#almost $50 down the drain

[homeofhousechickens]

Someone stole the diapers I ordered 😔 I don't even know how they did it I was watching the front like a hawk. It's so frustrating this keeps happening. The package was insured so hopefully I'm able to get my money back

[neristudy]

I usually don't rant in here but

“being an adult with adhd isn't so bad” i had to buy 3 plastic drinking bottles in a month because i dropped them and they broke. i decided to splurge on an expensive, metal one that would survive the fall. and it did.

I lost the lid to it.

[that-sarcastic-writer]

Serenity

Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!doctor!reader

Summary: Robby has had a really shitty day, maybe he just needs his girlfriend to comfort him

Follows the pacing of the show so minor spoilers if you’re still not caught up

Warnings: explicit sexual content, minors dni, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie, oral (fem receiving), he talks her through it (yes he does and yall can’t tell me otherwise), age gap (reader is 35 and Robby is 50) (ik he’s probably Noah’s age but just bare with me here), established relationship, just vanilla sex really

WC: 6.3k no I’m not sorry

A/N: bahahah nobody look at meeeee. I think I outdid myself with this, I’m never beating the daddy issues allegations. This man just makes me so feral I couldn’t help myself. I’m hoping some of yall have been down bad too otherwise just ignore me (if this flops I’ll cry). Also tagging my bestie bc she has experienced my madness in real time🩷 @wittyjasontodd

You knew today would be an absolutely abhorrent day. You could feel it, the second that dumb clock hit six a.m, you knew. You knew it when you texted him if he wanted to eat dinner at your place after your shift, and he told you that he didn’t know when exactly he would get off his. He was working today and that made you sick to your stomach, a deep sense of anxiety and worry settling in. And you couldn’t shake that feeling all fucking day. 

You didn’t want to worry about him, coddle him and suffocate him like he was a teenager, he surpassed you by quite a few years for you to be doing that. Still, you couldn’t not worry about him down there. His day was normally absolutely draining as it was, but having to deal with that today out of all days, it concerned you just how well he could compartmentalize his own issues and the issues of dozens and dozens of other people. 

You were tempted to come downstairs yourself and check in on him under the excuse of bringing him coffee and something to eat. But then that would be weird. Then people would know. Well, you had a suspicion people did know by now, it was a bit hard to hide a relationship after two years. Though it was a bit easier considering you were all the way up in the pediatrics ICU and not in the Pitt. Still, you definitely noticed the knowing glances of Perla and Princess whenever you came down for a consultation or if they saw you sneak into the doctor’s lounge.

Dana knew, though you never told her. You didn’t think Robby told her either. You thought it took her maybe a month to figure it out. You prided yourself on how discrete you were about it, and still are. You walk together whenever your shifts align, hands locked and headphones in as you both enjoyed the short time you had in each other's calming presence before you didn’t see each other for twelve-plus hours. And then you went your separate ways, a quick kiss and a hushed ‘love you’ before going through completely different entrances to be extra cautious. You have been doing this since day-one. How Dana figured it out was beyond your extensive knowledge. 

You both would like to think other than Dana’s superhuman ability to read people, you had managed to keep things private. It was better that way, doctors were such odd creatures, you almost positively knew that ‘favoritism’ would end up circulating around sooner or later, since, once upon a time where you were a bright-eyed and still a had will to live first-year resident, Robby was your attending. Albeit he was married at the time and you were engaged, you knew someone would find a way to turn it into something it wasn’t. 

Today, however, you weren’t quite such how reserved you could be when you knew he was struggling. 

You sat on your desk, a long exhale of exhaustion leaving your lips as you ran your hands over your face, enjoying the few minutes of peace and quiet you had managed to find. And then you heard a ping. You sat up, eyes shooting open as you reached for your phone with annoyance. You thought it was the hospital, but when you unlocked your phone you saw it was a message from Dana.

Well, fuck. 

Dana: can you check on Robby? The overdose kid is hitting him pretty hard 

A long sigh left your lips as you read over the message, heaviness settling in your chest. You had been keeping up with it since earlier this morning, you had hoped maybe the kid would respond to treatment. You guessed things hadn’t been so easy down there. 

Me: you don’t think the kid is gonna make it?

Dana: Robby doesn’t think so. Come check on him please. He was gone for a while earlier

Another heavy sigh left your lips. Today was not the day for this. 

Me: he doesn’t like it when I make him talk about his feelings 

You weren’t entirely exaggerating. Robby wasn’t emotionally unavailable, the opposite, if anything, he was painfully aware of his feelings. He just didn’t like talking about them, especially when they were ER related. He would send you into a psych ward if he told you everything he experienced on a daily basis, he told you. And you respected it, your year in the Pitt definitely wasn’t the highlight of your life, and you admired him for choosing to stay there for so long. 

Dana: you’re not. You’re just being a supportive girlfriend. Come, now. 

You didn’t have to be in front of her to know she was being serious. You figured if you didn’t come down at some point she would physically come get you herself if that’s what it took. So best not to test the universe today. You had some time before your next appointment anyway. And Dana was right, you wanted him to know you were there, even if he didn’t always want it. 

It came as a shock to no one that you ultimately found your way downstairs. It was always loud on your floor, but nowhere near as bad as the pitt. You tried your best to not draw attention to yourself, though with everything going on down here and all the people that came and went, you figured you would blend in for the most part. You hoped to find Dana at her desk, preferably alone, as to avoid awkward small talk and questionable looks since nobody actually called you down here for any medical reasons. You internally thanked the universe when you spotted Dana on her computer. 

“Hey.” You spoke quietly, hands shoved into your pockets a bit sheepishly as you glanced around before looking back at her. She gave you a warm smile of gratitude and nodded at you. 

“Don’t make that face, it’s not that bad down here.” She teased, calling out your hypervigilant mannerisms and the uncomfortable look on your face. You didn’t mind being here, but only when you had a reason to be, you definitely didn’t want to have to explain you came down here to check in on your boyfriend. 

“I know.. But you know..” you gave her a look. But you didn’t have to say anything, she knew what you meant, she just liked teasing you about it. 

“South 16 is empty. I’ll tell him I need him for something. Just be quick, we might need the room.” She told you in a hush, resuming her typing away at her computer. You quietly nodded, briefly reaching to lightly squeeze her shoulder as a silent thank you. 

You waited a bit anxiously, shooting a glance at your watch. Shit, you had to be back upstairs in ten minutes to check up on a patient. But you didn't want to leave without at least making sure he was okay. Even if he was just going to brush you off and tell you that everything was fine, you at least wanted to see him. You waited another minute, and with a sigh you turned to pull the curtains out, but someone beat you to it. You jumped back a bit, eyes wide for a second before you realized. 

He wasn't quite looking at you, or maybe he just wasn't paying that much attention, he thought he was in the wrong room at first.

“Sorry—oh.” Robby glanced behind him for a second, bit confused as he closed the curtain behind him. You smiled lightly as he looked at you both with confusion and relief to see you. Now matter how hectic or chaotic his day had been, how many times he had to chase down his residents, or many patients were a pain in his ass, seeing you always brought him a sense of calmness. He was ashamed to admit he was completely infatuated with you. His racing mind ultimately landed back on you, and he realized; he didn't remember calling you down. Maybe one of the residents did? But they didn't check with him first. “Hey, what uh.. What are you doing down here?”

“Just wanted to check in, I heard you’ve had a rough day.” You said quietly, lightly nibbling on your bottom lip as you stepped closer to him. He looked down at you, a heavy sigh leaving his lips and his jaw clicked lightly as he reminded himself to curse Dana out later. He didn’t want you to worry. He said nothing, so you continued, “The college kid, you don’t think he's gonna make it?”

He tried to hold back another sigh, but he couldn't help it, he squeezed his eyes shut and scratched the back of his head with exasperation. He considered not going into details, giving you the same bullshit answer he gave the parents. He never wanted to burden you with his issues, with the baggage that came with the ER. He always wanted to keep out of the relationship, though he found that to be quite the challenge. When he opened his eyes again and found your pretty eyes looking back at him, with that warmth and kindness that made him want you in the first place. Maybe he should open up, to you at least.

“Uh, no. He’s braindead so there’s nothing we can do.” The words left him like a ton of bricks, heavy and sharp. Your face immediately fell and your lips parted open lightly. You tilted your head at him, but said nothing. He wasn’t quite looking at you as he continued, “I keep ordering all these tests for the parents, but I know. And I don’t know if giving them false hope will make things worse for them.”

You nodded softly and rested your hands on his chest, you felt him exhale unevenly. You gave him a warm smile as you lightly rubbed his chest.

“Maybe they just need more time to make peace with it. Maybe they just need to know you did everything you could to help their son.” You knew how he felt, there had been so many times where nothing you did was enough to help someone’s child, and you had to tell them that. But you knew he did his best, he always did. Though you weren't sure if he knew that. 

“Yeah.. yeah, maybe.” You felt him slightly tense under your touch and he avoided your eyes. He slightly angled his head to look behind him, like he was getting ready to sneak his way away from you and get lost in the chaos of the ER. you would let him, in a minute.

“Michael.” Your voice was a warning, quiet, stern. He snapped his head in your direction and looked at you with concern and confusion. You almost mever called him that. Only sometimes, when you were annoyed with him. With that scolding tone of yours. He didn't like it much.

“I don't like that. Why’d you do that?” He tilted his head at you, and you had to hold back a smile at the way he looked at you.

“‘Cause, you’re being difficult. There’s bad days and there’s worse days. Today is a shitty day, and that’s fine. You're doing your best, don’t be so harsh on yourself.” You sighed, running your fingers through his beard and he almost instantly leaned into your touch.

“How come you didn't go into psychiatry?” He commented and you snorted, leaning your forehead into his chest. You felt a slight chuckle rumble in his chest, and with that your deed was done for now.

“Well, I did a minor in psychology in undergrad, did I ever tell you that?” You leaned back, a small smile on your lips, and he had the little wrinkles around his eyes that you found to be so cute. 

“Once or twice.”

You shrugged playfully, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek, but he turned his head and caught your lips instead. You were definitely okay with that. A groan of annoyance rumbled in your chest when you felt your phone buzz, alerting you that it was time for your next appointment. You pulled back, much to your dismay and took a glance at your phone, you were definitely going to be late.

“I mean it Robby, I’ll know.” You shot him a playful warning look and he nodded, a tiny grin pulling at the corner of his lips. You leaned up, actually leaving a kiss to his cheek this time. “Love you.”

“Love you too hun.” He called after you as you disappeared behind the curtain. A long sigh left his lips as he ran a hand over his face. If he wasn't the attending he would go after you and would purposely get locked inside an exam room with you for a little while. But alas. He waited a minute, making sure it didn’t look too suspicious before he came out too, back to the madness he went.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today was just the gift that kept on giving. You eventually came down for the walk of honor. You knew you wouldn’t really talk to Robby, but you wanted him to know you were there. You truly hated to see him like this. Hours on end only for the answer to have been what he knew from the beginning. It was hard to look at the brightside. And then you heard Dana got assaulted and you were absolutely freaking out. You hadn’t been able to come down until the end of your shift, when you were on your way to head home. Robby still had another hour left of his so you were just going to your apartment alone, he almost never got off on time, anyway.

You damn near ran off the elevator and a sense of relief washed over you when you saw Dana sitting at her desk. A long sigh left your lips as you approached her and you nearly gasped when you saw the bruising on her face. 

“Dana.” You said quietly, your eyes big. She shook her head at you dismissively, but it was hard not to worry. “They told me a patient hit you?”

“Yeah. Don't worry, I don't have any fractures, just a little sore.” She half smiled at you, but the look on your face never changed, you frowned even deeper.

“It's unbelievable. With all the patient satisfaction bullshit Gloria shoves down our throats you’d think they would invest a little more in making sure the staff is protected. Are you sure you’re okay? It bruised a lot.” You leaned down to inspect her closer and she rolled her eyes at you, but you couldn’t help it. 

“Yes I’m sure, Robby made me get a CT and made me take a break, I’m fine.” She waved you off and you nodded. 

“Oh, speaking of that pain in my ass, where is he? I’ve been texting him since the walk but I haven’t heard from him.” You frowned softly, adjusting your bag over your shoulder. Dana gave you a look, one that you definitely did not like.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t wait on him too much. Just go home, okay? While you still can.” Now that worried you even more. You knew today had been rough but you didn’t think it had been that bad. It took a lot for Robby to lose it, though you were unsure what exactly happened if that was the case. 

“Yeah, okay. I’m glad you’re okay. I was very worried.” You offered her a tiny smile, which she returned and you exchanged goodbyes for the night.

Dana’s words lingered in your mind, and you were definitely more concerned for Robby than you were earlier today. Usually he would text you back, even if it was an hour or two later, but it had been hours and nothing. With a sigh, you started to head for the exit, and as you walked you saw Robby walking out of one of the exam rooms. You debated whether to pretend you didn't see him and to just go home. But that really wasn't the type of person you were.

“Robby, hey.” You called out to him as quietly as you could as you walked up to him. He visibly tensed at the sight of you and he looked like a fucking mess. You narrowed your eyes, your lips pursing at him but you continued. “I uh.. I’m going home. I don’t know if.. If you wanted to come over when, well whenever you get out. I’m picking up food on the way so..”

He was silent for a while, too long for your liking and you were starting to feel a little tense as well. He clicked his tongue, scratching the back of his head like you had picked up he did when he was stressed. You probably should have listened to Dana.

“Yeah, uh, I don’t know. I don’t really know what time I’m getting off, and truly I think maybe I should go to my place tonight.” He said with exasperation, his tone harsh and laced with tension. It almost took you aback how he was talking to you. 

You blinked at him, mouth slightly agape. It took you a couple seconds to process what he was saying. You counted to five in your head, took a deep breath in and just nodded. “Uhm, okay. Yeah, cool, I just wanted to make sure you were okay before I went home.”

“Yes, yes I’m okay, why does everyone keep fucking asking me that.” He raised his voice before quickly realizing what he did and his lips fell in a flat line. You stared at him in shock, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. It was almost like it dawned on him that you were the last person in this hospital he should be snapping at. And he did just that. He reached to grab your arm and you backed up.

“No, it’s fine. I got it. Sorry. I’m gonna go home now.” You forced a smile, you could tell Robby wanted to say something, he opened his mouth but you just shook your head at him. “It’s fine, you need space and I get that. Text me when you can talk to me like a fucking adult, yeah?”

You didn’t even give him a chance to reply, you were turning around and hurrying to the exit before he could get a word in. Was that the most mature response you could have given him? No, not really, but you didn't particularly enjoy being yelled at by your boyfriend in the middle of the ER. You knew something else must’ve happened to him, but you didn’t really want to find out when he was that upset. You hadn't seen Robby angry often, stressed? Sure, all the time. But he looked pissed and you didn’t like that whatsoever. He was always so calm, so patient and so collected, it was unsettling to see him so easily ticked off. You tried not to think about it too much, he knew where to find you if he wanted to talk, calmly. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Robby couldn’t stop thinking about you for the rest of the night. He felt horrible for yelling at you, when his problems were not your fault and all you wanted to do was be the loving girlfriend that you were. He always loved how attentive and caring you were, when you asked him about his day and when you would listen so attentively to the little he would tell you. You were the last person on this earth he should’ve snapped at today, and now he had to go home feeling guilty when all he wanted was your comfort. He debated about just going to his place and calling you tomorrow, maybe he would get you some flowers to apologize. But then thought that would be too long. It was so late, he definitely didn’t get off when he was supposed to, but maybe you’d still be awake. You usually waited up for him anyway. 

Without much thought, he ended up at your apartment. He had a key to your place, he slept there most nights to be completely honest. He was rehearsing in his head the apology he would give you when the door got stuck. 

“What the fuck..” he muttered to himself as he tried to force the door open, thinking maybe it got caught on the rug or something. But no, he looked down to find that the latch was on. You put the latch on. He took a deep breath and clicked his tongue, trying to look into the apartment to see if he could see inside. This was definitely going to be his last straw. 

You weren’t asleep, it wasn’t quite midnight yet, but even if it was, you weren’t sure if you could get much sleep tonight. You heard the sound of your front door unlocking along with muffled shuffling. You sat up, confused. You suspiciously came out of your bedroom, only to find Robby’s awkwardly tall frame trying to reach inside to undo the latch. You almost wanted to laugh, you would have, if you hadn’t still been a bit upset from earlier. 

“Really?” You called out to him, arms crossed over your chest as you padded along the wooden floors, the floorboards creaking under your bare feet. Robby looked to find you, in an oversized t-shirt and a pair of cozy pants. He always found it endearing how cozy and comfortable you looked outside of the hospital. 

“You put the latch on? Really?” He huffed quietly, annoyed that he got stuck outside your apartment, he definitely was not amused by you trying not to laugh. You shrugged.

“You said you weren’t coming over. I put the latch on when you’re not here.” You said like it was obvious, taking your sweet time in walking to the door. It served him right. He would’ve rolled his eyes if he didn’t know you were right. 

You stood for a few seconds and made direct eye contact with him as you shut the door in his face, just to make a point, before you unlatched the door and opened it. You took a step back, crossing your arms over your chest again as he quietly stepped into your apartment, closing the door behind him. He dropped his backpack like it had offended him, and he crowded your space. His nose brushed over yours, and you could hear his breath. You were holding yours.

“I’m sorry.” He offered so quietly, so much so that you wouldn’t have heard him if he hadn't been so close. You inhaled sharply, slightly nodding. You threw your arms over his shoulders and he breathed out a sigh of relief. “Yeah? You forgive me?” 

You nodded again, as you leaned up to meet his lips. “Yes, now shut up.” 

“Yes ma’am.” He chuckled softly, his large hand squeezed your waist as he leaned down to meet your eager mouth. He definitely said nothing after that. God, he had been wanting to do this all fucking day. It probably would have made his day a whole lot less shitty. But he was here now, and he had you all to himself.

You weren't sure when you ended up being carried to your bedroom, or when your back was laid flat on your soft covers. All you could focus on was his lips claiming yours, his lips trailing kisses all over your jaw, down to your neck, and anywhere he could find, really. He wasn't normally this messy, perhaps the stresses of today had finally worn on him.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” he muttered against your skin as he half-assed shrugged his hoodie off his shoulders and tossed it somewhere he would be scrambling for in the morning. You hummed along, only half listening. “Let me make it up to you.”

Confused, you sat up on your elbows as he settled between your thighs. You watched him with big eyes and a heavy chest as he silently pulled your pj’s down your thighs. You held your breath as you instinctively closed your legs. He shot you a pointed look as he pried your thighs open, fingers digging into your plush thighs as he settled between them. You gasped softly at the delicious burn his beard left on your thighs. You loved that you could always feel the tingle of where his mouth had been, even the day after.

He took his time with you, he always did. You never understood how he could stay so calm, so patient. You had no patience, and you knew that he knew. Maybe he enjoyed seeing you desperate. His tongue lapped at your pussy with such calculated movements. From your hole to your clit, circling and sucking before diving back into your walls. Squirming, you were chasing his mouth with your hips, body overcome with pleasure as he worked your walls with his tongue. You felt like such a whore for asking like this, but you couldn’t help it. 

“That feels so—ugh—feels so good—please.” You didn’t know what you were pleading for. Mercy? Sweet release? You didn’t know. Robby raised an amused eyebrow at you, wet lips curled up the slightest bit as he moved his tongue back to your clit and he slipped two fingers inside your cunt. He licked and sucked to match each delicious drag of his fingers. The sounds leaving him were just as filthy as the things he was doing to you, groaning and grunting.

It was no surprise that he had you shaking and sobbing, overcome with pleasure, eyes blurry with tears of pleasure, your release rapidly approaching. You latched on to his hair, tugging and pulling at the strands as your pathetic sounds filled the room. You chased his mouth, and he let you, always so amused by how quickly you would fall apart.

“That’s it, just breathe through it.” he hushed, his own breath heavy as he replaced his tongue with his thumb and he crooked his fingers just the right way, knowing each and every one of your tells, each twitch of your body, he had memorized all of it. 

Your release was hard and sudden, your loud sounds were almost as overwhelming as the feeling of his fingers scissoring you wide open. Your head was thrown back, eyes rolled into the back of your head. He dug his fingers into your thigh, his tongue slipping into your hole when his fingers left you. 

“Shit Robby.” You gasped, your thighs shaking as you weakly reached to grab his face. You ran your fingers along his face, threading through his beard and you silently ushered him up. He complied, in an instant settling between your open legs to find your mouth again. You could taste yourself on his lips, on his tongue, it was all so much for your clouded mind.

“You’re okay, just breathe for me.” He said against your lips, brushing your hair away from your face softly. You breathed out a laugh.

“You should yell at me more often,” you snorted, and Robby shot you a pointed look. “So you can make it up to me.”

“Yeah, well, we’re not done, so.” He pressed another kiss to your lips, leaving the lingering taste of yourself on your tongue before he flipped you over on your stomach. You bit your lip softly, pulling your t-shirt over your head and tossed it somewhere. You heard him shuffling behind you for a bit. You turned your head to look back at him, and with a smile he leaned over your back, leaving a kiss to your bare shoulder. “Hi sweetheart.”

“Hmm hi.” you hummed softly as you braced yourself with your arms in front of you. He pressed his lips to the back of your head, inhaling your sweet scent as he slowly sank into you. 

You gasped, your eyes rolling back into your head he sank into you until his hips rutted against your ass. The side of your face was flat on the mattress when he sneaked his hand into your hair and held you there. His pace was slow at first, slow strokes that allowed you to revel in the feeling of his cock in and out of your walls. But as you both began to grow desperate, pathetic sounds leaving your lips and groans of pleasure leaving him, his pace picked up.

“Thought about this all day baby. With the fucking day I’ve had.” His words left him with a groan, and he gave you a particularly sharp thrust that had you sliding up the mattress. “Just wanted this. You're the only thing that isn’t wrong in my life.” 

His raspy words in your ear made you moan, and you blindly reached behind you to touch him, any part of him. He leaned down, his chest flat against your back and his lips found yours, pulling you into a messy kiss. 

“Mhm, should’ve called me down for a quickie then.” You teased him and he chuckled, his cheek pressed against your jaw, the new angle making him sit so deep you could feel him in your fucking guts. God, you didn’t fucking care that he was so much older than you, the way he fucked you, so passionately and so gently at the same time, you didnt care for anyone younger. 

“I don't care for quickies.” he replied with an edge to his voice, despite the sass of your mouth, he could feel the way you squeezed the life out of him everytime he hit that perfect spot, getting you closer and closer to your release.

“You’re such an old man.” you managed to reply, but your witty remarks quickly left you when he slipped his free hand to find your swollen clit, which made you painfully aware of how close you were. But Robby could tell.

“Uh-huh, and this old man is gonna make you come,” There was a bit of amusement in his voice at the way your body twitched under him and the way your face twisted with pleasure. You were so close. “Yeah, thought so.” 

“Fuck, I’m gonna come.” you choked out, followed by a silent sob when he hit that one spot and you saw white. You were gasping for air as your whole body shuddered. Robby shushed you softly, slowly fucking you through your orgasm. He left wet kisses along your jaw as he whispered sweet words in your ear.

“Atta girl, you did so good.” He hummed as he left a kiss to the side of your head as you dropped your face flat on your blankets, your breath heavy as your body twitched in aftershock. You gasped softly when he slipped out of you, leaving you empty. You wanted to whine, but he gently grabbed your arm and flipped you on your back, and he settled between your legs with ease.

“Alright, lemme look at you. Just want to see how pretty you look.” He ran his fingers over your face, brushing your hair away from your forehead. It was always such a intoxicating feeling to have him on top of you, his pretty brown eyes watching your every move, his chain a reminder that you were about to get fucked (again). You fucking loved this feeling. You couldn’t even make a sound when he slid into you again, your eyes simply fluttering shut and your body twitching with pleasure.

“O-oh my god—!” The way you sounded so utterly fucked out, cock-drunk, it made him feel lightheaded as he fucked into you. He felt a little bad, with how exhausted you both always were, you never fucked this long, or so intensely. So he knew you were going to be so sore for your morning shift tomorrow. But fuck, with the way you squeezed your eyes shut, lips parted, he didn’t want to stop until you were both spent with exhaustion because you just felt so fucking tight and so goddamn heavenly.

“Mhmm I know, I know hun. Feels good hm?” He panted above you, his chain dangling above your face like a mockery of your current position with each thrust he gave you. You nodded harshly, a string of uh-uh-uh’s leaving your pathetic mouth as your nails dragged down his back.

“Feels so good baby.” You squeezed your eyes shut, his voice shooting straight to your pulsing walls, making you whimper.

He gritted his teeth as he felt your walls squeeze the life out of him, a grunt leaving his chest as he reached for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. You squeezed his hand so tight as he pinned your hand above your head, and he planted his other arm beside your head, attempting to ground himself. 

“There you go sweetheart. That’s it.” His raspy voice grounded you as you spasmed around his cock for a second time. Your sounds were so pathetic, the way you sobbed his name was enough to make him completely lose the very little self-control he was holding on to. He fucked you through your orgasm, gave you two, three more sharp thrusts before he fell into his own release, a breathy fuck falling from his lips

Sounds of exhaustion filled the room, drowning out the still on TV you had in the background, your show being completely forgotten the second Robby was at your door. A thin layer of sweat covered his skin as he ran a hand through his hair. Your eyes were screwed shut, your forearm thrown over your face as your racing heart matched your shuddering breath. He sneaked under your arm and left a kiss to the side of your forehead. You giggled a bit and opened your eyes to find his soft brown eyes staring back, there was a smile there, too.

“You want pizza? I bought some earlier from the place you like.” You spoke eventually, your chest now rising and falling in a steady rhythm as you rested your head on Robby’s arm. He turned his head to look at you and smiled in that way that made the corners of his eyes wrinkle a bit. 

“Yeah, okay. I’ll take some.” 

Much to the protest of your legs, you threw yourself on your feet, ignoring the way Robby was chuckling at your struggle. You managed to find a t-shirt, you didn’t know whose it was, probably Robby’s but it was yours now. After making a stop to the bathroom, you were in the kitchen for a bit. Getting fucked made you hungry, so you heated up some pizza for yourself. 

“Here’s your delivery, and I do require a tip.” You announced as you came back into your bedroom. Robby looked up from his phone, and he had managed to find his black framed glasses that you loved to tease him about. And a playful smirk formed on your lips. “I definitely want a tip.”

He looked at you confused for a few seconds then he realized and he blew out a laugh, shaking his head with disappointment. “You know, after a certain age one just gets really tired, can’t keep up with people your age. Not that I would know about that.” 

You snorted as you flopped down on your bed, handing him his pizza and a can of coke because that was all you had in your fridge. “It’s okay, you’re my favorite old man.”

You leaned up to kiss his cheek, bumping his glasses with your nose. He gave you a look out of the corner of his eye that was anything but amused. Which made you laugh even more as you took a bite out of your pizza. 

“I hope I’m your only old man.” He chuckled, squinting his eyes the slightest bit as he typed a text on his phone. God he wished he could turn this fucking thing off. He couldn't even be out of the hospital for an hour before he got bombarded with messages. He caught the way you shot him a glare and he gave you a quick ‘sorry’ before he set his phone down. 

“I dunno, the chief of peds is quite the catch.” You couldn’t help but snort at the look he gave you, and you just shot him a smile. “Jokes. Totally joking babe.” 

You ate in silence for a while, you kew you had to be up again at six in the fucking morning, but you just wanted to enjoy having him all to yourself for just a little longer. There was still a lingering thought in your mind, you’ve had it all night. It never left your mind. Robby was watching whatever you decided to play on the TV when you turned to look at him.

“Robby,” you said softly, he hummed as he turned his head to look at you. “Do you want to talk about today? It's okay if you don’t… I just think you should talk to someone, and I want to listen.” 

You saw the hesitation in his warm eyes, the tension and dread from such a shitty day coming back to him. His lips fell in a flat line, and his jaw locked the slightest bit. You offered him a soft smile as you sat closer to him, leaning your head on his shoulder with a soft shake of your head.

“Not tonight, okay? We can talk about it tomorrow.” He sighed out, leaning to leave a kiss to the side of your head. And you nodded with a reassuring smile. 

You didn’t know how he was prior to the pandemic, maybe he was worse, or maybe he had gotten better since. But you didn’t mind putting in a little work to break down his walls and help him open. You would do anything, and you were okay with waiting.

[crazy-hazy-sims]

PLEASE READ THE UPDATE AND THE REPLIES AND THE LAST REBLOG BEFORE I TURNED OFF REBLOGS BEFORE ACCUSING ME OF SPREADING MISSINFORMATION!!!! this post was written before steam realized they had the wrong tags on i agree though pirate EA games <3

As someone who knows alot about piracy please Pirate the sims 1 and 2 because the new rerelease has denuvo tacked onto it and that mf will kill your computers and drain your wifi

let me explain what denuvo is

in short its "anti cheat" code thats only purpose is to complicate the game code so badly that it makes it near impossible for pirates to reverse engineere the game and pirate it, ofc this is not true and Pirates can crack many versions of denuvo it just takes time

so essentially it does nothing but ruin your computer

how?

This extra slop code is integrated into the code of the game so it runs every single time you launch the game and on top of the code slop that games are made of that make your compute heat up and use up ram denuvo code is running ON TOP, using more ram AND internet, forcing offline games to go fully online When the games previously didnt need an internet connection at all.

It has been proven so many times that it cause issues from longer load times to frame rate drops, denuvo's code slows everything down and almost always performance improves by like 50% after denuvo is removed by developers.

There are games that were completely unplayable like they wouldn't even launch because of denuvo, and the company claims this is not their fault and that people should upgrade their computers so this wont happen.. yeah right

Essentially with the reveal that EA didn't fix anything about the sims 1 and 2 and just released them as is but with denuvo attached they literally sold you code to keep you Connected to their servers and force you to not be able to share anything with anyone and forcing the games to preform 50 times worse than their 25 year old selves...

So please dont buy a program that will kill your computers and ruin your games and allow EA to be permanently Connected on your computer thats posing as the sims 1 and 2!!!!

Please please just pirate these 2 games!

Also even though sims 4 is free also Pirate that shit its not worth paying over 1k dollars in dlcs when hslf od them do not work

Update the denuvo tag on steam was a mistake on EAs part it has been confirmed that they dont have it (proof in the REBLOGS) my point still stands though :

PIRATE EA GAMES PEOPLE its literally the better choice for your poor computers

[saweetdolly]

౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ “𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋 𝐈𝐍 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑“

pairing ~ hwang inho x shy!f!reader

warnings ~ 18+ minors dni, age gap (reader early 20s, inho late 40s early 50s), dirty talk, dry humping, oral (reader receiving), fingering, sub!reader & dom!inho

summary ~ after saving you during mingle and the night attack, inho wants to make sure you never leave his side

wc ~ 1.6k

a/n ~ hiii babies! this is my first time posting a fic so please be kind! atp we all sluts for mr inho so i thought my first fic should be of him :p rmb to eat n drink ur wataaa babiess! enjoyyy!

you never thought you'd find yourself in a situation like this. it almost sounded cliche. buried in debt from your studies, drained, and expecting death at any moment. the 'mingle' game had you frightened and traumatized you to no end, but left you with new alliances formed. 'young-il,' the man who saved you during the last round, helped comfort you back at the dormitory. the older man welcomed you into his group, promising to protect you and get you out of this place safely.

unknown to you, inho young-il had been observing you the whole time you were there. he watched every single move you made, infatuated with you. the way your pretty lips pouted as you listened to the ai voice explain the rules of the game, how you slowly ate your food all alone on your bed, how quiet and observant you were, he watched it all. he spent most of the time wondering; what’s a pretty, young, innocent thing like you doing in a place like this?

now, you laid in your bed quietly, the soft glow from the piggy bank being the only thing illuminating the room. the sound of rustling sheets and footsteps was the only thing you could hear. however, and you quickly learned this, peace isn't a forever thing in here. low noises and slow footsteps quickly turned into chaos and violence as everyone around you started screaming, bed frames falling and people being attacked left and right. scared and confused, you bolted out of your bed, trying to quietly make your away to a corner.

you practically jumped out of your skin when young-il grabbed your hand, turning you around quickly and guiding you to the front of the room. you weren't sure what his intention was, but the thought of him saving you kept replaying in your mind, so you followed along.

when you got to the door, he gestured to a guard to use the restroom. the guard suspiciously instantly opened the door and young-il ran with you through the halls and into the restroom, shoving you into a stall and locking the door.

you breathed heavily as you leaned against the stall wall, making eye contact with young-il. his hair was ruffled and messy, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead, and his breathing was heavy. you took a moment to take in the way he was looking at you. a lustful, yet loving look adorned his face as he stared at you, eyes running up and down your frame.

“are you alright?” he finally spoke, his breathing slowing down as he walked towards you. you nodded softly, a blush creeping up on your face as you looked down. “it’s crazy out there. you could’ve gotten hurt, y/n. you should’ve come to me.” his tone sounded genuine and you lifted your head to look at him, nodding softly again. “i, i know mister. thank you” you whispered softly. young-il could have sworn you were an angel the way you spoke so softly to him, your pretty eyes never leaving his face. a small smile spread on his lips as he nodded, sitting down on the toilet.

you watched as you picked at your fingers nervously, the chaos outside of the bathroom becoming louder. young-il spoke your name softly, barely a whisper. your eyes met his as he patted on his thigh, a nod of encouragement following. “c’mere. sit with me.” he said, his eyes scanning your face for any hint of discomfort. a blush crept up your face as you obliged, walking towards him and lowering yourself onto his lap. his arms wrapped around your waist as you straddled him, your soft hands resting on his shoulders.

“young-il” you gasped softly as you felt his bulge in between your thighs, slowly rocking your hips back and forth. “it’s inho” he says, “my name, it’s inho.” you stop moving and look at him, confusion evident on your face. “w-what?” you whisper, your eyebrows furrowing. “i used a fake name in case anyone tried to hurt me.” he said. you nodded slowly, not entirely convinced but too aroused to care. you repeated his name, the word foreign on your tongue as his warm hands move onto your ass cheeks. you let out a whimper as you feel him squeeze, encouraging you to keep moving. you felt your arousal soak your underwear as you moved against his bulge, hands creeping up to his hair.

“let me make you feel good sweetheart.” he whispered into your ear, listening to your soft whimpers and in pure bliss at the way you tugged at his hair. you let out a soft moan in response, leaning in and closing the distance between you. inho wasted no time in kissing you back, tongue slowly forcing its way into your mouth to tangle with yours. he smiles into the kiss, pre cum leaking onto his boxers when he feels you grind harder. you gasp into the kiss when you feel inho lift you up and place you on the ground, breaking the kiss and tugging at your tracksuit pants. you look up at him, the desperate look in your eyes telling him everything he needs to know. he slowly lowers himself onto his knees, taking your tracksuit pants and underwear off in the process. you step out of the pile of clothes on the ground and inho gestures to your shirt, watching silently with lust-filled eyes as you slowly slid your jacket off. you shakily grabbed the hem of your shirt and lifted it, sliding the sweaty material off your body and onto the floor.

you closed your thighs together, feeling embarrassment wash over you. inho let out a low laugh at how sweet you looked. "let me see you baby." he said, carefully lifting one of your legs and placing it over his shoulder, his slow movements leaving you aroused with anticipation. he groaned at the sight of your glistening pussy, pupils dilated and mouth watering. "you've got such a pretty pussy sweetheart, you've really been hiding this from me all this time?" inho teased, a small smirk on his lips as he looked up at you. he licked his thumb and brought it to your clit, rubbing soft slow circles and he could've sworn he could die happily just hearing the noises that left your lips. he placed soft kisses along your inner thigh and your breathing became heavier. "inho p-please" you managed to whimper out, hands tangling in his hair and his eyes never leaving yours. "please what baby? use your words." he groaned softly, taking in your scent and how wet you were. "please do something" you pleaded, attempting to push his head into your pussy

inho took his thumb off your clit and replaced it with his tongue, flicking and kitten-licking at it. your hands tugged at his hair as whimpers and moans left your lips, feeling his left hand move up your body and settle on the sports bra you had on. he tugged it down, freeing your breasts as his other hand crept up your thigh and he prodded his middle finger at your entrance. you felt his finger slowly enter you as he wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking then licking. you couldn't contain the moans that left your lips and how your legs shook as inho sucked on your clit, the sensation unlike anything you've ever felt. inho moved his finger in and out of your pussy, your tight and wet walls sucking him back in. he added another finger in, his movements speeding up and he tugged and pinched at your nipples with his other hand. your eyes rolled back as you brought a hand up to your chest and placed it on top of his, guiding it to your other breast. "inho oh fuck- d-don't stop" you moaned, feeling his tongue and fingers move faster. his eyes never left yours as he continued his assault on your pussy, the sinful sounds of your wetness echoing through the bathroom walls.

"m'gonna cum" you moaned, hands gripping inho's hair and your legs shook violently, his tongue now slowly circling your clit. "go on angel, cum for me." he said, immediately dipping his head back down to suck on your clit, eyes never leaving yours. he continued to tug and roll your nipple between his fingers, and with one final lick to your clit, the coil in your stomach snapped. stars danced in your vision as you loudly moaned, grinding your finger-filled pussy on inho's face. he placed one last kiss on your now sensitive clit, and retreated his fingers from your pussy. inho got up off his knees and stood in front of you, bringing his cum-coated fingers to his mouth. he sucked at his fingers, cleaning your arousal off of them and inhaling sharply at your taste. you watched him with half-lidded eyes, trying to catch your breath. "you taste so fucking good princess." he said, lips ghosting over yours. he pressed a small kiss to your lips, a smirk never leaving his. he broke off the kiss, wiping his now-clean fingers off with toilet paper. you slowly bent over and grabbed your discarded clothes, quietly dressing yourself as inho watched.

when you walked out of the bathroom, inho's grip on your hand could practically cut off your circulation. he led you through the halls until you stopped in front of a door. he turned to look at you, an unreadable expression on his face while a confused one appeared on yours. as if on cue, you felt a hand come up behind you and press a cloth against your face. your surroundings blurred as your body became limp, the last thing you were able to see being inho's cold, unreadable, face.

∧,,,∧ (  ̳• · • ̳) /    づ♡ mwuah!

click here!

[lunarxcity]

Why him? (Part II to Why me?)

azriel x rhys' sister! reader

angst/eventual comfort (Buckle up bc this part is in Azriel's Pov after reader left him for Autumn. I swear the comfort will come eventually)

Summary: When you walk in on Azriel and Elain the mating bond snaps leading you to flee to Autumn with Eris so you can be free of Azriel. Your absence causes Azriel to come to some drastic realisations, but is it already too late and has your time in Autumn led to you moving on?

Part I if you missed it

-

Azriel has never been more confused in his long fae life. You guys have been perfectly in sync for hundreds of years, had seen each other at your bests and worsts and now it seems like everything is crumbling down and he doesn't even know what's happening. First, it had begun with his almost kiss with Elain, which Rhys had interrupted with probably the meanest thing he had ever said to him. Then, his shadows tell him that you're getting ready to leave for Autumn immediately without telling anyone.

He begins to tell Elain this when his first shadow, the one that had reached out to him in the depths of his father's dungeon, begins crying. He feels his shadow break away from himself and run to stop you from leaving. His shadow lets out a melancholic cry, unlike one he's ever heard from them. He feels the shadow's emotions, the panic and the fear of you leaving. You guys have never left for a mission without at least corresponding to one another.

He tells Elain that he that he thinks something is seriously wrong and he needs to see you right now to make sure everything is okay. He runs to your room and when he gets there, he sees it's already full of the rest of the inner circle minus Rhys. He watches as they go silent in his presence, each one a deer caught in the headlights.

The room immediately became thick with tension and he didn't know why. It couldn't have been because he brought Elain with him? He looks to you and you look almost sickly, trembling and heavy breathing with bleary, dull eyes that look drained of the life he had become accustomed to. Something was seriously wrong.

While Autumn had been one of the more problematic courts as far as diplomacy goes, it had been relatively stable recently. Beron's reign of terror has been suprisingly quiet lately. There shouldn't be any reason to send you there. Besides it wasn't a particularly safe court and Azriel would rather be sending 50 spies to their death than to put you in jeapordy.

The entire time he was in the room he felt that you had been off. For cauldron sake you had snapped at him when he had only been concerned for your safety. You don't do that. Well, not without reason of course, and he wanted to know the reason so he could fix it because that's what you guys do for each other. How was he going to do that when you wouldn't even look him in the eye.

It didn't help that he couldn't get a grip on his frantic shadow that was holding you down. It also didn't help that Eris appeared out of nowhere and whisked you away to Autumn before he could say anything. He was going to go after you when Rhys had shown up and told him to stand down. Rhys, who had said deplorable things to him about the Elain situation. But nevertheless, he choked down the hurt he had regarding his whole argument with his brother.

You had left so suddenly and now everyone in the room had gone quiet, the weight of your absence felt by everyone immediately. He didn't even get to give you your solstice gift.

Speaking of Solstice, everyone would usually stay up late drinking and laughing but the minute you left it felt as if someone took a bucket of ice water to every single person in that room. Rhys announced he was going to bed and everyone else agreed and followed. They said their goodnights in the most polite fashion, the way they would to a courtier not their brother on Solstice. Nesta dragged Elain away before she could retort that she needed to stay with Azriel.

All the warmth had seeped out of the room with your absence and he wondered if this was how it was going to be from now on without you. Although you hadn't been glued to the hip as you guys usually were, due to him spending more time with Elain he knows he would've noticed if there was something wrong. Deep down in his heart, as shrivelled and marred it had become, Azriel knew that something was seriously wrong and he committed himself to finding out what it was.

The spymaster is the perfect person to have been chosen to solve the mystery of your sudden switch up, and Azriel swore he would get down to the bottom of whatever it was. Him and Rhys have been vying in the competition of who knows you best for centuries. He decides to start his investigation by searching your room. Yes, it's technically an invasion of privacy but anything that puts you and your happiness or safety at risk is an emergency in Azriel's book.

He has his shadows scour around and nothing seems to be out of the ordinary minus the missing stuff you had packed. A dozen or so books missing, a quarter of your closet gone, and all the trunks you had in the closet were absent. You had packed a good amount of your stuff, enough to last you a month at the least and years at the most.

He begins to look for more clues, and he notices that you had left the stationary that he had gifted you on your 400th untouched on your desk. It started off with a simple stationary set with a gold-tipped quill and obsidian star-flecked ink, then when he saw your eyes light up he would find excuses to get you more ink and pens over the years. Now your giant desk is sprawling with different inks, wax seals, stamps, pens, quills, you name it it's there. You have never left the Night Court without at the very least the original set in tow. Even during the war, you packed the gold-tipped quill in your small bag.

Azriel's stomach dropped. He knew it probably wasn't malicious, and you had probably just been in a rush and had simply forgotten, but the idea that not even a small part of him was with you left an ugly feeling spreading throughout him.

He continued to look around the room and saw that you had left everything Azriel had ever given you. The training boots he had especially made for you sat worn out on the floor next to the bookshelf, which he now noticed only housed the books that Azriel had given you, which he had noticed was a substantial amount. The travel pack he had made for your measurements, since the Illyrian one's were quite large and heavy, was left on the floor with nothing but the first aid kit that he had requested Madja to make you in case of emergencies in it.

Azriel had spent countless hours in your room, but never realised how much he comprised it, but maybe that was because all traces of you were now gone. You took the jewellery that Mor had given you, books Nesta had lent you, even the blanket that Feyre had given you made from the Coat of the elusive WinterBeast. It doesn't even get cold enough in Autumn for you to use it. You even took the apron that Cassian sewed you the one time Nesta dragged him to a sewing class on date night. For Cauldron's sakes you even took the enchanted ruby ring that Amren gave you, why would you do that when you prefer Saphire. He had noticed that when you had left, you changed out your regular sapphire jewellery in exchange for the purple diamonds and starlight emblems that Rhysand had given you.

Yes they were Night Court family colours, but it was the first time he had seen you without any blue for a while. He didn't like it. You were a sentimental person and had brought pieces of everyone in the family with you, except for him and Elain. Maybe this was your way of protesting their sneaking around, especially with talks of a Blood Duel coming into play, but you have never outright avoided him before.

He continued to pace around the room, trying to come up with solutions and possibilities, when his foot hit a box that had been hiding under your bed. Perfect cobalt blue wrapping with a silver bow, Azriel knew he had just found his Solstice present.

Hiding Solstice presents from Azriel had always been hard work. The shadows would see and get excited and tell their master of the gifts long before they were wrapped and under the tree. You, however, were somehow the only one who could surprise him. You refused to let him find out, leading to you not even putting your present under the tree. He would receive his gift late at night when everyone had gone to bed, and the stars in the sky were fighting to stay up, the threat of sunlight imminently close. You would creep around in the shadows of him and steal leftover Solstice cookies and have your own gift opening either in one of your rooms or next to the embers of the fire that had been roaring all night.

Azriel had committed many atrocities in his life, his line of work almost required it. He didn't know what came after this life, and every day, he wondered if the Mother would even let him go on knowing all that he had done in this one. To go against the Mother was one thing, but to go against you was another. Azriel knew that he would forsake the Mother a hundred times over before he would forsake you. Even if this present was meant to be his anyways, you aren't here to give it to him so how does he know he can take it? But what if this present is actually a clue, and you purposefully hid it to spite him. You were still Rhys' blood, you guys can get a little petty at times.

Besides he did technically give you your Solstice present. Azriel always had an easy time with gifts, he listens in on conversations about what people want and gives it to them. While there is a lack of sentimentality there, everyone is happy so why does it matter?

But you always give the most thoughtful gifts, the gifts people didn't know they wanted but needed. He tries to keep up with you, but he just isn't sentimental enough to be good at those kinds of gifts. He gifted Elain a necklace, because that's what the jeweler said that women liked. For you though, he knew he had to come up with something big.

He came up with his gift months ago when Azriel had to go on a month-long mission to help keep the Spring Court from falling. When he came back, his first shadow darted to you, swirling around you happily. It had been whispering about you constantly during his time away and had only calmed down in your presence. It clicked for him, and while this shadow is the most important to him, the one that had reached out in the darkness when he was at his lowest, he knew deep down that it in some way it had belonged to you. Always preferring your company to his, always asking about your whereabouts, always calming down in your presence. He told his shadow and the shadow was elated the shadow came up with different ideas to always be with you, as a bracelet, in your hair, even as a part of your shadow.

While others had always been weary of his shadows, you treated them like a pet. Talking to them, petting them, and never missing an opportunity to call them cute. While the shadows are sentient, they are a manifestation of himself, and where others cowered in fear you embraced them wholeheartedly. It was probably the most intimate thing that Azriel had ever done for anyone he even had a mini speech written down about how grateful he was to have you in his life, but he never got to give it to you because you left before he had the chance. He didn't realise that the shadow had managed to escape with you until after you were gone.

You had just left but he missed you. The lack of knowledge of your return had him spiraling. He needed to know why you left because then he could know how to bring you back. In his desperation for answers and current lack of a better judgement he decides to open the present.

He rips open the cobalt wrapping paper to find a navy box littered with silver stars that looked like the night sky. He takes off the lid of the box and starts ruffling through the shiny paper you stuffed the box with, an extra layer of protection to block his shadows from seeing what was in the gift.

The first thing he had pulled out was a matching blade and sheath. The hilt was intricate, it started blue and bled into a violet littered with specks that he could only see after turning it over, pure starlight. The hilt had little stars and swirls engraved in it, an Illyrian design, but the actual shape of the blade and craft of the blade hailed from Dawn.

The blade of a Peregryn general was the sharpest and lightest blade that you could find in Prythian. The craftsmanship is a very regulated process and no one is able to get them. No one else is allowed to wield them and the blade dies with the Peregryn, they are blood bound. They are heavily enchanted and are basically a lifeline for any peregryn soldier. They only break when warding off a death blow.

There usually a bit smaller, no bigger than a throwing knife. He pulled out truthteller to compare the size and it was a perfect match. The matching sheath was gorgeous, all dark leather and intricate designs. More swirls of shadows and stars and little specks of blue and purple, a mix of you and Azriel.

He was aghast. He had mentioned being bitter about the Peregryn blades and made a joke about how Illyrians were the better winged fae in the past Mother knows how long ago, but he never thought you would actually be able to acquire one, let alone customise it to his liking.

He was touched, but he tried to suppress his feelings so he could maintain his control and continued to look through the box. The only other thing was a pair of gloves, but knowing you, they must have been a lot more than a pair of gloves. Also from the Dawn court, they had the same level of intricacy in their design and appeared to match the rest.

Azriel put a glove on and felt immediate relief. You knew that the cold would sometimes aggravate the scars on his hands and while he was still able to function for all these years, it wasn't comfortable to say the least. Azriel hated asking for help, he couldn't do it, so he has suffered in silence, enduring like he always does. You had these gloves imbued with a healing magic, from the Dawn Court, the court with the best healers in Prythian.

He knew that you had likely spent years crafting these gifts and working with blacksmiths and healers, calling in favor after favor, swaying high lords all for his sake. No one has ever done something like this for him.

His heart swells and then breaks. You had done all of this for him and now he had let you down without knowing why. You gave him a lifeline and he was going to waste it on a Blood Duel with Lucien Vanserra. He was going to waste years of work you had put into this surprise trying to take someone’s mate away from them, the very thing he had always wanted. Shame fills him and the thoughts begin to flood his mind.

The thoughts of how he doesn't deserve you. Thoughts of how he has failed you and will never be able to fix that damage that he unknowingly did. Thoughts of how you finally saw the faults in him like everyone else and you had decided that enough was enough and you decided you didn’t want anything to do with him. Thoughts of how he had lost the one person who had always been unconditionally there for him.

The thoughts just keep coming and he doesn’t know how to stop them. His shadows frantically swirled around him unable to deal with the distress of their master. Mental distress becomes physical and the weight of existence is heavy on his chest.

Azriel falls to his knees and holds his new blade, your blade, to the left side of his chest. He crumples in on himself and the shadows surround him. Wetness begins to stream down his face and he can’t even begin to comprehend why. What is this agony he was feeling.

His vision blurs, not that it matters since his shadows surround him and block the light. His breathing is erratic and his heart is nearly pounding out of his chest. His chest swells with emotion heavy as pain, almost as if there was a phantom knife lodged in his chest. He had never felt this way before, he was very good at keeping his composure but right now he was a complete and utter mess.

Trying to get himself together before he completely falls apart he’s able to prop himself up against your bed. Your scent immediately hits him and a wave of comfort rolls over him. Even in your absence you’re taking him down off the ledge. The minute he picked up your scent it was like he was finally able to think clearly.

He was emotionally and physically spent from all that had happened tonight, he needed the small comfort of whatever part of you he could get. You would laugh at him for this and scold him for not writing a letter, he would give anything for you to walk in and say something like how he’s a big illyrian baby who can never ask for help. You would laugh and stay with him until he feels like he can be alone again. You were meant to be here laughing with him and crying over how touched you were by his gift, instead he was here by himself crying because of how touched he was by yours and how he wishes you were here.

Like a child that just had a nightmare, he crawls into your bed and wraps himself up in the blankets and your scent. His body relaxed, his heart rate steadies, his breathing evens, and his shadows calm. Everything instantly feels better and what seemed like the end of the world moments ago now seems manageable. Your scent lulls him to edge of sleep and he drifts off with thoughts of you on his mind.

part III

-

taglist: @chaosabroad @bbontenswhhore @tele86 @ashblooddragons

note: I really tried to get this out in 24 hours so it may be a bit rushed and completely unedited... but thank you everyone for your support and thank you for everyone on the taglist! This may be a bit of a boring chapter, but I feel like it's necessary to flesh out the relationship between the reader and Azriel. Until next time!

[sweetshuga]

「 𝑨 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒂 𝒏𝒂𝒑 ✰ 𝑴.𝑺 」

ᯓ bf!matt fluff + smut! ────

𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔: A cute little nap session with your boyfriend turns into something else because Matt’s just too needy for your touch after a long day. (sub!matt if you squint)

Saturday evening – 19:35 (7:35 pm)

Your body relaxed against Matt’s as you two laid on his bed in just underwear, cocooned by his comforter. His arm was possessively draped over your waist, eyelids fluttering subtly as he closed them before opening them again. A soft, adoring smile on his lips as he looked at you.

Matt’s hand reached up to push a few stray strands of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek before a yawn escaped him, causing him to briefly put his hand over his mouth.

"Tired?" You rasped, unable to speak any louder due to how drained you were. "Yeah, really needed this." Matt whispered, his own voice heavy with exhaustion but with clear satisfaction. He leaned forward and nuzzled his face in your cleavage, breathing in your scent as his eyes closed, his body going lax.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight, your fingers gently carding through his messy brown locks and absentmindedly massaging his scalp, making him sigh in contentment.

"That feels so good baby." Matt murmured, his voice muffled by your skin as he relaxed further into your touch, almost like a cat. "We should do this more often, just cuddle like this and nap," he said, his eyes still closed and breath steady.

A few minutes later – 19:50 (7:50 pm)

You were out like a light after a few minutes of cuddling with him, but Matt couldn’t sleep. He fidgeted in discomfort as his boxers tightened around the crotch, his length hardening rapidly. "Fuck." He breathed out, his hand reaching down to adjust himself to relieve some of the tension as he rested his forehead against your tits.

Matt couldn’t wake you up—it would be selfish of him to stir you awake from your peaceful sleep just because he had a hard-on, but he needed you sooo badly.

He was torn.

A shaky groan left his lips, part annoyance and part desire. He wanted relief so badly, so much so that he found himself palming his dick through his boxer briefs, his breath hot against your skin.

"Having fun?" You teased with a sleepy smile, having woken up from him squirming beside you. Matt’s head shot up from its position on your chest as a soft flush adorned his cheeks, keeping eye contact with you despite his embarrassment.

"You were awake?" Matt questioned accusingly, his eyes narrowing in mock seriousness as a giggle escaped you. You lazily looked down at the bulge straining against his boxer briefs before looking into his eyes, trying – and failing – to hide your amusement. "Mm no, woke up just now ’cause you kept moving... Wondered why you were so squirmy—guess I know now."

He let out a small shaky laugh at your teasing words, looking down at his boner before locking eyes with you again. His lips curled subtly at the corners with a smirk as his eyes grew heavy-lidded.

"Since you’re awake... mind helping me out, pretty?" His hand snaked down, caressing up your thigh to your hip and giving you a gentle squeeze there before trailing his hand down again.

A soft chuckle rumbled out as you carded your fingers through his hair. You shifted your leg to deliberately press your knee against his hard on, making him jolt due to the sudden spark of pleasure. His breath hitched as he closed his eyes briefly, relishing in the small bit of relief you provided before opening them again, eyes heavy-lidded and pupils blown wide.

"You’re soo needy Matt." You drawled in a teasing way, obviously having your fun seeing him trying to hide the fact that even a subtle touch from you is making his dick throb against your knee.

Matt groaned at your teasing tone, trying his best to keep himself from just rutting against your knee to relieve the painful tautness he felt from the confinement of his underwear.

A soft whine left his lips involuntarily when you rubbed your knee against his crotch, feeling the fabric dampen in the center with his precum. Matt’s body tensed slightly, his hand halting in its place on your hip before reaching further back to sink his fingers in the soft flesh of your backside as he leaned forward to bury his face back in your cleavage.

"Fuck, c’mon baby." Matt whispered, voice hoarse with need and barely contained desire. "I need you." He tilted his head back from your tits to look at you. His eyes were silently pleading for you to touch him and his chest heaved with ragged breaths.

You didn’t feel like teasing him further so you gently pushed his shoulder to make him lay on his back. Matt immediately got your hint and turned to lay on his back, hooded eyes following your every move.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, gulping audibly as he felt his mouth go dry when you straddled him—making your core press against his painfully stiff length. The thin fabric of your underwear and his boxers were the only things preventing skin contact.

#Bringbackdryhumping

You both decided that it was better to not have a full on penetrative sex since you had to be out and about tomorrow and with the beast straining against his boxer briefs, you knew you would be somewhat sore even if he was gentle.

Matt’s fingers curled on your hips, sinking slightly into the flesh there as he helped you move back and forth over his clothed cock. His head was thrown back, eyes closed and lips parted as soft groans left his lips with every movement of your hips.

His noises of pleasure mingled with yours as both of you tried your best to keep it down since Chris and Nick were home.

You were getting so damn turned on by the sight under you, as well as the small whimper like sounds Matt was making instead of letting his noises out completely in fear of being heard by his brothers.

You quickly picked up a rhythm that got you feeling like you were on the edge already, and Matt probably felt the same judging by the way his breath hitched more than before and the way his hips jerked and jolted involuntarily.

"Matt..." You whimpered softly when he helped you grind against him faster, pressing you harder down on himself. Your lips parted as you let out quiet breathy moans, head thrown back in ecstasy. "Feels so good, baby- you feel soo good." You mumbled praises, causing Matt to moan softly in response.

It wasn’t long before you felt that tautness in your lower abdomen—the telltale sign of your impending orgasm. Your hips stuttered and jerked, the pace faltering as you got closer and closer to the high you were desperately chasing after.

The way Matt’s hips rutted against yours did it for you.

You let out a drawn out moan which Matt effectively muffled with a kiss as he helped you come down from your high by sliding his clothed cock up and down your soaked panties. He wanted you to feel good but he couldn’t help but chase his own high as he felt it approaching—hence the faster rhythm.

"F-fuck... I’m s’close-- can you—mmfh—keep going a little longer, please sweetheart?" Matt pleaded urgently against your lips as his fingers tightened on your hips. A soft moan left his lips when you started to pick up your pace again, grinding against his dick and making his eyes roll back.

"Sh-shit--shit!" Matt chanted quietly, feeling his orgasm right there in front of him. His balls drew up tight and cock swelled up before exploding out pearly cum as it twitched. The milky liquid gathered outside his boxer briefs where his tip was as more cum drizzled out of that spot.

Matt’s eyes snapped open and a broken moan ripped from his throat when you kept grinding against him even after his intense orgasm, making his whole body shudder and hips jerk.

"Baby- too much." Matt’s hands held your hips tightly to halt your movements and you immediately stopped moving, not wanting to overstimulate him—even if you wanted to hear more of those needy whimpers.

His chest heaved as he caught his breath, his hands loosening their hold on your hips as an overwhelming sense of bliss flooded his being due to the euphoric orgasm you just gave him.

"Gonna have to clean up... and then sleep." You mumbled as you slumped against him, burying your face in the side of his neck. His milky release soaked his underwear quite quickly, mixing slightly with the clear, sticky arousal soaking your own panties.

Your body felt heavy—the good kinda heavy. The one where you feel like you’re mere seconds away from drifting off to sleep.

One of Matt’s hands left your hips and instead caressed your lower back in short slow strokes as he buried his face in your hair, feeling content with you laying on top of him.

After a few minutes of just laying like that, you and Matt decided to clean yourselves up before you actually drift off to sleep for real.

You both got in bed immediately after cleaning up and slept until the next morning even though it was just supposed to be a nap. But that nap – after all that dry humping and orgasming – was probably the best one you’ve ever had—hands down.

★ 𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆! | 𝒘𝒄: 𝟏.𝟓 𝒌 ★

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒔𝒉𝒖𝒈𝒂

[theballadofharkness]

Whisky and Wine: Part 1

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Claire Debella X fem!reader

Summary: The last thing you expected when you came home from your publishers to your older partner Claire’s home was an invitation to her friend’s, Billionaire Miles Bron, private luxury yacht for the weekend. The problem? Claire had been very careful to keep her fellow disrupters away from you, terrified they would ruin yet another aspect of her life. But nobody says no to Miles, so you find yourself surrounded by Claire’s ‘inner circle’.

Word Count: 8.9K

A/N: As per my polls here is my long awaited Claire Debella fic! I’m aware the part 2 poll was still quite 50/50 but this will indeed by a 2-3 parter however each part could work as a stand alone fic for those who are anti multiple parts 💜🪻

Warnings: very slight smut warning so as always MDNI!

The meeting had been a disaster.

You weren’t sure how an hour-long meeting with your publishers had managed to drain every ounce of energy from your body, but as you stepped out of the conference room all you could think about was getting home. The city buzzed around you, the late afternoon sun reflecting off glass buildings, but none of it mattered. You just needed her.

By the time you reached Claire’s house- a sleek, modern place that still somehow managed to feel lived-in- you were practically vibrating with frustration. The moment you stepped inside, dropping your bag near the door, you let out a heavy sigh.

“Claire?” Your voice was quieter than usual, worn-out. You kicked off your shoes and padded further in, following the distant sound of the news murmuring in the living room.

Then you saw her.

Claire was curled up on the couch, barefoot, her reading glasses perched on the edge of her nose as she scrolled through emails on her tablet. She looked up at the sound of your voice, her expression softening the moment she saw you.

“Hey, sweetheart.” She set the tablet down, already reaching for you. “How was the meeting?”

You made a noise somewhere between a groan and a laugh, collapsing onto the couch beside her. “Exhausting. I swear, if I hear the word ‘marketability’ one more time…”

Claire hummed knowingly, shifting so you could rest your head against her shoulder. “Let me guess. They want you to be more brand-friendly? Less ‘moody writer’ and more… what, exactly?”

“Something soulless, probably.” You sighed, letting her warmth seep into you. She smelled like her usual citrus-sandalwood perfume, and as her fingers began tracing absentminded circles on your arm, the tension in your body slowly melted away.

She exhaled through her nose, something almost like a laugh but edged with irritation. “Idiots. You don’t need to change a thing baby.”

There was a beat of silence. Her fingers continued their slow, soothing movements. Then, she pressed a kiss to the top of your head, her lips lingering just a second too long. “You want me to run you a bath?” she murmured. “Or do you just want to stay like this for a while?”

You turned, tilting your head up to look at her. She was watching you with that careful, quiet concern that she never quite knew how to express in words. It made something tighten in your chest.

“This,” you said simply, curling into her. “I just want this.”

Claire let out a breath, one hand slipping into your hair, her other arm wrapping securely around you. “Then this it is,” she murmured, holding you close.

The tension in your shoulders had finally started to ease. Claire’s arms were warm around you, her fingers still tracing slow patterns against your back. The two of you sat there in silence, the sounds of the outside world muffled by the thick glass windows of her home. It was just the two of you in your own little world.

You tilted your head slightly, looking up at her. Claire had taken her reading glasses off at some point, setting them aside, and now she was watching you with that familiar, unreadable expression- half amusement, half something altogether softer.

“What?” you murmured, your voice quieter now, more settled.

She smiled, shaking her head as her hand slid up to cup your jaw. “Nothing,” she said, voice hushed. “Just thinking about how lucky I am.”

Your heart stuttered. It didn’t matter how long you had been with her- Claire always had a way of making you feel like you were the only person in the world.

Her thumb brushed over your cheek, her touch light but intentional. You barely had a moment to react before she guided your chin up and kissed you.

It was slow at first, unhurried, like she was taking her time memorizing every inch of you. Her lips were soft, warm, tasting faintly of the wine she’d been drinking earlier. You sighed into it, letting your hands rest on her waist, feeling the way she leaned into you, pulling you impossibly closer.

Then something shifted.

Maybe it was the way her fingers slid into your hair, tilting your head just so, or the quiet, contented sound she made against your lips. Either way, the kiss deepened, turned more heated, more urgent. Your fingers curled against the fabric of her shirt, needing more-

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

The two of you froze. Claire pulled back just slightly, blinking like she had forgotten for a moment that the rest of the world existed.

You groaned, dropping your forehead against her shoulder. “Are you serious?”

Claire exhaled, biting back a smile. “Hold that thought,” she murmured before pressing one last kiss, so quick it was almost teasing, against your lips. Then, with a reluctant sigh, she untangled herself from you and stood up.

As she made her way to the door, you leaned back into the couch, still slightly dazed from the kiss. You could hear Claire unlocking the door, her voice shifting into something a little more polished, you recognised it immediately as her politician voice.

“Yes?”

“Mrs Debella?” a male voice asked.

“Miss” she corrected exasperatedly.

“Whatever. Special delivery from Alpha Industries.”

At that, your brows knit together, the name instantly recognizable. You sat up slightly, twisting to look toward the front door.

Claire hesitated for half a second before responding. “Right. Thanks.”

You heard the rustling of a package being handed over and then the door shutting again. Claire walked back into the room, a sleek black box in her hands. It was marked with the unmistakable Alpha logo.

You gave her a look. “Miles?”

She let out a sigh, setting the package down on the coffee table. “Looks like it.”

There was something about the way she said it- carefully neutral, but you knew her too well. You had heard enough about Miles Bron and the so-called “Disruptors” to know Claire didn’t take anything from them lightly. Still, she had kept you at a distance from it all. You knew them by name, by the stories she told late at night with a drink in her hand, her voice edged with frustration or reluctant nostalgia. But you had never met them.

Because Claire hadn’t wanted you to.

Your eyes flickered between the box and Claire, whose expression had turned slightly unreadable again. Whatever was inside, you had a feeling it wasn’t just some casual gift.

“Are you going to open it?” you asked.

Claire rubbed her temple, exhaling slowly. “Yeah,” she muttered, more to herself than to you. “I guess I am.”

You sat back, watching as she rubbed a hand over her face before dropping onto the couch beside you, staring at the box like it might explode. You had seen Claire in enough high-pressure situations to know when something was actually bothering her.

“Claire.” You nudged her thigh with your knee, drawing her attention back to you. “Why does this feel like a problem?”

She hesitated, then sighed. “Because I’ve kept you separate from that part of my life for a reason,” she admitted. “And if this is what I think it is… that’s about to change.”

You swallowed, glancing at the box again.

Claire lifted the lid, her movements slower than usual, like she was bracing herself. Inside, nestled in layers of expensive black tissue paper, was an envelope- thick, pristine, sealed with a wax emblem stamped with the Alpha Industries logo.

You can’t help but roll your eyes at the unnecessary decadence. Of course it’s fucking wax-sealed. You leaned in as she cracked it open, pulling out what could only be described as the most obnoxious invitation you had ever seen. The card stock was absurdly thick, edged in real gold leaf, with deep blue calligraphy that looked handcrafted.

Claire’s name was printed at the top in bold lettering, followed immediately by yours. Your stomach did a weird little flip.

“Wait,” you said, pointing. “I’m invited?”

Claire’s body had gone very, very still.

Her eyes scanned the page again, her expression shifting from irritation to something sharper. Her mouth pressed into a thin line, and she swallowed once, like she was trying to keep herself from reacting too much.

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees. “Do they… know about me?”

Claire didn’t answer right away. Instead, she set the box down on the coffee table with a little too much precision, like she needed to make sure it stayed perfectly in place.

“They know I got divorced,” she spoke carefully. “But I don’t think they know about you.”

You could see it happening in real time- her mind running through every possibility, every scenario. She never told them about you. She made sure she never told them about you.

And yet…

“So how did Miles find out?” you asked slowly.

Claire didn’t answer right away. She was still staring at the invitation, her thumb brushing absently over your name, like she was trying to make sense of it.

“I don’t know,” she finally admitted, her voice quieter now. “I never told him. I never told any of them.”

That unsettled you more than you wanted to admit. Claire had been so careful about keeping you out of that part of her life- out of the press, out of the Disruptors’ orbit. But somehow, Miles had found out. And now he was inviting you into his world.

You glanced back down at the invitation. The details were written in Miles’ usual over-the-top way:

A Long Weekend of Luxury & Intrigue

Miles Bron’s Private Yacht – The Mediterranean

An Exclusive Getaway for My Closest Friends… and Their Loved Ones.

Travel arrangements to come, please forward any dietary requirements.

You frowned, tapping the words. “Loved ones,” you muttered. “Like he’s trying to make some kind of point.”

Claire let out a humorless laugh. “That’s exactly what he’s doing.”

Your gaze flickered back to her face. “Are we going?”

Claire ran a hand through her hair, exhaling slowly. “We don’t have a choice.” Something about the way she said it sent a shiver down your spine.

~

The sun was high, turning the Mediterranean into a stretch of endless sapphire. The dock where you stood was private, the kind of place reserved for the ultra-rich, with sleek yachts bobbing in the water and staff dressed in crisp white uniforms.

It felt unreal- like stepping into a different world, one that wasn’t meant for you.

You adjusted the hem of your sundress, feeling the warm breeze skim over your skin. The air here was different from back home- saltier, heavier with the scent of the ocean and something expensive you couldn’t quite name.

Claire’s fingers curled around your wrist before sliding down to lace her fingers with yours.

You glanced up at her. “You okay?”

She was wearing her signature sunglasses, but you could still see the tension in her jaw, the way she kept scanning the dock as if preparing for battle.

“I’m fine,” she said, a little too quickly.

You hummed, unconvinced.

For someone who had been relatively composed about this whole trip, Claire was not composed now. You had noticed it the second you stepped out of the car- how she had kept close to you, touching you more than usual.

Not that you minded.

Her hand slid down to your hip, fingers toying with the hem of your dress as she pulled you in against her side. “You look beautiful,” she murmured, her lips brushing just behind your ear.

A shiver ran through you. “Thank you,” you murmured, tilting your head slightly as her fingers tightened against your waist.

She had been like this since you left the U.S.- clingy, possessive, like she was afraid you might slip through her fingers if she let go for even a second. Normally, Claire wasn’t big on public displays of affection, but now? Now she couldn’t seem to stop touching you. You weren’t stupid. You knew what this was.

“Claire.” You turned slightly in her hold, placing a hand against her chest. “Talk to me.”

Her jaw tensed. For a second, you thought she might deflect again, but then she sighed and slipped her sunglasses off, rubbing at her temple.

“This is just… a lot,” she admitted. “I don’t know how they’re going to react.”

You swallowed. “To me?”

“To us.” Her grip on you tightened for just a second before she exhaled, forcing herself to ease up. “I don’t want you to regret coming.”

You softened, sliding a hand up to cup her face. “I won’t.”

Claire searched your eyes, something unspoken flickering in her own. Then, with a sigh, she pressed her forehead against yours, her fingers still gripping your waist like she needed to ground herself.

“I love you,” she murmured, so quiet you almost didn’t hear it.

Your breath hitched. She had said it before- countless times, in bed, in the quiet safety of her home. But now, standing in the open, just minutes away from walking into her world, it felt different.

Like a promise.

Before you could respond, the low hum of an approaching engine made Claire stiffen.

You both turned just in time to see the yacht appearing in the distance- massive, gleaming, an undeniable symbol of Miles Bron’s excess.

Claire inhaled sharply. “Here we go.”

You laced your fingers through hers, squeezing once. “Together?”

She looked at you, exhaled, and squeezed back.

“Together.”

The yacht was getting closer, and so was the inevitable reality of this weekend. Claire hadn’t let go of you yet- her hand still resting firmly against your hip, her fingers pressing absently into the soft fabric of your dress like she needed to reassure herself that you were there.

The first taxi pulled up to the dock, the back door swinging open.

Lionel Toussaint stepped out, looking sharp even after what must have been a long flight. His suit was crisp but effortless, like he had mastered the art of looking put-together without trying too hard. He adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder, taking in the view before his eyes landed on Claire.

His face lit up.

“Well, well,” he said, amusement threading through his voice. “Madame Governor.”

Claire grinned. “Hey, genius.”

They met halfway, embracing briefly but warmly, and you could tell immediately that Lionel was the one Claire was closest to in this group. There was an ease between them, a familiarity that softened some of the tension humming beneath Claire’s skin.

“You good?” Lionel asked as they pulled back.

Claire let out a breath. “Yeah. You?”

He gave her a tired but knowing look. “Ask me again in 48 hours.”

Claire chuckled, shaking her head.

You waited politely beside her, fingers grazing her wrist. Lionel’s eyes flickered to you, but there was no real recognition there- just a brief, dismissive glance before he turned his attention back to Claire, already moving on. And that told you everything.

He didn’t ignore you outright. He just… didn’t register you as important enough to greet.

Claire, however, wasn’t having that.

She cleared her throat pointedly and turned slightly toward you. “Lionel, this is my partner,” she said, her voice carefully even. “Y/N.”

It took half a second too long for Lionel to react.

His brows pulled together in visible confusion, like he had misheard her. His gaze finally settled on you properly, scanning you for the first time, and you could feel him trying to make sense of it.

“Your what?”

Claire’s expression barely flickered, but you could feel her body tense beside you. “My partner,” she repeated, her tone a fraction cooler.

Lionel blinked. His brain was clearly short-circuiting as he tried to recalibrate everything he thought he knew about Claire.

“I didn’t know you liked women,” he said finally, sounding genuinely puzzled.

Your stomach twisted.

Claire let out a dry, humorless laugh. “That’s funny,” she said. “Because I don’t remember ever having to tell you who I sleep with.”

Lionel held up his hands slightly, like he hadn’t meant anything by it. “No, I just-” He exhaled, clearly still processing, before his gaze flicked back to you, then back to Claire.

“She’s, uh… she’s a little young for you, don’t you think?”

There it is.

He was still talking about you, not to you, like you weren’t standing right there, like you weren’t fully aware of the judgment bleeding into his voice.

Claire’s grip on you tightened.

You weren’t sure if it was meant to be reassuring or if she was just holding herself back from punching Lionel in the face.

Your lips parted, ready to say something, but Claire beat you to it.

“She’s an adult,” she said sharply. “And I don’t need your fucking approval, Lionel.”

Lionel sighed, running a hand over his face like this was all so exhausting for him.

“I’m just saying,” he muttered. “It’s unexpected, that’s all.”

Claire exhaled sharply, her free hand finding your wrist and running her thumb over your pulse like she was grounding herself. “Sorry to disappoint,” she said flatly.

Lionel finally—finally—looked at you again, his expression unreadable.

“So… what do you do for work?” he asked, his tone more polite than interested.

“I’m a writer.” You finally spoke up, not particularly moved to go into your whole history for a man that was clearly disinterested.

He nodded back, like that was enough information, then turned to Claire again. “You bringing her on the yacht, then?”

Claire didn’t answer right away. You could feel the tension in her shoulders, the way she was fighting the urge to snap at him. But she just plastered on a tight smile.

“Looks like it.”

Lionel just hummed in response, glancing back toward the water as if this conversation was already over.

You felt Claire’s fingers tighten around yours, the silent message clear: Ignore him.

But something told you this trip was going to be a lot longer than you thought.

Lionel had already shifted into work mode, scrolling through his phone, agreeing with Claire in earnest as she muttered something under her breath about ‘Miles and his goddamn theatrics.’

You were still standing close to her, fingers laced with hers, trying to shake off the weirdness of Lionel’s reaction when another car pulled up to the dock.

It wasn’t subtle.

A gleaming white luxury SUV rolled to a stop, music blaring from the inside. The door swung open, and before you even saw her, you heard her.

“Oh my GOD! this heat? I’m obsessed!”

Birdie Jay stepped out in a billowing, brightly colored designer cover-up, her sunglasses comically oversized, her hair perfectly styled despite her dramatic complaints about the weather. Behind her, Peg struggled to haul out an impossible number of designer suitcases, her expression already exhausted.

“Claire! Lionel!” Birdie practically shrieked as she spotted them, arms flinging open in excitement.

Claire barely had time to react before Birdie was on her, pulling her into a hug that was somehow both enthusiastic and completely self-serving.

“Oh my god, I haven’t seen you in forever!” Birdie gushed, stepping back to hold Claire at arm’s length. “You look so good, babe- tell me, did you get a little lift?”

Claire’s smile was tight. “No, Birdie.”

“Well, whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.” Birdie winked before turning to Lionel, throwing her arms around him with just as much energy. “And you, genius boy, looking all serious as usual.”

Lionel barely managed a chuckle before Birdie released him, finally noticing you.

Her sunglasses slid down her nose as she openly stared.

“Wait.” She pointed dramatically. “Stranger danger. Who is this?”

Claire’s grip on you tightened immediately, her body shifting slightly in front of yours like some kind of shield.

“Birdie,” she said, voice edged with warning. “Stop it.”

Birdie gasped, pressing a manicured hand to her chest. “Oh my god, did I say something wrong?”

Claire exhaled sharply. “She’s my partner.”

Birdie blinked. “Your what?”

Claire’s patience was hanging on by a thread. “My girlfriend, Bird.”

Birdie let out a delighted squeal, clapping her hands together. “Shut up! Oh my god, Claire, you’re into girls? Since when? Well you did always dress in a lot of masculine beige outfits… oh my god did you have a crush on me?”

Peg, still lugging suitcases out of the SUV, muttered, “Oh my god, Birdie, please.”

Claire’s shoulders tensed, but you could see the way she was bracing for Birdie’s next thoughtless comment.

Birdie’s eyes flicked between you and Claire, her head tilting. “Wait, hold on, isn’t she, like-” She squinted at you. “- a baby?”

You stiffened slightly. Claire, on the other hand, visibly clenched her jaw.

“She’s an adult, Birdie,” she said, tone clipped.

Birdie just grinned, completely oblivious. “I love this new era for you Claire.” She leaned in closer,, “I mean, go off, queen- find yourself a little hot young thing-”

Claire groaned, rubbing a hand over her face.

Peg, clearly at her limit, slammed the car trunk shut and turned to Birdie with the deadest expression imaginable. “Can we please just get on the boat?”

Birdie waved a dismissive hand. “Yes, yes, I’m going.” She turned back to you, flashing a megawatt smile. “Well, welcome to the shitshow, babe!”

And with that, she strutted toward the dock, leaving you standing there, still processing whatever the hell just happened.

Claire let out a slow, deep breath.

“I told you,” she muttered, rubbing your back as if that could somehow erase the past five minutes.

The air was already thick with tension from Birdie’s arrival, but then the roar of an approaching engine shattered the relative calm.

You turned just in time to see a massive, gleaming black motorcycle pulling up to the dock, kicking up dust and salt air as it skidded to a dramatic stop.

And then, of course, the gunfire. Two deafening BANG! BANG! shots into the sky. You nearly jumped out of your skin.

“Jesus fuck,” Claire muttered under her breath, while Lionel just pinched the bridge of his nose.

Duke Cody swung one massive leg off the bike, holstering his pistol like this was just another Tuesday. His biceps strained against his tactical vest, the mirrored sunglasses doing nothing to hide his shit-eating grin.

Right behind him, Whisky dismounted, long legs swinging off the bike as she pulled off her helmet, shaking out her perfect blonde waves like she was in a goddamn commercial.

“Hell yeah, baby!” Duke whooped, spreading his arms wide as he approached the group. “Who’s ready to party?”

Birdie, of course, squealed and sprinted straight into his arms.

“Duuuuuuke!” she shrieked as he lifted her clean off the ground.

“Birdie, my girl!” Duke spun her once before setting her down, slapping Lionel on the back next. “My man! How we doin’?”

Lionel sighed but accepted the hug. “Duke.”

Then Duke turned to Claire, grinning as he pulled her in for an aggressively firm hug.

“Claire! How’s politics? Bunch of bullshit, huh?”

Claire grimaced as she pulled away. “As always.”

Duke let out a booming laugh before his gaze finally landed on you.

He frowned slightly, sunglasses tilting down as he gave you a once-over. “Wait a minute- who’s this? You tight with Miles?”

Claire’s spine snapped straight. “She’s my partner,” she said before you could even open your mouth.

Duke’s eyebrows shot up before his face split into a wide, very male grin. “Ohhhh,” he drawled. “Girl on girl, huh? Sounds hot.”

You physically cringed. Claire, on the other hand, made a sound so close to an actual growl that Lionel had to clear his throat.

“Duke, no,” Peg muttered from somewhere behind her stack of luggage.

“Duke. Stop.” Claire snapped, glaring at Duke like she was two seconds from punching him.

Duke, completely unbothered, just chuckled. “Hey, I call ‘em like I see ‘em.”

Before Claire could actually strangle him, Whisky finally approached, sliding past Duke and straight toward you.

“Oh my god,” she said, all breathy excitement, her arms already opening. “It’s so good to meet you.”

And then, suddenly, you were being hugged.

You blinked, startled but not opposed, as Whisky wrapped you up in genuine warmth. She smelled like vanilla and sunscreen, her long, tanned arms squeezing you tightly before pulling back with an easy, dazzling smile.

“You’re, like, the only other person here who gets it,” she said under her breath , gripping your shoulders. “This group is insane, but don’t worry, babe- I got you.”

You blinked again. “Oh. Uh- thank you?”

Claire, meanwhile, was staring at Whisky like she had just committed a crime. You felt the exact moment her arm snaked around your waist, her grip firm, possessive.

Whisky, oblivious, just beamed at you. “We’re gonna stick together, okay?”

Claire’s fingers dug into your side. “Actually,” she cut in, her voice way too even, “she’ll be sticking with me.”

Whisky finally seemed to notice the tension and raised her perfectly arched brows, glancing between you and Claire.

“Oh,” she said, smirking slightly. “I see how it is.”

You didn't miss the way Claire’s hold on you tightened, like she thought Whisky might actually steal you right in front of her.

Duke, meanwhile, clapped his hands together, completely unaware of the subtle war happening in front of him. “Alright, enough chit-chat- where’s this big-ass boat?”

Claire exhaled sharply, but her grip on you didn’t loosen. Yeah this was gonna be a long weekend.

The yacht finally docked, looming ahead of you, sleek and impossibly expensive, rocking slightly in the clear blue waters of the Mediterranean. A crew of staff was already waiting on deck, dressed in crisp white uniforms, making last-minute preparations as the boat docked.

Miles Bron finally appeared, stepping onto the upper deck like a king surveying his kingdom. Arms wide, sunglasses reflecting the sun, dressed in linen like he had personally invented wealth.

“My closest friends!” he boomed, his voice carrying over the dock. “My fellow Disruptors!”

Claire exhaled so hard you felt it.

Miles grinned, throwing his arms open like he expected the group to cheer for him.

“I’m so glad you all could make it,” he continued, gesturing grandly at the yacht behind him. “This weekend is gonna be legendary. We’re talking relaxation, revelation, innovation-”

Lionel sighed. “Can we just get on the boat?”

Miles laughed, pointing at him. “That’s my guy! Always straight to business.”

Claire muttered under her breath, “Oh my god, I can’t do this.”

You squeezed her hand. “Too late now.”

One by one, the group greeted him, stepping onto the yacht like they were walking onto the red carpet.

Birdie was all over him immediately, throwing her arms around his neck. “Miles, darling! I’ve missed you!”

Miles chuckled, squeezing her tight. “Birdie Jay, my shining star!”

Behind her, Peg staggered forward, hauling an ungodly amount of luggage up the gangway, struggling as she tried to keep up.

Claire leaned toward you. “Should we…?”

You glanced at Peg, whose face was bright red from exertion, and whispered back, “She’s gotta learn to leave Birdie.”

Claire let out a quiet huff of laughter.

Duke approached next, gripping Miles in one of those firm, testosterone-heavy handshakes before pulling him into a half-hug. “My man, look at you. Alpha as fuck.”

Miles lapped it up, grinning. “Duke, my brother, always bringing that energy.”

Then…Whisky.

You expected her to greet him like the others, but instead, she melted into his arms. And lingered. Her arms looped around his neck, and Miles held her just a little too close, his hand pressed way too low on her back.

Claire stiffened beside you. Your eyes met hers, both of you sharing suspicious looks. Whisky finally pulled back, giving Miles a dazzling smile before stepping onto the boat. Miles smoothed a hand down his shirt, still grinning like a man who was absolutely getting laid that night.

Claire’s grip on your waist tightened. “Fucking figures.”

Finally, it was your turn.

Miles’ gaze slid over to you, his sunglasses lowering slightly as his lips curled into that infuriatingly smug grin.

“And who do we have here?” he asked, voice smooth, curious.

You blinked. “Uh… you put my name on the invitation?”

For a split second, his expression flickered- just the faintest tell that, yeah, he absolutely knew that. But then it was gone, replaced by an easy chuckle as he spread his hands like it had just slipped his mind.

“Of course! Of course,” he said, nodding. “Just had to put a face to the name.”

Bullshit.

You knew it. He knew it.

And judging by the way Claire’s body tensed beside you, *she* definitely knew it, too. Before you could say anything else, Claire’s grip on you tightened.

“She’s mine, Miles,” she said- sharp, firm, final. Not my partner. Not we’re together. Just mine.

Miles raised his hands in mock surrender, the smirk never leaving his face. “Hey, love that for you, Claire.”

Claire didn’t move. Didn’t let go. Didn’t break her glare. You felt the way her fingers curled against your waist, the unspoken weight in her hold. It wasn’t just about you anymore. She’d just watched Whisky drape herself all over him. She’d just clocked the dynamic shift, the tension, the fact that Duke’s girlfriend had just hugged Miles like she belonged to him. And now Miles was looking at you with that same assessing energy.

Yeah. Not happening.

Without another word, Claire pulled you past him, her grip solid, grounding. As you stepped onto the yacht, you caught the tail end of Miles’ quiet chuckle behind you. Yeah you should have dragged Claire off the boat when you had the chance.

~

It was evident that Miles loved the sound of his own voice.

The second everyone was settled on deck, he launched straight into his grand welcome speech, pacing in front of the group like he was unveiling the next great innovation that would change the world.

“It is so good to have my inner circle here,” he began, grinning wide as he spread his arms, his linen shirt billowing like he was about to ascend. “This weekend is gonna be legendary. A weekend of ideas. Of disruption. Of pure creativity.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Claire, standing stiffly beside you, just exhaled slowly through her nose.

Miles clapped his hands together. “Now, I’ve personally curated this experience for each of you,” he continued, smirking. “Every detail, every moment, it’s perfection. And that includes where you’ll be staying.” He gestured dramatically, and one of the staff members stepped forward, holding a sleek silver tray. On it were a set of thin, futuristic-looking wristbands.

“Each of you will be staying in luxury,” Miles said, plucking a band off the tray. “Your rooms are assigned- and these?” He held up the wristband between two fingers. “These are your keys. Custom-made. High-tech. Just tap in, and boom- your room knows you.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Claire muttered under her breath.

Miles shot her a wink like she’d just complimented him. One by one, the group took their wristbands- Duke inspecting his like it was a weapon, Birdie gasping about how tech-y it was, Whisky cooing as Miles personally strapped hers on (suspicious), Peg looking like she wanted to throw hers into the ocean.

When you and Claire got yours, she barely acknowledged it- just grabbed your hand and dragged you toward the room assignments before Miles could get any more insufferable.

The second you stepped inside your room, the door sliding shut behind you, Claire pounced.

Her lips crashed into yours, her hands gripping at your hips, your waist, your arms- everywhere, like she was grounding herself in your presence.

You barely had time to gasp before she was pressing you back against the door, fingers curling into the fabric of your dress.

“Baby,” she breathed, her voice desperate, almost pleading. “You’re mine, aren’t you?” Her lips dragged over your jaw, your throat. “You’re just mine, yeah?”

Your heart stuttered. You’d never seen her like this. Needy. Desperate. You knew what this was. You’d felt her tension building all day- when Lionel barely acknowledged you, when Birdie treated you like a novelty, when Duke made it gross, when Whisky hugged you, when Miles looked at you. And most of all- when she realised that Miles had obviously been fucking Whisky behind Duke’s back.

Claire had clocked it instantly. And if Miles was willing to do that to Duke then all bets were off. She’d seen the way he looked at you. How he pretended not to know you. Like you were just another piece on the board for him to play with. And now? She was holding onto you like she thought you might slip away, too.

You cupped her face, guiding her back to your lips. “I’m yours,” you murmured, brushing your mouth against hers. “Just yours.”

She made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a moan and kissed you harder. Her hands were shaking as they gripped your waist, sliding over your hips like she needed more, needed to prove something to herself. And god, you were more than willing to let her.

But then…

Ding.

A notification popped up on the sleek, futuristic screen by the bed. Miles’ voice crackled over the speakers:

“Dinner in an hour, Disruptors! Be ready for anything.”

Claire froze. Her forehead pressed to yours, her breath still heavy, her fingers still clinging to your dress.

“I fucking hate him.”

You laughed. “I know.”

She groaned, pressing her lips to your forehead before stepping back. “Come on, baby. Let’s get this over with.”

But the second you turned to grab your bag, she smacked your ass. Hard.

You gasped, whipping around, and she just grinned. “Just reminding you,” she murmured, voice low, teasing. “You’re mine.”

Yeah. This weekend was gonna be dangerous.

~

The shower had been quiet, save for the sound of water cascading down the glass, the gentle rhythm of your body moving with Claire’s as she helped you rinse the shampoo from your hair. It was one of those moments where everything felt soft, almost like time had slowed down just for you two. You were both getting ready for dinner, the tension of the day still clinging to you, but now it was tempered by the closeness- the warmth of her skin against yours, her lips pressing light kisses to the back of your neck as you dried off.

Claire had been all over you in the shower, but as you both dressed, she seemed to get quieter, her hands brushing over your body with a purpose you couldn’t quite place. You were dressed in a short, fitted black dress that showcased your figure- simple but undeniably flattering, you could tell Claire approved by the way her gaze lingered on you a little too long.

“You look beautiful,” she murmured as she pulled you back into her arms. Her lips on your neck, hands grabbing your waist, pulling you into her.

“I don’t want to let you go,” she whispered against your skin. “But we have to. They’ll be waiting.”

You chuckled. “You’re hot and bothered again already?” You teased softly.

She gave you a quick, teasing bite to your neck. “That doesn’t even begin to cover it, baby.”

You turned in her arms to face her, resting your hands on her chest. You could see the battle inside her- her breath still shallow, her body still tightly wound as she fought the impulse to drag you into the bed again. But she just smiled at you instead, her lips soft and sweet as she kissed you once more.

When you finally pulled away, you caught her gaze, soft but with an undeniable possessive edge. “I’m yours. All yours.this trip won’t change that” You smiled against her lips, feeling the warmth of her body, the need in her touch.

“Ready for dinner?”

You nodded, letting her pull you out of the room and into the hallway.

The sight of the yacht’s wide-open deck was breathtaking- the Mediterranean air cool, the distant sound of waves lapping against the hull. The deck was alive with conversation when you arrived- everyone mingling, glasses in hand, as the sun set over the horizon, casting a golden glow over the yacht. Miles was standing center stage, naturally, as if he were the star of some kind of farcical play. He exuded that patented mix of “down-to-earth billionaire” bullshit and self-importance.

When he saw you and Claire, his smile grew wider, and he made a show of waving you over with open arms. “Ah, the perfect pair! So glad you could join us,” he said, grinning.

He handed each of the guests a glass of their preferred drink- Lionel’s rum, Birdie’s cocktail, Duke’s whiskey, and, of course, Peg’s... discount beer in a red solo cup, before turning to Claire with a flourish.

“Claire bear, for you- room temperature Pinot Grigio, as you like it.”

Claire barely looked at him, already focused on going to speak to Lionel as she took the glass. She moved away from Miles, leaving you standing beside him, and that’s when he pounced.

Miles tilted his head at you, still smiling. “What’ll it be, beautiful? Pick your poison- our mixologist can whip up whatever you want.”

You tilted your head slightly. “I don’t really drink.”

“Ah,” he hummed, dragging the moment out, like he was waiting for you to explain yourself. You didn’t.

Instead, you caught Claire’s eye from across the deck, and she was already looking at you, brows just slightly furrowed, her grip tightening around her wine glass.

Before she could step back toward you, a loud voice cut through-

“Hey where’s your drink?”

Duke. You barely had time to react before he was beside you, all bravado and ego, Whisky trailing just behind. His sunglasses were still on despite the dimming light, and his arms flexed as he gestured to your empty hands.

“She’s not drinking,” Claire interjected, her voice clipped.

Duke barely acknowledged her, already reaching for one of the drinks they’d brought over. Miles opened his mouth like he was about to say something, some smug little comment about your earlier refusal.

And you weren’t about to let him.

“Fuck it,” you muttered under your breath, then louder, “I’ll take what you’re having, if you’re offering.”

Duke’s grin spread, wide and pleased. He clapped a heavy hand on your shoulder like you’d earned something. You lurched forward at the sheer force of it.

“That’s the spirit! Good girl- I’m loving this energy!”

Whisky passed you a drink- something dark, strong-smelling, condensation beading down the glass. Claire stiffened beside you. You lifted the glass to your lips, taking a long, slow sip- never breaking eye contact with Miles. The burn hit your throat instantly, sharp and biting, but you kept your expression neutral. Miles just watched you, unreadable for a fraction of a second- then smirked.

Dinner was exactly as unbearable as you thought it would be. The long, immaculately set table stretched out across the open-air deck, the Mediterranean breeze sweeping through candle flames and ruffling the edges of cloth napkins. The food was extravagant, the wine endlessly poured, and the conversation? Absolutely insufferable.

You had been drinking steadily just to survive it. At first, it was just to take the edge off- the way Miles sat at the head of the table like some kind of tech god, the way Whisky leaned in close to him, practically coiled around him, the way everyone here seemed to just accept it, like it was normal.

Then Birdie started talking.

"Peg, hand me my phone," she said, reaching across the table like she expected it to materialize in her hand.

Peg, visibly exhausted, didn’t even look up from her plate. "No."

Birdie blinked, affronted. "What?"

"You promised. No phone. Not until the end of the media cycle."

Birdie groaned, throwing her head back. "Oh my god, are we still on that? I apologized! I explained!"

Claire exhaled sharply, already rubbing at her temples. Lionel was gripping the bridge of his nose. Duke, as expected, was no help at all.

"People are just so sensitive these days," he muttered, shaking his head. "So woke. You know Kimmel said I hated boobs?”

Birdie lit up like he had just cracked some kind of universal truth. "YES! Exactly! That's what I keep saying! I'm a truth teller! I say it like I see it, and people can't handle it!"

Claire and Lionel exchanged a look. A very long, very exhausted look.

And that was when you- who had, by this point, abandoned all forms of self-restraint- snorted. Loudly. Everyone turned toward you. "Bullshit," you muttered, swirling the last of your drink in your glass.

Birdie’s mouth actually dropped open. "Excuse me?" She blinked at you, eyes wide, before laughing like she had misheard you. "Sweetie, I have Gucci handbags older than you."

You rolled your eyes, setting your glass down with a sharp clink. "Don't you think you're mistaking ‘truth telling’ with just speaking without thought?"

The table froze. Even Peg, who should be on your side, looked vaguely alarmed.

"What you're doing is dangerous," you went on, voice a little too loud, a little too loose from the alcohol. "You say shit without thinking, and people listen to you. That’s not truth telling, Birdie. It’s just-”

Birdie grinned, leaning in. "Oh, so you think I'm dangerous, huh?"

You scoffed, already reaching for your glass again. "It’s not a compliment. It’s stupi-"

"Okay," Claire cut in, her voice forcibly light but you could feel the steel grip of her hand on your thigh. "You’ve had too much to drink. Let’s get you back to the room."

You turned to her, blinking. "I’m fine-"

"You’re done," she said, already pulling you to stand, already steering you away from the table.

The conversation picked up again as you left, but you still felt Birdie’s eyes on your back. And Miles? Miles was smirking.

~

The door slammed behind you, the sound echoing through the sleek, modern bedroom. The second Claire turned to face you, hands already on her hips, you exploded.

"What the fuck, Claire?!"

She looked just as furious as you felt, stepping forward, eyes flashing. "No, what the fuck was that?"

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Me? You’re friends with a woman who compared herself to Harriet Tubman and I’M the one embarrassing you?! Have you seen Duke’s streams?!"

Claire pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling sharply. "Yes, I know exactly what they’re like, but they are my very old friends, and you cannot just-”

"Oh, so when it’s you marking me up and making me tell you how I belong to you, that’s fine, but the second it’s me versus your shithead friends, suddenly I’m dragged back here like a fucking child?"

Claire’s jaw clenched.

"Fuck off then," you muttered, turning away.

A beat.

Then, Claire was on you. Not gentle, not soft- commanding. A sharp grip on your chin, tilting your head up, her voice a low, controlled warning. "You don’t talk to me like that."

You froze. Claire’s face was so close to yours, her grip firm but careful, her breath warm against your lips. "You’re drunk," she said, voice steady. "Go to bed."

Your stomach twisted. "Claire-"

"I’m going back to the group."

Your heart dropped. "You’re leaving?"

"Yes." Her voice wasn’t cruel, but it was final.

You stared at her, something deep and ugly twisting inside you. "Why?"

Claire exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand down her face. When she finally met your gaze again, she looked tired.

"Listen," she said, softer now. "I can’t stand Miles. But he’s the one paying for my entire electoral campaign. You can’t just piss him off."

The words landed like a slap. Claire watched the way your expression shifted- how your chest rose and fell, how your mouth pressed into a thin line. You swallowed, your throat dry.

"Right," you muttered.

Claire sighed, reaching for you, but you stepped back.

"Go," you said, voice quiet.

She hesitated. But then, without another word, she turned and left. And for the first time since stepping foot on this yacht, you felt completely alone.

~

You woke up feeling like shit.

Your mouth was dry, your head was pounding, and your stomach churned with the unmistakable nausea of a hangover. The Mediterranean sun poured in through the open balcony doors, searing hot against your eyelids, and the cool sheets beneath you did nothing to soothe the ache in your skull.

The thin sheet barely covered you. You weren’t even sure if you’d bothered to get ready for bed the night before, but judging by the state of you- naked, woozy, with your dress crumpled up in the corner of the room- you assumed you hadn’t. Your stomach turned as the memories filtered in, sluggish and blurry- Miles, the drinks, the fight with Claire, the way she left you last night, drunk and fuming in this big, stupid, obscenely expensive bedroom. You groaned, pressing your face into the pillow. Claire’s warm, soft body was already curled around yours.

"Good morning, baby," she murmured against your shoulder, voice thick with sleep as her lips trailed down your bare skin.

You pulled the sheet up higher over your bare breasts, burrowing deeper into the pillows. "I’m dying," you croaked.

"Yeah," Claire sighed, nosing into your hair. "You did drink a lot."

You cracked one eye open just to glare at her. "Thanks for the insight Governor."

Claire just smiled, tilting your chin slightly so she could kiss the corner of your mouth. "C’mon," she murmured, her fingers tracing over your waist, nose nuzzling into your hair. "Baby," she coaxed, her voice dipping lower, her hand smoothing over your stomach. "Let me make it up to you."

You groaned again, rolling onto your back, your body betraying you as her hands roamed lower. "No." You made a noise, half groan, half protest, and shifted away from her mouth.

Claire chuckled, completely unfazed, her arms tightening around your waist. "No?"

"Still mad," you mumbled, voice thick with sleep and dehydration.

Claire exhaled a soft, amused laugh, shifting so she was pressed even closer. "Still mad," she repeated, pressing slow, deliberate kisses along your jaw. "Baby..."

You didn’t react.

Claire huffed, pressing her nose into your hair, her hand slipping lower, tracing lightly over your bare stomach. "Baby," she repeated, her voice dropping into that low, coaxing register that always made your spine tingle. "C’mon. Mommy’s sorry. Don’t be mad."

You huffed, pulling the sheet high over your head.

Claire didn't like that. With an amused hum, she slipped beneath the covers with you, her breath warm against your neck, her lips finding your jaw this time, soft and lingering. "There she is," she murmured, voice honeyed. "Thought I lost you under there."

You pushed at her arm weakly. "Claire."

"What?" she asked innocently, though her hand was already inching lower, fingers ghosting over the dip of your waist. "I’m just waking my baby girl up."

"You left me," you muttered, voice quieter now, but still laced with irritation.

Claire sighed again- this time, more genuine. She kissed your temple, her lips lingering, before murmuring, "I know."

You swallowed, staring at the ceiling, heart still heavy in your chest. "You left."

A pause. Then, softer: "I know, baby. Her voice had that gentle edge to it, like she was really feeling it now- the weight of the fight, the things she’d said, the way she walked away.

"You chose them," you mumbled into the pillow.

Claire exhaled sharply, shifting so she could prop herself up on one elbow. "It wasn’t like that."

You snorted. "Oh, wasn’t it? You dragged me away like some unruly child, Claire."

She ran a hand through her hair, exasperated. "I was trying to keep the peace. You don’t know how complicated it is-"

"I don’t know?" You twisted to face her, your head still throbbing, but the rage from last night was creeping back in. "You think I don’t know what it’s like to deal with entitled narcissists who think they’re the smartest people in the room? I write about people like Miles for a living."

Claire sighed, fingers pressing into her temple. "I know it wasn’t fair to you."

You rolled onto your back, throwing an arm over your eyes. "No, it wasn’t."

A beat of silence. "I’m sorry."

You turned your head just slightly, peeking at her from under your arm. "You should be."

Then she shifted, her leg slotting between yours, her lips trailing lower.

"Claire," you warned.

"Mmm?" Her teeth grazed the edge of your jaw, her grip on your waist tightening.

"You don’t get to leave me and then fuck me," you snapped, waving a weak hand toward her.

Claire smirked, completely unapologetic, fingers dancing higher up your thigh. "No?"

You glared at her, but you were still so hungover, and she was so warm and soft and-

"Baby," she murmured, pressing a kiss right below your ear. "Let me make it up to you."

You wanted to stay mad.

You really did.

But then she was kissing your neck, slow and deliberate, her hand gripping your thigh just right to make your hips can’t against the muscle of her leg, her voice all low and sweet and devoted, like she would spend the whole day proving how sorry she was if you just let her. Your heart ached a little. You were still mad. But you also still loved her.

“Please” you breathed shakily, hips rocking steadily now. “I love you”

“I love you babygirl” Claire cooed.

Then… Miles’ voice crackled over the speakers:

“Disruptors! Breakfast is prepared! Make your way to the deck.”

“Oh come ON”

Taglist: @harknessshi @agathascoven1 @notorious-vick @jessica-mcd @sapphicfleur @lisqueen @starryjeongyeon @brekker157 @maximilfism @meghina18 @onlybynightandonlybysea @buttercandy16 @milflovers4 @rigglemethat @mistyshane30 @certified-sleep-deprived @agathaallalongg @yun4-st4rx @psychickryptonitebouquet

[limethefirst]

Hi! How are you? I was looking for people writing movie shadow after I saw the movie and hoped I could submit a request for you? Can we maybe have shadow with a reader who is a alien hedgehog like him found after him? Shadow when he met the reader takes her in as his own and helps to in a way raise them. After the accident they both were put under statis and met up again in the base 50 years later after he and she had escaped?

Remember Me

pairings: Shadow the Hedgehog x Hedgehog!reader (platonic)

warnings: spoilers

summary: Shadow takes it upon himself to look out for you even after being frozen for 50 years

a/n: slowly getting back into the writing groove yes!! if i wrote things for other fandoms would you guys burn me at the stake or not❤️

Shadow was used to feeling alone, being the only alien hedgehog constantly surrounded by scientists who saw him as some type of experiment was draining. Of course he had Maria and for her he was forever grateful but she didn't understand how he felt, no one really could. Until you came along, another alien hedgehog that arrived the same way he did, and was now viewed just like he was.

By all means, Shadow, was not considered approachable. He was only ever willingly around Maria and Gerald, and even Gerald was often pushing it, but when you showed up it was hard to catch him alone. He was basically your caretaker, a task he gave himself after seeing how nervous you felt around everyone and how you weren't exactly sure how to regulate the powers you also had.

You sat next to Shadow as Maria put on a new movie she'd found, 'Godzilla', it was called. You didn't like it, it was about an alien, an evil one who destroyed a place on earth called Japan. It made you feel slightly, self conscious? Even though you yourself wouldn't do that or ever thought of committing violent acts against people. Shadow seemingly noticing your discomfort nudged you, drawing your attention away from the self deprivation you were feeling. He looked down at you, giving you a gruff nod, almost like he could read your mind.

His gaze never left your eyes, silently communicating. It was easy to tell what he wanted to say, 'You're not a freaky monster alien who will go and tear up Japan.' Or something along those lines.. the latter was funnier though. Maria glanced over at you two, noticing the subtle communication but also the slight sadness you both had inn your eyes. Although he didn't show it as much, Shadow felt slightly the same upon seeing the movie.

He knew that feeling all to well, he'd seen it, in the eyes of the scientists, guards, everyone who worked here. They thought he was dangerous, and he hated it. Which was why he was determined to make sure you didn't feel the same, because he wasn't sure if he could handle knowing that you also felt like you were a danger, something that was a weapon.

The nights dragged on, and he made sure to keep an eye on you, silently at least. He will never openly show how much he cares. He just will care, and that's good enough for him, although Maria could tell he cared.

Then that night came, where Maria was gone, and so were you. They'd taken Maria from him and grabbed you, pulling you away from him. God, he couldn't stand it, the tears that fell as you screamed for him. He would've tried to do something if it weren't for the fact he was in shock, he'd witnessed one of his closeted friends die in front of him and now he had to watch as they dragged you away, putting you in a small cage as your small hands tried to reach out to him.

Finally there was silence, it was restless, a restless silence that he had to endure for 50 years. Until he was woken up, and all that consumed him was rage. While on the other side of the containment chambers, you'd also woken up, but instead of feeling anger coursing through you, it was fear. You looked around the barren room, the alarms were sounding, and everything was flashing red, suddenly a loud thud broke your nervous train of thought.

You're eyes widened slightly as something punched down the wall, you stepped out of the tube that held you, the liquid used to keep you asleep was drained, leaving your quills wet. The dust slowly began to clear revealing a figure you longed to see since that dreadful night.

"Shadow?.." You're voice slightly trembled as you spoke that name, trying to see him through the red flashing room. Shadow looked at you, his gaze was unwavering but it slightly softened seeing that you were still alive, and unharmed.

He let out a small sigh, his shoulders untensing at your voice, "Let's go," it was rough but his eyes betrayed him. He was grateful, happy to see that you, at least, had survived. He wasn't going to let what happened to Maria happen to you, he swore on that, nothing would harm you.

[adrixivy]

People think that turning off super strength is easy or that it can even be turned off. Peter is the physical evidence and spokeperson that it is NOT easy to do so.

He wakes up, grumbling about school one day since it was the day of his Spanish quiz and accidentally breaks the doorknob off the door as he dreaded the day. He panics about it and hesitantly told Tony about it and was on the verge of tears, scared Tony is going to shout at him. (Tony hugs him and coos “It’s fine, Bambino. It’s okay, it’s just a doorknob”)

Another example, he’s in PE class. The whole class has to do 50 pushups since the class was abnormally louder than usual. Everyone is grumbling or falling over, finding it impossible to complete.

“Good job there Peter. Everyone better hurry up or I’ll dismiss Peter only for lunch!” His PE teacher announces. His whole class is staring at him wide eyed. Flash is screaming he cheated and he winces and looks over to Ned for help, only to see him lying flat on the ground, knocked out. Damn it. His PE teacher expects more from him now and he internally groans. He’s definitely ranting this to his dad when he goes home.

Whenever he’s carrying something like helping his teacher with carrying stacks of assignments, he has to act like he’s struggling a little and it’s more exhausting than you think to act like you’re struggling to carry a tall stack of thick papers when you can easily carry the hulk. He probably could if he wanted but Tony’ll probably get a heart attack.

Even in patrol, he has to hold back his strength so that he doesn’t fatally injure criminals that their hospital bills are through the roof. He’s using around 20% of his strength when he punches. He’s always holding back his punches that it’s physically draining him. So imagine he faces a villain where he doesn’t have to hold back his punches. Like Juggernaut.

Instead of his usual favorite Russian Rhino appearing in Manhattan central, it’s his favorite American giant that rarely appears because he’s always under confinement. It’s unusual that he somehow broke out of his containment but Peter’ll gladly send him back to it. He lands a punch and it does basically nothing to the man. It became some sort of cat and dog fight in cartoons like Tom & Jerry with Peter landing hits on the giant that does basically nothing to him and the Juggernaut trying to grab him as he swings around and shoots his quips.

Peter, groaning and his frustration growing: God, why isn’t anything working on you!

Juggernaut, unamused: Your hits are weak. You are holding back your potential, Spider.

Peter pauses, realizing that Juggernaut is infact not like normal people. He doesn’t break under Peter’s punches. He’s not fragile. He drops down and punches Juggernaut with slightly more strength than usual which makes the giant stumble back a little and scoffs in disbelief and he looks at his hand then Juggernaut then his hand again and he squeals in excitement, jumping happily that he can for once punch with his full strength. Juggernaut nods, having a worthy opponent that can finally damage him.

Peter is incredibly excited as he lands hits on the giant that does actual damage to him, making him stumble back and actually groan from pain. He’s landing punches and kicks with laughs and tires Juggernaut out, where he finally webs the man up and wait for SHIELD to appear and take him back to where he came from with even more improved security

The Avengers are on the Quinjet, about to help Peter but they stayed in the Quinjet watching Peter punch the giant with a little too much glee that he almost seems like a maniac. Bruce didn’t have to jump in and be the green guy to help. The others didn’t even need to restrain Juggernaut or anything. If anything, they should restrain Peter from going a little too overboard. They’re all suddenly very painfully aware that Peter can destroy the whole Avengers with his full strength if he wanted to.

Tony: We’re lucky he’s a kind-hearted and soft person or the entire world will be in chaos by now.

The Avengers nods along mindlessly as they close into the spider kid who is waving at them cheerfully with a big grin, who is obviously not aware of how dangerous he could possibly be.

[soilology]

the first of my hazbin and helluva redesigns starting with my favorite character, NIFFTY!!!

pre-death story and inspirations below the cut!

before she died, niffty was a housewife, residing in the fukuoka prefecture in japan. she was married to a man for a little over 4 years. their lives were quiet, yet happy. almost. niffty had her fair share of misfortunes; she was diagnosed with OCD and had constant instrusive thoughts of aggression/violence, either towards herself or others. though her and her husband had a stable enough income, she refused treatment, afraid of the cost and it interfering with her fixed schedule. on top of her diagnosis, she also was infertile and could not have children. this saddened her, though she convinced herself it was for the best due to the fact she thought her condition would be detrimental to any kid she might have. her husband didn't like this however. he desired kids, and niffty's infertility became a source of growing resentment. her husband started to cheat on her with another woman. what began as a secret affair eventually turned into a second life- one niffty was never meant to discover. but she did. and when she did, her intrusive thoughts became far more than fleeting visions. they became consuming, vivid fantasies she could no longer suppress. the images of inflicting pain- the ones she had spent YEARS trying to silence- now felt like a promise of justice. one evening, she made their usual tea, just like she had countless times before. but this time, she stirred drain cleaner into both cups. the stench was foul. she sat across from him at the table, her hands trembling slightly as she lifted the cup to her lips. he drank without suspicion, despite the disgusting, rotten odor coming from his cup. for a brief moment, they sat in silence, just like they always did. then, the coughing started. the retching. his throat burned, his voice strained with confusion and pain. niffty watched him struggle, her eyes dull and distant. she didn’t move to help. she only stared, feeling the same searing pain clawing at her own throat. by the time anyone found them, they were lying cold on the kitchen floor. their tea cups were shattered nearby, the sharp scent of chemicals still lingering in the air. to everyone else, it seemed like a tragic accident or a suicide pact. but only niffty, now down in hell's depths, knew the truth. she made sure they left this world together, bound by the same pain that had quietly torn them apart.

niffty's design has bothered me for many reasons, the main being that: 1. she looks like a child 2. she barely looks like a bug, what her motifs are supposed to be. 3. her hair is not 50's at ALL, which is when she supposedly died (which seems to be a major problem with vivzie's designs, the sinners do not match the era they died in.)

to combat these problems, i have her a more mature and period accurate hairstyle, as well as some lipstick! her pilot design had colored lips so i always thought of it as red lips. her original hairstyle looked more like some sort of shaggy bob, while female style's in the 50's were much more curly/wavy and well-kempt. i'm going with a 7 deadly sins motif for each of the main characters. of the sins, niffty represents ENVY.

she is now based off an asian lady beetle, which are commonly mistaken for ladybugs. lady beetles have a foul smelling odor, which i'm giving niffty as a nod/punishment to the smell of the drain cleaner that killed her and her husband. they're also known to bite as a defense mechanism. along with her buglike limbs and her spotted dress, her headband is supposed to mimic bug antenna.

as nods to her heritage, her teeth are similar to an oni (a japanese demon), and the top of her dress is crossed over like a kimono. instead of the normal correct way to wear a kimono where it is folded left over right, it is right over left, which is for dressing the dead.

if you came down this far, thanks for reading !! i really hope you like her, i think even after i re-do all of the other characters she'll be my favorite design. reblogs and constructive criticism is appreciated! <3

[shaiyasstuff]

sapere aude | sylus | chapter five

synopsis : You thought you were safe. And he thought he could protect your peace by keeping you from the truth. But truth, can never be buried—not for long. content : light angst, slow-burn, mentions of death, 50/50 cannon!au, reader is mc’s sister

tagging : @blessdunrest @cathedralofaudra @wrimaira

previous | masterlist

Sunlight poured gently through the windows of Sylus’s study, its golden threads catching on the edges of dust and parchment. It was warm this morning—soft, almost forgiving.

But the warmth never seemed to reach him.

He sat at his desk, papers scattered across the wood like half-finished thoughts. His eyes skimmed them, though nothing really registered.

Not with the weight of you still lingering in his thoughts—soft limbs tangled in his sheets, your breath shallow with sleep, the way his shirt hung loose on your frame like it belonged there.

Like you belonged there.

His fingers paused on the edge of a page, grip tightening.

A soft flutter of wings broke the stillness.

Mephisto landed on his perch without a sound. The brass shimmered faintly in the morning light, and the crow’s mechanical eyes bore into him, sharp as ever. Watching.

Always watching.

Sylus didn’t look up at first. He didn’t need to. He could feel the accusation in the silence. That unrelenting reminder, feathered in black and wire.

A memory—your smile, drowsy and tender as you whispered his name—flashed through his mind.

And then—

A sharp caw cut through the air, like the crack of a wound reopening.

His eyes finally met Mephisto’s. Something dark and tired lived behind them.

“I know,” Sylus muttered, his voice low, almost tired. He turned back to the papers, though the words blurred.

The crow gave a sound that wasn’t quite a protest—more like disappointment. Then, with a metallic flutter of wings, Mephisto launched himself into the sky through the open window, disappearing without a trace.

Sylus sat in silence.

You were still upstairs. Still wrapped in his scent, his sheets, his guilt.

And god—you were warm.

You had held him without knowing what he’d done. You had kissed him like he was something whole.

He hadn’t dared tell you what those hands had really done—how they had once clutched your sister’s broken body in the snow.

How he’d watched the life drain from her with his own Evol swirling around her like a final embrace.

He closed his eyes, exhaling a breath that trembled on the way out.

You deserved the truth.

But he wasn’t sure if he could survive losing you to it.

For a moment, he imagined a world where the lie lasted just a little longer. Where mornings like this were real. Where your fingers would still reach for him in the quiet, and he could pretend the blood on his hands had been washed clean by your touch.

He pushed back from the desk, slowly, as if rising from a grave. The chair creaked beneath him, the only sound that followed him out into the hall.

The manor was still. Sacred. The air too still for comfort.

When he reached the control room, the pale blue glow of the monitors painted him in sorrow.

And Mephisto was there again. Perched and waiting.

The crow tilted his head. Silent. Expectant.

The central screen played on loop.

Snow. Shaiya. Him.

She smiled at him that night. The way you smiled at him now.

She hadn’t fought it. Had stepped into his Evol like it was destiny.

And he had held her the way a man holds the beginning of his own undoing.

His feet moved without permission. His hand came down hard on the console. The screen blinked into blackness, but the memory didn’t follow.

Sylus turned toward Mephisto, voice a low growl wrapped in grief.

“If you do anything—”

He didn’t finish.

Didn’t need to.

The crow cawed sharply, a furious sound, before taking flight once more, vanishing into the shadowed halls.

Sylus stood alone in the glow of the quiet.

He had tried to bury it. Tried to trade grief for love. But love couldn’t be built on silence. Not forever.

And yet… he wanted to hold onto this peace a little longer.

Even if it was borrowed.

Even if it was built on a lie.

Because for the first time in years, someone reached for him without fear.

And he wasn’t ready to let go.

—•

“Seriously, at this point, marry me,” Luke says through a mouthful of food, crumbs dotting the edge of his plate.

You chuckle, the sound easy and warm, tossing him a playful glare over your shoulder from where you stood at the stove. “Unless you want Sylus to skin you alive, you better stop saying that.”

He snorts, unabashed. “Worth it.”

Kieran, seated beside him, lifts a brow and smirks. “Yeah? Who’d go for you when boss is alive and well?” He smacks the back of Luke’s head, not too hard—but hard enough to make his point.

Luke sputters, glaring as he rubs the spot. “You’re just jealous.”

“Of your delusions?” Kieran quips smoothly.

And just like that, they fall into their usual rhythm—jabs and laughter, their voices overlapping in a way that fills the kitchen with a familiar chaos.

You laugh, tossing your head back, the sound full and unguarded.

It’s mornings like this—soft, simple, loud in all the best ways—that remind you that maybe healing doesn’t always come from answers.

Sometimes, it comes from eggs, bad jokes, and the warmth of not being alone.

You place the final plate on the tray, balancing the utensils with practiced ease. “Alright, I’m off,” you announce, adjusting your grip as you head toward the stairs.

The scent of eggs and toast still lingers in the kitchen, trailing behind you like a promise of comfort.

The twins don’t look up from their half-finished plates—Luke gives you a lazy salute with his fork, while Kieran offers a simple nod without lifting his gaze.

“Good luck,” Luke mumbles around a mouthful of food. “Don’t trip.”

Kieran smirks. “And don’t let him pretend he’s not grateful.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling as you start up the stairs, tray in hand, heart just a little lighter than before.

You pushed the door open without knocking, peeking your head into the quiet room. “Sylus?” you called softly.

No answer.

Your smile faltered just slightly, but you stepped inside anyway, balancing the breakfast tray in your hands.

You crossed the room and set it carefully on the edge of his desk, straightening the utensils before your fingers absently trailed across the dark wood.

The study was as it always was—dim, orderly, filled with silence that felt less heavy now than it once had.

You let your eyes wander before they caught on a row of books neatly lined on the shelves. One stood out—worn, crimson, smaller than the rest.

Curious, you reached for it, feeling the soft give of its spine. It wasn’t like the others.

The leather was warm with age, the edges softened from use. You flipped it open—and stopped.

Your breath caught.

Your sister’s handwriting stretched across the first page, unmistakable in its looping, rushed strokes. Beneath it, a small polaroid was taped, yellowing at the edges.

You on a swing, grinning wide, legs tucked in mid-air. She stood behind you, hands on the chains, laughing.

You remembered that day—your neighbor had taken the photo, the light catching both your smiles just right.

‘I hope you keep smiling like this,’ she had written.

A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it. You wiped it away quickly, then turned the next page.

Photo after photo. Moment after moment. Her words scrawled beside each one—some teasing, some loving, all her.

A whole world of memories you hadn’t known she’d carried. Each turn of the page was a balm and a blade—softening one ache only to stir another.

You didn’t know how long you stood there, lost in her voice stitched between paper and ink, until you felt it—that familiar presence, the scent that always meant him.

Fingers brushed gently against your hair, tucking a stray strand behind your ear. You turned slowly, and Sylus was there, watching you with an unreadable tenderness in his eyes.

“She really loved you,” he said quietly, his voice more breath than sound.

You smiled, gaze drifting back to the journal cradled in your hands. “Yeah,” you murmured. “She really did.”

You gently closed the journal, fingers lingering for a moment on the worn cover before you turned and placed it back onto the shelf with care.

When you looked back, Sylus was still watching you—something unspoken flickering behind his eyes.

“I brought breakfast,” you said, your voice softer than before, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He nodded, stepping closer, but instead of moving toward the tray, he reached up and pulled the journal from its place on the shelf once more.

His fingers brushed yours as he held it out to you.

“Keep it,” he said simply.

Your breath caught. “Are you sure?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “It was always meant for you.”

You stared at the journal in your hands, heart aching in the quietest way, before murmuring, “Thank you.”

And he just nodded again, as if it was the easiest decision he’d ever made.

You clutched the journal gently to your chest, fingers curled around its worn edges as though it were something fragile—something sacred.

“Did you sleep well?” you asked, voice quiet, watching him as he cleared space on the desk.

He offered a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Best sleep I’ve had in years.”

He said it like a confession. Like it hurt to admit.

You smiled, a blush dusting your cheeks as you rested your head against your hand and watched him eat.

“The twins said you should praise me for my cooking,” you said, trying to keep things light, to ground the moment before it became too much.

He grunted, but the corner of his lips curved just slightly. A ghost of a smile. It was enough.

But Sylus couldn’t breathe right.

Not really.

Not with your laughter still echoing through the room.

Not with your kindness still wrapping around him like warmth he didn’t deserve.

You asked where he went earlier. Casual. Easy.

“Just had to clean something up.” Another lie.

You didn’t notice the way he tensed. Didn’t hear the fracture in his voice.

You smiled again. Trusting. Always trusting.

And it gutted him.

You didn’t question him further. Just smiled—gentle, oblivious—and reached out to adjust the plate in front of him.

Sylus watched you for a moment, silent.

Your touch was light, your movements thoughtful. You poured him tea, refilled your own cup, and leaned into the quiet as if it were sacred.

As if the absence of words could be comfort, not avoidance.

It should have been a simple moment. Breakfast in his study. Your laughter still lingering from the twins’ antics. A calm start to an otherwise turbulent life.

But all he could feel was the heat rising in his chest—tight, suffocating. Because you were here. Smiling.

While he was the reason your sister wasn’t.

He stirred the tea absently. “This blend,” he muttered. “You made it yesterday too.”

You blinked, surprised by his comment, and nodded. “It’s your favorite, right?”

His gaze flicked to yours. “You remembered.”

Your lips parted, as if to respond, but you didn’t. Instead, you looked down, smile growing shy, fingers nervously fiddling with the edge of your cup.

He swallowed hard, jaw tightening. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He wasn’t supposed to get used to these mornings—to you.

But then, you reached forward, brushing crumbs from his sleeve with a gentle flick of your hand. And it shattered him a little more.

He should tell you. He really should.

Instead, he reached out first, brushing your knuckles in a quiet, tentative touch. You froze, then smiled, as if something unspeakable passed between you.

And maybe it did.

You leaned back slightly in your chair, watching him in that unguarded way that made him want to flinch.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t look away from you.

Not when you looked at him like that.

Like you saw something worth loving.

He rose from his chair after a moment, walking toward the tall windows. The morning light touched his face in pale gold as he murmured, “We should go somewhere today. You and I.”

You tilted your head. “A mission?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “No. Just somewhere quiet.”

You didn’t ask why.

Because you didn’t know that for Sylus, every quiet moment with you felt like it might be the last.

The drive stretched in silence, thick with unspoken thoughts. No music hummed through the speakers, no words passed between you.

Just the low whir of tires over asphalt, and the occasional brush of Sylus’s thumb over your knuckles where his hand rested in your lap.

He hadn’t told you where you were going. You hadn’t asked.

He took a turn, veering off the main road and onto an old, winding path that disappeared into the woods. Fog clung to the treetops, trailing behind the car like ghosts reluctant to let go.

When the car came to a stop, you looked up to find a clearing—tucked high above the city, the view vast and solemn. Below, the manor looked small, almost unreachable, like something from a dream already fading.

You stepped out quietly. The ground here was damp, the wind gentler but carrying the scent of pine and distant rain. You pulled your coat closer as you took it in.

Sylus stood beside you, his coat brushing your arm. He didn’t speak at first. Then—softly, as though confessing something meant only for the wind—he said, “Shaiya… she used to come here.”

Your breath caught. Not at the name, but at the way he said it. Carefully. Like the memory might break if he held it too tightly.

“She said this place made her feel like time paused,” he added, eyes fixed on the horizon. “Like the world couldn’t reach her here.”

You turned to him, the ache in your chest familiar. “Did it?”

He hesitated, then shook his head once. “Not enough.”

You didn’t press him. Just lowered yourself into the grass, your fingers curling into the damp earth.

It felt strange to be here, in a space once shared by someone you could never compete with, could never truly understand. And yet—he’d brought you here.

You glanced at him as he sat beside you, knees close, shoulders nearly touching. His presence was quieter than usual, heavier.

“I don’t think you brought me here to talk about her,” you said after a while.

“No.” His voice barely rose above the wind.

“Then why?”

He didn’t look at you right away. Just stared into the mist like it could give him an answer.

“I needed to remember who I was before I lost everything,” he said finally. “Before I forgot what it meant to feel… anything.”

You watched him, eyes soft. “And now?”

He turned to you slowly.

And when he reached out, his hand over yours, it wasn’t firm. It trembled, almost.

“It feels like I’ve been given something I was never meant to have,” he said.

You didn’t speak. The words were too fragile.

Because in his eyes, there was grief. But also—something else. Something blooming in the cracks of his sorrow.

And you saw, for just a second, the man he might’ve been, had things turned out differently.

Not the one haunted by the past.

But the one who dared—just once—to reach for something that felt like hope.

You laced your fingers with his, offering a small, reassuring smile. “It’s in the past now.”

Your voice was soft—gentle, even. Meant to comfort.

But to Sylus, it cut deeper than silence ever could.

Because in that moment, those words—so innocent, so unaware—felt like a blade driven straight into his chest.

Not from malice. Not even blame.

But from trust.

Because you didn’t know.

And he knew you wouldn’t be able to say the same if you did.

His fingers brushed your chin, the touch featherlight, coaxing you closer. His lips hovered near your forehead—close enough to feel the warmth, the hesitation.

And when they finally ghosted against your skin, you leaned into him like it was the only place you belonged.

“I know we’ve only known each other for a bit but…” your voice was barely a whisper, soft enough to be carried off by the wind, if not for how closely he listened. Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his.

“I don’t want to be apart from you. You’re all I have left.”

And those words—

They undid him.

He stared at you, your vulnerability laid bare before him, and his chest ached with something sharp, something hollow. His gaze, so often unreadable, now brimmed with guilt he could no longer hide.

Because he knew what you didn’t.

And still, you clung to him like a lifeline.

He didn’t deserve it.

But gods, he wanted to believe he did.

Perhaps it was a quiet understanding.

Or perhaps the gods, in a rare moment of mercy, had blessed you with a kind of gentleness that did not demand, did not pry.

Because you never asked.

You never pressed Sylus for explanations he wasn’t ready to give.

And he—who lived his life surrounded by secrets sharp enough to draw blood—didn’t know how to make sense of that.

You simply let him be.

Even now, as the night stretched soft and silent around the manor, you held him with the same unwavering patience you always had.

He lay half-curled against you, one arm slung over your waist, his head resting in the crook of your neck.

It wasn’t a position he would’ve chosen if he were awake, too vulnerable, too unguarded—but sleep had pulled him under before he could fight it.

You’d felt the way his body had resisted at first, all tension and sharp lines.

And then, slowly, he had surrendered.

You shifted slightly, careful not to wake him.

One of your hands rose instinctively to soothe his brow, fingertips brushing through strands of silver hair, smoothing the crease that seemed permanently etched between his eyebrows.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered.

You said it not for him to hear, but for yourself. As if speaking the words aloud would make them real. As if it could tether both of you to something solid. Something good.

But he stirred at your voice anyway. His grip around your waist tightened, his breath catching for half a second before it settled again.

He didn’t answer. Not with words.

Just that quiet hold, silent and heavy with meaning.

You knew he didn’t sleep easily.

There were nights you would hear his footsteps echo faintly through the hallways at ungodly hours, or see the flicker of a light under his study door long past midnight. You knew he was haunted by more than just memories. By choices. By regrets.

By a name neither of you spoke aloud anymore.

But with you—like this—he slept.

And that thought brought a different kind of ache to your chest.

You looked down at him, at the way his lashes cast faint shadows over his cheeks, how his face looked so much younger in rest. Not burdened. Not haunted. Just… tired.

A man who had spent too long holding himself together with threads frayed by war, loss, and guilt.

Your fingers moved again, gentle against his temple.

There was something sacred in moments like this—quiet, fragile, almost dreamlike.

Because you knew—this wouldn’t last.

This peace.

This softness.

Not when so much between you had been left unsaid.

Still, you cradled him like something precious.

Because in spite of everything, he had let you in.

He’d let you see him—not just the leader, not the ruthless commander with red eyes and a cold voice, but the man underneath. The one who still bled grief like ink from an old wound.

And for reasons you couldn’t quite name, you wanted to be the one who could hold him through it.

He made it so hard sometimes. The walls, the silence, the way he’d look at you like he was memorizing you for the last time.

Like he was preparing himself for your absence long before you’d ever said goodbye.

But tonight was different.

Tonight, he was here.

And you were too.

Your eyes fluttered closed, your fingers still stroking his hair. The sound of his breathing had settled, soft and even, and you could feel the faint rhythm of his heartbeat against your ribs.

For a moment, it felt like all the noise had fallen away.

You weren’t thinking about what came next.

You weren’t thinking about the unanswered questions, or the silence he carried when you asked about your sister.

You weren’t thinking about the weight of his past that still lingered in the corners of his study like ghosts waiting to speak.

You were thinking of the way he exhaled when your arms wrapped around him.

The way his fingers found yours in the dark, not searching, but holding.

The way he only seemed to sleep through the night when you were beside him.

That had to mean something.

So you held him through the night.

And when he dreamt—and you could feel the faint twitch of unease in his limbs—you whispered to him again, voice steady.

“I’m still here.”

Even if he didn’t believe he deserved it.

Even if he never said a word.

Because you did understand.

More than he knew.

And when morning came, you were still holding him—quietly, fiercely—hoping that somewhere deep in that fractured heart of his, he’d begin to believe that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to keep waking up alone.

—•

You were making breakfast, the soft sizzle of batter in the pan the only sound keeping the morning company. The kitchen felt still—too still.

No sarcastic banter, no sudden crash from the twins rummaging through drawers. Just the quiet hush of early light and your thoughts, threading through the silence like smoke.

You glanced at the empty counter beside you and frowned slightly.

They usually appeared by now, sleepy-eyed and dramatic, asking for seconds before you’d even plated the first.

But not today.

Today, it was just you.

You turned back to the stove, flipping the pancake gently.

Something heavy stirred in your stomach.

Not quite fear. Not quite certainty.

Just a whisper of unease.

You tried to shrug it off.

You’d kissed Sylus’ forehead before you slipped out of his bed, pulling the blankets closer around him, watching the way his lashes fluttered against his cheeks.

He looked peaceful in sleep. Softer than anyone would expect.

You told yourself that was enough.

This was the life you wanted, wasn’t it?

A second chance.

A love blooming in the ruins of grief.

Something warm, something whole.

But still—something tugged at you.

A feeling you couldn’t name.

Like a shadow stretched too long behind you, waiting for the sun to shift.

You plated the pancakes, setting the warm dishes aside for when the twins inevitably returned. If not in ten minutes, then in thirty.

You could already hear Luke’s dramatic groan, “I knew you loved me,” followed by Kieran’s quiet “Shut up and eat.”

The thought almost made you smile.

You slipped out of the kitchen, letting your feet carry you through the manor’s hallways, falling into the familiar rhythm of their absence.

It was almost ritual now—wandering the spaces they left behind, filling the quiet with small steps and smaller hopes.

You thought of the way Sylus had curled into you last night, the way his hand found yours under the covers like it was instinct. The way he’d whispered nothing, but everything, just by staying close.

And for a moment, you felt safe.

‘Nothing’s wrong,’ you told yourself. ‘This is what peace feels like.’

But the second the thought crossed your mind, your steps faltered.

There, perched atop the small hallway table, was a shadow you hadn’t expected.

Mephisto.

The sleek lines of his body shimmered under the light, red eyes glowing faintly, unreadable as ever. He stared directly at you, unmoving.

You blinked.

Then smiled, cautious. “Hey. What’s up?” you asked softly, stepping closer, hand reaching instinctively to touch the curve of his mechanical head.

He didn’t lean in.

He cawed once—sharp, decisive—and before you could blink, he took off, wings slicing through the air like a warning.

You froze. Watched him disappear around the corner.

And though your heart was quiet, your body already knew.

Your feet began to move.

Following him, even as the dread returned, slow and cold.

Because something was wrong.

And Mephisto…

He had come to show you.

Sylus stirred, the sheets rustling beneath him as his hand reached instinctively to your side—only to find cool linen where your warmth had been.

His breath caught.

He sat up quickly, disoriented, eyes scanning the dim morning light that spilled lazily across the room. The faintest flicker of panic stirred in his chest—irrational, but unshakable.

Then he saw it.

A small slip of paper resting on the bedside table.

He reached for it, hands still slow with sleep. His eyes scanned your handwriting—soft, familiar.

“Making breakfast. Stay in bed a little longer.”

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. A ghost of a smile brushed his lips—brief, but real.

Of course.

Of course you had thought to leave a note.

Even now, you were always the one steadying him.

He rose, pulling on the first shirt within reach, running a hand through his hair as he moved. He had asked the twins to leave the manor last night—just for a little while.

A rare request. But he’d wanted it to be just you and him. No noise. No interruptions. Just quiet, borrowed time.

But as he stepped into the hallway, the lingering comfort of your note began to fade.

Something shifted.

He paused.

A chill passed down his spine, quick and subtle—but sharp enough to leave a mark.

That familiar sensation.

Not fear. Not danger.

Dread.

He shook it off at first. Walked toward the kitchen with measured steps.

Empty.

The scent of breakfast still hung in the air, warm and faint—but there was no sign of you.

He frowned.

Something wasn’t right.

His Evol stirred beneath his skin, not in aggression, but in search.

Like it, too, could sense the wrongness.

He whispered to himself, he’s just being paranoid.

But the silence was too thick.

Too still.

And his feet were already moving.

Room by room, hallway by hallway, he searched for you.

Each empty space chipped at the edge of the calm you’d left him with.

The dread in his chest bloomed like fire.

The door creaked open with a soft groan, barely loud enough to register. You stepped inside, guided by instinct more than thought.

The room beyond was dim—lit only by the flicker of monitors and the pale glow of idle machinery. Cold air greeted you like a breath held too long, sterile and sharp.

Everything hummed.

Low. Constant. Almost soothing, if not for the weight in your chest.

You hadn’t meant to come here. Not really.

You were following Mephisto.

And now, here you were.

He sat perched atop the main console, still and silent save for the tilt of his head—sharp, calculating. When he saw you, he cawed once.

Mechanical. Harsh.

Like a warning. Like regret.

But your attention had already shifted.

The screens.

Dozens of them lined the wall, casting soft blue light across your face. Hallways. Rooftops. Doors. Quiet lives unfolding without sound.

And in the center—barely larger than your hand—was a single screen.

Snow. A streetlamp. Two figures, caught mid-motion.

Your breath stilled.

You knew them.

Sylus stood beneath the lamp, coat fluttering faintly in the wind, a shadow carved from frost and silence. And across from him, eyes soft, shoulders squared with familiar resolve—

Shaiya.

Your sister.

You took a step closer. Your hand hovered, uncertain, as the screen flickered.

There was no sound yet, but you could feel the weight of the moment pressing through the glass.

A whisper cracked through the speaker. Her voice.

“She doesn’t know anything.”

Even now, her tone was calm.

Certain.

Protective.

“Keep it that way.”

The air left your lungs.

You didn’t cry. Not at first.

You just… stood there.

Frozen.

Mephisto cawed again, louder this time. Urgent. But distant.

Your eyes never left the screen.

You watched her smile. Soft. Resigned.

Like she had known, all along, how this would end.

And then—

His hand lifted.

The Evol stirred—dark red and black, coiling like smoke.

And Shaiya—

She stepped into it.

Willing. Unshaken.

“No…”

The word barely left your mouth, a ghost against the static.

Your hand pressed against the console. As if you could reach her. Stop her. Take her place.

But the image didn’t pause.

It never would.

You watched her fall—slow, graceful, like snow melting into darkness. And Sylus—

He caught her.

Held her.

But it was too late.

The light above them flickered once. Then settled.

And so did the snow.

You stood there for a long time, unmoving.

One hand on the screen. One tear down your cheek.

Because this wasn’t just a memory.

It wasn’t just surveillance.

This was the truth. And the truth was:

Your sister had died that night.

And Sylus had been the one to kill her.

He heard it—Mephisto’s cry, sharp and urgent, cutting through the manor like a siren.

And then he was running.

He didn’t remember telling his feet to move. Didn’t register the way the corridor blurred around him, walls flashing past like ghosts.

He only knew one thing. You were there.

And something inside him had already begun to break.

The feeling—that cold, creeping dread he’d tried so long to ignore—finally settled deep in his bones. Heavy. Final.

It dragged behind every step he took, anchoring him in a fear he couldn’t outrun.

The door to the control room came into view.

Wide open.

And that was when he knew.

He was too late.

Because as he stood there—chest heaving, breath caught somewhere between panic and regret—the dread finally rooted itself deep in his bones.

And his chest ached.

But not in the way he expected.

Because you weren’t looking at him with fury, or even the cold, sharp betrayal he had imagined all those nights he lay awake fearing this moment.

You were just… hurt.

You stood frozen, arms hanging limply at your sides, eyes wide—not with rage, but with something far more devastating.

Disbelief.

Your voice broke through the silence, raw and trembling.

“This…”

Your gaze flicked from the screen—still paused on that final image of your sister in his arms—back to him.

“Tell me this isn’t real.”

The words cracked at the edges, barely holding themselves together.

And in that moment, Sylus felt something inside him splinter.

Because he couldn’t.

He couldn’t lie to you anymore.

Not when the truth was already bleeding through the room.

There would be no saving this.

No apology wide enough to cross the distance now growing between you.

No absolution.

Only the ruin he had brought with him.

And the silence, standing as witness to it all.

masterlist

[laylaysdelusions]

Take care p1

When a star basketball player and a stripper meet under true intentions and a lie 

A/n: my first series!

The club lights gleam down on her dark hair as she moves across the stage, swaying her hips to the sensual music playing in the background. Her bra will hopefully soon be stuffed with 100 dollar bills. The club is in a decent part of town, usually the rich ones come here for their show. Tonight has been slow so far in terms of actual payers not just lookers. Riley feels the first real sack of cash thrown at her heel.

Her eyebrows softly crease when she realizes it’s 1k and she softly smiles. She looks in front of her to see who had thrown it. To her surprise it’s a young blonde woman, not the typical older man she comes across here. The woman makes eye contact with her for a moment and it stops Riley in her tracks. She’s got the face of a sculpted goddess, with her long blonde hair and angular features.

Riley tosses her a wink and continues her movements across the floor with the cash now stuffed in her purple bralette. About an hour passes and a few 50 dollar stacks are obtained but not much else. Her shift is almost over but she made 1k, that’s more than enough to pay for a good meal tonight and her bills in a few days.

11 pm swings around fast and soon Riley’s moving off the stage and into the dressing rooms. “Hey baby” Kelsey says. Kelsey is a couple years older than Riley and shes much more experienced with the whole stripping idea. She taught Riley how to make the most money fall at her feet and it’s definitely made her more comfortable around the club and the other girls. Riley responds with a “hey girl!” I mean this isn’t the greatest job but she’s made it home for now.

“How much ya get?” The redhead smirks. “1,200” Kelsey’s jaw falls open in shock. “Ry how hard were they, damn” it takes Riley a second to realize what she means and she slaps her shoulder. “What the hell kels” she rolls her eyes. “just saying!”

“It was actually a young woman that gave me the 1k” Riley says with a proud smile. “Really?? That’s rare” Kelsey’s face looks questionably at her. “Yeah, she was stunning and blonde, one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen” Riley says as the mirror light shines on her smooth brown skin. “That could’ve been your soulmate bae” Kels says bursting out into a laugh. “Definitely not she was way too rich to actually fuck wit a stripper”

“Well damn you’re probably right, ima head out for the night I’ll see you Friday, take care of yourself for me ok?” The woman’s red curls swing side to side as she reaches the door handle. “Good night see you soon” Riley responds back with a sigh. Now it’s time for her to head out. She pulled her coat over her shoulders and reapplied her peachy lip gloss. Her undereye bags show as she looks at herself in the full body mirror, she’s drained.

When she passes the bar area she notices something, more like someone, the same woman who she definitely wouldn’t forget. She seems to be arguing with the bartender. She stops in her tracks and suddenly they make eye contact. Riley feels the woman’s piercing blue eyes stare directly into her deep brown ones. It makes her shudder.

The blonde tells the bartender to hold on a second and starts to walk towards her. “Hey” her voice is deep and smooth. “Hey?” Riley replies, raising an eyebrow. “You’re the one I gave that stack to right?” She says so confidently it makes her brain twist. “Y-yeah” and for the first time in so long she’s stuttering. “You were and are absolutely stunning, you know that?” The woman says and it sends a shiver down her spine.

“Look I don’t do that kind of work if that’s what you’re going to ask for” Riley doesn’t need that tonight. “No- never! I wasn’t meaning to sound creepy, I just wanted to actually talk to you” the way she says it sounds genuine and she can feel it. “Well..sure” I mean what’s the worst that could happen Riley doesn’t have much of a life anyways. “I’m Alex” the woman tells her and they both subtly smile at each other. “I’m Riley”

“If you want I can buy you a drink, it’s on me” Riley agrees to a wine although most would call it boring Alex called it a good choice. They start a gentle conversation and the words naturally come out her lips which isn’t normal for Riley. She’s always been a little bit shy or awkward. In high school she stayed to herself because people were jerks and when she was in college classes she was too busy to enjoy the campus life. Now she’s got Kelsey and that’s all.

“So you in school?” Paige says and Riley shakes her head while she takes a sip of the wine. “Nope, dropped out freshman” the curly head’s face shines under the club lights delicately, looking beautiful as ever. Paige feels terrible and she knows it’s wrong but she can’t mess up the both of them with her reputation. Riley’s brown eyes look into Paige’s ever so often and it makes her heart glow. ‘Paige stop it’ the blonde says to herself.

“Hm what were you going for?” She asks, tasting her tequila shot. “Psychology” Riley answers, hoping not to be judged. Telling people that usually results in a rude comment about how she’s thrown her intelligence away for such a low job. “Oo that’s so cool! I love women with book and street smarts” Paige smirks making Riley’s body flush. She’s not used to embarrassing herself like this. I guess it’s easier to talk to men when you’re not attracted to them like women.

“Oh be quiet, it didn’t get me very far clearly” she sighs, motioning to the room surrounding them. “I mean hey at least you’re working” she shrugs to let Riley know she doesn’t mind. “It might not be the most glamorous job but you’re getting yo cash that’s good” Riley laughs and nods her head. She’s honestly mesmerized; she’s never seen a woman quite like this. She’s amazing with her words and her attitude on top of the looks.

The both of them are unaware of the subtle pass of time and suddenly it’s 1 am. “Oh shit I get home” Paige tells Riley when she realizes that Kk is gonna be on her ass about staying that late at a strip club. I mean what was she supposed to do? Kk invited her girlfriend over for the night. Trust and believe Paige didn’t want to be in the dorm during that.

“I better get going too, can I have your number?” Paige’s eyes light up at the ask. “Yeah of course!” They exchange numbers and say their goodbyes. “Goodnight Alex” Riley says, oblivious. “Goodnight” the player says back. On Paige’s drive home she felt the guilt start to eat at her. Really though, is a girl like Riley going to stick around? Probably not, it wouldn’t be that big of a deal anyway.

However on Riley’s drive home she can’t stop imagining what ‘Alex’ must actually feel. Who wants to have a genuine conversation with a stripper? Not many so Alex must have felt something. Riley rubs her temples as she pulls into her apartment parking spot. She can already hear her neighbors in an aggressive argument.

Her apartment is a madhouse because of her neighbors and the walls are thin so that definitely doesn’t help the issue. “I won’t be getting much sleep..” Riley tells herself as she sits her bag down on her bedside. She wipes her makeup off in her bathroom and just looks at her reflection for a moment. She needs a break from this mess but she can’t afford one at least for now.

[sweetestberryofthebunch]

The Wandavision Double Feature Show (Agatha Harkness x Reader)

In a town terrorised by the mind control of a grieving witch, you’re Bella Swan. Well, not entirely, but the look on Agatha’s face when you’d said it like that was too good to miss out on. Still, there was no explanation to it. You weren’t magick, at least you’d never thought you were, but when your entire hometown, including your poor parents, began to play the charades the Scarlet Witch had created, you were completely unaffected. It’s like you’re immune to it, your mind protected by a firm, unwavering shield. Luckily for you, Agatha finds you before the witch behind the Westview Hex does. She offers a simple deal. Her protection in exchange for your loyalty. And, Technicolor or not, how could you ever resist the twinkle of those eyes?

~ a collection of snippets of your time with Agatha during the Westview Hex; Loose on plot, heavy on smut ~

Part I: And … Action!

In this Episode it is the 50s and you are sent out to spy on Wanda for the first time. Agatha realises just how much you aim to please, and decides to have a little fun with that.

Content/Warnings: imbalanced power dynamics, mentions of light choking, r definitely has a praise kink, mommy kink, no smut in this one yet but dw i‘m already three fingers deep into part 2

5k+ words

„Strip.“

„What?“, your mouth fell open, staring at her wide eyed. You were standing in her bedroom, already an insane enough thing to happen within knowing her for less than 48 hours. But hearing her stern voice order you to take off your clothes definitely topped that.

Agatha didn’t even look over her shoulder, unbothered by your confusion as she pushed open the winged doors to the gigantic closet across the room. There had to be a similar magic involved in it like the basement, there was no way a closet this size just fit into the second store of a little suburban house.

She’d brought you here after finding you on the streets, a single, vibrant blob of color in the new, black and white reality of Westview. You’d been shaking, eyes swollen from crying, Why was everything black and white? Why was your apartment suddenly occupied by a random couple you‘d never met before, declaring they had to sell milkshakes from the empty store beneath your studio now, because she had told them too. Why? And why was everyone dressed so differently, so … vintage?

Agatha had been the only bright, carefree face you’d seen after hours of stumbling around lost in town square. She had been just as confused about seeing you, too, but her initial surprise quickly turned into intrigue.

Her house was a safe haven, the first time since you’d woken up in this upside down reality you didn’t feel exposed, didn’t feel like a lab rat under a bright lamp, vulnerable, unable to run.

She‘d made you tea and you‘d sat on her couch, telling her everything that had happened. And, thankfully, she already knew. So you weren’t crazy.

The things she’d told you … witchcraft, magick, hexes and mind control … if you hadn’t seen it for yourself, you wouldn’t have believed it. Slowly, as you listened to her and nodded, you saw the color drain from yourself too, slowly fitting into this new world, this hexed Westview.

„I just don’t understand why“, you‘d eventually confess, and the witch - Agatha was her name - had shrugged.

„We’re going to find out.“ she’d leaned closer to you, hands clasping together underneath her chin as she smirked at you, „The same way we’re going to figure you out.“

Because if all of Westview had been hexed, you should have been too. But you weren’t. And, as you found out after Agatha had assigned you a room in her home she placed a twin sized bed in it with the flick of her wrist (you almost fell over in surprise). You learned from her that she couldn’t read your mind either.

And while you were too busy pouting over the fact she’d tired in the first place, she’d just shrugged it off. Because that lead to one conclusion. You seemed to have some kind of resistance, an immunity to any witchcraft. A shield around your mind, like a camouflaged helmet.

That night, before you’d curled into the new bed, you had made her a promise. Her protection and guidance in this hexed town, in return for your loyalty in her plan.

„What plan?“, you’d asked before retreating to your room, and the bewildered glow in her eyes had sent a shiver down your spine.

„We‘re going to get the Scarlet Witch, and we are going to take this power away from her.“

“Take your clothes off“, Agatha said now, back in her bedroom again, starting to rustle through the racks. The sound pulled you out of your memories, and you immediately felt the heat rising to your head.

„This is a 50s sitcom.“, Agatha explained, „You’re not meeting our lead actress in a graphic tee and jeans.“

When you still made no attempts to strip, she turned around with an exasperated sigh, palm pressing against her forehead. There was a pale dress draped over her arm, the fabric swinging as she raised her hands in a dramatic gesture, pointing at you.

„My Goodness, are you Mormon? Go change in the bathroom if you need to, there’s a robe hanging at the door.“

Finally, you made your way over to the bathroom she gestured towards, only stopping when she called out your name again.

„Honey, turn back around.“

You Stopped and did exactly as she said, turning around with one hand on the door already. A smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth at your compliance, and you felt your stomach twist at the sight.

The witch gave you a long, studious look. Like your face was a canvas she had yet to decide what to paint on. A project she was still mapping out. You shifted from one foot to the other, glancing anywhere but right at her piercing eyes.

„Take everything off. Including piercings“, one more glance at your ears, „Especially piercings.“

„All of them?“, the potential implications of your question only dawned on you when the words had already left your mouth, and you immediately wanted to sink into the ground, „I mean … I don’t-“

„Oh my!“, Agatha let out a low giggle, the amusement on her face undeniable as her eyes slowly wandered down your front, over your chest and lower, to the zipper of your jeans. You felt like your skin was going to burn right off under her gaze. Own eyes fixated on your toes, you didn‘t dare to look up even as the tips of her pumps stepped into view.

„That entirely depends on how much you decide to reveal“, she chuckled. Two fingers hooked underneath your chin, nails digging into your skin just slightly. Her grip was steady but not painful, forcing you to meet her eyes. One of her brows raised up in an almost cocky smirk, observing you like a lioness observed her unassuming prey. Watchful, but aware of her upper hand over the situation. Your breathing stopped, eyes wide, brain unable to form a single sentence. God, you wanted to sink into the ground in embarrassment.

The grin on Agatha‘s face was smug, entirely pleased with your reactions to her.

„Just remember this is a first meeting between two neighbours in the fifties. Maybe let her take you to dinner first.“

Before your brain could muster up an answer, she‘d already let go of you, turning back towards the closet. „Go change“, she called over her shoulder, waving you off, „Take a shower if you need to.“ You decided to ignore the obvious jab and do exactly that.

It turned out that playing dress up for this distorted reality was quite fun. After showering, Agatha had twirled your hair into little curls, letting it dry like that as she led you through each piece of your new attire displayed neatly on the big canopy bed.

With each piece of clothing you‘d slowly feel yourself emerge deeper into the world, feeling less out of place. Agatha had curled and then pinned your hair up, and you had slipped in various undergarments, stockings, and a metal wired bra with cone-like cups that weren’t fitted to your actual chest at all.

„I don’t hate this! I look like Madonna“, you commented, giving the full undergarments a onceover in the mirror.

„Ouch!“

Your hand came up to hold the ear Agatha had flicked with her finger, turning around to stare at her in accusation, „What was that for?“

„Madonna isn’t even a concept yet“, she reminded you, shaking her head at your dramatic reaction to what really had not been that painful at all, „Drop the modern references, you can’t let her know you’re not under the hex!“

You pushed your bottom lip forward into a little pout, remembering the notes she’d made you take on etiquette, culture and speak of the era you were trapped in. “I won’t slip up!“, you promised, „I was just … pointing that out. I‘m lifting up the team spirit!“

„Thank you for the amazing contribution“, Agatha dead panned with a little roll of her eyes, before nodding towards the little chair by the vanity again. She held a small case of some pressed powder in one hand and a big, fluffy brush in the other. „Now sit down, you can lift your spirits later. We’re not even close to being done.“

The checkered dress Agatha had picked out for you was beautiful. Bright shades formed the pattern on the cotton fabric that had you wonder what its actual colors were. The shades of grey that the world had been tinted in since the Hex were brighter than what Agatha was wearing. A part of you wanted to know if she’d dressed you in contrary or complimentary shades. The same part that wanted to see the colors she dressed herself in at all, that wondered if her eyes were blue or green. But, there was no way to know that now, not until the two of you managed to break this hex. So it was time to focus on that.

You had on multiple layers of underskirts, the cone bra, and a corset that was pulling you together from your ribs all the way below your hipbone, and the dress itself came with a little fabric belt held right at the nip of your waist, a few buttons at the front as decoration.

You felt yourself inhale sharply when you felt Agatha‘s delicate fingers tie it together in the back, giving both ends of the belt a little tug. You stumbled backwards, just a single step, but it was enough to suddenly feel her warmth against your back, body brushing against yours. You jumped at the sudden contact, eyes wide as they found hers in the mirror, slowly wandering down your body.

„Relax Darling“, she smiled, one hand adjusting the little bow she’d tied at your back, the other coming up to brush some of the curls she’d so intricately pinned into place back over your shoulder.

She exposed your neck and shoulder, all the way to your collarbones, where she had placed a single necklace with a pale gemstone.

You swore you could see the tip of her tongue dart out, licking her lips mere inches from the shell of your ear.

If you were braver, you’d roll your head to the side, expose more of the silky skin of your neck to her, offer yourself up right then and there. Maybe even beg her to taste your skin just once. Just for the slight chance she might actually do it.

But you weren’t brave like that, you were not even brave enough to meet her eyes right now, despite having no problems staring at the dazzling woman when she didn’t notice. So all you did was swallow hard, eyes fixed on the hands in your lap, covered by a little pair of white gloves.

You didn’t see the way Agatha’s eyes watched your throat move, didn’t notice how her hands ran through your fluffy curls just a little longer than necessary, before pulling away to stand upright behind you, hands coming to rest on your shoulders, giving them a little squeeze.

“We’re done”, she announced, a satisfied little smirk on her stained red lips, admiring the work she’d done on you.

And certainly, you were completely transformed, looked like an entirely different person. The dress fit you surprisingly snug, you wondered if that also was part of her magic, your hair styled almost the exact same way as hers, both of your lips painted dark, both of your cheeks covered in blush. With her hands on your shoulders like that, you almost looked like a vintage photograph, the kind you kept on your bedside table. It made your insides feel like they were boiling.

In the small hall by the front door, your feet slid into little black pumps, polished to shine enough that the light reflected off the matte fabric. You stood back up, rolling your shoulders before taking the plate of freshly baked apple pie from the counter beside you. A small, unassuming gesture. Just a neighbor introducing themselves with a homemade pie. The perfect beginning to any storyline.

Agatha watched you from the door, nodding in approval when you gave a little spin to show off your final look.

“And remember“, she said, matter of factly, „you are just stopping by in town for a little while, staying with Agnes, your … mother in law.”

“Really?” You had to hold back a laugh, giving her a curious look, “that’s the story you made up for us?”

“It’s the fifties, remember”, Agatha replied. Her hand found the small of your back, fingers hooking underneath your belt, pulling you back until you were pressed against her. She was so close, you could feel the words she murmured into your ear, voice low and raspy, “We can always rewrite the plot later.”

You almost dropped the pie right then and there.

Just like that, she had already stepped away from you, letting out a little giggle that sounded a lot more like Agnes again. Her hands found yours, clasping over them, stabilising your grip on the porcelain plate again.

„So I am … married“, the words felt strange on your lips, and you had to hold back a nervous laughter. If this was supposed to work, you’d have to work on your acting skills.

Thankfully, Agatha came to help you out immediately. „To mine and Ralphs Beautiful boy … Bartholomew.“

Now you had to laugh, shaking your head at her. How she was able to just say things like that with a straight face was beyond you. You‘d better catch up to her soon.

„Yes of course“, repeating the story to her, you pushed your tongue into your left cheek.

„My husband Bartholomew, who works in the city.“ Your eyes found hers, and you bit the inside of your cheek. Goodness, even in this black and white reality, you could see the brightness of her eyes. You were longing to see them in color, wanting to know what they looked like when they caught the sun. Focus!

“And your husband Ralph, who is the guy you keep chained up in the basement.“ The look you gave her at that was a mix of concern, uncertainty and a little bit of accusation. The fact that she’d basically just taken over some poor guys house and banished him into the magical dungeon she’d summoned was a bridge you hadn’t yet crossed.

Agatha nodded along as you spoke, a wicked little grin on her lips. „We feed him twice a day, don‘t we? He will be useful later. Until then, he’s gonna be just fine down there.“

Her hands wandered from your hands up to your wrists, clasping around them. You weren’t sure if it was an act of encouragement, or a subtle warning. And you certainly weren’t going to ask. Your skin was already prickling with goosebumps from the touch alone.

Agatha‘s voice was low, the air around her vibrating with power.

„He hasn’t complained since I gave him his Xbox, and they haven’t even invented that out here. It’s best to keep him where he is for now.“ She inched closer, grip on your wrists tightening, effectively pinning you in place. Your breathing stopped.

Her voice had dropped to merely a whisper now, and you swore you could see a single flash of purple in her eyes. The only color you’d seen since all of this had started.

“Ralph is none of your concern, we need him alive and well for later.“, she was so close, you could feel the husk of her words on your face.

“Your job is to be a good little pet and do as I say. Your loyalty for my protection. Understood?“

After swallowing hard, you gave a small but firm nod. „Understood.“

After a few more seconds, she dropped her hands. The mask of Agnes slipped on and off so smoothly, it caught you off guard every time.

„Go now darling, or you’ll be late!” she smiled, and gave you a gentle push towards the front door, opening and holding it for you. As you brushed past her, she gave you a dazzling smile, hand up in a small but enthusiastic wave. Like she was sending you off on your first day of school, not a magical spy mission in a fake reality. Your life truly took a wild turn in the past 48 hours.

“Make Mommy proud!” Agatha chirped, standing by the door, and she was lucky you were already down the stairs. Otherwise you might have tripped and fallen and the whole operation would have ended right there. Your knees felt like jelly, but you straightened your back and rolled your shoulders. It was time to deliver. Most of all, it was time to focus on your mission, and not the way your stomach had just performed a backflip at her words.

As you made your way down the sidewalk, still a little uncomfortable in the pumps Agatha had picked out for you, you held onto the porcelain plate with white knuckles. It truly was a miracle you didn’t break it on the short walk to Wanda’s house.

„Alright“, you murmured to yourself, rolling your shoulders before pressing the doorbell. There was no going back now. „Here goes nothing.“

…

It turned out that you were quite the natural at this whole undercover thing. Wanda certainly made it easy, eager to talk to you, even more eager to try the pie you’d made, eyes rolling back in pleasure at the taste of cinnamon on her tongue.

She was beautiful, so to the point where you almost felt a little intimidated. You didn’t know what you had expected, but it wasn’t a girl this sweet, a few years older than you, her smile was warm and her voice genuine when she thanked you for the pie. You’d just shrugged and told her you appreciated the opportunity to leave the house for a while. At least it would be easier to click with her like this.

The ice broke for sure the moment you offered to help set the table, Wanda clapping her hands together in Delight. The two of you ended up on her couch, legs propped up like school girls on a movie night, plates of pie in hand as she‘d rambled to you about Vision. The girl was whipped.

How much she loved him, how excited they were to move to Westview, how much he already seemed to exceed at his new job. You‘d mostly nodded along, trying to memorise every little detail to repeat back to Agatha later.

It was weird, if it wasn’t for Agatha telling you the truth about the hex, you never would have assumed Wanda to be the one behind it. She seemed so … carefree. And unassuming. But then, eventually she did slip up.

„Enough about us!“, she laughed, „I‘ve been talking your ear off about my husband for over an hour, you must be so bored!“

You shook your head as you finished the last bit of pie and Wanda took your plate to place it on the coffee table. You gave her a grateful little smile.

„It’s fine really“, you replied, hoping people in the 50s would say it like that.

If they didn’t, Wanda seemed to not notice. „Tell me about Bartholomew“, she said instead, „Agnes never mentioned having a son!“

You swallowed, gears in your head turning as you came up with something on the spot.

„Well he lives in the City“, you said, „I mean, we do together. He writes for a tabloid, so he’s always busy. So is Ralph, that‘s why I‘m staying here for a while. He was worried that I was lonely. That Ag- Agnes is too.“

Wanda smiled at that, head tilted slightly to the side. „How very kind of him! He must love you very much.“

You almost choked on nothing at that, quickly busying yourself with a hand in your hair, brushing a lost strand behind your ear. „Well, I mean … I would hope so.“

Wanda eyed you with curiosity, shuffling just the slightest bit closer on the couch. „What is he like?“, she asked just a little quieter than before. Like she wanted to know the real deal now.

„Very different from his mom“, you offered, and feared it sounded more like a question than a statement. However, you took the way Wanda‘s lips curled into a distant smile as a good sign. She was buying every little piece of bullshit you had to barter. Good.

„He uh … It’s a little embarrassing but he started to bald very badly“, you had no idea where and why this had come to you in this moment, but the way Wanda leaned back and put her hands on her hips made you more confident in your story. Any reaction was a good one. If you shared, maybe Wanda would too… After all, all of this was to amuse her, to please the Scarlet Witch.

“We tried every treatment but he keeps losing more hair. He told me not to tell Agnes yet!“

Wanda gave you an almost patronising look. „Well, I would tell him that he doesn’t have to worry about that at all, and that the amount of hair on his head or what his mother thinks doesn’t change the way you feel about him! Vision has no hair at all and I still love him the same!“

There it was!

A slip up in the story. A mistake in production, almost too small for a regular viewer to notice. But you weren’t a regular viewer, you were a spy on a mission looking for cracks in the story.

„But Wanda“, you tilted your head to the side, looking at her with furrowed brows, the perfect face of innocent confusion. „Doesn’t Vision have hair? I saw him leave for work this morning, he drives past the kitchen window every day!“

Wanda‘s big, round doe eyes widened, fumbling to find something to say. You almost felt bad. Almost.

„Well, I mean …“ her gaze left you, darted from the empty plates on the coffee table to the pictures on the wall, which also featured her with a tall man, thin but definitely prominent hair on his head, even a little stubble on his upper lip.

„He’s been balding too.“ she finally said, lamely.

„Hah!“, Agatha shook her head at that, one hand on her hip as she laughed, „Balding my ass! That man is all steel and wires, the human form is merely an illusion!“

She was standing behind you as you sat at her vanity again, in the low light of the nightstand lamps, watching Agatha as she pinned your hair into little rosettes overnight. At the extent of your daily beauty routine, a part of you wished you did have magic like she had, so you could just wake up and wish for perfectly curled hair.

Then again, sitting here, wrapped in your nightgown and the robe she‘d given you as her fingers delicately ran through your hair, precise and yet gentle certainly was a way to spend your night. You couldn’t help but lean into the touch a little more, resisting the urge to wistfully sigh.

Trying your best to recount what you‘d found out earlier today proved a little harder though when she was all over you like this, barely covered by her own nightgown, one sleeve slipped off her shoulder,every little tug and pull on your hair sending a new shiver down your spine.

„So … that was helpful?“, you asked when she’d gone quiet after your story.

„It‘s strong evidence that she didn’t just create an illusion for the guy, but actually reanimated his corpse. If you can call it that. Is it necromancy if the body used is made of panels and electric wire?“

The way she said it, it wasn’t a real question. Her fingers busy pinning the last strand of your hair into place, before carefully wrapping a silk scarf around all her hard work, tying it together at the top of your head much like the one she was already wearing.

„I don’t know“, you answered anyway, flinching when suddenly, you felt her warm palms on your bare shoulders, soft skin resting against yours.

Her eyes found yours in the mirror, and her expression was unreadable to you. „Tell me what happened after she slipped.“

„Not much“, you said, „she … she stared at me really intensely for a moment, but then nothing happened, so I just offered to bring the dirty dishes to the kitchen. She thanked me again and then I left, but she did hug me on the way out. I don’t think she assumes anything about me.“

If the fact Wanda had gotten this comfortable this fast with you bothered Agatha, she didn’t let it show. Her hands on your shoulders began to move a little, eyes still holding your gaze in the reflection as her palms began to rub over your skin, back and forth and back and forth. You felt the hair on your neck rise.

„I …“, you sucked in a sharp breath, her hands wandering upwards, brushing over your neck for just a moment before going back to your shoulders. You felt yourself lean back into her tough almost naturally, like you were guided by some higher power. Like it was second nature, you tilted your head up a little, neck craning. Your legs were shaking underneath the layers of silky fabric you were wearing. You wanted nothing more than her hands back on your neck.

„Agatha“, the sound came out a lot higher, a lot weaker than you‘d intended, and your cheeks turned red in embarrassment.

The woman behind you just smirked, the way your body was reacting to her touch was not lost on her. She leaned over you, ever so slightly closer now. One of her hands stilled on your shoulder, fingertips grazing over the outline of your collarbone. Her other hand wandered back up towards your neck, thumb pressing into the back, stroking over the small baby hairs that flew free there, fingers loosely resting over your throat. She could feel your racing pulse there, feel every breath enter and release from your lungs. And she definitely felt the way you swallowed hard, felt the vibration of the little moan daring to slip out of your mouth.

She leaned down further, until her lips were less than an inch from your ear. „What‘s wrong darling? Cat got your tongue?“

“No“, you mewled, and the feeling of your throat moving against her grip was so delectable, you had to squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, fearing that one look from her might make you explode, „Yes.“

Need was burning under your skin, need for her to press down harder, need for her other hand to wander down lower. You were never more grateful for your new found powers than right now, knowing there was no way she could see the sinful images your mind was producing.

„Are you nervous?“, her tone was teasing, and when you did open your eyes again, she was smirking against the shell of your ear, brow cocked in a smug expression.

„There is no reason for you to be nervous. Not after you did so, so well for me.“ She put a little more emphasis on words than the last. Your hands wrapped tightly around the arm rests of your chair. God, you needed her to have her way with you so badly.

And judging by the look on her face, the curl of her lips, she knew that too.

The grip on your throat tightened, just a little. Her other hand tugged on the loose hair at the back of your neck, forcing you to look up at yourself in the mirror.

She was standing above you, halfway curled into you, holding you in her firm grip. Your cheeks were a bright red, a color quickly spreading across your entire face, creeping down your neck. There was a thin layer of sweat on your brow, and your eyes, goodness, your eyes were wide, fluttered half shut in a flushed gaze, pupils dark.

„You did so good for me today“, Agatha leaned in even closer, her breath ghosting over your cheek. The scent of rosewater and lavender invaded your senses, and if you had been in a position to, you would’ve loved to lean in closer, let the floral scent completely consume you. But you didn’t dare to move. Not with her hands on you like this, not when she was leaning closer, even closer never breaking eye contact in your reflections, dimply illuminated by flickering light bulbs.

And then, you could feel her. Her soft, plump lips pressed against your cheek, just above the corner of your mouth. It was short, feather light and before you knew it she had already pulled away. You instinctively tried to chase after her, but the grip on your throat kept you in place, holding your head exactly where it was as she leaned away, straightening her back. You immediately missed her presence right behind you, feeling cold all of a sudden. Her hand left your throat, giving your cheek one little pet on its way before she fully retreated from you, stepping away, arms crossed. Like she didn’t just almost kiss you, like your whole body wasn’t practically begging for her to come back. You weren’t above actually begging either.

„How about this“, Agatha spoke, matter of factly, „Tomorrow I handle Wanda, and you keep the house in tact. You remember your tasks?“

„Feed Ralph and the bunny“, you recounted, voice hoarse, „Keep everything tidy. Never touch the Dark Hold. Tend to the greenhouse out back, cook dinner. Don’t drive, we’re not allowed to drive without a man in the car. Save a plate for Ralph again, keep an eye out for Wanda‘s house.“

„Very good“, Agatha hummed, turning away from you to eye the bookshelf beside the vanity, fingers curling as she looked for something. You tried to pry your eyes away, but failed horribly.

„Let’s add something new to that list. I‘m gonna give you a list of reading assignments. Some history, some spellbooks, some metaphysics.“ She glanced over her shoulders at you, giving you a wink. „Time to find out more about those curious little powers of yours, don’t you think?“

You nodded, staring back at yourself in the mirror one more time. Whatever your life had come to these past days, no one was ever going to believe that story. But, at least in this story your co-star was Agatha Harkness, and you had a feeling you’d just passed your audition with flying colours.

[ak319]

I absolutely love your yandere Arthur stuff- though I really have the curiosity to see him suffer. I was wondering how he'd go about if the reader, in a desperate attempt to escape, ended up getting really really hurt (if she survived or not, up to you.. but make it real heart shattering please)

Thank you and keep being awesome!!

(AN: So, I got two asks (TW) relating to suicide and the other two I added cuz I thought they lined perfectly with the plot that came to my mind. So saddle up as this is going to be a tough one, do read the warnings, and also thank you to all the anons for reading and sending the asks!)

Warnings/MDNI: Suicide, angst, forced prostitution, the reader is underage. (15-16), not incest, strictly platonic, abuse// I don't condone such behaviour

It had been almost a week since you’d run, from everything that had suffocated you. An older woman in her 50s, a widow with two married daughters, had found you and decided to give you shelter. You couldn’t have been more grateful to Linda, and you even felt for her, living alone in a small house with only her animals for company. What you hadn’t expected, perhaps in your own naivety and desperation, was that choices made in haste often became someone else’s chance to shape their own life for the better.

You were dusting off a vase when you noticed two men approaching the fence on horseback. Anxiety bubbled in your stomach. Even the faint sound of hooves and the sight of those hats stirred reminders of your brother, of the camp, memories Linda knew well by now.

“Linda, there are people outside,” you said, voice tight with unease. She looked up from her book, her expression unreadable as she rose. With an air of certainty, as if she’d anticipated this, she opened the door without even glancing to see who they were.

“Good mornin’, Miss Linda.”

The men stepped inside, their eyes sweeping over the small room before landing on you, a young girl, untouched as they were told, standing tensely in the corner, cloth in hand.

“Is she the one?”

“Yes. Her name’s (Y/N),” Linda replied without hesitation, her tone strangely casual.

Your eyebrows knitted in confusion. “Um, Miss Linda?” you murmured, hoping for some explanation. But when you looked at her, the warmth she’d shown when she’d found you, empty-handed and alone, was nowhere to be found.

As their conversation continued, realization dawned painfully fast. This wasn’t an innocent meeting. She had sold you, to men who clearly had no good intentions.

“NO!” you shouted, thrashing as one of them seized you, his grip iron-tight. Panic surged through you as you struggled, tears stinging your eyes.

“HOW COULD YOU DO THIS? LINDA!” you screamed, your voice cracking. “You have daughters of your own!” But the other man quickly moved to hold you down, binding your wrists as dread washed over you. No, this can’t be real, you thought, desperately praying for a miracle, for anything.

“I don’t have daughters,” Linda replied flatly, her gaze fixed on the money roll they handed her. “I live alone. You fell right into my trap, girly, this is what I do for a living.” She didn’t even look up as they gagged you, ignoring your cries and pleas as they dragged you from her house, indifferent to your terror.

⋆⋆⋆

It had been three months since they’d dragged you into this unfamiliar place, surrounded by strangers with cold eyes and colder hearts.It was useless no matter how much you begged or how hard you fought. The punishments, the beatings, the days locked away in dank cellars, became too much to bear.

"It's always a fun challenge to tame young ones like you,"

Eventually, the fight drained out of you. Bit by bit, you surrendered. You gave up on freedom, on dignity, on every cherished memory. You tried to convince yourself it wasn’t giving up, that they had taken it from you. But deep down, you knew the people around you would laugh at that. A woman, giving in? As if you’d ever had a choice.

Even if... even if your brother somehow found you, what would he say? If he saw you here, saw all that had happened, would he forgive you for running away? He will, he will because you're the only one he has left. It was a lie you whispered to yourself just to make it through the endless nights.

But still, despite everything, you prayed. Prayed that somehow he’d find you, that he’d come and take you back. That he’d see past the shame, past the bruises and broken pieces, and remember the sister you used to be. You clung to that thin thread of hope, fragile as it was, because it was the only thing left that still felt like yours.

⋆⋆⋆

Arthur hadn’t had a moment’s peace since you disappeared. The guilt and fury festered into a dark cloud over him, filling every waking moment. Every step, every job he took on, only seemed to twist the knife deeper, because how could he even think about anything else while you were out there alone?

He lashed out at everyone. Every misstep or delay was another reminder that they’d failed to keep you safe, to keep you close. It stung him that no one had been there, that Dutch’s assurances and promises meant so little when it came down to it. The camp members bore the brunt of his fury, his paranoia that they might’ve even helped you leave simmering just beneath the surface. And though they knew better than to push back, they held their patience, trying to calm him, even if it was like talking to a wall. How could these people not take care of you? It was the only thing he had asked Dutch for in exchange for giving his all, his best with his every breath.

Still, he couldn’t rest. Every day he pushed himself, scanning faces in crowded towns, following trails that led nowhere. He’d never admit it, but he was scared, scared of what might’ve happened to you. He wouldn’t be satisfied until he saw you for himself, safe and within the bounds of camp again.

⋆⋆⋆

It was one of those days where Chief, the man who forced you to call him that, as if it somehow dignified his cruelty, had you paraded through saloons to attract new customers. The older, more experienced girls absorbed most of the men’s attention, giving you brief respites where you could linger near the corners, gaze averted, trying not to see or be seen. This was your coping mechanism: be present but remain hidden, fading into the shadows, preserving the last shreds of yourself.

Chief rarely paid attention to your position; he was usually too engrossed in gambling or drinking with his cronies to notice. So long as you didn’t step out of line or attempt an escape, an impossible feat with his guards stationed outside, he didn’t care where you lingered. For these few stolen moments, you could almost feel invisible, protected by the wall at your back and the murmur of unfamiliar voices.

And then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw him.

Charles. Right there, across the room. Your heart thundered, your breath catching in your throat. He was here, and the realization struck you like a blow. You must’ve stared too long because his eyes landed on you, recognition dawning in his gaze. You could see his shock twist into something harder, his face darkening as he took in your presence here.

His eyes were locked onto you, and he rose from his seat, his gaze sharp and unyielding, scanning every inch of you with a dawning recognition. Each step he took made your heart pound harder, a mix of disbelief and terror twisting in your chest. You couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe, as you pressed yourself further against the wall, as though it might somehow swallow you up.

“(Y/N)...?”

His voice was low, laced with disbelief and something that almost sounded like relief, but there was no mistaking the tremor in it. Your throat tightened, and a thousand unspoken words tangled there, as if your body itself was rejecting the reality of being found.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Your tongue felt heavy, paralyzed by shame and fear. The silence was broken by Chief, who was now at your side oblivious to the storm brewing, chuckled and tightened his hand on your shoulder. "This is Cherry, my newest one. One of the youngest, too," he taunted, a sick grin spreading across his face. "Would you like a taste, sir?"

Charles didn’t hesitate. In an instant, he was on Chief, his fists swinging. You watched as Charles’s rage took over, each blow landing harder than the last, rendering Chief into a bloody, unrecognizable heap. The noise and chaos around you faded, replaced by a surreal, dreamlike silence.

You wanted to move, to say something, anything, but shock held you frozen. The reality was hitting you all at once, Charles had found you. After all this time, your prayers have finally been answered. But along with the relief, dread crept in. Charles was here, yes, but what about Arthur?

Arthur. The thought of facing him filled you with a hollow, bone-deep fear. What would he say? What would he do when he saw you like this?

“Arthur’s been looking for you. Day and night, he’s been looking. And he’s… well, you know how he is.” He paused, his gaze turning serious. “But he needs to see you. Needs to know you’re safe.”

"I--can't....Charles," he was the second after Arthur whom you called a brother, if this was your condition in front of him, you dreaded facing your real one.

"He...will --no, please." No, this wasn't how it was supposed to be, you should have been happy to go.

"The hell I am leaving you here!"

"Charles, no, you don’t understand!" you protested, your voice trembling as you recoiled slightly from his touch. “Arthur… he’ll be furious! He’ll-”

“He’ll be furious if he finds out you’re here, too,” Charles interjected, his tone sharp yet laced with concern. “But I can’t leave you here. You deserve better than this.”

You nodded slowly, still numb, letting him lead you outside, where the guards who usually kept watch were already scattered, backing off after seeing Charles’s wrath. He didn’t let you go, staying close as he guided you through the quiet streets.

With a final glance back at the saloon, you took his hand, feeling a mix of fear and gratitude surge through you. As you climbed onto the horse behind him, the reality of what lay ahead crashed over you like a wave.

⋆⋆⋆

All the guilt and frustration that Arthur had felt at himself and the others had now morphed into a seething fury. He could barely contain the storm brewing inside him as he stood there, fists clenched, watching Charles bring you back to camp. You stood behind him, your head bowed, and he could feel the weight of your shame even from a distance.

When Charles, with his broken and hesitant words, explained where you had been and what you had endured , Arthur felt a rush of bile rise in his throat. Hearing that you had been forced into such a degrading life, turning into a whore, no less in front of the whole camp, set off a wildfire of rage within him. It felt as if every cell in his body was screaming, torn between the desire to protect you and the urge to just shoot you and then himself.

“Why…?” he managed to croak out, his voice barely above a whisper, but the intensity of his gaze was like fire. You could only let out a whimper, too overwhelmed by shame and fear to answer.

“Arthur... it's not (Y/N)'s fault-” Charles began, trying to explain the circumstances, but Arthur cut him off sharply, the anger bubbling over.

“I AM ASKING HER, CHARLES, SO SHUT YOUR MOUTH! I ASKED YOU SOMETHING!” His voice thundered across the camp, startling the others who had gathered to witness the confrontation.

Silence fell over the clearing, all eyes on you as Arthur took a step forward, his expression a mix of pain and fury. You flinched, feeling the heat of his anger radiating off him like a tangible force.

Your heart pounded in your chest, a rabbit caught in the glare of a predator. You could see the way his fists trembled, the way his jaw clenched, and it terrified you. “I---I didn’t mean to,” you stammered, "I am s-sorry...please."

Annabelle, having enough interjected. "Let the child breathe Arthur! You are scaring her for no fucking reason! You should be happy she's been found you dumbass!"

“Stay out of this, Annabelle!” Arthur snapped, the violence in his tone making everyone around him tense. “You don’t know what she’s done. You don’t know how she’s made me suffer!”

Hosea, who had been observing quietly, spoke up as well, attempting to de-escalate the situation. “Arthur, we need to think this through. She’s back now, that’s what matters-”

But before Hosea could finish, Dutch stepped in, his voice commanding. “Enough! This isn’t helping anyone. Arthur, take a breath. We’ll sort this out, but you need to calm down.”

Arthur’s fury seemed to intensify, the frustration boiling over. “Calm down!?” he spat, eyes dark with rage. “She thinks she can run away from me, become a whore and come back like nothing happened? I’m not letting her off that easy!”

With a sudden, swift movement, he seized your arm, dragging you towards a nearby tent. You stumbled, panic rising within you as you felt the grip of his hand, the anger radiating off him like heat from a fire.

“Arthur, please!” you cried, but he didn’t respond, his jaw set in a hard line as he pulled you along, ignoring the protests from Annabelle and Hosea.

"If anyone comes near me, I am gonna gut em' alive!"

“Arthur, think about what you’re doing!” Annabelle called after you, her voice strained with concern. “You can’t just take her away like this-” Dutch silenced her with holding her shoulders. "Don't you dare go near him! He's not in his senses-"

"SO GO AND STOP HIM!"

But he was already inside the tent, and the flap fell shut behind you with a heavy finality. The moment you were alone, he released you, stepping back with a mixture of anger and desperation. “Why would you do this to me? To us?” he demanded, his voice low and intense.

You backed away and fell onto the cot. "Just...just listen and I'll explain-

"Oh really? Did you enjoy your adventures? See, I was right. This is what they fuckin' taught you , what that bitch Anne, taught you. That fuckin' school!" He grabbed you by your jaw to make you face him. That's when you saw the tint of hurt in his eyes.

“You think this is a joke? I’m a joke? You fuckin’ ran our family’s name, my name, into the mud. I can’t even--” He threw you back onto the bed, the impact rattling through your bones. “I can’t even look at you right now.”

“Arthur, I’m still me,” you whispered, through sobs. “I’m still.... your sister."

"IF YOU WERE YOU WOULD HAVE LISTENED TO ME AND STAYED HERE!"

He was right, you should have listened and stayed here, chasing your dreams only led you to more nightmares and even now, it seems there are more to face.

You could barely catch your breath, your heart pounding in your chest as you scrambled to find words that might bridge the chasm between you. Taking a shaky breath, you wiped the tears from your cheeks.

"You should be lucky I haven't shot you yet. If I was the one who found you, God knows what I would have done. Stay in this fucking tent until I say so, and don’t show me your face." His voice was low and dangerous, a growl that reverberated through the air like a thunderclap.

You flinched at his words, the truth of them hitting you like a slap. You had been trying to convince yourself that you were still worthy, still, the same person who had left the camp. But standing in front of him, the reality crashed down. You were not that person anymore, and you didn’t know how to return to her.

⋆⋆⋆

Annabelle and the others came to check on you, their voices a distant murmur as if they were speaking through water. You barely registered their presence, lost in a maze of your thoughts, every path leading back to Arthur’s harsh words. What had you expected from him? A comforting embrace? A gentle reminder that you were still his sister, despite everything?

You couldn't help but wonder if you were truly as heinous as he implied. Were you still his blood even? The questions tormented you, each one sharper than the last. You knew the truth of his overprotectiveness, it stemmed from love, from a desire to shield you from the dangers of the world. Yet here you were, the very thing he had feared, tainted by your stubborn quest for freedom and adventure.

Pushing the flap of his tent aside just enough to peek in, you caught sight of him, his back turned to you, oblivious to your presence. Just like he turned his back today on you. Funny.

With a deep breath, you stepped inside and placed the note in his satchel, the fabric brushing against your fingertips feeling heavier than it should.

You took one last glance at your brother, the weight of your choices pressing down on your heart, then slipped out of the tent, moving stealthily toward the supply wagon

When you retrieved what you needed, you returned to the privacy of your tent, the familiar space feeling more suffocating than ever. You sank onto the cot, the cold metal of the weapon glimmering in the bits of moonlight that managed to seep through the fabric.

Taking your time, you pondered everything that had brought you to this moment. You searched desperately for a glimmer of hope, but all you found were dead ends. Before returning with Charles, you had imagined a future where your brother might forgive you, where he could overlook the darkness of the past and allow you both to move on, forgetting the pain that had laced your life. You were even ready to let go of the past, but that hope had shattered just as quickly as it had formed.

With a final breath, you cocked the revolver, the click echoing in the silence of the night. The weight of it pressed against your skin as you brought it to the side of your forehead. At that moment, the tumult of emotions surged, fear, regret, and an aching desire for peace, threatening to consume you whole, and it did.

⋆⋆⋆

3 hours.

It had been three hours and the camp was thick with an oppressive silence that weighed heavily on everyone. The men came and went into the tent, each trying to mask their sorrow with bravado, yet their eyes betrayed them, glassy, haunted. Annabelle’s wailing filled the air outside, her cries echoing like a banshee’s lament, punctuated by shouts of blame that pierced the quiet. Yet through it all, Arthur couldn’t hear anything; he couldn’t see anything except your limp form cradled in his arms, and the world faded to grey around him.

He was convinced it was just a nightmare, an illusion crafted by his mind to torment him.

“Arthur...” Charles’s voice broke through the haze as he placed his hands on his friend’s shoulders, his grip steady yet heavy with gravity.

“We...gotta bury her. Please.” The weight of those words hung heavy in the air, an inevitability that Arthur couldn’t bear to face.

“No,” he murmured, shaking his head vehemently as if denying the truth would somehow alter the reality before him. “Only dead people are buried. She’s...she's just sleeping.” The fervour in his voice rose, desperation threading through his tone. “Mum had to always snatch the covers from her because she refused to wake up...she'll wake up soon...I know."

His memory of those mornings washed over him, a bittersweet recollection that clashed violently with the present. The warmth of your laughter, the way you would bury your head deeper into your blankets, evading the morning sun, flared in his mind. Arthur’s grip tightened around you, as if holding you closer could somehow anchor him in this cruel moment, could make you open your eyes.

“Arthur, please.” Charles’s voice trembled with a mixture of compassion and urgency. “We have to let her go. We can’t keep holding on.

“No, I said fucking no. Don't you come near, fuck off!" Arthur growled, the denial thick in his throat.

But all Arthur could think was how cruel it felt, how unbearable it was to even entertain the idea of accepting it. You were his baby sister, his blood, the only family he had left, the one he had been given responsibility by his mother, and the thought of your absence left a hollow pit in his stomach, a void that threatened to swallow him whole. He pressed his face against your hair, clutching you close to his chest, inhaling the scent of you, soft, sweet, and achingly familiar. He murmured incoherently, swaying back and forth like a child himself.

“No,” he repeated choked out, tears streaming down his face. “I won’t lose her, not like this. Not ever. GO AWAY!”

It had taken every man in the camp to separate Arthur from cradling your body. His grip was ironclad, his anguish palpable as he held you against him, as if the sheer force of his will could resurrect you from the depths of despair. They had to pry his fingers from your lifeless form, his cries piercing the stillness of the evening like a gunshot.

As they prepared the grave, the earth was turned and the makeshift coffin formed from an old wooden crate. Each shovel of dirt that fell felt like another piece of Arthur’s soul being buried alongside you. The men worked in silence, their hearts heavy with grief, knowing they could do nothing to ease the torment radiating from him. Charles stood to the side, his own heart breaking.

Even Hosea wasn't able to comfort anyone at this moment. He couldn't fathom that a girl like you, who had so much to live for, for whom he silently had promised to be a guardian of at this camp, was gone. Just like that. He will never forget how you cared for him as a daughter would for her father. Making sure he ate his meals, assisting him with chores and sipping morning (coffee/tea) with him as he read the local news alongside you.

Finally, the moment came. Arthur stumbled forward, the weight of your absence pulling him down as he lowered you into the ground. The first clod of dirt landed with a finality that echoed in the silence of the camp. Tears streamed down his cheek, cutting a path through the grime and dust of the world around him. It felt like a betrayal like they were burying not just you but every memory, every dream he had cherished.

The men finished covering you and when it was done, they stepped back, leaving Arthur alone with his sorrow. He sank to his knees, a hollow shell, fingers digging into the earth as he pressed his forehead against the freshly turned soil. It was all he had left of you.

Dutch approached cautiously, his heart heavy as he watched Arthur, the man he had come to rely on, the strongest in his camp, unravelling before him. “Arthur, my son.." he said softly, “we need to get back to camp. You can’t stay here like this.”

Arthur didn’t budge, his body rigid, his eyes fixed on the grave. “I’m not going anywhere,” he muttered, voice low and filled with pain.

“Please,” Dutch urged softly, “it’s time to go. You can honor her memory at camp. We’ll make sure she’s remembered.”

But Arthur only tightened his grip on the soil. “I don’t care. I’m staying here. I won’t leave her. I can’t…she's alone here.” The darkness of the night and you being alone made his body tremble. With that, he lowered his forehead to the cool earth, the pain a constant pulse in his heart, echoing with every breath he took. At that moment, he felt as though he had buried a part of himself alongside you.

"Just...be sure to come back, son."

With a heavy heart, Dutch turned away, leaving Arthur to mourn. And as the stars began to twinkle in the night sky, Arthur remained there, kneeling by the grave. For God knows how long.

That was the last time since Dutch saw him. Arthur went away from the camp, at least for the whole 4 months. Wandering and coping. Even after he came back, nothing was the same anymore. Pearson's stew tasted worse than ever, its blandness a stark reminder of the joy you used to bring to their meals.

Annabelle had left shortly after your passing, her heart broken beyond repair. She broke things off with Dutch, her fury spilling over. Blaming him, blaming Arthur. This time, Arthur didn’t disagree with her. There were moments when he caught glimpses of hate and blame in Hosea’s eyes too due to that night, moments that cut deeper than any bullet.

That night he had shrouded his fear with his rage because he didn't have the heart to hear any further, anything of what you had endured because he knew he couldn't bear it. Due to this utter selfishness of his, he forgot about your pain, denied to offer his shoulder to you.

Hey Arthur,

I know I’m leaving, and I wish I could tell you that everything will be okay, but I need you to understand something important, none of this is your fault. Please don’t let yourself carry that burden. You’ve always tried to protect me, and it breaks my heart to think that you might blame yourself for my choices. I don’t want you to live with regret, feeling like you didn’t fulfil some promise to Mum. That’s not what she would have wanted for either of us. Neither Dad.

As I write this, I want you to remember the better, more joyful moments we shared when we were young. The laughter that rang through our home, the endless promises of going on adventures we dreamed of as we rode in town with Dad.

You always looked out for me, and always kept me safe, and I will forever be grateful for your protection. You did more than any brother could. But you must know that the path I chose was mine alone. I was foolish to step outside when you even said not to and I got lost along the way. It’s not a reflection of you or your love for me. I don’t want you to carry the weight of my choices as if they were yours to bear.

I want you to live your life without the chains of guilt holding you down. Don’t let this tragedy rob you of your future. Pursue your dreams, even in this hard life of an outlaw and embrace the adventure that awaits you because I have seen how much you enjoy doing what you do even if I was not in favour of it. Find joy in the little things, just as we did when we were young and remember that we are forever connected by the love we share as siblings.

If you find it within you, forgive yourself. I hope that one day, you can look back on our memories with a smile instead of sorrow. I’ll always be a part of you, a part that encourages you to keep going, to live fiercely and fully.

Take care of yourself, okay?

With love,

(Y/N)

Arthur’s fingers lingered over the page of the letter, the ink slightly smudged from his own tears. Each word felt like a dagger in his chest, a reminder of the weight he carried, the weight of his past actions, of his failures as your guardian. He carefully placed the letter beside the photo of you both, sitting together, a snapshot of somewhat happier times, a month after he and you arrived in camp. The Morgans, written at the bottom, as Dutch had called you both. Your eyes were not smiling, they were empty of the mischief and the liveliness which you always held. It clearly showed how unhappy you were being separated from the home you held dear to your heart. He dragged you into this life when you barely had the chance to enjoy your childhood. And he failed to see this at the time, blinded by only his promise to keep you at his side.

I’m still.... your sister.

I’m still.... your sister.

I’m still.... your sister.

That plea of yours haunts him to this very day. With a heavy heart, Arthur rose from where he sat, the sun casting long shadows over the camp. He made his way to your grave, each step a reminder of the distance between them now, a chasm he had never imagined would grow so vast.

He knelt down, pulling a few wildflowers from the ground nearby, bright yellow blooms that reminded him of your bubbly laughter. They were vibrant, like the memories he held close to his heart. As he laid them gently atop the grave, a swell of guilt washed over him, choking him with the realization that you had taken the blame upon yourself.

You had written about not wanting him to live with regret, but how could he not? The dark and violent tendencies that had seeped into his life had cast a shadow over everything, over the once innocent and wholesome relationship, filled with just laughter, jokes, care and bickering, and now they had taken you away from him. Arthur thought of the times he had let his anger consume him, the threats he’d made in fits of rage, the moments he failed to protect you in the way a brother should.

"This is on me," he murmured, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. "You didn’t deserve this... none of it."

He brushed his fingers over the grave, feeling the cool earth beneath, as if trying to connect with you one last time. He wished he could tell you that he’d change, that he’d find a way to channel his fury into something constructive rather than destructive. But the truth was, that change seemed too far away, and the regret felt too real.

The flowers seemed to wilt under the weight of his sorrow, and he fought the urge to crumble right there beside you like he did every day when he visited you. Maybe, just maybe a simple word of sympathy from him that night could have prevented this, "I’m so sorry, (Y/N)," he choked out, his heart heavy with guilt. "I’m so damn sorry, m-my little Chumchum."

The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a golden hue over the camp, but for Arthur. He stayed there, kneeling at your grave, wishing he could turn back time, wishing he could have been the brother you needed, wishing he could have saved you from the darkness that ultimately claimed your light. Even after killing and gutting alive the ones involved, from Linda to those men, nothing could calm his heart.

It might take a lifetime to heal from your death, but it would take a thousand more to forgive himself.

(AN: Did you cry? I sure did. PS. This was the first time I wrote on this topic so just wanted to say that if you know someone who is going thru smth or even if not, just be kind to others around you and value each other's presence. And if you are goin thru smth be sure to know that this life is a gift and also a test and there is always someone out there who is waiting for you and loves you with all their might, every cell in ur body works for YOU. Thanks for reading, stay hydrated and peace ‎♡‧₊˚)

[astxroiid]

new york private life // tasm! peter parker

❥ childhood crush, date nights, vigilantes, apprehension, sweet young love.

wc: 1.5k

navigation ✩ empire state of mind (II) ✩ manhattan longing (III)

"Hey, um... I'm Peter."

A familiar face stands in front of you, one you've known all your life.

"We went to high school together. I, uh, was wondering if maybe you'd want to maybe hang out sometime." The walls of the college cafeteria seem to be closing in around Peter. His hands twitching nervously as he shifted his feet uneasily.

"Oh!" you're caught a little off guard. "Well, I'm free tomorrow. Where will we be going?"

Peter smiles to himself a little. "There's this sushi place that just opened up a few blocks over... if you like sushi, that is."

The amount of anxiety radiating off this poor boy is so potent you can practically taste it.

"I love it," you grin up at the boy from your seat. "Pick me up at 5:30? we could be there by 6."

"Th-that sounds great!" His eyes light up as an excited smile spreads across his face. He's never gotten a this positive of a response before. This feels good.

"I'll pick you up at 5:30 then. Thank you," he says, trying not to be too happy about this, but he is. Very.

“Sounds like a date to me.” you smile, stand from your seat and kiss his cheek before walking away with a bounce in your step.

A date?! A kiss to his cheek! He's never felt so alive before! His cheeks burn red as you walk away. He can't believe that you said yes.

When 5:30 comes around the next day, you’re waiting by the entrance of your house, ready to meet up with Peter. You’re a bit nervous, but mostly excited. You felt a strange flutter in your stomach, your heart beating fast and body tingling.

When 5:45 comes, you start to worry. Where could Peter be?

5:50. Your heart begins to sink. Was this all a joke?

5:55. Is he... not coming?

6:00. You're officially distraught. Your mind immediately starts running to various conclusions. Is he busy? Did something happen to him? Or did he simply change his mind?

6:15. Maybe he forgot? Maybe he's late? Maybe he lost track of time?

6:30. Your eyes are puffy and red. Tears start to stream down your face as you realize he’s probably not coming.

7:00. Anger replaces sadness. Did he do this on purpose?! What the hell?! What was the point of even asking you out?

8:00. Sadness returns. After all your emotions drained your energy and tears blurred your eyes, you cant help but come back ton the thought: Why did he do this? He can't even have the courtesy to at least call you?

Just as the thought come to mind, your phone rings. It's Peter.

Your eyes widen and you quickly pick up the phone. You desperately hope that this might just change things, but you also can't help and start to feel anxious, afraid of what he might have to say.

"Hey," Your voice cracks as you hold the phone to your ear.

Peter's heart sinks at your tone, immediately feeling at fault. "Hey," he echoes in a small tone. "I'm sorry I didn't show up today..." he says, almost inaudible for a moment. He sounds... shaky. Nervous. "Something came up..."

In what world is that a good excuse for leaving a girl waiting for you for two and a half hours? He mentally cringes, wishing he could explain better. How? 'Hey, sorry I basically ghosted you , I'm Spiderman and I had to stop a robbery?!' it almost sounds made up.

"oh..." the same, tearful tone etched into your voice from before. "it's okay, I guess."

He gulps at the sadness in your voice, feeling worse now, not sure how to handle this situation.

"My aunt called me. She had some things she needed help with," he said, trying his best to avoid giving details. "I lost track of time and only just realized how late it was. I was rushing as fast as I could but I know I missed our date. I'm sorry, I should have at least sent you a text."

“It’s okay.” you sound only slightly more cheerful. “How about you make it up to me come over with some takeout and we watch a movie?”

"Really?" he asks, sounding surprised. After the tense conversation you both just had, he didn't think the night - or relationship for that matter - would be salvageable. "I mean sure," he says, not being able to hide the joy in his voice or the smile on his face. "What kind food do you want?"

“You pick.” You smile “Come over as soon as you can.”

꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

About 20 minutes later Peter knocks on your door. You open it to reveal the sweetest looking boy with flowers an Thai food in hand, appearing a little guilty but still excited.

You couldn't resist smiling back at him, feeling much less mad about what happened earlier.

"Sorry for the wait," Peter apologizes as he hands you the bouquet of tulips. You gladly take them.

Walking over to the kitchen and filling a vase with water, you call out to Peter, who's still standing in the doorway.  

“You can come in Pete! You can set the food down over there," you gesture to the coffee table, covered in candles and books for your college classes.

Pete?! He smiles warmly as he enters into the living room and he watches you set the flowers in the vase. Peter glances around your apartment, your home is quite cozy.

Dark blue curtains hang around each window, soft lights from the New York night glowing through. Every surface in your home is decorated with mixtures of candles, lamps, books, or cute little trinkets.

The whole place smells like cherries and coffee. The soft music playing in the background bringing the whole mood together.

He goes ahead and sets the food down on the coffee table and he looks around the room. "Your place is nice," he says softly. He loves it. he could get used to spending more time here.

“Why thank you.” You blush, placing the flowers down “Oh! I was thinking about watching some of the Star Wars movies - is that okay?” You plop on the couch, patting next to you for Peter to sit.

"Star Wars is always okay with me," Peter replies, happy that you're not upset anymore. He sits down next to you and he can't help but notice how close you're both sitting next to each other. His heart flutters.

"The Empire Strikes Back is my favorite," Peter replies excitedly, happy to be sharing one of his interests with you.

He smiles, feeling very happy with the current state of things.

"That's my favorite too!" You smile brightly, looking into his eyes.

There was an odd and almost indescribable intimacy between you two, as if your shared love of Star Wars had brought you closer together in some unknown way.

“Really?” Peter asks, feeling thrilled by this coincidence.

You nod, giggling at Peter's excitement.

"What's your favorite character?" Peter asks. He's trying to watch the movie, although it's hard to take his eyes off of you for too long.

"Hmmm..." you place your finger on your chin, feigning deep thought. "Obi Wan, hands down the best in my opinion. What about you?"

"Definitely Han Solo," he replies, smiling. You notice how his cheeks are a bit red right now.

Is he blushing?

"He's cocky and always in the middle of trouble, but so charismatic and charming," Peter adds. He leans closer, getting a little more comfortable on the couch.

"Who's your least favorite?"

You notice him moving closer but don’t mind at all “Kylo Ren, I think. His character is just too underdone - they could’ve done better. What about you, Pete? Who’s your least favorite?” You lean in close to him, placing Your hand on his shoulder.

"Totally agree," Peter says quickly, gulping. "Kylo Ren sucks."

Chills take over Peter's body as your hand rests on his shoulder.

You're sitting awfully close, and the thought of it makes his head rush. He wishes he could take his eyes off of you.

Your heart begins to pound. He's getting so lost in the atmosphere.

You smile and turn your head back to the TV watching along as Han Solo grabs Leia, kissing her deeply. There's an ache in your chest for something similar.

Please kiss me. Peter's mind races and begs. Just go for it! He silently urges himself.

He's dying to turn his head towards you. The closeness is sending him into a spiral of emotion. If only he could find the courage to make a move. As he glances your way, he notices you're not looking at him; your attention is elsewhere. A wave of disappointment washes through him.

Peter looks to his fidgeting hands, now incredibly insecure.

Is he reading the signals wrong? His heart sinks. Does she not feel the same way?

His breath is shaky and he's afraid of ruining the evening.

Peter decides it's best to focus on the movie and not his growing, aching feelings.

I hope y'all enjoyed my first fic in a loooong time lmao, big thanks to character.ai for helping me come up with this!