#Tiling Chelsea

[cctiling]

These tiles have been around since the 19th Century, and they’re currently seeing a big boom in popularity. They’re versatile and they come in a great range of patterns and colours. The only downside is that they are a pain to lay, so you need to contact an experienced tiling company.

[dreaming-of-brent]

Hall Edmonton Image of a small urban entryway with a brown floor, gray walls, and a white front door.

[daddymilker691]

After a long and arduous day in one of the city’s top banks where decisions of financial importance are made every day Stephen the head of the bank and James second in command prepare to have a night on the tiles in Chelsea’s most glamorous wine bars oh thank you James you’ve made me look quite adorable Stephen remarked before hitting the streets of Chelsea

[photmath]

It Was Never Us | Kylian Mbappé

Pairing: Kylian Mbappé x Female Reader

Summary: You had finally had enough.

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: ANGST, ANGST, cursing, time jump, lots of dialogue

Note: I reluctantly apologize. I rushed to get this out in time before the semester started so if there are mistakes, I do apologize for that.

FOUR YEARS AGO

It has been three times now. Three times that Kylian had forgotten about your biweekly date night. Three times that you were left feeling like a complete failure. Three times you were left questioning yourself what you did wrong.

The first time he had forgotten about it, he made it up to you by taking you out the next day. The second time: he had made plans with Neymar that day, said that he got the days confused, you just said that it was fine. You weren’t in the mood to argue that day—especially because your team had a bad loss—a match he hadn’t even bothered to show up to, let alone text you ‘good luck’ or ‘sorry about the match.’

But today, today was different. It was the anniversary of your four-year relationship. He said he had the night handled a couple of weeks ago, and that all you had to do was ‘dress pretty.’ You weren’t able to double check with him because of his away match yesterday. He was flying in today and then was going to attend a rehab session to loosen his tight muscles.

He had promised he wouldn’t be back home late.

However, it had been almost four hours past the time he was supposed to come by and pick you up. So now, you are just fed up.

He hadn’t mentioned anything about the anniversary date or your plans. Let alone a text message saying ‘Happy Anniversary.’ You thought maybe he was planning an elaborate dinner, that that was the reason why you hadn’t been sent your favorite flowers or even a call.

Your phone dings again. A timer you had set for yourself to start winding down for the night because you had a big match tomorrow—Women’s Championship League—against Chelsea.

Standing in the kitchen in your heels, dress still on, you couldn’t take your eyes off your phone: a video of Kylian at a restaurant with Neymar and some of his other teammates. He wasn’t doing anything bad, but he was just there. Never did he mention to you that he was going out tonight. The video had been taken over an hour ago.

You don’t even feel angry. You feel embarrassed. Humiliated. But you don’t let those emotions consume you, instead you start packing a set of clothes in a large traveling purse you have. You weren’t going to stay here tonight, you couldn’t.

As you zip up your bag, satisfied with the items you packed, you go back to make you some type of dinner. You hear the front door unlock and you let out a breathy sigh to calm down your feelings as he walks in.

He glances at you, and then does a double take, his head tilting, “It’s a bit late to go out, ma chérie, don’t you think?”

You cross your arms in front of you, Kylian’s confused expression only growing. You give him a calm smile, “You tell me.”

“What do you mean?” He sets the training bag he took this morning on the dining room chair. He props his elbow against it.

“What’s today?”

His cheeks warm suddenly, his mind juggling through birthdays and anniversaries. He stills. His shoulders slack as he rubs his face, “Fuck, fuck, chérie, I’m so sorry—”

“No, I don’t want to hear it. I’m done, Kylian,” you say. Your voice is so eerily calm that it makes him worry.

He looks at you, his eyebrows raised, “What?”

“I’m done.”

“No, chérie,” he walks towards you in a couple of strides. His arms are reaching out for you but you swipe them away. Your heels clack against the marble tile as you walk past him. “Let me make it up to you.”

You let out a laugh, “I can’t believe I wasted this time with you.”

He’s shaking his head but you can’t see him frantically following your pace up the stairs, “Don’t say that, mon amour.”

“You haven’t remembered shit, Kylian!” you whip your head to face him. His face is only guilty and full of shame. “I can’t even remember the last time we cuddled, let alone held hands.”

You knew juggling between matches of you and him, time got stretched impossibly. But the times you were home, Kylian used to never take them for granted, neither did you. The both of you would cherish one another whenever in each other’s presence. Always communicating, loving one another, and supporting each other at games if time permitted.

But then the World Cup happened. You had the time to go to Russia and you and Kylian had the best time there despite you only being able to see him after his matches. His popularity and recognition skyrocketed. He was on everyone’s mind and you couldn’t be any more proud.

However, that was the turning point in your relationship. No longer were you guys able to go on weekly dates comfortably—not with Kylian’s new status. He would have to rent out restaurants or you two would get bombarded. It turned to every other week because it got exhausting trying to make time with him at a restaurant.

Kylian’s hands fumble on the rail, clutching onto them. His eyes tear away from yours and you scoff, continuing up the stairs. His steps heavy and fast, “Chérie, wait.”

“I waited for four hours, I’m done.” You grab your bag and sling it on your shoulder.

He gawks, “Done with what?”

You look up at him, “Done with this. With you and your unkept promises.”

His face falls again and he stops walking closer to you, scared that any move towards you will only push you away. He says, “No, can we just talk about this please?”

“Sure, Kylian, we can talk,” you indulge, your voice laced with sarcasm.

He frowns, his mouth opening but he says nothing. He scratches his neck, searching for words, “I—I’m sorry.”

Your hand teases off the engagement ring from your finger, setting it down on the dresser you and Kylian share. Kylian’s heart squeezes at the sight of you. He can’t stop himself from walking to you, “Wait, please.”

You stand there, eyeing him quietly. His eyes are darting back and forth between your bare finger and the ring. “Don’t do this. Not right now, you have a game tomorrow. What—what did I do wrong? I’ll fix it, chérie, I promise. I’ll fix it.”

His hands find yours and you let him. You had already made up your mind and you weren’t going to change it. You couldn’t keep doing this each time.

“I don’t even know who you are anymore,” you say and his eyebrows furrow. “You’re not the man who proposed to me on my first ever professional football field that I played on. You aren’t the person who used to rent out restaurants for me without hesitation if I said I was craving something.

“You kiss me when you come home but you don’t talk to me. You don’t ask how my day was or tell me yours. We don’t cuddle. You don’t even go to my games anymore so I’m surprised that you remembered tomorrows. And you’ve missed our date nights for the past months, and I’m so tired of it.

“I’ve done everything. I’ve gone to every game I could possibly make and cancel plans with my friends to make sure we have our date night. I’ve talked to you and told you if something is wrong, like how you have told me to do. We talk it out and we’re usually fine, but this—this has been going on for so long now, that it started off small and now it’s just grown.”

Your eyes search his and they’re stuck frozen staring at you, taking in your words. You pull your hands from his and he doesn’t fight them to break away.

You clear your throat, “I stopped complaining because I didn’t want to be that bitchy fiancé everyone complains about, but no, I will not settle with someone who is no longer the person I love. So I’m done. I’m not going to marry someone who forgets or gets too comfortable in their relationship that they stop entirely and can’t even realize it.”

He steps in front of you, halting your movements, his voice shaking “Give me one more chance and I swear it will be the last. I swear on everything.”

“You can’t keep promises.”

You move around him but he’s quick to step in front of you again. His hands desperately clutching for yours, “Wait—we’ve been busy these past few months, okay? I think we’ve both been exhausted—”

You shake your head, “Don’t say ‘we,’ Kylian. I have given you everything even when I was tired. That’s the difference between you and I.”

He nods quickly, “Okay, me! I have been exhausted lately that I just haven’t been thinking right. I haven’t loved you the way I should’ve. I haven’t given you the attention nor the time that you deserve. I did get comfortable, okay, yes, I admit to that and it’s my fault.”

You adjust the bag on your shoulders, “It is.” You move past him and walk down the stairs. “Even if you had texted me I probably would’ve let this slide, but to go out tonight, seriously?”

“I forgot,” he sighs. “I’m sorry, I know you wish to hear something else—” the both of you stop in the kitchen. His breath hitches, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t keep our promises.”

You take in the view of his face. He’s completely deflated and you wish that brought you joy, but it doesn’t. You want to wrap him in your arms and put your ring back on, saying that you were overreacting but you don’t.

Just a few months ago the two of you were celebrating his twentieth birthday, and then a few months afterward he was proposing to you. The face he wore that day, so full of joy and excitement of what the future held. A stark contrast now.

He frowns, tears welling up in his eyes. A shaky sigh escapes his mouth, “I love you.”

You blink away the tears that threatened to pool, “I love you too, Kylian, that’s why I have to do this. I don’t want to hold myself back—I mean I have a fucking final to play tomorrow and here I am still awake. I can’t keep doing this anymore. I don’t deserve to be second in your life. I hope you find the person that you—”

He cuts you off, “Don’t say that.”

“I wish you all the best and success.”

He closes his eyes, nodding. Somehow him not looking made you walk out easier. And once you finally made it to the elevator, you leaned against the wall and bawled into your hands. Your sobs rattled the entire elevator.

------

PRESENT

“Holy shit,” Sergio mutters. Kylian’s eyebrows furrow next to him, Hakimi across from him leans into the iPad Sergio carries.

“On our PSG?” Hakimi asks.

“There’s only one féminine team,” Sergio replies.

“What’s up?” Kylian perks his head up.

“Y/N Y/L, she just got transferred here.”

Hakimi’s brows furrow, “Woah, her name sounds so familiar.” He flicks his fingers, “Agh! I know it, it’s right there.”

Kylian freezes, dropping the band he and Hakimi were using to stretch. It goes swinging to Hakimi and he winces as it makes contact with his chest.

“Really, Ky?”

Kylian ignores him, walking towards Sergio, examining the article.

The headline reads, “Star Defender is Coming Home!”

Sergio beams, “She’s really good. Marquinhos told me about her…”

He keeps talking but Kylian doesn’t register his words. He’s still fixated on the images of you, you wear a happy smile in your FC Barcelona uniform in one of them, and then in the other you hold a PSG jersey up. You had just been on a stellar season, he knew, of course he had known.

He kept up with all of your games since the two of you had broken up. He had tried to follow you on social media, but watching you play and seeing you up close on his phone, he couldn’t stomach both. He was so glad to see you doing well on Barca that he couldn’t comprehend why you would want to leave them.

Sergio furrows, thinking the same thing, “I wonder why she’s leaving.”

Hakimi shrugs, “I guess we’ll have to just ask her when we see her tonight.”

“Tonight?” Kylian croaks.

He nods, “The exhibition match tonight against the women’s team.”

Kylian eyebrows raise, “That’s today?”

“We were just talking about it,” Sergio says. “How did you forget?”

Kylian, still in shock, “No, I know it’s today. I just…I don’t think she’ll be playing tonight.”

Hakimi chimes, “Maybe she’ll just watch, but no she’s definitely here.”

“How do you know?”

Hakimi and Sergio both furrow their brows at their teammate. His sudden different behavior was not going unnoticed. Sergio lets out a nervous chuckle, “This picture is from today, Kyks. Are you okay?”

Kylian scoffs and then lets out a restrained chuckle, “Of course.”

Sergio nods at him hesitantly and then scrolls down to read the article. Kylian watches as his eyebrows furrow and his heart screeches as Sergio reads it aloud, “‘She’s expected to play in tonight’s exhibition match, and it will definitely be a sight to see her and Kylian Mbappé on the same field. Just four years ago, the two of them were expecting to tie the knot, but suddenly called it off, breaking the hearts of many of their fans…’”

Heat pools around Kylian as both of them look at him. He fixates his eyes with one of the medicine balls that lay some feet in front of him, not daring to look at the two of them.

Hakimi nudges him, “Why didn’t you tell me about her?”

Kylian coughs, “We didn’t work out.”

“You fucked it up?” Sergio asks. His voice is blunt.

Hakimi speaks again, “So you were just never going to say that you had a whole fiancé at one point?”

Kylian sighs, “Yeah, I fucked it up, and it’s not something I’m proud of, Achraf, why would I tell you that?”

He shrugs, “I mean, I could’ve helped you or something.”

“It was four years ago, we didn’t know each other by then. Can you guys please just not say anything? We don’t talk about this anymore,” Kylian’s voice is firm.

Sergio and Hakimi glance at each other, their faces betraying Kylian. Kylian lets out a sigh and shakes his head.

Hakimi talks first, “How long were you guys together?”

Sergio then: “This is an engagement though, how could you have stayed quiet this whole time—”

Kylian rolls his eyes, “It was an engagement. Not anymore—”

“Did you cheat?” Sergio asks.

He groans loudly, “God, no. How could you say that?”

Sergio shrugs, “I mean four years ago was what…2019? You had to still be clouded from the World Cup.”

“I didn’t cheat on her, okay?” Kylian knows he can’t walk out of the session no matter how badly he wants to, so he rubs his face and plops down on the floor, stretching out his hamstrings. Luckily, the three of them were a bit far from the rest of his teammates, so they couldn’t hear much of their discussion.

Hakimi nods his head, “So you did something worse?”

“Like stopped showing up?” Sergio guesses.

Kylian suddenly hates himself for befriending two people who are already married—and Sergio was years into his happy marriage.

“Or, forgot something?” Sergio guesses again.

Hakimi groans, “Never forget a birthday.”

“Or an anniversary. I have my phone set to remind me months before.”

Hakimi laughs, “That’s smart. Kylian?”

He sighs, “I forgot our date nights…and our anniversary. And stopped showing her affection.”

Both of them quiet down. Kylian had yet to cool himself from the prior nerves he got from when Sergio first said your name, and their laughter-turned-to-silence wasn’t helping.

Sergio furrows, “You just threw her to the curb?”

Kylian looks at him, angry with his choice of words. He then looks at Hakimi and Hakimi looks disappointed. His face reminds Kylian of how someone feels when their younger sibling’s hearts have just been broken. Full of protection for someone he had never met.

“I didn’t mean to, but yeah, our lives got hectic months after the World Cup…that I just lost it. I couldn’t manage my time, everything was moving so fast. Dates were coming up before I even realized it, and then she was gone.”

The two of them are quiet again, Hakimi definitely couldn’t relate and Sergio was searching for some good advice.

Sergio coughs, engulfing the silence, “You were just a kid at that time, Kylian. Your recognition exploded and you didn’t know how to manage it. I wouldn’t place all the blame on your shoulders if I were you.”

Kylian shakes his head, “It was my fault though.”

“And the worlds,” Hakimi states.

“You young guys don’t know how to handle it until it happens,” Sergio advises. “You guys will think you do, but you don’t. Everything moves fast after you blow up, but you can never forget about the people who stayed by your side.”

Kylian nods absentmindedly. The advice would’ve been helpful four years ago, but he listens either way.

“Head up, you have a girl to catch,” Sergio says, getting up and patting Kylian’s head as he passes him.

------

Kylian wishes Sergio’s words didn’t give him a surge of encouragement because here he was rehearsing the speech he was going to tell you once he got the time. He cringed as he thought of it. What was he even supposed to say?

Warm-ups had gone swiftly. He had seen you warming up from afar and the glimpse of it alone had his heart faltering between beats.

He knew that you would probably have to defend him, so it made him nervous thinking about you so close to him. The closest the two of you had ever been in four years.

The sound of the whistle was the only thing that got him out of his mind. He had a performance to put on. One that he knew would be cut short by half-time to let the youngsters play, so he had to give it his all since the stadium was sold out.

He tried to keep his gaze off of you, knowing that he would probably freeze and choke up the moment you looked at him.

Seeing Hakimi get the ball back, he knew it was time to start sprinting. He sprints around you, nearly tripping on his feet as the smell of your shampoo swarms his nose. It was still the same smell.

He hadn’t realized you were so close to him. He sprints down the line, and you’re following him.

You couldn’t lie and say that you wanted to throw up, seeing him now brought back all the memories of the two of you. And the funny part was that only the happy memories were the ones you remembered and thought of the most. You didn’t think of the bad parts—not that fast at least—until you had to remind yourself why the two of you didn’t work out.

He gets the ball passed to him, but he has to go through you first to get in a cross. He can’t help but to smirk, a nervous laugh escaping his mouth before he can even comprehend that you stole the ball away from him. You kick it to your teammate, slowing down to a jog. You feel him jog beside you.

“Good ball,” he says, jogging past you. His voice sends you chills. He turns around to face you and a ghost of a smile litters his face.

The game goes on. You and Kylian interact only briefly. When he sprints past you and you know there is no way to catch up to his speed, you let out a groan. He’s chuckling as runs past you and you have to fight back a grin.

The halftime whistle blows and you walk to the locker room, a smile finding your face as you clap hands with your new and some familiar teammates.

You find your way to the restroom, having already heard your coach’s words and line up changes. The restroom in the locker room was crowded so you decided to go to the one down the tunnel.

“Hey,” a voice calls out and you freeze. Of course he was waiting for you. You turn around slowly, Kylian already wearing his wind breaker as he gives you a nervous smile, “Are you playing the second half?”

You shake your head, still shocked at how much he’s grown and his presence. “No.”

Kylian motions his head to an elevator, “Want to come up with me?”

“I should probably tell my coach.”

He waves it off, “I already told him.”

You raise your eyebrows, “What?”

“Let's go upstairs to the media box, I want to talk.”

You almost want to laugh at his bluntness. Your eyebrows are raised, “Kylian.”

He walks towards you, his walk full of confidence as a smile tugs on his lips, “What?”

“I don’t think that’s a good look from me to my teammates.”

“They think you’re with Sergio Ramos right now talking about defense strategies,” he laughs. The sound of his glorious laugh and the crinkles besides his eyes almost make you want to hug him. Almost. After all, this was still the man of your first everything since you were sixteen.

“He’s in this too?” You ask.

He nods, “Just come on.” He presses the button for the elevator, holding the door open as it opens immediately. He holds out his hand for you with a growing smirk.

God, did he look so handsome. That glint in his eye used to make you so weak in your knees and it wasn’t failing now.

You grab his hand and the touch makes your nerves radiate throughout your arm and hand. You silently hiss and his eyebrows twitch but then it goes away. He had felt it too.

The elevator closes and he grins, “Welcome back.”

“Thank you,” you say, stuffing your hands into your windbreaker. You were suddenly glad that you decided to change completely because Kylian still had on his grass stained shorts and socks. You stifle a chuckle.

“It was fun beating you,” he snickers. He settles into the corner of the elevator and doesn’t hide his eyes as they skim down you. “Although you did play well, we may need you on our line actually.”

You laugh, “Oh, shut up.”

He hums, “Music to my ears.”

You roll your eyes. Both of you completely ignored the elephant in the room and you were glad. It was nice to see him again. The person you were talking to was who he was before the World Cup. Before he got too in his head. It makes your heart swell to see him happy again.

The elevator door dings open and he leads you to whatever room he was planning. It’s small with a single table and chair. The walls are painted blue and one of them is a whiteboard. A large window shows the view of the field below.

“What is this place?” you snort.

He laughs, “A small media room. Sometimes they do interviews in this room, but new coaches, never the players.”

“And that’s it?”

He smirks as the two of you make eye contact, “Sometimes a hideout the guys and I go to when we get sent off.”

“Like a red card?”

He nods, “Yep.”

You shake your head, chuckling. He pulls out the seat and motions you to take it. After you sit, he sits on the table, his legs dangling as he looks at the field. He’s sitting across from you on the table and has his back to you. The players were starting to make their way back onto the field.

“I promised—well Sergio—promised to have you back down there within twenty minutes,” he says, his eyes still glued onto the window. “I—” He lets out a shaky laugh and it makes you laugh at his nervousness. “They’re upset with me.”

“Who?”

“Sergio and Achraf.”

“Achraf?”

He glances back at you, “Number 2 on the field. Hakimi.”

“Oh, yes, okay I know him. Why are they upset with you?” your eyebrows furrow.

He rubs his neck, “I told them what happened between us.”

You nod your head slowly although he can’t see you. Well, might as well rip off the bandaid now. Time was ticking.

He looks down in his lap, “I’m sorry, chérie. I didn’t really mean to tell them, but they read an article and it said that we were in a relationship. They started asking a bunch of questions.”

“Wait, there's an article?” You’re already on your feet as you round the table. You don’t even have your phone on you to search for it.

He shakes his head, “It’s not bad.”

“You read it?”

He nods and stands up. He grabs a hold of your waving arms, settling them, “It’s not bad. It was talking about your accomplishments and then only mentioned me at the end. Said that it was going to be a ‘sight to see’ us on the field together after we called off our engagement four years ago.”

“It mentioned that?” You didn’t want the media’s attention to be on your previous relationship, it should be on a team.

He nods, his hands still on your wrists, rubbing circles onto them. “It was brief. Not a lot about you and I.”

“Okay, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you. Where were you?”

He gives you a faint smile, his hands lingers on yours as he takes a seat on the table right beside you. He lets go of your hands, “Why did you come back?”

You sigh and rub your palms on your sweats. He wasn’t going to like the news. The media hadn’t even caught wind of it yet. “I’m getting married.”

Kylian can’t help the reaction he lets out. His eyes widen and his mouth falls open. His eyes are on you and you watch as they go from shock to hurt. He looks away immediately, his head looking down as he covers his mouth.

“He wanted to move here, got a job, and then hoped I would follow him.”

Kylian looks up, his eyebrows creased, “You wouldn’t do that though. You would never give up your dreams. Tell me that’s a lie.”

“It’s not.”

“For a guy?”

You sigh, crossing your arms. It was a bit out of character. “I’m back here because PSG needed a defender.”

He stands up, his head shaking, “Tell me the truth.”

“I am.”

Kylian stands only a foot in front of you, he has to look down at you to talk. His voice is serious, “So what happened to your dream?”

“It was to win the Champions League with PSG. I never got to do it,” you say.

Both of you silently think about that night of your break up. The next day, your team had played horribly against Chelsea, losing 3-0. You wish you could say you played well but you hadn’t at all. Kylian had come to that game, watching in the same room you both stood in now.

He sighs, “You won one with Barca.”

“That wasn’t my dream though.”

“I know,” he gives you a meek smile. “I just—there has to be more to the story, chérie, I mean help me understand.”

You palm your forehead, you should’ve known he was going to want to talk about what you were doing here back. You had left that season to Barcelona after the Champions League, wanting to get out of the city you grew up in. But also wanting to get away from him.

“Is that all you brought me up here for?” you ask.

He shakes his head, “I wanted to see how you’ve been.”

“I’ve been good, Kylian. How have you been?”

“Miserable,” he mutters. “Even more now.”

“Mmm, I’m sorry about the World Cup.”

He waves you off, “I was miserable before that.”

“Why?”

“Because I lost you,” he agonizes and you stop yourself from expressing your annoyance.

“Kylian—”

“Does he make you happy?” His arms flop down next to him as he awaits your response.

You muse, “Yes.”

“Everything you wished I gave you?”

You bite onto your lip. Kylian was one of a kind when the two of you first started dating, almost nothing could ever top his morning cuddles and kisses he would give you. He always knew which muscles to massage before your training sessions. Or how you liked your coffee. Or how you would always like to run yourself a bath after strenuous workout sessions. He’d have the water ready for you when you’d get a home.

“Chérie?” He raises his brow. His hand goes to your cheek and he brushes the delicate skin. The both of you almost melting at the contact. You lean into his touch instantly.

“He’s a gentleman.”

“That wasn’t my question,” he whispers. “Why are you here, mon amour?”

You feel him brush away the tear before you even notice it’s there. You open your eyes and his eyes flutter with concern. You step back, wiping away your tears, “I should head back.”

His arms are around you before you can stop and you break down into him. Your head digs into Kylian’s strong shoulder as you sob into him. He still smelled of sweat and outside, but you didn’t care, all you felt was him. He kisses your head as his embrace tightens, pulling you closer to him.

This felt like home. His scent. His arms. The feeling he brought to your chest, you hadn’t felt this way in four years.

He holds you for a couple of more minutes until your crying dies down. He kisses your forehead when he peels you away, “Tell me. I’m not going to judge. I can take the criticism.”

“He wants to have kids,” you frown.

Kylian sneers, “What a jerk.”

You laugh through the tears and he gives you a small smile. You cross your arms, wanting Kylian’s warmth back. “I don’t even want to have kids right now. I’m playing so well and then I’d have to stop. I’m too young.”

He chuckles. He knew he shouldn’t have found this situation comical but it was. You had told him before how you would only want a kid now—when you were both young—or when you were both older, that there was going to be no in between. So he knew you weren’t going to give this man children until years later. This makes the ache in his heart ease, knowing that he would never treat you this way.

“I’m being serious, Ky,” you groan. “I’ve told him all this already and it’s like he doesn’t care. He can’t even see me halfway.”

“You’ve called off one engagement before, why not go for a second?” He teases. He says it so nonchalantly that you jab at his shoulder.

“Stop it.”

“Okay, okay,” he swipes the smile off of his face. “So you’re here because he wants kids?”

“He wants to settle down, and said that he always wanted to live in Paris.”

“Is he famous?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I didn’t want to do that again.”

He clutches his heart, “Ouch.” You don’t respond and he takes a seat back on the table. He folds his arms, looking up at you, “You told me that you didn’t want to be held back. Isn’t that what’s happening now?”

“How am I being held back?”

He shrugs, “You want a Champions with PSG. Not kids.”

“We can have kids in the future.”

“He wants them now.”

“Well,” you sigh, “it’s still an ongoing discussion.”

He huffs.

You keep going: “I missed Paris. I wanted to be back here with my family. My parents and siblings are getting older. I have a niece who I only see on the holidays and I feel like I’ve missed out on her entire life. I practically have!”

He nods his head slowly, but you can see the way the glimmer in his eyes diminish. He was upset. He exhales, “So it’s just a sudden win-win scenario for you? That it’s easy? Two birds in one stone?”

“What do you mean?”

He stands, he looks disappointed. “You come back here to get married. Maybe win a Champions League. You have your family around you. And then you settle down with this man and have kids.”

You didn’t understand the problem. That was exactly what you had planned. You didn’t see anything wrong with it.

“Kylian, it's been in the news about me possibly transferring for months now. He read about it in an article, and then brought the idea up to me, and then I told him that yeah, I’d think about it. Then the next day, he gets a job here and then I suddenly have to think between two decisions.”

He raises his arm to stop you and you raise a brow at him. He doesn’t bat an eye. “You gave up your life in Barcelona to follow him. Not for you. For him. You would’ve never thought about moving back here if it wasn’t for him.”

“That’s not true,” you cross your arms. “I wanted to move back here.”

He shakes his head, “Maybe you did, but it wasn’t for your family.”

“How could you say something like that?”

“I know you, chérie. Your ambition is too high to ever stop to follow someone. Your family has never held you back, no matter how much they have tried to persuade you. Hell, even I tried to persuade you before. When you have your mind set to something, it’s set. Your niece was born four years ago, a little after we broke up, and what? You barely miss them now?”

You scoff. Kylian’s words were harsh. A brutal blow to you and your return.

He’s shaking his head again, “This man took a job without even asking you! And you were fine with that? He’s never even lived in Paris.”

“It’s different.”

“How?” he scowls. “How is this any different than when you would wait for me to change? Instead, it’s as if I had never changed and you just dealt with it. Are you kidding me? You would have never put up with that—and you didn’t.”

“He can actually keep his promises, Kylian. He remembers anniversaries at the very least. That’s already more than what you did.”

A ripple of a sarcastic laugh escapes him, “Our anniversary would be next week, and when I proposed to you, that’s in three months and two days from now.”

“You remembered that a bit too late.”

He sighs, his hands settling on the top of his head, “I just—you’re making a mistake with this man. He wants a kid, chérie, he wants you to stop playing. He’s already got a new job that I assume pays better than his last. He wants you to be a mom.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Your irritation and annoyance only grows into silent anger. “If you think your words are going to somehow make me leave him and go back to you, you’re dead wrong.”

Kylian’s gaze moves to the pitch. It was at the 60th minute. His rehearsed speech was long gone and time was dwindling down. His mind couldn’t stop thinking about what to say next. He didn’t like the idea of you coming back home under these circumstances.

You wipe your face, “And what does it matter to you anyway? You and I aren’t in a relationship, Kylian. I don’t owe you anything.”

He looks at you, “He doesn’t make you happy. I know it because you were happy with me, before I fucked it up. You don’t look like that right now. You don’t have that glow.”

You snort, “And you’re supposed to bring that all back?”

“I can if you let me.”

“Hilarious. I’m done here.”

He steps forwards to you, a hand settling on your waist and you don’t move, frozen by his sudden touch. His eyes glance down to your lips and then back towards yours, “Just think about why you came here. You know the real reason only. The reason you gave me was full of shit. You and I both know it. I know you want to win the Champions League with PSG, but the only reason you were transferred is because you asked for it. Barca would have never let you go just because.”

He stops, his gaze growing more firm, “And say that yes, you wanted this dream to come true because it happened in Barcelona. I get that. I know that. But what happens when you win it? When you retire and realize that you don’t actually love this man the way you think you do?”

“I lo—”

He shakes his head, “No you don’t. You’re waiting. You’re hoping that something changes. That your feelings towards him change. I know that because you have that look. That same look when you were waiting for me to change. Waiting for me to snap out of it and realize that I had fucked everything up.”

He eyes the clock on the field: 64. He was out of time. Fuck.

You stare at him, lost in his words. This was what he wanted. For you to doubt yourself.

His hand presses against your cheek and then he drops it, “I’m not like the person I used to be. I do remember things now. I don’t ever forget because of what happened between us.”

He lets out a small chuckle, “I definitely won’t pester you to have my kids right now. I won’t compromise on your dreams. I won’t ever make you doubt my intentions. I promise to never make you feel this way, or the way you felt when you left. I’d never tell you to stop chasing your ambition, even if it takes years that we never have kids. Because let's face it, PSG has some growth to do.”

He gives you a meek smile, “My heart was only ever yours to have. And I'd love it if you met me at my penthouse, but only come when you’ve broken up with this jerk. You can come whenever you want, your dresser and empty space in the closet waits for you.”

Kylian takes your face into your hands and presses a chaste kiss on your cheek, lingering his face in front of yours as he pulls away. Both of your breaths are faltering and heavy.

“I’ll see you later,” he whispers. He releases you and leaves the media room.

You’re left alone with his looming words replaying in your mind. You had a life-altering decision to make. Especially because he read you well. Read right through your lies.

--

(Part Two)

[sycamorelibrary754]

Guardian Angel

Chapter 2: My Guardian Angel

Summary: Your first day back at work after recovering from your sprained ankle was normal, until it wasn’t. It turns out your first encounter with Wanda wasn’t your last.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: This is the last purely fluffy chapter for a bit. Angst and adversity is on the way.

Guardian Angel Masterlist

Once your doctor confirmed the sprain, you found yourself hobbling around your apartment for the rest of the week, with a small ice bag or a heat pack wrapped around your swollen ankle. Being cooped up inside your apartment was not your cup of tea, and you grew restless with each passing day. You tried to distract yourself by streaming every movie you could think of, but the boredom persisted. Finally, when you were able to walk more comfortably with the help of an Ace bandage, you felt a sense of relief. By the following Monday, you were eager to get back to work and resume your normal routine.

After graduating from college, you decided to open up The Candy Bar, an old-fashioned sweet shop that seemed like a dream come true. Your shop sold every kind of candy you could imagine, various ice creams, and had a soda fountain on site. In addition, you also made a handful of homemade treats inspired by candy recipes passed down from your great-grandfather, such as caramel-covered chocolate turtles, peanut brittle, and fudge.

"Would you like to tell me what happened again?" Your friend and business partner Harper asked you with a gentle tone while restocking the ice cream bins. The dark-haired girl with freckles had been your closest friend since college.

“I walked up to the counter to get my coffee, and suddenly, these two boys crashed into me. Before I knew it, a redhead rushed up and started talking non-stop. Honestly, I have no recollection of what she said. I think they were words. She was so beautiful that I blacked out.”

“This could only happen to you,” Harper teased.

“She helped me back to my apartment, got me some ice, and left. Then I sat there speechless for the next ten minutes.”

“She’s like your guardian angel! Like those stories you hear about mysterious strangers showing up in your hour of need and then disappearing as quickly as they came.”

You always admired Harper's optimism and belief in fate, even if you didn't believe it yourself.

“It doesn’t count if the guardian angel’s kids initiate your hour of need,” you replied.

*^~^*

Throughout the day, you diligently tended to your quaint little shop as a steady stream of customers flowed in and out, filling the air with the irresistible aroma of chocolate and sugar. The vibrant interior was a feast for the eyes, with a mesmerizing display of candy in every color of the rainbow, swirling and twirling around the store. As you looked down, the black and white tiled floor seemed to beckon visitors, guiding them like a yellow brick road toward the front counter. Here, an impressive arrangement of fudge and peanut brittle awaited, flanked by the refreshing soda fountain to the right and the tempting ice cream display freezers to the left. Finally, your customers' eyes would inevitably fall upon the charming vintage sweets display, which sat proudly on the back wall just beneath the menu.

In the late afternoon, the rush subsided, and you started preparing the homemade soda syrup for the soda fountain. Although it was a tedious process, it was still one of your favorite activities. While in the back kitchen, you heard the bell ring above the entrance.

“I’ll be right with you!” you shouted.

You wipe your hands off on a towel and walk back to the front of the shop.

“Welcome to The Candy Bar! How can I—”

As you turned around, your eyes fell upon the customer, who instantly caught your attention. She stood there wearing a pair of sleek black leather Chelsea boots that hugged her feet, complementing her light wash jeans and a white cable knit sweater. The long brown heather overcoat draped over her shoulders added a touch of sophistication to her ensemble. Her fiery red hair cascaded down her back, framing her face perfectly. The sight was nothing short of mesmerizing.

“Help you,” you trailed off softly. “Wanda?”

“Y/N? Oh my gosh, what are you doing here? I thought about you all week! Are you okay? How is your ankle?” She rambled. It's so adorable that you want to squeeze her.

"This is my shop," you said proudly. "Thanks to your help, my ankle is much better now. I can't thank you enough for your assistance the other day," you added with a self-assured tone. Despite feeling a bit nervous, you managed to express yourself clearly and coherently.

“It's amazing!” Wanda exclaimed. “It reminds me of the candy stores from old TV shows.”

“As a child, I loved watching TV shows that featured charming, sweet shops where the characters would gather for root beer floats and candy.”

Wanda slowly turned around, admiring every inch of the decor as she exclaimed, "I love it!"

"Thank you. How may I assist you today?" you said with a professional tone and a raised eyebrow.

“I am searching for a sweet treat for my boys' birthday,” Wanda said

“Ah, the junior middle linebackers,” you joked. “How are they doing?”

They're good," she giggled. "I think they're finally starting to feel comfortable here.

“You just moved to New York?” you inquired.

“Actually, we just moved back to New York from a small town in New Jersey," Wanda said hesitantly. "I used to live here for work, but this is a new experience for Billy and Tommy. It's been challenging for us all to adjust to the change.”

You thought to yourself, 'The three of them.' You decided to file that information away for later.

“Well, welcome back!” you declared. What business are you in?”

“Public service,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck nervously.

“I'm not surprised! You've come to the right place, Wanda. Let's find something special for the birthday boys,” you said, rubbing your hands together. “How old will they be turning?”

"Eleven, I can't believe it," she said while running her hands gently through her hair.

“Let me think for a moment," you said, scanning the shop before guiding her towards the candy displays at the front. Your gaze moved over the colorful containers of candy, and you relished this part of your job. You picked out an assortment of sweets that you thought Billy and Tommy would like, including malted milk balls, jelly beans, peanut butter cups, chocolate-covered gummy bears, whirly pops, and some of your homemade fudge. As you began to package the candy, you offered a few pieces to Wanda to try.

“These are delicious, Y/N. I’ll have to stop them from eating it all in one sitting.”

"Wow, that's the best compliment you could give me," you said with a wink.

Wanda observed you working and couldn't help but smile. You were fully engaged in the deceptively simple task with unwavering focus, exuding the unmistakable radiance of someone who loves their job. It was magnetic.

You eagerly revealed your surprise with a broad smile by exclaiming, "Tada!" Wanda's eyes lit up with excitement as she saw the two beautifully crafted gift bags you held out to her. The bags were adorned with bold red and white stripes, and each one was elegantly personalized with the names of Wanda's boys written in a stunning gold calligraphic font.

“Wow, this is amazing! How much do I owe you?” she asked, reaching for her purse.

You waved your hand dismissively and said, "It's on the house.

“Oh no, that's very kind of you, but I couldn't,” Wanda said.

“I made one for you, too, as a way of returning the favor for helping me last week,” you said, placing a third bag in front of her.

You could feel your heart beating rapidly against your ribcage as you extended your hand towards her with the small gift. She looked up at you with a grateful expression, her warm touch on your hand making you feel appreciated. "This is so generous, y/n," she said, her voice filled with gratitude. "Thank you so much. I won't forget this." Despite your nervousness, you managed to smile back at her, hoping she couldn't hear the sound of your heart pounding inside your chest. The moment was etched in your memory, a testament to the power of a kind gesture.

It's my pleasure," you smiled. "Please tell the boys I said happy birthday.

"I will," Wanda assured, locking her gaze with yours. Her beautiful green eyes caught your attention once again.

I hope… I hope I see you again soon,” you stammered.

“I hope so, too,” Wanda smiled. Your eyes lingered on her as she picked up the three candy bags and left your shop.

For the second time in two weeks, you watched the woman leave. A few moments later, Harper joined you at the front counter.

“Who was that?” she asked.

“My guardian angel.”

*Chapter 3 coming soon*

Tag: @automaticdinosaurtaco

[sinful-lanterns]

I just got back from bowling with friends and all I could think about was going bowling with the PTN women, but Zoya launches the ball so hard, it crashes into the ceiling and all the ceiling tiles fall down.

McQueen also slips on the wax coating of the floor when she’s about to bowl, and Chelsea keeps getting gutter balls. I feel like I should edit some funny bowling clips and tag them as various PTN women because they’re all just so chaotic 😭😭

[thoseboysinblue]

Midnight

Christian Pulisic x reader

You and Christian find yourselves hosting a New Year’s Eve party for your closest friends.

Word count: 2500+

Requested: Yes

Warnings: Smut, fluff

New Year's Eve, the night Chelsea typically held their annual charity gala. It was an excellent excuse to get dressed up, spend an evening with friends and eventually end up at someone's house for an after party.

Early in December, Christian had surprised you by having his stylist bring over a selection of designer gowns for you to choose from, all of which complemented the suit he was planning to wear.

"I can't, Christian, it's too much" you'd protested.

"It's not, please let me spoil you like I want to, baby, consider it a Christmas gift" he grinned at you.

"Fine, but nothing else, got it?" you'd given into him, unable to deny him anything when he flashed that dimple at you along with those honey colored eyes.

"Sure, sure" he held his hands up feigning innocence even though he knew he had a stack of overly extravagant gifts for you already hidden.

The evening of the gala had arrived, you and Christian getting ready separately with the help of his stylist and a hair and makeup team he'd also surprised you with.

When you step into his foyer, the sound of your heels on the marble tile catching his attention, his stylist made one final adjustment to his suit before turning to smile at you and muttering a "I'll leave you two alone" patting him on the shoulder as she disappeared to begin packing up her things.

"You look, wow" was all he could manage to get out as his hands slid around your waist, pulling you in for a kiss.

"God only knows what you've paid for this make up, Chris, don't ruin it before we get out the door" you chuckled at him as he moved to kiss down your exposed neck and shoulders.

"I'll pay them double to fix it" he whispers along your collar bone as you tilt your head back letting out a faint moan.

As his kisses trail back up to your lips, you place one more, delicate kiss to his lips, resting your forehead against his and placing your hands over his chest, "What about you, Christian? You look.." your words cut off as you bite your lip taking a step back to look him up and down again.

He blushes slightly under your attentive gaze. "It's gonna be hard for me to keep my hands off of you all night," you whisper against his lips, kissing him softly again until you hear his stylist clear her throat behind you.

You both turn to face her, Christian wrapping a hand around your waist. "You've outdone yourself tonight," he smiles at her, pulling you into him a little closer and giving your hip a squeeze.

"Just as you asked" she hands him a red leather box, you instantly recognized it as matching the box to the Cartier bracelet and drop earrings he'd given you for Christmas which you were now wearing.

"Christian, I thought we'd discussed this" you look at him shaking your head. "No, it's too much," you once again protested but knew it was another battle you would lose.

"We did discuss it, but you know I'm not the best at listening sometimes" he winks at you.

"And what if I refuse?"

"You won't" he says, just above a whisper, turning you around to slip the dainty necklace around your neck.

"I might" you quip, your voice a bit shaky.

"You won't" he whispers again, placing a kiss to the nape of your neck once he was finished with the clasp.

He knows you aren't a big fan of extravagance, and that you really only wear jewelry on special occasions such as tonight, but he was determined to gift you with a few timeless and elegant pieces he knew you could wear with anything from jeans and a simple shirt to elegant gowns like tonight. And you knew, once he had his mind set on something, there was little use in arguing with him.

"You know I don't need all this from you?" you turn around, motioning with your hand down your body. 

"I know, but you spoil me every single day, y/n, and I just want to do the same for you" he says with a shy smile.

"I appreciate it, I really do, but you know I don't expect these things from you, I just want you to be happy, Chris."

"And what if spoiling you makes me happy?" He slides his hands back around your waist pulling you into him.

"Then I guess, I'll have to get used to it," you smile, bumping your nose against his and placing a feather light kiss to his lips.

His stylist takes several photos of the two of you, adding any final touches you might need before you hop into the car Christian has arranged for the evening.

You enjoy the gala, happily sipping on glasses of wine as you and Sophia chat the night away, her complimenting the German that she, Kai, and Christian have been helping you to learn.

The two of you end up drunkenly bidding on a trip before announcing to the boys that they are not invited to join you.

Kai mutters something to Christian in German, "I heard that, and almost understood it" you quip.

"See, CP, I told you teaching her was a bad idea," they both laugh.

The entire evening, you and Christian haven't stopped touching one another. Nothing over the top, but a constant hand on each other's thigh, his arm around your waist pulling you closer to him, fingers intertwined, or a hand placed softly on the small of your back.

Your dress had a mostly open back, so anytime Christian's hand was around you he found himself softly drawing circles on your exposed skin with his thumb.

As the gala comes to an end, Mason leans across the table and whisper shouts, "so after party at yours right, CP?" to which Christian nods.

Thankfully this wasn't a shock to you and when you arrived back at yours and Christian's home, you began sitting out the snacks and drinks you'd prepared earlier in the day.

As you are pulling out chilled bottles of champagne for a midnight toast, you hear the rest of the group arrive. Unsurprisingly most of the Chelsea team have come, with and without dates, preparing to ring in the New Year together.

Mason immediately syncs his phone to the speakers that run through the entire house "to avoid having to listen to Christian's horrible taste in music" he winks at you, to which you only shake your head.

As the time approached midnight, the girls seemed to be getting tipsier and tipsier while the boys, in mid season, are being relatively tame. However, everyone had shed their jackets and ties by this point, Christian's tie tied lazily around your neck, Mason and a few others had theirs wrapped around their heads like ninjas.

You'd managed to pull Christian onto the makeshift dance floor in your living room more than a few times, neither of you able to keep your hands off of each other. He'd unbuttoned the top couple of buttons on his shirt, and rolled up his sleeves, exposing just enough skin to drive you mad.

As you were dancing, you slipped your finger between two of the buttons, using it to pull him closer to you as he dipped his head and groaned into your neck. "You are killing me, baby" he mumbles into your ear as you turn around to grind your ass against him, throwing one arm up and around his neck to pull him even closer to you.

"It's almost midnight, can't miss our New Year's kiss," you smile at him, turning back around to face him while still grinding your body against his and he drops one hand to grab at your ass, clearly no longer caring if anyone is watching the two of you.

As everyone starts counting down the last twenty seconds or so before midnight. You find yourselves completely lost in each other. Someone hands both of you glasses of champagne which you absentmindedly take, neither of you breaking your gaze.

At five, Christian mutters "fuck it" and presses his lips to yours, you giggle and return the kiss, gripping into the back of his hair and pulling him in to deepen the kiss. He moans into your mouth as he presses his semi hard bulge into you.

You pull away from him slightly as you hear everyone around you cheer, and mutter against his lips "Happy New Year, baby, I love you" pressing another kiss to them. "I love you too, y/n, so damn much" he smiles at you, giving you another loving kiss.

You look around the room at the people you are surrounded with, in awe of a life you never dreamed of living, with a man you knew was made especially for you.

You make your rounds toasting your champagne glasses with everyone and wishing them a Happy New Year before Christian whispers into your ear to meet him upstairs in 5 minutes. You nod to acknowledge what he's told you, without giving away the fact that it made your stomach flip and heat flood your core.

You notice when Christian slips upstairs, continuing to talk to a few of the others before you make sure you can also slip away, hopefully unnoticed, in search of him.

As you make your way up the stairs, you are met with a pair of hands that pull you quickly into your bedroom, pressing you against the door in one swift move as he locks it and attaches his lips to your neck.

"Been waiting all fucking night to do this" he moans against your neck as he feels your hand graze over his hardened length.

"I've got a surprise for you too," you whisper, "but if I show it to you, you have to promise to help me get this dress back on" you give him a wicked smile as you turn for him to pull down the zipper of your dress.

You turn back around, shoving him towards the bed as you let the gown fall to your feet. His eyes widen at the sight of you, stood in front of him in a black lace corset style backless lingerie set with black lace thong.

"Fuck me" he whispers as you edge your way towards him.

"That's my plan" you stare at him hungrily. "But we have to be quick, and quiet, we have guests you know"

He nods slowly as you move to straddle him. Both of you working in unison to finish unbuttoning his shirt and quickly working to rid him of his pants.

"The top has to stay on" you mutter, "I have no idea how your stylist got me into this thing and I'm certain it will take both of us to figure it out later" you giggle against his chest.

"Fine by me" he says with a wink. He flips both of you over, pressing you into the mattress as he quickly pulls your thong down your legs and tosses it to the side, doing the same with his boxers.

He leans down to kiss you feverishly as he uses one hand to line himself up with your entrance, running the tip of his cock through your already dripping folds.

"Didn't take much" he whispers to you as you shake your head.

"Just shut up and fuck me Christian" you mutter as you buck your hips up towards him, lacing your fingers into his hair.

"So needy" he groans as he pushes into you with one long and slow thrust.

You let out a moan as he begins to pick up the pace and catch a glimpse of his tattooed arm as he circles his hand lightly around your throat.

"Shhh, baby" he says as he buries his head into your neck in an attempt to muffle his own noises.

"Can you be quiet?" He asks as he loosens his hold on your neck when you nod.

You throw your own hand over your mouth as he slips his hand between your bodies to rub circles over your clit.

"You gonna cum for me?" he says as he feels you clench around him.

You nod furiously, afraid that anything you try to say will come out as a loud moan.

"Shit, me too" he pants, biting his lip to suppress a moan as your back arches off of the bed and you cum hard around him.

He throws a few more thrusts into you before pulling out and spilling himself all over your pussy and thighs.

"Jesus Christ" he sighs breathily as he collapses onto the bed beside you both of you trying to catch your breath. He then gets up and grabs a towel from the bathroom, slipping his boxers back on in the process.

"Why'd you pull out, you never do that" you question him.

"Couldn't exactly send you back downstairs with my cum dripping out of you could I?" he grins at you.

"Such a gentleman" you laugh as he finishes cleaning you up.

"Also, if I have to sit around and talk to people knowing my cum is running down your legs, I'll go fucking mad" he flashes you a much darker smile.

"There he is, the man of my dreams" you giggle again as you grab your thong and slip it back on, picking your dress up off the floor and stepping back into it and gliding it back over your frame.

Christian makes quick work of zipping you back up before you dip into the bathroom to check your hair and makeup to make sure it's not too messed up before you return to your guests.

When you walk back out of the bathroom he's dressed and standing by the door waiting for you. He's left an extra button undone and his hair is definitely a bit more disheveled. He holds his hand out to you pulling you into his chest. "I think we managed the quick part, not sure about the quiet part though" he mumbles against your forehead.

"Well I'm certain we weren't that sneaky, and I'm sure they all know where we've gone" you lean back to look him in the eyes before pressing another kiss to his lips as he shrugs.

Sure enough as you make your way back downstairs and rejoin your group of friends, you hear Mason say "let's give a round of applause to our hosts for this evening" grinning at the two of you "who apparently couldn't even wait for us all to leave to ring in their new year judging by the way they snuck off and Christian's hair."

Christian buries his face into your neck and you hide your face in your hands as he pulls you in closer to him.

"That was just round one" he laughs back to them, grabbing you and kissing you to the cheers and cat calls from his best friends.

[gurugirl]

Will you give us a little something else for the stepmom!reader fic? I'm really curious about how you'll go about it. Will it be anything like your stepdad!harry one? I hate/love stepdad!harry. I love reading it (super guilty pleasure) but in reality that man would be trash so I also hate him.

I'm really looking forward to the stepmom one though, as a 30 year old woman I feel like usually we see a lot of Harry being older and dominant but it would be fun to look at this in a different perspective with reader being a little older.

YES - i know what you mean about stepdad!harry. he's kind of trash but that's the whole point in that au. it's mostly about the smut. 😂

But for stepmom!reader it's not going to be like that at all. As a woman I cannot see her being toxic in the way I've written harry as stepdad.

This one will have some background about her marriage and the kind of arrangement she and harry's dad have.

While it's still a completely messed up situation, this one will be softer and there will be some pining a bit. I've got almost 20k words written for it already and I'm actually loving it. Harry meets yn when he's in college and an adult so there's nothing too odd about them being attracted to one another. She's about 7 years old than him. Harry will be a virgin but not for lack of confidence or charm. You'll see.

But I'll give you a little teaser below the cut (1.3k words). Enjoy!

She was in sweat shorts and a tank top and tennis shoes with no makeup. She had wanted to shower and get freshened up a little at least. Before Harry arrived. Though, she wasn’t entirely sure he actually would come on Friday as he said.

But then she laughed at herself worrying so much over how she looked to her stepson. A silly silly girl, she thought to herself. Who cares? Why should she care? She was doing all this for his birthday party anyway. And she was his stepmom.

Looking down at the placement of the dancefloor tiles being installed she allowed her mind to drift to that night at the club. His warm skin, his deep voice. The way he handled her like he knew what he was doing… She hated that she had been allowing those kinds of thoughts to trickle in about him. Hated, hated that two days ago when she had sex with Leo it was Harry she was thinking about.

She felt like a nasty and disgusting woman. A pervert.

In the early afternoon, the landscaper had gone and the garden looked like it was ready to be filled in with hundreds of people ready to party. She was proud of the way it turned out. It all looked great.

But she was hungry. She’d eat then shower. Hopefully before Harry arrived. If he arrived that evening.

The chef’s kitchen had a lovely granite island with unstained walnut and wide plank hardwood floors. The refrigerator was ridiculously large. Opening up the state-of-the-art appliance she peered inside trying to find something quick to eat. She planned on having cheese tortellini later on. Leo was out for the day and told her not to wait up. That he would be back late. Some conference or something. It wasn’t abnormal for him to be gone for hours or days. She enjoyed the quiet and loved to eat simple dishes when he wasn’t around. Things that she craved like macaroni and cheese, frozen fish sticks, or cheesy tortellini, and a bottle of wine.

She settled on yogurt and a double serving of granola as she sat at the island. She just needed an in-between lunch and dinner snack to tide her over.

Just before she scooped her last bite into her mouth she heard footsteps and then his voice, “Anyone home?”

She quickly scrambled off her stool and stood up just as he entered the kitchen. His dark curls were perfectly placed on his head and he wore a colorful Hawaiian-style shirt and black jeans with leather Chelsea boots.

“Hi! Yeah, was just eating a snack. Uh, make yourself at home, Harry!” Her tone was a bit too perky and she cringed at how silly she sounded.

Harry smiled gently and nodded as he dropped his gaze to her legs and back up, “Yes ma’am. Just gonna take this up to my room first.” He lifted his duffle bag, “Looks really good out there,” gesturing with his thumb over his shoulder, “Looking forward to it.”

“Oh, so glad you like it. It was some work to get everything just right. The guys setting up were so great, though. There are still a few more things to finish up tomorrow but I think for now we’re on track. But um…” she walked to the sink to rinse her bowl out as she looked over her shoulder at Harry, “I’m, uh… just headed to take a shower, though. Haven’t had the chance yet today. So…” she trailed off her sentence. None of what she was saying mattered to him at all. She was sure of that.

Harry puffed out a quick little laugh, “Okay. Yeah. Well, I’ll be in my room.”

Her shower was delightful but her nerves weren’t soothed. She was wound up tight and now that her stepson was here in her house, alone with her… she closed her eyes to compose herself. A ridiculous woman. A dirty and perverted woman. Who thinks of their stepson in this way? It’s absolutely disgusting. Immoral. Depraved. Evil. But it had all begun with that night and the way he danced with her. Innocent. Until it wasn’t.

She stayed in her room for a while. Not sure how she should go about acting casually in front of Harry. After that night at the bar, how could she? They had crossed a line. She had crossed a line. She took responsibility for this whole mess in her mind. She was the one at fault. Harry was only 20. Well, 21 now. Technically his birthday was today.

Fuck! She’d forgotten to wish him happy birthday!

Pulling her leggings up and slipping on a t-shirt she huffed as she paced the room. Well, now she had to go and tell him and also apologize for the state she was in when he arrived and how she’d forgotten and…

Calm down. He probably doesn’t even care, Y/n.

Knocking at his cracked open bedroom door she peeked in to see that Harry wasn’t in there. She looked down the hallway and for some strange reason she stepped into his room and her eyes landed on his laptop that was open.

Porn.

He was watching porn. Y/n let out a surprised laugh and shook her head. She was overstepping so many boundaries. She looked at the screen as she moved away, intending on leaving his bedroom and going to find him when her eyes landed on the title of the video he had up.

Stepmom and Stepson Share a Bed

Her pulse grew fast and her palms began to sweat. Of course, perhaps that meant nothing. Perhaps that was just something he was watching that he found hot and didn’t realize it was stepmom porn or something…

She backed herself out of the room quickly but when she felt his hands on her shoulders and his voice, that fucking voice that sounded like sex, “You okay? Nearly ran me over-“

But he stopped short. He looked at the bed where his laptop was open and realized what she’d seen. He’d been saving his favorite stepmom porn videos lately. This one was just up. He wasn’t actually watching it before he’d stepped out of the room. It had just been on the screen when he closed out the Word doc he was working on for an essay at school.

“Fuck.” He whispered and released her shoulders, “Y/n, I… look that was just-“

Y/n turned with wide eyes and held her hand up quickly, “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have come in here. I was looking for you to um… I was gonna wish you a happy birthday, and I… I’m the one that should be sorry. That…” she pointed toward his bed, “I shouldn’t have seen that.”

Harry was embarrassed. He felt like crawling under the bed and staying there til the day he died. Never to be seen or heard from again. He was so careless to leave that up like that.

He swallowed and ran his hands over his face and shook his head, “Oh my god. Fuck.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Y/n placed her hand on his forearm and pulled one of his arms down, “Look at me.”

Harry opened his eyes and looked at her like she asked, “No worries okay? That was just nothing. It’s just porn. Everyone looks at porn. It’s normal. Okay?”

“Watching stepmom porn is normal?”

Y/n swallowed. She didn’t think he’d directly come out and say that, “Well… I mean… sure. If there’s a category on Pornhub for it that means someone likes it. You’re not the only one.” She tried to laugh but it died in her throat when Harry clenched his jaw and tilted his head back to look up at the ceiling.

“And besides,” her fingers tightened over his arm, “it’s not like that’s about me anyway. Come on… it’s just porn. So don’t-“

“Of course, it’s about you, Y/n. Why else would I be interested in that kind of thing?”

[swayziiwriter]

Trench coat | Erling Haaland

summary: Manchester city’s win of the premier league title puts Erling in a spectacular position for a trench coat visit.

WARNING: 18+, sexual content

NOTE: as a devoted Arsenal fan writing this chapter stung just a bit…

City had won the league, it was a bittersweet day for you as an Arsenal fan. Though you were immensely happy for Erling a part of your heart stung with pain at how close your team came. You decided that the best way to clear your mind of these feelings was to take them out on Erling, specifically during the celebratory surprise you had offered him before the game against Chelsea took place.

I'll come over to your place tonight by 11, after all the celebrations are over

Sounds good, come down to the field I want you down here with me

You smiled at his response, turning off your phone before making your way down to the pitch to celebrate Erling.

•

You reached into your purse, pulling out your key to Erling's place. Shuffling with your outfit and fixing your hair before stepping inside. The lights to the entire first floor were off, the large house surround in darkness. You took this as a sign that he was upstairs like you had asked him to be. You made your way up the stairs to his bedroom, a dim light coming from his room. The sound of your red bottoms clicking against the tiled floor let Erling know you were here just as promised. He turned around to find you leaning against the doors to his master bedroom, a soft smile plastered on your face.

It wasn't until Erling brought his eyes down your body that he finally understood why you had wanted the lights either off or dimmed. Your light brown trench coat illuminated in the soft light, your smooth legs on full display. You turned around closing the doors before slowly making your way to Erling.

You strutted towards him, your heels clicking with every step. Erling wasted no time, bringing your lips to his in a heated kiss. You pulled away breathless trying to focus on your plan for him. "Take off your clothes and sit on the bed" you demanded, taking his chin in your hands. You watched as Erling stripped himself into his boxers, his large body in view. Every curve of his abs and v-line was torture, your mind running wild with thoughts of running your tongue down every muscle. When Erling had sat down you decided it was finally time to put on your show. He watched from the top of the bed, leaning against the headboard. You removed your heels, letting them fall softly on the floor as you moved your focus to removing your trench coat.

You started to undo the buttons as Erling watched closely, studying the way each piece of your lingerie started to show. His breathing was starting to become heavy as you worked seductively. Erling felt the heat rushing to his erected cock, the tent in his boxers becoming more evident as he watched you in your black lingerie set. "So fucking sexy, all for me baby?" He questioned coyly. "Mhm, but you'll have to be the one to take it off" you said, climbing onto the bed into his lap. "Don't mind that at all" he smirked before capturing your lips. Your bodies moved in sync, touching each other everywhere as neediness seeped into your thoughts.

Your body was taken over by lust and the incredible sensation of his soft lips moving with yours once again. The kiss was hot and intense. Both of your tongues fought for control as your bodies drew closer to one another. Erling snuck his tongue back into your mouth as you did and took control, gently biting your bottom lip as he pulled away. Your heartbeat stimulated as the intensity of want hurried through your body.

His hands roamed your body, slowly slipping off your lingerie set. Send chills up your body as heat travelled to your core. "Fuck," you moaned against his lips, as his finger ghosted over your aching pussy.

Erling's actions were the only things on your mind at the moment. His toned body, big hands, extraordinary blue eyes, and lewd manner in which he dipped his finger into your pussy, which made you moan at the sudden contact. He didn't stop, he pushed one more finger in twisting them and stroking you, rapidly. As his skillful fingers dug deeper into your core and his lips touched your pulse point, you started to feel dizzy.

"Erling," you cried, your body shivering with expectation. You put your hands on his head, pushing him closer to where you really wanted him. Before placing his tongue on your pussy, he gave you a wickedly self-congratulatory grin as you foolishly glanced down. The prompt joy of feeling him swipe his warm tongue up your cunt made you forget all about your plans to be in control.

On your throbbing clit, every lick, suck, and flick of his tongue was perfectly placed. You were moaning softly as your hands tangled deeper into his blonde locs still kept up. He didn't stop, pushing his face deeper into your pussy as you came on his face. Recovery from your first orgasm was short, wasting no time with Erling as these moments were precious. You turned around, bringing your bodies to their previous position leaning down to kiss him and grind against him, relieving the pressure on your throbbing pussy. Not many words were spoken as you grabbed Erling out his boxers, discarding of them.

Erling was thick and heavy in your hand, pulsing and dripping with pre cum as you swiped a finger across the tip before sinking down onto his cock. He initially let you ride him as you adjusted to the pressure, but as soon as your pace picked up, he grabbed your hips and fucked into you, causing you to stumble on top of him. You grabbed his chest and scratched it red, doing anything to try to control yourself as you fell into another orgasm.

As you dug your nails back into his chest, cumming once more, more explicit words spewed out of your mouth. Before turning you around to lie under him, Erling briefly let go of your hips. Erling pushed your thighs open and played with your nipples while pressing his cock against your drenched pussy, indicating that he was still ruining you. He pulled your breast out of his mouth, speaking soft words. "So beautiful like this." He slipped his cock as far as possible at his words, leaving you unfit to answer. After that, he rough-fucked you into the sheets, leaving you gasping for air by the time your third orgasm and finally his arrived.

Erling waited for your nod of approval before letting go inside of you, costing your walls with thick layers of his cum. He filled you completely. When he pulled out, you were completely worn out and closed your eyes as Erling spoke to you in a whisper. Reassuring you that this had been one of the best rounds of sex you'd had. You could only smile, bringing your body to lie on top of his, listening to his racing heart beat. Speaking soft word of "I love you" as you let him wrap his arms around your body, keeping him close.

[apoemaday]

(I Refuse to Pray)

by Chelsea Dingman

That’s a lie. But Jesus, I don’t know you or your father. My father & daughter are dead

& I am not equal to this anger. I am the south Florida summer rains that know no mercy. I am the knife

-edge of night. The edge of the pond where someone once drowned. Where have you been hiding?

Green blades of grass are ghosts now. It’s winter. Forty degrees. Frost has set in. The alligators

have disappeared from water holes. Only the crows sit on tile roofs, waiting for what we’ll throw away.

Charm me. Harm me. It’s all the same. In the distance: a pink sky. Sirens. A stoplight, changing on a timer.

See my stomach? Look: it sags like a six-month-old balloon. The skin, stretched into a makeshift shrine.

Can you hear me? I want less sky. Less sun. Less weather. Listen: the wind

is blessing every door. In the hush of night -fall, I almost hear snow, even here. I am almost

home, in this body. Almost something holy.

[themculibrary]

POV Natasha Romanoff Masterlist

AKA Odessa (ao3) - sirendoom T, 3k

Summary: Natasha was given a mission years ago to escort an engineer but encounters a mysterious enemy along the way.

Balance (ao3) - Yossk T, 44k

Summary: One jaw-achingly cold night in the Andes, Natasha staggers up a flight of ceramic-tiled steps, one arm pressed to her gut and the other fishing around in a pocket for her keys. She’s bleary-eyed and aching and so, so tired, and she nearly forgets to check for the hair she left trapped in the door this morning until it’s almost too late.

Natasha packs her bags and leaves, again and again and again. She forgets the world she's left behind and just survives. She's always worked best alone.

Until a familiar face tracks her down and she has no choice but to return home. Because there's one thing she'll always fight for.

cast your eyes to heaven, you get a knife in the back (ao3) - itstotesgodswill G, 1k

Summary: In the years following the blip, Natasha Romanoff throws herself into her work.

Congratulations on an Excellent Kill (ao3) - igrockspock T, 1k

Summary: In which Natasha discovers that Hallmark does not in fact make a greeting card for every occasion.

Emphasis (ao3) - Princess_of_Words clint/laura T, 10k

Summary: Natasha Romanoff was indifferent to soumates. Any hope she might have had of actually finding friendship or being wanted was quashed by her mark: "Correction, I was going to kill you." But sometimes, not all is at it seems. Sometimes monsters are just people waiting to be given another choice.

Clint & Natasha Platonic Soulmate AU. Also featuring Laura, Steve, and cameos by Coulson.

Eyes for London (ao3) - Builder T, 863

Summary: At first Nat’s happy when when they boarded the jet set to ferry them to London.  She won’t have to spend half the ride teaching Clint to say hello in the local language.  She’s so overconfident, in fact, that she leaves the mission briefing paperwork to peruse in-flight.

“Undercover,” she reads aloud, trailing her finger under the text, “Posing as local businesspeople living in an apartment near Chelsea.”

“Ok.”  Clint nods gamely.  “We can do that.”

Nat looks at him out of the corner of her eye.  “How’s your accent?”

Fearless (ao3) - elle1991 clint/laura E, 291k

Summary: Fearless: A Black Widow origin story.

How did Natasha Romanoff go from being an ordinary child, to one of the deadliest assassins in modern history, to one of Earth's mightiest heroes?

Starting when Natasha was three years old and going right up to the present day, this fic explores Natasha's life as a Red Room Academy student, KGB agent, SHIELD agent and Avenger - and how she grew to be so much more than any of those labels.

Firestorm (ao3) - sunzeniths clint/natasha T, 3k

Summary: Natasha reflects on her relationship with Clint Barton, what takes place in Vormir, and everything that leads up to that moment.

How to be a Heartbreaker (ao3) - enigma731 clint/natasha T, 6k

Summary: “You want me to teach seduction,” Natasha says disgustedly.

Fury sighs. “The official name of the course is Interpersonal Espionage Techniques.”

“Seduction,” she insists. “I’m a spy, not a school mistress.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Interesting choice of words there.”

I am a Pillar of Strength, Watch Me Crumble (ao3) - Rosie2009 T, 1k

Summary: Natasha awakens from a nightmare, doing her best to keep the trauma to herself. However, she quickly realizes that the smallest member of their little family noticed her struggles and came to check on her. She revels in the luck of having someone that loves her unconditionally.

kisses in the sunset (ao3) - flyandfall maria/natasha T, 2k

Summary: Despite being partnered with Steve Rogers for ages, Natasha Romanoff has yet to tell him about her relationship with Maria Hill.

She doesn't want to admit it, but she's scared.

mizuko (ao3) - ashlearose13 clint/natasha T, 4k

Summary: Clint and Natasha try.

(And try and try and try)

Scream 'Til the World Has Gone Deaf (ao3) - Kilameia T, 2k

Summary: Steve’s memory is perfect. Sometimes it’s more of a curse than a blessing. Sometimes memories play out in front of him. Sometimes nightmares do instead.

With HYDRA in the process of being burned to the ground, Natasha is learning that Steve Rogers is more human than Captain America ever was.

Sleep Cycles (ao3) - waynestarks G, 3k

Summary: Nat lets Tony off with a lot more than he should be; Tony lets Nat leave because he wishes he could do the same.

Spiral Galaxy (ao3) - freshbakedlady T, 7k

Summary: Natasha Romanov comes to SHIELD with nothing. They give her clothing and food, a job, a purpose. (The team, she picks out for herself.) With a universe's slowness, her life expands.

Syzygy (ao3) - Domenika Marzione (domarzione) bucky/natasha N/R, 4k

Summary: In astronomy, a syzygy (/ˈsɪzɪdʒi/; from the Ancient Greek σύζυγος, suzugos, 'yoked together') is a roughly straight-line configuration of three or more celestial bodies in a gravitational system.

(Natasha + The Old Guard + the 20th Century )

there's a ghost in my heart, I'm not willing to free (ao3) - BlackBelladonna T, 4k

Summary: She felt her mind trying to chase a thought, a blurred memory she couldn't reach. She ignored the nausea raising within her once again. The girl was shaking slightly, her fingers clenching and unclenching in order to gain some semblance of control.

"Kill her."

—

She felt sick.

For once, she wanted to let it all out. She needed to let it out, or she felt like she would break apart irremediably.

—

"Tasha?"

The Scars She Wore (ao3) - saltwaterselkie T, 2k

Summary: Natasha Romanoff was bleeding. A lot.

This was not particularly surprising, given that she’d just been stabbed. It turned out the human body wasn’t as good at keeping the blood on the inside when it was punctured by a sharp object.

Or: S.H.I.E.L.D.'s newest Russian-spy-turned-agent is keeping a secret, and her archer partner is about to find out what it is.

Three Halloweens (ao3) - flipflop_diva T, 1k

Summary: Natasha and Yelena and the three Halloweens they spent in Ohio.

What He Doesn't Need to Know (ao3) - flipflop_diva steve/natasha T, 3k

Summary: Yelena grinned. “If you two get married someday, I’m happy to be your maid of honor,” she said. “Captain America and Black Widow. What a sight that would be.”

-

Yelena has a mission. Natasha is not happy about it.

When the Wolves Come Home (ao3) - orphan_account alexi/melina T, 12k

Summary: Natasha doesn't want a sister. She knows this before she meets Yelena, and she knows this after they're shipped off to Ohio to act as the children of Alexei Shostakov and Melina Vostokoff. Familial attachments mean nothing to her - she can't miss something she's never known. So, yes, she doesn't want a sister, but somewhere along the years of putting up with the craziness of her dysfunctional family, Yelena becomes just that.

[holdoncallfailed]

would you recommend todd haynes’ documentary on the velvet underground? if have you seen it

yes!!!!!!!!! i would definitely recommend it, i've seen it many times and cried every time lol. i can understand why it didn't appeal to some people because it's not really a definitive account of the band's whole career and it bucks a lot of "music documentary" conventions. it's really more about their first album and the context (both literal and ideological) in which it was made, i.e. the nyc arts scene and andy warhol & co. but my questions to critics of the documentary would be "what could you possibly say about the velvet underground that hasn't already been said? what would a full and comprehensive and perfect documentary about this band actually look like on a practical level? who among us on this earth could create a movie that would even come close to capturing them???"

i think the thing that struck me especially seeing it in a cinema was the sequences of images all tiled across the screen, or the chelsea girls-esque splitscreen model throughout most of the film, was the EXCESS of imagery, something that really didn't exist until more recently but warhol managed to presage (like so many other things). and i think what was so remarkable about the velvets was that same excess—of sound—and how it always teetered on the edge of too much, of genuinely uncomfortable or even physically painful to listen to while also seemingly coming from inscrutable sources, some unknown unseen elsewhere (jonathan richman talks about this in the doc and also says it very plainly in his song about vu: "you can look at that band and wonder where / all that sound was coming from with just four people there"). so i think reflecting that in the collage-like chaos of archival footage and warhol's screen tests and random tv ads and photographs and everything else that haynes chopped and screwed and sprinkled all over the screen is so brilliant. because there really is no visual equivalent to their sound. what else could you possibly ask for????

i just think the whole thing is so EXCITING it just leaves me in raptures which is exactly how it feels to hear venus in furs or heroin for the first time when you're a teenager and you feel like your head is going to pop clean off your neck. like there isn't a body strong enough to hold all that sound.

[agent-cupcake]

Asteria

Pairing: Yuri Leclerc x f!reader

Synopsis: After moving to the big city and starting a new job working for the lawyer Aelfric Dahlman, you meet Yuri Leclerc. And then the dreams begin.

Warnings: explicit smut, dubcon (dream sex)

Tags: incubi, modern AU, more plot than porn, manipulation, naïve reader, some light drugging

Notes: @pastrycreams asked for Yuri with the prompt of "Dreams" and specified incubi and this fell out of my fingers. It's similar to Somnambulant with Linhardt but I tried to keep it from being same-y.

Please note that this is wildly inaccurate. Christian Louboutin does not make spiked Chelsea boots in white.

Word Count: 10.9k

“Well, well, what do we have here?” 

The smooth voice startled you enough to let out a little squeak, falling out of your crouch beneath the desk where you had been, with middling success, trying to untangle the mess of wires. You hadn’t even heard someone come in. Sitting in an embarrassing splay on the cold tile, you looked at the speaker, scanning from a pair of shiny white spiked Chelsea boots with red soles and up to a set of eyeliner-winged eyes. Long-ish lavender hair tied in a tail, smiling pink lips, and well dressed in what you could only describe as fashionably androgynous, the man’s appearance in the context of a shiny professional law firm was nearly as surprising as the suddenness of his interruption. 

“My apologies,” he said, offering you a hand and a warm grin and a distinct lack of contrition. “I had no intention of scaring you.”  

“No, no, it’s okay,” you said hurriedly, accepting his hand to stand up with no small amount of hot-faced embarrassment. Despite all appearances, he lifted you up with ease, his grip firm and steady. Rather than releasing you right away, his touch lingered, fingertips trailing over your palm as he pulled away. Was that intentional? It made your stomach buzz with butterflies. “Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure,” he told you. “Maybe you can help me in return. I’m here to see Aelfric, is he in?” 

“Yes, he is,” you said, caught off guard all over again. Flustered for entirely non-professional reasons and hoping desperately he couldn’t tell. You pressed the button on the phone to call Mr. Dahlman. 

“You have a… visitor, sir,” you said, stammering upon the realization that you hadn’t asked for a name. 

“I’ll be right out,” he replied over the speaker.

“I’m really sorry,” you told said visitor. “I didn’t know Mr. Dahlman had any appointments this afternoon.”

“He doesn’t, that’s precisely why I’m here,” he said, giving no further explanation. 

You frowned, unsure how to interpret that. “I… see.” 

“I’m Yuri, by the way,” he told you, brushing past your confusion with ease. “You’re Aelfric’s new receptionist, yeah?” His eyes slowly gave you a very obvious once over, not so lecherous as it was admiring. Or maybe those two things were a little less defined with people as pretty as him. “I suppose that means we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.” He smirked. “Look forward to it.”

“Yuri,” Mr. Dahlman said, coming out of his office just in time to graciously save you from having to answer. “What a pleasant surprise.” 

“Well I wouldn’t want you to get bored,” Yuri said, smiling at Mr. Dahlman with a friendly familiarity. “You didn’t tell me you were looking for a new receptionist.”

“Yes, it was rather short notice.” Mr. Dahlman looked at you. “Mr. Leclerc is a close associate of mine… Yuri, shall we speak in my office? I'm sure she's still busy getting settled in.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble, Mr. Dahlman,” you readily told him. “If there’s anything you need, please let me know. You as well, Mr. Leclerc.”

“Someone’s eager. You’re new to the city, aren’t you,” Yuri said knowingly, a little dryly. 

You blinked at him in surprise, looking at Mr. Dahlman and back again before smiling abashedly. “How did you guess?” 

“Stick around a while,” Yuri told you. “I’m sure you’ll see exactly what I mean.”

“Um, alright,” you said, nodding because that seemed to be the right response. It made Yuri smile. There was a mirth dancing in his eyes that seemed distinctly amused, even interested. 

The two men disappeared back into Mr. Dahlman’s office and you sat down, attempting to turn the computer on only to remember what you had been doing in the first place. Back onto the floor you went, more aware now of how ridiculous you probably looked and hyper aware of the sound of a door opening. Luckily, you avoided further embarrassment and were back in your seat by the time Yuri left Mr. Dahlman’s office. 

“It was nice meeting you, Mr. Leclerc,” you told him with a professional smile. Yuri paused, evaluating you with his head titled slightly. 

“You too,” he told you. “And if you have any problems here, be sure to let me know. I’ve got some experience living in the city.” 

“Oh. Um, thank you very much, Mr. Leclerc,” you said, hoping your surprise didn’t taint the sincerity of your gratitude. “That’s very kind of you.” 

“Don’t mention it,” Yuri said with a warm smile. “I’ve got a feeling you and I are going to get along just fine.” 

Again with the butterflies, juvenile as they were. “I hope so, Mr. Leclerc,” you told him. 

“Have a good night,” he said. “I don’t doubt we’ll see each other again soon.” 

The dusky sky outside the windows behind his desk dyed Mr. Dahlman’s office in rich oranges and yellows, reflecting off of the picturesque skyline view as you stepped into his open doorway. People warned you of the city before you moved here, and you understood why, but sometimes the sights were just so heart-achingly beautiful you couldn’t help but love it.

“Is there anything else you need before I go?” you asked Mr. Dahlman. 

“Oh, no,” he said, looking up from whatever he was working on with a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Yes, of course,” you said. But you didn’t leave right away, chewing on your lip as you considered if it would be okay to ask. Surely there were taboos about what you could speak to your employer about regarding his work, but it wasn’t as if Mr. Dahlman was just your boss. You knew him through the Church, he was an active member and close friend of your local priest. Since you had experience working as a secretary, he agreed to an interview. Everything after that was, as you liked to think of it, a gift from the goddess.

“Is there something else?” Mr. Dahlman asked. You hesitated, knowing that you had been far too obvious lingering in his doorway yet embarrassed to be called out on it. 

“That man from earlier, Mr. Leclerc,” you ventured. “He’s not a client?” 

“No,” Mr. Dahlman said. “I retain Yuri’s services. I apologize for not warning you beforehand, he has a habit of coming in unannounced.”

“He does this often?” you asked.

“You must forgive his eccentricities,” Mr. Dahlman said. “Yuri is a skilled professional and, if you will forgive my honesty, a personal friend.” His tone was strange. Tense, putting special emphasis on each word to impart his meaning. 

“Oh, I-I wasn’t upset or anything,” you quickly told him. “And I didn’t mean to sound rude, I was just curious. I’m sorry to have pried.” 

“The goddess would hardly condemn curiosity, and neither will I,” Mr. Dahlman told you warmly, easing your concerns. “I assure you that Yuri is worthy of your trust.”

That assurance made your shoulders relax, letting go of the tension you had barely been aware of. If Mr. Dahlman said someone was trustworthy, you could believe that wholeheartedly. “That’s good then,” you said. “Thank you. Have a good night, Mr. Dahlman.”  

“You too,” he said. “Do try to get a full night’s rest, I shudder to think of what your mother would say if you returned ragged and overworked.” 

That made you smile as you left.

“Who are you?” you asked, sitting up to get a better look at the figure standing in front of your window. They were indistinct with shadow, outlined in the bluish light from outside. Seeing a stranger in your room didn’t frighten you. Dream logic made the situation entirely normal, natural.  

A dream. You couldn’t define how you knew it was, but you did. 

“Your room is cute,” the figure said, speaking in a distinctly masculine voice. He turned around. Faintly, you could see his face, the little smile he wore as he considered you. A part of your mind, fanciful and floating, wondered if he was an angel. A spirit sent by the goddess herself. “I didn’t expect you to be an artist, although I can’t say I’m surprised by your faith. It’s not something I mind, but…” He paused, sighing as he approached your bed. “Hiring a sweet, innocent little airhead to be his secretary just to tempt me into continuing to play along was low. He acted as if he has no idea, it was nearly enough to make me reconsider taking the bait. But then again…” 

“Wait,” you said, frowning as you tried to make sense of his words. Confused more than anything. Dazed, sluggish in both thought and movement. 

“What am I waiting for?” he asked, his voice low and eyes half lidded. With each slow, measured step he’d gotten even closer. 

“I don’t know,” you said, frowning. If this was a dream, and you could only surmise that it was, it was the most vivid dream you’d ever had. “We’ve met before?” 

“Very good,” he said sarcastically, kneeling on your bed and easily pulling away your blanket. The air wasn’t cold, but goosebumps covered your bare legs. “I don’t suppose you remember my name?” 

In the dim light, his hair was darker, but his purple eyes were luminous as they scanned your body, his skin practically glowing with the subtle shine of a star. A ghost, a vision of beauty. 

“Mr. Leclerc?" you guessed.

That made him laugh, looking at your face with a smile not all too dissimilar from the one you had seen in the waking world. Yuri Leclerc. The odd, beautiful man with the nice clothes and butterfly inducing smirk. Not an angel at all, then. 

“Is that really what you want to call me now?” he asked, leaning in closer, his fingertips trailing up your neck to nudge your chin a little higher. Your breathing was out of control and unsteady, the only part of your body that seemed to be moving in real time and not in the sluggish trance. 

“What are you doing?” you whispered, reaching out to touch his arm. Instead, Yuri entwined his fingers between your own, pinning your hand against the headboard as he crawled fully onto your bed, hovering above you. “Wait,” you protested again, but you weren’t really fighting. 

“Why?” Yuri asked, his face so close to your own you could feel the brushing air of that word. You expected him to kiss you, but he didn’t, his lips trailing across your cheek instead. “It’s your dream.”

Did that mean it was okay? You squirmed, all too aware of the weight of his body against your own. It felt real. He felt real. 

“It’s… wrong,” you muttered, although there wasn’t much conviction in your voice.

“Do you really think so? I think it’s only natural to dream of what we desire,” Yuri told you. His voice lowered a bit, his eyes hypnotically fixated on your own. “It’s okay to be honest with yourself. The goddess will forgive you for what you can’t control.” 

Those words buzzed sweetly in your head, filling you with a floaty sort of warmth. It was okay, that made sense. Just a dream. You used to dream often about all sorts of things, it wasn’t your fault. 

“There is something you want, right?” he prompted. You hesitated for a long moment before nodding, a barely perceptible bob of your head. What you wanted. Your eyes dropped down to his mouth, hovering so close to your own, but you couldn’t just ask, the words weren’t there. “A kiss?” Yuri guessed. Your sharp intake of breath was enough of a response for him to smile. “Just a kiss?” he pushed, teasing now. 

You squirmed nervously, utterly aware of his proximity and unable to meet his eyes. “What else?” you finally asked, your voice quiet. 

He hesitated, and then laughed, pressing his face against yours so you could feel his smile. “You are so very lucky that I’m patient. But you’re right. There’s no need to rush this.”  

And then he kissed you. 

You had just gotten home from work when your mother called, barely a step past the threshold when you heard the ringtone you’d assigned for her contact.

“Hey mom!” you greeted her on the third ring, toeing off your shoes and dropping your stuff in the entryway. Which was also the living room and kitchen. City living was cramped beyond reason, although you thought your apartment was charming. “Perfect timing, I literally just walked in the door.” 

“Oh, that's good! I wasn't sure if it was a bad time, but I called to see how you’re doing,” she told you. Hearing her voice was more than enough to make you desperately homesick, but you pushed that emotion down. “Have you been settling in alright?” 

“I am,” you told her.

“Everything’s good at work?” 

“Yes, Mr. Dahlman is a great boss,” you responded, dropping sideways onto the little couch you’d managed to fit into the living space. “I’m learning all sorts of things already.” 

“And your art?”

“Still working on it, when I have time,” you told her. “I probably won’t have anything ready to submit for a while, but… I love being here, there’s so much to do and see and… But I miss you guys a lot.” 

“We miss you too,” she said. Conversation went on from there. She told you about your dad, and about the various goings-on of the small town you had moved out of, and you told her stories of the craziness of city life. 

“Have you met any friends?” she asked eventually, an innocent question all things considered. But it gave you pause. Of all things, guilt dropped into your stomach at the idea of meeting someone. It was as instinctual as it was confusing, you hadn’t done anything, had you? 

“Uhm—no,” you finally responded. Nerves danced uncertainty within you, causing your eyes to flick from shadow to shadow in search of something you knew wasn’t there. 

“Are you okay?” she asked. You blinked a few times, shaking your head at the odd reaction. 

“Yeah, just really tired, I think,” you said. “I didn’t sleep very well last night.” Trying to play it off, you laughed a little, although thinking about the night before didn’t help much with the feeling. “Anyway, The people in the congregation are really nice, but most of them are older. You know how it is, I’m sure I’ll meet lots of new people when I start classes.” 

Before long, both of you had to leave to figure out the dinner situation. She scolded you about eating too many frozen meals, and you assured her that you wouldn’t be. Boxed macaroni and cheese was completely different. 

But that incomprehensible sense of shame returned in full force as you got ready for bed. Focusing too hard on the thought made it scitter away, but you were certain you had dreamed about someone in particular. That didn’t help with the shame, even if it was ridiculous. Obviously you had never entertained a man in your home, let alone in your bedroom. Intimacy was one of those things you expected would come later in life, as a result of being in love, with somebody you cared deeply about. These odd flashes of memory were akin to the strange dreams you had as a child, the nightmares you cried to your parents about. 

Not real.

Every time Yuri touched you, your entire body jerked. No matter how lightly his fingertips grazed your skin, how gently he traced little circles over the drenched fabric of your panties, you jolted and strained against your restraints. Whatever bound your arms above your head—in a dream, it didn’t matter, it was merely a part of the set, a part of the hazy unreality—kept you from intervening in his slow torture. And that’s what this was, what it had to be. Torturous.  

“Yuri,” you got out, trying to breathe, trying to find purchase in a world crumbling around you, hazy in the overbearing heat of lust. “Please…” 

“What’s the matter?” he asked, utterly innocent as his fingers dragged across your clothed slit, pressing the fabric against the oversensitive flesh a little harder. “I’m taking it slow, just like you wanted.” 

Vaguely, you knew that was what you had said. To take it slow, to leave your clothes on, to keep from falling truly into the depravity your brain seemed to be reveling in. Was that really what you wanted? At this point, you couldn’t tell. More of this would be your undoing, but if he stopped, your need would burn you from the inside out. 

“Unless you’ve changed your mind,” he teased, his hands flattening out across your inner thighs to spread them wider. The way his elegant fingers indented the soft flesh stoked the artist side of you, although that only fed the lust. 

“I don’t know,” you said, practically whining with distress. 

“There are people who would kill to get an offer like that from me,” Yuri told you, his head tilting to expose his perfectly pale neck. That was all you could see, considering he was still dressed. Even that tiny amount of skin was enough to believe him, to believe that people would kill for this. “But that’s part of why I like you. All buttoned up and proper, oh-so sheltered. Even in a dream, you can’t bring yourself to admit what you want. Of course, I wouldn’t mind a bit more…”

You practically spasmed when he touched your clit, using the extra friction of the fabric to make you shudder, your legs trying to close. 

“No?” Yuri asked, forcing your thighs to spread once again. “That’s fine… For now.” He pushed one arm beneath your hips and lowered himself between your legs, ensuring you were watching. You strained once more against the restraints, back arching, muscles so tense you felt close to breaking, but you couldn’t look away as his head dropped. His mouth was warm and wet and you could almost imagine what it would be like without the barrier of your panties in the way. His tongue wetted the fabric further as it traced your clit, refusing to give you pressure where you most needed it. 

Yuri just laughed when you tried to grind against his face, pulling away and letting your hips drop back down to the bed. You exhaled heavily, almost like a sob if it weren’t so airy. 

“Say the word,” he told you as he sat up, meeting your eyes again. “And I’ll give you exactly what you want.” He hesitated, shrugging one shoulder. “Or, at the very least, I’ll think about it.” 

You frowned, eyebrows furrowing. “But this is… It’s my dream, so why…?” 

“You’re right,” Yuri agreed, crawling forward until his face was right in front of your own. His eyes were so clear, so perfectly intense, that you felt right then that this couldn’t possibly be a dream. “You have a filthy mind, you know that?”

“He’ll be with you in a minute,” you said, trying to sound professional.

“No problem, I don’t mind waiting,” Yuri Leclerc said with a charming smile, leaning against your desk instead of sitting in one of the comfortable leather chairs to wait. That didn’t make your predicament any easier because the longer he hung around, the more convinced you were that your sinking suspicions were right. 

You were going to scramble your brains to be jarred like the Egyptians did to their Pharaohs. You were going to personally reintroduce the lobotomy to the medical world. You were going to never sleep again if it meant you could wipe away the memory you had of Yuri Leclerc in your dreams. Yuri Leclerc, a man you had met once, kissing you, touching you. 

How many times? You could only remember little moments, the fleeting gossamer of dream difficult to pin down in any meaningful way. It had been a few days since your first meeting, but you knew you’d been sleeping rather poorly ever since. 

“Do you want something to drink?” you asked, doing your best to act innocent, to push those thoughts down as far as you could manage. “We have Coke. I think there’s also juice. And water, of course.”

“Not right now,” Yuri told you. “Although if the offer’s still on the table later tonight, I’d happily take you up on it. Assuming the drink comes with the pleasure of your company.” 

You laughed nervously, trying to be a good sport and not think about how striking his silky black shirt looked against his ivory skin. “Well, we close at six usually, so it can’t be too late.” 

His eyes narrowed. No eyeshadow today, although he didn’t exactly need it to make the color of his eyes pop. “Do you work at being adorably clueless, or does it come naturally?” he asked, deadpan. 

It took you a moment to realize what he was talking about, especially when your brain shorted out at having been called adorable. “Oh, I…”

“Naturally then,” he said. Seeing your nervous expression, he softened. “Don’t get so worked up, I’m just teasing.” 

“Right. Yeah, I know, I’m just-”

“Yuri,” Mr. Dahlman called in greeting, cutting you off. 

Yuri looked at you. “Think about that drink, yeah? I’d love to get to know you a little better.” 

Usually you left Church services feeling rejuvenated, but the week’s sermon about sin had left you feeling heavy and tired. 

Sin wasn’t something you had ever seriously considered. It was natural, of course. Mankind sinned. The goddess knew that, which was why she was a forgiving force. But internal sin, the kind that was determined not by action but by thought, had never seemed as important to you as the sin of deeds or speech. Everyone had ugly thoughts that weren’t representative of them as a person, things that they would never say or act upon. The things you thought about Yuri weren’t exactly ugly, and you could accept that it was normal to be attracted to a man who seemed crafted to invite attraction on both an artistic and intimate level, but you knew it was a sin. A grave, vile sin. 

When your mom called that afternoon, the last thing you wanted to do was talk, but you didn’t want to worry her either. Most of it went fine. Talking about home and the city, leaving out a few key details. 

“Are you doing okay, hon?” she asked, her concern obvious even over the phone. You realized you’d been a little spaced out, looking with a sickened sense of horror at the pages of your most recent sketches. A dream given life. Far too much life. 

“No, things are going really well!” you told her, shutting the notebook and trying to sound positive. 

“And with your art?” she asked. “You haven’t mentioned that.” 

Of course you hadn’t mentioned that you’d been obsessively rendering the same lovely face to paper and canvas, the same pair of royal eyes, the same smirking lips. 

“I’ve been too busy,” you told her. “Since there’s so much construction, there are a lot of dispute cases. But Mr. Dahlman said it’ll be over before classes start, so it’s fine.” 

“Do you want to be punished?” Yuri asked, obviously making fun of you. He kept distracting you from what he was saying, his fingers lazily toying with your clit. Panties off this time, although you couldn’t recall when that happened. The sensation of direct touch shot hot, blinding need through you. Even the smallest nudge was nearly more than you could bear, worse because he acted so indifferent. “For this supposed sin, I mean. Or maybe you think you deserve it. Should desire be met with condemnation? Even if you’re not hurting anybody? Even if it results in pleasure for both parties involved?” 

Paying attention was difficult when you were so hyper focused on the hand between your legs, but you knew that you needed to because Yuri got testy when he had to repeat himself. For all that you ever thought about taking things slow, or not allowing them at all, you very badly did not want him to stop. 

“But it… it doesn’t,” you finally told him, gathering together enough of a thought to speak somewhat clearly. “You’re not real.” 

Even though you said that, the pleasure certainly felt real. He smelled real, sweet and fresh. Yuri had taken off his shirt at some point. He was as perfect as you imagined, surprisingly muscular considering his slighter frame. Scars littered his body, old but stark against his soft, pale skin. Beautiful, so lovely that you knew you’d never properly capture it on paper. Above all else, his body was solid, comfortably warm against your own, his hair silken and soft between your fingers. 

“Oh, you’re going to hurt my feelings, saying things like that,” Yuri told you, feigning a pout. His hand pulled away, but you didn’t have time to mourn its absence as he pushed you onto your back, splayed beneath him like so many times before. The ceiling glittered with stars. No longer your room, then. You yelped in confusion at the shift, squirming, but he easily kept you pinned. Watching your face intently, his fingers finally pushed past the fluttering muscles of your entrance.

You had tested it a few times while awake, only to be met with disappointment at how poor of a replacement your own hand was for his. When Yuri curled his fingers against your inner walls, your entire self reacted, drawing up taut and your mouth falling open in a moan. Physical sensation, psychological arousal, physiological pleasure, he electrified your entire being so easily, so casually. 

“Yuri…” you gasped, clawing at the sheets as he pulled his fingers out, thrusting them into you deeper, a little more roughly. Your pussy squeezed his fingers desperately, your body chasing pleasure independently of you. 

“You never did answer my question,” Yuri said, his voice lower but otherwise unaffected. Always so aloof, so detached. God like, almost.

All you had as an answer was a moan, low and filthy and needy. You didn’t want to think, you just wanted him to never stop, to enjoy this dream always, to have him always. 

“Do you,” Yuri asked, his fingers pumping into you at an agonizingly slow pace, “think you deserve to be punished?” 

You swallowed hard, your head pushing back into the pillows and body straining. Whenever you dared to peek at him, the unfairness of it all was alarming. Here you were in a state of sweaty disarray, bared before him, and Yuri looked so casual, so poised. You groaned in frustration, whimpered when he responded with a harsher thrust. 

“I don’t know,” you told him.

“There’s something about you that makes me think you’d enjoy a bit of pain, you know? Whips, chains, that sort of thing. Of course, I would never stoop to such medieval methods,” Yuri said, setting a faster, harder pace. He didn’t usually go too far, unraveling you little by little until pushing you over the edge, but this was different. Yuri seemed entirely focused on getting you off, on overwhelming you with friction, with pleasure. “Something to consider, at least.” 

You shook your head, back arching. When his other hand descended to play with your clit, the influx of sensation was nearly enough to confuse you, to delay the breaking point out of something like confusion. 

“Yuri, I can’t, I’m—” 

“Go ahead, then,” he told you warmly, almost mockingly. “Come for me.” 

Your entire body seized up, responding to his words as if they were a command. Maybe they were, Yuri could certainly pass for a kind, generous king, touching you and giving you pleasure as he saw fit. Or an angel, like you first assumed. Or a god, as he so often looked above you.

You gasped, opening your eyes, desperately trying to chase that snapped thread of pleasure, of warmth, only to realize that your room was bright with early morning sunshine. Sweaty and tangled up in your sheets, you were still fully dressed and very, very alone. Need pulsed angrily between your legs, demanding satisfaction in full, but you didn’t dare feed into it. Even as the dream faded, its contents covered with the gauze of unconsciousness, you knew that it had been wrong. 

Being left wet and wanting wasn’t the worst thing. Even the sinking, sickening idea that you could dream about things you’d never previously considered before now wasn’t as bad as the loneliness. You hadn’t thought you were lonely before, you hadn’t considered that you would want to have a partner at this point in your life. But now you knew what it was to be without, and it was miserable. 

The sound of Mr. Dahlman’s office door opening and closing startled you into hastily shutting the notebook you’d been doodling in, realizing with a jolt of panic that you had been drawing the same familiar shapes and figures. 

“Did it go well?” you asked Yuri as he came around to the front. 

“It always does,” he responded with that heart-achingly handsome smile. “What about you? Don’t you get bored sitting in here all day?” 

“Maybe a little,” you told him. “But it’s a good job.” 

“Is it? Heh, well, one day, I’ll get you out of this stuffy office,” Yuri said playfully as he pulled his coat on. Fur, probably not real. Most likely designer, if the other brands you’d seem him flaunt were anything to go by. On most people, it would have looked gaudy, but Yuri wore it effortlessly. “Aelfric can’t keep you in here chained to this desk forever.” 

“I’m not chained to anything,” you said, your stomach sinking because something about that word felt uncomfortably familiar. 

“Haha,” Yuri said dryly, although he hadn’t stopped smiling. Would he still smile at you if he knew the images your brain conjured of him? The unspeakable things your fevered brain had imagined him doing? “You know what I mean.” 

“Maybe, but it’s not like I’m unhappy here,” you said. All that could possibly hope to rival the shame and disgust weighing down your heart like lead was the desire. That was the worst of all. You weren’t sure which was worse, the idea of him accepting your advances or rejecting them. Either way would land you in the same awful, sinful spot, give or take some humiliation. 

“We’ll see about that.” 

Your stomach clenched, your eyes turning down to avoid his because you swore you could combust if you had to look at that mischievous grin. “Have a nice day, Mr. Leclerc.” 

You could sense his frown, even if you didn't see it. “You too.”

It had been a slow day. Mr. Dahlman was out most of it, always running errands here and there. Things weren’t necessarily slowing down in general, but time had an awful tendency to drag on and on at a snails pace when you were in the office alone. 

If anything, a man entering the office unannounced with a welcome distraction. At first. 

“Can I help you, sir?” you asked. He was not someone you recognized, but that wasn’t alarming in and of itself. What did give you pause was the way he marched through the sleek glass door with a furrowed brow and a vein popping in his shiny forehead. Despite that look of rage, his appearance suggested a professional of some kind, wearing a nice suit with his hair slicked back. You got to your feet when you realized he intended to walk right past your desk, heart fluttering at his thunderous expression. “Sir? Can I help you?” 

“Is he here?” he asked, looking past you at Mr. Dahlman’s office. 

“No, Mr. Dahlman’s not in right now,” you said. “May I take a message?” 

The man exhaled heavily, practically exhaling steam through his nostrils. Tense seconds ticked by, they felt like hours. Eventually, he leveled his glare at you. 

“Yeah, tell that bastard he’ll get his fuckin’ money, but he’s going to have to wait for it.” He ran a hand over his hair. “I can’t give him what I haven’t got.” He leveled a single, ringed finger at you. “But if he releases it, he’ll get jack shit. You’ll tell him that?”

“I will,” you agreed quickly, nodding fast to appease him. The man huffed a few more times, looking at Mr. Dahlman’s office, before turning on his heel and leaving. You didn’t sit back down for some time, only realizing long after the fact that you should have called building security.  

That’s exactly what Mr. Dahlman told you as well, although he seemed almost entirely unphased by your censored version of the man’s message. He carried on normally throughout your stilted recounting, eventually sitting at his desk and looking at you over folded hands. 

“I’m sorry you had to experience that,” he told you with a sympathetic frown. He didn’t ask any questions, he didn’t inquire about the man’s appearance or offer any explanation. That felt wrong, somehow. His lack of reaction felt wrong. 

“It’s okay,” you told him, trying to believe him. “But… what happened? What was he talking about?” 

“It is unfortunate,” Mr. Dahlman said. “But, ultimately, unavoidable in my line of work that I should upset people.”

“But you’re not a criminal defense lawyer or anything,” you said. “I didn’t think people would get so angry.” 

“People are quick to anger whenever large sums of money are involved,” Mr. Dahlman told you seriously. 

You stared into his comforting eyes for a long moment before you nodded, accepting his explanation as fact. Being on edge was normal after experiencing something so uncomfortable, but Mr. Dahlman had never given you reason to doubt him. 

It occurred to you later that part of the nervous energy fizzling out your fingertips and making your mind race was because you wanted to tell someone about it, to talk to them, only to realize that there was no one. Nobody. You could tell your mom, but you didn’t want to worry her. Classes wouldn’t start for another few weeks, so you had no friends. Being so busy with work and living in a new place had left you painfully, abysmally isolated. 

There was only one person in the city you knew. Well, two, if you were willing to count your dream-conjured apparition. But going down that road was worse than the idea of talking to your family, and far more dangerous. 

“Sorry, I’m a bit… Out of sorts,” you said, ruffling through pages to figure out where you’d written down details of Mr. Dahlman’s schedule. 

“Have you been sleeping poorly?” Yuri asked. And it was a natural question, clearly without any ulterior motive, but you could physically feel blood drain away from your face with the blinding force of panic. “I know that I don’t sleep very well in the city,” he continued, ignorant of your reaction. “It’s never quiet. Not to mention the light pollution.” He paused, looking at you. “Where did you say you’re from?” 

Swallowing hard against a suddenly dry throat, you tried to compose yourself, finding the page you had been looking for and copying down the information with a shaky hand. “I don’t think I did, but I lived upstate. My family owns a ranch about an hour outside of Gideon.”

“You’re kidding,” Yuri said a smile in his voice. When you looked up at him with a frown, slightly confused and embarrassed for reasons you didn’t understand, he began laughing. 

“What?” you asked, far too defensive. 

“A plucky young woman escapes her small town family’s ranch to pursue her artistic dreams in the city,” he summarized. “It sounds like the plot of a bad movie.” 

You deliberated for a moment whether or not that should have upset you before decided that it didn’t. He wasn’t entirely wrong, either. “Okay, maybe it does,” you conceded, smiling sheepishly. “But if I’m the main character, what are you?”

“I’m far too beautiful to be anything other than a villain,” Yuri said, his head tossing back dramatically. 

That made you laugh, impressed by his confidence more than anything. Well, maybe a bit more than impressed, but you ignored that feeling. “That doesn’t even make any sense.” 

“Not yet,” he allowed. “Setting that all aside, I’m sure you had an excellent view of the stars growing up there." He sighed. "I think that’s what I miss the most.”

“You’re not from here?” 

“No,” Yuri said. “Believe it or not, I am a man of humble beginnings. From a place far, far away in a time long, long ago. But that’s a story for another time, I think.” 

“If you wanted to tell me, maybe we could finally go get that drink? Tonight? I’m off in a few,” you said, trying desperately to not sound so pathetically hopeful because that was way too embarrassing. But you were desperate. And you were pathetic. 

Yuri looked at you and, for the first time, you got the sense of a mask falling. What laid beneath was dark, and intimidating. He replaced it quickly, smiling. Slightly too sharp to be friendly, not lending any amusement to his eyes. “Sorry, I’m busy tonight. My time is in high demand.” 

You nodded, hating the way disappointment and embarrassment swelled up in your chest. Hating the fact that he would make something up rather than just be honest. “Ah, that’s fine. Have a good night, Mr. Leclerc.” 

“Yeah. You too.” 

Maybe it was just an expression of stress, of growing discomfort, through your subconscious. Maybe you had reached your wits end of pretending the threat of torment was enough to keep you from wanting more. Sin or no sin. Then again, overthinking dreams was the surest path to madness. That’s what your mom used to tell you. 

“The worst part is knowing that this is on purpose,” Yuri said, flipping you onto your stomach. You yelped, but Yuri seemed disinterested in your reaction, continuing to mutter to himself. He pushed your legs apart, planting his between. “He all but gift wrapped you for me and you don’t even know it. Like a little lamb, you can’t even conceptualize the danger you’re in.” 

“Yuri…” you said, confused. More than a little aroused by the suggestive position.

He let out a heavy breath, his arms winding around you from behind so he could palm your breasts, grinding against your ass. Being held like this was different from anything else he'd done, intensely physical because he was hard. You could feel Yuri's yearning, his desire. “I know what you want,” he muttered, amused again. The shift in tone was unnatural, but you followed along because you far preferred teasing and lustful to dark and annoyed. “I guess I want it too. Just a little.” 

“I just want you,” you whispered, shuddering when Yuri kissed your neck. So sweet in comparison to his teasing hands as they pinched your nipples, leaving you tense and wanting. “Please…” 

“Fine, but only because you asked so nicely,” Yuri allowed, pushing you down into the pillows. There was no coherency between moments, only that both of you were ready and when he finally—finally, finally—lined up his cock with your entrance, you felt everything else fall away. It might as well have never existed in the first place. 

Yuri took it slow, a result of his control and not your own. As soon as you felt the head of his cock press shallowly into your pussy, you realized with a red hot flare that you wanted more. All of it, all of him. He hissed out through his teeth as he slowly sank deeper, making you realize that you hadn’t been breathing the entire time. You didn’t until he was fully inside of you, your inner walls fluttering and squeezing in an attempt to adjust. 

“Do you still think I’m not real?” Yuri asked, pulling out just as slowly. You couldn’t articulate words, you couldn’t do much more than gasp, scrambling at the sheets as your brain shorted out with pleasure. The pressure was strange, but it was also right. Like you were meant for this, like this was the most natural thing in the world. 

“Yuri,” you sighed, moaning when he thrust back in. “I want to—” You wanted to see him, to hold him, to make this moment special because surely it was. How could something like this not be special? Groundbreaking, revolutionary. Feeling him inside of you was the most complete you’d ever felt, you felt very certain that was a fact. 

“Oh no you don’t,” Yuri said, grabbing your hips to pull you back down when you tried to twist around, keeping you in place beneath him. You whined, reduced down to a shuddering mess at how deep he went with each thrust, how hyper sensitized your cunt was to the drag of his cock. 

“I want to… to kiss you,” you said, admitting it aloud for the first time. Yuri just groaned, his fingernails digging into your hips as he pulled out slowly only to pull you back down. You could feel the way your pussy tightened around him as he did it again, your inner walls squeezing as if trying to suck him deeper, to keep him from pulling out. 

“It’s a nightmare, isn’t it?” Yuri asked, punctuating the softly spoken question with a hard thrust. The sound of skin slapping together was almost as filthy as the moan you let out in response. “To get what you want but not how you want it.” He laughed, although the sound quickly devolved into a groan. "I guess that makes you my nightmare."  

You shouldn’t have opened the document, you knew it wasn’t meant for your eyes. It wasn’t like you understood it, either.  Nor did you care. A list of names with attached numbers. Referencial material that wasn’t included. You didn’t care, you really didn’t. You weren’t the nosy type. But the numbers were so high. Money. Huge sums of money. 

Out of curiosity, you looked up one of the names, wondering if it had something to do with Mr. Dahlman’s practice. It wasn’t as if you handled most of the actual monetary transactions. But the person was a politician, it made no sense that he’d have anything to do with Mr. Dahlman’s firm. 

Something wasn’t right. You knew that in your gut. Something wasn’t right, and all you could think of was the man storming in and insisting that he would pay. 

Hands shaking, you deleted the document. It wasn’t meant for you anyway.  

Another busy day. You were returning to your desk with a caffeinated soda—the thing that passed for lunch—when you saw the glass door open with a whoosh, revealing a familiar face. 

“For you, m’lady,” Yuri said, placing a bouquet of roses on your desk. Their beautiful, vibrant red matched his shirt, pairing beautifully with the hair he’d left loose to drape over his shoulders. Considering the uncomfortable way he’d left the last time you saw him, you had no idea how to respond to the display.

“Mr. Leclerc,” you said. “Um… You shouldn’t have.” 

He laughed. “I didn’t. I passed a delivery man on the way up and thought I’d spare him the walk.”  

“Oh, right,” you said, flushing at the misunderstanding. “I’m sorry, Mr. Dahlman is out at lunch.” 

“Is he?” Yuri asked, although he didn’t look particularly surprised. “Guess I’ll have to come back later.” 

“If you wanted, I could take a message?” 

“And deprive me the pleasure of seeing you again?” he asked, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow. You had no idea what to say to that, looking at him with a stupid expression as you tried to interpret some meaning other than a flirtatious one. Yuri smiled. “That said, it seems like I’ve got some competition.” He gestured to the flowers. “A secret admirer, perhaps?” 

You walked over to look at the attached note, knowing that he was wrong yet embarrassed that he'd say it. 

“Whoever he is, he must be in love with you.” There was a sharpness to the words, a meanness. “Why is it always roses, I wonder? They’re the flower of the unimaginative.”  

“I like roses,” you said, reading the attached card with a growing smile, your heart swelling with affection. “My mom sent them to cheer me up. Here-” You grabbed a rose from the bunch, intending to give it to Yuri, only to realize the thorns hadn’t been trimmed. “Ouch!” you exclaimed, dropping it onto the floor on instinct. 

“Careful,” Yuri said, approaching you, trampling the flower beneath his expensive shoe without any concern, grinding it into the clean white tile. “You’re bleeding—let me see.” 

You didn’t have time to draw away before he took your hand to admire the way blood formed little beads on your skin—the same color as the flowers that caused it. Although the slender hand holding your wrist wasn’t violent, it was steel nonetheless, keeping you from withdrawing your arm. As if it were perfectly natural, he licked up the blood from your fingers. Then he peeked up at you with his head bowed, violet eyes scorching beneath his thick eyelashes, and you couldn’t move. Enthralled by his eyes, by the tingling memory of his mouth, by the the intoxicatingly good scent of his cologne. 

“Beautiful things are often dangerous,” he said softly, his voice low. “I would think you’d have learned that by now.” 

“I don’t know what you mean,” you said softly, staring at him with equal parts fear and attraction. How could you not? Every single feature of Yuri’s seemed design to draw you in, to enthrall and enamor. Even with discomfort squeezing your heart like a vice, you couldn’t help it. 

He let your hand drop to grip your chin instead, lips that had just been smeared with your blood meeting your own, as soft as the petals of the rose he’d crushed underfoot. You squeaked in surprise, but your body relented to his without question. At this point, Yuri was familiar. The kiss filled you with this electric sort of heat, with a raging inferno of desire. Every dream you’d had about him drew to a crescendo, night after night of unfulfilled lust raging to the forefront. 

But not real Yuri, not in the workplace, not like this. 

“You don’t think I’m dangerous?” Yuri asked, spinning you around to push you onto your desk. With a little effort, he got you to spread your legs enough for him to wedge his hips between, your skirt riding up dangerously high. You barely thought to struggle, holding onto his shoulders so you didn’t fall. “Do you ever worry that my generosity will run out and I’ll demand some form of recompense for my patience? I’ve done everything I could to protect you so far, but even I have a limit.” 

“Yuri?” you asked, your voice breathy and confused. 

“But not yet,” Yuri said, his hand traveling from your waist and over your thigh, his fingers squeezing the flesh in a nearly possessive way. 

“I don’t-” 

Faint footsteps echoed down the hall, the telltale sound of someone approaching. Blind panic filled you at the idea of someone walking in on this. Whatever this was, you could only imagine how it would look. 

But you looked as the doors open with your heart racing in fear and a crease on your cheek from the edge of your appointment book that you had been using as a pillow on your desk, your back sore from the position. Sleeping. You had fallen asleep on your desk. 

“Good afternoon,” Mr. Dahlman said with a smile.

“Yes, good… Good afternoon,” you said, wiping at your mouth and smoothing your hair with the fear fading as you realized it had just been a dream. 

“Did someone send you roses?” he asked. You looked at the bouquet, shock striking through you coldly. It had been Yuri who brought those to the office, but that had been a dream. Hadn't it?

“Yeah, my… my mom,” you said, checking the note to make sure. To cheer you up, the note said, just as it had in the dream.   

“That was kind of her,” Mr. Dahlman said, circling your desk to go to his office. 

“It… It was.” 

Mr. Dahlman paused, hanging in the doorway to his office and looking at you with a surprisingly severe expression. “You didn’t happen to receive an email earlier, did you? It would have been blank with an attached document. Do you recall anything like that?”

Your heart sunk, a fresh type of fear and anxiety filling you for reasons you didn’t want to think about. “I didn’t,” you lied. “But I could check my spam folder-”

“No,” Mr. Dahlman said, smiling warmly. “It’s not important. Please let me know when my three o’clock arrives.”

“Ye-yes, of course, Mr. Dahlman.”  

Despite the lack of dreams, you were more tired than ever. Frayed and sad and lonely. Those were the excuses you clung to, but you knew you shouldn’t have been listening to a private conversation of Mr. Dahlman’s. He hadn’t properly hung up his office phone and you were just so curious. It wasn’t like you had anything else to occupy you. Another excuse. 

But it was wrong. What he was doing was wrong and bad and illegal and maybe you were an airhead and maybe you were a fool but Mr. Dahlman was supposed to be a good man. A man of Seiros, of the goddess.  

“You were listening, were you not?” Mr. Dahlman asked, staring at you from behind his desk, his eyes just as warm and gentle as ever. Your stomach twisted, a dizzy sensation in your head. 

“That was blackmail,” you said. “You’re blackmailing people, that’s what was on the document.”

“I thought you were lying about that, although it hardly matters. You should be careful of making such accusations,” Mr. Dahlman warned lightly. “They could land you in a great deal of trouble.” 

“But you’re…” you sputtered, barely recognizing the insult. “You can’t do this, it’s… it’s wrong, an-and illegal.” 

“Please, calm down,” Mr. Dahlman told you. “And keep in mind the non-disclosure agreement you signed when you started work here. I fear there would be grave consequences were to you to begin spreading falsehoods about me and my work, least of all with the Church that helped to support you.”

Grave consequences. You stared at him with wide, wet eyes, terror working its steady, brutal rush through your veins. Mr. Dahlman stood up to approach you. Instead of moving, you just watched as if in slow motion as he put a hand on your shoulder. You didn’t move, you barely dared to breathe. 

“For your own sake, I ask that you consider what you intend to do next very carefully. Take tomorrow to think about your future. Should you do the right thing, I’ll see you on Monday,” he told you gently. His hand tightened. Not painfully, but enough. “Should you not… Well, I shall pray that you do.” 

You swallowed hard. “I understand.” 

“Good,” Mr. Dahlman said, smiling kindly and releasing you. “I do encourage you to be careful. The city can hold many dangers for a girl such as yourself.”  

What sort of cruel joke did the universe play on you to run into Yuri Leclerc as soon as you were out of the office building? Literally run into him, spilling your cold coffee from that morning all over yourself and toppling onto the ground. From your spot at his feet, you saw his shock become recognition become worry. 

“Are you alright?” Yuri asked. Helping you up. Not even for the first time. How humiliating. 

“I’m so sorry,” you said, picking up your stuff with your face turned downward to hide from him. “Mr-Mr. Dahlman is still in the office, but you’ll have to hurry if you want… want to catch him.” 

“You’ve been crying,” Yuri said, pulling you out of the line of foot traffic. You let him. A little crease had formed between his perfect eyebrows as he looked at you, and it made your heart ache. 

“I’m fine,” you said with a pathetic sniff, wiping your face. Everything was covered in old coffee. You’d have to go on the bus like this, and then you’d be home. And you’d be alone. And Mr. Dahlman had warned you of the dangers of the city. He knew better than anyone else in the world how intimately isolated you were, he knew where you lived and who you knew and there was no escape. 

“You’re going home, yeah? You can’t take the bus like this,” Yuri said, unaware of your spiraling thoughts. “Let me get a cab to take you home.”

You were already shaking your head too fast, rejecting the idea with the violence of fear. “I can’t go home.” 

He hesitated. “You can’t intend to go out like this.” 

“No, I-I can’t. I’m—”

Yuri frowned. “What are you doing then?” 

“Nothing. I’m sorry,” you said, shaking your head. “It’s not your problem, I-” 

“Shut up for a second,” he told you, waving a hand to cut you off. “Why don’t you come back to my place? I can make you dinner. I’ve been told I’m a fantastic cook.” 

Your breath hitched. “I couldn’t.” 

“Afraid of being alone with a man?” Yuri asked knowingly. “Well rest assured, you’re safe with me.” Was that what you were afraid of? Yuri had never been anything but a perfect gentleman to you, deplorable dreams notwithstanding. If anything, he was the victim of your own twisted mind. 

Another pathetic sniff. “If it’s alright with you, then… I’d love to.”  

“Thank you so much for this,” you said softly, wiping down a hot, clean plate after he handed it to you. The shockingly domestic act of washing dishes together had done a lot to ease your nerves, somehow. It was just so normal, so mundane. 

“This was my pleasure,” he said, shooting you a sideways smile. “It’s not often I get to cook for people anymore.” 

“No, I mean… Well, thank you for everything,” you told him, your voice relaxed now. You had been so tense when he let you into his apartment, teetering on the edge of tears and covered in coffee and uncomfortable enough to crawl out of your own skin. But wearing a clean pair of clothes—his clothes, which you tried not to think too hard about—and eating a hot meal had eased a lot of that tension. Besides, you were getting tired. The day had been stressful, and the hour was hitting hard. “Is that all?” you asked, gesturing to the dishes. 

Yuri shut off the water, taking the dish towel from you to dry his hands. “Yep. Do you want to sit down? I don’t have much in the way of dessert, but I do have some Baileys.”

“I don’t know what that is.” 

“This’ll be a fun surprise then,” he said, going to the refrigerator. You stayed put, uncertainly shifting from foot to foot. But, this was what people did, wasn’t it? With friends. Even alarmingly, devastatingly handsome friends. And you didn’t want to be alone. 

You went back out into the living area, taking a seat on the couch. The whole place was nice, but sterile. Like a hotel, almost. Unlived in. Yuri followed a moment later, holding two glasses filled with a creamy liquid and a bottle tucked under his arm. 

“Here,” he said, handing you one of the glasses. 

“Is it alcohol?” you asked hesitantly, looking at it.

“It’s sweet,” he said, sitting across from you. “And it’s barely alcoholic, if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

You thought about arguing further, but you trusted Yuri. Besides, if there was ever a time to drink, it was now. 

“Thank you,” you said.

To your surprise, it was sweet. There was some burn, but not much. 

Yuri smiled, licking the liquor from his lips. “See?” 

“Thank you,” you said again, forcing yourself to look back down to keep from staring at his mouth. Even now, you couldn’t force yourself to think normal thoughts. 

He poured you more, and this time you drank it without question because you knew what was coming and you wanted a little more of that buzz to face it. 

“Now… I hate to pry into your affairs,” Yuri ventured, “but I have to ask-”

“I signed a waver,” you told him, staring at your empty glass. “I can’t tell anyone.”

“So this has to do with the firm.” 

You looked up, eyes wide. “No, it-” 

“Hey, don’t worry. If anyone’s good at keeping secrets, it’s me. More than that, I’d like to help if I can. Against my better judgment, I like you.” Yuri paused, wearing a look of uncertainty, as if admitting something unpleasant.  “Quite a bit, actually. I certainly wouldn’t want any harm to come to you.” 

The admission made your heart race in a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol, although you weren’t sure it was a good feeling. As with everything you associated with Yuri, it felt wrong. Deeply, truly unnatural. 

“Hey, can I have more?” You held up your empty glass towards him hopefully. 

“Sure,” Yuri said, pouring you more with a smooth twist of his wrist. How could somebody make pouring a drink look attractive? It was unfair. 

You drank quickly, more intent on the buzz of inebriation than the taste. Then, staring at the last few drops lingering in the glass, you forced the words out before you could consider them too intently. “Mr. Dahlman is… He… He blackmails people,” you said, getting it out all at once. “I found out and confronted him-”

“Why the hell would you do that?” Yuri asked, more incredulous than shocked.

“I thought he was a good man,” you told him, your face falling. 

Yuri snorted. “The only virtuous lawyer in town, huh? Well, I can’t blame you for that, he fools a lot of people.” 

“So you knew?” you asked. 

“More importantly,” Yuri said, “did he threaten you?” 

Your breath hiccuped. “Not directly, but…” You shook your head, trying to forget that look in his eye. “Do you think he’d hurt me?” you asked in a small voice. 

“No, he won’t,” Yuri said, gently taking your glass and placing his hand on yours. His skin was warm and soft, the gesture heart-achingly innocent. 

You wondered if you were actually dreaming. Part of it was the alcohol setting in, the warm little blaze blurring your thoughts. No matter how low the alcohol content, you didn’t drink often enough to have any sort of tolerance. More than that, you were tired. Maybe this was another despicable conjuration of your brain, maybe it was going to take a sharp turn and you’d end up on the counter, or against the wall, or on the couch in the other room, or-

“That’s why he pays men me,” Yuri told you, his expression flattening. Blinking sluggishly, the threatening words struck you discordantly, distantly. You tried to pull your hand away, but Yuri clasped it tightly in his own. “Normally I like to have a bit of fun and then move on, no harm done,” he continued, ignoring your confused attempts to escape him. “But that’s not an option anymore.” He sighed. “It always falls on me to take care of things.” 

“Yuri, you’re scaring me.” 

“I don’t think its even dawned on you that I’ve been lying the entire time. You’re too trusting.” He paused, smirking ironically. “It’ll get you hurt one of these days.” 

“Please let me go,” you asked. Your words were slurring a little, the slowly settling exhaustion and alcohol distancing you from reality. 

A dream. You had to be dreaming. 

“But I see no reason to keep it up now, it’s not like you’ll remember this,” Yuri said. “It’s true that I offer unique services. Very unique. Aelfric and I have a good thing going. I extract secrets from the pliant subconsciousness of the rich and famous; he uses his connections to properly utilize them. For now, at least. If it makes you feel any better, I intend to put an end to our arrangement as soon as I can. Sooner, with your help.” 

“You’re joking, aren’t you?” you asked, although the urgency was ruined by the encroaching wilt of exhaustion. Unlike being drunk, the world becoming vibrant and your skin buzzing, it was as if your body itself was shutting down around you. “This is… is insane, I don’t understand.” 

“Think a little, yeah?” Yuri prompted, giving you a familiarly condescending look. “Haven’t you noticed that something’s wrong here? Like having nightly dreams of a strange and sinful nature about a certain someone?” You couldn’t help your shocked intake of breath, the immediate shame that filled you. “Yeah, I know all about those. You might say that I am intimately familiar with them. After all, I am the one who put them there.”

Over and over, you blinked to try and wake yourself up. But the disgust and the fear and the shame weren’t enough to keep you focused, the world was fading and dark on the edges, your chest caving in with heaviness. Breathing alone became a tiresome task, let alone holding yourself up. 

“Did you… drug me…?” you asked. It seemed so obvious now that you were becoming consumed with the heaviness. Fighting against the pull of unconsciousness physically hurt. 

“Our nighttime escapes aren’t over just yet, I still need you. In more ways than one,” Yuri said, moving even closer to catch you from slumping over when you tried to get up. You grunted, squirming to escape, but it was a pitiful display. He smelled so nice. You didn’t want to fight, not really. “To think, Aelfric thought he could bait me into compliance. But, as always, luck is on my side, and I’ve always got another trick up my sleeve. He should have considered the wisdom of giving me a girl so susceptible to persuasion.” 

You grumbled something, your words stifled by the exhaustion and his chest. It probably had been incomprehensible in the first place. 

“Let’s get you tucked in,” Yuri said, supporting most of your weight as he helped you up. “Your work isn’t quite finished.” You could barely resist, not that you were trying. He smelled so good, sweet and fresh and intoxicating. You nuzzled your cheek against the front of his shirt, your skin buzzing with it. 

And then you fell asleep.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” were not the words you expected to wake up to. You didn’t expect to be woken up by words at all, considering you lived alone. But soon after you recognized that you were being spoken to, you realized that you were not in your own bed. Panic set in then, and your eyes snapped open, getting a blurry view of a purple and white smudge. 

“Ngh—ah!” was your eloquent response, and you tried to sit up only for gravity to push you back down. Your vision cleared and you realized that the smudge was a person. A familiar person. “Mr. Leclerc,” you said, meaning it as an exclamation but unable to find the energy. 

“Now that you’ve spent the night in my bed, I think you’ve more than earned the right to call me Yuri,” he said, smiling. 

“Your bed?” you asked looking around. The room was a tidy sort of mess, filled with books and clothes and other clutter. A fur coat thrown over a chair, a pair of shiny white spiked Chelsea boots. This was Yuri’s room, his real room and not a dreamscape domain of twilight and stars. This was real. “What happened?” you asked, more than a little afraid of the answer. Your head felt heavy, your body filled with lead. You remembered very little. Leaving work crying, quite literally running into Yuri, coming to his apartment. 

“You had a bad day at work yesterday, so I invited you over for dinner and drinks,” Yuri told you sympathetically, sitting on the by your knees and handing over a bottle of water. You didn’t feel thirsty, and your head didn’t really ache. More than anything, you just felt heavy. Sluggish. But you drank anyway, hoping it would chase away the sour taste on your tongue. “You’re a real lightweight, you know that?” he continued. “I had no idea how drunk you were until you were already passed out.”

“Did we…” you couldn’t so much as finish the question. 

“If something happened between us, you would remember it,” Yuri told you bluntly. “Trust me.”

That made you flush. It was fairly obvious. You were still wearing the clothes he’d given you last night, and the other side of the bed looked like it hadn’t been slept in. If there was ever any memory you would retain, you felt certain it would be having sex with Yuri Leclerc outside of your twisted subconcious. More than that, you’d have to assume in that case that he would ever want you in real life, and that was ridiculous. 

“I am so sorry,” you said, embarrassment clouding your discomfort. Yuri patted your head, smoothing out your hair. You didn’t need a mirror to know that you looked, felt, and likely smelled like someone who had been crying and gotten wasted the night before, and he had the gall to look as handsome as ever. 

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Yuri told you. “You told me what Aelfric’s been doing, and I promised to help you. Do you remember that much at least?” 

Yes. Mr. Dahlman had been committing malpractice, scamming people out of their land for cheap development. Something like that. Your stomach sank sickeningly. There was something more, wasn’t there? “Yeah. But I—I feel like I’m forgetting something,” you said slowly, frowning in confusion at the blankets to avoid his eyes. 

“That’s my fault. I should have known you weren’t used to drinking,” he said regretfully. 

“No,” you told him quickly, looking up with a lurch of guilt. “It’s not your fault, I should have…” You couldn’t remember last night, but when you met his eyes, you remembered every other night your brain had manufactured with him in the starring role. Every fantasy, every sin. “I should go.” 

“Oh no you don’t,” Yuri told you. You breathed in sharply, the harshness of his words making you tense up. But when you looked at him, Yuri just smiled. “Stay a while, yeah? I’ll make it more than worth your while.”

[slimeranch7]

Would you mind a Countess Chelsea request?! I don’t see a lot of any PTN fics so I’m kinda desperate :~: the sky is ur limit with this one if you do do it!

Fun fact: the name of this draft is called "Chelsea req attempt 6"

ao3 link

Content warnings: graphic descriptions of violence and murder

-----

The gentle beat of a heart that isn't yours pounds in your ears like a heavy, persistent drum.

Lub dub… Lub… Dub…

It doesn't feel real. The guttural imagery forever burned through your rose tinted glasses, impossible to scrub the scar off your mind. You could never forget the way poor Sitri writhed until bright red blood stopped spurting from the gaping hole of her chest. She goes limp without a sound.

Your throat was raw from screaming and begging. Eyes burning, yet still endlessly welling with tears. Your grip on the hem of father's coat loosened, leaving behind deep, ugly wrinkles in its wake.  

Father was never this cruel. Father was strict, yes. He demanded only the best from his only daughter, he expected polish and grace. He worked Chelsea to the bone, but provided more than enough for her and Sitri to live comfortably as your family's lapidarist. 

Father was stern and rough, but he never… He would never…

Sinew and blood drips from his hand. Your own pulse drowns all else out of reality, and leaves the world to spin on an uneven axis. A heap of pink before the dark shadow of your father, separated by a deepening pool of sickly red. 

You trip over your own two feet to get to Chelsea, landing painfully on your knees, but the imminent bruising was the least of your concerns. Your father, terrible, cruel father, calls your name, but it echoes like a distant howl lost in a vast garden of fury. 

Arms wrapped delicately around her head, pressing her flush against your chest to let her know you're here through the frenzied rhythm of your heart. Delicate, manicured fingers gently cards through long locks of pink. You're here. You're still here even if Sitri isn't. 

A shadow casts over your trembling figures, accompanied by the familiar clicks of expensive heels. 

"Stay the fuck away from my daughter…!" A monster rages behind you. 

Even as he pulls you by the collar, you persist and instinctively drag yourself against his force, fear and defiance taking the helm of your body and mind. Bloody, warm knuckles brush against your neck and sullying your clothes. It sends sickening shivers down your spine.

But he doesn't get far. 

Chelsea lurches forward, reaching behind you and grabbing your father by the wrist. In an instant, he violently recoils, a blood curdling cry cut short by a string of the most vulgar curses you've ever heard him utter. 

Glass shatters behind you, pelting against marble tiles. Your father's anguished howls don't stop even as the chamber empties of all other sounds. 

His entire forearm is taken off- torn sleeve soaked darkly with his own blood, and you could almost see the disturbing white of his bone underneath fibrous, gory flesh. Blood spurts from broken vessels in increments, pooling over Sitri's corpse and soaking her already dirtied fur. 

Pieces of ruby-colored gems caked his gaping wound. 

You dared to sneak a peak at Chelsea, whose eyes were wide as yours. 

Protectively, she pushes you behind her, and lunges towards your father, now more monster than man. 

His nose, brows and mouth contorts into a wicked, vile snarl, high on adrenaline, and mindless enough to attempt another clumsy swipe at the younger girl.

She dodges with ease, letting him stumble from his own momentum, before twisting his other free wrist, and oh, you could see it- the way his skin breaks, splits, red, translucent stones slipping from between tight strings of muscle, breaking off bit by bit and scattering like bugs before your feet and rolling to a stop.

He pitifully collapses, face wet with tears and drool and snot. There's a sheen layer of sweat caking his head and neck, from exertion and agony, now that both his arms were turned into pellets of gemstones scattered across the chamber. 

You couldn't quite make out his expression, though you're positive it would have looked nothing like the impassive, self-assured father you once had. Chelsea's figure hovers over you, intentionally blocking him from your view. 

You can do nothing but stare up, frightful and wavering, eyes drifting over to her fingers. 

Chelsea cups your face with her bloody sleeve, frown still apparent, but her eyes hold no ill intent. Rather, it's sad, wet with tears. Having seen too much. Lost too much. Sitri is- was family to her. 

Shaky hands grips her lapel as she leans down to you on one knee. You tremble, shaken, mind still lagging minutes behind trying to process your trauma, but your gut doesn't scream danger. It never did in the presence of your Chelsea, after all.

She slowly lifts a finger to trace your hair, experimentally. It doesn't crystalize, or split, or shatter like your father's arms did, so she moves down to your cheeks, tracing a stray tear. You can feel the way it shrivels into itself, hardening and growing heavy, before it falls by itself beneath your collar, sitting heavy and uncomfortable under your shirt, but still warm. 

"You misunderstand," She suddenly says, glassy eyes still trained on yours, but she isn't addressing you. "I was only asking for your blessing, not your permission."

Her thumb hovers over your eyes, urging you to close them. Hot lips pressed against yours. Her hair tickles your jaw as she hovers above you, tilting your face to meet hers. You feel her hands groping your thighs softly. The kiss lasts for eternity, drawing your breath, like a feverish, lascivious show intended for the wrong audience…

And suddenly she withdraws as fast as she closes in, air turning frigid without her overwhelming presence. You resist the urge to peak. 

There were no final words, no parting jabs. Just a strangled gasp that puts a stop to the incessant, pained wheezing. Then it rained stones. Priceless, valuable gemstones, clacking obnoxiously and echoing across the chamber. 

When she prompted you gently, you opened your eyes in search of your lover, you were instead met with a beast, dark and muted pink. Subdued and indistinct. A shadow cast over her face, hiding the dangerous mania residing behind her gaze. 

Smiling, she leans down, content, pressing herself against your chest, lulled by the gentle rhythm of your heartbeat. Warmth shares itself between your bodies. Those useless gemstones could never compare. You're still here. You're still here, even if no one else is. 

[iwanthermidnightz]

lana del rey via Instagram: Thank you guys. For fucking everything, Jack and John and Billie for showing up for me -and the band for just killing it and spending months in Sylmar in a 40° warehouse to the point but it was so cold that I caught laryngitis that literally left just a few hours before I hit the stage because Tessa DiPietro spent two hours lifting that cough remotely through her body intuitive skills just minutes before showtime, Wally Crowder for my bad as bikes. Every stunning dancer on stage- and Alex for her beautiful choreography. My stunning three singers who danced and sang their asses off in style and high matching boots. Judah + Chelsea 😇

Emily for stepping up as tour manager when Pete quit for no reason after 15 years because he was butt hurt that I got 10 comped bikes for free from Wally and randomly decided he was more of a stage designer than a tour manager... Never got a phone call probably never will. Still grateful for the 15 years though. No worries - 37 days was more than enough time to put together an entire headlining set all by ourselves.

Not stressful at all. Way to go Emily you fucking killed it with grace. Thank you to my managers Ben and Ed for making me laugh the entire way through everything for my whole freaking life even though none of it ever makes any sense. PS please send me an email If you decide to quit this year- 15 years is a long time for us too ☺️ thank you to Cody!, boss number two for always having my back and doing the most - Ric from Stufish ur set with references of the Barbican to bits of kintsugi dripping down the balconies and the same exact tiles as the tiles in the tunnel under Ocean Boulevard. Pat my loving Stage Manager and James

Lammy Joey and James my perfect trifecta of sound Molly Dixon ❤️those dresses! Dolce and Gabbana for literally wrapping silk around my body for hours until I became a shimmering swimming pool. Etienne and Anna for somehow making my eyes change color on stage with witchy brush strokes of subtle peach make up and light old Hollywood hair, and Tracey Cunningham for changing my hair to the color of the desert like I wanted. And of course, Paul for inviting us. it was fun. I'll see you again real soon.

[mesillusionssousecstasy]

Selling Sunset : Season 8

The beginning of this new season was so much better, with the drama on the minimum.

They should all take role model from Alanna Gold, the new and interesting character / person from the show. She only talked about real estate which was so great with Brett none the last. That was so good.

Also, Alanna is a true beauty. She seems that she hasn't down any plastic surgery. She always wears something class.

The end was just selling drama, which was honestly stupid and non interesting.

And Bre is irrelevant. And she should have least stay with Johnny.

Also Chelsea can you reduce your breasts, it's ridiclously big and don't go with your body.

So sad that they are selling more drama than houses.

Btw what happened to Heather, even if I don't miss her at all.

Some quotes:

"- I feel it gets better when you're in it. - Okay. That's what any cult says." (Episode 2)

"- It's gonna be good. Seventy people... - Seventy curated people." (Mary - Episode 2)

"- It's LA. What do you want? - I expect you to be exactly what you are and what you've always been. - You're not gonna change. - And I always will be. Nope." (Episode 2)

"- You call it a loss? (Johnny) - Yeah. (Bre) - Why? (Johnny) - 'Cause you lost me. It's a loss. (Bre) - Life goes the way it's supposed to go. (Johnny) - Yeah. (Bre) - You are in a position now where you go exactly what you wanted in life. (Johnny) - Yes, I did. (Bre) - And I'm proud of you for that. And I'm happy for you in that. (Johnny) - Thank you. (Bre) - I learned a lot about what I handled wrong. I was a lost, depressed kid running around the Hollywood Hills getting drunk every night and living in a nightclub, and a lot of time behind your back, probably, as well." (Johnny - Episode 6)

"- I just promise you that there is a whole life ahead of you and forward that you're not able to see at this point, but it is and will be so much better. Sometimes you can't see the stars until you'r in the dark." (Chrishell - Episode 6)

"- Because if I'm attacking, you won't question if I'm attacking." (Bre - Episode 7)

"- You want to be a bitch? I'll be a cunt. Let's do it." (Bre - Episode 7)

"- You sure got back up and running right after our conversation. (Brett) - I told you. I told you I would. (Alanna) - I like to see things more than hear things. And now I'm seeing it, so thank you." (Brett - Episode 8)

"- It was done by a celebrity interior designer, her name's Jennifer Farrell. (Jason) - Okay. - So the floors, they look like wood, but it's actually a porcelain tile floor by Emser." (Jason - Episode 10)

"- Chelsea's playing checkers with someone who plays chess." (Bre - Episode 10)

"- They bought it brand new. For $24.5 million. (Jason) - Yeah. (Alanna) - And then they spent nearly $7 million remodeling it with an AD100 designer. They were counterweights for European clocks. To, like, help the mechanics of the clocks turn. Everything here is hundreds of years old, or curated, all one of a kind." (Jason - Episode 11)

"- And they had an artist come and paint all the outlets in the house." (Jason - Episode 11)

"- People who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones." (Nicole - Episode 11)

"- Arguably one of the most expensive houses in the world per square foot. And that's because one of the most renowned architects, Tadao Ando, built this house." (Jason - Episode 11)