#and I just could never dissociate the two

[system-of-a-feather]

Thoughts on Anti-Endo Rhetoric and Pro-Functional Multiplicity Values

This isn't meant to be a callout post or a "gotcha" or anything hostile at all; it's really meant to be me pointing out a logical inconsistency I don't really get within the anti-endo perspective of things, because as someone who was once anti-endo and is now pro-endo (in the definition of "Endos are fine and I support them existing without harassment")

But I don't understand how you can both be anti-endo and support the practice and idea of Functional Multiplicity?

The idea of anti-endos is that one can't choose to be Plural, that someone can't become Plural, and that to be Plural you have to have dissociation and thus also have trauma.

But with that line of thought, what happens when a system with DID recovers to the point of having no dissociation?

If dissociation is required for plurality, under that logic, then can anyone who reaches functional multiplicity with a CDD truly call themselves healed? If so, are we really comfortable saying that functional multiplicity isn't a real or true form of healing?

Or alternatively, if we say that it is still a valid form of recovery / healing because PTSD symptoms are gone and the dissociation is still their albeit non-disruptive, are we going to just ignore the people who have recovered, gained functional multiplicity and claim to not have dissociation?

In that case, are we comfortable saying that people who have spent years in therapy working with their CDD don't know what dissociation is and what they feel and are incorrect in understanding their experiences?

If dissociation is required for plurality, under that logic, would recovery and the remission of dissociation require fusion into one whole? Because if plurality and dissociation are inherently tied and required, then should it not be possible to have plural experiences without dissociation? Thus if dissociation goes, then shouldn't everyone automatically fuse and cease to experience plurality?

I'm not asking this to play "gotcha" games with anti-endos, I'm asking it genuinely because honestly, these were things I really had to question as I recovered, hit functional multiplicity, final fusion, and then decided to choose to operate as plural whenever I felt like it and as a single fused whole at other times.

These questions are unironically a large reason I became heavily pro-endo (again in the "let them be, theyre not harming anyone and I think they should be allowed to be themselves" way, I still dont know much about endos as a community or subculture or whatever you want to label it). I've had these questions and thoughts for at least two or three years now, but I've never mentioned them on the account I didn't feel like I knew how to word it in a way that wasn't inflammatory in nature until now.

I could not rationalize how the trajectory of my recovery, my eventual reaching of functional multiplicity, my achieving of final fusion, and then my decision to still be plural could live side by side with my anti-endo then syscourse-neutral stance. I could not rationalize or find a genuinely good way to make both my experiences and my own actions to stay consistent with any real gripes or doubts I had about endogenic systems and created systemhood.

I guess one could say that people who had a CDD and recovered can do that because "system" is a CDD term and they have a right to that term, which to that I guess we can agree to disagree. I don't think system is a word people with CDDs own, even more so for the word "plural" and that disagreement hinges on that. If that's your stance, then feel free to just ignore this post because I'm not really interested in discussing semantics and word ownership right now, this post is just about opening discussion for people that do make the claim that dissociation is inherent to plurality and how their stance with that aligns with their views of Functional Multiplicity.

Also this is a judgement free and respectful space for BOTH opinion sides. If you are going to be mean or nasty to people in this conversation, also please leave this post alone.

I'd like anyone who would like to argue and debate and prove their point right to DNI with this post.

[butyoudidthis4what]

No Man's Land

Jack Abbot x f!Reader

5.1k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || C.W.: mentions of blood, mentions of guns and shootings, mentions of death/dying/coding, CPR, anxiety about partner's safety, Jack's traumatized, reader's traumatized, mentions of dissociation and compartmentalization, poor description of medical events, potentially incorrect medical descriptions/knowledge, very very light smut, angst, age gap kind of implied with Jack but not explicitly referenced, no use of y/n or related, not proofread, no beta, I think that's all but if I missed any please (nicely) let me know.

Summary: This is my Pitt-Fest-But-Not fic. Development of your relationship through vignettes of the past and conversations between Jack, Dana and Robby. There's a shooting where you work. Jack is at the ED when the dispatch comes in and is terrified when he can't get in touch with you.

A.N.: If my Robby reads like John Carter I'm sorry, except that a little bit I'm not. I feel like I'm struggling with my Jack characterization but can't tell if that's just me hating everything I do. This is my take on one of my fave tropes where reader is in mortal danger. I needed a physical location that could be associated with reader and settled on a courthouse, but what it is reader does there is not described. Probably (definitely?) needs a part two. If you get the nickname, thank you, I feel seen. If you don't I explain it at the end. This is absolutely something I would call him, in part to fuck with people who know his real name. I would love to know if you enjoyed and to hear any thoughts you'd like to share.

“He has a girlfriend,” Robby smirks at Dana. 

She blinks at him. “I’m sorry, I thought we were talking about Jack Abbot.”

“Oh we fucking are.” Robby stifles his smirk and forces his lips to remain closed and as neutral as possible. 

“You’re shitting me.” Dana’s incredulous look breaks Robby a bit and he starts to laugh, tries to turn it into a cough when both he and Dana look up to find Jack staring at them as he takes his snow dusted beanie off. He gives Robby a ‘really?’ look even though he knew Robby would rat him out to Dana the second Robby had dragged it out of him. 

Dana looks back at Robby. “Who? How did they meet?”

Robby holds up his hands. “You now officially know as much as I do about her.” Dana makes a noise of vague discontent but knows Jack well enough to know Robby is telling the truth. That’s all that’s been revealed. 

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

“It’s not worth it,” you whisper. Jack blinks and looks around, unsure if you’re talking to him. He has no idea who you are, has never seen you before in his life but it appears that you are in fact whispering to him in the middle of this bookstore. 

He raises his eyebrows. “It’s not?”

You shake your head, give him an almost conspiratorial smile. “No, he must have gotten a new ghost writer. It’s really bad in comparison to his other stuff. Save your time and money. I’ll give you a summary right now for free if you’re that curious.”

Jack smiles to himself a little bit as he sets the book back on the shelf. There’s something about you, your smile, the way you just randomly spoke to him. He’s drawn to you. An alarm goes off in some part of his brain telling him to ignore it, ignore you, he could get hurt. He pretends to weigh his options as he turns to face you fully. “How about for a cup of coffee?”

Your brows furrow in confusion for a moment. There’s simply no way this unfairly attractive man is asking to buy you a cup of coffee. “The summary?” You clarify. “That I’d give for free. You want it to cost a cup of coffee instead?” You let out a nervous laugh and some part of his heart aches because you’re so adorable. “I just want to make sure I understand before I potentially make an even bigger fool of myself.” 

“Yep.” He can’t help but laugh a little. “You give me the summary over coffee. Actually, you know what? You’re going to have to give me a recommendation too because now I’m going to have nothing to read.” He clicks his tongue at you. 

“Well,” you laugh out, all breathy as you try to pull yourself together. “You drive a hard bargain but I think I’m willing to accept those terms…” you glance at his name badge, “Dr. Abbot.” You give him a full smile and Jack knows then and there he’s totally fucked in the best of ways. 

“Jack.” He smiles at you as you both begin walking towards the café. “Call me Jack.”

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

Everything quiet enough after handoff, Robby walks out with Jack into the morning sun that does little to warm the breeze pulling leaves off the trees. “Any chance you can cover a shift on Saturday night?” Robby is asking, yes, but he knows it’s not really a question, Jack is always willing to work.

“Can’t.” Jack says simply, shrugging his shoulders. “Sorry.” There’s an expectant silence that hangs between the two as they keep walking.

“Care to elaborate?” Robby finally asks.

“No.” Jack turns and smirks at him. “It’s none of your and Dana’s business.”

“Ha!” Robby laughs. “So it’s her, it’s about her! The ever elusive girlfriend. Will we ever get to meet her? Or does she not want to meet us? Is she real?” Jack stops walking and gives Robby one of his looks. “Holy shit, is it someone here?”

Jack snorts at that. “No it’s not someone here. She’s not even in the medical field.” He sighs, half longing and half resignation of some kind. “She’s honestly dying to meet you guys, especially you and Dana, but I’m trying to protect her from this hellhole. It’s hard with schedules too, to find a time.”

“That’s such fucking bullshit,” Robby laughs. “Are you afraid to truly commit? Think bringing her here will make it too real?” 

It’s a valid question but one that Jack nevertheless resents. “No, actually, if you must fucking know Saturday is our one year anniversary. We have plans. So you’ll have to find someone else to cover. But I’ll bring her around soon,” he laughs through his nose to himself at your stubbornness, “if I don’t she’s liable to just show up one of-”

“A year?” Robby laughs, incredulous. “A fucking year? How the hell did you hide it for three months before I dragged it out of you?”

Jack ignores him. “Also, I’m moving to days. It’s better for us.” He’s so nonchalant about it, just states it like he’s saying the sky is blue, like it’s not going to make Robby’s eyes widen and mouth drop open like it does.

“I don’t,” Robby huffs a laugh, “I don’t even know where to fucking begin.”

“Then don’t.” Jack smirks, starts to walk again while Robby stays frozen, running a hand through his hair. “Go do some actual work.”

“I thought you found comfort in the darkness?” Robby yells after him. 

Jack slows and turns around but keeps walking backwards, one hand holding the strap of his backpack to keep it over his shoulder. He glances down at his phone and the photo of you that is now his wallpaper. He smiles to himself a little, yells back. “Guess I find it somewhere else now.”

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

You giggle, honest to god giggle and Jack could lose his damn mind as he nibbles at your collarbone. “You know if my anatomy class had been this fun, I might have become a doctor too.” 

You’re laying on your back in bed as Jack kisses your sweat slicked skin all over as you both come down from your last round. He’s taken to 'teaching you anatomy' like this, identifying different parts of the human body with his mouth.

“Hmm,” Jack hums against you. “I’m glad it wasn’t then. Fuck doctors.” He starts to kiss down your chest. 

“That has become quite the favorite pastime of mine, yes,” you smirk. “Fucking one specific doctor, actually.” 

“Getting fucked by one specific doctor more like it,” he murmurs into your sternum. He kisses laterally, lips hitting your breast and moving towards your nipple. 

“I think we’ve established what those are,” you moan softly as he takes your nipple into his mouth. You let your hands run through his salt and pepper curls that you adore so much. 

“Can never be too thorough.” You giggle at him again and can feel him smile against you. “But fine, you want something new?” You nod, let your nails scratch gently at his scalp. 

“Nipple,” he kisses your nipple and then down your torso to right above your belly button, “to navel is no man’s land.” He continues to lavish kisses on the soft skin of your stomach before looking up at you when you don’t respond. 

“I can’t tell if you’re fucking with me or not.” You eye him with mock suspicion. 

He laughs and it’s your favorite sound in the whole world, you swear. Well maybe second, only behind hearing him tell you that he loves you. 

“I’m not. Nipple to navel is no man’s land. It’s a real thing. It’s one of the worst places to get shot or stabbed because there’s so many organs that could be hit and the place we’d expect to get hit would depend on whether the person was breathing in or out at the time, whether their lungs were inflated or deflated. And we generally have no way of knowing. It can be difficult to get clear imaging.” He starts kissing lower, down below your belly button, rubbing his stubble along your skin to tease you as he gets lower and lower. “It’s never a good time. Lots of poor outcomes.”

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

It’s supposed to be his day off and yet Jack finds himself staring at the board and running a hand over his face. “It’s still so fucking weird seeing you here during the day and it not meaning something catastrophic has happened.” 

Jack turns to look at Dana. “I’ve been working days for a month now and it’s my day off.”

“You can go, we’re fine for now,” Robby nods at Jack. “Thanks for the brief assistance brother.”

“No, no,” Dana interjects, “he’s not allowed to leave until we nail down a time to meet his girl.” 

Robby raises his eyebrows and starts to tilt his head and open his mouth to agree with Dana. A dispatch comes through before anyone can say anything else and Dana grabs it, pinning Jack down with her eyes, daring him to leave before discussing meeting you. 

“Saved by the bell,” Jack huffs, taking his stethoscope off and starting to walk away. 

“Shooting at a courthouse,” Dana relays to Robby, “not a mass cas, just a few people, two a little iffy, one they’re already doing CPR on, a few caught in the race to get out. Two dead on the scene.”

It takes a few seconds for Dana’s words to truly register with Jack, but when they do his hearing fades to only a sharp ringing in his ear. This wasn’t happening. He’d been so reticent at the beginning of your relationship, waited so long to give in and define it and hand his heart over to you, terrified he’d lose you because of himself and who he was, his imperfections, his past, his trauma, his PTSD, his baggage, as he thought of it. He feels so stupid now, in the moment, not having worried about how he could lose you from a random act of violence, that in the moments he can’t be there to protect you somebody could come in and rip you from him. Just like that. With the pull of a trigger. 

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

“You know, I can confidently say this is the most unique date I’ve ever been on,” you tease Jack. 

“Hey,” he pants, “me teaching you CPR is a great date.” 

“It would be better if you took your shirt off,” you whisper and wink at him before letting your eyes linger on his arm. 

“If I did that you’d be so distracted you’d learn nothing,” he smirks at you, sweat glistening on his skin just a little. Just enough to drive you nearly feral for him. 

 “I think I’ve got the compressions part down, but I may need more help learning the mouth to mouth part.”

He rolls his eyes at you. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You fucking love it,” you shoot back at him, leaning into his space and bumping him with your shoulder. 

He can’t help but kiss you. “Yes,” the word is muffled against your lips, “yes I do.” He gives you a firmer kiss this time before he pulls away. “But really. You should know how to do it, just in case. It will help you feel in control in the moment if the need for it ever arises. You’ll know what to do.”

You bite your lip and smile at him. 

“What?” He eyes you with suspicion. 

You shrug. “Nothing, I just love you so much. Sometimes it overwhelms me, how much I love you.”

He can see it in your eyes, how much you love him, can almost feel it physically squeezing him like a tight hug. He’s really not sure what he ever did to deserve you or your love. “I love you too, Doll.”

“I love you more, Peter.” Your face pulls up into that usual self-satisfied and silly grin you get sometimes when you call him that nickname. It’s a recent thing. You’re calling him it more and more though, it’s becoming a natural way of referring to him. From anyone else he would hate it, hearing it between another couple would make him roll his eyes. But from you? He loves it more than you’ll ever truly know. 

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

Jack spins around.

“Jack you can still go, we’ve got it covered.” Robby looks at Jack for a minute and then meets Dana’s eyes as she looks to him after taking her own look at Jack. 

“What courthouse?” Jack asks. It’s quiet, controlled and clipped and almost missable in the chaos of the ED. He’s not looking at either of them, staring past them at a wall with a chest heaving more and more by the second as his face grows paler. 

He tries to keep it together. Dana will say the name and it won’t be your courthouse and he’ll go straight to your actual courthouse, grab you, take you home and never let you leave. A perfectly reasonable reaction, he thinks.

“Jack-”

“What fucking courthouse?” It’s louder this time, almost enough to pause the chaos of the ED. 

Jack’s voice drips with what sounds like rage to most of those who hear him but is unmistakably fear to Dana and Robby. 

Neither of them have ever seen Jack like this, this scared, struggling this hard to keep it together, truly raising his voice for anything other than to quiet down an unruly patient. His eyes find Dana’s and they’re glassier than she’s ever seen them, the intensity of his gaze making it painfully clear he’s hanging on every word and the wrong ones will shatter him. 

She swallows and opens her mouth and Jack knows what she’s about to say before she even says it. And she does. The name of your courthouse. 

“I’ll triage.” He says it before Dana has even finished, the words hollow and breathless and commanding all at once. He spins and starts off to the bay doors with nothing more. He obviously knows from the report Dana gave that they won’t need triage. He just needed to get out of there and try to create an excuse to stay in the ambulance bay. He knows Robby won’t let him, that Robby and Dana already know you’re at that courthouse, could be a victim. 

Robby and Dana share another look, So you work at a courthouse. This courthouse. “Fuck,” Dana mutters, “I really hope we don’t end up meeting her today.”

Jack’s hand dives in his pocket as he strides to the ambulance bay. He already knows in his heart that there’s not going to be a text from you saying that you’re okay. He hasn’t felt his phone buzz. He never even kept his phone on him until you. 

Even though he knew he wouldn’t have any messages, waking his phone and seeing none hits him like a freight train all the same, right in the chest. It threatens to bring him to his knees, make him sick, but he can’t. He sets it all aside. If you do come out of one of the ambulances he can hear in the distance you’re going to need him at his best. But what if you’re one of the two people dead at the scene? He has to shove that out of his mind too, can’t give into the complete panic that threatens to consume him. 

Disassociate. Compartmentalize. Do the job. ABC. Assess. Stabilize. Repeat.

His fingers fly across his phone automatically, calling you having become so routine. He prefers it so much to texting, hearing your voice, communicating more directly. “Call me,” he starts, “the second you get this message. Or fucking text me,” his voice breaks, “please. Fucking please.” He hangs up and calls again, knowing he’ll get your voicemail again but trying anyway because it’s all he can do. 

He’s helpless, powerless, he can’t do anything to try and save you and that threatens to swallow him whole. 

Your voicemail recording telling people to leave a message plays again and all Jack can wonder is if this is all he’ll have left of your voice in his life. Your voice on your mailbox, maybe some voicemails you’ve left him, videos, voice memos you’ve sent. All distorted by recording, not your real voice. He can’t remember what your real voice sounds like all of the sudden. What your laugh sounds like, how you sound when you’re sleepy or in the throes of pleasure or telling him you love him. God, did he even tell you he loved you the last time he saw you, when he said goodbye? 

“I need you to call me,” he says into the phone again, pauses. “I love you.” He takes a ragged breath in and speaks through his teeth. “I love you so fucking much, so you have to be okay and you have to fucking call me.”

He sends a series of texts asking you to call him or text him or call the hospital or do anything to let him know you’re okay, asking if you are okay, asking where you are as though you’re going to respond. He already knows you’re in the back of one of those ambulances because of fucking course you are, because he’s not allowed to have anything good in his life apparently. How could he be so stupid to think differently?  

“Hey, we don’t need triage for this. The numbers are controlled.” Robby walks out to stand next to Jack in the ambulance bay. “If you want to stay you can, but you can’t wait out here to see who shows up, you have to-”

“Yeah, yeah, jump on the first patient that pulls up, I know, I got it,” he interrupts Robby. 

There’s a silence as Robby passes him a gown and ties for him before he does the same for Robby. 

“Jack, if she’s in one you cannot-”

“Like fuck I can’t.” It’s just a statement. Cool and collected and a projection of indifference. It scares Robby more than if Jack had yelled. 

“No, actually brother, you can’t. I’m telling you right now. You’re not working on her. We don’t work on family, on significant others, and you would tell me the exact same thing. It’s too risky, you’ll be too clouded.” Robby watches Jack’s jaw clench and roll as he stares out at the street. 

He wants to argue that of course he’ll be clear, he’ll be focusing on saving you, he’ll have never been so clear in his life. But part of him knows that seeing you like that on his trauma table, your blood all over the table and him and his hands might make him freeze.

“Fine.” Jack whispers. “But if she’s,” Jack has to pause and take a shuddery breath. “If she’s gone or really going and it’s inevitable you have to let me in. You have to let me try to save her. You have to let me code her, Michael.”

He can taste the rising bile in his throat just at having to talk about coding you.

The first ambulance pulls up before Robby can respond and Jack’s on it so fast Robby’s surprised Jack doesn’t get smacked in the face by the door opening. 

It’s not you. It’s someone who is very much not you and is clearly one of the iffy ones. 

Disassociate. Compartmentalize. Do the job. ABC. Assess. Stabilize. Repeat.

Jack forces himself to go emotionally numb as he listens to the paramedic rattle off vitals and history, trying so very hard to focus on this, something he can do, even if it’s not for you. By the time they hit trauma one Jack’s fine and in full swing, running it like he would any other trauma. Nobody on the team in the room with him suspects anything is amiss.  

He hates the way he can’t see the other’s who come in, that he has to stay with this patient until they’re stable and can’t go looking for you. He chastises himself for not having brought you here before or at least having you meet Dana and Robby. They don’t even know what you look like, couldn’t identify you.

“Jack!” He glances at Dana who stands at the door as he preps for the chest tube. “What’s her name?”

He yells your name at her, impassive and stoic as he reaches for the scalpel, ignoring the looks everyone throws each other at the slightest tremor in his voice.

“I’ll look for her.” Dana promises. He doesn’t respond. He can’t. He’ll fall apart. 

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

The restaurant you’re at has to be the fanciest place you’ve ever been to. It’s the hottest place in the city and you have no idea how Jack snagged reservations here for dinner to finish out celebrating your one year anniversary. 

The lighting and low hum of other patrons talking to each other and glasses and silverware and plates tinkling is cinematic. You feel like the main character. But then that’s always how Jack makes you feel. 

“I got you something.” He pulls out a wrapped rectangular object. 

You click your tongue and tsk at him. “We said we’d do them at home! I didn’t bring yours!”

“I know. I have something for you at home too.” His eyes sparkle in the flickering candle light, a little smirk pulling up. “I didn’t mean for it to be a double entendre, but both are true.” You snort a laugh at him and take the gift from him. “Open it.” He’s still smiling, eyes still sparkling,  but there’s something there. He’s nervous. It makes you even more curious. 

You carefully unwrap the object until it reveals itself as a hardcover book. That same one Jack had in his hand a year ago and that you told him was bad and gave him a summary of over coffee. 

“Oh, Jack,” you say softly, eyes getting a little watery. It’s so perfect. So sweet and sentimental. The book that brought you together, that gave you each other. It’s almost like a physical representation of the foundation of your relationship in a way. 

“You have to open it,” he instructs you in a whisper.

You raise an eyebrow but do as he says. 

‘Move in with me?’ is written on the blank first page. 

You look between the page and Jack. “Is this?” You look back at the page and then up at him again. “Are you really asking…?”

He nods. “Move in with me. Or move somewhere with me, we can get our own place, it doesn’t have to be my apartment. We basically live together anyway at this point. Let’s just make it official, yeah? Wherever you want, you can decorate however you want. Just as long as it’s our place.”

You bring a hand to your mouth for a second before using your napkin to dab at the inner corners of your eyes to stop the tears from falling and look back at him. 

“You’re a romantic, Jack Abbot,” you hum all dreamily. 

“You better not tell anyone. Can’t have you ruining my street cred.” He smirks, but his expression and the way he fidgets show he’s still anxious. “So?”

You realize then you never actually answered him. Sniffling a little laugh and letting a few tears fall you give him his answer, voice thick and full of emotion. “Yeah, I think I’m willing to accept those terms. I’d love to move in with you… Peter.”

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

He hears you counting to yourself before he sees you. “One, two…”

It’s not loud, just said in a normal voice, softer if anything because of how you’re panting, but Jack is so on edge and so desperate to find you he’d subconsciously been listening closely to his surroundings, military training kicking in. His head snaps to you and he doesn’t even know what to think when he sees you being rolled in on top of a gurney, performing CPR that would rival the quality of his own. 

“Why is she..?” He hears Robby question the paramedic as you roll in. 

“She was performing them just as well as we could and it was better to just scoop and run,” the paramedic explains. “She must have had one hell of an instructor.”

“Peter!” You yell, without looking up, not sure if he’s still here. You’re so used to it by now that the nickname is just what comes out of your mouth as you look for him. He’d texted you to let you know he was going in for a bit.  

Jack could sob and the entire team in the room with him can feel a crushing tension shatter. Maybe he does get a little teary just from the sheer relief. He tells himself it’s sweat in his eyes.

“Yeah Doll?” He yells back, not giving a fuck about everyone hearing him call you Doll, and you calling him Peter, knowing full well he’s going to have so much explaining to do about this entire situation, the confusion in the room palpable. 

“I’m okay!” This time he does laugh to himself. 

“Yeah I’d say so,” he mutters, smiling. He’s still anxious to see you, get his own eyes on you, feel you with his own hands. 

It’s only about thirty more seconds before his patient is stable enough and he can rip his gloves and gown off and start putting fresh gloves on as he walks into the trauma room you’d been wheeled into. Normally he’d yell out for someone to talk to him or ask what they’ve got but not this time. This time he doesn’t even care about who’s on the table, only the person who came off it. Only you. 

You’re standing to the side now, watching Robby and the rest of the team work, impassive as pink tears stream down your face from the dried blood on it. You’re just so fucking overwhelmed by everything and now that you’re not doing CPR everything that’s happened is hitting you at once. 

Jack says your name as he moves to you, needs his hands on you. 

“Are you hurt? Were you hit?” He rushes out. His voice brings you back and you look up at him with wide, terrified eyes. He goes to look you over but you latch onto him, hugging him tightly, shaking a bit. 

“I’m fine, I’m okay, I’m, I’m sorry,” you start to rattle off, fisting at his scrub top and clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. In the moment he might just be. 

He hugs you back just as hard, kisses the top of your head. He doesn’t care who sees right now, all he cares about is you. “It’s okay, you have nothing to apologize for. I’m just so fucking glad you’re okay. I thought… I thought you were…” He doesn’t have to finish, you know what he means. “I can’t fucking lose you. I love you way the fuck too much.”

You’ve been so wrapped up in each other neither of you have noticed that Robby’s patient, the one you were doing CPR on, has started to code again. “Abbot, need you here!”

You let him go, nod at him. “Go on,” you whisper, “I’ll be right here. I’m okay. I love you more.” Jack nods at you and walks over, jumping in and assisting Robby.

It’s once you’re out of Jack’s arms, away from his warm body and more grounded in reality that you notice how cold you are, how you’re swaying because he was supporting you far more than you realized, how lightheaded you are, how your abdomen and chest really fucking hurt. You chalk it up to the adrenaline wearing off and being sore from the chest compressions you just did. 

On the other side of the room an instrument tray gets knocked over, metal hitting the floor in a loud clang. It startles you, makes you jump and twist quickly to see what it was, if it was another gun, another shot. You feel something almost tearing, a sharp pain across your abdomen and lower chest, a feeling of sticky warmth against your shirt.

You sway a little, start to realize how much worse the pain is now. It’s bad enough that you can’t even make noise to express the pain. There’s no air in your lungs, you swear. You realize your lightheadedness is now much, much worse, that you’re shivering from how cold you are. Or are you just shaking? You can’t tell. It doesn’t make sense. The room isn’t even that cold. You shouldn’t be so cold. Not unless.

You pull your shirt up slowly and look down and run your hand over your skin and sure enough, there’s a bullet hole seeping blood, about half way between your nipple line and belly button, skin now covered in a dark bruise. 

You cough a little, it’s quiet. It starts feeling like there’s water in your lungs. Like you can’t get any oxygen in even though you’re in a room full of it. The metallic taste in your mouth is what manages to seep into what’s left of your consciousness next. You cough again, into your hand, and feel something wet hit your skin. Blood. 

It hits you. You’re drowning in your own blood. That’s why it feels like you can’t breathe. You’ve been shot. In a bad place, one of the worst places, Jack had told you that night. You get scared, feel your heart pounding. It feels like you’re dying. You don’t want to die, don’t want to leave Jack. You’d just finished moving into your new place together, were going to spend all weekend unpacking and painting and getting furniture where you wanted it. You were going to make your home.

Time. You were supposed to have more time together.

“Hey, Jack,” you slur softly, struggling to keep yourself standing. Luckily he hears you. Your use of his first name and the slur to your voice has him panicking again already. Time slows as he turns around to take you in, eyes going from your face and the blood coating your teeth and trickling from your mouth as you try and smile reassuringly at him, down to your torso where you’re still holding your shirt up just enough for him and everyone else in the room to see the bullet hole and bruising marring your skin. “I think, I think I’m not good, it’s not good.” Your vision tunnels so fast you can just barely see Jack’s expression of sheer abject unadulterated horror and panic as you get out your last words. “Nipples to navel… no man’s land.”

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

Peter. Peter Rabbit by Beatrix Potter. Yes, I worked in a bookstore through college.

Part Two is up!

[hyuneflix]

THE CURE 0.2 • Bang Chan

sex therapist!chan x client!reader after years of unhappy endings, your friend suggests a trip to sydney's most up and coming sex therapist. you hadn't expected much, least of all to discover the cure you'd been looking for all this time was your therapist himself.

word count: 13k << back to dash // next episode >>

CONTENT WARNINGS

𐙚 - female masturbation, mutual masturbation, vibrator use, guided masturbation, dirty talk, use of "slut" and similar terms, chan is called sir, light degradation, light spanking, slapping, more orgasm denial, fingering, oral both female and male receiving, sub!reader, soft dom!chan but some hard dom too, slightly possessive chan, praise, very tiny breeding kink in the form of chan pushing his cum inside her.

! - inappropriate relationship dynamic (chan is her sex therapist), reader is written to be neurodivergent though it isn't explicitly stated, therapy talk/setting, descriptions of self help and healing, brief mention of toxic positivity and dissociation, very brief description of reader having a difficult childhood, talk about hopelessness and feelings of defeat. like last time, everything is intentionally vague but approach with caution all the same.

episode two - a cure for self-dissatisfaction

You couldn’t believe it. You couldn’t believe that you were actually here, again. Making another appointment had sounded so promising in the after-glow of your first ever orgasm–or, at least, the first that felt like that–but now that you were actually here you questioned your sanity. How could you possibly face him after that phone call? Sure, it had been an entire month since then, plenty of time to get over it or just cancel the one-hour slot. You never did, though, and you still couldn’t quite decide why. Was it him that you wanted to see again? So entirely unable to close this chapter of your life now that he’d suddenly made its contents more interesting; turning the pages of your life from dull shades of black and white into hues of technicolour.

Or, maybe it was just that. He made things interesting and you needed interesting.

You weren’t sure when it had happened, the manner with which your fairytale life had twisted and morphed into something so mundane. You had the fancy beachside apartment, the dream job with the fun co-workers. You had the nice clothes and the sparkling jewels to go with them; large wardrobe full to the brim with rare pieces and garaments alike. Even your dating life had been exciting, meeting famous faces and well-off suitors in the upscale establishments you frequented with your friends. But it wasn’t enough. You feared nothing would ever be enough. Nothing exciting enough, glamorous enough, expensive enough to fill the growing feeling of indifference that threatened to paint your entire world grey. 

A part of you liked familiarity, needed it, even. Clung to it in the same way you gripped the straps of your favourite tote bag. It was comforting to ease the unknowns of life with something habitual and constant. But when you did settle, when the anxiety did dissipate, it was like you almost missed it in its absence. It was the adrenaline you craved rather than the anxious wracking of your brain; the adrenaline that followed every redundant fear your mind conjured up; the push of chemicals through your veins as you murmurred ‘oh fuck, am i going to miss my train?’, ‘shit did i leave the stove on?’, ‘did i have a meeting today or was that tomorrow?.’ The bubbling of nervous adrenaline, it was like a shot of espresso, or the abrupt sound of your morning alarm clock. It forced you back to reality, tore you from the prison your restless thoughts built around your consciousness.

Chan had been that too in a lot of ways, a rude awakening of sorts. He had astounded you in more ways than one, tearing you from normalcy and forcing you from your comfort zone in the process. No longer just floating through life while your mind hummed with restless noise. Perhaps that was why, despite every anxious part of you that wanted to run away from him, a deeper, unheard part refused. You’d regret it, wouldn’t you? Walking away from him, vowing to never see him again. You’d regret it almost instantly no doubt, the tick of your apartment’s clock taunting you as it reminded you where you should’ve been on the day of your cancelled appointment. Your mind would trap you again, filling your head with thoughts of what could’ve been, should’ve been, if you’d just pulled yourself together. 

That was of course without mentioning that you indeed remained uncured. You were still very much afflicted with the same inability to get yourself off no matter how hard you tried. You’d done it once, you so foolishly believed from that moment onwards it would be easy. It was not. Even with the vivid memory of that night playing over and over in your mind like a song caught in a loop, you were back to square one. You needed the dark to find the light. How true that had turned out to be, how unfortunate that your infatuation for your therapist was turning out to be more practical than whimsical. You really did need him. 

The timing of your appointment meant that within moments of your arrival, the doe-eyed receptionist was already hurrying off for her lunch break, insisting that you wait for Dr Bang in his office instead. Dr Bang, hearing her say it almost pulled a laugh from your parted lips; what a suitable name for someone in his profession. She didn’t join in with your amused half-chuckle as she gathered her purse and coat. You didn’t blame her, you were sure she’d heard the stifled laughter a million times before. Thanking her one last time as she motioned you toward his office, you pushed open the door expectantly. 

Immediately your eyes fixed on the black oak desk situated in the foreground of the furthest wall. The room was empty, no muscular figure tucked behind the neat workstation, nor situated in the same leather chair he had been a month prior. You breathed out a sigh, your throat finally releasing a breath you hadn’t even realised you’d been holding until you accounted for his absence. You made your way inside, letting the door close behind you with a clack. It felt eerie being in the infinite silence of his abandoned office. Not even the sound of the AC lulled in the background as you wandered throughout the space, taking in the details as if it were your first time being here, and in a way, it was. 

During your last visit you’d been so distracted by Chan you’d been unable to focus on much else, let alone the intricacies of his office. The much too large windows were the first thing you’d noticed, both today and the last. Unlike a month ago they were covered by enormous blinds, the afternoon heat so unbearable today that having the sun exposed would be as sweltering as standing on a shadeless street corner. The lack of AC left the office tepid, and the vacancy of natural light shadowed the once bright room. You felt as if you had stepped into the embrace of a warm hug; one that sucked all the sound from the atmosphere until all that remained was the thumping of your heart.

You could hear it now; your heart. It beat with uncertainty as your eyes trailed across the shelves upon shelves of awards and personal photos behind his desk. You felt like you’d snuck into a secret place you weren’t supposed to be, taking in every detail of someone’s life without an inkling of what any of it meant. One frame held a picture of a smiling boy, a younger girl tucked under his arm in a near chokehold. Judging by the look of disdain on her features, and the mischievous expression on his own, you figured they were siblings. Another picture captured an older version of that boy, one that now more closely resembled Chan. He knelt on the grass, a dog, who’s white fur was blotched with copper-tones, smiled up at him, pink tongue spilling from its mouth. You knew Chan’s life hadn’t started when he met you, but it still felt strange to see it all play out in front of you now. 

The office door opened with a clatter, your body spinning round at the intrusion; trusty tote bag slipping from your arm in the process. You caught hold of the strap before it could fall from your rigid limb completely, eyes settling on Dr Bang himself. He seemed frozen in place, palm clutching the door handle with bleached knuckles. His nervous disposition suggested he’d been preparing himself for this moment, to no avail, and if that were true, you were thankful. At least then you’d be in the same boat. In a second, a mere tick of a clock’s hand, he was back to his usual self, pushing a large smile atop his pillowy lips. 

“Hello, y/n. How have you been?” His voice was soft as he closed the door behind him, the hand that wasn’t clutching a stack of papers flicking on a second set of lights. In an instant the room was engulfed in pale yellow hues, your eyes blinking to adjust. He walked the distance from the door to his desk, letting the pile of papers fall down with a dull thud.

“Could be better, could be worse.” You murmured, still feeling like a deer in headlights. He nodded at this, almost as if he silently understood, agreed even. You didn’t know whether you should stay rooted beside his desk or take a seat, body itching for another of his commands. You hated how badly you wanted him to tell you what to do and how to do it, no matter if it were a simple seating arrangement or one of his filthy, guided masturbations.

“That’s a start, hopefully by the end of the session we can turn it around?” He spoke, tone as level as it had always been, though you noticed how quickly his eyes seemed to wander. It had been impossible last time to look anywhere but him, that intentional and scrutinising stare holding yours for what felt like eternities. His gaze was scattered now, moving from your face to his desk and back again, fingers re-arranging his already neat desk as if attempting to regain control. 

But, regain control of what? His thoughts, his racing heart, his body? You wanted to know. You wanted to crack him open, let the secrets spill from him like yolk. You wanted to study his mind the way he studied you. It was intoxicating, the mystery that still surrounded him. So intoxicating that you were starting to find you didn’t need to get lost in the shadows of his stare, only needed to be close enough to feel the palpable energy, the magnetic charge, that radiated from him like the sun’s unbearable warmth. 

“Should we get started?” He asked, brown eyes leaving the surface of his immaculate desk to search your expression. You nodded, pushing a smile atop your lips as you moved toward the leather chairs, slouching into yours right away. 

You noticed he wasn’t wearing that same dark suit this time, instead he wore a crisp white dress shirt with a few too many buttons undone at the top. The bottom part of it was tucked half-hazardly into a pair of tight ebony trousers. It didn’t remain that way for long. With a raise of his hand–fingers combing through dark curls–one side fell from its confines, a slither of pale skin meeting your hungry gaze. You swallowed, drawing your eyes from his figure as it drew nearer to you, stopping only when he reached the chair opposite you.

“Shall we start with an update?” He questioned, taking a seat while his hand tightened around that same large ipad. “How have you been doing, did you manage to climax again?” 

“No.” You admitted right away, head shaking in disappointment. It was hard to hide how frustrating it was, even more now than before. At least prior to your first happy ending you were none the wiser to how much greener the grass truly was on the other side. Now you’d grazed in it, tasted it, felt it between your fingers and toes. How could you ever return to astro turf after you’d experienced the real thing? 

“No?” Chan looked surprised at this, chin tilting to the side as he drank in your expression. You were sure you looked anything but pleased, brows furrowed as you shook your head no once more. “Okay, did you follow the routine?”

“I did, yeah.” You mumbled, digits playing with the pleats in your skirt.

“What do you think was different?” He asked, looking genuinely curious by your dilemma. 

“Do I even have to say it?” You released a huff of air, heart jumping nervously behind its skeletal confines.

“It would help if you did. Guessing games can lead to miscommunications.” HIs smile was back, dimples pressed prettily against his plush cheeks. How badly you wanted to cup them, how badly you wanted to let the pads of your thumbs brush against the indents that dotted them. How badly you wanted him. 

“I just… I feel like I need your help, you helped so much that time… ever since I haven’t managed it, I mean, what does that tell you?” You asked, heart racing a little faster now, hands growing clammy; thoughts scrambling as you felt your frustration grow. Your situation felt so hopeless, so entirely unfixable. It shouldn’t hurt, but it did. It always would.

So many past relationships flashed across your mind, so many times when you’d watched the partners in your life walk away. Their promises that you’d never be too much, that there was no storm you couldn’t weather together, ground to dust beneath their retreating steps. There had been other issues that ended the relationship of course, not this one, never this one. Yet it still seemed so unbelievably ironic how, try as they might, they never could fix this little problem. How laughable it was that Chan had managed within hours of meeting him. 

“You- you need my help with climaxing?” He seemed taken aback, his innocence almost sending your eyes rolling. How could he be so surprised? Had he not been on that phone call with you after all, had that all been a vivid dream? 

“I think so, yeah.” You opted to speak instead, fingers still playing lazily with your clothing in search of some relief from the awkwardness of the conversation. 

“I’m sure you just need a little direction and practice.” He shook his head, ever the dismissive party out of the two of you. But you knew better now. You’d heard the way he fell apart, heard the things he’d said when all resolve had vanished. He was just as depraved, just as desperate and needy but he hid it well. He cowered behind fabricated boundaries, crossing one and then inventing another. He pushed, and he pushed, but he always found a new way to hold back. You wanted to test that, wanted to make him snap. Was that bad? 

“I’m twenty-five Chan, I think if practice was going to do it I’d have done it by now.” You shook your head, tone uncharacteristically sarcastic as you let your frustrations slip. He winced at this, taken aback by the change in your tone. Easily your annoyance dampened, sigh falling from your lips as quickly as your apology “I’m sorry, that was– I’m just– I feel defeated.” 

“It’s understandable, you don’t need to apologise.” Chan offered you a comforting smile, eyes glimmering with a patient understanding that had you thawing instantly. 

“Can’t you just, I don’t know, tell me what to do. Like give me some direction or something.” You asked, trying to pry more solutions from his all-knowing brain. 

“Like on the phone?” He questioned, palm gliding across his thick thigh as he spoke. You couldn’t help the way your gaze followed its movement, long fingers instantly taking you back to that night. You pictured them wrapped around his length, the wet sound of his desperate, thrusting grip, too much to think about right now. You squirmed in your seat, thighs pushing together in momentary distress. 

“Yeah like then, is there more I can do?” You asked, trying to hide your growing weariness behind another frustrated huff. 

“Perhaps you need to focus on finding ways to relax, maybe you have a problem switching off, moving from one task to the other. If you’re still tense when you’re masturbating then it can be hard to let yourself go.” He was so composed, seemingly so unaware of the way you were breaking down internally. How did he do it? How did he look at you with such easy indifference after that night. Maybe he was just that; indifferent. Maybe you’d been looking at this all wrong. 

“Okay.” You shrugged, barely listening by now.

“You don’t look happy with that.” Chan pushed for an answer, clasping his apple pen a little tighter in anticipation of your response. 

“I’m not patient enough. I guess I just hoped that it was fixed. But, now I have to get used to the idea of this being some long healing journey as if I haven’t had enough of those. As if I haven’t–fucking–read enough–fucking–self-help books or listened to enough ‘all you need is recharged rose quartz and you’ll be fine’--fucking–influencers.” You felt your hands grip at your forehead in defeat, palms attempting to erase the tension that settled there through half-hazard motions. You wanted to laugh at the way you got so easily wound up, but the idea of starting yet another ‘healing era’, felt suffocating, impossible even. 

How much more growing was there to do? Some people say it never stops, but you’ve had a lifetime of it. A lifetime of people pointing out your flaws, telling you what was wrong or what needed fixing. You’ve had a lifetime of changing everything about you until something felt right, like a puzzle piece clicking into place. A lifetime of trying to do everything right just to be told you were doing it wrong, anyway. You weren’t emotional enough, then you were too emotional. You were loud, then too quiet. You were rude, then you were compliant. It took reaching your twenties to realise you didn’t really care who you were, or how you acted, as long as you were happy with yourself. 

It felt freeing, so entirely exhilarating to feel as if you were done changing, morphing and growing into someone else’s idea of a normal human woman. It matched you well, but it was also tiring. You’d grown to be independent far younger than you probably should’ve, your therapist said it built character, you thought that was stupid even at ten years old. Having a childhood built character, having healthy relationships and good role models; that was what you needed. People’s incessant criticisms had felt like the only freedom from your independence for so long; the only time you weren’t thinking for yourself. Bittersweet was the lingering feeling that remained for a few years after your new found self-assurance. 

It was stupid, to crave something that had been so toxic, but that was just so unequivocally you. Hate something with every fibre of your being when you had it just to miss it when it was gone. Didn’t matter how much it hurt you, didn’t matter that it damn nearly killed you, only the good parts of it remained in its absence. The ghosts of memories even your unrelenting, self-sabotaging brain forgot. Were those the causes of your dissociation? The fragmented memories of times gone by, the missing pieces still stashed away in some untravelled corner of your mind?

“These things do take time, yeah.” Chan pulled you from your thoughts, tugging a sigh from your lips as you shook your head in defeat.

“Fuck that, there’s gotta just be something in me that doesn’t work, right? Like there’s just a part of me that can’t do it and I’m gonna have to just live with that.” Your arms raised in exasperation, frustrated rambles not phasing him in the slightest. You figured that shouldn’t surprise you, despite everything that had transpired between you, despite how unlikely it sometimes seemed, he was a therapist. A person you were paying to listen to you speak. A person you had essentially paid to make you cum. Jesus. 

“But you did.” He countered.

“No, you did.” You reminded him, his brows rising at the implication. 

“That was all you, I just helped.” He shook his head, dismissive once more. 

“Can’t you help me again, then? Just tell me what to do, show me. Make that part of me wake the fuck up and realise it has a job to do. Fix me again.” You murmured helplessly, searching his mind for something, anything that could ease your anguish. 

“You want that? You want me to teach you? You want me to fix you?” He spoke after a beat of silence, plump mouth emphasising your latter sentiment. A switch had seemingly been flipped in him, reminding you of his faltering resolve from a month ago. You were sure it was your imagination–after all he was so quick to collect himself–but that was expected, you didn’t know him well enough. You didn’t know how badly he yearned to ‘fix you’. 

There was a saying that went along the lines of this; therapists need therapy the most The first part of their adult lives were dedicated to learning the secrets of the mind, just to spend the rest of it fixing other people’s. The perfect distraction; fix others so you don’t have to fix yourself. Yeah, that was him. Finding distraction after distraction to avoid the complicated mess in his own brain. But that wasn’t just it. No, Chan was a people pleaser, a man so desperate to be needed that he put his heart in danger every single fucking time. 

He’d lost count by now, the amount of times he’d run in blindly; falling for a pretty girl with pretty problems. A pretty girl with a pretty smile and a pretty big hole in her pretty heart. He did it every single time. He’d never mixed work with self-sabotage though, this was unchartered territory. But that was then, one slip up, one mistake made in the heat of the moment. How could he not? You were so pretty, sounded so pretty pleading for him to help you. Not even he had the patience for that. 

“Yes.” You breathed out, eyes turning wide and expectant beneath his weighted retort. There you were again, looking hopeful, as if he really did have the power to cure you. But he didn’t, Chan had learned that again and again; he couldn’t change the last girl, or the girl before, or the girl before that and he couldn’t change you. Not like this anyway, not through lust or–heaven forbid–love. Growing attached, letting them be dependent, it was bad in the end; always bad, never good like he’d intended.

“I can’t, you’re not broken.” He assured you, not a drop of insincerity mixing with the honey sweet tone of his soft voice.

“Then pretend I am and fix me anyway– break me just to put me back together again– I don’t care, just please do something to make it stop.” You felt a little frantic now: he wasn’t giving you the answers, wasn’t providing solutions. Was it really that hopeless? Were you really this cursed? Knowing that the cure was right in front of you, within arms reach, but too far to hold. Too distant and closed off, too unwilling to give you what you know you needed. 

Were you crazy for thinking he wanted it to, were you delusional for thinking you could see the fire in his eyes every time you reached for him with words? The air around you didn’t lie though, did it? Or were you the only one feeling that constant chemical reaction that surrounded you both. That fizzle and burn, that electric fever that drove you crazy; depriving you of clean, pure air with every breath. It was filling your lungs with hot embers, you could feel it, could feel the way it choked you of all sense and left only desire in its place. Could he really not feel it too? 

“Make what stop, love?” The nickname wasn’t lost on you, its presence sent a ripple of hope across your skin, igniting goosebumps in its path.

“I don’t know, everything I guess. The boredom, the anxiety, the noise, the frustration, the emptiness; all of it went away that night and I’ve been trying to get back there ever since.” You admitted, teeth gnawing at your lip, brows scrunched together in frustration. Chan thought you looked utterly pitiful in the hottest way. Was that possible? To look pathetic and undeniably attractive all at once. Yeah, it was; you were. 

“I can’t cure you, you know that right? You have to do that on your own.” He insisted. It was true, wasn’t it? Historically speaking, practically speaking. People can’t change other people, that was how it worked right? They had to change on their own, grow alone, love themselves before they could learn to love someone else. If they didn’t, they’d be forever codependent, clinging to the sun that helped them grow into a fully flourished person. But the sun went down, it didn’t stick around forever; he couldn’t stick around forever. 

“But what if…” 

“I can’t.” He was quick to cut you off, not wanting to fill your head with pointless sentiments of hope. Whether he wanted to or not, whether you wanted to or not, you had to stand on your own two feet. He knew this to be true more than ever when it came to your own pleasure. You couldn’t depend on him for that; he couldn’t fill the void. He’d fall in love too easily, catch feelings in an instant. How could he ever make it out of that alive? It wasn’t right, you deserved better. Deserved to know your own body, how it felt, what made you feel good.

“Try?” You spoke, voice barely above a whisper, eyes wide and pleading. 

“I can’t.” He huffed through gritted teeth, jaw stiff with useless restraint.

“Please?” You looked at him as if he held the world and all its mysteries in his grasp, ready to hand them over if only you could wear him down enough. It wasn’t not working, he hated to admit. 

“Don’t… don’t do that.” He shook his head, eyes dipping to the ipad in his grip as he drew mindless patterns across its slick screen. It was enough to distract him for a moment, but not long enough.

“So, I just, I just go home and try the same shit again then is that it? Another month of nothing? Or can I call again, would you pick up if I did?” Your words had his cock twitching, palms growing clammy. That night haunted him. It felt so wrong, so completely fucked up. He lay awake for nights after that wondering if he should resign, turning his dream of owning a successful therapeutic clinic into a distant memory with the same stroke. But more than that, he wondered if you’d call again. Would you need him some more? Would you lean on him a little longer? Was it really true that he was the missing piece? That only he could make you cum.

“You know I would.” He responded in an instant, too quick in fact. “I’m surprised you didn’t call, to be honest.” He chuckled, attempting to seem unaffected. As if he hadn’t been waiting by the phone every evening, as if he hadn’t checked and re-checked for missed calls when sleep didn’t come to him easily. 

“I wanted to try on my own; I’m really trying.” You half-whined and that sound alone was enough to have every noise from a month ago flooding his mind at once. His hips shifted, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. 

“I know, baby, you’re so good.” He sighed, resolve slipping; gaze darkening along with it. You saw it happen right in front of you, pupils dilating, mask slipping from his handsome face. “How about this… You show me how you do it at home and I’ll see if there are areas for improvement?” Chan suggested, against what he knew to be his better judgement. Fuck it, though, right? He could cross another line, just one more, find a new one to draw between you to keep you at arms length. You’d seen right through him in that regard, knew exactly how he justified each gradual crawl toward your eagerly awaiting form. 

“You want me to… now?” You blinked, fireworks erupting in the pit of your stomach signaling an internal celebration of what you were almost sure was a triumphant victory. 

“Isn’t that what you want? To make a mess of my chair? To cum again?” His words sent a jolt of something electric and sweet straight to your core. Your teeth felt like blades, threatening to draw blood from the plump flesh of your bottom lip as you nodded wordlessly, too turned on at the prospect of getting to climax again to formulate a coherent sentence. 

“Why don’t you lift that little skirt of yours and show me how you pleasure yourself.” His voice was low, impossibly dark gaze studying you with an almost predatory stare. Your nerves stood alert like the hairs of your arm, hands moving at their own accord. You moved the hem of your skirt up the meat of your bare thighs, his eyes following your motions closely before fixing on the sheer fabric of your damp panties. 

You felt like an imposter in your own skin as you spread your legs, circling the pads of your fingers across your clothed clit in compliance. You tried to stop the heat from rising in your cheeks, from pulsing through your blood like lava, the molton toxicity wetting your panties even more. You were helpless to it; the growing intensity of your lust. It was strange, the combination of embarrassment mixed with desire. It felt like a dangerous cocktail, one destined to leave you with a hangover unlike any other you’d felt; a banging headache, a sick feeling, a desperation for a wellness you could never reach without it. 

Was that what this was? A growing addiction?  An inability to feel better without him, or an unwillingness to find an alternative cure? You pushed the thoughts from your mind, easily too with the help of his sultry voice, though all the same the bubbling of nervousness remained. 

“This is how you do it? What’s rule number one? What did we do last time?” He asked, too put together considering the pornographic movie that was playing out in front of him. His eyes told a different story though, hungry and feverish as you moved your fingers clumsily. 

“Umm, take my clothes off?” You managed between huffs of impatient air, wanting nothing more than to skip to the part where your toes were curling, head tipped back in reticent ecstacy. You moved your hands away from your clothed cunt, starting to remove the tight fitting crop top a strap at a time. You watched his jaw grow slack at this, your confidence growing in place of the initial uncertainty. 

You put on a show for him, suddenly abandoning the idea of being taught the ways of your pussy in favour of winding him up. Both straps fell past your shoulders, the rough material of your tiny top grazing your perky nipples as you dragged it down your chest, letting your plump breasts spill out from beyond its fabric confines. His brow twitched, lips faltering along with it as he watched the bounce of your tits.

“Mhm and start with your nipples, make them feel good, work yourself up.” Pulling your top off completely, you followed his demands, fingers tugging at your hardening buds. You remembered his advice from the last time, making sure to wet your digits with your tongue in a slow sinful motion. This earned a half moan from the man, his body shifting as he hid his faltering confidence behind a closed fist. With his chin resting against it, he gazed at you through his lashes, watching every pinch and tug with a hawk-like intensity. 

“I’m already so worked up.” You groaned, unable to hold his heated glare any longer. You lulled your eyes toward the wet patch growing in your panties, pussy clenching around nothing at the sight of it. 

“I make you worked up?” He mused, leaning forward in interest. Leveled as his voice remained, his restless form gave him away; dilated pupils darting between your hard nipples and your soaked underwear. His bottom lip caught between his teeth, moan designed behind a cough at your response. 

“Yeah, so bad.” You mewled, one hand traversing the expanse of your smooth skin until your fingers met with the pool of sticky wetness between your thighs. You pulled at the band of your panties, sighing at the feeling of the tight fabric squeezing against your sensitive clit. You watched his expression as you drank in every movement, the obvious stiffness mounting in his crotch area not going unnoticed by you. 

You wondered what it would take to have him desperate for his own release again, enough to disregard every one of his frivolous boundaries until his head was too clouded with intoxicating lust to draw a new line between you. 

“Don’t focus on me, focus on yourself and your body.” It was almost like he knew, as if he could read your mind; could sense the way it reeled with thoughts of him and him alone. You tugged at your panties again, focusing on the movement of your fingers as they swirled around your excited nipple. “That’s good, don’t be shy now, you weren’t shy last time.” 

“You couldn’t see me last time.” You murmured, the tips of your ears and apples of your cheeks the same shade of crimson. 

“You’re beautiful, don’t be embarrassed.“ Chan shook his head, shifting in his seat once again. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get comfortable, not when the growing ache in his pants became harder and harder to ignore. “Now do what we did last time, feel what works best for you, take your time.” 

“This?” You questioned, fingers pulling your panties aside as strings of sticky cum followed suit. You touched your bare clit with care, jolting and wincing with each caress. You were so sensitive, so turned on by the intent stare he fixed on your soaked cunt. You traced a finger down the seam of your pussy, rubbing the thick, juicy substance across your bundle of nerves in a clockwork motion. 

“Yeah, that’s right, feel yourself.” He drew a breath, tongue darting across his lips, hands not sure what to do with one another as he watched the sight play out in front of him. “That’s good, does that feel good?” Chan questioned, slouching back in his chair as if the increased distance would afford him some alleviation from your mesmerising performance. 

“Yeah, I think so.” You retorted, repeating the back and forth between your clit and dampening folds. You teased your entrance with the gentle prod of your fingers, tight clenching accompanying each experimental push. 

“Do what makes you feel good, learn what you like.” It was unbearable how calm he was, a whine leaving your lips as his professional tone. 

“How.” You murmured, the strumming of your clit increasing in speed as you felt a pleasurable sensation begin to wash over you. 

“Try new things, keep touching yourself–why don’t you take those panties off and give your pussy a slap.” You nodded, eagerly complying with his wishes as you pulled your panties down your legs letting the sheer fabric pool at the base of your chair. You placed your skirt there too, completely bare save the pair of kitten heels snug around your feet. 

“What?” The second part of his statement had you puzzled though, or perhaps it was just the intense feeling of being exposed in front of a person who was not only fully clothed but seemingly unbothered. Yeah, maybe that was it; that would be enough to have anyone confused and uncertain.

“You like it rough don’t you? Smack your pussy, give your clit a spanking for me.” His words had your hips shifting, a moan tumbling from your lips. Everything sounded better coming from his full mouth, the gravel tone interlaced with his thick accent–it was unbearable. 

“Like this?” You questioned, landing a smack against your sensitive clit. Both of you moved in sync, hips shifting at the shrill noise your palm made abusing your sensitive nub. Your face screwed up at the feeling, the delightful sting accompanied by another wave of self-satisfaction. 

“Harder.” He growled, moan mingling with his next words. “Yeah, you like that? I can see how wet you are, keep spanking your pretty little cunt.” You complied, strings of whines and groans following each harsh slap. 

“You’re making me this wet.” You mewled, expression still contorted in pleasure. Chan wasn’t sure how he’d expected to make it through this entire ordeal, that had been foolish thinking on his part. He hadn’t expected you to be so brazen though, both nervous in your disposition but shameless in your filthy words and actions. His cock was impossibly hard in his pants now, hand itching to relieve the tension.

“Fuck don’t say that, gonna have to learn how to make yourself cum when I’m not around.” He insisted, though in truth you were saying all the right things to morph him into malleable putty, substance perfect for the palms of your hands; mass supple enough to wrap around your finger. “That’s good, yeah that’s good fuck you’re clenching around nothing.” 

“Wanna be full.” You whined, pinching and rubbing at your clit with a rise and fall of your hips. You could tell the chair beneath you was drenched by now, the surface becoming slippery beneath your clammy thighs.

“Fuck yourself with your fingers, start with one and keep adding as many as your greedy little cunt needs to feel full.” His resolve was slipping, you could tell, could connect the dots from that night a month ago. It filled you with confidence, had your heart racing and limbs squirming as you rubbed your clit more furiously. 

“Not gonna be enough.” You shook your head, hoping, so intensely, that he would just give up and finish you himself. You could practically sense it, the way his fingers would make you feel, the sharp rush of intense white light that bubbled up with every thrust of his skilled digits. How perfectly they’d fill your tight hole, stretching you open as if preparing you for his fat cock. You slid a finger inside, feeling empty despite the new intrusion. 

“You just need to learn how to make yourself feel good baby, curl your fingers, do a scissor motion, whatever makes you feel the best.” He was still instructional in his method, but he looked anything but the calm teacher he’d been previously. Chan was leant forward now, tongue poking out his mouth, elbows propped on his knees as he watched you intensely. 

“How?” You questioned, brows scrunched.

“How, what baby? Use your words.” He asked, his palms rubbing together in a useless attempt to distract his mind from the ache in his pants.

“How do I make it feel good, sir.” You elaborated, pushing another finger inside your convulsing pussy. 

“Fuck, god, gonna make me crazy if you keep that up.” He run a hand through his hair, hips rising from the chair. His dark hair looked a mess by the time his fingers were done combing and tugging with restraint. You didn’t think it was possible for him to look any sexier, but his disheveled appearance proved otherwise. 

“Please.” You implored, the steady back and forth of your fingers slowing to a standstill at his next words. 

“You want me to show you, yeah?” He licked his lips shamelessly at you, hungry eyes awaiting your response with uninhabited lust. 

“Yes, please, so bad.” You mused, squirming in your chair at the prospect of his fingers tucked snugly inside your needy pussy. You hoped this wasn’t a dream, that you weren’t about to jolt awake to the shrill sound of your alarm clock. 

“Beg, show sir how badly you want his fingers inside you.” He murmured, jaw clenching at the sight of your pussy as it squeezed around nothing. “Keep circling your clit, yeah, keep going.” He commanded you, and without hesitation you followed. 

“Please, please, want you to fill me so bad, please sir- please.” You keened, fingers toying frantically with your bundle of nerves. 

“That’s it baby, keep getting yourself off, you're doing such a good job on your own.” He licked his lips again, chest heaving with every circular motion. You pushed your fingers back between the snug walls of your cunt, moving your hips to accompany the thrust of your digits. 

“I need more, please.” You wailed, the edge you’d wanted to revisit so badly gradually inching into view. 

“You really want my help, baby?” He asked, almost as if he were undecided. That couldn’t be it, though. There was no conceivable way Chan could doubt your desire to have him, in whichever way he was willing to give. He wanted to hear you beg some more, didn’t he? Wanted to hear just how badly you needed him, as if seeing it wasn’t enough. 

“Please.” You gave him what he wanted, putting on your best forlorn expression to better your chances. It worked, a little too well judging by the haphazard way he fell to his knees in front of you. Whatever glimmer of self-discipline he’d been clinging to, it was gone now, and in its place: a man starved. 

“You’ll tell me if you wanna stop, can you do that for me?” He looked up at you with hopeful eyes, his final attempt at giving you an out. An insincere part of him hoped you would, that you’d be the one to grasp ahold of your better sensibilities and put an end to your affair. But you didn’t, of course not, you never would, would you? He doubted it, not when your gaze exuded a level of desperation he was sure he’d only seen in wild animals. Instead, you nodded, teeth claiming your bottom lip as you did so. “Good girl.” 

Chan wasted no time sliding a finger inside your warm walls, a drawn out groan falling from his lips at the spongy grip that took a hold of his digit. His hips shifted compulsively as you tightened around him, a second finger inching its way in as he studied every rise and fall of your expression. Another moan from your lips–another half-grunt, half-groan from his own. He pushed his digits deeper, thrusting them in and out at a steady pace, letting his knuckles brush against your velvety clit.

“Ugh, that’s good.” You practically screamed out, head tipping back with a wide open-mouthed grimace; face contorted in unimaginable pleasure. How was it possible to feel this good? You thought you’d reached the maximum capacity for bliss that night, but Chan was showing you an entirely new palette of gratifying hues. 

“Barely touching you, darling. So desperate, hmm? Not been able to get off without me? Need me that badly?” He mewled, lips pressing wet, desultory kisses to your shoulder and collarbone. Your body twitched and seized beneath him, eyes rolling back at the sensation of his plump mouth against your hypersensitive skin. Every nerve felt as if it were going haywire, every brush of his bony flesh against your clit feeling like a rush of adrenaline. It was then that he did something truly toe-curling, the sudden feeling of something prodding at just the right angle inside of your tight walls; it had your spasming wildly beneath him. 

“Yeah I need you, need you to make me cum–need your cock in me, want you to stretch me out.” You sang in between moans, hands clinging to his clothed shoulders, nails latching onto him harshly. 

“Fuck, baby, slow down. Gonna take my time; you gotta take your time.” He panted, dark eyes finding yours in among the thick haze of lust that consumed you both. It had you moaning even louder, the combination of his intoxicating stare and that unidentifiable sensation threatening to push you over the edge prematurely. 

“Oh god, so much better.” You whined, tears filling your eyes, forehead shifting to press against his own as you clung to him for dear life. The warmth that radiated from his body was like a balmy embrace, the rousing scent of his cologne only adding to the numbing of your senses. He smelled incredible; expensive and masculine but with an undertone of something musky and thrilling. You wanted more of it, more of him. Wanted to taste him, to feel his cock pushed so far past your walls you could feel him rearranging your guts; the head of his member visibly prodding at the pit of your stomach. You wanted his mouth on yours, tongue exploring the inside of your mouth until he’d discerned every inch of you, top to bottom. 

You felt safe beneath his strong body, the hand that wasn’t busy splitting your open prying at your thigh until he managed to hook a leg over his shoulder. You felt your head fall back again, eyes squeezing shut as he sped up his pace, the room filling with the sound of your drenched pussy. The squelching was so lewd, so loud that you were sure you’d cum from that alone. Could feel it in the way your cunt clenched again and again, sucking his digits in and refusing to let them free.

“That’s ‘cause I’m curling them. Feel the difference?” He murmured, tone the only thing calm about him now. Looking down at him, you saw the frazzled expression painted across his handsome face, the frantic look in his eyes underpinning that same predatory stare. “Mmm fuck– gonna find your g-spot; gonna make you scream.” 

“Chan, fuck, please.” You wailed, hips bucking upwards in motion with his thrusts. He pushed you down with his free hand, cheek pressing against the meat of your leg as he watched you intently. His attentive stare didn’t last long, though, not when your pussy was putting on such a pretty show for him. His arm was soaked, the chair beneath you was drenched, juices pooling on the floor by your clothes. 

“So hot–stay still for me baby, did I hit the spot?” You could only nod now, moans coming out in pitchy screams as you bucked against his firm palm, desperately trying to fuck yourself with his fingers. You couldn’t describe it, the pleasure that was building inside of you, the edge that was careening so close to your helpless, frantic body that you could taste your orgasm on the tip of your tongue. 

“Yeah, think so, oh god, oh my god.” You found your words at last, whining disapprovingly when his fingers left your needy pussy empty in favour of pushing past his plump mouth. Your gaze drank him in as he did so, watching with narrowed eyes as he sucked on them. It was slow and erotic and downright torturous, a string of desperate moans tumbling from his glistening pink lips. 

“Fuck you taste so good, let me taste you properly, please can I?” Apparently it was his turn to beg, his nose nuzzling against the inside of your thigh as he adjusted the leg propped atop his shoulder. 

“Please, please, do whatever you want, own me.” You nodded frantically, wanting nothing more than to return to that blissed out state you’d been so caught up in. 

“You want me to make this pussy mine, for real? Want me to fuck you rough like the slut you are?” You wanted him to mean what he was saying, but something told you he wasn’t. That was as a line you were certain he wouldn’t cross, not for now anyway, but you could live with that. A sentiment that rang even truer when you felt the rough texture of his tongue against your puffy, sopping cunt.

The reverberation of his moans only added to the intense wave of pleasure that overcame you, his frenzied ministrations causing your hips to buck, thighs closing around his head. He took it all, licking up and down your pussy as if lapping up your juices. Whatever lesson this was supposed to teach you about masturbation, you didn’t know, and you weren’t about to question him about it, not when you switched to burying his face in your leaking pussy, tongue fucking you with purpose as his nose prodded your swollen clit. 

“Yes, please, sir–ruin me.” You grabbed ahold of his hair, earning another moan from the man as he continued devouring your drenched cunt. Every time he lapped at your sweet juices, more poured from your clenching hole, his tongue drinking up every last drop as he shifted between your entrance and your sensitive nub. 

“Fuck this isn’t good.” He groaned, breathing out words in the short amount of time he spent away from your pussy; allowing him mere moments to suck in oxygen before he dove back in. “We shouldn’t be doing this, baby, you’re driving me crazy.”

“Ugh, that feels so fucking good.” This time he focused his mouth on your clit, lips wrapping around your bud as he pushed his fingers inside of you, thrusting in knuckles deep with a pace that bordered on animalistic. Your fingers gripped his hair just as aggressively, hips moving at their own accord as you felt the edge of your orgasm hurtle towards you. 

“Good keep going, use my fingers fuck yes.” He moaned, breaths coming out in desperate pants against your sensitive clit. The gentle push of air paired with his relentless thrust of his fingers against your g-spot was enough to have you screaming, head falling backward, cunt convulsing as you felt that white light begin to encase you.“Shit you’re cumming so soon? Oh fuck, yeah, fuck, so messy.” 

“Fuck, please, keep going– no why did you stop?” That feeling you’d been so frantic to chase, the bright, welcoming light that you’d been so ready to rush toward was ripped from you the moment his fingers exited your clamping walls. You looked at him in disbelief, body spent, skin aglow with sweat.

“It's your turn, do what I did.” He rejoindered. 

“No, no please” You shook your head, tears welling over as you pleaded with him to give you release. This was bordering on mean, knowing how frustrated and desperate you were to feel that warm white release only to pry it from your begging hands. 

“Come on pretty girl, you got this. Let me help you.” His palms ran comforting patterns across your skin, face still level with your pussy as his breath fanned across your sensitive core. You twitched beneath him, stare holding his own in hopes your beseeching eyes could reason with him. 

“Not the same.” You murmured, shaking your head once more. 

“Don’t be greedy now, come on.” He spoke, landing a slap against your clit in warning. Your hips jumped, sensitive pussy clenching around air as you greedily accepted your punishment. Despite your momentary disobedience, you followed his request, pathetic fingers moving down between you both to begin thrusting in and out of your weeping hole. “Good girl, keep going.” 

“Need yours.” You sobbed, the feeling of your digits nowhere close to the pleasurable strokes of his thick, veiny hand. 

“Hmm, why don’t we try a new toy? See if you can make yourself cum like that?” He suggested, and how he’d managed to maintain any semblance of his role as your sex therapist after annihilating your pussy with his pretty lips, you had no idea. Truly the man was a saint, he hadn’t even touched his hard cock once, too busy pleasuring you to even notice the impossibly tight feeling in his pants.

“Okay…” You agreed, body beginning to ache with fatigue. 

“Keep playing with yourself, slap that pretty little clit around while I find a toy for baby girl to play with.” Chan commanded, and you obeyed. 

You watched him walk the short distance to his desk, opening one of the cupboards to look over a collection of unboxed sex toys. The consistent branding told you it was probably a sponsorship deal, a collaboration of sorts. But you didn’t pay the toys enough attention to confirm this, no, instead you watched the way his back flexed, vein hands tugging at a box before returning it to its home. It was utterly unfair how even the back of him could drive you crazy; everything about him was thick, masculine and oozing sex appeal. Yet despite the plumpness of his arms, thighs and ass, his waist remained tiny beneath the crisp fabric of his shirt. You wanted to see what lay beneath his tight-fitting clothing so badly, the thought enough to have your fingers speeding up in a newfound wave of ecstasy. 

“What about this? Long like my fingers, that’s what you like right?” He returned with a different vibrator. Unlike the other one, this had some sort of vibrating node for your clit; making sure to stimulate every inch of you it could touch. 

“Lemme show you how this works, okay? Gonna use it just like the vibrator, push it up as far as your little cunt can bear.” Chan grumbled, tongue licking his lips as he lowered himself to his knees again. Removing it from its packaging with ease, he pressed the velvety device against your desperate cunt, quizzical gaze searching for any signs of hesitation. 

“I can take it all, please make me take it.” You were quick to retort, squirming in anticipation of what was to come. You hoped, no you prayed, that this time he’d make you cum, not stopping till your body was limp and spent, eyes rolled back in your head and screams so pitchy not a sound came out. You wanted that, you wanted that so bad. 

“Fuck, you’re so hot when you’re all wound up baby, you sure you want that?” His voice was low, free hand coaxing your leg back over his shoulder as he peppered kisses to your inner thigh.

“Please, pretend it's your cock. How would you fuck me?” You whined, hands shifting to pinch at your nipples desperate for any form of release.

“No, no you can’t think like that baby.” He shook his head dismissively, using the toy to push up and down your gushing pussy, chuckling wickedly every time your body twitched. 

“You want it too, don’t you? Wanna know what it’s like to fuck me? So do–” You couldn’t even finish getting the words out before he was shoving the toy into your needy hole with force, a dark expression atop his faltering features. “Yeah fuck, like that.” You screamed out, your pussy barely able to sheath the toy with how puffy and swollen your walls were.

“That feel good, baby?” He growled, teeth gritted as he pushed the device in and out of you with fever.

“So good.” You whimpered, bucking your hips in time with his thrusts.

“Gonna have to take over, you need to learn for yourself.” He reminded you, your head shaking in an instant. 

“Not yet, keep going please.” You sobbed tearlessly, moans coming out in broken, melodic strings of half-cries and curse words. 

“Haven’t even turned the vibrate on and you’re already clenching like a whore.” He tutted, tongue spilling from his lips as he got lost in your pleasure. It looked like he enjoyed this almost as much as you did, his brows furrowed in concentration as he took in every change in your expression. 

“Can I touch you?” You whined out, hips bouncing in time with his expertly timed thrusts. Your hands reached out, starting to undo the buttons of his dress shirt with a growing desire to see him naked and exposed like you were. He didn’t show any resistance, even shuddering beneath the graze of your nails against his bare chest as you opened the unbuttoned top. He looked delectable; toned muscles flexing with every thrust of his arm. 

“No, then I really will wanna fuck you.” He murmured, setting another boundary you had every intention of crossing; his forehead leaning down to press against yours, bodies as close as they could possibly be given the current position. His lust-filled gaze sparkled in the shadowed confines of your close faces, the soft whimpers and laboured breaths that left his parted lips sending your body into overdrive. You leaned forward to connect your lips, mouth ghosting over his for a nanosecond before he moved his face away from yours. You whined, aching to chase after him but opting to pry a little more instead. 

“Will you touch yourself when it’s my turn then?” You questioned, hungry eyes searching his for any signs of defiance.

“You want that?” He whimpered, free palm pushing you down against the soaked leather chair once more, trying to keep your quivering body still beneath him. 

“Yeah wanna hear you moan again.” You yelped, clenching again and again around the silicon toy, wanting more than anything to replace it with his meaty cock.

“Does that turn you on?” Chan asked, proud grin on his lips.

“So bad.” You murmured, head rolling back as you felt him graze against your g-spot with the tip of your new device. “Wanna watch your cock make a mess– oh my god I’m so close Channie~” He didn’t let you finish, turning the vibrator on mid sentence. The sudden change in sensation caused you to shake and convulse beneath him, creaming the toy with every pointed thrust he offered your greedy cunt. 

“Yeah? Take over for me baby, fuck yourself like the depraved slut you are.” You could barely think straight, eyes glazed over with unadulterated, carnal desire. 

“Fuck you’d break me open so good, want your cock so bad.” You mumbled, taking the toy from his grip to try and match his relentless pace. You weren’t even close, too tired, too rigid to compare. 

“God, bet you do, never enough for your greedy little pussy is it? Just want more and more.” Chan mused, the sound of his belt clattering drawing your attention to his lower half. You watched eagerly, excitement growing with every push of his hands. He pulled his cock out hurriedly, leg still propped over his shoulder as he fisted the base of his cock. 

You whined at the sight, free hand clawing at his half-clothed chest before gripping the meat of his upper arm. You hoped, pointlessly so, that the feeling of his toned muscle beneath your hold would ground you, keeping you steady as you worked yourself with the toy. The sight of him jerking desperately at his leaking cock, though, was far too compelling. Moans fell from his mouth, curse words interjecting every sinful noise. 

You’d thought his pointed gaze was enough to hypnotise you, but the image of his stiff member as it oozed pre cum transfixed you in an entirely new way. You couldn’t look away, couldn’t tear your eyes from his thrusting hips and eager fist as it worked its way up and down his length. You were sure you’d not seen a cock quite as pretty as his, either. It wasn’t overly large but it was thick and veiny with an angry red tip that you knew would prod your cunt in all the right ways. You wanted it, you wanted him so bad. You were salivating at the thought, mouth gaping wide open at the prospect of it.

“Bet you’d fuck me dry, so desperate you’d milk my cock of every drop.” He groaned loudly, hips bucking into his first with an air of impatience. 

“Yeah, want that so bad sir.” You could feel your high approaching once more, the edge coming into view in new and improved shades of technicolour bliss. 

“That’s it, good girl, you’re doing so well.” He praised you, head lulling back as he hissed, teeth clenching, face scrunching; the hottest fucking thing you’ve ever seen. His adams apple bobbed, thick neck glistening with sweat as he squirmed, face falling to rest against your leg. 

“Cum on me, in my mouth.” You pleaded, trying to match the rhythm of his thrusts, imagination fixing on the idea of it being him fucking you like this.

“Fuck that’s so hot, you’re so fucking hot.” He instantly complied with your wishes, hand abandoning his cock momentarily in favour of getting to his feet. He gently lowered the leg once propped atop his shoulder as he did so, discarding his trousers and underwear properly when he was stood. He was frantic in his motions, wanting nothing more than to dump his load on your pretty face. 

Hovering over you, he watched as you eagerly opened your mouth, head angled to allow him to aim the tip of his length toward your lips. He hummed at the sight, face scrunching again as he began to fist at his cock. The wet sound of his cum streaking the length of his member had you keening, tongue darting out to lick at his tip desperately. He bucked his hips at the new sensation, shoving his cock closer to your mouth in the process. You kept lapping at his head, enjoying the salty taste of his cum as it hit your tongue–the bitter flavour pulling pornographic moans from your throat.

“Oh god that feels amazing. Yeah, keep doing that baby.” He too moaned, pumping his cock relentlessly while you leaned closer to him, sucking the head of his twitching member feverishly. “Such a good girl, yeah, your lips look so pretty around my cock baby.” 

“More.” You begged, the initial taste of his salty cum enough to have you craving more. You wanted all of it, wanted to feel his mushroom tip abuse the back of your throat, wanted to choke on his fat cock until breath became a necessity. You were positive you’d see the white, orgasmic light then, when you were deprived of all air, forced to take in every inch of him until he was done using you for his own pleasure. 

“No, don’t be greedy. Take what I give you and say thank you like a good slut.” He landed a slap against your cheek, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to sting and fuck it felt incredible.

“Mmm, thank you sir.” You whined, complying instantly, pussy clenching around the toy still thrusting in and out of your numb cunt. Your arms were in a similar position, movements growing sloppy and slow as you tried to chase your high through till the end. 

“Good, now you gonna cum for me?” He asked, fucking his fist with the same fierce pace he’d gifted you. “Yeah, fuck you’re so hot.” He moaned, watching you struggle to pleasure yourself, movements ragged and desperate as you became unable to control your limbs. 

“So close, so so so– please.” You cried out, riding the toy with one final push of determined energy.

“That’s it, keep fucking yourself. You’re so close, baby don’t give up now.” He moaned out, his own high building with every snap of your hips, the noises your mouth and pussy were making so sinful it had his eyes rolling back. He resisted though, keeping his well-trained eyes on your abused cunt. You were struggling, he could tell, something in you not quite snapping the way you clearly wanted it to. It wasn’t your fault, he’d tired you out by now; he blamed himself for that. 

“Come on, you can do better than that. Like this baby.” He abandoned his own pleasure again, hand leaving his cock to replace yours. His pace was exactly what you needed, your body convulsing the moment he replaced your sloppy grip. 

“Oh god, yes, please keep going.” You cried, almost scared he’d deny you again. 

“Yeah? You gonna cum? Look at the mess you’re making pretty girl, fuck, I bet it tastes delicious.” He growled, pushing the toy as deep as your puffy cunt would allow, angle directed toward the extra-sensitive spot you seemed to love so much. “You’re taking it so well, such a good little slut.” 

“I’m gonna cum.” You wailed, hand gripping his, half-reacting to the sudden feeling of overstimulation that washed over you, the part of the vibrator pressed against your clit sending you into spasms with every hard thrust.

“That’s right, come on baby, good girls cum– you’re my good girl aren’t you? Gonna cum like sir told you to?” He growled, the possessive tone that had overtaken him sending shockwaves across your limbs. 

“Yeah, yeah fuck! I’m-” You didn’t have time to respond to his pleas before you were thrown from the edge, same white light blinding you in the process. You lost all feeling, all consciousness as you came, the explosions errupting throughout your spent body going unnoticed by your fucked out mind. Your chest heaved as you started to come to, hand still clamped around his now motionless wrist as his voice broke through your heavy breathing. 

“Shit, you squirted everywhere baby. Fuck that’s so hot.” You whimpered, scrambling to sit up in embarrassment. You looked at the chair first, the leather slick with your release, but it wasn’t until you gazed at Chan that you saw the extent of it. His white shirt was dotted with wet spots, looking almost like the splatter of something colourless. His hand and arm were soaked, chest glistening too. 

“Sorry.” You frowned, suddenly embarrassed by the mess you’d made.

“Shh, don’t be sorry, you did so well baby; look at you, so messy, so pretty.” He was quick to assure you, abandoning the vibrator in favour of cupping both your cheeks. You took each other in for a moment, no words spoken between you as your eyes lowered to his lips. One of his hands moved toward your chin, tugging our gaze upward again; not letting you linger with the thought of kissing him. 

“Lemme make you cum.” You spoke after a beat in time. 

“No, no lovely girl, you need to rest a second.” He smiled, pad of thumb caressing your plump bottom lip before he shifted, seemingly ready to clean you up and send you on your way. You weren’t ready for the moment to end, though. Couldn’t bear the thought of not getting to see him like this again for another month, or, god forbid, longer. 

“Then use me to finish.” You reached for him, grabbing ahold of his wrist before his back could straighten, reaching his full height. 

“Baby, fuck.” He moaned, clearly battling with the idea of you crossing yet another of his lines. He couldn’t blame you, not wholly anyway, he let you do it easily every time. Deep down he knew they were nothing but silly justifications; a safety net to fall back on when he broke every rule in the book.

“I want you to.” You assured him.

“This is supposed to be about you.” He shook his head.

“Then do it for me, use my mouth.” Your persistence seemed to be enough for him, still-hard cock twitching excitedly at the prospect. 

“Get on your knees.” His eyes darkened, turning to face you properly as he watched you position yourself on the floor, obedient as ever. “That’s it, good girl.” He swallowed thickly, guiding you toward his painfully hard length. He tapped your outstretched tongue with the tip, wordlessly ordering you to open wide.

“Tastes so good sir.” You mewled as he slid the base of his cock along your tongue, moaning at the texture of your muscle against his veiny member. His patience, or whatever was left of it, was slipping away with every messy lick of your tongue, his hand shifting to grip your hair.

“Squeeze my thigh if it's too much, okay?” Your nod was enough to have him pushing his length past your parted lips, cock giving you no time to adjust as he pushed his hips forward. “Such an obedient little slut, aren’t you? Touch your clit for me, want you cumming with my cock shoved down your throat.” He growled, pushing his length as far down your throat as your tight mouth would allow.

“Oh fuck yeah, yeah, yeah that’s so– ohmygod you feel amazing.” You moaned the moment he afforded you a few seconds to breathe. Your fingers toyed with your clit just as he’d requested, but you were far too focused on swallowing his member to focus on the tingling feeling between your thighs. 

“Bet your pussy feels better though, doesn’t it baby? Filled all the way up with my fat cock.” He grunted, grip in your hair tightening as he thrust his length past your lips harshly. You squealed at this, sound muffled by the back and forth of his cock as he used your throat to chase his own release. It was hard to focus his gaze as he pushed his cock all the way to the base, your nose pressing against his toned flesh as you gagged, tears spilling down your cheeks.

“Are you crying? Yeah? Sir giving it to you too rough? This is what greedy girls get–a throat full of cock.” He growled, any hints of his prior softness dissipated with the tightening of your throat around his sensitive length. He started setting a pace, no longer mindlessly pushing you down his cock. Rather he pulled out of your swollen mouth, giving you a few seconds to breathe before he thrust in, repeating that motion again and again with a frenzied persistence. If he had any doubts about your feelings on the matter, your soaked cunt gave it all away. 

“God your pussy is drenched, sounds so good. Does it feel good, baby? Getting mouth fucked while you play with your little cunt for me?” He moaned, fucking your face with a new found fever, his approaching high numbing his senses until all that remained was the sound of your wet pussy clenching around nothing and the feeling of your tight throat seathing his desperate cock. In all of the blissful chaos though, the man couldn’t help but take pity on you; the tears streaming down your cheeks, drool coating your chin, was enough to have him pulling out. You instantly gasped for air, forehead falling against his thigh as you caught your breath.

“Sit up baby, spread your legs. Gonna paint your pussy with my cum–gonna make it mine.” He instructed, helping you back atop the chair when you looked at him with pleading eyes. Your chest still rose and fell, gaze glossy with fresh tears as you whimpered, barely able to register the possessive way he wanted to claim you beneath your heavy fatigue. 

“You gonna cum for me too, yeah? gonna fuck my cum inside you with my fingers while you play with your clit.” He was back to those sinful rambles, an apparent sign of his impending orgasm as he worked his cock, hovering above your spread legs while he watched you circle your clit violently. “Good girl, good girl, fuck.” 

“Yeah fuck, mine, my good girl, looking so pretty for me.” His pace picked up, abs tensing with every twitch of his cock. His tip leaked with presumptive release, small bouts of thick cum running down the head, aided in its journey by the drying slick of your spit. “So useless without me aren’t you baby? Can’t do anything without me, need me so badly.” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, oh god.” His words had you quickly barreling toward the edge again, consciousness slipping as you fell in and out of subspace. 

“Say you’re mine.” He growled, face contorted in the hottest expression you’d ever seen. He looked determined, the first that fucked his cock thrusting at such a frenzied pace you wondered if it was painful.  “Mmm” Was all you could manage, before a harsh slap to your cunt was enough to jolt you away from the fucked-out state you found yourself in. 

‘Say it, slut.” He insisted.

“I’m yours, all yours; only yours. No one else can make me feel like this, not even me, this pussy belongs to you.” Your words were all it took, his entire body shifting, twitching and shaking at the sudden onset of his climax. His knees almost buckled, the half-awkward position causing his muscles to burn and tense as he milked his cock of its stringy cum. Moan after moan fell from his lips as he watched it splatter against your lower half, your hungry cunt clenching as the warm liquid painted your clit and abdomen. 

Lowering to his knees again, he kept his promise, pulling your hand away from your puffy clit in favour of collecting up all the cum that settled on your skin, sticky substance coating two of his digits as he shoved it inside your overworked pussy. “Cum for me, come on. Don’t make me spank you again.” 

You moaned out, shrill noise almost awakening his cock once again as he drilled your cunt with his fingers, pushing his cum as far into you as your swollen walls would allow. “Good girl, that’s a good girl; such a good little cum slut.” He cooed as you lost all control, body seizing beneath the weight of another orgasm; the wave of ecstasy so sudden and unexpected it stole the air from your lungs, the noise from your voice.

Chan rode you through your high, pressing kisses to every inch of your inner thigh, fingers slowing to a halt inside you. Sweet praises filled the air as he pulled his digits from your defeated cunt, palms rubbing soothing patterns against your skin. He kept this up until the ability to move seemed to finally return to your aching limbs, your body shifting to sit upright. Your breathing was laboured as his eyes leveled with yours, searching for any signs of pain or discomfort.

“Are you okay?” He asked, fingers back to tracing your skin affectionately; an action that felt just a little too sweet considering the events that had just transpired. You nodded, still not quite able to form words as you moved forward, pulling him into your embrace, desperate to lean on him for support. He let you, of course he did, arms wrapping around your fatigued body as he pulled you against him. Your head fell to the crook of his neck when you lowered from the chair, awkwardly positioned atop his kneeling form until he shifted to accommodate you.

For a moment you stayed like this, the sounds of your breathing the only thing breaking through the heavy silence. It gave you both time to think, to come down from your post-orgasm bliss and retrace the events of your appointment. 

“Fuck, what are we doing.” Chan was the first one to speak, a heavy sigh pulled from his downturned lips. 

“I don’t know but I don’t want it to stop.” You whispered, neither of you making any attempt to put distance between you. 

“We have to.” His response was instant but insincere, there was no denying that now. Not even your anxiety could trick you into believing that Chan didn't want this.

“But do you want to?” You asked, making the first move as you pulled back to look him in the eyes. Maybe his mouth lied, but his gaze never could. 

“...No. do you?” He said after a beat in time, large gaze studying you just as you did him. His palms moved to grip at your bare waist, a single hand shifting to run up and down your right side, tracing the curve of your hips as he waited expectantly. 

You smiled, the fireworks that erupted behind every one of his caresses giving you the answer you'd been looking for: “Never.” 

“Never?” Chan stared at you dubiously, hand stilling at this. 

“Never.” You didn’t hesitate, head shaking. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, eyes flicking from feature to feature in search of any insincerity. He found none, only a flourishing of adoration that threatened to grow tucked behind your gaze. 

He decided to believe you. You decided to believe it too–hoped so badly for it to be true–wanted so badly to have finally found the cure. Needed so badly for him to be the cure.

<< back to dash // next episode >>

taglist @mangojellyyy • @diekleinesuesse • @bahablastplz • @jeonginnieswifey • @skzittomebabyuhhuhx3 • @yaorzu-blog • @skzreader25 • @sseungmongi • @swaggylili • @geni-627 • @fun-fanfics • @channiesluvrclub • @iambangchanswife • @bluesungology

A/N: jfc i nearly didn't finish this in time oopsies! semi-unedited again so apologies for any sloppy writing in places. thank you all for 200 followers!! next chapter is due for release at the 350 milestone <3

[shaisuki]

Heyyy. Can I request a college au. Reader is an average, socially awkward, chubby gal who somehow managed to pulled the campus heartthrob, Geto (or gojo). And he's lowkey obsessed with her and try to be fucking her every chance he gets.

❝ TASTE THE SUGAR ON MY LIPS. ❞

𔓘 FEATURING. BOYFRIEND! GETO SUGURU

CONTENT WARNINGS. college au + hints of toxic boyfie geto + exhibitionism + established relationship + kissing + smut + insecurities + awkward reader + dubious consent .

SYNOPSIS. campus crush geto is utterly enamored with you. a socially awkward chubby girl that holds the title of being suguru's girlfriend and everyone wonder why? you ask the same question too and suguru is the only one who have the answer.

tall? yes.

dark? not really. he's leaning on warmer tones that one could say he spends his vacations on the beach.

handsome? a big fat yes.

there is too many adjectives to describe geto suguru. the fine arts student is currently holding your hand in a tight grip (you brush his hands off too many times when you two go out so he keeps a firm hold on your hands). a literature student who didn't have a social life and only a friend — can it still be considered a friend that you only talk to class?

and everyone asks why geto suguru would go for someone like you. a nobody that isn't even textbook attractive. they didn't even know that you exists until geto is parading you throughout campus like you were a trophy he won when it was the opposite from everyone's eye.

drop dead gorgeous that every man and women swoons over him. of course — who would not swoon for him? he's everything. well, except you. you particularly paid no interest in attractive guys cause they wouldn't be into you and even if they did, they won't fall for someone like you. stumbling over your words that people mistakes it for you mumbling instead of talking and thus, they find you boring with no prospect of a conversation.

the man besides you? he said you were interesting. no compliments on your beauty if you have any. you say to yourself. your size was the number one reason for it and if you get to know geto's ex-flings? a shuddering no. you don't look like close to them. not even a resemblance that geto suguru has a type.

he's mr. popular and you're ms. nobody. it sounds like cliché plot for a romance novel but this is your reality. a year had gone by and geto suguru is still all over you.

“do i need to explain myself?” he raises a brow at your question. more than once that's been asked and you got the same response from him all over again. he only hums and kisses your knuckles. the affection hasn't been done with the others and geto knows you're a bit of an old soul. hence, he made sure that he was sincere in taking you out and promises has made to himself that he would never hurt you.

if something that will happen that may end up in a break-up, geto had a term that it would be mutual for the both of you. there isn't going to be a harsh nor emotional way to broke up that would end up the two parties to be emotionally conflicted. it was better that way and fortunately, there hasn't been talks or signs that there is a turmoil in the relationship.

truth is, geto never gave you the reason to feel dissociated with him. assurances was the tip of his tongue when it was needed. his shoulder was there when you wanted to cry and his arms were there when you just feel like it and his lips that kisses you gently. it was beneficial for him cause before he knew it, he was so far gone enthralled on you.

the way you made him feel good like he was always in control and all the other quirks that is pleasant to him even the ups and downs. however some days when you're not in the picture, geto thought of you a lot and he says to himself he's not obsessed — fixated is much suitable in subtlety like any other person but he gets a little unstable when he don't see you and when he does the word seems to put it more in obvious.

“sugu—mmph!” merely seconds after he sees you, his lips was on yours. briefly knocking the air out of you before melting in the kiss. slowly moving your lips to return the action. “hey there, sugu.” you murmured against his lips and trying to ignore the stares that was being shoot at to you. it's a compromising position being kabedonned by a guy that everyone have the hots for and wished to experience what it was like to date geto suguru.

you momentarily stare at him. geto suguru is a mystery. does madness lurks behind those purples of his eyes and was his smile real? you bet it wasn't. it was honed from what he lives up as the expectations of others. he's charming. they would say behind your back while girls flirts with him. their smaller hands brushing over the expanse of his arms and they will only get a smile and that is only the thing the thing they'll have from him.

everyone likes geto suguru or maybe he's adored by the many that's why hatred are born to the likes of you cause if you were like them you would hate yourself too. the long jet black hair of his that drapes around his back. the sharp like eyes of his similar to a fox and that smile. that damned smile. his very features were the epitome of beauty with a body like a god.

“you're really handsome.” is what you say without thinking. your gaze still fixated on his godly features and that earns a laugh from him. so rich that you think you were hallucinating and were seeing things. must be in love. you say to yourself and you braced for yourself the heartbreak that will come when you already had fallen for him..

all is forgotten when suguru wondered why he was with you in the first place when all he could think is about you when the merely attraction had turned into something he never can get out with. he was in too deep with you.

he holds your chin. trapping it with his forefinger and thumb. “hmm? i am?” he hums unsure like he hasn't heard it for the first time when it was a million times he had heard it. a small smirk gracing in his lips when he sees you gazing at him. “and you're beautiful.” he whispers and then he was dragging you to a vacant room.

sunlight flows through the windows. giving the room a lightning that wasn't hard for the eyes and only giving it a glow. your back hits the professor's table. geto grasps your hips to place you into and it made you gasp a little that he have this strength to carry you.

“should we be doing this here, suguru?” looking at the door that he locked and you can pick up the faint footsteps roaming behind the door. students passing by and your heart skips a beat that you two may be caught.

“don't let that get into your pretty head.” holding your jaw to face him and you see your worried expression in the reflection of his eyes. “okay.” you whisper, your heart beating in worry of being caught but it wasn't when suguru's lips on yours. moving in such passion that leaves you breathless. wanting for more as you tug the sleeves of his shirt.

his hands slithering between your legs and parting them slowly. drawing smooth circles in your inner thighs while he kisses you. settling between your parted legs. his fingers gently pulls your panties aside. gathering the slick that was forming and rubbing slow circles in your clit. “sugu-hmm....” you moan against the kiss. your hips slowly grinding to get more of his touch. “yes, baby....” humming as his tongue entered your mouth. swirling and claiming every inch of your mouth and draw the sweetest moans and whimpers he can while he rubs your clit.

melting from his ministrations, he let out a groan. his cock throbbing from the confines of his pants and in desperate need of relief. he easily unbuttons his pants. pulling his boxers down and his cock sprang free. the tip glistening with pre-cum. he wraps his hand around his cock. giving it a few quick pumps before sliding between your folds. coating it with your juices before slowly plunging deep inside to your wet heat.

geto stills for a moment. savoring the way your tight cunt deliciously engulfing his length. time is the essence at the situation but geto couldn't care not when you're so snug around him. he cups your soft jaw in his hand. tilting it to the side before kissing you again.

a low breathy moan escaping his lip as he began to move his hips. pulling his cock, he slams it back again to your tight heat. moving in pace that's good for the both of you.

“sugu....” you drawl out. your body moving in sync to his thrusts while you hold the edge of the desk behind you. “i know, baby.” he grunts. hooking your leg around his waist to get deeper and with your dazed state. you look up at him. there's a faint hue of blush in his cheek. his eyes narrowing while he looks at you. meeting his gaze and his lips parted slightly.

in his intoxicated state of being balls deep to your tight cunt, geto remains aware of the surroundings. he glances at where the door was. noticing a shadow behind the door and the door knob suddenly rattling and his desire heightened at the thought of being caught with you.

he returns his attention to you. a smirk curling in his lips. drinking at the sight of his girlfriend who's too dazed to care and focusing on the pleasure that runs deep inside you. “sugu.....” he hears you moan out his name and he knows you're close from the way your breath hitches and the quiver of your thick thighs.

geto changes the angle of his hips. making sure he's hitting your sweet spot repeatedly and with a cry of his name, you came around him. your whole body trembling as your orgasm washes over you and with that, geto focuses on his release. moving in a relentless phase. his hips stuttering, a low growl tore from his throat and with a sharp thrust, he buried his cock to the hilt deep inside your fluttering walls. thick ropes of his cum is released to your insides. he rolls his hips a few times and takes his cock with a wet pop.

both of you stayed still for a moment. catching each other's breath and as both of your temporary highs dissipated. geto grabs your chin and presses a chaste kiss to your lips before helping you to fix yourself and pulls you off to the desk. gathering you in his arms as you put your feet back in the ground. holding your hand firmly in his grasp, he pulls you with him and went to go outside and unlocking the door.

a dumbfounded student stands outside the doorway at the appearance of geto and you leaving the room. they stay there for awhile, processing at just what occurred inside.

after that, geto took you at one of the quaint coffee shops inside the campus. a cup of black coffee steaming in front of him and your favorite drink and a slice of cheesecake. “are you sure you don't want a bite, sugu?” pushing your plate towards him for both of you to share. he only smiles. wiping the cream in your lips that your tongue didn't caught earlier with his thumb and bringing it to his lips.

the action caught you off guard and warmth spread throughout your cheeks. your gaze lowering in embarrassment. geto casually sips his drink and waited for you until you finished and he grabs your bag. slinging it to his shoulder and intertwining your soft hands in his calloused ones.

“say suguru, do you really like me?” you stare at him. finding any kind of hesitation and hints of deceit on his eyes which isn't the right thing to do cause his eyes doesn't lie and he got what people call the angel eyes. the question's been bugging you for a long time cause it was unreal and beyond your wildest dream that geto suguru is dating you. a nobody who doesn't get the second glances until you dated him.

he raises a brow at your question. an amused chuckle slipping past his lips. “it won't last a year if i don't like you, princess.” leaning down to meet your level. “maybe you lost a bet.” his gaze darkened at the reproachful words. “a bet? certainly not. if i want to hurt you. i won't waste my time being with you.” the tone of his voice is cool but there's an underlying threat. it's a warning that you should choose your words carefully.

you simply nodded at his words. satisfied for the mean time and that's all it took for geto to change back to his calm demeanor. his thumb brushing your round cheeks. his large hands dwarfing your own face despite the roundness of it. “good girl.” his hand slowly descends to your neck. caressing your flabby arms and slowly pinching your belly and creeping underneath your shirt.

“not here, suguru.” a look of worry painted in your face as you look at the students scattered in the library. “they won't know, princess and there are things that are needed to be clarified.” the look in your face is priceless. he loves the way how easily bothered you can be at his ministrations but besides it, he really needs you and geto is starting to question that you're the one who's in too deep with your affection towards him, not him.

maybe, all along. he's the one who have fallen too deep for you and he's dancing on the palm of your hand.

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles: Gaslight, Gatekeep, Get Married || Deuce Spade

You get isekai’d into a garbage novel as the villain, so you take it as a sign that morality is optional now. So, you do what any reasonable person would: you set the world on fire (metaphorically… mostly) and somehow bag your knight, Deuce Spade in the process.

Series Masterlist

You sat in absolute silence. Reeling. Processing. Dissociating. The book lay in your lap like the aftermath of a terrible crime, and you were its sole witness.

This was it. This was the literary phenomenon your friends had been screaming about. The novel they had sworn up and down was “life-changing,” “revolutionary,” and “the best thing since sliced bread.”

They had lied.

You had just spent the last twelve hours raw-dogging the most deranged piece of fiction known to mankind.

Your soul had been ripped from your body. Your IQ points had been forcefully extracted like an amateur lobotomy. You were but a husk of your former self.

A single thought floated through your shattered psyche:

I will never know peace again.

With shaking hands, you closed the book. The sound was deafening. A death knell for your last two remaining brain cells.

And then, like a corpse freshly risen from the grave, you stood.

This could not go unanswered. This could not go unpunished.

Your friends would explain themselves.

You stomped through the dark streets like a vengeful ghost, guided by pure, unfiltered spite. It was 1 AM. Civilization had long since gone to sleep. You didn’t care.

Your mind replayed the sheer buffoonery you had just endured.

The heroine: an overpowered dumbass with the survival instincts of a chicken nugget. She was supposed to be a Saintess, and yet she spent 80% of the book actively making things worse. Entire villages burned because of her holy powers, and she had the audacity to be shocked every time it happened.

"Oh noooo, I accidentally summoned divine lightning again!"

AGAIN. AGAIN.

Then there was the Crown Prince, the supposed male lead. A menace. A plague upon this world. He was in love with the villain but too emotionally constipated to deal with it, so instead, he had chosen the path of delusion. This man pursued the heroine not out of love, but out of sheer desperation

"If I can’t be happy, then no one can."

That was his entire character arc.

And let’s not forget the second male lead. The butler. The SPY. He was somehow working for both the villain and the heroine at the same time while also being madly in love with the heroine for reasons that science could not explain. This man switched allegiances like he was flipping through TV channels. You were convinced he woke up every morning and rolled a die to decide whose side he was on that day.

And then. The villain.

Your one hope. Your one saving grace.

A man who started the book as a calculating mastermind and ended it as a broken shell of a human being. You did not blame him. You were right there with him.

By the final chapter, he had stopped trying to kill the heroine. He had stopped plotting world domination. He had stopped everything.

He just sat there, staring into the abyss, wondering how his life had gone so, so wrong.

And honestly? Mood.

You reached your friend’s house.

You did not knock. No. That was for reasonable, rational people. You grabbed a rock from their garden and hurled it at their window with the force of a person unhinged.

A light flicked on. Your friend’s groggy, half-conscious face appeared.

“Holy shit, what the hell—”

“EXPLAIN YOURSELF.”

You pointed an accusatory finger at them, your eyes wild, your soul fractured beyond repair.

“Explain WHAT?” They blinked, rubbing their eyes.

“The book.” Your voice was hollow. “The—thing—you made me read.”

Their face lit up. “OH MY GOD, YOU FINISHED IT?? WASN’T IT AMAZING??”

You had never before in your life wanted to commit a homicide.

You took a deep breath. A slow, shuddering inhale.

Then, in the most broken, haunted voice imaginable, you whispered:

“…I need you to pay for my therapy.”

You stomped down the street, vibrating with pure, unfiltered rage. That book—that war crime bound in paper—had single-handedly destroyed your brain cells, faith in storytelling, and will to live. You couldn’t let your other friend get away with this. No, you were going to kick down their door too and demand compensation for the IQ points you lost.

Unfortunately, fate had other plans.

Just as you turned the corner, a man—no, a menace to society—came hurtling toward you at ungodly speeds.

On a unicycle.

Juggling three live pigeons and a tray of scalding hot coffees.

His face was locked in an expression of sheer, manic concentration, like a circus performer who had just realized—mid-act—that he had made a terrible career choice.

You had exactly 0.2 seconds to process this before he crashed into you at full force.

The pigeons exploded into the sky, shrieking like war victims.

The coffee—boiling, lava-hot coffee—doused you from head to toe, scalding your skin and soul simultaneously.

And the unicycle? Oh. The unicycle was the true villain here.

Because as you staggered back, reeling from the assault on your dignity, the wheel rolled perfectly under your foot.

And then—

You flipped.

Like a medieval peasant being yeeted off a catapult.

You did a full midair somersault, knocked over a trash can, ricocheted off a parked bicycle, and crashed directly through the window of a sketchy pawn shop, where you landed face-first into a display of cursed porcelain dolls.

Your last conscious thought before darkness took you?

This is less painful than reading that book.

At first, you thought it was a dream.

Someone was shaking you. Like, aggressively. Like a demonic chihuahua trying to alert its owner to impending doom.

"Five more minutes," you groaned, swatting at the offending hands.

But then your barely-functioning brain remembered something very important.

You lived alone.

Unless the dust bunnies under your bed had finally formed a rebellion and achieved sentience, nobody should be waking you up.

Your eyes snapped open.

A person.

A man, actually. A very serious-looking man in full medieval armor, staring at you like he was expecting you to start speaking in tongues.

You blinked.

He blinked back.

Your first thought: Wow, the Ren Faire is getting really immersive these days.

Your second thought: WAIT A GODDAMN MINUTE.

Your hands flew to your face—your very much not-your-face face. Your voice, when you gasped, wasn’t your voice. The tailored nobleman’s coat draped over your body? Not your clothes. The ornate bedroom you were in? Definitely not your apartment, where your furniture was 70% discount IKEA and 30% “found on the sidewalk.”

Dread settled in your stomach like a badly microwaved burrito.

Slowly, with the growing horror of a person realizing they've walked into a live horror movie, you turned toward the giant antique mirror across the room.

And fuck your life, you recognized the face staring back at you.

It was him.

The villain.

The villain from that absolute garbage fire of a novel.

You whipped around so fast you almost took yourself out on your own cape.

"You," you pointed at the knight, brain desperately catching up to reality. "What happened?!"

The knight—Deuce Spade, if you remembered correctly—winced.

"Uh," he started, rubbing the back of his neck, "the Crown Prince tried to lean on your shoulder, but, uh… tripped and accidentally drop-kicked you across the ballroom."

Silence.

Absolute, dead silence.

Your eye twitched.

"…What."

You almost died because some love-obsessed dumbass with main character syndrome missed your shoulder???

Your soul nearly left your body, and it wasn’t even because of an assassination attempt, a duel, or a curse—but because the male lead had the motor coordination of a newborn giraffe?!

Your knees buckled. Deuce lunged forward like he thought you were about to die again.

Honestly? Not off the table.

Fine.

Fine.

If the world wanted you to be the villain, then so be it. Who were you to deny fate when it had already drop-kicked you into this absurd, brain-cell-destroying mess of a novel?

Because that was the only way to describe your new reality—an unhinged disasterpiece where the male lead had the grace of a giraffe on roller skates, the heroine had the problem-solving skills of a concussed pigeon, and the villain—you—was doomed to suffer through all of it.

At first, you'd been horrified. Who wouldn't be? One moment, you're in your normal, rational world, and the next, you're waking up as the antagonistic nobleman of a bargain-bin romance novel. The kind of villain who existed solely to sneer in the background while the male lead juggled his misplaced affections and the heroine flailed through life like a lost duckling.

And now?

Now, you were done.

If this world wanted a villain, then you would give them a villain.

You had wealth. Enough to singlehandedly disrupt the economy if you felt like it. And honestly? You were tempted. Imagine the chaos. The sheer financial devastation. Maybe you’d buy every bakery in the capital just to make sure the male lead could never have a romantic “we bumped into each other while buying bread” moment with you. Not on your watch.

You had power. Both in social standing and in actual, real-life magic. The kind that could level mountains, summon storms, or—more importantly—discreetly trip the male lead every time he tried to monologue. And who were you, really, if you didn’t abuse that privilege just a little?

And, most importantly, you had a loyal knight.

Deuce Spade. Unreasonably devoted, painfully adorable, and more earnest than a golden retriever at a job interview. The kind of guy who would probably cry if you gave him a gold star for effort. It was almost enough to make you feel bad about your impending villain arc. Almost. But hey, if you were going to be the villain, at least you had one (1) extremely dedicated dumbass on your side.

So.

Why not cause some chaos?

Why not live your best, most dramatic villain life?

You could weaponize rumors so ridiculous that even the nobility wouldn’t know what to believe anymore. “Oh, the male lead? I heard he serenades his pet goldfish every night.” “The heroine? Trained in mortal combat by a secret society of warrior nuns.” “Me? Oh, I eat diamonds for breakfast and only cry during perfectly aesthetic thunderstorms.”

You could throw lavish, over-the-top parties where instead of dancing, people had to duel for your amusement. Invitation only. Dress code: Regal Menace.

You could buy every single black horse in the kingdom just to ensure that only you could have a proper dramatic villain entrance. What would the male lead ride? A mule? A cow? His own sense of self-importance? You’d pay money to see it.

If you were going to be stuck in this nonsense world, then you were going to make sure it regretted ever summoning you.

The original villain was a man of principles.

And those principles included:

• Never lowering himself to the chaotic cesspool of idiocy that was the crown prince and his tragically uncoordinated heroine.

• Never attending frivolous social gatherings, especially ones that involved said heroine falling into desserts face-first every five minutes.

• Never acknowledging the crown prince’s deeply repressed and painfully obvious feelings for him.

But you? Oh, you were going.

Why decline when you could make things so much worse? Why ignore a golden opportunity for chaos when you could embrace your inner agent of destruction and ruin someone’s day?

So, with Deuce Spade in tow, you marched into battle.

And the game began immediately.

The second you sat down, the crown prince shoved a cup of tea toward you.

You blinked at it. Then at him.

He looked too casual. Too composed. Like he hadn’t been hovering near the tea table for the last five minutes, perfecting a custom blend like a barista going for his final promotion.

Oh, this was rich.

“Oh,” you said, already locked and loaded. “I don’t like tea.”

The prince, who had definitely memorized your preferences in secret, froze.

“Give it to the heroine,” you added, voice laced with malicious delight.

There was a moment of pure, unfiltered suffering.

He recoiled. He made a noise. The tea remained exactly where it was.

And then, after one (1) full-body existential crisis, he stood up, walked away—

And returned.

With coffee.

Which was exactly how you liked it.

“Oh,” you said, even sweeter. “You really didn’t have to.”

“I didn’t,” the prince snapped, gripping the cup with white-knuckled desperation. “I was just—there was extra.”

Sure.

Deuce, the most bafflingly wholesome person present, leaned in conspiratorially.

“You know,” he whispered, “I think he likes you.”

You turned and stared at him.

It was a look that said: Deuce. Buddy. Companion. Do you have even a single brain cell dedicated to social awareness?

“You don’t say,” you muttered, astounded.

“Yeah,” Deuce nodded. “You should put him out of his misery.”

You considered it.

You truly, deeply, wholeheartedly considered it.

And then you did the exact opposite.

With all the deliberate grace of a seasoned actor, you picked up a fork, cut a tiny, delicate piece of cake, and hand-fed it to Deuce.

With the most lovesick expression you could summon.

Deuce, completely missing the emotional warfare in progress, chewed thoughtfully. “Oh, it’s good.”

The crown prince dropped his cup.

The sound was deafening.

He stood up so fast his chair screeched.

And then he stormed away like a scorned Victorian widow.

Checkmate.

The night was young, the chandeliers were gleaming, and the ballroom floor was filled with nobles pretending they liked each other. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume, political marriages, and deep-seated dissatisfaction.

And you? You were bored.

So, naturally, you decided to ruin some engagements.

You adjusted your cuffs, took a sip of your (hopefully not poisoned) champagne, and set your sights on your first target.

Victim #1: Some Poor Fool with a Fiancée and No Survival Instincts.

He was standing beside his beloved, smiling like a man who had never known fear. So you approached him, flashing your most dazzling smile.

“You know,” you said, leaning in just a bit too close, “I always thought you’d end up with someone a little… taller.”

His fiancée, standing right there, gasped.

The surrounding nobles gasped.

He gulped. “W-What?”

You tilted your head, studying him with faux admiration. “It’s just—you have the posture of a man who could sweep someone off their feet. It’s tragic that you’ll only ever lift one person.”

His fiancée immediately looked down at her shoes like she’d just realized she was, in fact, shorter than him.

Engagement status: Cracking.

Victim #2: A Woman Who Was Already Looking for a Way Out.

She was sipping champagne and ignoring her fiancé, which meant she was exactly the kind of person who would enjoy a little trouble.

“Lady,” you greeted smoothly, plucking the glass from her fingers and taking a sip. “You have the eyes of a woman who’s tired of monogamy.”

Her fiancé, standing beside her, choked on his drink.

She laughed.

“You’re terrible,” she purred.

Her fiancé, pale, tried to recover. “H-Haha, what a joke—”

“It’s a shame,” you interrupted, brushing a nonexistent speck off her sleeve. “If things were different, perhaps I’d be the one at your side.”

Her fiancé turned a frightening shade of red.

She sighed dreamily.

Engagement status: Shattered.

Victim #3: A Man Who Looked Too Loyal to Be Swayed.

He stood with his hand in his beloved’s, looking like he’d rather die than betray them. But that had never stopped you before.

You smiled. “It’s rare to see a man so committed.”

His fiancée beamed.

You reached out, lightly tracing your fingers over his palm. “A hand like this… was meant to hold many hearts.”

His fiancée’s smile disappeared as the man leaned into your touch.

The crowd held their breath.

And then.

His fiancée fainted.

Engagement status: Annihilated.

At this point, Deuce—your ever-loyal, increasingly horrified knight—had begun to sweat profusely in the corner.

You waved at him.

He did not wave back.

But just as you were about to go for your fourth victim, you noticed something strange.

The prince—the male lead—was staring at you.

And not in the way one should stare at their supposed rival.

No.

He was staring at you like a man who didn’t understand his own feelings and was handling it terribly.

Deuce noticed before you did.

“Oh no,” he muttered. “Oh no no no.”

The prince stalked toward you, his jaw clenched, his eyes burning with repressed emotion and possibly indigestion.

“You,” he said, pointing an accusatory finger at you.

You raised a brow. “Me?”

“You cannot go around—” He waved his hands wildly, struggling to find the words. “—charming people!”

You blinked, feigning innocence. “Oh? Why not?”

He twitched.

A noble gasped. “Is he… jealous?”

The crowd whispered.

The prince turned red.

Deuce, watching from the sidelines, looked like he wanted to fling himself off the nearest balcony.

Then, just as the tension reached its peak—

“MARRY ME!”

The man whose fiancée just fainted, caught up in the whirlwind of drama and avant-garde societal rebellion, had dropped to one knee and grabbed your hand.

Silence.

Deuce inhaled so sharply he nearly passed out.

The prince’s eye twitched.

And you?

You smiled.

But before you could say yes, no, or something that would make the situation worse, Deuce lunged forward, grabbed your wrist, and hauled you away.

“YOU CAN’T JUST GO AROUND SEDUCING ENGAGED PEOPLE!” he hissed, physically dragging you out of the ballroom.

“Why not?” you grinned. “The nobles love it.”

“I—BECAUSE IT’S WRONG?!”

You hummed, thoughtful. Then, because you were a terrible person, you tilted your head, looked him dead in the eyes, and said:

“You’re kind of cute when you’re flustered.”

Deuce short-circuited.

The prince looked ready to challenge the concept of marriage itself.

And the night was, truly, a resounding success.

Deuce was the perfect knight.

Reliable. Strong. Steadfast. He never faltered in his duties, never hesitated to follow your orders, and—most importantly—he never questioned your absolutely necessary purchases, even when they were, objectively, not necessary at all.

Which was precisely why he was the perfect person to accompany you to the market.

The morning sun hung high in the sky, warming the cobbled streets as merchants called out their wares, their voices blending into a lively symphony of haggling, bartering, and excited chatter. The scent of freshly baked bread and spiced apples drifted through the air, wrapping around you like an old, familiar comfort.

And there was Deuce, ever-dutiful, ever-loyal, ever-patient.

The bags he carried had long since doubled in number, hanging from his arms like trophies of your victorious shopping spree. He bore the burden without complaint, as expected of a knight sworn to your service, though he did glance down at the latest purchase—a third bag of sweets—and furrowed his brow.

“That’s the third bag of sweets you’ve bought.”

You shot him a look, hugging your ill-gotten gains like a dragon hoarding gold.

“And?”

He sighed. “Nothing, I guess.”

Good. That was the correct answer. This was a judgment-free zone.

Everything was going well. The two of you meandered through the market at an unhurried pace, pausing to browse through silks, admire trinkets, and—most importantly—glare at the latest portrait of the crown prince displayed in the town square. It was a routine you had come to enjoy, something almost peaceful in its predictability.

And then—

Deuce stopped.

It wasn’t a gradual pause. It was sudden, abrupt, a full-body halt that nearly sent you crashing into his back.

“Hey—?” you started, but he was already moving, already reaching for his own coin pouch, already stepping toward—

A flower stall?

You blinked, watching as he carefully selected a single bloom, one of the freshest ones in the bunch, its petals full and vibrant. You stood there, bewildered, as he handed over a few coins, nodding his thanks to the merchant.

And then—

Before you could even begin to process what was happening—

He turned and held the flower out to you.

The world tilted.

You stared.

At the flower, at Deuce, at his outstretched hand.

At the way he looked at you, open and earnest and so painfully sincere that you felt something deep in your chest twist.

“…Why?” you asked, voice caught somewhere between confused and breathless.

Deuce tilted his head slightly, a sheepish sort of smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I dunno,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just—thought you’d like it?”

Thought you’d like it.

That was it. That was the entire reason.

Not out of duty, not because he had to, not because of some unspoken obligation—but because he wanted to.

Because he saw something and thought of you.

Your fingers curled around the stem almost too tightly, as if the delicate flower might vanish if you weren’t careful. The petals were impossibly soft beneath your touch, fragile and fleeting, and your heart did something suspicious in your chest.

Deuce had already turned away, already resumed walking, already moved on as if he hadn’t just unknowingly unraveled you.

And you—

You lingered a second longer, staring at the flower in your hand, your face growing entirely too warm under the summer sun.

Then, swallowing against the sudden tightness in your throat, you hurried after him, grateful that he wasn’t looking back to see the ridiculous, helpless smile you absolutely couldn’t fight off.

It started with a passing insult. Something entirely unoriginal, really—one of those tired, rehashed attempts at wit that nobles regurgitated when they had nothing better to do.

You weren’t even offended.

But you were bored.

So, naturally, you smirked, sighed dramatically, and placed a hand over your heart.

“Wow,” you mused, voice dripping with mock despair. “If only I had a loyal knight to defend me. Sigh.”

Deuce didn’t hesitate.

He didn’t even pause to think.

He just whipped around, locked eyes with the offender, and threw down the most aggressive glove slap in recorded history.

“DUEL ME.”

The noble flinched. The entire gathering flinched.

Even you, for a moment, wondered if you’d just summoned an unstoppable force of nature.

Deuce stood there, rigid with unwavering loyalty and violent intent, hand hovering over the hilt of his sword like an Old West gunslinger about to end someone's bloodline.

The noble stammered, looking around as if waiting for someone to intervene. No one did. The nobles had all collectively agreed to stand back and watch this disaster unfold.

You, however, recognized an issue.

“Deuce,” you started carefully. “Buddy. Pal.” You placed a hand on his shoulder, a gesture meant to calm him down.

It did not calm him down.

If anything, his conviction doubled.

“You don’t actually have to fight for my honor—”

“Yes, I do.”

He didn’t blink.

You blinked for him.

The realization sank in with all the subtlety of a grand piano dropping from a three-story window:

Deuce would throw hands for you. Without question. Without hesitation. It was pure muscle memory at this point.

You had too much power.

The nobles were whispering.

The prince was watching.

Some fool in the back had already started placing bets.

And Deuce?

Deuce was ready to kill a man.

“Okay,” you muttered under your breath, “I may have created a monster.”

The noble, sweating profusely, waved his hands. “I—I think there’s been a misunderstanding—”

“There’s no misunderstanding,” Deuce gritted out, stepping forward. “You insulted them. Now, we settle this properly.”

By all accounts, Deuce had just challenged a man to medieval combat over you.

It should have been a simple duel.

Just a normal, everyday case of your overly loyal knight throwing hands because someone vaguely insulted you.

A Tuesday, basically.

And yet, somehow, by the time you arrived at the dueling grounds, it had turned into a full-blown public event.

The stands were packed. Nobles gossiped in hushed whispers. Vendors had set up food stalls. Some particularly enterprising soul was selling commemorative handkerchiefs embroidered with Deuce’s face.

And standing right in the middle of this absolute circus were Riddle and Ace—your reinforcements, arriving at maximum velocity to make your life more interesting and significantly more stressful.

Riddle’s expression alone had the same effect as a guillotine blade. His hands were clenched into fists, his face a vibrant shade of red, and the moment his sharp, judgmental gaze landed on you, you had the distinct feeling that your days were numbered.

Ace, meanwhile, looked like he was having the time of his life.

“You. Absolute. Menace.” Riddle bit out, his words dripping with disappointment and barely-contained rage. “I leave you alone for one week and suddenly you’re challenging people to duels, seducing engaged nobles, and destabilizing the entire social order?!”

“Okay, first of all, I didn’t challenge anyone. That was Deuce.”

“Because you provoked it.”

“Debatable.”

“No, it’s not!”

Ace clapped a hand on your shoulder, beaming. “Don’t listen to him. In fact, I’ll actually pay you to keep this up.”

Riddle’s head snapped toward him, betrayal written across his features. “You’re paying them?! You’re encouraging this?!”

“Duh?” Ace grinned. “I’ve never had this much fun in my entire life. If it means watching them do more insane things, I’ll move the entire city to accommodate them.”

Riddle made a noise that was somewhere between a strangled scream and an impending aneurysm.

You, feeling very smug, turned back to the main event.

Deuce, your knight, your absurdly loyal human wrecking ball, was already standing in the ring, eyes burning with righteous fury.

The poor noble who insulted you was sweating bullets.

The duel started.

The duel lasted five minutes.

The duel ended spectacularly.

Deuce dismantled the guy so thoroughly, so efficiently, that entire bloodlines were probably questioning their place in the universe.

And then, with a smoothness you had not thought possible, Deuce turned, knelt before you, and bowed his head in silent, knightly devotion.

Which was horribly unfair.

Because, up until this moment, you had been so certain that nothing in this world could ever make you weak in the knees.

But this?

This was a problem.

Because the combination of Deuce being stupidly strong, stupidly devoted, and now stupidly attractive in the aftermath of his absolute annihilation of a noble in your name was doing something deeply unsettling to your brain chemistry.

You, a seasoned chaos gremlin, had not been prepared for the sheer level of attractiveness that came from watching Deuce absolutely demolish a man in your honor and then kneel like you were some kind of divine ruler.

And absolutely no one in this arena could be allowed to witness that.

Which is why you did the only logical thing—

You grabbed Deuce by the collar and dragged him the hell out of there.

“We’re leaving.”

Deuce, stumbling after you, genuinely confused: “Wait—? But—?”

“No questions.”

Behind you, Ace hooted.

Riddle yelled something about propriety

The crowd was whispering in scandalized awe.

And the noble who insulted you?

He was probably questioning every life choice that led him to this moment.

Congratulations.

You had once again caused a spectacle.

You had always known that your butler—the tall, brooding, vaguely tragic second male lead—was spying on you.

You just hadn’t expected him to be this bad at it.

At first, you thought he was just terrible at being subtle. The way he lurked behind obvious cover, like a potted plant that was two sizes too small for him, was almost insultingly blatant.

But then, after watching him trip over his own feet and drop his little spy notebook in front of you, you had a stunning realization:

He wasn’t just bad at this.

He was disastrous.

And you—being the responsible, morally upstanding villain that you were—decided that it was your duty to take full advantage of this situation.

So when he inevitably got caught, you gaslit the absolute hell out of him.

“You failed the test,” you sighed, shaking your head with deep, world-weary disappointment.

He froze. “Test?”

“Yes, a test,” you said, folding your arms. “Did you seriously think I wouldn’t notice one of my own subordinates spying on me?”

He blinked. “I—I don't work for the heroine.”

You smiled dangerously. “Don't you?”

The silence that followed was long, painful, and deeply existential.

“…I don't?,” he said, but there was now a distinct lack of confidence behind his words.

Deuce, who had been standing off to the side, vehemently disagreed with everything that was happening.

“You knew about this?” he asked, looking at you like you were a criminal mastermind unveiling your latest scheme.

You ignored him.

Instead, you rested a hand on the butler’s shoulder, offering him a kind, understanding smile.

“Since you are so clearly loyal to me,” you said, gently, “I’d like you to deliver a very special report to the heroine.”

Deuce let out an exhausted groan.

The butler stared at you warily. “…What kind of report?”

“Oh, you know,” you mused, smirking. “Just a few details about my daily routine. The way I conduct myself in my estate. My methods for staying eternally youthful.”

The butler squinted.

“What do you mean, eternally youthful?”

You grinned.

The heroine stood in your ballroom, pointing an accusing, trembling finger at you.

“You’re a witch.”

You grinned.

Then you turned to your butler—who looked increasingly uncomfortable—and hummed, “I see you did your job well.”

Deuce pinched the bridge of his nose. “What did you make him tell her?”

The heroine narrowed her eyes at you, vibrating with righteous fury.

“You—you bathe in your servants’ tears to stay youthful!”

You tilted your head.

“That’s an odd way to phrase ‘providing an excellent workplace with fair wages and health benefits,’ but okay.”

The heroine was not having it.

“And—and you drink phoenix blood to maintain your strength!”

“Well, now, that’s true,” you admitted. “It pairs nicely with a dry red.”

The heroine let out a horrified gasp.

Deuce stared at you like you had personally betrayed him. “You made him tell her you drink what?!”

“I was curious to see how far he’d go.”

The butler, now pale and visibly sweating, looked like he had experienced a crisis of faith during his conversation with the heroine.

And when she reached the final, most egregious offense, he seemed to finally, fully break.

“…And I was told,” the heroine whispered, voice trembling, “that you—” she took a deep breath “—have personally seduced your own knight, corrupting him with your villainous ways.”

You glanced at Deuce.

Deuce turned bright red. “What did you tell her?!”

Your butler, who had finally reached his limit, just turned on his heel and walked out of the room.

“I quit,” he muttered.

Success.

You had been accused of many things since you woke up in this absolute joke of a world as the villain.

Corruption? Sure.

Scandal? Naturally.

Inducing moral panic in the aristocracy because you decided to flirt with engaged people at a ball? Absolutely.

But today was new.

Today, you had apparently brainwashed Deuce Spade into a life of crime.

"You’ve brainwashed him!"

The heroine’s voice rang out across the royal gathering, loud and full of self-righteous fury, as if she had just caught you mid-scheme, cackling over a bubbling cauldron, weaving a spell to turn Deuce into a mindless delinquent henchman.

You, who had been mid-sip of your expensive champagne, slowly lowered the glass.

Deuce, who had been standing beside you like a human wall of pure knightly devotion, blinked in further confusion.

The heroine took a dramatic step forward, looking at him with heartfelt sadness, like she expected him to suddenly start frothing at the mouth and looting everyone in your name.

“Sir Deuce,” she said, voice trembling with emotion, “It’s not too late. I can save you.”

Deuce tilted his head, utterly lost. “Save me from what?”

“From this!” She gestured wildly at you, as if you were some demonic manifestation of lawlessness, corrupting poor, innocent knights into a life of wanton villainy and casual public indecency.

The male lead, who had been hanging around in the background like a disgruntled ex, suddenly perked up at this. “Wait, are you saying we can steal Deuce?”

“Not steal,” the heroine corrected, with the solemnity of a saint bestowing divine mercy upon a lost soul. "Rescue."

And then, in a stunning display of completely unfounded confidence, she pulled out a golden envelope and extended it toward Deuce.

“A direct invitation,” she declared, eyes shining, “to serve under His Highness.”

There was a deafening silence.

Then—

“No.”

The refusal was instant.

No hesitation.

Not even a single second of consideration.

The heroine’s jaw practically dislocated.

The male lead looked personally victimized.

Ace, who had been standing off to the side with Riddle, slowly turned to face him, nudging him with his elbow before whispering something so profoundly stupid that Riddle physically winced.

Then, as if processing a truth he had been avoiding all this time, Riddle sighed, closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Ace, meanwhile, had the absolute audacity to look like he was having the time of his life.

The heroine, still struggling to process this complete failure, managed to find her voice again.

“I—I don’t understand.” She looked between you and Deuce, visibly distressed. “Why? Why would you refuse?”

Deuce gave her the most straightforward, obvious look in existence.

“I don't want to.”

The heroine gasped.

The male lead looked like he had been personally slapped.

Ace, meanwhile, had the absolute gall to let out a quiet, knowing cackle, like he had figured out the ending of a dramatic novel before the characters did.

“I fear he’s too far gone,” the heroine whispered, mourning the loss of Deuce Spade as if he had already perished.

You, meanwhile, had been too busy enjoying the absolute disaster unfolding in front of you to process what just happened.

Not until much later, when the two of you were walking back from the gathering, and you finally turned to him with a frown.

“Wait,” you said, still trying to wrap your head around it, “Why didn’t you take the offer?”

Deuce looked at you like you had just asked him why fire was hot. “Because I’m your knight.”

Oh.

That was—

That was kind of—

Warm.

An unpleasantly warm feeling spread in your chest, like you had just accidentally drunk an entire cup of molten sentimentality.

You didn't like it. You didn't like it at all.

ABORT. ABORT. ABORT.

You cleared your throat, deadpan as possible, and said, “Right. That makes sense.”

Then, with all the grace and subtlety of a spooked alley cat, you turned on your heel and walked away at high velocity, because you were absolutely not dealing with this today.

It doesn’t matter what you do.

You could ignore him. Insult him. Dramatically throw a glass of wine in his face and accuse him of high treason.

Nothing works.

The male lead only seems to fall harder.

And tonight?

Tonight, it’s worse than ever.

Now, he was finding excuses to touch you.

You had arrived at the royal ball with the intention of causing mischief—maybe ruining a few engagements, maybe flirting with people’s spouses just for the fun of it, maybe convincing a few nobles that you were an ancient demon cursed to live among them in disguise—you know, the usual.

What you hadn’t planned for was the crown prince himself swooping in like a predatory falcon, seizing your wrist, and dramatically pulling you onto the dance floor.

There was no escape.

And the worst part?

The entire room was watching.

Which meant you had to grit your teeth and endure it.

The music began.

You stepped forward. He stepped forward.

You tried to maintain a respectable distance.

He?

He did not.

Instead, he pulled you closer—his grip firm, his posture rigid, his expression unreadable as he held you just a little too tightly.

And then—oh, and then.

You felt it.

The slight intake of breath.

The subtle tilt of his head.

The near-invisible shudder that ran down his spine as he inhaled deeply, as if committing your scent to memory.

Your entire body locked up in horror.

What. The. Hell.

Was he—

Was this bastard—

Was he sniffing you?

You immediately tried to pull away, but his vice-like grip did not relent.

“I—” His voice came out a little strangled, and his eyes darted away suspiciously. “You—” He swallowed. “I was just making sure you didn’t smell like poison.”

You stared at him.

Poison.

Poison.

He said that with his whole chest.

Like it was a normal thing to do.

Like it wasn’t the most deranged, lovesick, absolutely unhinged thing you had ever seen in your entire life.

“You think someone poisoned me?” you deadpanned.

“Yes,” he said, nodding a little too quickly. “I thought—I thought maybe one of your enemies slipped something into your drink.”

“So your first instinct was to smell me?”

“YES.”

The sheer delusion in his voice was astounding.

You pushed him off you the moment the song ended, practically flinging yourself across the room in search of sanity, reason, and possibly a priest.

The moment you reached Ace, Riddle, and Deuce, you collapsed into their presence, gasping like you had just escaped the jaws of death.

Riddle took one look at your disheveled state, grimaced, and immediately handed you a handkerchief, as if he could wipe the entire experience off you.

You snatched it up and aggressively scrubbed at your neck.

Ace?

Ace was dying.

He was bent over in laughter, hands on his knees, completely losing his mind.

And Deuce?

Deuce looks like you just drop-kicked his puppy off a bridge.

He is staring at you like you personally betrayed him, his ancestors, and the entirety of knighthood as an institution.

Ace sees an opportunity and takes it.

With zero hesitation, he grabs Deuce by the shoulders and shoves him closer to you.

“You gonna let that slide, man?” Ace teases, grinning like a madman.

“I—” Deuce blinks, still looking dazed and vaguely devastated.

Ace pushes him again. “Dude, do something! Your boss just got publicly defiled.”

Deuce finally snaps out of it, reaching for his own handkerchief—the one with his knightly crest embroidered on it—and gently, carefully wipes at your neck.

It was different from Riddle’s.

Riddle had handed you his like a noble disgusted by filth.

Deuce, however?

Deuce was careful.

His touch was light, his eyes too focused, too serious as he dabbed at the place where the prince’s lips had nearly brushed against your skin.

He was not just cleaning.

He was removing.

It was as if the very idea of another man touching you physically revolted him.

So, in a desperate attempt to make the moment less weird, you forced out a mocking smirk and teased,

“Aw, Deuce. What’s wrong? You don’t like it when he touches me?”

Deuce, sweet, earnest, painfully loyal Deuce, did not hesitate.

“No."

Oh no.

Bwcause something in your stomach flips and your face feels suspiciously warm.

It was bound to happen.

Honestly, with the way you had been leaning on him lately, whispering too-close teases in his ear, and throwing casual flirtations like daggers at his heart, it was only a matter of time before he cracked.

But you—oh, you hadn’t expected it to be like this.

You were lounging on him again today, your head resting against his shoulder, basking in the solid warmth that only Deuce could provide. He had long since stopped complaining about it—stopped stiffening up every time you got close—and instead, he had simply accepted his fate as your personal resting post.

Which, of course, meant it was your duty to push your luck.

So, you did.

With a slow, lazy grin, you tilted your head, let your lips brush a little too close to his ear, and murmured,

“Y’know, Deuce… you’re kind of my favorite.”

It was supposed to be a joke. (kinda)

It was supposed to be just another tease, another drop of fuel onto the fire just to see him sputter and turn red like he always did.

But this time?

This time, he didn’t laugh.

Instead—

He froze.

His entire body went rigid beneath you, his hands clenching into fists, his breath coming sharper, heavier, like he was wrestling with something too big to contain.

And then—he exhaled.

“Are you playing with me, too?”

The words were low.

Rough.

Like he had been holding them back for too long, like they had been simmering inside him, growing heavier with every glance, every touch, every stupid, careless flirtation.

You blinked. “What?”

Deuce shifted, just enough to look at you head-on, and oh.

Oh.

There was something in his eyes—something raw, something vulnerable, something that made your stomach flip in a way you weren’t prepared for.

“You keep doing this,” he muttered, his voice tight, frustrated. “You flirt with me like you do with the other nobles. You—you act like it’s all just a game. But I—”

His breath hitched.

And then, with a quiet, almost desperate laugh, he whispered,

“You know I love you, right?”

Your heart stopped.

“I—”

“I do,” he interrupted, the words spilling out like he couldn’t hold them back anymore. “I do. I’ve been trying to ignore it, trying to be just your knight, just your friend—but every time you look at me like that, every time you say stuff like this—” His jaw clenched. “—I feel like an idiot. Because I know you don’t mean it. I know you’re just playing around. But I—”

He swallowed hard.

“I can’t take it anymore.”

The air between you went still.

Your heartbeat was too loud, your pulse a slow, insistent drumbeat in your ears, and oh.

Oh, this was real.

He was serious.

Deuce squeezed his eyes shut, inhaled sharply, and then met your gaze once more, firmer this time.

“The next time you flirt with me,” he said, voice low, steady, “I’m going to take it seriously.”

“I mean it,” he continued, as if warning you. “You—you don’t get to joke about this anymore. Not with me. Because I’ll—”

His fingers trembled at his sides.

“I’ll take responsibility for it.”

It took you a second to process the words.

Oh.

Oh, he was adorable.

Because even now—even after basically confessing, after baring his heart to you like this, he was still looking at you like he was waiting for permission.

Like he needed you to say it first.

Like he needed to be sure.

And, well—

Who were you to disappoint your favorite knight?

With a slow, lazy grin, you grabbed him by the collar, pulled him close, and whispered,

“Deuce.”

His breath hitched. “Yeah?”

You leaned in, close enough that your lips brushed against his cheek, and murmured,

“Do you want my last name?”

The moment the words left your mouth, his entire body locked up.

And then—

Then he kissed you.

It was clumsy, heated, desperate in the way only Deuce could be—like he had been holding this back for too long, like he was afraid you’d slip away if he didn’t take you now.

And you—

You melted into it.

Because of course he was serious.

Because of course you had always known what you were doing to him.

Because—

Because you wanted it, too.

The ballroom is packed, glittering, expectant.

The chandeliers glow like stars, the music swells in the background, and every noble in attendance is on the edge of their seat, waiting for whatever ridiculous display you’re about to put on this time.

And, oh, are you about to deliver.

You stand tall, your hand resting comfortably in Deuce’s as you make the grandest announcement of your life.

“We’re engaged.”

The room erupts—gasps, whispers, the sharp clink of dropped silverware.

Deuce, standing proudly beside you, looks both smug and overwhelmed, like he’s still processing the fact that you actually said yes and also fully prepared to duel anyone who disagrees.

Ace is counting coins, no doubt because he made a bet about this happening.

Riddle looks like he’s two seconds away from both congratulating you and strangling you for causing another scene.

And the male lead—

Oh, the male lead is not handling it well.

He’s standing there, frozen, his eye twitching ever so slightly, his mouth opening and closing like he’s trying to form a sentence but can’t because his brain just blue-screened.

The male lead—in all his tragic, oblivious, love-stricken glory—then has the nerve to act like he’s concerned.

“I just think it’s irresponsible, the difference in your status.” he says.

The words hit you like a divine insult.

Like the heavens themselves have chosen this as your actual villain origin story.

There is a moment of stillness.

It’s the kind of moment you read about in dramatic novels—the eerie, anticipatory silence before an executioner swings his blade. The nobles are motionless, caught between the sheer audacity of your engagement announcement and the dawning horror of whatever is about to come next.

Because they can feel it.

They can feel the storm brewing inside you, the kind of apocalyptic fury usually reserved for fallen kingdoms and plagues of locusts.

Deuce grips your hand a little tighter, as if sensing the catastrophic levels of rage that are about to explode from your very soul.

And then—it happens.

You let out a slow, incredulous exhale.

And then, at the top of your lungs—

“OH, MY GOD.”

The chandelier shakes.

Somewhere in the back, a noble collapses onto a couch.

A waiter drops an entire tray of champagne glasses.

The heroine, bless her soul, gasps like she’s just watched someone get impaled.

And the male lead?

The male lead flinches.

But he does not back down.

Which is his second biggest mistake tonight.

His first was being born.

You take a deep, suffering breath, and then—oh, you absolutely let loose.

“JUST SAY YOU’RE JEALOUS, YOU PATHETIC, EMOTIONALLY CONSTIPATED DISASTER.”

There is an echoing thud.

Ace has fallen to the ground.

He is actively pounding his fist against the marble floor in a fit of laughter so violent that one of the nobles attempts to call a doctor.

Riddle is gripping his temples, already mourning the loss of his peace.

And Deuce?

Deuce nods along.

Like, yeah. That makes sense.

But you are nowhere near done.

You take an intimidating step forward, pointing aggressively at the male lead’s absurdly symmetrical face.

“Do you think I don’t know?!” you demand. “Do you think I don’t notice when you materialize out of thin air whenever I so much as sigh?? Do you think I don’t see you hiding behind pillars, staring at me with the same expression as a neglected golden retriever!?”

The male lead opens his mouth—probably to deny it.

But you immediately cut him off.

“DON’T EVEN TRY ME, YOU NOBLE IMBECILE.”

The heroine physically recoils.

A duke mutters a quiet prayer.

Ace has fully ascended to the next realm.

“I have proof!” you declare, waving an accusatory finger. “Every time I enter a room, you’re already there, lurking in the shadows like a deranged, overgrown bat. Do you think that’s normal behavior?! Do you think people don’t notice?! I HAVE SEEN THE TOWN CRIER TAKING NOTES.”

Riddle’s entire body twitches.

Because, unfortunately, that is not an exaggeration.

The town crier really has been chronicling the male lead’s unhinged pining in weekly installments.

You take another step forward, voice rising.

“Just admit it! Admit that you have absolutely lost your mind over me, and you’re just mad that I don’t give a single, microscopic shred of a damn!”

The male lead is visibly sweating.

But you are still not finished.

“Listen to me,” you say, voice lowering into something cold, absolute, and devastating. You step forward until the male lead is cornered against a column, towering over him like a vengeful god.

Then, with as much venom as you can possibly summon—

“I value you less than a piece of moldy bread.”

Carnage.

The room erupts into madness.

The male lead physically staggers.

His soul leaves his body.

His knees tremble like he’s about to collapse.

Ace is choking on laughter, beating the floor like a medieval peasant begging for mercy.

Riddle has his hands over his eyes like this is the most humiliating thing he’s ever been forced to witness.

The heroine is looking at the male lead like he’s a dying animal.

And Deuce—sweet, loyal Deuce—just crosses his arms, nods approvingly, and says,

“Yeah. What he said."

You smile, victorious.

You dust off your hands like you’ve just completed a particularly satisfying chore.

Then, you turn back to Deuce, loop your arm through his, and promptly walk out of the ballroom with your beloved knight at your side.

The sun melts into the horizon, casting the ocean in gold and rose, waves curling onto the shore. A warm breeze rolls through the open balcony, carrying the scent of salt and flowers and Deuce Spade trying to subtly overthink again.

Which is unfortunate.

Because you had expressly banned thinking on this honeymoon.

Yet here he is—Deuce , your devoted, beautiful, terminally self-doubting husband—standing by the railing, arms crossed, jaw clenched, deep in Thought.

You know that look.

It’s the look of a man about to say something stupid.

And indeed—

“Do you regret it?” he asks.

You blink. “Regret what?”

Deuce doesn’t look at you. His gaze is on the horizon, all noble knightly brooding, except it’s Deuce, so it just makes him look like a golden retriever contemplating the meaning of life.

“Choosing me,” he clarifies. “I mean, you—you could’ve had anyone. A prince, a noble, someone with status. Someone who actually deserves—”

You physically grab him.

Like, you latch onto him like a barnacle and manhandle him around to face you, because this is quite possibly the dumbest thing he’s ever said, and you refuse to let him say another word.

Deuce, being Deuce, just lets you do it.

He stares at you, startled, lips slightly parted, eyes big and blue and breathtaking.

And you sigh.

“Sweetheart,” you say, voice dry, “you are the densest person I have ever met.”

He blinks.

You take his face in your hands.

“I love you, dumbass.”

A beat of silence.

Then—

Deuce grins.

It’s small at first, hesitant, like he’s still processing the words—like some part of him is still convinced he’s dreaming, that any moment now, he’s going to wake up in the barracks and realize none of this is real.

But then, you thumb over his cheek, gentle, certain, grounding him in reality.

And that’s when it happens.

That’s when his grin breaks into something helpless and bright, something that crinkles the corners of his eyes, something that is so very Deuce that your heart trips over itself.

He hides his face against your shoulder.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, muffled against your skin, voice warm, embarrassed, happy.

You laugh, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him closer.

“Make me.”

His arms tighten around you, and for a while, neither of you move—just standing there, on the balcony of some faraway villa, wrapped up in each other, with nothing and no one to interrupt.

No scheming nobles.

No pushy male leads.

No ridiculous duels or political scandals.

Just you, Deuce, and the rest of your lives ahead.

Series Masterlist ; Masterlist

[mymegrokosmos]

It isn't hard to get Seungcheol's attention. At least, not usually. He tends to keep an eye out in case you need anything. He's usually the first one to notice the slightest sign of discomfort or to catch you dissociation before you even notice you're tuning out yourself.

Not tonight it seems.

You've tried numerous times over the past hour to get a moment alone with your boyfriend. To ask if he would mind if you called it a night. It never seems to pan out.

First Chan barrelled right through your conversation, bless him he didn't even notice you were talking and he really did mean well. Then Soonyoung nearly spilled his drink all down you and you'd retreated to the bathroom to clean up.

You'd come back out mid game of billiards and it felt somehow scandalous to interrupt. That had distracted you for a while you had to admit. Cheol looked good in his plain black shirt and jeans all the time but tonight, matching Hansol's backwards cap with his own and with the way he slid some of the trickier shots home, you had found yourself feeling a little flushed.

You'd tried to catch him on the way to the kitchen to refill his drink only to get sidelined by a very determined Mingyu who apparently had points to prove. Jihoon looked so exasperated you'd taken pity and offered him a break from Gyu's pouting argument for a while only to lose track of your boyfriend in the house once again.

It wasn't like you weren't familiar with the place. You were over at Seungkwan and Jeonghan's at least twice a week. Somehow you still managed to struggle finding Seungcheol until you stumbled into the basement to find them already bickering about poker teams.

Now they were playing their own little version of a round robin tournament and you'd finally had enough. You tried catching your boyfriend's eye but he was completely focused on whatever Jihoon was saying. You didn't want to interrupt but you were dead on your feet.

You trudged upstairs, throwing on a tired smile when Jisoo appeared in the living room. He waved. You waved back.

"You heading out?"

You nodded. "I think it's time I called it a night. I have cozy pyjamas and a cup of hot tea calling my name back home."

He laughed, stepping forward to pull you into an awkward side hug without spilling the handful of drinks he was balancing in one arm. You patted his back.

"It was nice seeing you Shua. You're still coming by Saturday for that baking book club right?"

He nodded as he pulled back, readjusting the drink distribution to balance them across two hands. "I wouldn't miss it."

"I'll see you Saturday then."

"Mm, you want me to grab Coups for you?"

You shook your head. "No, let him finish his game. It seemed like he and Hannie were on a winning streak. I don't want to pull him away when he's having a good time."

Jisoo blinked at you. "Are you sure?"

"Yes Shua, I'm sure." You smiled. "I'll get an uber. He deserves to enjoy himself, especially after the week he's had. I'll text him when I'm on my way."

He didn't seem convinced but Jisoo nodded. "Okay, get home safe then. Text me when you get back?"

You kissed his cheek. "I'll text you and Hannie both." You promised.

He disappeared downstairs and you made your way through the living room back to the front entrance. It didn’t take long to grab your purse from the closet and slip your shoes back on. You were just pulling out your phone to schedule a car when footsteps down the hall startled you.

Before you could turn a hand came down to rest on your shoulder. "Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?"

You leaned back into him, tilting your head to look at your boyfriend. "Shua tattled on me huh?"

Cheol just blinked at you, his other hand finding it's usual place on your waist. "He said you looked wiped. His words, not mine."

You closed your eyes, just letting yourself rest against him for a minute. The hand on your waist slid down to your hip, thumb hooking into the belt loop of your jeans. He pulled you closer, hand on your shoulder rubbing a little warmth back into you.

"Baby? You haven't even left the house yet and you're already freezing. Why didn't you come get me?"

"You were busy."

You could feel the exhale as he sighed, pulling back from you slightly. "You know I'll always make time for you."

You turned, shaking your head and reaching up to cup his face in both hands. "Cheol, you shouldn't have to. Not always."

He opened his mouth to protest but stopped, arms crossing over his chest as he leaned back on his heels to listen. One thing about Seungcheol was that as a partner he would always hear you out before pointing out why he disagreed or arguing about anything.

Your communication wasn't always perfect but you had a system and, for the most part, it worked pretty well for you both. So you smiled and leaned up to peck his lips before continuing. That appeased him a little. Not much but he had his listening ears on and tuned into what you were saying.

"You were having fun and I'm capable of getting home on my own. I would have texted you to let you know I was safe but you should also be able to spend time with your friends without constantly having to check up on me."

He frowned and your hands slid down to rest against his neck, one moving to rub his bicep soothingly. He melted a little at the affection but you knew he still didn't like it.

"I would have told you, I promise. I tried so many times earlier but I kept getting dragged off by someone or other and you kept getting distracted. It's a little hard to tell you I'm ready to head home when I'm in the middle of mediating JunHao bickering and trying not to pick sides."

He softened at that, eyes fond as the barest hint of a smile curled at the corners of his lips. "Yeah that never ends well."

You nodded, stepping a little closer. "Go finish your game. I'll call an uber and be in bed nice and warm and ready for cuddles when you get back."

He glanced over his shoulder and then took your hand, bringing it up to his lips. "Call me when you get back?"

You smiled. "Promise."

He nodded. "Okay. But wear my jacket. It's cold. I'll get a ride back with Jihoon or Wonwoo."

You leaned up to steal a kiss. "Mm deal. Call me when you're on the way?"

That seemed like a fair compromise for both of you. He nodded, stepping back to get his jacket from the closet and helping you into it.

"I will. Be safe. I'll see you soon."

He insisted on zipping you into his jacket, putting the uber charge on his card and standing with you until the car pulled into the drive. You smiled as he opened the car door for you and leaned up for a last kiss before bundling you into the vehicle.

"Bye, I love you Cheollie."

"I love you too baby. See you soon."

[thestarssecrets]

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Astrology Observations

•all of these are purely my own observations and opinion.•

TW: mention of body issues and dissociation

Leo Risings almost always have some sort of body issue trauma or confidence issues.

Libra Mercurys when meeting people all have this certain type of awkward laugh like a “pff” noise and humm a lot in agreement even when they don’t agree. (this is more tailored with virgo and gemini placements in the mix with it but if you’re a libra mercury and this resonates without those lmk!)

Mars and Saturn in the 1st house when unhealed makes everything a competition. They have to be “successful”. If that means knocking you down a pegs or talking shit about you to make them feel better about themselves…they will do it. If it’s in Leo they have to have all the attention. If it’s in Aquarius they will act unbothered and aloof but talk mega shit about you. etc. whatever sign these planets are in it causes friction. there is a constant yearning to push but saturn restrains it. They might feel like they have to be constantly be in action or “maintaining” their image to be enough. This causes a more than deep inner frustration when they see someone achieving the things they want.

Gemini Sun in the 11th I feel like fits the stereotype of “gemini being two faced” the most. Their ego is constantly changing from the information and energy they are absorbing from other groups of people. Very chameleon like. If they don’t have a strong sense of self, or other planets in the chart that suggest this, i feel like it could lead to identity/self image issues. Same for the 7th house but i feel like the 11th house is more pungent. It’s not just personal relationships it’s community and the social world as a whole.

12th house placements are the worst when it comes to reflective people. The 12th house often holds things that are hidden from ourselves. Thinking about it on the chart wheel, the 12th house is right above the 1st. Almost as if it’s what guides us but it’s unseen. If there’s any personal planets in the 12th house and they are aspected heavily it could show us repressed issues that control the persons life without their knowledge of it. Whenever they meet people that force them to face themselves it’s particularly hard for these natives, not because it’s hard information to swallow, but because the information and emotion that comes with it can be confusing as a whole. From my experience they often shut people out or avoid them completely because they aren’t ready to face those issues.

Virgo Moons often have mothers that are self critical. I’ve noticed the mothers of virgo moons have body issues and obsessed over it. This can lead them to unconsciously pick up on these critical,self improvement mindset. it’s very important for these natives to be aware of the relationship to the mother and themselves. i’ve also met other virgo moons and this remains true!!

8th house moons need to feel understood more than any other house moon placement. They feel deeply and crave soul-level connections. day to day connections are probably draining for this person. to feel emotionally stable they need a person that gets them completely,fully,and nakedly. trust and authenticity is vital to this native.

Almost every scorpio moon i’ve met are disconnected from their feelings. personally i’ve never met one that didn’t feel distant emotionally. this could be because of their protective nature emotionally or because their emotions are too intense for them to feel themselves. either way it’s very interesting to see, coming from a scorpio rising, how scorpios energy works. my sister and boyfriend both have scorpio moons, the two closest people in my life, and there is always still a sense of mystery there.

Moon in the 12 house often repress their emotions so much it could lead to dissociation. I don’t have this placement myself, but i recently met someone that gets my emotional energy like no other and she has her moon in the 12th house. Some issues that come up are knowing you feel a lot and deeply but it’s just out of reach for you to truly get to the “bottom” of the feeling. Feeling so overwhelmed that you don’t know how to react in a moment that would normally prompt a reaction. Taking on people’s emotions because they “sense” the emotions others aren’t verbally voicing.

10th house stelliums especially with saturn feel like they have to achieve something career wise before they do anything else in life. It could be from an outside force or themselves, but it’s very important for these natives to understand that their success is not directly tied to who they fundamentally are. It’s okay to fail and it’s important to try re define what success to this native actually looks like.

If you have Uranus or Neptune in the third house you might randomly get spiritual downloads or hits from writing, driving in your car, listening to music, words standing out from listening to someone’s conversation, radios, school work.

Sagittarius Moons depending on what house and how it’s aspected can be deep feelers. They feel most comfortable focusing on the bright side of things and making light of situations, but the need to find meaning and purpose to an emotion is still there, just like any other sagittarius placement. If they find enjoyment in finding meaning to their emotions they could start to feel comfortable processing deeper complex emotions. they might intellectualize emotions on a more negative note.

•that’s all for now! if you have any questions feel free to shoot them!

pictures: Meawbin The Creepy Cat

Information: thestarssecrets. do not steal.

[pathologicalreid]

always, i'll wait | s.r.

in which spencer dedicates himself to pulling you out of your depressive state

margotober

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: severe depressive episode, dissociation, medication, reader not taking care of herself, not eating, death, corporeal mark word count: 2.16k a/n: if even one person understands what i was doing when i wrote this then i can die happy. based on this request! i hope you enjoy!

The cushion beneath you was slowly becoming displaced. Your body descends into the cavernous no man’s land that is the crevice of your couch as you stare straight ahead. The TV screen went dark moments ago. The blackness following the Are you still there? screen of your show.

Tugging the knit blanket you had curled up with last night under your chin, you close your eyes, the tears that were welling falling sideways down your face until they land on your flattened pillow. The blanket still smells like Spencer, and you can’t help but wonder how long it’ll take before the scent of his tea tree shampoo fades away entirely.

You could lay on the couch for the rest of your life, and you’d still never be able to understand your actions from the past few days. Distracting yourself from the ache in your heart by wondering if your decomposing body would leave a corporeal mark on your couch.

When you open your eyes and find all too familiar ones staring back at you, the only reasonable explanation is that you’re already dead. You’re dead and your punishment is having Spencer Reid give you puppy dog eyes for the rest of your eternal damnation.

And you’d deserve it.

“How long have you been lying here?” Spencer asks you, using the coffee table for support as he shifts from a squat to a kneel. Tentatively, his hand rests on the couch cushion, just in front of yours.

You blink absently in response. Not only are you being forced to look at the man whose heart you broke, but he’s seemingly intent on making you face the fact that you’ve been on the couch since last night.

The concern deepens on Spencer’s face when you don’t respond, “Can you hear me?”

In the back of your mind, you wonder how he managed to get into your apartment without a key, but you don’t air this concern to him, you just look at him.

Slowly, he reaches into his pocket, typing out a quick message on his phone before leaving the device face down on your coffee table. “Honey, will you talk to me?”

Wanting to avoid the visage of your ex-boyfriend in front of you, you let your eyes fall shut again, grunting when your punishment grows sentient and gently shakes your shoulder.

“Hey, uh uh, eyes open,” he chides, revealing himself as the real version of Spencer.

You frown at him, partially in disbelief and partially in distaste, “What are you doing here?” You ask, your voice garbled from lack of use.

His concern softens slightly at the sound of your voice, “No one’s heard from you in two days.”

Lifting your head from the pillow, your eyes widen slightly, “Days?”

Spencer nods in confirmation, “Have you been on the couch this whole time?”

Furrowing your brows, you rest your head back on the pillow, “No, I’ve been… It was… what?”

Gently, he reached out and rested a hand on your head, gently using the pad of his thumb to gently smooth hairs from your forehead, “What’s the last thing you remember?” His question holds no accusation, the honey-sweet tone nearly enough to make your bottom lip quiver.

“Breaking up with you,” you breathed. The text that you had sent in a flurry of tears being the only thing that resurfaced in your memory.

Hi, we’ve gotta break up. Sorry.

Admittedly, it wasn’t the most eloquent text message that you have ever written, but at the time, you weren’t yourself. At least now you knew that you were in the early stages of a dissociative episode. “I broke up with you,” you repeated, more for yourself than for him. “What are you doing here?”

Softly, Spencer smiled at you, cupping your cheek before standing up and grabbing your TV remote, switching the screen from the muted black of standby mode to the pitch black of being completely off. “Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat, “That won’t work for me.”

Peering up at him, you prop your head up in your hand, “What do you mean?” Confusion ruminated through your already troubled mind.

He raised his eyebrows, went over to the curtains, and opened them, allowing rays of light to stream into your living room, the daylight made you cringe, but eventually, your eyes would adjust. “You do not get to drop off the face of the Earth. I won’t let you get lost like that,” he told you, his sugar-coated tone cracking as he grew sterner.

Spencer never minded the way you sank to the bottom of your brain, he was always willing to make the trek to rescue you, but you didn’t want that anymore. “Well, I’m up now,” your body was beginning to settle into your skin once again, “You don’t have to stay.”

Your boyfriend—the jury was still out on that one—scoffed in response, sitting himself down on the corner of your coffee table, “Fine, I’ll just wait here until you can give me a valid explanation for ending our relationship via text message.”

Parting your lips, you hauled yourself to a sitting position, “I thought… I didn’t—” No, he completely had you there. You owed him more than a text message, but you didn’t have the dignity to face him. You knew he’d talk sense into you.

“What happened two nights ago?” Spencer asked, resting his elbows on his knees and watching you intently. “Did something happen to you that you felt like you couldn’t share with me?”

Shaking your head, you reached up and wiped your nose with the sleeve of your sweatshirt, “No, nothing like that.”

His expression softened, looking at you, desperate for an explanation, “Then what was it, baby? You know you can tell me anything.”

Your throat burned with emotion, and holding back tears didn’t take any effort—your body was so devoid of water that none even bothered to form. Even so, you hiccupped a dry sob, covering your mouth with your hand to muffle the sound, “I didn’t want you to have to worry about me.”

Spencer’s face fell. Your heart broke even more than it had when you sent that text, “I tried to text you back. I called you. Everyone called you.”

You hadn’t the slightest idea where your phone was, patting around the couch for any sign of it. “I didn’t hear anything,” you frowned, unsure where it had ended up.

“Are you missing time?” He asked, checking in on where exactly you were mentally.

Nodding, you leaned into the couch cushions. You couldn’t account for anything the night before last, you had sent that text and disappeared into the depths of your own mind. An organ that was necessary for survival playing wicked games with your life.

His lips parted, readying himself to ask a question that he clearly didn’t want to, “Are you off your medication?”

You flinched at his question, screwing your eyes shut and nodding again. “They’re at the pharmacy,” you told him, “My head hurts.”

“You’re coming back,” he said, watching the way your eyes flittered around the room anxiously. “Have you eaten anything?”

His question was innocent enough, but you found yourself unaware of the answer. Surely you had eaten something in the last twenty-four hours, you hadn’t been truly withering away on your couch—had you? The tremble of your hands told a completely different story, you steepled your fingers together to keep them from shaking.

Taking your silence as a response in and of itself, Spencer nodded, “Do you want breakfast?”

“I don’t want you to take care of this,” you told him, the response coming out harsher than you had initially intended.

Realization washed over Spencer’s features, looking at your situation in a completely new light. “That’s what this is?” Hurt seeped into his voice, cocking his head to the side, “Baby, you’re warping your need for independence into a reason to push me away. Why?”

Taking a ragged breath, you shrugged helplessly at him, “You’ve spent your whole life taking care of people, and I don’t want to add to it anymore.”

“Has it occurred to you that I like taking care of you?” He asked, voice softening as he leaned forward to press a kiss to your hairline. “Go take a shower, I’ll get breakfast going,” he instructed you, tenderly tugging the knit blanket off of your body before helping you to your feet.

You grimaced at the feeling of your feet on the floor, “I don’t want to shower.”

“It wasn’t a suggestion,” Spencer said over his shoulder as he made his way into your kitchen, reaching in the cabinets for your frying pan.

You unceremoniously returned from the shower; strands of damp hair draped over your shoulders. “Are you going to tell me how you got into my apartment in the first place?” Despite the length of your relationship, you’d never given him a key to your apartment. The leasing office had only given you one.

His back was to you, his expression literally unreadable, “Your landlord did.”

“And why did she do that?” You asked, pulling the glass of water that you assumed he poured for you across the granite countertops.

Spencer turned the frying pan on its side, scraping the scrambled eggs off of the Teflon surface and onto a plate. “I told her she was either going to do it for me or for the police when I call for a wellness check,” he informed you, placing the plate in front of you and pushing the saltshaker over to you. He must’ve noticed the face you were making at the eggs on your plate, because he spoke up once more, “You need the protein.”

You recognized that this wasn’t an overreaction to the situation. In fact, Spencer had maintained a completely calm demeanor when speaking with you, but you saw further past his façade. You saw the way the vein on his temple popped when he clenched his jaw, taking the saltshaker into your hand, you added some on top of the eggs before mixing them around, “I scared you.”

While Spencer lived in the district, your address was in Maryland, and you knew he wasn’t above calling Will at MPD to do a wellness check on you, “Yes.”

His answer was simple, and yet, your chest clenched at the brevity of it, “You’re mad at me.”

“Yes,” he answered again, resting his hands on the countertop and leaning over it. He watched as you stirred the eggs around on your plate, steam rising from them as you did. “Do you want to come with me to pick up your prescription?”

You hummed as you shoveled the first bite of eggs into your mouth. “Sure,” you said, watching him dig a carton of blueberries out of your fridge.

Dropping a handful on your plate, careful to make sure they don’t roll into the eggs, Spencer seals the container again, “Antioxidants and vitamins,” he murmured to no one in particular.

“How can you forgive me?” You asked Spencer, watching him endearingly pop a few blueberries into his mouth before placing the container back into your refrigerator.

He shook his head, “It’s not a matter of forgiveness. It wasn’t your fault.”

You couldn’t help but feel like you needed to shoulder the blame, “Then whose fault is it, Spence?”

“There is no fault. At least, there’s not one that falls on either of us. I can’t fault you for your brain. No matter how misguided you might have been, you thought you were acting in both of our best interests,” he admitted, rinsing the pan in the sink.

A beeping sound caught your attention, “Did you start a load of laundry?”

He nodded, scrubbing lightly at the dish in the sink, “Your hamper was full.”

“You’re doing too much,” you told him, pressing your lips in a thin line.

Setting the pan on a drying mat, he dried off his hands before walking over to you, hooking a finger beneath your chin before he murmured, “How is what I’m doing for you right now any different than when you took care of me after I got shot in the leg?”

Your jaw slackened. You had unofficially moved in with Spencer last year when he had been shot in the knee by an UnSub, helping him with everything from walking around the apartment to cooking.

Taking your lack of response as an answer, he nodded to himself, “I am always here for you.” He nodded his head in the direction of the door, “Come on, the sooner we get to the pharmacy the sooner we can start getting your apartment back in order."

He walked around you, pivoting on his heel as he held out a hand for you to take. Eventually, you accepted the hand he had extended, following him outside, into the light.

[oceanicwriting]

probably.

summary: after years, you've finally realized that you are in love with your best friend theodore nott. but what will he think about it when you confess your feelings in the most foolish way?

pairing(s): bsf!theodore nott x hufflepuff!fem!reader

a/n: aaah! working hard to get back and write, but between my road trip and my preparation for my college year, it's getting hard! send me strength xoxo.

. . .

ㅤㅤㅤ —is that okay with you? —you look at him, aware that you’ve dissociated every word because of how pretty his hair looks this morning—. did you hear me?

ㅤㅤㅤ you just hope, more like pray, that he doesn’t smile. you want his eyes to not get smaller at the rise of the corner of his lips, showing his perfect, shiny teeth. you want his eyes to stay confused, not bright with the amusement he gets from seeing you lost. you want him to look away to avoid knowing the truth. although, of course, theodore would never stop doing that. shooting arrows straight to your heart full of them.

ㅤㅤㅤ —are you okay?

ㅤㅤㅤ —yes. of course i am. why wouldn’t i be? i have no problem with what you said —you answer, unable to hold his bright gaze much longer.

ㅤㅤㅤ theodore has a tender smile drawn on his face. it's so cute that you glance at it for a second out of the corner of your eye to save it in a chest of the most beautiful images.

ㅤㅤㅤ —so you're going to let me copy the entire potions exam? —and your jaw drops straight to the floor, opening and closing your mouth like a fish out of the water—. you didn't hear what i said.

ㅤㅤㅤ this time, you have to be honest, shaking your head down and listening again to what he had proposed for the weekend.

ㅤㅤㅤ you and theodre nott met one day in the second year at hogwarts. you stopped talking about the details of that encounter a long time ago, but he, a full-fledged slytherin, was the only one who stopped the mockery of the joke that a bunch of ravenclaws had played on you at christmas dinner. now, strangely enough, a clumsy hufflepuff and a coveted slytherin have declared themselves the best friends in the wizarding world. or you were, until recently, when one-sided feelings blossomed.

ㅤㅤㅤ you and theodore are already seniors, and although you think your feelings are nothing new, less than two months ago, you had a majestic revelation. why else would you blush when he tells you how gorgeous a piece of clothing looks on you? why else would you feel your heart race when he hugs you or kisses your cheek? why else do you become a bundle of nerves when he smiles? you were totally lost.

ㅤㅤㅤ —are you sure it won’t be a problem for the others? —you ask, playing with the notepad in your hands—. i don’t want your friends to feel uncomfortable with my presence.

ㅤㅤㅤ —oh, come on, you know that the boys adore you. —theodore closes the book you were studying and forces you to look at him, now understanding the root of your naive question—. you don't mean the boys? right?

ㅤㅤㅤ of course not. what you're really worried about is theodore's ex-girlfriend, with whom he assured that ended on good terms, as friends, according to everyone. the worrying thing is that theodore commented on one occasion, thanks to a slip of his own words and your insistence, that you had been the reason for almost all their arguments. he always spends a lot of time with you, always runs if you need him, always does what you want, and you'll always be on top of her or anyone. and theodore nott could never deny that.

ㅤㅤㅤ —you don't have to worry about that —he assures, caressing your hand gently—. come on, come with us. i promise i'll do my best when we study together and...

ㅤㅤㅤ and he doesn't need to keep talking because there would be no way to refuse when his warm touch turns your stomach, and the innocent look of his blue eyes never stops connecting with yours.

ㅤㅤㅤ when the weekend comes, overwhelmed by the machinery of thoughts, you had decided that you would be honest with theodore that same afternoon. there was little time left to finish the year, and if anything went wrong, you could hide under the endless exams that were coming. it was the perfect plan.

ㅤㅤㅤ it was already the weekend and you were going upriver, because according to theodore, who is walking with the walkman headphones hanging from his neck and at full volume, kilometers towards the mountains there is a beautiful waterfall. something that you had never seen due to your lack of courage.

ㅤㅤㅤ —how much longer? —you ask, tripping over your own steps for the fifteenth time, and only avoiding the fall thanks to theodore catching you again.

ㅤㅤㅤ —a little more, miss i-can’t-stand-sports.

ㅤㅤㅤ you intend to hit his shoulder for the mocking tone, but when you turn to see him he has a huge smile on his face and you can’t contain the explosive blush that settles on your cheeks.

ㅤㅤㅤ you’ve already walked a lot of time, almost infinitely for someone with a great thorn of honesty buried in his tongue. the whole time of the walk your hands have been sweating, your heart hasn’t given you a moment of rest, your head keeps inventing scenarios and, even you’ve had many opportunities to take the great weight off your shoulders, you never manage to get the words out of your mouth.

ㅤㅤㅤ you look at him, theodore has his eyes glued to the road, taking confident steps and softly humming the song that comes through his headphones. maybe that was the biggest difference between you. nott was such a confident boy that he could declare his love to a girl whenever he wanted, sure that he wouldn't be rejected or that they could fall in love with him no matter what.

ㅤㅤㅤ —theo... —it's a whisper that escapes almost without thinking. the others are steps away from you, walking between animated conversations—. i...

ㅤㅤㅤ —theo! —it's his ex-girlfriend, who calls from the group of friends, stopped a couple of meters away—. they've enchanted this path.

ㅤㅤㅤ —give me a second —he shouts back, looking at you intently again—. what were you going to say?

ㅤㅤㅤ and the words get stuck again when all his friends are looking in your direction, waiting for theodore to analyze the situation. then, feeling a heat embrace your cheeks, you deny and assure that you should see what happens first. he didn't seem happy with the way you divert attention, but he doesn't put up any resistance either.

ㅤㅤㅤ —a simple spell, —you say, after examining the magical charge of the place—. but it's one on top of another. if we continue this way, they'll take us to hogwarts without us realizing it.

ㅤㅤㅤ —there must be another sector that isn't enchanted. should we split up and search?

ㅤㅤㅤ —how will we know if we find the other entrance? —mattheo says, taking a drag from the joint they were sharing—. if we turn on a light, they'll discover us from the castle. i imagine they must be watching this shit...

ㅤㅤㅤ everyone agrees, nodding until theodore decides to speak—: you can call them every now and then. you're a legilimens.

ㅤㅤㅤ you look at him. even though you'd like to say no, you're speechless. using your ability for something like this, especially with his best friends, was a matter of death. if you wanted to let them know something, you would have to project yourself into their minds, and every single thing you presented to them would be about theodore nott. his friends would have to be very dumb not to notice your feelings.

ㅤㅤㅤ —that will help, —lorenzo says—. draco and i will go to the right. riddle, zabini, and parkinson can go that other path. maybe it will work. you two continue through the field on this side.

ㅤㅤㅤ even though you would like to say something, you don’t manage to do so before everyone disappears down the paths berkshire had assigned.

ㅤㅤㅤ —are you coming? —theodore asks, walking with his back to the path and inviting you with a smile to follow him.

ㅤㅤㅤ during all the time you spent searching, you didn't talk much more than about finding the way. theodore was sure that they should have left a space to enter, so you both surrounded the magical energy. sometimes, he insisted on knowing what you were going to tell him before. however, you are a mastery in diverting his attention every time.

ㅤㅤㅤ theodore nott with his wavy hair that falls unruly in all directions, white cheekbones, and profiled jaw. it was even surprising that you hadn't noticed your crush before, fantasizing every time about being close to or living with him. until very recently, you would have said that your reactions were just shyness, fear, or surprise, and the scenarios in your head were simply a product of friendship. now it was as clear as water that it wasn't just that, that there was much more behind your emotions.

ㅤㅤㅤ —hey, come here. feel this, —theodore says, calling you over to stand beside him between two large trees.

ㅤㅤㅤ as you approach, you notice that there is no magical pressure pressing against your skin, or if there is, it’s imperceptible. theodore then smiles, certain that he’s found an entrance.

ㅤㅤㅤ —call the boys.

ㅤㅤㅤ you freeze, looking at him with a bit of fear. it takes theodore a second to notice your dismay, his expression changing to one of bewilderment soon after.

ㅤㅤㅤ —what’s wrong?

ㅤㅤㅤ —can’t we turn on a light? i don’t think they’re watching from the castle. don’t you think they’d have come looking for us by now? besides, the boys could have found another entrance. maybe we could go after them and...

ㅤㅤㅤ he frowns, stopping your words—: it's still dangerous to turn on a light, and if they find something, we'll know about it now. come on, you've never had a hard time doing it.

ㅤㅤㅤ you'd like to comply with what he asks, but you take two steps back and step on some stones that make you wobble on your feet. theodore extends his arm to grab yours, trying to stop the fall. however, his own body betrays him and falls with you. one of theodore's hands reaches for the back of your head, protecting it from the fall, and the other supports its own weight to not crush you completely.

ㅤㅤㅤ —shit...

ㅤㅤㅤ his breath collides with yours, making you feel dizzy because of the smell of his perfume and body heat trapped between you two. your whole body has tensed up at the collision, and even if you want to move, you can’t. you look at him then, lingering as you feel the red in your cheeks build up. it was now or never. maybe it’s because of the way his body hasn’t moved an inch, almost enjoying the situation, or because you can’t stop the avalanche of terror that being discovered by his friends causes you.

ㅤㅤㅤ —i like you. —it feels like a bucket of cold water falling on your head, taking you straight to the reality—. i only realized it a few months ago. i know we’re friends, and you probably think this will ruin us. don’t you think so? well, i do. but just think that this never influenced our friendship, even though i probably felt this way from the first day we met. i've always liked you. probably since before we met, if you want me to be honest. this is so dumb. do you think it doesn't make sense? probably...

ㅤㅤㅤ —can you stop saying probably all the time? —theodore interrupts, sitting on the floor, looking at you without any expression you can decipher.

ㅤㅤㅤ a terrifying silence settles between you two. theodore just stares at you, enigmatic and incapable of anything else. you sit down, facing him.

ㅤㅤㅤ —theo? —and with all the fear that runs through your body, you would like to have another reaction than the unbearable silence of the trees dancing—. please, say something.

ㅤㅤㅤ and it happens so fast that it's hard to process. theodore has taken your face, leaning down to collide with your lips and light up thousands of signals throughout your body. the simple contact, although short and soft, had managed to make imaginary fireworks come out of your ears. theodore can't leave everything there because the moment he separates, he attacks your lips again, this time with a playfulness that takes you time to follow. your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him tenderly. theodore's hands, which now travel to your hip, make you sigh between the warm movement of his mouth against yours.

ㅤㅤㅤ —theo... —you whisper against his lips, getting him to separate to take a breath of air.

ㅤㅤㅤ —could it have taken you less time to realize it? —he leaves his head against yours, joining your forehead as your bodies adjust to the outburst from a while ago—. don't you think?

ㅤㅤㅤ —what?

ㅤㅤㅤ he smiles, caressing and brushing his rings on your face.

ㅤㅤㅤ —how much i've waited for you to fall in love with me. at this point, i thought it would never happen with all the planning we did with parkinson. didn't you realize how much i tried?

ㅤㅤㅤ your cheeks turn a deep crimson again that it's impossible to look away, because theodore reaches your face to look at you for a while before kissing you again as if he couldn't get enough. the rest of the afternoon passes like that, stuck in the middle of the forest, talking as if he could see a new part of you. now you are as familiar as two friends, but as unknown as two newly in love.

[parfaitblogs]

astronomy ❀ s. reid x reader

in which nothing can live forever, and you would be naive to believe that something as minor as this relationship will be exempt from that fate. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: angst tags: s10 spencer reid. maeve as a plot point. argument yay. spencer says some mean things (#needthat). all around unhappiness. stars and light and the sun. lack of communication. reader my avoidant attachment queen. i’m holding your hand throughout 🫂 word count: 2.7k a/n: a late happy mercury retrograde. sorry for disappearing off the face of the earth for a hot minute. here's how my brains been feeling. i don't really know what this is. it was written amidst a dissociative episode. hopefully future me figures it out.

"your worst sin is that you have destroyed and betrayed yourself for nothing." (fyodor dostoevsky) 

A melodic hum of air whirs in this apartment. Keeping dust particles from settling on too many surfaces, swirling around your heads. Tiny, and unseen, but there. You familiarise yourself with the thought of them being there. They tickle your skin when you sit down in the armchair nobody ever really resides in now, and you find comfort in knowing there is more that exists invisibly than just your own feelings. 

He does not say anything to you as you tuck your feet beneath yourself, and it hurts, but a large part of you doesn't want him to anyways. He will only say things that will liquidise your brain into thinking he cares more than he does, and you have had too long of a day to act like he is not using bare palms to crush your heart. Too heavy of a week to let him bypass your walls once again. 

A foreign voice tells the air you need to talk, and you distantly recognise it as your own. You had rehearsed the very sentence in your car a thousand times. Once it got past your lips, this would all become easier to discuss. 

It isn't. 

You're focussed on the steam that lifts from a cup of coffee he had probably made seconds before you knocked on his door. An impromptu visit he did not ask you for, but you hope he understands your awful guest manners once this is all over. 

"Talk about what?" he answers the question you don't even remember asking, and out of the corner of your eye, you see him tense when a shuddering breath leaves your lips. 

You wonder if he's shocked when you tell him you want to end things. 

It's storming outside. The rain pelting against the window mirrors your heavy heart, but you aren't too naive to believe it is storming in your name. Though, there are few pleasures in life you still enjoy these days, and perhaps pretending the universe is centring around you for just this one night isn't selfish. 

"You want to end things," he repeats your words back to you. They don't sound right. Like a language Earth's never discovered. Two weeks ago you wouldn't have ever dreamed uttering these words. 

Two weeks ago, you were incandescent. Light bounced off your skin, the rays of sunlight creating a halo around you that would leave anyone breathless. Spencer Reid would never be an outlier in that demographic. 

You'd sat in a very similar position to how you are now, but your head was in the space between his jawline and his shoulder, and your hands were woven within his. Thumbs stroked the skin, and he'd bitten back a comment about how soft you felt. 

Unfinished — but definitely touched — Thai food sat atop the coffee table in front of your bodies, and the tenth Doctor Who episode in a row was playing on the television. He'd discovered your weakness for his widened eyes and hands-on coercion, and used and abused the power ever since. 

He stared down at you, and you could feel him without the need to look up. You should've. Perhaps, if you'd crawled out of the comfort being physically entwined with Spencer Reid on his living room couch provided, you would've noticed that beneath his intense gaze on the sunlight encircling your body, he was thinking about the dead. 

You didn't, though. You had laughed as he quoted lines as they were said of the episode he'd no doubt seen a thousand times, shoving his shoulder and calling him a nerd with the stupidest grin on your face, and the sweetest flutter of your heart. 

He said, "Nerd is a noun to describe someone who is an expert in one particular thing. I am an expert in a lot more than one."

And you replied, "Oh, of course. My mistake. What else are you an expert in, Spencer?"

Your skin would tingle, because he'd take the invitation for what it was, and his lips would brush against your ear as he whispered, "You, for starters."

And you'd get whiplash from how easy he was to go from the biggest dork on the planet to the very reason you researched early onset heart attacks. 

One week ago, you were cracking. 

Instead of the halo glow that settled around your body, it'd fractured. Sticks of light throwing out in every direction, but still reflecting back the hope you had for this crumbling relationship. 

Knives pelted into your edges with every new piece of information you learnt. 

A book you'd never paid mind to, now opened on the front page, a dedication to his name, accompanied by another name you'd only heard in passing whispers. The written down addresses of the nearest pay phones from his apartment, a phone number circled three times in the corner of the page. Written down for no reason. You knew he didn't need it, really. The slow withdrawals of telling you about his life the further into it he gets. Not mentioning more about a past relationship than that it'd ended tragically. 

The more dots you connected, the closer your personal implosion neared. 

You'd apologised to him, saying you didn't want him to relive anything that would return his mind somewhere darker than you can ever fathom. 

"I have you, now. I can't ever get there again even if I tried to," he said. You stupidly took his words with full intent, head reeling and heart racing all over again. 

You smiled, and kissed him. He tasted of coffee and content. He kissed you back with more force than you had left in you, and you'd gone down like a sinking ship. Falling back against his couch cushions, fingers entwined in his hair. 

Each new day was another loss to cut. Four days ago, it was his hands refusing to touch you intimately. Even when you'd moved them for him, pleading him with your own body. Three days ago, it was his honesty. You'd grown desperate. 

Questioning if he was okay and receiving a wordless hum in response. If he wanted to order food, and getting a disgruntled non-answer. Sitting with a foot between your two bodies this time, albeit with your feet in his lap, so maybe you were just as close as you were last week by principle. Finally, seeing if he actually wanted you there, with him, and him taking more than one second to give you his, 

"Yes. Obviously."

You lack energy when you are trying so desperately to stay alive, so you did not question why he had to think about his answer, unsure if you needed him to tell you, regardless. His mind was increasingly becoming preoccupied with the girl behind his book dedication. Behind the payphone addresses, and the thrice times circled phone number. He was disintegrating before your eyes, and your relationship was slipping through the cracks. 

"Why?" he asks you, and you're forced to stop reliving every single moment that brought you here. You will again tomorrow, anyways. The day after that, too. You will probably live through the end of this relationship a thousand times before you begin to heal. A thousand, to mirror every single shard of your heart lain out before him. 

Your voice hurts to use when you reply. "Because you don't love me, Spencer."

You're grateful he doesn't scramble to disprove your claims. You're sure it would hurt even more to hear him force a lie. 

He does, however, look confused. By you. Not your words, though. You know they register fully because the confusion doesn't come until you meet his eyes, and he really takes you in. For the first time since you met him, you see the truth behind his gaze. A disgusting reality that he is not staring at you with love, or even a hint of recognition. 

No, to him, you are a stranger. Somebody he does not know, sitting in his unused armchair across the living room, telling him words you don't really want to be saying. You don't get that luxury of choice, though. 

"Your silence is answer enough," you murmur, and you force your limbs to react to your brain's signals, feet pressed firmly on the floor as you stand. 

"Hey, wait," he stops you from moving without even a lick of firmness. You grow sick, knowing he will always have some subconscious hold on you that you'll never not respond to. "Why do you say that? Have I done something to make you feel that way?"

Yes, you want to scream. Yes, you have, and I'm begging you to tell me I'm wrong and that you do love me. Instead, you're jumping through hoops to turn this into an unnecessary conversation. 

However, "I'm just becoming... aware. Of certain things. That would mean us ending things is the best thing to do," is what you do say. 

"Like what?" he quips.

"Things."

Air blows out his nose, frustratedly. "That's not an answer."

Light bulbs burn out when the filament — the three wires in its centre — breaks down, and ceases to produce electricity. Burning out after an average of a thousand hours per lightbulb, because nothing can live forever. Nothing can live forever, for the sun will eventually burn out. Not in this lifetime, and definitely not in the next five, or ten, or twenty. The hydrogen will eventually deplete, and it will die the way fifty-two stars die each century. Nothing can live forever, and you would be naive to believe that something as minor as this relationship will be exempt from that fate. 

"What does it matter, Spencer?" you whisper. A pathetic tone for response, but you think you'll choke on anything louder. 

"You matter," he argues. Words are bullets, and he seems to have perfect aim. 

"Not to you, I don't," you stumble over your feet as you try to head towards his door. You've said what you needed to say. You've ended things. You can go, and this can all be over. 

"Yes, you do," he's standing too. He got closer to you at some point. You don't really remember. 

"You don't even know me!"

You're crying, you think. Staring at him, and he's blurry, which must mean your eyes are full of water. Ridiculous, because he is very clearly not. Too emotional for this conversation to drag out any longer, and yet he has the power to keep you constrained to it like a prison as long as he keeps talking. 

"You're shutting me out as a form of defence for something," he says. The words are calm, but he's taken on a higher pitch in his voice, which tells you this is affecting him. Or maybe he's pretending. "I don't know what. You won't tell me. That's your prerogative, I guess."

"You don't love me," you repeat the words from earlier with less conviction. You believe them less, yes, but still trust your instincts enough for them to hurt. 

"I don't understand why you think that," he replies, a hand dragging down his face. "I don't. All the knowledge in the world, and I cannot think of any logical reason behind you believing that."

"Who's Maeve?"

The silence that follows is deafening. His head snaps up and his hands fall limp by his sides, your vision clearing in an instant. You know, deep down, who Maeve is. The tragic ending to an even more tragic relationship has her name printed all over it.

"That's why you think I don't love you." It isn't a question, and he almost sounds like he's ridiculing you for coming to such a conclusion. 

Your panic rises. "I saw the book, and the addresses, and the—"

"—Maeve is dead!" Your heart sinks, as, for the first time in your life, you see Spencer Reid exhibit anger. No, not anger. He is not angry. Not with you, at least. He's hurt. "I am never going to get over her because she is dead. I watched a bullet go into her head. I mourned her, and I told myself I would never let myself get that close to somebody again. Yet, here you stand."

You stay silent. You don't know if he's finished speaking. If he is, he doesn't let you know. He doesn't prompt you for a response. He continues before you even start to think of something to say back.

"I didn't plan on letting you into my life like this. When I met you, you were not supposed to be this important to me. Is that why you think I don't love you? Because you saw me and got attached at first sight, and had to work for me to give you attention?"  Your chest aches. "Was it because I distanced myself from you for weeks in the beginning? Every coffee date, more spread out than the last. Not letting you into my space until you were my girlfriend? No sex for months?"

"You're angry," you state the obvious, and his eyebrows shoot up. A deprecating laugh leaves his lips. Not to deprecate himself, though. No, you. 

"You somehow played a role in getting me out of the self-loathing pit I fell into after Maeve died, and now you're telling me I don't love you—Yes, I'm angry! We were fine two weeks ago. I loved you the same way I did two weeks ago as I do right now. I'm frustrated, because I don't understand how you can possibly believe my feelings for you have changed so drastically!"

"The books are new. And the addresses. And the phone number," you say, almost desperately.  

"No. They're not. I have had that copy of that book for two years. Those addresses have been printed in there for longer. Everything you are finding are results of you noticing more about my apartment, which happens when you are in a space often enough. You will pick up on things you didn't notice the first time you were here. Or the second. Or maybe even the tenth. I have not hidden the fact that I had a girlfriend two years ago from you. Just how it ended." You don't have any energy to fight back, despite how badly you want to. You suppose, deep down, you know you deserve this. His bulleted words and cold voice. Even his sarcasm, as he drawls, "I hope you can forgive me for not making you privy to my ex-girlfriend's death."

"Spencer," you take a step forward, and he stiffens, so you halt. 

Now, you feel stupid. Scrutinised under his gaze, knowing how ridiculous he probably now views you as. Starting an argument over something you should've just asked him about. Driving yourself crazy, letting every single element still fuelling your mind run dry, when you could've just said something. 

"Is this going to be a one time thing?" he asks you, carefully levelling his voice. To hide how he really feels, or to make you feel worse, you don't know. "Or should I live in fear of you jumping to conclusions every time something from my past gets brought up?" 

It isn't a nice assumption to make, but it's fair. You give him that. Still, your gut twists uncomfortably, each organ stuttering in their role of keeping you alive for only a second. Just enough for you to feel sick, and stumble backwards. 

"I... I don't know," you provide him with honesty. "I'm sorry," you add, quietly. A poor attempt at making this situation any better. A bandaid over a bullet hole. 

"I know," and you're sure he does. There's bound to be regret painted on your face, mixing wonderfully with fear of where this relationship is going to go now. 

You don't even want to ask him, but you're sure if he doesn't force you to, you'll start throwing up at his feet. "Do you want me to go?" 

A shuddering breath is his response. You take it for what it is, and nod your head with the most sincere smile you can conjure up. You barely have anything to collect before you leave. Just your ruined mind, and new astronomical statistics.

Fifty-two star deaths this century just became fifty-three.

your reblogs and replies are always welcome ♡

[priyajoyy]

You and your psychotic girlfriends

Dark!shauna shipman x reader x dark!Lottie Matthew’s x dark!Natalie scattorcio

The other girls aren’t quite fans of you getting all this special treatment from your psychotic girlfriends, but mari finally decides to call them out and Shauna isn’t happy about it.

Apart of my psychotic girlfriend’s universe but could be read as a stand alone!!

Especially cause Nat and Lottie aren’t overly that dark in this

I also haven’t even watched the first two eps of season 3 lol I’ve just seen this scene on TikTok so sorry if there’s any mistakes todo with that

Warnings:

Dark! Characters but they’re not too bad here, typical Yellowjackets warnings, dissociation at the end, not much else

You had never asked the three of them for extra privileges. Although it was rare nowadays that the three of them asked for your input on anything, especially big decisions.

You noticed how your food portions always seemed to be bigger than everyone else’s. How you’d get extra blankets and less chores to do. And you knew the others must have seen it too.

You tried your best to help out extra, and do other people’s chores when you weren’t asked. But Lottie and Nat always wanted you at one of their sides and Shauna would practically bite the heads off of any girl that let you take over their work.

“God, the service here is slow.” One of the girls giggled.

“Oh, garçon!” Gen called out.

You watched as all the girls eyed you enviously while Lottie passed you your food. You hadn’t been on the winning team of capture the bone, yet here you were sat with all of them, not having to lift a finger.

You couldn’t help but feel that familiar feeling of guilt fill your stomach.

“Okay. So, for your solstice dining pleasure or whatever, we have deer soup.” Natalie states simply.

“Also known as braised venison stew, served with our finest vintage of berry wine.” Taissa added in a fancy voice, to which all the girls ooh’d.

“Seriously this is bullshit” mari calls out suddenly, before any of the bowls other than your own, could be placed down.

You took a sharp breath in and looked down at your lap. It was bound to happen at some point, you’re surprised it hadn’t sooner.

Shauna and the girl had already been at odds with one another, you should have known their little biting incident earlier would have been the breaking point.

The others all stared at her silently. You could tell this wouldn’t end well.

“Mari..” van started with a sigh, hoping to stop the incoming argument.

“No seriously!” She responded in a rage, “I’m so done with this! How is it fair that she just gets to sit there all the time because she’s Lottie, Nat and shipman’s little pet!”

“Seriously mari grow up” Natalie says with an eye roll, placing the bowl in her hands down in hopes the rest of the girls stood up would follow her lead, all of them staying still instead.

“You all know I’m right” she continues, ignoring the girl as you squirm in your seat, “you all hate doing extra chores and getting less food as much as I do!”

“You better watch your mouth” Shauna says in a steady voice, glaring down at the girl.

“Or what Shauna? What are you gonna do” she says with a laugh.

You stare at lottie from your seat, as if to try and will her to do something, but she just stares back at you, not saying a word.

“You don’t wanna know-“ Shauna starts, getting closer to the girls face, food still in hand, as you turn yourself to Nat instead.

“Come on guys!” Taissa called out with a groan.

“Nat” you say quietly, pleading with her to make her stop the impending fight.

“Seriously you two enough!” Nat says in a sterner voice, making you smile at her slightly in thanks.

Shauna pulls back from the girls face, grinning at her and turning to look at Lottie, who shares a knowing look with her.

You watch the two in silence, dreading what they were thinking, and only hoping you and Natalie could prevent it.

“Fine” Shauna says simply in a false nice voice, the others may not have noticed the real tone behind it, but you certainly did.

You watched as she stared mari down, slowly spiting in her food as she placed it onto the table alone with the other girls who sat their bowls down into place.

“Bon appétit” she states simply.

“What?” Shauna says staring at the girl intently, asking with an innocent voice, “Aren't you hungry?”

She looks at you for a moment, sat opposite where she stood with a worried expression. You shake your head to say ‘no’ but she ignores you with a grin.

“Go ahead. Just give me a reason” you watch her say tauntingly, looking her up and down.

“What the fսck? Shauna just spit in my food” mari called out to the table, grabbing their attention and making them groan.

“Here we go”

“Come on”

The girls all call out and groan in annoyance, watching the two begin another argument for the umpteenth time.

“Are you gonna do something about this or what?” She asked their queen in outrage.

“Jesus Christ. Shauna, did you spit in her soup?” Natalie said with an eye roll.

Natalie looks at you questioningly, as if to ask if Shauna had done it, watching you stare back at her with a panicked expression.

“What? No. The fact that you even think I would is insulting” Shauna scoffs.

Mari stands up, meeting Shauna’s gaze with the soup firmly gripped in her right hand, making Shauna add “You should eat. I worked hard to make it”

You watch her slowly poor it to the ground next to them in response.

“I should fսcking kick your ass” mari states in a rage.

You gasp in shock, jumping up to your feet alongside a lot of the other girls as Shauna tackles the teen to the ground, grabbing her face roughly with her hand and shoving it in to the mud.

“I told you to eat, bitch!” Shauna screams, pushing the girls face down with force, her cheek twisting in the mixture of soup and dirt as she whimpers and tries to pull out of her grasp.

Quickly Natalie and some others pull Shauna off of her, two girls helping mari stand as Natalie starts to shout.

“That's it! That's it! I've fսcking had it with this shit! If everyone wants me to be the camp counselor, then fine. Starting tomorrow, you're both on house arrest. Stay in your shelters. I don't want to see your faces for a week, okay? Got it?” Natalie shouts out as the two are separated.

“What? Uh, this is bullshit. She attacked me” mari argues back in outrage, mud still caked on her face, making Natalie glare at her.

“Keep going, Mar, I'll make it two weeks” Natalie says in frustration

“Oh. You know what?” Mari states, pulling the cloak off of her shoulders, “fսck this. You know, screw all of you. I'm out of here!”

Shauna watches with a smirk, before turning and walking away herself, grinning at you as you stare at her in concern.

“Let her go. Don't let her ruin the rest of the night.” Natalie said with a sigh, as the girls all watch mari storm off in to the woods.

You watch on as the atmosphere calms slightly, feeling a hand grip your arm from behind.

You turn, facing Lottie who had approached you, staring at you with a neutral expression you can’t distinguish.

You watch out the corner of your eye as Natalie nods to her, before Lottie takes your arm and guides you away from the mess and back to the table.

She gently forces you to sit while the rest of the girls settle, akilah sat to your right, the only one left sat down, and looks at you with a shared look of annoyance. And you stare at the table blankly while Lottie makes you finish your food.

Ok already have some ideas for a second part of this icl 🤭

[vaguely-concerned]

the more I play the more I think lucanis basically knows it's illario who betrayed him right from the beginning (he's had a year in the ossuary to think. not that many people knew where he was going. when you ask him 'did Illario know you'd be on that ship' his only answer is the hardest flattest 'yes' you ever heard). so it's not so much about figuring out who the traitor is (because that's ludicrous. we all know. immediately. they didn't really bother to hide it lmao) as about methodically closing off every single avenue of denial lucanis has clung to that whole time with as much or little gentleness as you might prefer until he has no choice but to admit it. because the moment he has to admit it, he'll have to do something -- feel something -- about it. and that's such a catastrophic event in lucanis' inner landscape (he has had TWO people in this whole entire world up until now and will do anything to hold on to them with a heartbreaking child-like desperation, even at and especially through the detriment of his own self) that he'd rather just. not. what if we quite simply. didn't. what if we just stayed here in the emptiness where we can both pretend you didn't hurt me in a way I should never forgive. I have so much practice in that with caterina already it's always worked out great for everyone so far. (press x to fucking doubt but that's trauma logic for you lol)

after everything illario did, so much of the storm of lucanis' emotions around it is 'what the FUCK did you get yourself tangled up in this time and how do I get you out of this mess safely'. what's worse: the fact that your brother murdered you, or that he put himself in horrible danger doing so and thus exposed you to the risk of losing him forever. lucanis' heart certainly has an opinion here and it's fucking unhinged (affectionate)

the themes of dissociation in lucanis' character in general makes me feel nuts. allllll these contradictory messy things he needs to cut off from each other because they can't coexist or be easily reconciled inside him. but all remain stubbornly true separately anyway and will have their due one day. love and resentment. tenderness and fear and rage. terror and longing. love and freedom don't coexist. the burned out golden child anthem is playing in the background. he was always caterina's favourite and he has to keep striving to deserve that dubious honour with every breath he takes and then, presumably, mercifully, some day he will die and be excused and can rest. and until now he's suppressed all the -- natural, healthy, protective! -- negative feelings that threaten the few attachment relationships he actually has, at the cost of ever actually having his needs for connection and safety met and leaving his core self imprisoned and compromised. and spite goes 'what. no. that's dumb fuck that' (*spite voice* I do not understand that and even if I did I would not respect it) and does not allow him to fall back into that, which I think is what saves his life, ultimately. it took being possessed by a demon for lucanis to even contemplate telling anyone he loves 'no' in any way, but hey. whatever gets you there right lol

lucanis is dealing with the freeze response allll the way down baby. and he was even before the ossuary, that just turbo powered it and brought it to a breaking point way before it could happen naturally. but something was going to break eventually no matter what, and I'm just glad that in the end, through the power of friendship and also pure spite, it doesn't have to be him

[bernardsbendystraws]

𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒔𝒇𝒊𝒆𝒅

synopsis: (Matt x Reader x Fem!OC) where Matt wants to help satisfy you with some help.

warnings: SMUT, threesome, pussy munchin, unprotected sex, bisexual fantasies

ʚ with love and big tits, Rose ɞ

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Matt’s heart hurt watching you shrink into yourself. Your group of girl friends were more than supportive when you came out. A lot of them were part of the community themselves. 

“NO, SAME! Eating a girls pussy really is fuckin’ amazing, man.” 

Your attentive boyfriend sees your face blank with a dissociative look. 

He knows. 

He knows you feel left out. He can see the tortured look behind your eyes. But, he also knew you loved him and you’d never cheat on him. In fact, he even knew you would never even admit to wanting something—something he couldn’t give you—in fear of hurting him. 

That’s why when the group of girls left, he had sat you down on your shared bed for a conversation. 

“Baby, talk to me. I can tell something is wrong, let me help you.” he encouraged.

You were dismissive and unresponsive as he tried to push the truth out of you. He never needed anyone else to bring life into the bedroom with you, but seeing the longing on your face as you listened to your friend’s experiences changed that. 

“Listen….I’m so proud of you for coming out, baby—I really am. But….I can see that you want more—”

“No! I want you, I—”

“I know, I know, you’re never losing me. Don’t worry about that—I just, just listen, okay?”

You heard him loud and clear as he suggested the idea to you. 

A threesome.

He told you to pick out the girl. There was no part of him that cared for the woman besides if she could please you. But, you were already overwhelmed—you were shocked at the idea and your brain wanted no part in seeking the third member. 

Matt has always been stepping up and helping you out. This was no different. He took all your boundaries into consideration while looking around. Rachel, your best friend, had even received a phone call from him, with your permission of course. 

Learning any information he could from her, he found the girl. It was one of Rachel’s other friends, a girl you had both met briefly at the club and really hit off with. However, she was never in town too often. 

But, Matt didn’t see that as a problem. 

Discussing boundaries and relaying the information to her was easy. The girl was respectful and mindful as she talked to Matt. 

“I….I’m just gonna be blunt with the boundaries if that’s okay….” Matt trails off, slightly unsure as he bites his tongue. 

“Hit me, Matt. I’m down and it will honestly be better to know everything crystal clear.” Avery remarks. 

So, he did just that. He explained every boundary, repeating words when lost in translation.

Which all led to now. 

The night had started off with a couple of drinks to loosen up as well as a high tension. With each sip, the tension faded to an aura of excitement.

Now, you were laying on your’s and Matt’s bed. Your head rested on Matt’s thigh as he brushed your hair out of your face. He watched hungrily at your face contort into pleasure with each nibble Avery left on your skin. 

“That feels good, baby huh?” he perks. 

You nod, your head throwing back further as Avery gently clamps her teeth around your nipple, massaging the other one between her fingers. 

Your body rolls between the two. Matt’s attentive pats and her warm mouth make your cunt throb. Nude skin all touching and brushing together drives you insane. The only remaining clothing left on was Matt’s briefs. 

Avery’s kisses trail up as she pins your wrists down on Matt’s thighs on either side of your head. You get a quick glimpse of Matt’s intense eyes analyzing your expression before shutting them to embrace the feeling of her lips crashing against your own. 

Her lips are passionate, slow and sultry. Each motion leaves your gut fiening for relief. She scoots further up, kneeling one leg up and brushes the top of her thigh against your pussy. You break the kiss with a shriveled moan. 

Avery laughs against your skin as she trails downward with her mouth, wet and sloppy kisses reaching down to your navel. Peeping open your scrunched eyes, you see Matt watching her hands as they slide up between your legs. 

Gentle and softly, she spreads your wet heat to expose the hood of your clit. Toying with the sensitive bud, you let out a shriek. Your knees clutch inward, being stopped by her shoulders. 

“God,” she laughs, amused at your reactiveness. “---you’re so sensitive, baby.” 

You squirm as Matt soothes his hands on top of your arms, comforting you as Avery spits a large wad of salvia down your cunt. A light slap to your pussy makes you jolt and let out a cry. Avery laughs out, pushing her fingers hard around your clit to tease you. You can feel the liquid seeping out from your hole from the tense fever waving over you. 

Repeating the action, you squeak and let out a strangled cry. She pins your hips down harshly, biting onto the top of your thigh. 

“Play nice, Avery.” Matt warns. 

They had gone over boundaries. A simple ‘no’ or ‘stop’ would elicit the end of all wandering hands. He was stern, but he wasn’t upset. 

He just wanted you to feel good. 

And he was able to tease you like how she was—-you didn’t need Avery for that. 

“Jealous? C’mon, look,” she rubs slowly onto your clit. Your hands grab onto each of Matt’s knees as your mouth draws in a wide circle. “---she’s such a fun toy. Could play with her all day, yeah?” she teases, licking a stripe up your thigh with her fingers circling around your pulsating nerves. 

Matt licks his tongue over the bottoms of his teeth. He’s not jealous because he fears she’ll make you feel good—he’s jealous because he wants to be the one doing it. He wants your pretty moans and tight cunt to be plundering whimpers and whines to him. 

As Avery lets her hot breath fan over your wet folds, you shiver in delight. She teasingly prods her tongue through your slick, her lips curling as you whine. Looking upward, she sees Matt watching her intently as he continues caressing his hands up and down your arms. 

“Go ahead.” he grits, a slight pride overcoming him as she waits for his permission to dive through your pussy hungrily. 

It was all part of the deal. You were his—-she had to get permission from him before doing anything to you. She knew she had limitations, and honestly—she was more than willing to compromise—even more so as she licked through your cunt. 

She teases you with a light pressure, prying your thighs apart and letting her manicured nails dig into the soft flesh. Shaking her head back and forth, she lets her tongue roam and wander, smoothing over your pussy and taking notes of where her mouth suctions that makes your moans louder and higher in pitch. 

Matt can’t help it. His cock strains in his briefs, poking the side of your head as you become consumed by pleasure. You already looked so fucked out and they’ve barely even started. He imagines how warm and wet your pussy is gonna feel around him as you rock your hips in Avery’s face. 

Watching you feel so good makes him feel good. 

“C’mon, baby. Doing so good for us, so good.” he praises.

Avery feels you clench around her tongue as she presses her nose to your clit. Matt hesitantly wanders his hands down, grazing lightly over your hot skin. 

You jump at the suction of Avery’s lips around your clit, her teeth resting to prod at the sensitive bud lightly as she sucks hard. Matt stops his finger along your tits, his fingers swirling and pinching delicately on your nipples. 

It all feels so good. Attention from both sides drives you insane. Your legs tense around Avery, quivering as you let out a screech. The pit of your gut clenches as your entire body shivers from the white, hot bliss. 

“That’s it, good girl.” Matt praises. 

You gasp for air as Avery lifts herself from between your legs. She wipes her mouth, smirking devilishly at Matt. 

“You gonna fuck her or what?” she taunts. 

Matt knows she’s pushing his buttons on purpose. Avery had expressed how she was dying to see your face as he pounded into you. But, despite that—it was working. 

“Baby, can she sit on your face, hm?” Matt asks, ignoring Avery as he stares down at you softly. 

Blissed out, you nod. Your hips are still swiveling the bed from the aftershocks of your orgasm. Avery and Matt switch, her legs straddling on either side of your face. Matt adjusts the pillows behind your head, brushing the slightly damp hairs out of your face. 

Turning to Avery, he gives a harsh glare. “Don’t hurt her, I’m serious.” he points. She rolls her eyes, ticking off his buttons more. He shifts his gaze back towards your ogling eyes as you pant looking at Avery’s dripping pussy in front of you. 

And fuck. 

Something about your hungry eyes makes his chest tighten.  

“Gonna eat her pussy real good, huh sweetheart?” he taunts. 

You nod, fighting the urge to dig in as they both stare down at you intensely. 

“Make her cum and I’ll fuck you, m’kay? Can you do that, baby?” he asks. 

“I—yeah, yeah—I can do tha—”

Your words are swallowed into Avery’s cunt as she seats herself on your face. You moan into her, your hands grasping around and onto her hips. 

“Mmmmm, yeah she can—look how good she is for me, Matt. My—fuck—my hungry girl, huh?” she whines out, letting out a hiss as you work against her pussy. 

Matt huffs, walking around and climbing in between your legs on the bed. He kicks off his boxers, licking over his lips. You're too distracted to realize the shift in the bed, too consumed in the addiction sour of Avery’s slick coating your tongue. 

It’s almost like rubbing wet sand into your skin at the beach—-it feels addicting. Your tongue against her soft pussy lips making Avery shriek from above you. She grasps onto the headboard of the bed, her legs starting to tense on either side of your head. 

“Oh my—fuck yeah, baby. You’re doin’ so good, huh?” she praises. 

You gain confidence and more friction as she chases the knot building in her stomach. Matt can’t help but spread your legs further apart and admire your cunt pulse around nothing. He watches as your previous orgasm squeezes out of your tight hole, licking his lips as he grazes his hand teasingly up your thigh. 

“Matt, look—oh my—-she’s doing so good. All for me, huh?” 

His frustration from Avery’s relentless taunts makes his fingers dig into the thick skin between your thighs. Staring at Avery’s marks littered on your skin—he devilishly leans his head down to kiss over the marks. 

Avery’s whines get louder and louder. The bed starts to shake as she grasps onto the headboard for dear life. Placing a soft kiss on your sensitive pussy lips, Matt grins as you whine into Avery loudly, causing her to scream out as her body tenses.

“---cumming, holy fuckin’--’m cumming,” she rides her hips out slowly on your face as she hunches over to catch her breath. 

Matt stops Avery by the hips with his hands as she tries to lift herself from your face. “Uh-uh,” he tuts, “---you’re gonna sit right back down. Be good for my girl, yeah? She doesn’t sound like she’s done.” he slurs with a pronounced dominance. 

Weak from the previous orgasm, Avery only nods before letting herself fall limp on your face. You moan as you taste her yet again, completely drunk on the way her cum slowly dribbles down her walls as you prod your tongue in as deep as it can. 

Avery whines and hisses from the overstimulation, but she’s not alone. You yelp into her as you feel Matt sliding his cock along your lips, teasing your entrance. 

Crescent moons peirce into her hips from your nails as you cry out from Matt thrusting his cock into you slowly. 

“Fuckkkkk, so good. You fuckin’ squeeze my dick so goddamn good, sweetheart. Look at that….” he mumbles the last part to himself, staring at where your bodies meet. He watches as your hole stretches around his length as he slowly starts fucking into you. 

Reaching a hand down, he spreads your folds to reveal your clit. He teasingly rubs the tip of his finger on the swollen bud, moaning as you clench around him harder. 

Pressing completely down, he drags his thumb along your clit in slow circles as he starts gathering a decent pace. Each thrust of his cock combined with the euphoric touch of his thumb sends your noises directly onto Avery’s cunt, overstimulating her further as she pushes her weight forward, desperately holding herself up as her legs vibrate. 

“Oh–!” Avery comes to a high, riding out yet another orgasm as your tongue darts in and out of her hole, the tip of your nose buried against her nerves pulsing by her hooded clit. 

“My god—you eat pussy fuckin’ good.” she pants out. 

Matt huffs in between quickening thrusts. “Yeah—she, fuck, she sucks cock like…mmmm—like no other.” he remarks. 

Avery sits beside your head, her hands toying with your perky breasts as they bounce with each thrust. She mocks your facial expression as your eyebrows furrow, your mouth hanging open wide. 

“Fuck her better, Matt.” Avery grits maliciously. 

Matt is too far gone to care as he abuses his frustration from the relentless girl onto your puffy and pulsating cunt—his cunt. Your tight hole swallows him, milking him as slaps echo through the room. 

“Oh my—-” 

Your boyfriend struggles to contain the impending orgasm as you clutch him in deep with your legs around his waist. His pounding is buried deep in your gut. Avery notices this, reaching down to press on the bulge prodding with each thrust. 

A piercing scream scratches through your throat. Everything feels so good. Your chanting and moaning both nonsense and Matt’s name. Your hands desperately search for something, clutching onto Avery’s wrist as she pushes harsher with her palm on your lower stomach. 

“I’m—--I—--oh,”

You're unable to get the words out through the mind numbing pleasure. Matt’s hard cock is slapping into, hilting to create a pressure between your hips. 

“You gonna cum for me, sweetie? Yeah?” Avery pats your cheek with her free hand, sliding her thumb between your lips. You suck on the finger, nodding helplessly as your body rocks and vibrates. 

“No—fuckin’---she’s cuming—-cumming for me. Isn’t that, ugh god—right, pretty girl?” You clench around him harder at his words. “Mhm, that’s right. Fuckin’--suckn’ me in it feels so good, huh? My cock fills this pretty pussy,  baby? Tell me.” he directs. 

Avery shoots him a playful glare. “She’s busy with her mouth, Matt—”

“Don’t. Give. A. Fuck. Let—god, let her talk—or I swear,” he puffs against your skin between hard strokes of his cock pushing into you as his thrusts deepen with passion. “One more word—you’re gonna, mmmm, you're riding that pretty little face again, you hear me?” he warns.

Avery pops her thumb out of your mouth, her pulsating folds aching beyond any craving for stimulation. She lazily drags the fingers down your body, groping your breasts as she tweaks the nipple.

“Baby, tell me. Who fills this pussy so good, huh?” he rushes out, straining his sentences in a slur of pure ecstasy. 

“I—you, Matt, you!’ you whine out. 

“That’s right, that’s right,” he praises, dropping his head as he feels you start to convulse around him. Your broken moans stripped by your raw throat tip him over the edge. The tightness of your walls milks his pearlescent cum deep inside of you, messily forming a ring around the base of his cock as you both ride down your highs with lazy thrusts.

“Can I make her cum again?” Avery asks jokingly. 

Matt laughs, slowly pulling out as he glances down to your blissed out expression. He brushes sweat soaked hair behind your ear, your hooded eyes lazily blinking up at him. 

“No,” he says, kissing the side of your head as he caresses your cheek. He slurs his words with a dry chuckle.“---think she’s satisfied.” 

[writingoddess1125]

We Missed You pt. 2

Welp- Didn't expect this to be liked so much, So to keep with theme. Wrote during a lecture. (After late night brainstorming)

Nikto x FemReader + OOC

<<< Part 1

Warnings: Creepy shit, Stalking, Awkwardness

NOTE: If you've never seen Nikto from COD before he does have acute dissociative disorder, so at times he will refer to himself as 'Us/We' a bit randomly.

Let's see..

'How to share custody with a shady military parent?'

1. Seek legal advice

Yeah that wasn't going to work, Doubt that you even knew Nikto real name. Let alone could think to afford a lawyer nor wanted to legally deal with whatever he was tied into-

2. Prioritize child's care- make sure other parent wants to be involved.

Well- Nikto had seemly wanted to be involved in some way, He hadn't done anything wrong yet...

So far you'd only seen him once more but it had only been two weeks since he seemed to just appear in your home- of course at night which seemed to be his prefered hours of life, Having dropped off a about a 2000 dollars randomly then Once again creepily looked at Ava who has awake that time and the two having this weird game of staring at each other.

Which was something you suppose-

3. Create a Military- Specific Parenting Plan

You sighed, Doubting once again if a guy who literally didn't show his face would really want a legit custody agreement.

'Oh Hey, I'm gonna be gone foorrrr however long in a country I can't talk about- But can I have Ava for the weekend?'

Yeah No-

Welp Thanks Google-

Snapping from your disappointing phone search as you hear the shrill cry of Ava in her crib- Having woken up from her nap for needing to be changed it seemed.

It still baffled your mind that you had started to understand the cries of your daughter- biology is fucking wild..

"I gotcha I gotcha pretty girl"

Rolling up from bed you grab her to bring to the changing table. You are quick to change her and put her in a fresh onsie. Her bottom lip still poked out and eyes watery as she looked up at you still coming down from her crying fit.

"It's okay Ava, All better hm?"

Grateful she was fast to calm down this time around. After a moment you looked to her, seeing how now calm was rocking herself side to side a bit- Something your recently learned was the signs of her eventually able to roll over.

"Welp, looks like its tummy time"

You smile scooping her up you do a quick walk to the livingroom, sliding the little foam mat to you and lay her down on her stomach, Seeing how she babbled and made some random noises- adding some spicy kicks it seemed.

"Really?-"

Laying down next to her you can't help but smile at her random noises. Deciding to just have a made up conversation with her random vocals.

"Oh wow, You're a scholar in the making? And dancing?.. Triple threat right here"

Handing over toys that had random fruit and vegetables on it, seemingly the corn one had caught her attention this time as she held and shook it repeatedly.

"Yeah its Corn-"

She grunted some and continued to shake the toy a little as she gave a loud gargled squeal.

"I know right, It's absolutely A-mazing"

You hum out in a stupid voice, Earning another little babbled squeal from her. As you go to reach for another toy for her you see her gaze go up suddently, Looking behind you as she lifts her head more to look at whatever had caught her attention.

Your face scrunched up at this as you turn and see a dark figure standing over you, Drawing a small shriek from you before you quickly realize who it is.

"God Damn it Nikto!"

You rub your face, Coming down from the spike of adrenaline you'd just experienced. Nikto staring you down, you could practically feel him smirking at you.

"Must you always just appear? You can knock on the door or something-"

Grunting as you get up from the floor rather ungracefully, and glare at him. Nikto crossing his arms as he glanced around the room a bit almost inspecting it before looking back down at Ava clearly ignoring your complaint.

Once again starting his odd staring contest with the current baby who was trying to wiggle in what almost looked like poorly executed swimming.

"I gotta know- What's with the staring game?" You couldn't really help but ask.

"She is my daughter. We can look"

He mumbled rolling his eyes. Smartass..

"Yes. But why do you only look at her?"

Nikto is quiet again, moving his head side to side slowly- A habit you were starting to pick up on when he seemed to be conflicted.

"....She is small..."

You hear the tone in his voice change slightly at saying that as it clicks. He was nervous to pick up his child?

"Well, if you want you can hold her"

He grunted, Shaking his head 'no' almost too fast. You couldn't help yourself as you gave a bit of a dramatic shrug.

"Well, Thats unfortunate. Someone who can break into a apartment but cant hold a baby.. What a shame"

Nikto casting you a intense side glare as he knew damn well you were giving him a small jab to his ego. A hella dangerous game but, You needed some sort of win.

"Fine.."

You cackle at this- bending down you scoop up Ava to bring to her Father. Who was currently holding out his large gloved hands like how one would go to hold a pet, and seemingly unsure of how to even take her from you.

Your as hesitant as Nikto for a split second as he awkwardly picked her under her armpit from your hands, which makes her head bobble and your fast to support it. Nikto seemingly catching on quickly as he pulls her to his chest so she was rested against him.

Ava was able to be easily secured by just one of his hands which almost took up her whole back and bottom, Leaving the other hand just hovering near her like when someone guarded a flame from going out.

He stood almost perfectly still then.

You see a flash of absolute terror in his eyes as he feels her pressed gently to him. Like processing that the child he'd been staring at was actually real and currently breathing and moving against him.

He looks down slowly at her while she stares up at him, Her legs kicking a bit as she did so and still a bit bobbly. The two having that weird game of staring at each other again.

It was like this for a solid minute or so-

Before Nikto turned away from you rather suddently, His back to you completely as you see his free hand shift up to his mask and he slowly pulls it up. His body language was awkward at best as he seemed to be letting his daughter see his face and waiting for a reaction.

For a second your thought you saw a peak of dark brown hair. However you didn't dare go to actually look, Ava babbled a little as she stared up at him still- Drool coming down her chin as she gave a gummy sorta smile and continued her squeals. Her tiny hands grabbing at his hoodie and looking around overall before back to his face. Nikto shoulders seen to relax then.

You hear him mumble something in his native tongue seeming a small conversation- It was impossible to hear really by how soft he was speaking. However it seemed to keep Ava attention slightly, another to were she gave another odd drool filled squeal.

A soft chuckle leaving him as you only seeing his head dip slightly in what you assume was him kissing the top of her head before retracting and pulling his mask back down, Securing it in place before turning back to you to hand her over very carefully. Clearly only willing to hold her for a short period of time.

"You Okay?" You can't help but ask, Seeing the way his gaze seemed to be locked onto Ava still however much softer, almost spaced out. He nodded sharply.

"..She has a middlename right?"

Blinking at the suddently whiplash question- it feeling like there was only pop-ups of weirdness or terror from Nikto everytime he was here.

"Um, Yes? It's-"

"I want add Igorevna to it-"

"What?" Now just confused. Curious how him holding his daughter for a few minutes now was leading to a very minor name change of all things.

"Adding Igorevna to her name. Is that fine?"

"What like a second middle name?"

He gave a 50/50 sign at that, Which you have to surpress the eye roll on. Figuring you shouldn't bother asking what it ment. He probably wouldn't tell you anyway.

This was not a battle you wanted to get into- Besides adding another middle name wasn't terrible. You didn't really understand why this was something he wanted but seemed easy to give at least-

"Sure. I'll call the Vital records office this week an-"

He held up a hand to stop you quickly.

"Dont. We'll have done by the end of the week-"

Ah Yes, You'd forgot that soft terror that plauged you about this man- Of course he would have some magical way to change your daughter's middle name in a week.

"Also I gave you money to get more things."

Setting Ava back down on the mat now on her back with another toy toy.

"Well I used it to get Ava stuff and put the rest to the side incase of emergencies for her-"

"Yourself too. Its ment for you to take care of Ava and You. You need better care, youre terrible at it"

He said casually, Shaking your head mildly offended by him.

"I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself thank you very muc-"

"(Y/N) you are unable at drinking water, you have had 'snacks' for lunches, you have not done your laundry nor showered in 2 days, all vegetables are frozen and 70% of diet is from the microwave or from box- You care for Ava, not yourself"

....

"Did.. Did you bug my house?"

You manage out, Staring him dead in the eyes at the painfully detailed critiques. He didn't say anything, just stared at you in return with a blank look. A cold shiver doing down your spine at the silent confirmation of his actions.

"Wait how many times have you been in here without me knowing?-"

"We will give more to you. Get better food and all you need-"

He said calmly, Brushing your question off casually as if he hadn't just told you he had been spying on you hard core. Pulling once more a tight wad of cash that was tossed to the near by coffee table. Before Nikto walked off without another word, Leaving you both terrified, shocked and heavily conflicted over what to really do next?..

Oh what the fuck is your life..

You did however comply with his wishes, Honestly too worried at what hed do otherwise- better food was purchased, as well as some clothes that weren't sweatpants, a big waterbottle too and other basic things you had been needing.

It was rather terrifying to know someone was watching your every move though. That and not knowing where he placed the cameras (You had tried to see if you could find at least one but utterly failed) or what he'd already seen..

That was here nor there at this point.

Later that week you went down to the mailbox units to sort through the forgetten avalanche of paper, (youd forgotten in your paranoid frenzy of Nikto watching you) Ava in a stroller currently blowing spit bubbles at you as you sorted through it all- However what stuck out was the rather massive manilla envelope which you had a inkling of what it was.

You open it quickly and sure enough, all new copies of your daughter's information was there. This time with the added Igorevna taxed on.

Looking through the rather impressive display of new documents your face couldn't help but scrunched up a bit- Pulling up a new birth certificate specifically which you see the father was now filled in. Only a Nikto as the front. Which from a Google search you knew ment 'Nobody' and what looked like a redacted last name.

Oh that's so comforting..

"Good Morning (Y/N)!"

You turn to see your landlord walking towards you, Most likely having gotten back from touring an apartment by the slightly winded look she had and one of her braids down from its usually neat neat headwrap.

"Morning Miss Rolle. How are you doing?"

Ms. Rolle was a nice women, a decent property manager and loved to stop you for chats especially when you had Ava. Always cooing at your daughter and offering helpful advice on small children.

Truthfully a godsend the first month of your daughter's life.

"Oh Im good Love just the same old. I just came over about your new unit, it will be ready in a few weeks just to keep you in the loop- Im sure packing is annoying with a baby. Just let me know if you need help, I know one of the maintenance men would be happy to help"

Ms Rolle said as she adjusted the tent of the stroller so it covered your daughter more. However you looked to the women fast and in confusion.

"New Unit?-"

She now looked at you both confused and clearly a bit worried. Probably sleep deprivation getting you.

"Yeah. You had sent an email wanting the 3 bedroom unit- you already gave the deposit and a years worth of rent and paid to break the current on your 1 bedroom too.."

Immediately you rubbed the bridge of your nose as you felt that acute pain of realization hit you in that moment.

Nikto-

However the irritate was short lived by a sudden thought.

Why was there three bedrooms?-

[formula-ghost]

Wildflower (OP81 x fem!reader x LN4)

Chapter 5

SUMMARY: In the aftermath of your outing with Lando, tensions are raised, worlds fall apart, and resistance gives way to what you’ve always truly wanted. 

WORD COUNT: 11.2k

WARNINGS: Lando is SO EVIL!! I’m sorry to all my Lando girlies. Mention of horrible family dynamics. Reader dissociates during sexual contact (could potentially be triggering). Slow burn yearning. Unprotected sex (WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT PLEASE), oral and fingering (fem receiving), p in v. 

TAGLIST: @at-a-rax-ia @henna006 @linnygirl09 @cassielikereading @judelina @supertrashbread @fastandcurious16 @widow-cevans  @czennieszn @irisesinthegarden @wierdflowerpower @sweetwh0re @reginalaufeyson-holmes @honethatty12 @suns3treading @obxstiles @mimiastroos @mrs-reeves-17 @milkysoop @amalialeclerc @starksztony @llando4norris @ginsengi @angxlzinthesky @1-queenofpotatoes-1 @makanirock05 @htpssgavi @lilypat @ameliaalvarez06 @scriptedinkbyxim

A/N: The long awaited chapter! For some reason this one was SUCH a struggle plus I had midterms and I got sick in the middle of writing it, so I’m just glad it’s done. I hope it’s still good though <3 I’m thinking probably one or two more chapters of this until it’s over, and then probably the Franco x Alpine social media manager au which will only be like 2 parts before I launch into my next series! A lot of exciting stuff planned. 

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 6

The rooftop bar in Monaco was gorgeous, though not as beautiful as the view from your balcony back home. 

The air was full of soft chattering conversations, the sound of plates and champagne flutes clinking, and the purr of expensive engines down on the streets. The sounds of Monte-Carlo had become like background static to you at this point. 

Even the air was fragrant with expensive perfume and cologne, mixed with the sweet smells of dinner plates and the soft aroma of the bouquet of flowers that Lando had brought for you.

He had pulled out all the gentlemanly stops: flowers, a romantic dinner, and, as you could tell by the way his eyes snaked up and down your body, a night that would end up far beyond this stuffy Monaco restaurant. 

“You look amazing,” he said, leaning down to whisper in your ear as the waiter led you to your table. “Is all this for me?”

A few weeks ago and the comment would have you blushing, a playful smile on your lips. Now it just made your stomach churn. 

“I clean up nice,” you joked, sliding into your seat and turning your head away from Lando and towards the view.

“No kidding,” he said, leaning his hand across the table to touch yours. You froze, letting him do it. “I don’t know what’s the better view.”

“That was bad, even for you,” you laughed, hoping that the banter could calm your nerves. He began to softly rub his thumb up and down the side of your hand.

“You’re smiling, though.”

When the waiter came by to take your order, you were thankful for the excuse to pull back your hand, though you weren’t as nervous anymore. Maybe it wasn’t so bad. You missed being touched.

It wasn’t like Oscar ever held your hand anymore.

You could feel his presence, even though you knew he was back in your apartment doing…well, God knows what. 

“I was surprised you made it,” Lando said. “I thought for a second there, you were going to stand me up.”

“Really?”

“He’s not happy about you being here, is he?”

You pursed your lips. “You know how he is.”

“I do. And I really am glad you made it.”

All at once, it felt like you saw right through him. You heard what was unsaid. Lando wanted you to revel at the thought of disobeying Oscar, to spite him by being here.

The problem was, the only person that you wanted to spite by being here was yourself. 

“Why are you doing this, Lando?”

“Doing what?”

The waiter returned with your wine, and he tapped your glass to say cheers. It felt like a mockery. 

“You don’t like me.”

“Who said that?” He sipped at his drink, his eyes never leaving you. “Oscar? You think he’s the authority on how to treat a woman?”

“Well, I’m not a Portuguese model, for one,” you scoffed, taking a sip of your own drink. “But do you really think that it’s not entirely obvious what you’re doing?” 

He smirked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, love.” His smile, once like a bolt of lightning in your stomach, felt like a slap in the face. 

“You’re trying to drive me and Oscar apart.” You could hear Oscar’s own words coming out of your mouth.

“I’m trying to show you that you deserve better than him. And, besides, I don’t think I need to do much on that front. Oscar’s already fucked it up himself, hasn’t he?”

“He told me everything you said to Lily, and about me.”

“And yet, you’re still here, aren’t you?”

You used to think that you and Lando were on the same playing field, like two masters at a game of chess. Now you knew you were always just a pawn. 

“Why?” you echoed. “I know you don’t like me, you’re not really interested in me at all. So why are you doing this?”

Lando turned his head to gaze at the view, and you could see the cogs in his head churning, trying to figure out his next move. Maybe you had surprised him, after all. 

“Truthfully? I want Oscar to lose.”

“So is this, what, your attempt at psychological warfare?” you laughed. 

“You make it sound so harsh,” he said, his smile returning. “I’m just pointing out the truth.”

“The truth?”

“He used you, YN. Lily left him because he couldn’t be loyal. He fucked you for a couple weeks to get over it. Then he wants to talk about how much he loves you? He just doesn’t want to go to bed alone.”

“You’re one to talk. You have a new girl on your arm every night.”

“I don’t claim to be a gentleman.” He leaned in, lowering his voice. “But you like that, don’t you?”

The waiter arrived with your food, and you were thankful for the space that it gave you. But even as you savored the admittedly great food, you couldn’t help but think that Lando might be right. 

It made your stomach churn, to think of a version of Oscar that didn’t love you. You wanted nothing more than to believe that confession he had made, in the heat of your argument, that he had truly been in love with you for years but had made mistake after mistake after—

“You’ve gone quiet,” Lando said.

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

He knew the answer. You looked up to meet his eyes, his gaze fixed on you. He was just…sitting there, as if he hadn’t just opened your mind and destroyed everything you thought to be true in only a few sentences.

And all at once, you hated him. 

“What do you think he’s doing, back at your apartment?”

“Probably sleeping,” you answered, your voice gone quiet.

“If he really cared about you, would he be asleep right now?”

“He warned me—”

“I’m sure he did.”

“I’m grown. I made my own decision to come here. He can’t tell me what to do.”

Lando just hummed. “You must not trust him, then.”

“Of course I trust him,” you replied. That was a lie. You still struggled to trust him most days.

“Then why are you here, YN? You interrogated me, let me interrogate you.”

“I don’t know.” You fiddled with your fork, your appetite long gone. 

“Yes, you do.” Lando leaned in again and reached for your hand. “And so do I.”

“Then tell me.”

“You don’t trust Oscar. You were in love with him for years, and you were always there for him when no one else was. But he didn’t want you, he wanted Lily. He couldn’t get rid of you though, because he needed you there for when things inevitably went bad. And that’s exactly what happened, didn’t it? You were never his first choice. He used you.”

“That’s…that’s not what happened at all.” Tears were threatening to form in your eyes.

Lando just continued. “And you? Sweet girl, all you ever wanted was to be loved. You’re so used to being second choice. Even your parents didn’t want you.”

“No, that’s not—”

“That’s why Oscar’s mum took you in, right? She took pity on you. But Oscar could never be with the girl that his family pitied.”

You stared at him, incredulous. You were torn between slapping him or crying, or both. 

“How do you know any of this?” you said. 

“He told me.”

He went back to eating. You felt like you were going to throw up. 

Lando insisted on ordering dessert. When it arrived—whatever it was, your head was spinning a bit too much to be sure—he fed you bites of it, gently guiding the spoon to your mouth. You ate in silence.

“Contrary to what he might tell you, YN, I’m not a bad guy. I’m not a liar.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“No, I don’t lie. I don’t need to. I just tell people the messy truth that they don’t like to hear.”

“You don’t love me, though. You don’t even know me. You try to act like you’re so much better than Oscar, but you don’t love me either.”

The last word hung on your lips. Oscar loved you. He had to. But did he? Or was Lando right?

“You’re right, I haven’t known you as long as he has. But I see you.” He brought the spoon to your mouth for the final bite. 

I see you. No. It couldn’t be true.

“And,” he chuckled, “I guarantee I can fuck you better than he can.”

Lando gestured to the waiter to come back, and he paid the bill before walking you down to his car. 

“Wanna go for a ride?” 

You didn’t know why you got in that car. You didn’t know why you didn’t push his hand away when he rested it on your thigh as he drove through the narrow streets of Monte-Carlo. You didn’t know why you let him kiss you when he pushed you against the wall in the elevator, meeting your lips with a frenzied need. 

He led you into his apartment, where he wordlessly pushed you down on his bed. Your body was beneath him, but your mind was somewhere else. The balcony, back at your apartment, overlooking the water. You were sitting there with a cup of tea, and inside, Oscar was asleep in the early morning hours as you watched the sun rise.

You closed your eyes, hearing the rustle of fabric as Lando unbuttoned his shirt. You weren’t on the balcony anymore. You were in your childhood neighbourhood, across from Oscar’s house, driving your little motorized car.

Lando’s lips returned to your neck, his hands wandering all over you, reaching down the front of your dress. 

You were in Oscar’s childhood bedroom, looking into his eyes as he touched you for the first time. You were scared. So was he. But you trusted each other. 

Before Lando’s hand could go any further, you opened your eyes.

“Stop,” you said, your voice wavering.

Lando pulled back, “What?”

You looked around. At some point, your dress had come off. You were so far away from your mind that you didn’t remember. 

“I don’t want to do this,” you said. 

Lando made a face. “Really?” he asked, his voice annoyed.

“I want to go home.” You were on the edge of tears again.

“Okay,” he said, sitting up and handing you your dress.

You dressed quickly and gathered your things that had been thrown around the room. There was no apology, no attempt to talk about it, no fanfare. Just a simple okay and a clear expression of indifference. 

You booked it out of the apartment complex, desperate to get home. 

When you did, the sun was already down, and you thanked God that Monaco was so small. You opened the door quietly, hearing Oscar’s soft snores in your room.

Oscar. 

You sank in the bed next to his form, so warm and familiar, and he felt like home. Just the thought of it made you want to cry, but no tears found you. You felt numb.

You curled up next to him and scooted back to be as close to him as you could without waking him—at least, that’s what you wanted, to be held in silence, to forget any of this had ever happened. 

“YN?” he asked, his voice groggy. “What time is it?”

“Too fucking late,” you whispered. “Go back to bed.”

It was no use. He grabbed his phone on the nightstand, checked the time, and sighed. He laid back down next to you, but the soft scene had been shattered.

“You smell like him,” he said, the reverberations of his speech echoing against your skin.

“I’m sorry.” You sniffled, trying to hold back tears.

“Shit, are you crying? Did he…?” Oscar propped himself up on his elbow, but you buried your head in your arms. 

“I made him stop,” you muttered. 

“I’ll fucking kill him.”

“No,” you said. “Just… hold me. Please.”

Oscar couldn’t argue with the quiet desperation in your voice, lowering himself finally to wrap his arm around you. He pressed a soft, chaste kiss to the back of your neck.

“How much longer are we going to do this?” he murmured against your skin. 

“I can go sleep on the couch, if you want,” you answered.

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

You couldn’t face him, though you spoke anyway. “Is this beyond saving?” you asked.

“Us? No.”

“He said things…We were just going to get dinner. Even after I left, I didn’t really want to go. I don’t know why I kept ignoring my intuition, because I knew something was wrong.” The pillow beneath you was stained with tears.

You continued, “We mostly talked about you. I mean, we almost always talk about you. I can’t even remember what he said exactly, but he… he started talking about my parents.”

“Your parents?” Oscar echoed.

“Yeah. Saying that even they didn’t want me, that no one wanted me. It sounds so stupid when I say it aloud, but…it hurt. He said everyone just took pity on me and I’m always the second choice. Even to you. Or, I guess, especially to you.”

Oscar was silent at first, until he asked, “Do you really believe that?” 

“It’s hard not to.” 

“What more could I do, for you to believe that I love you?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” You reached down to where his arm rested around your middle and intertwined your fingers with his. “I don’t know.”

With nothing else to be said, you both drifted back to sleep. 

To your surprise, in the morning, Oscar didn’t bring up your conversation from the previous night. The next day was uneventful too. 

And as days turned to weeks, the best you could guess was that Oscar had…given up. 

It wasn’t like he had abandoned you. When he was in Monaco, neither of you sacrificed to take the couch anymore, spending each night entangled with the other. And on the road, everywhere from Spain to Silverstone, you somehow always made your way to his hotel room to spend the night. 

He hadn’t touched you, though. At least, not in the way you so desperately wanted—no, needed—nothing more than a careful arm around the middle, pulling you close to him at night, or the occasional peck on the back of the neck after a particularly bad race weekend. 

And Lando? Nothing. No calls, no texts, no flirty comments on the sly. It was as if you had never existed to him. You avoided him like the plague at races. And for the most part, he let you.

Well, for the most part.

Weeks later, you assumed your usual spot next to Oscar as he walked through the paddock, snapping photos of him through all the commotion. In these quiet moments, it was just you, your camera, and him; the rest of the world blurred into the background and all that mattered was capturing the perfect snapshot of this man you loved.

But no one could ignore the words of the commentators that flooded the ears of anyone who walked past the paddock.

“Well, we are gearing up for a Hungarian Grand Prix to remember! Only a year ago, who can forget how Oscar Piastri secured his first Grand Prix win here as a result of some controversial team orders? Now, it seems like controversy is still on the table as he battles with his teammate for the World Driver’s Championship…”

Oscar scowled.

“Ignore them,” you said, snapping a photo of his frown. “You’re gonna win, and you’re gonna do it right.”

“Hey, nothing’s wrong with papaya rules,” said a voice behind you. You spun to see Lando’s face, and your stomach sank.

“Just came by to wish my teammate good luck,” he said, putting on a fake smile for the commentators who watched above.

Oscar gave Lando an empty handshake, doing his best to keep his cool in front of all the journalists.

“Anyone with eyes can see that this championship battle has ruffled some feathers. These once friendly teammates are now ice cold, though they clearly have an admirable respect for each other despite it all…” The commentators droned on. 

“Oh, YN, by the way, you left your jacket at my house.” Lando said, turning his gaze to you.

“Keep it,” Oscar answered, protectively putting his hand on your shoulder. You leaned into the touch, feeling safe with him.

“I just figured YN can come by and grab it—”

“It’s fine,” you said, cutting him off. 

Lando leaned in, and you felt Oscar’s grip on you tighten. “You really gonna let him tell you what to do?” he whispered.

“Let’s go, YN,” Oscar instructed, and you turned and left without a word.

The rest of the weekend was full of these same games. Lando approaching you innocuously, always in the most public of spaces, as if he didn’t know the nervousness that he inspired within you. He played the innocent role as if he believed it himself.

He even winked at you before he got into his car for qualifying. You wanted to puke.

Oscar didn’t get pole. Lando did. None of the other stats mattered. 

The two McLaren drivers were neck and neck, even getting ahead of Max Verstappen, who’s Redbull car had proved to be useless this season. Every point, every millisecond, mattered. And Lando was winning. 

You did your job as usual, taking photos as Oscar hopped out of the car and sulked his way into the garage. Your lunch threatened to reappear when you felt a familiar tap on your shoulder. 

“Hey, YN—”

You walked away, but he followed.

“YN!” Lando called, jogging after you. “Wait!”

“Go away, Lando.”

“Just give a second, will you?” 

You walked faster, insistent on making it to the now emptying McLaren garage. 

“YN, when am I going to see you again?”

“Never,” you answered, not even turning to look at him. You finally made it back to the garage, but you kept walking back into the hallways of drivers rooms. You were determined to make it back to Oscar, but your oasis was swiftly destroyed.

Lando grabbed your shoulder and pushed you back into a corner. Your face went pale, and all breath left your body.

“You sure about that?” he asked, a sickening smirk across his face.

“Leave me alone,” you whimpered.

He leaned in, whispering in your ear, and the touch made you squirm. “You left your jacket at my place in Monaco. Which means you need to come back and get it, yeah? Maybe spend the night…”

He was yanked away by your saving grace: Oscar.

“Get the fuck away from her! What is wrong with you?” he yelled, grabbing Lando by the collar of his race suit and pulling him off you. 

You took advantage of the space and ran off to Oscar’s driver room, terrified. You felt like you wanted to jump out of your skin. 

“If you don’t leave her alone—”

“What are you gonna do about it, huh?” Lando taunted. He huffed. 

“Just leave her alone,” Oscar repeated, breathless. What could he do about it, realistically? He let Lando go, dropping him into the wall.

“What do you even want?” Oscar asked, his voice shaking in anger. “You never wanted her in the first place. You just wanted to win, and you are. So why not leave her alone and be done with it?”

Lando smirked. “I am winning, huh?”

“Is that all you really care about?” Oscar asked. He lowered his voice, knowing you were hiding in his driver’s room, pressing your ear to the door to listen in. “If I…if I stop trying, will you leave her alone?”

“Stop trying?”

“If I give up the championship, will you promise to never go near YN again?”

Lando chuckled incredulously. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” Oscar said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t know what it’s like to love someone that strongly.”

“This isn’t a shitty romcom, Oscar. If you don’t perform, you’ll get cut in an instant.”

“I’m willing to take that risk.”

Lando took a step towards Oscar. “Say I agree. What makes you think I’ll keep my word?”

“I’d just have to trust you,” Oscar said, his voice still low but firm and full of warning. 

“If you’re willing to give it up that easily, why are you here? What’s to stop me from ruining your entire career?” the Brit taunted. 

“Like I said,” Oscar explained, looking down on his teammate, “I love her. She’s worth it.”

“Not that much.”

“Yes, that much.”

Lando laughed. “You’ve gone soft. You’re no fun.”

“Do we have a deal?” Oscar asked.

Lando looked aside, weighing his options in his head. “Let me think on it.”

Both men knew the answer then and there. This wasn’t over. But if it kept Lando away from you for a while, Oscar would take your place in the back and forth. He could handle it. 

The short-lived peace made its way back to Oscar’s hotel room that night, where he wrapped an arm around you, as natural as turning the lights off and pulling the covers up to your chin. He held you close, relishing the feeling of your chest rising and falling under his arm that you interlocked with your own.

He closed his eyes, steadying his own breathing as he held you like his life depended on it.

“What did you say to Lando in the hallway?” you asked, your voice a scarce whisper in the dark room.

“Nothing,” Oscar answered. 

“I could hear you all talking. I just couldn’t make out the words.”

“Don’t worry about it. He won’t be bothering you anymore,” Oscar said, though he knew it was a lie. He ran his thumb up and down the smooth surface of your knuckles, soothing himself as much as you.

“You know, I got a job offer last week,” you said. Oscar stopped. His breath hitched. You continued, “Doing social media for some French fitness influencer. Seems like a pretty decent gig.”

“Are you going to take it?”

“I’m not sure. I’m waiting to hear back from some other positions.”

“And when you do?”

The question hung thick in the air. All talk of you leaving had fizzled out long ago, though you hadn’t stopped looking, still scared of that thought that lingered in the back of your mind, convincing you that you couldn’t trust the life that Oscar had carved out for you.

“I don’t know. It might do me some good to get away from all this.”

“You’d get lonely.”

You gave a small huff of a laugh. “I’d manage.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, pulling you closer. “I’d get lonely.”

“I’m sure you’d manage, too.”

“How’s the pay?”

“Not as good as Piastri incorporated,” you joked, a small across your face.

“That’s right,” he joked back. “Gotta pay my best worker well.”

“It’s not exactly the most professional environment, I must admit.”

‘Would you prefer a cubicle at the back of the paddock?”

You had missed this, the gentle banter that constituted your friendship with Oscar. It would be normal, were you not wrapped up in his arms right now.

You laughed at his joke, but Oscar continued, “Unfortunately, I can’t accept your resignation.”

“I don’t need you to.”

“You won’t get a good review out of me. I’ll tell everyone about your unprofessional behavior.” Oscar sat up, winking at you. “So close with the boss, hm?”

“You wish,” you taunted, grabbing a pillow and putting it between you and him.

“No!” he cried out, giggling as he grabbed the pillow and threw it across the room. You wrestled with the other bedding, grasping for layers and laughing in the mess you were swiftly creating.

But the moment ended too soon, as Oscar leaned over you and pinned you down, his chest heaving from the play fighting, his eyes locked on yours. Your gaze had darkened now, seeing his bare chest rising and falling above you, where all he had to do was reach down and bring his lips to yours for everything to change in an instant.

He pulled away, and you wanted to whimper. You imagined reaching up, slipping your fingers through the soft stands of his hair and pulling him back down to you, letting yourself get consumed by him once more.

And judging by the growing hardness pressing against your leg, he was imagining it too.

“I should go, erm, take a shower,” he said, breaking the moment before you could dwell on it any further. 

It didn’t matter. As you heard the water turn on and the rustling of his clothes, you wondered where Oscar’s hands must be wandering.

You could get up and walk into the bathroom, dropping your own clothes on the floor next to his. He could pin you against the wall of the shower and kiss up and down your neck, nipping into the sensitive skin, leaving dark marks to show the world that you’d always been his.

You took a deep breath. The shame came in waves. 

When Oscar got out of the shower, you were gone, having decided to spend the night in your own room for the first time in God knows how long. The bed was still warm, the covers still imprinted by your form.

He turned over and passed the night with a restless kind of sleep.

And yet, you turned up in the paddock the next morning as if nothing had happened. 

Oscar saw you from across the garage, and he let out a nervous breath seeing you chatting with one of the other photographers. You were here, safe. He didn’t like how anxious he was, not having you by his side at night and into the morning.

“Saw your girl show up alone this morning. You really trust me, huh?” Lando said, standing beside Oscar as they both weighed in for the Grand Prix.

“She’s grown. And so are you.”

“You really are a new man, aren’t you, Oscar? Love has changed you,” Lando said, patting Oscar on the back.

“Don’t push it.”

“But it’s so fun!” he said, smiling to himself. “I don’t think I’m gonna stop. Cause what are you gonna do about it?”

“Run you off the track,” Oscar said, his natural flatness giving the warning a cold chill.

“I’m sure you will,” Lando laughed.

Oscar hadn’t even planned to do it. But as he watched you out of the corner of his eye, he knew something had to be done. Lando was only keeping his distance, for now. 

When it came down to it, what could he do to protect you? Would he really have to give it all up?

He would. In an instant, only for you.

The thought raced in his mind as fast as the car he now sat himself into, preparing for the Grand Prix that would start any minute now. His eyes glanced at you, on the edge of the track, camera pointed towards him as usual. Yes, he’d do it for you. Only you. 

At the front of the pact, Lando turned to face you, knowing Oscar was in eyeshot. And he winked at you. Fucking winked, like he didn’t know exactly what he was doing, like everyone couldn’t see how the blood drained from your face and you awkwardly shuffled back to the McLaren garage just to be out of eyeshot of that man who had the nerve to treat you like a pawn in a game he didn’t even care to win. 

Oscar knew what he had to do. And when you heard the famous words in your ears just the same as all the countless race starts you’d seen—lights out and away we go!—he just prayed that you’d understand why he had to do it.

Oscar’s reflexes had never worked so fast as he booked it down the middle, the mere millisecond the lights went out. It was like his mind and body had split; he was moving by pure instinct, racing ahead towards his teammate who led the pack down the first straight. 

But even as he made his way to the front, he didn’t try to overtake. No, he wasn’t here to win. If Oscar was going down, Lando would go down with him. He turned and pushed his teammate off the track and into the barrier into the first turn.

It all happened so quickly that you couldn’t process it; the sound of rough metallic clashing, tires screeching, the crowd hushed as smoke and debris sprang into the air.

On one side, Oscar’s voice crackled through the radio. “I’m okay,” he assured. “Shit, I think I lost control of the steering…”

On the other, those who could hear Lando were not as soothed. “That fucker just ran me off the track! Did you see that? This is ridiculous!”

The garage was in a frenzy, mechanics scrambling to bring in both of the cars for repair after a rare double DNF. You knew the boys would be swept up in media interviews, calls to the stewards, and late meetings in the garage. It didn’t stop you from rushing forward with the crowd of everyone else, camera at the ready, snapping photos of Oscar as he ruffled his hair and began the walk of shame back to the garage. 

You still followed him back to his driver’s room, chasing the precious minutes before he’d be out of your grasp for the rest of the evening.

“Oscar!”

“I’m okay, YN,” he assured you, turning around to embrace you. His hands on your hips felt familiar, like home, like hope. He pressed his forehead to yours, exhaling as the adrenaline left him. 

“Are you really?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m okay.”

“Why did you do that?”

“I lost control—”

“I’m not the FIA, Oscar.”

He chuckled. You continued, “I know better. You didn’t lose control of the steering. Why in God’s name would you run him off track?”

“I did what I had to do.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll handle it, yeah?”

“Oscar—”

“Shh,” he said, resting his head on your shoulder now. “Stay in my room tonight? I don’t like you sleeping alone.”

You swallowed, scared of the acknowledgement of your closeness. “Oscar…”

“I have to get to the stewards. I’ll see you back at the hotel, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“What the actual fuck was that?” The Brit’s voice reverberated through the tin walls of the meeting room, his anger palpable. 

“I lost—”

“Bullshit!”

“Lando, lower your voice,” Zak Brown commanded, leaning back in his chair at the head of the table. “Oscar, do you wanna walk us through what happened?”

Oscar resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m not quite sure. I was trying to overtake, I lost control of the steering, then I spun out.”

“Well it looks like you ran into me,” Lando snided. “Or are you really that bad at controlling your own car?”

“Oscar wouldn’t run you off the track,” Zak interjected. “That’s not how we do things here.”

“Oh yeah, papaya rules?” Lando jeered, laughing to himself. “Yeah, right. Look at the footage. He rammed into me. The stewards will handle it.”

“Tensions are high right now, but let's not get carried away with allegations. Right now we need to focus on the team. You know Ferrari is catching up to us, and we still can’t eliminate Max.”

“Hard to do that when my own teammate is trying to run me into a fucking wall,” Lando muttered. 

“That’s enough,” Zak said, his voice unusually stern. “The mechanics are looking at the car, and the stewards are looking at the footage. If there’s a mechanical issue, they’ll find it. And if we have to take any penalties, we’ll deal with it. But all this infighting needs to stop. We all have the same goals here.”

“Do we?” Oscar asked, breaking his silence.

“Of course we do,” Zac said. “Why wouldn’t we?”

Oscar shrugged. “We both want to win. And some people are willing to do anything.” He looked up and locked eyes with Lando across the table. 

“We want to win,” Zac said, turning his head to both drivers. “We, as in, McLaren. But we don’t put one driver down to help the other win. You all know this. You both drive fair.”

“Of course,” Oscar said. Lando was seething, unable to keep up the charade for much longer. 

“I’ve got to get to the stewards. Stay here, both of you, and behave,” he warned, as if scolding children. But the second he closed the door behind him, Lando broke. 

“You fucked up, Piastri. You think he didn’t see right through that?”

“Doesn’t matter. I don’t care about winning anymore. I just want you to lose.”

Lando laughed. “I don’t buy that for one second.”

“You really think this is still about racing? You’re trying to destroy my entire life! You lied to Lily, you nearly killed me in Imola, and now you’re harassing YN. If you want to go low, I’ll go lower,” Oscar hissed. 

“You really don’t want to do that,” Lando said. “You think you’re beating me at my own game, but you haven’t seen anything.”

“Do your worst,” Oscar said, shrugging. “At this point, I don’t care. Because I know that more than anything else, you want to win. And if I go down, I’m bringing you down with me.”

By the time Oscar made it back to the hotel, you were nearly asleep. The day wore heavily on your shoulders, slumping you down into the bed with ease, though you wanted to be awake to talk to him when he got back.

You drifted in and out of consciousness, your breaths steadying as you heard his footsteps cross the floor softly in an effort not to wake you. 

“Osc…” you whispered, your voice hoarse from exhaustion. “You’re back.”

“Yeah,” he responded. “I’ll be to bed in a minute, go back to sleep.”

“I wanted to see you,” you said, rubbing your eyes. “Make sure you’re okay.”

“I am,” he said, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your temple. The gesture was gentle and natural, as if the feeling of his lips on your skin wasn’t heavy with the weight of months of uncried tears and fears that still paralyzed you both. “Don’t worry about me. Get some rest.”

But his kiss, tender as it was, had sent a wave of warm electricity through you. Sleep was far from you now. Oscar crossed the room towards the bathroom, and again your thoughts drifted to darker places, remembering the solidity of his body against yours months ago. Your need for him was becoming indescribable. 

Why didn’t you just give in? He was right; you wanted each other, that was undeniable. What else could be done about it, besides letting the need take over, drowning in him until all you could breathe in was the warmth of his skin, the smell of his cologne, the gentle breaths he exhaled in the quiet dark of your love?

Still, you felt paralyzed. And when he came back into the room, clad in only his underwear, and snaked under the covers next to you, you couldn’t do it. In your mind, you crawled on top of him, steadying your hands on the slopes of his broad shoulders, and kissed him until you couldn’t breathe; in reality, you just turned to look at him, your eyes bold with a restrained wanting. 

“I told you to go back to sleep, YN,” he whispered, moving your hair out of your face to see you clearly. 

“Did you really run into him? Like, on purpose?”

“Are you wearing a wire?” Oscar joked, a small bunny-toothed grin stretching across his face.

“I’m hardly wearing anything,” you responded, ignoring the blush that rushed to your companion’s cheeks at the thought. “And neither are you. But seriously, why did you do that?”

You had left Oscar in a no-win situation: to acknowledge the enticing lack of clothing between you two, or the still muddled details of his crash. He chose the latter.

“I…did what I had to do. And he knows I’ll do it again.”

“You’re being cryptic,” you said. 

Oscar took a deep breath, contemplating whether or not to tell you. “I didn’t want it to get this far,” he began. “But after all the shit he put you through, I had to do something. When he followed you in the garage, I tried to talk to him. I thought if this is all just about winning, then if I let him win he’d leave us alone.”

“You…”

“I offered to give up, let him win. He wouldn’t agree to it.”

“Oscar!”

��What?” he asked.

“Why the hell would you do that?”

“Because you being safe is more important than any championship.”

“Don’t say that,” you scolded. “And don’t you dare give anything up for me.”

“Why not?”

“Because this is your dream. This is everything you’ve worked for.”

“What about your dreams, YN? What about everything you wanted that you gave up for me?”

“You were the only thing I ever wanted,” you whispered, as tears threatened to form in your eyes. “To be your friend, to be by your side when you win.”

“Well, you’re worth giving it up for.”

“No, don’t—”

“YN—”

You both sat up, and the space between you was infinitely small. Oscar looked to your lips, then his eyes met yours, and for a moment, you thought he was going to kiss you. And you wanted it more than anything. 

“If you had done that,” you said, breaking the tension, “if you had really given up, I would have left you.”

He reached his hand out to your waist, carefully reaching under the loose tank top you wore, meeting your skin. His touch was warm and sent shivers under your spine. Again, his eyes went to rest on your lips, tracing every curve. “No you wouldn’t,” he said. 

“Yes, I would,” you replied, your voice more forceful.

“No, you wouldn’t,” he whispered. His free hand had come to rest on your jawline, his thumb tracing up and down the side of your face. “You love me too much.”

“You’d be miserable without racing.” Your voice was beginning to shake.

“Maybe. But I’d get over it.”

You inhaled sharply, suddenly overcome with anxiety and a thick sense of dread. This was all you had wanted; you and Oscar, nothing but atoms of air separating your bodies. But now that you were here, you felt a lump in your throat suffocating you.

Oscar could sense it too. He pulled back slightly. “He wouldn’t let me,” he said, his voice soft. “And then he winked at you. I had to show him that I wouldn’t let him get away with any of this.”

“That’s immature,” you said. “You could have gotten yourself killed.”

“I was more hurt when he ran into me first, if you’ve forgotten.” Though he had moved away, his eyes still couldn’t help but glancing at your lips. “I’m just showing him that he can’t get away with all of this.”

“And what happens when one of you gets seriously hurt? I can’t lose you, Oscar.”

“You won’t.” His hand lowered to your hip and stayed there, tracing small circles into your skin. “I don’t care about winning anymore, but he does. He can’t run me off track without sacrificing points.”

“I don’t like this,” you said. Your voice was still shaking, though with a different kind of fear now. 

“I know,” he whispered. 

The closeness was too much. You felt like you were going to puke. “I guess I should go to my own room, let you get some rest.”

“If you want,” he said, his voice soft with a gentle and innocent wanting. “I won’t stop you. But you can stay.”

“I just—”

“YN,” he cut you off, “why are you so nervous? It’s just me.”

“I know.”

“I’m not going to do anything that you don’t want.”

“I know,” you echoed. You felt like a broken record. “Just…get some rest. It’s been a long day.”

“Okay,” he said. “Goodnight, YN.”

You didn’t respond as you crossed the room, opened the door, and went to your own hotel room. 

A few days later, you felt your heart drop as you checked your phone for the first time in hours.

You had been on a grueling flight back to Australia with Oscar, where you were meant to spend the summer break with his family. Upon arriving at the empty Piastri family home, you took your phone off airplane mode, and what you saw took all the blood away from your face. 

“House is ours for the night,” Oscar explained as he began unpacking his suitcase. “Mum doesn’t get back from her trip until tomorrow night, but of course she didn’t tell—”

“Oscar.”

“What?” he said, looking at you, you sat on the edge of his bed, phone clutched in hand, shaking.

“Have you checked your socials today?”

“Isn’t that what I pay you for?” he joked, cracking a smile. You didn’t look back at him, and he quickly dropped the banter. “Wait, what’s wrong?”

You silently handed him the phone. On the screen was a gossip page, and a carousel of images of you and Lando.

Talking on track, out in Monaco, in his car. Oscar wanted to puke. But as he scrolled, it got even worse. The face that still haunted his dreams, though he’d never admit it aloud anymore: Lily.

Mess at McLaren! Fans have noticed tensions between McLaren drivers Oscar Piastri and Lando Norris, but according to a close source within McLaren, things are worse than anyone could have imagined. Our source says that Piastri and long time girlfriend, Lily Zneimer, have been broken up for months, which explains her absence at nearly every Grand Prix this season. Piastri quickly moved on with long time friend and social media manager YN LN, but recently, YN has been seen in close quarters with his teammate Lando Norris. Will we be seeing a new wag soon, or more drama between the drivers? 

The comments were even worse.

Wait, why did Oscar and Lily break up? They were so endgame!

↪️Our source told us that Lily was not a fan of how close Oscar and YN were! They have been friends since they were children, but fans have been speculating for a while that there’s something deeper there. 

YN is such a homewrecker oh my God. I always felt off about her. 

↪️Exactly. Like not only did she break up Oscar and Lily, but then she’s going for Lando now! Like girl GO AWAY EWWW

That pic of YN outside Lando’s condo? Look at her dress. Compared to the pic from the restaurant, it’s clear she took that off. There’s no way they didn’t hook up. 

Okay but how have Oscar and Lily been broken up since March but none of us noticed?

↪️Lily has always been super private, which makes sense considering her ex and his “girl best friend” were always flaunting how close they are. You all remember that photo he deleted after the Australian GP? I feel so bad for her. 

↪️Oh if I was Lily I’d be pissed. You steal my man and then you leave him for his teammate? The audacity of YN!

He couldn’t read any more. But when he looked up, he couldn’t stand what he saw, either. You, unable to keep the tears back, your mind racing faster than a Formula 1 car.

“I’m ruined,” you said. “I’ve gotten emails from HR, the PR people at McLaren… I’m gonna lose my job.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

“Oscar, why would he do this?”

“Because he’s mad at me. And he knows the way to hurt me is through you. This is…his payback, I guess, for the crash.” As Oscar said those words, the truth dawned on him—this was his fault. 

“What do I even do?” you asked, and Oscar grabbed your shaking hands and held them in his own.

“Hey, we’ll figure it out after the break. I’ll make sure you don’t lose your job.”

“The entire internet thinks I’m a homewrecking whore.”

“No,” he said. “Just a small group of people who have nothing better to do than meddle in the personal lives of F1 drivers.”

“Are they wrong, though?”

“Don’t even entertain that idea. I’ll reach out to legal and see what they can do. This has got to be breaking Monaco privacy laws.”

“Oscar—”

“It’s gonna be okay, YN. I promise you.”

“Oscar,” you said, repeating his name, but this time quieter, more weighted. “Maybe this is a sign.”

“What?”

“I’ve been going back and forth about leaving for too long. Maybe this is it. I mean, how am I going to come back from this?”

“Are you serious? You just want to give up?” Oscar asked. His voice was tinged with anger.

“You, of all people, can’t lecture me about giving up,” you responded.

“Shit, you’re right, but I’ll tell you the same thing you told me. I won’t let you do it.”

“If I really wanted to leave, you’d make me stay? How would you manage that?” Your voice dripped in venom, and something more, something that sent a shiver down Oscar’s spine, an invitation to push.

“I’d figure it out,” he said, unsure of how far to go. “Just promise me you won’t give up immediately. At least try. Don’t let him win this easily.”

“I’m not competitive like you all,” you said, turning your head away. Suddenly, Oscar’s gaze felt too heavy for you to bear. 

“You said all you ever wanted was to be here with me. Are you gonna let him take that from you?” he asked.

You didn’t respond. Oscar moved towards you. “We’ll do this together. We’ll get through this. I promise. Will you promise me?”

Still, you were silent. 

“YN? Do you promise?” 

“Can you give me a minute?” you asked, though you didn’t wait for a response when you left the bedroom and made your way out onto the back porch.

In the distance, you heard the familiar and comforting sound of the neighborhood you had grown up in, and you let it lull you to a steady pace of breathing, in and out. 

You knew Oscar was right. You couldn’t give up this easily and let Lando take everything away from you. But you wanted so badly to indulge that instinct to run. 

You remembered what Oscar had said, nights before, when you had scolded him about his own desire to give in. He had said you were worth it, and the thought scared you. 

You had always been the one to do things for him, not the other way around. You had molded your entire future based on his dreams, until eventually they became your own. Now, all you wanted was him, but even when he was close enough to touch, you couldn’t take it. Why? What held you back from everything you had ever wanted, your entire life?

“YN,” Oscar called, closing the sliding door behind him. “I’m sorry. I was a little harsh.”

“It’s alright,” you said, as he sat next to you, his muscled arms straining against the fabric of his shirt. 

He bit his lip, unsure of exactly what to say. 

“You were right, though,” you said. “I shouldn’t give up. Neither of us should.”

“Do you really want to leave?” he asked, though the both of you were too nervous to look at the other. 

“I don’t know,” you answered. 

“I don’t know what I was on about, when I said I wouldn’t let you leave. I mean, I want you here. I won’t lie to you about that. But if you want to go…” his voice trailed off, unable to even comprehend what he’d do. 

“If I left, would you go back to Lily?”

“I— what? What does she have to do with any of this?”

“She has everything to do with this.”

“I don’t understand.”

“She left you because of me. And the entire reason I ever entertained Lando was because of her.”

“And now you want to leave because of her. Because you’ll never feel right about it, is that it?”

It shouldn’t shock you that Oscar knew you so well. Still, you kept your mouth shut, biting your lip.

“You were here before all of it,” he said. “Before Lando, before Lily, before racing, even. If being here is what you want, then you deserve it more than any of them.”

He moved to face you, his hand dangerously close to yours.

“So no, I wouldn’t go back to Lily.”

“Because she wouldn’t have you, or because you don’t want to be with her anymore?”

“YN, seriously?”

“What?”

“A few days ago I was about to give up my entire racing career for you. You really think I’d go back to her?”

The absurdity of what you’d implied dawned over you. 

“I…I’m sorry. I’m not thinking right.”

“I’m not upset. I just…” Oscar’s voice faded. You shivered in the cold air as night approached, evidenced by the stunning sunset that painted the Australian sky of his backyard. “Let’s go inside,” Oscar suggested, “You’re shivering.”

You wordlessly followed him back inside, but stopped before you got into his room. 

It had been a long time since you and Oscar had been alone in his room. The last time…well, it must have been the night that you lost your virginity. It almost felt like, to cross that threshold again would be to give up the fight that you had so strongly waged in your head. 

But isn’t that what you wanted?

Oscar, none the wiser, continued unpacking his clothes. 

You walked away, going to the kitchen to prepare food for dinner. 

It was odd, being in Oscar’s childhood home—and really, yours too—alone with him. All that was on your mind was the last time you were alone, in this place, a similar tension thick in the air, that ever-present fear that one of you would have to leave. It seemed that not much had changed. 

Oscar could tell that you were distracted, but he assumed the elephant in the room was your newly destroyed reputation, which he truthfully had no idea how he was going to fix. He’d figure it out. At least, that’s what he told himself. He’d figure anything out of it meant keeping you next to him every night, waking up with your arms around him. 

Though, recently, you had taken to sleeping alone. All this talk of leaving terrified him. He had once been so sure that you’d never leave him, that you’d always be there. The love and friendship you shared was strong enough to withstand anything—years of long distance, a relationship, his rise to stardom within Formula 1—but now, everything was as fragile as glass, able to be destroyed with just the tiniest bit of force.

He was scared. 

That fear returned when night fully came, and it was time to sleep. You were both exhausted from the insanity of the day. You had turned off your phone just to enjoy the silence of the home you grew up in. 

The episode of whatever random show you had been watching was over. The house was quiet, save for the creaking of the home’s bones, and the soft patter of rain outside. 

Despite your reservations, you had found yourself resting your head on Oscar’s shoulder, half asleep. He could feel his eyelids heavying too, but he didn’t want to disrupt the scene, the sweet presence of your closeness that could be gone any day now. 

“I should probably go to bed,” you said, your voice hoarse. Oscar hummed in response, unsure of what to say. He had a feeling that his words would just make the situation worse.

You stared at the ceiling of the Piastri family guest room, a familiar sight. Getting ready for bed had meant turning your phone back on for your alarm in the morning, and you had been inundated with a flood of nasty messages, worried texts, and concerning emails. You ignored them all. 

You felt like the ceiling was going to grow a set of eyes and start staring back at you, at this rate. Your insomnia in the past year was getting to you. 

Your gaze switched to your surroundings; the nondescript guest room, that was basically your childhood home. You had never decorated it, despite Nicole’s insistence that the room was yours to fill. You never felt like you deserved it. Someone else would eventually need to be there, someone more important than the girl from the troubled family across the cul de sac. 

And that was the root of all of this, wasn’t it? You were… you. The neighbour girl. The unofficial extra daughter. The best friend who was more like blood. The one who was always there, but in the background, never in the front; you wanted to be unnoticed, unknown. 

But it couldn’t be that way forever. Either you’d fully fade away, or you’d stay here forever, cemented in this family that had taken you in when no one else would. As much as you’d like to fight it, this place, this room, these people, they were your home. 

You should have been lulled to sleep by the droning of the ceiling fan or the gentle static of the rain outside that was now picking up to a stronger storm. But all you could think about was him. Oscar. Was he sleeping? Or was his mind running circles around itself, just like yours?

You picked up your phone to check the time. Nearly 3 in the morning. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d snuck into Oscar’s room in the early hours before the light of dawn. 

Down the hall, his door was ajar, as if he was expecting, or maybe hoping, you’d come by. You slid in silently and closed the door behind you. 

Oscar’s eyes glanced up to you, following your form as you assumed your place in the bed next to him. He could have turned away—you could have too—but instead you all curved to face each other, your eyes perfectly aligned, no words needed to express what you all knew to be true. 

Time had run out. You could no longer run from this, from him. And now you were back where it all began. 

You just held each other’s gaze for a moment, letting the silence speak all the words you knew couldn’t be said. Finally, Oscar broke the tension.

“YN,” he whispered, “I love you so much that it hurts.” You could hear the pain in his voice, the choked syllables that held back a flood’s worth of tears. “And I’m so fucking sorry about all of this. You deserve so much better.”

You didn’t respond, even as tears threatened their way forwards.

He continued, “You deserve someone who will always put you first. You deserve to go discover your dreams and make them happen, and you deserve someone who will be there to support you every second of the way. I’m so sorry I haven’t been that person. But God, I want to be.”

You whispered his name into the quiet between his words, but nothing could stop the flood that fell from his lips.

“If you want to go and find that person, find that dream, then do it. I want you to be happy more than I want you to be mine. But I can’t let you go without telling you how much I wish it could have been me.”

“Oscar,” you said, your voice more forceful this time, but he persisted.

“YN, I love you. I am in love with you. And I’m so sorry that I didn’t treat you better. I’m so sorry that I ruined what could have been so beautiful.”

“Oscar,” you repeated, cutting him off, “Kiss me.”

“What?” he asked, propping himself up on one elbow to look down on you. 

“I said, kiss me.”

“But—”

“Oscar. I am asking you to kiss me.”

“You…you want me to?”

“Do you not want to?”

“No, I mean yes, I just—”

You could let him babble any more, so you took action into your own hands, sitting up to meet him, pressing your lips to his in a chaste and gentle kiss that felt like a tsunami coming to rest in the pit of your stomach. 

“Do you remember the last time we were here? Alone in your room?” you whispered against his lips, and he nodded. “I was so scared, then. But I trusted you. We trusted each other.”

“YN,” he exhaled, his voice breathy with need, “I’m afraid you’re going to leave me.”

“Don’t think about that. We’re here, right now. It’s just us.”

“It’s just us,” he repeated, his hands beginning to wander. And it was true. Here there was no Lando, no Lily, no Formula 1, nothing but you and the man you loved, your bodies intertwined, your chests heaving with desire.

“Oscar.”

“Yeah?”

“Do it again,” you commanded.

“Huh?”

“Kiss me again,” you said, a smile forming on your lips. 

“I don’t—” You kissed him again, savoring his familiar taste, the way your lips fit so perfectly with his.

He pulled away. “We can’t. You said we can’t.” 

“You really want to stop?” you asked. 

“But you said—”

“Oscar,” you said, his name like a prayer on your lips. “Please. I want this. I need it.”

He was quiet then, for a moment, upon hearing your confession of desire. You were scared for a moment that he might reject you. 

“Tell me what to do,” he whispered in your ear. “Show me how you want it. I’ll be gentle.”

You moved his tentative hands to your waist, and he pulled you closer, holding you against him, where you were near enough to feel his blood pulse through his veins. Your heart was beating fast, the feeling of him both foreign and familiar.

He reached one hand up into your hair, gently pulling your head to the side to press his lips to your neck, and you let out a whimper at the soft touch. You rested your hands against his bare chest, relishing the feeling of his heart beat and his breath that was rapidly increasing. His want was devouring him, but he touched you like you were something fragile and breakable. 

“You don’t have to be this gentle with me,” you said with a breathy voice. “I won’t break.”

“No, you’re too precious,” he said, a temporary reprieve from his lips exploring every inch of your neck. He looked up and delicately ran the back of his hand along the soft skin of your cheek. “You’re so soft and warm. I want to savor you. God, I missed this.”

You grabbed his chin and brought his lips back to yours, unable to resist him any longer. Your tongues explored each other’s mouths, re-mapping every inch that had been forgotten, and you moaned into him, softly grinding into his lap. You needed more of him. 

“You taste like heaven. God, you’ll be the fucking death of me, YN.”

You could already feel a wetness pooling in your panties, and your hitched breath at his praise made you all the more ready. “I need you,” you whimpered. “I need you inside of me, filling me up—”

“Oh,” he moaned, “don’t do this to me, YN. I won’t last.”

“Undress me,” you told him, and he complied, tossing your pajamas aside until you were left in nothing but your panties, which were already stained with a wet spot, evidence of how badly you needed him. 

His hands smoothed over the expanse of your chest, groping at the soft flesh and leaning down to take one of your hardened nipples into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud. 

You exhaled, shivering, unused to such a gentle touch from your lover. You couldn’t help but want more of him; rougher, harder, faster. But he took his time with you, worshipping your body, committing every inch of skin to memory as if, at any second, you’d be gone. 

Oscar got down from the bed onto his knees before you, staring up at you with a lustful yet innocent adoration. He gently pawed at the softness of your thighs, spreading them open and he pulled you to the edge of the bed. The thin, soaked fabric of your panties was the only barrier between him and the fullness of your body, and he quickly pulled them off, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thighs as his eyes met your wet slit. 

“I want to make you cum on my tongue,” he said, one hand groping your left thigh as he kissed your right. He looked so beautiful, bowed before you, worshipping between your legs. 

“Please,” you begged. You were already quivering with anticipation, and he’d barely even touched you. 

“I love you,” he murmured into your skin, soft enough that you could barely understand him. Even with the muffled words, you could feel the sweet sentiment as he held your legs open and flattened his tongue to like a stripe from your opening to your clit, ending with his lips gently pressed to the bundle of nerves. 

You let out a sinful sound at the feeling, tensing up your thighs around his face as he ate you out like a starved man, savoring every bit of wetness he could lick up. Your hands instinctively found his hair as you leaned back, quivering at the feeling of his tongue swirling around your clit. One hand held your hip firmly in place, preventing you from squirming, while the other skillfully pumped two fingers in and out of you.

“O-Oscar…” you moaned, close to the edge.

He stopped. “You okay?”

“Don’t stop, please,” you begged, throwing your head back in pleasure as he fingered you faster, his mouth sucking on your clit. You squealed, letting out a high pitched whine as you came undone, fulfilling his wish. He licked up every drop of you, steadying you by holding your legs in his strong arms as they shook from the intensity of your climax. 

His name fell from your lips again and again, and he got back on the bed, laying you out beneath him. Your hair sprawled in a halo against the pillows, and he sat up above you, admiring the sight of you, desperate with wanting before him. 

“Oscar, please,” you begged. “I need you.”

He leaned down to kiss your neck again, whispering in your ear, “You need me?”

“Need you inside of me,” you echoed.

“No,” he said, taking off his own last layers until both of you were fully bare, “I need you. Need you wrapped around me. Need to stretch you out, fill you up.”

There were no words left with which to beg him, and your doe eyes staring at him were all he needed to take you fully. He let out a low groan as he sank into you, your velvety insides gripping him so perfectly. The sweet burn of him taking you was heavenly. 

“It’s always been you, YN,” he moaned as he fucked into you, slow but deep strokes making you see stars. “I’ve always wanted you. I always needed you—fuck. Love isn’t a strong enough word for what I feel for you.”

You reached for the muscles of his back, feeling them straining with every thrust as he held back from ruining you. He wanted to last, to fuck you slow and gentle, but he couldn’t help the lust that only grew hearing your sweet sounds, breathy in his ear.

You needed him closer. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him deeper into you, and all you could hear was the obscene sounds of your wetness and Oscar groaning into your mouth as he brought his lips to yours again. His hand rested on your waist as he pushed as far as he could into you, resting for a moment. 

“You feel so fucking good. I’m not gonna last.”

“Don’t stop,” you whined.

“But I wanna take my time with you,” he whispered against your skin. 

“We have all night,” you teased. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He exhaled, his breath shaky as he pounded into you, and you squealed. You had both run out of words, too enraptured with the bliss of the other’s body against your own, becoming one again after so long. You had finally given in, and it felt too fucking good. Your brain shut off, only able to think about your own impending climax as he rutted into you, bringing you both closer and closer to the edge.

“My perfect girl. Oh, God, I’m so close. I love you—fuck, I’m gonna…” You stretched down his back as he gave one last, violent thrust into you before spilling his seed inside of you, moaning obscenely into your ear. He reached down and roughly rubbed at your sensitive clit until you came too, the empty home now full of the unrestrained sounds of your pleasure.

He held you there as you both steadied your breath, and as the static in your ears grew quiet, all you could hear was his breathing and yours, indistinguishable in the aftermath of your lovemaking. He gently kissed you, crading your face in his hands like you were a gentle, precious thing.

“I love you,” he murmured over and over through his shaky breaths. “I love you so much.”

You couldn’t bask in the afterglow, though, as your logic swiftly came back to you. “Oscar, did you finish inside of me?”

Your lover just hummed in response. “Oscar,” you said, your voice more urgent now, “I’m not on birth control.”

He was snapped out of his reverie. “You’re not? YN, why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was just caught up in the moment—”

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I didn’t even mean to—”

You laughed out of the sheer absurdity of it all. “Of course this would happen to us. I am so fucking stupid…”

“Don’t say that,” he murmured, resuming his affection by bringing his lips back to your cheek. “Isn’t this what Plan B is for?” 

You exhaled sharply, “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll just take the pill. I’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.”

“Hey,” he said, turning your face to look at him. “It will be fine. I promise. I’m here for you no matter what.”

You exhaled again, this time an attempt at a real release of tension. 

“Breathe with me,” he said, and you took a few deep breaths in unison as he snuggled next to you, tracing patterns on the exposed skin of your stomach to calm you. It worked, and feeling the warmth of his bare skin against your own brought you to a sense of peace.

“It’s gonna be okay. I’m here,” he repeated, lulling you into something like sleep. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you whispered, letting him hold you as exhaustion finally took hold. 

[anyfire]

still thinking about the two realities conversation between mari and ben and how it works into the ongoing "debate" on whether or not the supernatural stuff is real, or if it's all just happening in their heads. to me the show is at its best when it's saying two things at once, ie "we brought it back with us". "it" being It, but also "it" being trauma. like, "two versions of reality" is an inherently supernatural statement. but it's also a very real one.

it comes after ben detailing his life as a "completely normal guy" before the crash, and how in a world where the crash never happened or he never got on the plane, he would still be that guy. we've already seen glimpses of what that life could have looked like when ben dissociates, and we see it for the girls when lottie hallucinates the shopping mall. we also see versions of "different realities" in jackie's death dream, as well as the dream shauna has after giving birth. and all of these visions and dreams become more warped/horrifying the longer they continue -- cabin guy in jackie's dream, ben's final vision being in the cabin with paul leaving, the snow coming down on lottie in the middle of the food court, and finally the rest of the team eating shauna's baby. the other reality, the "bad" one, the one infected by the wilderness and everything that's come about because of it, just "hiding, or waiting".

mari also talks about watching a cartoon in the hospital room when her cousin dies, and going out into the waiting room afterwards where the same cartoon is playing. to me, those are two different realities as well. but the world where her cousin just died next to her and the world where she's just in a hospital waiting room, as if it never happened, are tethered. sometimes only your world ends, and for everyone else it's just another day. we also see THIS echoed in the adult lives of all the survivors. they're paranoid, misunderstood, violent, strange. they're utterly disconnected from everyone but each other. the world ended for them, but it didn't for anyone else. they came back, but they can't ever really leave.

there's a reality where shauna really did go outside and get jackie. there's a reality where the team really is eating chinese food in a shopping mall food court. there's a reality where none of them survived the plane crash to begin with. there's a reality where jackie drinks hot chocolate. there's a reality where MARI drinks hot chocolate. there's allie's reality, where she was SUPPOSED to be on the plane that day. maybe theres a reality where they take a bus instead. but all of them, in one way or another, are real.

i don't know, i just really love it. i love how it plays into the ideas of fate and regret and doom and self fulfilling prophecies and how it reinforces the one true "villain" in the show being the plane crash itself, because all the tragedy that comes about because of it would never have happened. it's a conversation about "what if's" just as much as it's a conversation about the dream realm and the visions and all the other freaky shit going on out there. 10/10.