sliding his hand under your ass Sy lifts your hips, tilting them at a new angle, and he somehow seems to take more of you into his mouth. He keeps playing with you, varying his technique, speed, and firmness, listening to you and watching. Always watching. His eyes stay on you, even when he groans and closes his eyes, they pop open straight away, dark and hazy, pupils blown wide, drunk on lust.

You reach for him, your fingers slide over his beard and jaw. His eyes widen a moment, then keeping his mouth firmly on you, they shut slowly as he leans into your hand. You scratch softly at his beard as he works you closer to your peak and he practically purrs around your clit every time you squirm or moan.

Sy builds you slowly but ruthlessly, until every muscle in your body tightens and shakes, desperate for release. His hand slides out from beneath your ass, and you grab hold of it, fingers clamping down hard around his. Your heel digs into the couch, trying to get purchase as your back arches and your whole body pulls taut. Finally, you snap, and you cry out sharply as the tension releases in explosions of hot pleasure.

As your orgasm ebbs, you continue to tremble and can’t stop. Sy leans over you and covers your body with his. His fingers are still inside you, not moving, just keeping you full, and you like the way it feels. He looks at you, his brows drawn low together as he slips his free arm around your back. You wrap your arms around him and snake a leg around his too, clinging to as much of him as you can. He pulls you close, and you nuzzle into his neck, seeking the comfort of his warm skin.

“You’re ok, baby,” Sy whispers in your ear, “You’re good. I’ve gotcha.”

“I can’t stop shaking,” you whisper back.

“I know,” Sy lifts his head. “Take your time, baby. You were right, we ain’t gotta rush.”

Sy’s smiles reassuringly, his lips are glossy, his beard glistens and you realise with both horror and desire that it’s from you. His mouth and beard are wet with evidence of your arousal. You bite your lip and lean into his shoulder again to hide your face.

Sy’s pulls back so you can’t hide, one eyebrow is raised in question. “What’re you thinking right now, Sugar?”

He licks at his lips and all at once, you feel the ache deep in your gut return, and once again your cheeks flare. Smirking, Sy lets his fingers slip from your clenching core and brings them to your lips.

“Is this it, baby?” Your eyes slam shut.

Yes, that’s it, Sy.

You had no idea he was going to be like this, dirty, eager, unselfish, yet dominant and it’s blowing your mind. Sy moves his fingers to slide over your lips, so slick from you that you can’t feel the roughness of his pad.

“You got so wet for me,” Sy says huskily. “Tasted so fuckin’ sweet, just like I knew you would. And those noises you made for me,” he hums as if he’s just sampled something delicious, “God damn they were hotter ‘n hell.”

A whimper leaves your throat as you try to speak. “It felt amazing, Sy.” You open your eyes. “You made me feel so good.”

Sy groans, his voice rumbles like thunder in his chest, “I’ll do it again if you want,” he says. You almost giggle at his eagerness and you nod.

Without hesitation, he slides out of your arms. At first, you’re not sure what he’s doing, then you feel his hands push your thighs further apart.

“No, Sy,” You can’t stop your laugh this time as you grab hold of his shoulders, and he lets you bring his body back over yours, “I don't mean now.”

Sighing like he’s actually disappointed, Sy climbs onto the couch, settling between your legs. He holds his body weight on one arm and looks down between your legs. Although he’s had his shirt off for a while, you haven’t had the wherewithal to actually look at his body. Shirtless, he seems even bigger than you thought. His shoulders are massive, and you can see the corded muscles rippling under his skin as he supports himself over you. His pecs are tight below a dark layer of fur, and his core is engaged, making his abs stand out. He has more hair around his navel and following its trail lower, it disappears beneath his jeans, rousing your curiosity and desire.

Sy’s hand cups your pussy, interrupting your thoughts, and he lowers himself slightly, you feel some of his weight.

“You feel so good in my hand, Sugar,” Sy says. He leans down into your ear, his lips tickle as they move against it. He rubs his hand over your slit in long firm strokes. “I knew you would. I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop touching you.”

Moving your hands down Sy’s chest they stop at his belt and your fingers slide into the tantalising dark hair that sinks below his jeans. Your hand slides lower, searching and when you find what you’re seeking, you gasp. Palming him over his jeans, you explore him with your fingers, spreading them over and around to gauge his girth and length. Sy sinks his teeth into your earlobe with a growl that seems to come from deep in his gut, and your heart kicks in your chest as you feel how thick he is.

“Fuck,” you breathe. Your fingers keep sliding along his shaft until you finally reach the head of his cock, and your thighs pull together, in excitement or fear, you can’t tell, “So big.”

“That’s all for you, baby,” Sy rumbles into your ear, “You make me so fuckin’ hard. The way you look. The way you feel. The way you smell… the way you fuckin’ taste.”

You let out a moan as a rush of lust rips through you. The way he talks, it’s— you’ve never heard anything like it. His head moves above yours and he’s shaking it, disbelieving.

“’N’ your voice… Sugar,” Sy’s lips crush yours, pressing firmly, then pulling them into his mouth. His hand leaves your pussy to hold your hand against him, pressing your palm hard against his jean-clad erection. He moves, rutting against your hand, obscenely, “Your voice fuckin’ kills me.”

“I want to touch you, Sy,” you say, pulling on his neck, drawing him closer to you until you can purr into his ear, “I want to feel you.

“Fuck,” Sy exhales in a long and shaky breath. The sound thrills you to your core and your body surges. “Where, baby? Tell me, where?”

You know he knows where you want to touch him, you practically are already, only the denim of his jeans stops you. But you realise quickly he wants to hear you say the words. You wonder if he likes hearing dirty things as much as he seems to like saying them.

Talking like this, being dirty like this, isn’t something you’re used to. But it’s Sy. You know him. Of course you were nervous when he arrived, but more than that, you were excited. It feels the same now, an ansty energy makes your muscles tremble, but your anticipation makes your blood feel like jet fuel in your veins. His seemingly easy and raw sexuality makes you not only feel comfortable to express yourself, but also to match his crudeness with your own.

“I want to touch your cock,” you say softly in his ear, before nipping at his earlobe.

A strangled moan comes from Sy’s throat and then his lips are on yours. His tongue pushes deep into your mouth, filling you for a moment, before he pulls away. His hand cups your jaw and you are forced to look at him. That animalistic look of primal need is back in his eyes, there’s an aggressive tension in his gaze, and each breath he takes is ragged and harsh.

Sy keeps looking at you, staring for so long that you surrender under the scrutiny and try to look away. He brings your face back to his, and although his eyes blaze with rank animal lust, the tightness has left his face.

Bringing your lips back to his, you grab at his belt while you kiss him. Sy lets go of your other hand and you make quick work of undoing his belt, the buckle flying wildly as you continue to tear at the buttons.

“Jesus,” Sy groans, watching as you undress him. You slide your hands under his jeans and boxers, tentatively squeezing his firm ass cheeks before pushing the garments down around his thighs.

A small yelp sounds from him as you continue trying to unrobe him.

“Stop a second, Sugar,” Sy says, his voice pitched oddly high, “I’m caught in my boxers.”

Your hands immediately fly away from his thighs, terrified that you’re hurting him, “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”

He chuckles, “It’s fine… I’m fine,” he inhales as he moves into a more upright position, pulling his boxers back up before kicking off his jeans and exhaling a sigh of relief. “Sit up for me, baby.”

He slides his hand under your head until you’re upright. He kisses you again, his hands roaming over your breasts, cupping them, and gently squeezing. His thumb finds your nipple through your dress, they’re so tight and firm he couldn’t miss them. He pinches your bud, and you feel it like white hot lightning down your spine, straight to your core.

You moan, and reach out to touch Sy, you want to feel him in your hand, you want to know what he looks like, you want to make him feel like he made you feel. Your fingers find the elastic of his boxers, but Sy’s hand stops you. He holds your hand to him, right in the middle of his furry chest.

“Wait a bit baby,” Sy says. “I don’t want this to be over yet.”

“It doesn’t have to be over yet, I just want to feel you.”

Sy chuckles, “While I appreciate your faith in me, ya gotta know I ain’t gonna last a single minute once you touch me.”

“So?” You lean into Sy’s neck, kissing him with soft lips. His skin makes your lips tingle from his stubbly, sultry flesh. “We’ve got all night.”

“You want me to stay the night?” Sy asks, his fingers loosen their grip on your hand, and you run your fingers through the hair across his chest.

“You did bring your bag. You want to stay, don’t you?”

He rubs at the back of his neck, “Just making sure you still want me to,” his voice is strange, weaker than normal and for the first time he struggles to meet your eyes.

“I do, Sy. But do you?”

Sy doesn’t reply, instead he grabs hold of your dress, “Take this off for me. I wanna see you.”

“If you take your pants off,” you bargain with a grin.

“Deal,” Sy says, returning your smile.

Wasting no time, Sy shimmies his boxers off. He moves so quickly you don’t get the chance to see him before he meets your lips again with his. His arms encircle your back, his hands rubbing along your spine, the heel of his palm digging deep into your muscles.

Lifting your leg over his thick thighs, you sit on his lap, just as Sy pulls down your zipper. You reach for him again, but your dress covers him.

“Wait,” Sy says, firmly. God, he sounds like he did that day when you heard him speak with the authority of his rank and your core flutters. He speaks again, softer this time and with a smirk full of torrid intent. “I wanna undress you, I wanna enjoy this.”

Heat floods you, your face and ears burn, but your arousal overtakes any anxiety you have, and you laugh softly.

“Another one of those things you thought about?” you tease.

His smile grows bigger as he almost reverently slips a finger under your thin strap and slides it down your shoulder.

“Somethin’ like that, yeah.”

Sy leans in and kisses your shoulder, first one, then the other. His teeth scrape along your collarbone, causing you to shiver. Lowly chuckling, his finger traces the edge of your neckline, his rough pad caresses the tops of your breasts.

“There’s not much I haven’t thought about,” Sy says. He sounds almost distracted, like he’s talking to himself not you. “I’ve spent days with you in my head. Thought about bein’ with you in so many ways.”

“Sy…” You barely breathe, your voice a whisper.

He looks at you, his eyes trapping yours in his heated gaze, as he suddenly fists your dress and lifts it over your head. When you see him again, his eyes are still on yours, but they are wide open and his jaw is slack.

“You’re fuckin’ naked,” Sy mutters. You bite your lip, so you don’t laugh at him, you don’t want to ruin the moment. Sy closes his eyes, smirking like a fool, and shakes his head, “I can’t believe I just said that out loud.”

You can’t hold it in anymore and you burst out laughing. You feel bad and your head drops into his neck.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to laugh,” you say.

Sy chuckles, but you can hear the embarrassment in his laugh. He mirrors your position, dipping his head unto your neck and you can feel his beard prickle your skin. His arms snake around your back, finding your spine and he traces its path with a delicate touch of his finger tips. Your body arches instinctively at the sensation and your laughter abruptly stops. When he reaches the end of your buttocks, his hands move back to your neck, and he starts again.

“You’re so responsive,” He sounds distant again as if he’s talking to himself. “I never thought…”

You wait for him to finish but he doesn’t, he just presses a kiss against your forehead. Dipping your head, you look into the space between you, glimpse him for the first time.

Big.

It’s the only word that comes into your head as you stare at him. He stands straight up, thick and long, but not grotesquely so. He honestly looks perfect, and you smile, what else did you expect? Just another thing to add to the list of reason’s why Sy is perfect.

Not perfect, no. That’s not an accurate or fair label. Although you know him well, you know there’s a lot you don’t know, and possibly will never know about him. Why did he pull away from you before he deployed? Why did he call you that first time? Why did he call you that night when he seemed on the verge of a breakdown? There was trauma, there had to be. Maybe even a sense of self-doubt, despite his confident attitude. You know that a relationship with an active member of the military won’t be easy, but for him you will try. Not perfect, no, but maybe perfect for you.

Need scorch through your veins as if they hold acid, you have to touch him, have to feel how hard and soft he is. You don’t think about it, you don’t hesitate, and you wrap your hand around the middle of his shaft, gripping him gently. He’s so husky that you might even need two hands.

Sy’s reaction is immediate and strong, gasping as his body freezes, and the arms that caressed you gently now hold your hips in a vice-like grip. He throbs in your hand, and though his skin is nearly as soft as his lips, it’s so tight around his steel-like hardness, you think it must be painful. You move your hand, slowly, more to just feel him in your palm than for his pleasure, you enjoy the silky texture of him. He’s smooth, yet veiny, and hot, so fucking hot in your grasp. You moan as you kiss his neck, and your tongue catches his sweat as it breaks over his skin.

Hands grip your neck, lifting your head and Sy’s mouth is on yours. Feverish and hungry, it feels like he’s trying to devour you, swallow you up into him. His frantic kiss spurs you on and you start to pump your hand. As quickly as his kiss begins, he breaks it just as fast to look at your hand wrapped around his cock. He utters a curse, but you barely hear his whispered word.

Then he’s looking over your body, his eyes are wild, dark, and darting as if he can’t decide where to look. His hands tighten slightly around your neck as he groans.

“Fuck, thats good baby. That’s so fuckin’ good.”

“Touch me, Sy,” you urge.

Growling, his hands grab your breasts, his mouth follows swiftly, hot, wet, and sloppy; he mouths, licks, and sucks. He presses his mouth against you so hard you begin to lean back. Sy splays a hand across your back to keep you from falling and lifts his head from your breasts. He brings his other hand to your chin and tips your forehead to his.

“You gotta stop or I’m gonna cum,” Sy says in a rough and jagged voice.

“Cum in my mouth,” you say.

“Oh shit,” Sy’s body tightens, and his hips jerk off the couch, “You really want that, baby?”

Smirking and nodding, you climb off his lap and kneel on the carpet between his legs. You keep pumping him as you crane your neck to look at him.

“Do you want me to put your cock in my mouth?” you smile coyly, like you don’t know exactly what you are doing to him. You know, you can see the effect and it’s intoxicating. Knowing that every moan is for you, every groan is because of your touch, and every growl is because he wants more of you, sends you flying.

Clenching his teeth and practically snarling, Sy says, “Baby, I want to be inside you in any way you’ll let me.”

Your jaw drops, and you ache deep in your empty core. Fuck. He knows just what to say to make you turn into liquid.

“You better open your mouth or I’m gonna cum all over your pretty face.”

Fuck.

For a second you think about letting him do just that and you’re shocked. You’ve never wanted a man to do that to you before. But this isn’t just any man, this is Sy. You want him so badly, you want him so completely, you want to give him your whole self, you want him to do things to you that you would never trust another man to do.

You look at him in your hand, so male, husky, and potent. You look up as Sy’s thighs start to tense and his abs tighten. His chest is pumping with effort, sweat makes his body glisten as it clings to his hair, his mouth is parted sucking in breath, and his brows are drawn tight together as his eyes watch your every movement.

He is stunning.

Licking your lips, you lean down over him and despite how close he is, Sy puts his hand to your cheek.

“Look at me,” Sy says. “I wanna see— Fuck!”

He stops mid word as you put him in your mouth. There’s no point in teasing him, or building him up, he’s already there. He’s tense, sweating and each breath is a gasping groan.

Your lips stretch around him and although he’s like satin in your mouth, you know your lips will be swollen tomorrow. You don’t care, you want to see him to his end, you want to give him this pleasure. Your tongue laps at him and you suck softly as you keep increasing your rhythm.

When he said he was close, you had no idea he was this near to the edge. His breathing becomes rapid, to the point where you think he might hyperventilate. Then he stops breathing altogether and his eyes go wide as his face twists with strain and he throws his head back. You feel him grow thicker and throb in your mouth, his abs contract and his hips raise off the couch as his thighs tighten, the muscles trembling under the tension.

“Oh fuck,” he says repeatedly, until he groans out your name and fills your mouth with hot jets of his release.

When he stills, you slide your lips over him one more time, capturing with your tongue any remaining come and swallow. He shivers with a chuckle, his head is still thrown back, but he reaches for you, pulling you up onto his lap. Locking you in his embrace, he brings your head to his shoulder holding you close to him and despite his obviously woozy state, he lays a few closed mouth kisses over your cheeks and lips. Then he stills and closes his eyes with a hum.

Part 3