#and i feel like that reflects in this fic?

[rafecameronssl4t]

73 Questions with Vogue || Drew Starkey x actress!reader

Summary: just you participating in 73 Questions with Vogue and it goes viral!!!

Warnings: fluff!!!

Word count: 1,935

A/n: It's been so long since I've written a Drew fic!!!!!!! Also I got inspired by my previous acc's fic so if it seems familiar to some of you who followed me from there, don't come at me, I loved the idea too much lol. CAN SOMEONE PLS SEND ME REQUESTS FOR DREW FICS???

MASTERLIST

divider by @h-aewo

"Hello!" You greet the interviewer with a bright smile, swinging open the door to reveal him and his camera. "Hi, Y/n! Mind if we come in and ask you 73 questions?" he asks, his tone friendly and warm. "Yeah, of course! Come on in," you say, stepping aside and holding the door wide open, gesturing for them to enter as the camera pans through the foyer of your house. The space is beautifully designed, with soft lighting that gives it a cozy, inviting atmosphere.

"Wow, what a gorgeous house you have," the interviewer remarks, his voice filled with genuine awe as his eyes take in the sophisticated yet comfortable décor. "Thank you!" you respond, the compliment warming you as you flash a radiant smile. "Is this your favourite house?" The interviewer asks, already settling into the rhythm of the questions as you lead them down the hallway and into the open-plan living area.

"Yes, it definitely is. It's in my home city, and Charleston means so much to me, just like this house does," you say, your eyes lighting up as you gesture around. The view of the beach through the large windows makes the space feel even more special. "I love the view," the interviewer comments, looking out at the sunset that bathes the room in warm golden light. "The sunset looks amazing from here."

"It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?" you say with a soft chuckle. "I love spending time in this room specifically. It feels like a little sanctuary." You both share a laugh, enjoying the peaceful moment. "What's your morning routine like?" The interviewer asks as the camera follows you through the coastal-themed living room toward the kitchen. You pause for a moment, thinking about your answer.

"I haven't had much of a routine the past few months because of work, but currently, I wake up to a strong cup of coffee and a walk through downtown," you share with a soft smile. "It’s become a little ritual to clear my mind before everything gets too busy." As you stroll through the warm, inviting spaces of your home, the camera captures the personal touches that reflect your personality—a mix of elegance and laid-back comfort.

A question about your career comes next, and you happily share some behind-the-scenes anecdotes from your latest film. "This," you begin, the affection in your tone unmistakable, "is a magnet Sydney gave me when we wrapped filming Immaculate earlier this year." You glance at the picture, a grin spreading across your face. "It’s a photo of the two of us in our nun costumes... let’s just say, not doing very nun-like things." You laugh, the absurdity of the memory still fresh, and hold the magnet up for the camera to focus.

The image shows the two of you mid-laughter, each holding a cigarette with exaggerated defiance, your habits slightly askew, as though caught mid-rebellion. "What's the best compliment you've received?" the interviewer asks, a hint of curiosity in their voice. You pause, your expression thoughtful. "Oh, that's a tough one," you say, your lips curling into a playful smile.

"I think the best compliment I’ve ever gotten was when someone said, 'You're like Meryl Streep… but, you know, with fewer Oscars.’" You chuckle, shaking your head in amusement. "It was the kind of backhanded compliment that made me laugh for days." The interviewer laughs along with you. "That’s a good one," he says, clearly entertained. As you make your way towards the outside deck, the interviewer continues with another question. "Texting, calling, or FaceTiming?"

You grin as you lean casually against the railing, looking out at the beach below. "Oh, definitely FaceTiming," you say with a mischievous glint in your eyes. "I’m terrible at replying to text messages. I’d much rather see people's live reactions, y’know?" A more personal question comes next, and you smile thoughtfully as the interviewer asks, “How do you handle the pressures of fame?”

You nod, taking a moment before responding. "I lean on my family and friends—they keep me grounded. And I remind myself that pressure is a privilege. It means people care about what I do, and that means a lot." Your voice softens as you speak, the sincerity of your words clear as you step into your home office, showcasing the awards and accolades lining the shelves. The conversation turns to your personal life, and a warm, affectionate smile spreads across your face.

"Congratulations on reaching your two-year anniversary with Drew!" The interviewer says with a grin, and you beam in response. "Thank you!" you reply, your eyes sparkling as you think of him. "Drew is incredible. He’s my biggest supporter, my partner in everything, and honestly, just my favourite person. It’s been such a special journey since starting my career, and I’m so grateful to have him by my side."

"What's the key to a successful relationship?" He asks. You pause as you walk through the hallway, your gaze softening as you think. "I think it’s communication and a lot of patience. No relationship is perfect, but being able to talk things through and genuinely listen to each other makes all the difference." You smile, adding, "Oh, and laughter—if you can laugh together, you can get through just about anything."

The sound of the front door creaking open interrupts the moment, and a familiar voice rings out, instantly making your face light up. "Oh, there’s Drew right now!" you say, smiling brightly as you move toward the foyer. The camera follows you, capturing the scene as Drew enters, with Nellie, your cocker spaniel, bounding beside him. "Hey, baby," He greets you as he slips off his sunglasses, pulling you close for a tender kiss

When he pulls back, his eyes widen slightly as he spots the camera. "Oh, 73 Questions with Vogue?" he asks, a playful grin tugging at his lips. You giggle, nodding your head. "I forgot you were doing that today," he chuckles. “Go ahead, continue your interview," he adds with a fond look before walking off with Nellie. As the camera returns to you, you make your way toward the stairs, glancing over your shoulder to find Drew already on the floor, happily playing with Nellie.

A soft giggle escapes your lips, captured by the camera momentarily fixated on the fleeting connection. "What's something people don’t know about you?" the interviewer asks, pulling you back into the conversation. You pause, thinking for a second. "I’m actually allergic to most flowers," you reveal with a sheepish laugh. "Really? I wouldn’t have known," the interviewer responds, clearly surprised. "Oh, absolutely! When we film Outer Banks, they have to shoot around the flowers, or I'd be a sneezing mess," you confess, casually walking backward while maintaining a steady gaze with the camera.

The tour continues through luxurious walk-in closet, filled with designer attire. “What’s your pet peeve?” You laugh, shaking your head in mock exasperation. "Oh, definitely when people chew loudly. It’s like nails on a chalkboard for me. Chase is notorious for doing it on purpose, so I avoid him during my lunch breaks," you add, giggling at the memory. "Where was the best vacation you’ve been taken to?" the interviewer inquires as you step into your shared bedroom with Drew, the ocean stretching out just outside the windows.

"I think I’d have to say Vienna with Drew for my birthday," you say, smiling over your shoulder as you look out at the view. “A song you replay often?” "Hm, I think Charlie, Last Name Wilson," you say with a grin, rifling through the records. "It never gets old, and it’s super catchy." You smile as you pick it out. "Most of you guys would know that this song is also Drew and Austin’s favourite, so we always play it on set," you chuckle. "Does the rest of the Outer Banks cast like it too?" the interviewer asks, laughing along. "They don’t have much choice," you joke with a grin.

"Is there anything from any set that you've taken home with you?" The interviewer asks eagerly. “Oh, I love this question!" you exclaim, opening a drawer to reveal a variety of souvenirs. "This is the bag my character 'Whiskey' from Glass Onion owned," you say, showing off the brown frill bag. "And here’s a pack of Italian cigarettes from Immaculate, they’re just props, by the way," you add with a wink.

You pull out a cowboy hat. "This one’s from Tom on the set of Billy the Kid," you explain. "And this," you say with a smile, holding up a ring on a necklace. "This is Rafe's ring, the one he gave my character." "What a beautiful photo of the two of you," the interviewer notes, pointing to the large black-and-white photo of you and Drew at a Vogue photoshoot above your bed.

"It is! That day was actually so special for us. We both got the call saying we’d been cast in our respective roles that we’d been auditioning for," you explain, your face lighting up with nostalgia. The interviewer then asks about Drew’s upcoming movie. "Speaking of which, Drew’s film Queer is coming out very soon. Are you excited to watch it on the big screen?" "Yes, of course!" you say, your voice full of pride.

"I was so incredibly proud of him when he got the role. He was definitely excited too, especially since it’s, you know, the Luca Guadagnino." You chuckle. "I got the privilege to actually be on set for a bit, and it was amazing. Plus, I got to catch up with Daniel," you mention. "It was really nice to see him again." You smile, the pride evident in your expression as you talk about Drew's accomplishments.

The conversation is interrupted by a gentle knock at the door, and both you and the interviewer turn your attention toward it. Drew’s head peeks around the corner, his grin lighting up the frame as the camera zooms in on him. "I made some iced teas—yours is half and half," he says casually, stepping into the room with a tray holding two glasses. You can’t help but beam as he hands you your drink. "Aww, thanks, babe," you say gratefully, your fingers brushing his for a brief moment as you take the glass.

Drew hands the other glass to the interviewer, who looks pleasantly surprised. "Wow, thank you, Drew!" he says with a wide smile. "Of course," Drew replies warmly before glancing at you. "Let me know if you need anything else," he says, shooting you a quick wink before stepping out of the room. The camera lingers on him for a beat as he walks away, capturing his effortless charm.

You take a sip of the iced tea, the cool, refreshing taste spreading through you as you let out a content sigh. "Is this something you drink often?" the interviewer asks, clearly curious. You nod enthusiastically. "Oh, absolutely. I like mine half and half, and I drink it like 24/7," you say with a chuckle, the glass still in your hand. The interviewer grins before asking a more personal question. "I can tell Drew is very thoughtful. What’s your favourite trait of his?"

You laugh softly, caught off guard by the difficult question. "You can’t make me choose—I love everything about him!" you say with a playful grin, your tone light but sincere. The interviewer chuckles along with you, clearly charmed by your response. "Okay, okay, fair enough. But if you had to pick just one thing that comes to mind?"

You pause for a moment, your expression softening as you think. "Hmmm," you hum, swirling your iced tea absentmindedly. "I love the little things he does," you begin, your voice warm with affection. "Like how he always remembers my coffee order or when he leaves me little notes when I’m on set. It’s those small, thoughtful moments that really mean the most to me."

The camera captures your tender smile, and the interviewer smiles himself, visibly touched by your response. "That’s so sweet," he says, his tone genuine. "It really is," you smile, a soft, almost bashful grin spreading across your face. "He’s the best boyfriend I could have ever asked for," you say, your tone filled with warmth and sincerity.

The interviewer watches you with an amused smile, clearly endeared by the dreamy, almost schoolgirl-like look on your face as you think about Drew.

~

The Vogue 73 Questions interview quickly becomes an internet sensation, captivating fans. It was everywhere. Clips of your candid answers and sweet, unscripted moments—especially the one where Drew casually walked in with iced tea—became the ultimate proof of why you were Hollywood’s darling. Within hours of its release, the hashtag #73QuestionsWithY/n trends worldwide.

The comments section was flooded with fans losing their minds over the glimpse into your life. "Can we talk about how Drew KNOWS her iced tea order by heart? If this isn’t relationship goals, I don’t know what is." "Y/n casually being gorgeous, funny, and real in her Charleston dream home? I’m in love." "The way Drew looked at her when he walked in… I CAN’T. He’s so whipped, and I’m here for it."

Memes circulate, celebrating your witty remarks and playful demeanor, while your thoughtful insights and open vulnerability spark heartfelt discussions. The part where Drew sneaks into the interview with iced tea becomes a fan-favourite, with many dubbing it "the cutest boyfriend moment of the year."

“I love how real she is,” one fan tweeted, accompanied by screenshots of your answer about Drew’s little notes and coffee orders. Another post with a screenshot of you laughing at Drew’s confused “Oh, Vogue’s here” reaction read, “You can just tell they’re best friends. I want a love like this.”

The media couldn’t get enough, either. Everyone from gossip sites to prestigious magazines weighed in on how you’d managed to blend the glamour of your career with the warmth of your personality. The buzz reignites interest in your past projects and elevates anticipation for your upcoming ones. Your social media following soars as fans, old and new, praise your ability to remain grounded despite your success.

Meanwhile, Drew’s small but sweet cameo sparks renewed admiration for your relationship, with countless threads and videos dedicated to celebrating your bond. “Y/n and Drew are proof that true love exists,” one viral tweet declares, garnering thousands of likes and retweets. Another fan edits together a montage of your cutest moments from the interview, set to a romantic song, which quickly racks up millions of views.

Drew couldn’t stop teasing you about how viral the iced tea moment had become. “You’re lucky I didn’t walk in shirtless,” he joked one night as you scrolled through TikTok, finding yet another edit of you two. “Please,” you said, giggling, your hand affectionately stroking Nellie, “half the internet would’ve fainted.” “Half?” He raised an eyebrow, smirking. “I think you’re underestimating me, babe.”

[astralis-ortus]

form of affection

✱ boyfriend!bc x fem!reader

— everything feels... new.

w.count → 0.8k genre → fluff warning → chan and reader both referred to as baby, one use of 'my girl', reader on period :(, minor cussing here and there, not proofread!ㅠ a.n → honestly i don't know what to write atm (aside from the continuation for that one seungmin fic) but i still want to write something lighthearted so... this happens. welp. :] ⋆ if you're enjoying my stories, do send me a ko-fi ⋆ see masterlist

you messed up.

"fuck," you finally muttered under your breath, hand clutching your forehead in frustration. you know you shouldn't have ignored your gut feeling earlier this morning and followed through with the precautions anyway.

again you turned against the mirror, still bearing some hope that whatever you saw earlier was just your eyes playing tricks on you, but no—the damned red spot on your white dress is still there, mocking you through reflection of your boyfriend's bathroom mirror.

"baby?"

you jumped at the sudden knock on the bathroom door, feeling like your heart has suddenly fallen to your feet. fuck—how are you supposed to tell him?

"are you okay? do you need me to come in?"

"no!" you hurriedly replied, only later cursing at yourself for not maintaining your composure. making chris worried was definitely your intention after going missing to his bathroom for quite a period of time, and your reply definitely wasn't helping your resolute.

"are you sure?" chris' voice were laced with concern, and you could even picture the frown that's definitely present on his forehead. "can you crack the door open? just so i'm sure you're really okay."

"it's just—"

"baby," again, the image of your boyfriend's stern gaze immediately popped up in your mind. "please? just one sec. i need to make sure that you're alright."

it's not that you're worried chris would say anything about it—you're well aware of the kind of person your boyfriend of 4 months is, and you completely trust him. it's just that…

you're embarrassed.

the click of lock were soon followed by a soft creak, revealing chris' concerned eyes beyond the slight opening of the door. his relief was audible even to you, gaze softening when he saw the glimpse of your flushed face.

"okay," chris' lips formed a soft smile, as if trying to soothe you, "are you sure all is good? do you need any help?"

"…today."

"hm?" blinking in confusion, chris brought his face closer to you, "sorry, baby, i couldn't—"

"i got my period today," you quickly repeated, cheeks heating up as you heard your own confession, "and i didn't bring any feminine products with me since i wasn't supposed to have it for another week. i also might've stained your couch. i'm sorry."

chris turned quiet, and you could practically see thoughts flashing through his eyes—but you're not a mind reader, and the passing seconds made your heart grew heavy. is he embarrassed to hear that? is he going to send you home? is he going to get upset? should you have not—

"if i'm not mistaken… i think there should be some pads and maybe some disposable underwear under the sink, baby," the sound of chris' voice promptly ceased the vortex of worry growing in your head, your eyes again meeting chris' clear ones, "i bought it a while back for you but i don't remember if i placed it here or in my room. could you check?"

despite the confusion, your body had instinctively moved along chris' request. to your surprise, you do find the items your boyfriend had mentioned, tucked neatly in a small box of necessities. you chest bubbled up in gratitude and filled with warmth—you never expected chris to do this for you, and yet, he managed to come over and beyond any of your expectations.

"found it?"

nodding your head, you swallowed back the tears welling up in your eyes. gosh—period hormones! "yeah, just found them. thank you, baby."

a sigh of relief could be heard from the other side of the door, and you couldn't help but smile—if it wasn't clear before, then now you're determined to find a way to repay chris somehow. frankly, at times you still don't understand the lengths chris would willingly go for you, or if you even deserve to be at the receiving end of chris' gesture of affection at all. the chris you've gotten to know is so full of love, and you don't even know if you have the capacity to love him the way he cares about you.

but in the mean time,

you've decided to try and accept chris' form of affection for you.

"okay," you could hear the smile in chris' voice as he speaks, "i'll go grab a change of clothes for you while you settle down, yeah? oh, and you do know where the towel if you want to shower, right?"

"yeah, i know," you held back a giggle as you reappeared in chris' vision between the crack of the door, clutching the box close to your chest with a beaming smile, "thank you, baby. really. i really appreciate this."

and with a smile equaling to the warmth of a spring's sun, chris chuckled a reply,

"anything for my girl."

©️ astralisortus, 2024. | likes and reblogs are highly appreciated♡

[silhouetteonpaper]

Thanksgiving

Summary: It was your first Thanksgiving with Natasha. Actually, it was your first Thanksgiving ever. And to make matters worse, you were meeting her parents for the first time. Would this be the best or the worst first Thanksgiving ever? Natasha Romanoff x Reader (Alexei, Melina, and Yelena appearances) WC: 3,019 Warnings/Themes: Fluff, slight angst, mentions of kidnapping and experimenting, drinking alcohol A/N: Happy Thanksgiving! I hope you enjoy this special fic <3

Thanksgiving was right around the corner, or at least thats what Natasha was saying. She was eager to see her family after so long, and share a classic American meal on the lovely holiday. You hadn’t met any of her family, but you’d heard so much about them. Melina, her headstrong mother, Alexei, her stubborn Father, and Yelena, her hilarious sister. The way she talked about them always reflected a little piece of Natasha herself, you were almost shocked to hear they weren’t her biological family.

But that didn’t matter, not to her. They were the only family she knew, and she was looking forward to celebrating yet another holiday season with them. And this time, with you. You wished you had any sort of family; a mother who could've taught you how to sort your laundry, or even an uncle who could tell jokes that would’ve made you laugh. But you knew of none, especially after the tragedy that occurred when you were small.

Entire buildings blown up, your childhood apartment shattered into a million pieces you never realized wouldn’t be reconstructed. Sly faces swooping in to your rescue, their evil plans hidden from an unsuspecting toddler. Their intentions didn’t matter, as there was no one to protect you anymore. Your parents likely passed in the bombing, but all the details were so hazy. Sometimes you wondered if it was all fabricated after spending years in captivity. Maybe you needed a reason to think your parents didn’t give you up, that they didn’t do it by choice.

“Have you ever celebrated Thanksgiving?” Natasha asked from the next room over. Right, thanksgiving was tomorrow. You weren’t back in the destroyed building, or being taken to the next facility for experimentation. You were safe with Natasha.

You hadn’t celebrated Thanksgiving before, and the idea sounded a little too perfect to you. Sitting with those you loved most to relay all that you’re thankful for? That was the kind of stuff you could only dream of. In a perfect life, you’d actually have more to be thankful for. “No.” You responded from your spot on the couch. Natasha had described the food, from homemade stuffing to a perfectly cooked turkey. It sounded delicious, but that wasn’t what you were worried about.

Her family was daunting. Not because they were bad people, but because they were nice. What if they thought you were a bad influence? What if they disagreed with Natasha’s choice to be in a relationship with such a broken soul? You’d only been with her for a year, leaving you to constantly question the foundation of your relationship often.

The Avengers had saved you from the facility after hearing word of all the children captive. But you weren’t a child when they found you, more a brainwashed adult stuck in the system due to being raised there. Advanced in not only combat, but also the interworking of the large corporation, the entire team decided to take you in as their own. Your knowledge of the company helped them take it down once and for all, a huge feat that would prevent more children from being taken from their families.

You were scared at first, in the large compound with all these superheroes. They had so much experience doing good, and you could barely remember the last time you held the door for someone. It took a lot of time to deprogram your mind, all the years of negatives pounded into you like they were the truth. Being told you were worthless, only a weapon to be used on the facility’s whim. That you weren’t allowed to feel, because that would be weak.

Throughout the entire process, Natasha was the one who stayed by your side. She had expressed a time when she went through something similar, which was partially why she felt inclined to help you so much. But after you two got to know each other as people and not as weapons of mass destruction, you saw just how much you had in common. It was only a few months later you two were official, and the entire team was in support of it.

Your progress was coming along nicely, and there was even the chance to join a few missions. Being a superhero was like a dream come true; you were given a second chance after all that happened, your life was truly beginning. But as cities across the world became safer and safer, the Avengers were called upon less and less. The team decided there wasn’t a huge need for a structured, ready-to-pounce battalion. You could all go your separate ways if you so pleased. Natasha felt ready to leave the compound, and you agreed that would be best. The idea of living alone with her was desirable, and after you became comfortable with the life you were living it was finally time to make that change.

But you hadn’t realized just how different a normal life would be. The apartment Natasha purchased was perfect. Two bedrooms—one converted into an office for all of the leftover Avengers gear—the perfect place for you both to start a life. That didn’t just mean living alongside Natasha, it meant picking out couches and bed frames and even kitchen towels. You were starting to question if it was truly the dream life, sitting in front of a computer all day and adding things to your cart.

The online shopping was the easiest bit; being so close to Natasha was the hardest. You couldn’t hide in your own room anymore, not like at the compound. You couldn’t go sit on the roof and watch the stars when you felt the need to run away, because Natasha would easily be able to find you. She had picked up on those certain habits at the compound eventually, but that didn’t mean you weren’t allowed to have the space. In the small apartment, it grew harder to take that distance for yourself when you needed it most.

Natasha was extremely understanding, though, and was more than willing to go out for the evening so you could have some alone time. Eventually, you both got into a rhythm that allowed for the perfect amount of time together and apart.

You quickly learned about holidays, and what ones Natasha celebrated. Easter wasn’t really her thing, but you all were invited to Tony’s easter party where he set up an egg hunt for everyone—including his daughter. Fourth of July was fun; Natasha took you to a park where you sat and watched the fireworks late at night. And now, you were hearing just how great thanksgiving would be.

“You’re nervous, aren’t you.” Natasha walked out into the kitchen, her soft voice bringing you back to the present. It was so easy to get caught up in the past, but she was always there to ground you.

“What gave it away?” You smiled, standing to meet her in the kitchen. She was prepping a raspberry chocolate cake, apparently one she makes every year. You hugged her from behind, wrapping your arms around her waist as she began to stir a few ingredients together. She lightly pressed kiss to your forehead.

“I promise, they will love you. If they don’t want you to move in with them by the end of the night, I’ll be surprised.” Natasha laughed, your worried expression falling. They were kind people, they’ll be understanding of who you are. After all, their own daughter did go through something similar. For now, you just needed to try and relax before the big introduction tomorrow. And luckily, helping Natasha bake would surely make your anxieties lessen.

—————

The car rolled along the rough road, bumping over each rock and dip as Natasha drove further into the secluded neighborhood. Only a few houses were dotted around, leaving the area quiet and peaceful as you watched from the passenger-side window. Maybe you were exuding nervous energy, because Nat’s hand quickly rested on your leg as she slowed in front of the charming house.

“Remember, you are perfect. You don’t need to act a certain way to please them, they’ll love you for you.” She spoke while putting the car in park. You nodded, eyeing the home before you. It wasn’t anything large, but it had an inviting feeling. The paneled exterior was accented with deep woods, and of course lots of plants. You were almost jealous you didn’t live in a house like this.

Natasha grabbed the cake from the backseat as you slowly shut the passenger door. In your reluctant state, you let her lead to the front door of the house. Before she could even knock, the door swung open.

“Natasha!” Melina—you assumed—jumped out onto the front porch with open arms. She wasted no time admiring the cake, asking Nat a million questions before the redhead could even say hello herself.

“And who is this?” Alexei, a gruff man with a large smile asked with his eyes pointed toward you. Swallowing thickly, you introduced yourself and held out a hand to shake. He didn’t accept it, and rather pulled you into the tightest hug you’d ever felt. “So good to have you here. Natasha has told us all about you.” All about you? Did they all know about your troubled past?

There was no time to dwell on the details as Melina practically shoved you inside. “Let me take your jacket, here,” Her hands made quick work of pulling off your coat, nearly distracting you from the blonde bounding down the stairs.

“Sestra!” She exclaimed, her accent making you smile as it matched Melina’s and Alexei’s. Yelena, Natasha’s sister you’d heard so much about. After she hugged her sibling, her eyes turned to you. “I see why Natasha took such a liking to you.”

“Hey!” Nat interjected, hitting Yelena playfully. The two tussled, leaving you to take in the interior of the cozy house. There was a fireplace lit in the living room, worn couches telling stories of the many people who relaxed on their woven threads. A wooden dining table, etched with fork and knife marks from all the times someone slammed their fists down in anger. And the kitchen, where Melina was displaying the chocolate cake on a stand amidst the field of other Thanksgiving dishes.

“Can I get you anything to drink? Here, let me get you a glass. You must be starving—“ You didn’t have any time to answer, as Melina was already pouring you a glass of wine.

“Thanks.” You breathed as she handed it to you.

“Don’t suffocate her.” Natasha smiled, wrapping an arm around you as she watched her mom smother. Although overwhelming, something about it made you smile too.

“Yeah, Natasha already does that enough.” Yelena chimed in, earning yet another punch to the arm from her sister. The playful banter between family members was something you could definitely get used to. Watching as Natasha quipped back and forth with Yelena made you wish you had a sibling of your own, but you knew Nat was more than willing to share.

Melina was flitting about the kitchen, tending to various different dishes before she even realized you were all still standing. You didn’t mind though, as Alexei was already regaling everyone on his last adventure out West. “Oh, everyone, please sit!” She gestured to the set table, complete with flowers freshly picked from the garden.

Natasha sat beside you on one side of the table, Alexei taking the head, and Yelena sitting opposite you. The blonde wasted no time pouring herself a glass of clear liquid. Vodka; although the label was in Russian, it was easy to tell what mysterious liquid sat in side. She downed the glass in seconds, making your eyes widen. Speaking of Russian, you noticed just how much of the house was filled with culture from the other side of the ocean. Books reading in different languages, foods you had yet to try being prepared on the counter, and Natasha’s stories of her home country she used to tell you in passing. The pieces of all these people’s pasts were collected, built into a new form all within the walls of the house.

You wished your apartment was the same; shelves full of tales from your country of origin, recipes passed down from generations you could cook as you pleased—but unfortunately, you had no idea where you came from. “Dinner is served!” Melina called out, lifting a large turkey onto the table.

Everyone dug in as Melina brought more and more food to the table. Eventually, she sat down and joined in the fun, everyone reaching to grab spoonfuls of mouth-watering dishes for their plates. You quickly followed, taking anything that looked enticing… which was pretty much everything.

“So, tell us about yourself. You like to Avenge, eh?” Alexei questioned while bitting into a forkful of food. You chuckled, nodding.

“I do, but the team's on a hiatus for now. Seems the world isn’t in much need of saving these days.” You glanced at Natasha, who smiled. Knowing the world was safe without the Avengers was relieving for the both of you.

Alexei, on the other hand, slapped his fist on the table. “There is always work to be done, ah! No aliens invading town these days?” You weren’t sure if he was asking or just talking to himself, so you shrugged.

“Luckily it’s been pretty calm. We’re always on call if anything happens, though.” You respond. 

Melina was beaming, her eyes glued to you as she took a sip of her wine. “And how did you join the team? Any superpowers we should know about before you blast a hole into these walls?” She laughs. You don’t match her joking tone, instead looking at Natasha once more. She hadn’t told them how you came to be an Avenger. Was that a conversation you should be starting so soon?

You knew this family had been through hell and back, so maybe it wasn’t the worst idea to tell them. Still, you treaded lightly. “Well, the Avengers rescued me from a facility a little while back.” You cleared your throat awkwardly. “I was trained in combat there, so they thought I could be an asset to the team.”

Yelena nearly interrupted, her voice flowing with curiosity. “Was it like the Red Room? Wait, Nat, you didn’t tell me she was rescued from a place like the Red Room!” Natasha shot her a glare, leaving Yelena to hold up her hands and hide back behind her meal. You swallowed, taking another breath. A part of you was entertained by Yelena’s curiosity; no one cared that you were a different person before the Avengers, it just seemed they were glad you were here now.

“Uh, kinda of,” You tilted your head. “A similar organization, I guess. Anyways, Natasha helped me get back on my feet, and the rest is history.” You turned to smile at Nat, who of course was already smiling at you.

The rest of the evening went surprisingly well. No one pressed about your past any further, they were mostly interested in your present. Things you liked to do, dates Natasha had taken you on, and any empty space was filled with another one of Alexei’s stories. You learned a lot about Nat and her family, too. How Yelena had a dog back at home, and how Melina had pet pigs. It was an eclectic group of people you were grateful to be beside.

Grateful. Maybe you did have a lot to be grateful for after all. Natasha, her welcoming family, a wonderful life with people you loved. Just over a year ago that all seemed like an unobtainable dream, but today you were living it.

As Melina prepared take-home plates for you and Natasha, you both started to say your goodbyes. “Come by anytime, with or without Natasha.” Alexei hugged you again, nearly squeezing out all the food you just ate.

“You have to come back for Christmas!” Yelena exclaimed, giving you a side-hug. You nodded, looking forward to yet another holiday with the bunch.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay the night? It’s so dark out.” Melina asked for the fifth time as she handed her daughter the plate of leftovers.

Natasha chuckled, hugging her mother. “We’re sure. I’ll see you soon.” And just like that, you two were leaving with plates stacked full of food and hearts full of love. But there was something beneath all the warmth that enveloped you, something tugging at you that was impossible to ignore.

As Nat pulled the car out of the driveway, you couldn’t help but burst into tears. She was taken by surprise, but immediately pulled over onto the dirt. The unknown emotion was bubbling out of you, each sob releasing something you didn’t realize you were holding. Natasha didn’t rush you, she didn’t question it. She just placed her hand on your thigh, moving it up and down until you were ready to talk.

“I want to have a home like that.” You suddenly spoke, damp eyes looking straight into Natasha’s with desire. Not necessarily a desire for her, but for the life you could have with her.

“What, loud and cluttered? Sure, if that’s what you want.” She joked, well aware her parent's house was filled to the brim with random collections and strewn relics.

“No,” You interjected, serious tone unwavering. “I want to fill our home with our lives. Books that explain our past, belongings passed down from family and friends, furniture collected from our travels. Proof that people with a story to tell live within its walls.” Your words leave Natasha speechless, the hand on your thigh suddenly stopping its movement. She never considered that you two didn’t have many belongings to begin with. She never realized that many homes had a meaning behind each decoration, each embellishment. And in that moment, she completely understood your desire.

“Then let’s create that story together.” Natasha’s lips found yours, and suddenly, you weren’t worried anymore.

[stilesfuck1ngstilinski]

I’m surprised there hasn’t been an angsty fic about Wade getting his face back, which has happened I believe twice in the comics, once when he got some serum to heal his skin but lost his healing factor and another in the spiderman/deadpool comic when he started to feel better about himself so his skin began to heal, a sort of inner and outer reflection.

Like can you imagine him getting his face back dealing with all the feelings of how he WAS treated compared to now he’s conventionally attractive again wondering if Peter still actually loves him for him and not what he looks like

Peter constantly and fervently reassuring Wade he loves him for HIM and not his looks

Coupled with Peter now also having doubts Wade will stay with him now that he’s good looking why does someone as hot as Wade want to be with someone as boring and plain as him

[formulawolff]

“you better.” — t.w.

pairing -> female driver!reader x toto wolff

word count -> idk y’all, my bad

warnings -> boss x employee dynamic, slight power imbalance, angst, cursing, gg being a little bit of a brat, toto being down bad (he would do anything for his woman, and he means it!), sexual innuendos, yadayadayada

a/n -> hiiiii it's me! i'm back with another gg x toto installment. i'm sorry if the writing is not my best, i've been a little rusty. this fic was a request idea sent to me a few weeks ago. anon, this one is for you! i hope y'all enjoy reading about them! <3

"god fucking damnit!"

blood roars in his ears as her helmet collides against the wall, forming a sizable dent. paint chips flutter to the floor, the figure inhaling a sharp breath as curses roll from her tongue, the driver pacing back and forth.

"fuck, fuck, fuck!"

the figure's jaw clenches as her arm sweeps along the nearest table, sending items flying in her wake.

all right, that was it.

the final straw.

time to intervene.

"you need to cut it out. you're acting like a child. you of all people know tantrums get you nowhere."

at his sentiment, her head swivels, nothing but pure, fiery rage flickering about in her stare. strands of hair are plastered to her forehead, her lip curling into a sneer.

"your orders cost me two positions. it cost me a podium this weekend. i think i deserve to be a little upset about it."

"it's only the beginning of the season, love," toto wolff tuts, folding his arms across his chest, "you have time to make up for it. you have so much time to win the title."

at his statement, she pauses, her brows furrowing together. he can sense her fury dissolving by the second, her rigid muscles relaxing as her shoulders slump. silence creeps in as she crosses over to the couch, curling up in the fetal position.

to put it lightly, it was a tough opening weekend in melbourne.

not only did she have to deal with the wake of the loss to max, she had difficulty familiarizing herself with the new car. the media was in a frenzy, circling around like vultures every single time she moved or spoke. fuck, she could barely even breathe without a microphone close by.

toto couldn't imagine how draining it must have been to deal with it all. there was an instance over the weekend where a reporter inquired about their sex life. following that, there were numerous questions involving when he was going to propose, when they were planning on having kids, and if she would retire if they had children.

she executed a brilliant drive during qualifying, managing to snag the third position on the grid, just behind lando and max. if all went according to plan, she would be able to push past lando at the start of the race, and be able to battle it out with max for the victory.

at the start of the race, she drove beautifully. she was able to surge ahead and get past both max and lando, sailing into the first position.

it was going perfectly until lap twenty-three, where there was a mishap with the steering. following the error came a miscommunication with strategy. although toto knew the tires would last a few more laps, it was not his call to bring her in to the pits.

the pit crew was not quite ready, fumbling with two of the tires. it was a painfully slow stop, her radios reflecting exactly how toto felt about the fiasco.

the call for the early pit ultimately cost her three positions, which ended up crushing her hopes of a podium on opening weekend.

following the race, she exchanged some heated words with the media. something along the lines of, "fuck off or you're going to feel that boom mic up your ass." of course, that sent social media into a frenzy.

so, when she decided to release some pent up emotions in her driver's room after the race, toto let her.

he couldn't blame her, really. this weekend was an absolute shit show.

yet, he knew they had to move forward from it. the helmet could be replaced. the dent in the wall could be patched. the team strategy could be tweaked.

there was nothing he wanted more than to just wrap her up in his arms, bringing her tightly against his chest. he ached to just hold her, murmuring all of the reassurances she needed to hear. he yearned to just pepper her beautiful face with endless kisses, just to hear that melodic giggle ring in his ears.

he couldn't though.

at least, not yet.

the team principal stays put, waiting until she gives him the cue.

it wouldn’t be verbal. it would be the way her body would shift toward him, inviting him over. it would be the way her arms would droop, begging to be held.

it wouldn’t be too much longer. any minute now.

as expected, she practically sinks into the couch, pleading for some sort of comfort.

there it was, that cue he was desperately waiting for.

he strolls over, settling into the cushion next to her, wrapping an arm around her frame.

"i-i just wanted to get a head start," there's a tug at his heart as her voice falters, "i wanted to prove to everyone that i could compete with max this time. i just wanted to win a fucking race after what happened last ye-"

"my love," the team principal exhales, a tender hand connecting with her back, just between her shoulder blades, "you have to keep your head up. you are not a failure just because you didn't finish on that podium. you are not defined by what happened last season. things are different now, so much more different."

in the light, he catches the gleam of a tear as it rolls down her cheek, "i just know they're all talking about me. they want nothing more than to see me lose. i just wanted to prove them wrong."

"we have so much time do that," his voice is barely a murmur, "we will make you a champion, my sweet girl. don't worry about what they all think. focus on me. focus on us. focus on how we can correct our mistakes."

the tears are flowing now, the streams glistening as she sits up, pressing her body against his. her head nuzzles into his chest, lashes fluttering as his hand begins to roam, gently kneading into her sore muscles.

"i-i'm sorry."

the words are merely a whisper, but toto hears them.

"why are you apologizing, sweet girl?"

"for acting like a brat," she still won't meet his gaze, her eyes fixated on the door, "i shouldn't have thrown my helmet."

the team principal hums, his fingers treading along the zipper of her suit, "it's all right, love. i think you should do it again, actually."

"stop it," she huffs, rolling her eyes, "you just thought my little outburst was hot."

"quite," his mouth ghosts over her ear, "take that anger out on me, actually. you know, you're quite sexy when you're all riled up."

"maybe i will." the corners of her lips twitch, and toto can't help but feel a twinge of satisfaction.

she was fighting a smile, and fuck, was she fighting one hard.

carefully, she swings a thigh over his lap, straddling him as the tip of her nose brushes against his, "maybe i will take my anger out on you, toto. i want you to do something first, though."

in his khakis, he feels his cock stiffen, his throat tightening as she leans in even closer, "w-what is it, my love?"

fuck, he did he loathe how much power she held over him.

she cocks her head, a hand drifting to his cheek. her thumb trails along his cheekbone, relishing the way he completely crumbles under her touch.

"i want you to inform the fia that i will not be participating in any press for the next three races. will you do that for me?”

“sweet girl, you know i can’t do that—“

“please?” he can’t help but notice the way her bottom lip juts out ever so slightly.

all it would take is for her to bat those lashes once, and he would be done for.

and to his dismay, she does just that, “i just can’t handle the press right now. it’s too much and—“

“consider it done, my love. a statement will be out by the morning.”

“good boy,” she purrs, pressing her forehead against his, “you’re the best.”

“anything you want or need, it will be handled. i can promise you that. i will do everything in my power to make sure that you become champion.”

her lips press against his, a shiver running down his spine as she smirks, rolling her hips. it takes everything in his power to stifle a groan as her fingers delve into the waistband of his khakis, his cock throbbing.

she has him right where she wants him, but he doesn’t mind.

not. at. all.

she was his princess, after all.

and what his princess wanted, she got.

it only takes four words for him to come undone, any coherent thoughts slipping from his mind as her hand wraps around his shaft, his breaths coming out in pants.

“you better, toto wolff.”

[poughkeepsie99]

stay gold - dw x fem!reader

warnings! slight mentions of violence, suggestions of depression, mental health, spoilers for 'the outsiders', use of nicknames; sweetheart, sweet girl

word count: 1.5k

pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader

a/n: hey guys! this is my first fic ever so I'm really nervous to publish this, and also I wrote this at like 1 am... but also formatting was a pain in my ass so I apologize if this is ugly. this is totally random but I recently just rewatched the outsiders AND saw the play on Broadway so now I'm obsessed and can't stop thinking about it. so anyways, here it is!

"c'mon sweetheart," dean groans, turning his head to give you a look as you selected the movie on the screen.

"no, dean, it's my turn to choose, and you agreed to no complaining," you counter, unable to stop the smile from spreading across your lips, eyes locked on the tv as you press play on the screen.

you had a point, and you knew it. it was your and dean's weekly movie night, and as you had said, it was your turn to choose. normally, you chose a movie that you at least somewhat liked, but also knew he would enjoy, that way you would both be happy. but the past couple weeks had been rough, and honestly you just wanted to curl up on the couch and watch something familiar, something comforting.

'the outsiders' had been one of your favorites since you were younger, the brotherhood of the greasers, and just the story in general bringing so much comfort and warmth to you. even though it was inherently a sad movie, it was the good kind of sad. the kind of sad that left an ache in your heart that you could just wallow in instead of the problems in your own crazy fucked up life.

"m'not complaining," dean grumbles, settling back onto the couch, a slight pout on his lips. "just tryna make a suggestion.."

"dean, c'mon, please? just this once, for me?" you ask, turning to look at him with a look that was almost pleading. you were trying to hide how tired you were. how beaten down and defeated the past couple weels of nonstop hunts and constantly being thrown around were making you feel.

dean opened his mouth as if to argue, but he seemed to notice something in your face, and his expression softened. he let out a sigh, placing his arm on the back of the couch and holding out his other one, motioning for you to come closer. "alright, alright, but i don't wanna hear any complaining from you next week when it's my turn."

you simply hum in agreement, scooting closer to him and nestling into his side with a small smile on your face as the familiar opening credits play. dean's arm curls around you, holding you close to him and gently brushing his knuckles over the soft skin of your arm. you lean your head on his shoulder, eyes glued to the screen as you take a deep breath, allowing yourself to relax in the comfort of the moment.

as the movie goes on, you occasionally glance up at dean, surprised to find him thoroughly invested in the film, eyes slightly wide and zoned in on the screen, the glow reflected in his irises.

what you failed to notice, however, was dean doing the same. every so often, his eyes would drift down to you, taking in the way the soft glow of the tv highlighted your features, tracing the curve of your cheek and lips with his eyes. he found himself liking the movie a lot more than he would admit to you, and he could see why you liked it.

his favorite character was dallas, of course, but he also found himself drawn to darry, seeing himself in the eldest curtis brother. the way darry looked out for his brothers reminded dean of his childhood, how he took care of sam the same way. his eyes widened in surprise when ponyboy woke up to johnny having killed bob, and he actually let out a small gasp when the burning church collapsed on poor johnny. he watched eagerly as the greasers prepared for the rumble, secretly cheering for them in his head.

dean's hand never stopped it's comforting movements on your skin, whether it was your arm, or your hip, skin exposed where your shirt had ridden up, he was always touching you in some way, making sure you knew he was still there. dean had noticed that something was off for a while. he hadn't said anything, he was gonna let you come to him when you were ready, but he saw your exhausted, almost crushed expression when you had pleaded with him about the movie, and so he gave in, content with just making you feel better with gentle touches and soft kisses on your temple throughout the movie.

through the emotions going through his head as ponyboy read johnnys letter at the end of the movie, dean heard your soft voice next to him. he looked down, about to ask you to repeat what you said, but then he saw how your eyes were still glued to the tv, your lips moving in time to the characters on the screen.

he smiled, warmth blooming in his chest as he listened to you quote the scene, your voice soft and quiet. though the scene kept going, dean couldn't take his eyes off you, the movie just background noise now as his eyes traced over your features that he had memorized many a time, but always found himself wanting to learn again.

finally, when the movie was over, you felt his eyes on you, and you lifted your head, cheeks flushing when you met his intense gaze.

"what?" you ask, your voice barely above a soft whisper.

dean didn't reply right away, his eyes full of adoration and love as he continued to take in your face, his heart beating just a little faster as he noticed the faint blush on your cheeks. "nothin', m'just looking," he mumbles, reaching up his free hand to brush a stray hair from your face.

that only makes your cheeks flush harder, your eyes rolling in faux annoyance, but you lean into his touch slightly, eyes fixed on his.

"did you even watch the movie?" you ask accusingly, raising an eyebrow at him.

"i did," he defends, smiling at your reaction to his touch, hand cupping your face and thumb running gently over your cheekbone. "i actually really liked it."

your eyes light up at that, your lips parting softly in surprise as you stare up at him. "you did?"

"mhm. its a good movie. i see why y'like it so much," he says with a gentle shrug, a soft smile playing at the edge of his lips.

"im glad you liked it." you smile widely up at him, your heart warming at the fact that he liked the movie.

dean just smiles softly back down at you, tilting his head down to place a kiss on your forehead, his lips lingering for a heartbeat before leaning his head down and pressing his forehead to yours.

you two stay like that for a moment, eyes closed and just breathing each other in, basking in the rare moment of peace. dean breaks the silence first, opening his eyes to look at you, but not pulling away as he speaks softly, his voice a deep whisper. "m'always here for you, sweetheart. always gonna be here."

you open your eyes to meet his as he speaks, shocked yet again by how well he knows you, how he's able to read you and see that something was wrong. you don't say anything for a moment, lump forming in your throat and your eyes scanning his as if trying to memorize the way the colors swirl in his eyes. your head is telling you to brush off his words, mutter back something about how you know that, and how you're 'fine', but you're just so tired, and you can't bring yourself to.

"thank you," is the quiet whisper that comes from you in response, the sincereness evident in your soft voice, and the emotion written across your face.

dean just pulls you closer with his arm around your shoulders, pressing another kiss to your forehead, tucking you into his neck and resting his chin on your head, holding you close and silently letting you know that he understands.

"never gonna leave you, sweet girl, you've always got me," he mutters into your hair, his other arm coming up to wrap around you, holding you impossibly closer to him.

another older movie comes up on autopilot, one that dean thinks you've both watched before, but he doesn't make any move to stop it, just holding you close, gently rubbing your back and hip until you fall asleep in his arms. when he hears your breaths even out, he turns down the volume of the movie, pressing a kiss in your hair and letting his lips linger, inhaling your scent that smells like home.

"goodnight sweetheart, i love you," he whispers into your hair, even though he knows you can't hear him, and dean doesn't think he's ever meant any words more in his life. he spends the night holding you, and though his back hurts when he wakes up the next morning on the couch, the sight of you, asleep in his arms, expression peaceful, dean just thinks about everything he would give, just to keep you happy.

there it is, my first fic! lmk what u think and please feel free to send in asks/requests on my blog or on the google form linked on my page

tysm for reading and I hope ur having a great day/night! - bri

[froldgapp]

Fics I don't know if I'll ever write but I'd love to Part 3.

Tim doesn't really exist, something created him post-Death in the Family in order to keep Batman engaged in The Mission

Playing with the dominant fanon idea that Tim doesn't quite "fit" somehow, this concept sees some higher power (let's call it The Universe) conjuring this black-haired, blue-eyed boy up from thin air as a means to keep Bruce in the Bat-saddle. Perhaps he's created from Bruce's very own mind.

A few little canon moments I'd spin into breadcrumbs:

Tim insisting that Batman needs a Robin,

Tim (a literal child) figuring out what virtually nobody else can regarding Bruce and Dick's nighttime work,

Bruce several times complimenting Tim on attributes that he admires in himself and that, tellingly, he feels he lacks,

The environment shifting again and again for Tim to make sense; changing schools, the death of his (equally conjured) parents,

Tim surviving the unsurvivable like falling off a dinosaur from a very great height (ahem, getting pushed)

Tim, who has his own free will with crucial limitation, threatening to walk away several times but never being able to.

Potentially also the age mumbo jumbo. Could be fun...

Any others, gang?

This would run parallel to a B-plot of Jason still being mostly estranged from the rest of the family.

Eventually, we work towards Jason being drawn closer to the family at which point the case for Tim's existence is...

:')

Let's all take a moment to reflect on how Dick would react to such a revelation.

[ninupi]

Hii, can I request headcanons or fic for Mitsuya with a model reader?

crush? | t. mitsuya

₊˚⊹♡ tags; fem!reader, finale timeline so spoilers? mitsuya being a absolute sweetheart as usual, also him struggling a bit as a new designer lol, this is a slowburn ngl...y/n overthinking towards the end

₊˚⊹♡ wc; 3,500+

₊˚⊹♡ a/n; this was a bit vague so I wasn't too sure what you wanted exactly, I didnt mean for this to be so long but then I just kept writing and it became a lot longer then I anticipated LOL also ill probably rename this later, i never even know what to name some of these sometimes

Mitsuya threw down all the photos of headshots his assistant had brought him to look through "This is it?" he sighed rubbing his eyes tiredly. The girl stumbled around a bit "Uh yes sir, that's all of the models...you don't see any you like?" she questioned a bit frustrated.

"I'm sorry, but no, none of them have what I'm looking for exactly..." he sighed, standing up and picking up a headshot of a young man. "None of them? Like not a single one?" the girl questioned, a bit shocked. Mitsuya only shook his head while pacing around. 

"Well, I don't mean to step on your toes or anything, sir, but the show is in two months, and we need to start booking models..." she muttered, looking through her emails, hoping to see a response. You can call Hakkai, and I'll choose some of the people here, but give me a few more days to pick someone for the main piece."

Mitsuya ran a hand through his hair, softly pulling at the roots in frustration. He had someone specific in mind for the main piece of the show. Unfortunately, Okamoto, his assistant, was unable to book you. They didn't even receive an email back from your manager.

Mitsuya knew it'd be a miracle if he were able to book you for his show but he still tried. But now that the odds weren't in his favor he had to find a new model for the face of the show, he could just go with Hakkai. He wasn't too sure Hakkai wanted to sport a dress on the runway though...

You watched from the corner of your eye as your manager angrily swiped through her tablet, hundreds of emails in the reflection of her glasses. You went to say something when you felt a tug on your hair "Could you be a bit more gentle?" you muttered getting fed up, that was the sixth time this stylist had tugged on your hair in the last twenty minutes.

You didn't say anything when he softly apologized while continuing to do your hair in a crazy updo for your upcoming photoshoot. "Are you ok over there? You look like you're about to throw that thing" You call out to your manager who's now angrily typing away on her tablet.

"You would think after sending 15 emails and not receiving a single one back this person would stop emailing me about you," she muttered with furrowed eyebrows, who the hell was blowing up your manager about you anyway? You had just started seriously modeling this year and you've been very successful but you didn't think you were that desired by some people. 

"Who is it? What's it for?" you question now really curious about this person's persistence while shifting in your seat. "I don't even know, it's to walk at some small runway show, nothing worth your time." She sighs lifting her glasses to rest on the top of her head. 

You had only walked a few runways, and each time it was a bit chaotic but you had lots of fun "Oh really, who's the designer? I wouldn't mind doing another runway!" your manager looks at you a bit shocked while you smile at her innocently. 

She quickly recuperates and walks over to you holding out her tablet "He's a small upcoming designer, Mitsuya Takashi? I've never heard of him personally but Hakkai Shiba walks at almost all of his shows." She explains while swiping through some of his designs. 

"No way! I love his clothes, why didn't you tell me sooner?" you whine looking at all the emails his assistant has sent your manager over the last two weeks. You feel yourself basically shaking in excitement at the thought of walking for one of your new favorite designers. 

"I didn't think you even knew who he was, I didn't until I got her emails!" she explains pointing at the tablet in your hands, and to give her credit you had just discovered the upcoming designer recently. 

One of the other models at a photo shoot you were at was wearing a beautiful dress and when you asked her where she got it, she explained that Mitsuya had made it for her as a thank-you for modeling for him. Not only was the man extremely talented, but he also seemed really kind. 

You had always searched for his clothing at any store you had gone to, you never had any luck though. You were thinking about reaching out to him yourself but lately, your schedule has been extremely busy. This was the perfect opportunity you were searching for. 

"Tell him yes, anything he wants, yes I'll do it! If I have stuff scheduled when he needs me, cancel it!" you smile handing your manager her tablet back and standing up seeing now that your hair is done. "B-but what about the shoot with miu miu?" your manager sputtered quickly following behind you.

"Cancel it!" you smile closing your dressing room door in your manager's face. 

When Okamoto barged into Mitsuya's office sputtering about booking you he thought she was crazy. But when she showed him the email from your manager stating you agreed to walk the runway in his clothes he almost passed out. He immediately started stitching together your dress, too excited to sleep even though it was already past midnight.

Now two weeks later, he was almost done with the piece just having to add the tedious details and fix some stitching here and there. But it was also the day you'd come by for the first fitting and be meeting mitsuya for the first time. 

To say he was nervous was an understatement, he kept pricking his fingers while working on the other pieces for the show and stumbling over stray rolls of fabric. He didn't even realize the time until Okamoto came in telling him you'd be there in an hour, he quickly started to clean his office not wanting you to see the chaotic room. 

When he finally finishes cleaning the room he looks around for any stray items lying around. Not seeing a single thing hethrew himself onto his chair when a big sigh, he knew you should be here any moment. He was so nervous he keptthinking about what he'd say to you when he finally met you. 

"Thank you so much for accepting...no thank you for giving me the opportunity...no..." he sighed still not able to think properly when he heard his office door open. Quickly standing up he dusted himself off and watched as you and your manager walked in talking to Okamoto. 

"Yeah I was so jealous after she told me he had custom-made it for her, I was tempted to steal it from her dressing room when she wasn't there!" Mitsuya watched you as you laughed while readjusting your purse on your arm, he doesn't think he's seen a more beautiful woman. 

You were wearing a simple outfit, a black long-sleeve turtle neck, some dark-washed jeans, and a pair of black boots. It was nothing special but Mitsuya thought you looked amazing, he couldn't even bring himself to say something when you looked at him. 

"Oh my god, it's so nice to finally meet you! I've been waiting for this day since Saki told me about this!" you exclaimed briefly motioning over to your manager but quickly making your way to Mitsuya shaking his hand. He could only smile in response a little too shocked to say anything at the moment. 

"Really? I didn't even think you knew who I was..." he awkwardly laughed while shaking your hand "I just discovered you recently from Momo? I'm sure you remember her, you made her that gorgeous custom dress! I've been searching for some of your pieces in stores but I've had no luck" 

Mitsuya was loss for words the more you kept talking, you knew who he was? And you were on the hunt for some of his clothing on your own time? Not even saying anything he immediately bowed at a 90-degree angel "Thank you so much, you don't know how much that means to me, seriously" 

You immediately begin to panic "What? What do you mean I haven't done anything!" you say while bringing him up by his shoulders "You agreeing to model my clothes is good enough, you're a very sought-after model y/n. You wearing my clothes is bound to help me take off as a designer so I thank you." 

You can feel your face flush a bit, you've never had someone be so sincere to you in this industry before. Now you realize you've made a great choice by agreeing to model for Mitsuya, you hope you can continue to work with him in the future. 

"Ok let's get to work before you make me cry or somethin'.." you softly joke taking off your bag and handing it to you Saki "Oh I'm sorry I didn't mean to- ok yeah let's get to work!" Mitsuya stumbles putting his glasses on and grabbing his sketchbook.

"You can take a seat over there if you'd like" Mitsuya motions over to a couch in the corner of his office when he notices your manager aimlessly standing around "Oh thank you, do you mind if I make a few calls and whatnot?" she sighs taking a seat with your stuff. 

"No of course not, if you need anything just ask me or Okamoto" he waves off now walking over to you "I actually already started working on the piece if you'd like to see it? Or even try it on?" he mutters flipping through his sketchbook"Of course I'd like to try it on!" 

The rest of the day was spent talking and getting to know each other while Mitsuya tailored the dress to fit you better and went over the rest of the look with you. He also asked for your input and what you thought would look good or what you'd like to wear, you could help having a small crush on the man after leaving his office that night. 

It's now been two months since you and Mitsuya first met and you two have gotten a lot closer since that day. Some nights after you've finished with your fittings for other designers you'd invite Mitsuya out for dinner, wanting to talk the man more.

And if you two weren't out for dinner you were constantly texting, but now that his show is this weekend you haven't heard much from him. You weren't too surprised you imagined he was extremely busy trying to finish the last details for the show and whatnot, but you had to admit you missed him. 

You just finished with a small photoshoot for a magazine when you checked your phone and saw that he still hadn't responded to your message from this morning. "Loverboy hasn't answered you?" you turn to glare at Saki who ignores you while packing up your stuff. 

"I told you to stop calling him that…but no he hasn't answered" You sigh grabbing your bag from her arm and begin to walk out of the studio "Do you want to stop by his office?" you almost trip when walking down the stairs "What? We can't just stop by his office like that, he's probably really busy!"

Saki only shrugs her shoulders while opening the door to the building allowing you to go first "Why not? You can bring him a coffee or something, I'm sure he'd appreciate it" You bite your lip contemplating it a bit, you really did want to see the man but you also didn't want to bother him if he were busy. 

"Ok yeah let's go, but we have to get coffee from the place by his office, he really likes that place!" you explain while getting into the back of the car with Saki who playful rolls her eyes "Yeah I know you've only told me a thousand times how much he likes that place."

Now standing outside of Mitsuya's office with his and your order in one hand and a box of pastries in the other you wonder if this was a good idea. You two had hung out plenty of times but you'd never shown up at his office unannounced and you hoped your sudden arrival didn't annoy him. 

Before you can even think about turning around his office door opens and you see a beautiful girl walking out on the phone. She doesn't notice you at first too immersed in her conversation but when she does she gives a look of confusion and then goes wide-eyed. 

"Are you here for Takashi?" at first you thought she was one of the other models walking in his show but when she refers to him by his first name you begin to doubt it. Who exactly was she? Mitsuya never mentioned a girlfriend before or anything similar. 

"Yazuha can you go to the bakery down the street and get us some stuff?" you hear someone call from Mitsuya's office making the girl roll her eyes. "Actually it looks like someone is here for Takashi" She then motions for you to walk into the office as she continues her way out the door still on the phone. 

When you walk in you see Mitsuya looking in your direction with a confused face which quickly morphs into a smile "Y/n! What are you doing here?" he quickly makes his way over to you grabbing the sweets and drinks out of your hand and placing them on his desk. 

You quickly glance over the man standing in what you assume will be his runway outfit and back towards Mitsuya "I just wanted to see you, plus you never answered my messages. So I thought you could use some fuel or whatever…I didn't think you'd have other people over I should've gotten more" 

You begin to look through your bag for your wallet going to ask the other man what he'd like "Don't worry about it y/n, I'm sorry for not answering your messages I've been finishing up Hakkai's piece all day. I'm almost done, if you want we can all go grab dinner together or something?" 

You didn't even realize he was leading you to sit over on the couch until you were seated "Oh uh- ok yeah that's fine with me" Then it hits you that you didn't even introduce yourself to the other person in the room. 

"I'm so sorry I'm y/n, I guess we'll be walking in the show together it's nice to meet you" You smile up at the very tall man who just turns away from you with a blank look on his face. What the hell was his deal "This is Hakkai, he's not good at talking to girls so don't take offense. And the girl outside is his sister, Yazuha, I've known both of them since middle school."

You watch Mitsuya continue to work on a few pieces of Hakkai's suit while the boy doesn't say anything just then Yazuha walks back in "Don't bother talking to that guy, he can't talk to girls" You turn to her with a small smile while Mitsuya softly laughs "Yeah Mitsuya's already told me, I'm y/n it's nice to meet you" 

Unlike her brother Yazuha has no problem talking to you "Yeah I know, who wouldn't? You're like one of the top models right now, I thought Takashi was lying when he said he booked you." she muttered while shaking your hand. 

"Ah I'm so glad Okamoto reached out to my manager, it's been so nice working with Mitsuya I hope he and I can keep working together in the future!" You hear Mitsuya curse a bit under his breath "Are you ok Taka-Chan?" you turn and watch as Mitsuya nods sucking on his thumb.

"Y-yeah just pricked my finger a bit, but yeah I've really enjoyed working with you too y/n…" he smiles, and you note his ears are red. You return a bashful smile and turn back towards Yazuha who's giving you a smug look "Right…well if you start working with Takashi a lot then you'll be seeing us a lot too so let's be good friends" 

You've always had after-show jitters but right now you feel like your heart is going to explode out of your chest. The show went great but before the show, you barely had any time to actually talk to Mitsuya, just a quick prep talk and good luck. But right before the show actually started he had told you to immediately find him afterwards. 

You wondered the entire time what is it that he wanted to talk to you about, then you wondered what he'd have to say about your walk. What if he hated it and never wanted you to model for his clothes ever again? You didn't even notice when he knocked on your dressing room door, too preoccupied with your thoughts. 

You only realized he was there when he gently opened the door "Y/n? Are you in here?" you quickly walked over to the door opening it the rest of the way "Oh I'm sorry I wasn't sure you were in here" you notice he has a big bouquet of flowers and an even bigger gift bag in his hand. 

Unable to say anything you just pull him into your dressing room and close the door "Sorry I didn't hear you knocking on the door" you mutter turning to look at him. He doesn't say anything and neither do you for a while until he holds out the bouquet "These are for you…"

You take the flowers from him and notice their your favorite flowers in your favorite color. You also notice how nicely they're wrapped, they had to be really expensive "Mitsuya, these are gorgeous���thank you so much." 

He only shrugs with a shy smile on his face "I wanted you to have something nice… I-I did my best to wrap them but I've never done it before so I'm sorry if it looks a bit sloppy…" He rambles while gently grabbing them from your hands and setting them down. 

You couldn't believe that he took the time to wrap the flowers himself, they look professionally done. You couldn't even deny it anymore if you wanted, you've totally fallen for Mitsuya. He's been nothing but good to you since you first met and watching the way he treats his friends and other models shows that he's just a great guy. 

"Mitsuya they're gorgeous, they look perfect seriously, thank you so much for these." you mutter still admiring the beautiful bouquet "Oh well I'm glad you like them, I also have this for you…" he whispers placing the huge gift bag on a chair in the room leaving you to open it.

You wonder what can be in the bag, it's massive but when you peek inside the bag you don't really see much. Turning to him to give him a suspicious look he just shrugs his shoulders with a cheeky smile "Open it" Turning back towards the bag you pull out the tissue paper. 

At first, you just see some fabric but when you pull it out you notice it's a gorgeous dress. Looking at all the intricate details you're lost for words "Do you like it..?" you hear Mitsuya ask while he walks up closer to you "You made this for me?" 

You turn towards him now holding the dress close to your chest as if he just threatened to take it from you "Yeah I made it last week, if you don't like something I can- No!" he looks at you wide-eyed at your interruption "Sorry but no Mitsuya it's- it's…I seriously don't have words I can't believe you made this for me?" 

He can't help the cocky grin on his face "I'm so glad you like it…" Then you notice his smile falter a bit "Would you like to wear it tonight to dinner…" Was he asking you out right now? Like a real date? "With me I mean" he quickly clarified seeing your blank look.

You seriously wanted to jump for joy but decided against it to not embarrass yourself "Like just you and me…? No Yazuha or Hakkai?" you don't want to get your hopes up too soon "Yes y/n just you and me, no Hakkai or Yazuha, just us. Like a date" he softly laughed walking towards you grabbing one of your hands. 

You got one little hop in before you stopped yourself "S-sorry I'm just really happy right now" you explain when he gives you a funny look "But yes, I'd love to go on a date with you Mitsuya" you mutter now too shy to look him in the eyes.

"Ok great, I'll wait outside for you then we can go" he smiles softly rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb "Ok I'll get dressed right now!" you laugh gently pushing him out of your dressing room and quickly grab your phone to tell Saki she can leave without you. 

[levisolace]

cigarette after dark — suguru geto x reader

pairing: suguru geto x f!reader

summary: smoking outside the club, an old friend who drifted away, suguru, finds you and strikes up a conversation.

genre: heavy angst. light comfort. modern au.

word count: 3.1k

warnings: heavily depressive thoughts. mentions a lot of smoking and quitting. mature themes.

note: completely a self-indulgent fic. it’s 2am and i can’t really think of another way to feel better unless to write it out. uploading this raw on my phone before i sleep so i’ll probably edit (maybe even delete) the post and re-format it tomorrow after work. idk if anyone will read this lol but here u go.

—————————

There was nothing to sugarcoat. This was it. You’re just another failure.

The puddle on the ground, a remnant of the rain that poured a few hours ago, reflects an image of a person that is foreign. Disgusted, you stare back at her with disdain.

You put the stick in your mouth, inhaling, and taking a long drag. The smoke curls around you like a cloak, shielding you from the chaos of the night. The bass from the club thumps faintly through the alley, vibrating the air but not quite reaching you. You exhale, watching the smoke dissipate into the cold, damp air, and for a fleeting moment, you feel like it could carry away everything you’ve been holding onto. But it doesn’t.

The reflection in the puddle shifts as you move, and you hate the way it looks back at you. Eyes heavy, makeup smudged, shoulders hunched like you’re trying to fold in on yourself. A version of you that you despise.

You take another drag, the heat from the cigarette warming your fingers as the nicotine buzz settles over your nerves. A voice in your head whispers that you should go back inside, but your legs don’t move. You can’t face the stares, the shallow laughs, or the weight of their questions.

“Got a spare?”

The voice is low, almost drowned out by the city noise. You glance up to see a figure standing a few feet away, their face obscured by shadow. For a moment, you’re too tired to answer. Wordlessly, you reach into your pocket and hold out your pack. He takes one, sliding it out with ease.

The man steps closer, just enough for the dim glow of the streetlight to catch their face—a mix of sharp edges softened by something you can’t quite name. They take the lighter you’re holding out from your hand with a quiet “Thanks,” lighting his cigarette with practiced ease.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Just two people standing in the dark, sharing silence and smoke.

“How long has it been?” It’s him who speaks first, staring out into the bright moon.

You don’t answer for a while, contemplating if you’ll answer him or just stay silent and hope that he’ll leave you alone. After almost a minute, you decide on the former.

“Dunno. Like 3 years?”

“Wrong, it’s been four.”

“Four, huh?” you murmur, the words tasting unfamiliar on your tongue, like the cigarette in your hand. You flick the ash off the end, watching it dissolve into the puddle at your feet. “Feels like longer.”

He hums, leaning against the wall beside you. The air between you is thick with unspoken history, but he doesn’t push it—at least, not yet. You risk a glance at him, expecting the same boy you once knew, but what you see makes you pause.

Suguru Geto looks good. Too good. His black hair, once always falling in messy waves across his face, is now neatly tied back. His clothes are clean, tailored even, and the sharp edges of his face, once softened by youthful recklessness, now hold a quiet confidence. He looks like someone who has his life together—like someone who doesn’t spend nights outside clubs, smoking to forget.

The contrast is almost unbearable.

His posture is relaxed, but there’s a tension in his voice when he speaks again. “Didn’t think I’d find you here. Like this.”

You glance at him from the corner of your eye. He looks the same but not quite. Time has softened some of his edges and hardened others. The lines of his face are sharper, his frame broader, but there’s something familiar in the way he stands, hands in his pockets, like he’s trying not to take up too much space.

“And what’s this?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as you take a drag, trying to ignore how unnatural it still feels.

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he watches as you exhale a slow stream of smoke, watching it curl into the damp air. “You. Out here. Smoking.”

The words sting more than you care to admit. You glance at the glowing tip of your cigarette, suddenly hating the way it feels between your fingers. “People change,” you say, but your voice lacks conviction.

“Yeah, they do.” He pauses, turning to look at you fully. “But this isn’t you.”

You snort, a humorless sound that feels foreign even to you. “You don’t know me anymore.”

“Maybe not,” he concedes, his tone quiet but steady. “But I used to. And the girl I knew wouldn’t have touched a cigarette, let alone ended up outside some club at this hour.”

You roll your eyes, the defensiveness bubbling up despite yourself. “Well, the girl you knew is gone. Life happened. People grow up.”

“Ha…”

His reaction hangs in the air, heavy and unavoidable. You don’t answer right away, staring down at the puddle again. The reflection staring back at you is a stranger, a reminder of all the ways you’ve tried to erase the person you used to be.

“You don’t get to judge me,” you say finally, your voice sharper than you intended.

“I’m not judging you,” he replies softly. “I just… I thought you’d have more faith in yourself than this.”

You laugh bitterly, shaking your head. “Faith doesn’t get you very far these days.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The sounds of the city fill the silence: the faint bassline from the club, the hum of passing cars, the drip of water from the gutter overhead.

“I thought about calling you,” he says suddenly, his voice breaking the stillness. “A lot, actually. But I don’t know why I didn’t. I thought—.”

“Thought what?” you reply, crushing the cigarette under your heel.

He chuckles, though it’s void of humor. “That you’d be better off without me.”

The words hit harder than you expect. You glance at him again, searching his face for pity, disappointment, anything—but all you see is regret.

“Why now?” you ask the question quieter than you meant it to be.

Why approach me now? is what you wanted to ask. You couldn’t get yourself to ask him directly but as if he knows you like the back of his hand, he answers the question.

“Because I saw you,” he says simply. “And I didn’t want to walk away this time.”

The honesty in his voice disarms you, cutting through the walls you’ve spent so long building. You look away, crossing your arms as if to shield yourself from the weight of his gaze.

“Maybe you should have,” you murmur, but your voice wavers, betraying the truth. And from the way he stays, you think he knows it, too.

He stayed silent as if he’s debating what to say. He looks like he wants to comfort you—or terribly ask what happened to you. Either way, you know that he can’t do it. He can’t get himself to open your wounds up so suddenly when it looks like it’s eating you alive.

For a while, neither of you says anything. The muffled bassline from the club fills the silence, blending with the distant hum of traffic. You sneak another glance at him, and that’s when you notice it—the cigarette in his hand, he hasn’t smoked it once.

The cigarette dangles between his fingers, the faint glow of the ember a stark contrast to the cold night air. He doesn’t bring it to his lips, doesn’t inhale. He just… holds it.

“You’re not smoking,” you say, your voice cutting through the quiet.

He glances at you, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s amused. “Nope.”

“Then why the hell did you ask for one?”

He shrugs, twirling the cigarette between his fingers. “Felt like the easiest way to approach you.”

You glare at him, annoyed at his nonchalance. “You’re wasting it.”

“Not really.” He flicks the ash with a practiced motion, his gaze never leaving yours. “I quit years ago.”

The revelation catches you off guard. “Then why light it at all?”

He exhales—not smoke, just a slow breath—and leans back against the wall, looking up at the faint glow of the moon. “I guess…” He pauses, turning the lit cigarette in his hand, his voice softening. “I wanted to remember what it felt like. Holding this. Being here. With you.”

You flinch, the memory hitting like a slap. Back then, Suguru was the wild one—the one who always seemed to have a cigarette tucked in his fingers or a flask hidden in his jacket. You were the good one, the one who didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, didn’t step a toe out of line. You used to lecture him about taking care of himself, about how much potential he was wasting. And now? Now you’re the one standing in an alley with a cigarette in hand, trying to feel something other than regret.

“Guess the roles are reversed, huh?” you say with a forced chuckle, gesturing at him with the glowing tip of your cigarette. “Look at you. Clean, polished.”

You glance down at your cigarette, suddenly hating the way it tastes, the way it feels in your hand.

“Why’d you quit?” you ask, the question slipping out before you can stop it.

He smiles faintly, looking down at the cigarette in his hand. “Mm… I didn’t want it controlling me anymore. Felt like every bad decision I made started with one of these.” He twirls the cigarette between his fingers, a ghost of the habit he once had.

“Good for you,” you mutter, rolling your eyes a little. You can’t help it. You were jealous.

“What about you?” he asks this time, turning to look at you. “When did you start?”

The question makes your stomach twist, but you shrug it off, exhaling a stream of smoke. “A while ago. Doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” he says, his tone calm but insistent. “You used to give me so much crap for this.” He gestures vaguely with the cigarette, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “What changed?”

You hesitate, the words caught in your throat. What changed? Life? Disappointment? Somewhere along the line, the lines you swore you’d never cross blurred until you didn’t recognize them—or yourself. If Suguru’s bad decision started with the stick in your hand, yours ended with it. Every bad decision you made piled up and up until all you could do was punish yourself in many ways possible. That included this… stupid addiction.

Failure—that’s what you are. And failures… they’re just that.

“Life. Me. You know how it is. One wrong decision after another and next thing you know, you’re exactly the disappointment you fear you’d be.”

“Hm,” he agrees, tilting his head slightly like he doesn’t agree with you.

You roll your eyes, the defensiveness bubbling up. You know what he’s thinking. “You don’t know me anymore, Suguru.”

“No,” he admits, his voice soft but steady. “But I don’t think you’re as far gone as you think.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and unwelcome. You glare at the ground, crushing the cigarette under your heel with more force than necessary.

“Cut the bullshit,” you snap. “I don’t need your words of wisdom.”

Suguru sighs, flicking his own cigarette into the puddle. It hisses softly, the ember extinguished, and he turns to face you fully. “I’m not trying to do anything,” he says quietly. “But I know you don’t need this.”

The honesty in his voice makes something in your chest tighten, and for a moment, you want to tell him to leave. To stop looking at you like you’re someone worth saving.

But he doesn’t push. He just stands there, hands in his pockets, like he’s waiting for you to let him in.

A new cigarette burns low between your fingers, the smoke curling up into the night air like a ghost of something you can’t name. Suguru stands beside you, quiet now, the silence between you stretching long and thin. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, but he doesn’t say anything. Maybe he senses you don’t want him to.

The stillness lets your thoughts slip in, unwelcome and relentless.

You think about her—the girl you used to be. The one who would have hated to see you like this. That girl had big dreams and bigger expectations from herself and everyone around her. She thought she could take on the world, carve out a future she’d be proud of. Back then, it felt possible.

But somewhere along the line, it all unraveled.

One bad decision led to another. You chose the wrong major, convinced yourself it would work out. It didn’t. Classes you thought you could handle became impossible to pass. Graduation came late, dragging with it the weight of disappointment. Every failure piled up until it felt like they were suffocating you. It suffocated you until even doing the smallest tasks took too much of your positive energy.

There was so much anger and hatred for yourself that it was either you pull away from everyone… or you’ll have to see them disappointed in you. You chose the former everytime. And that’s why you failed at every aspect of life. Career, friends, family… love. All you feel now is an emptiness that is both heavy and light. Heavy in emotions. Light in meaningful weight.

Everything that was good about you was taken away from you. It’s like someone’s out to get you. It’s like someone’s punishing you to forever be painfully mediocre. Never good. Never bad. God, you feel like a non-playable character in your own life, watching yourself try and try over and over again but it’s like you’re destined to not be somebody. Not somebody’s best coworker. Not somebody’s best daughter. Not somebody’s best friend. Not somebody’s girlfriend. It’s like you’re cursed to not be able to hold on to something that makes you feel good.

You drag on the cigarette, the bitterness of it filling your lungs, but it doesn’t quiet the ache.

If you could go back, maybe you’d say sorry to her—the little girl who dreamed of being someone better, someone whole. She didn’t deserve this. You’d tell her you tried. You really did. But the truth is, deep down, even back then, there was a voice whispering you’d never make it.

That voice had always been there. Back then, you fought it. You told yourself it was wrong. But it had patience. It waited.

And now it’s winning.

The cigarette trembles in your fingers, the smoke curling upward in erratic spirals. You bite your lip, trying to steady your breathing, but it’s no use. The weight pressing on your chest grows heavier, like it’s trying to crush you entirely.

You exhale slowly, staring at the faint glow of the streetlight reflected in the puddle at your feet. For a moment, it feels like you’re staring at her, that little girl that Suguru knew, looking back at you with all her bright-eyed hope and wonder. You wonder what she’d say if she could see you now.

“You’re quiet,” Suguru says, his voice breaking through your thoughts.

You glance at him, startled, and realize how long the silence has stretched. “Yeah,” you mutter, flicking ash off the cigarette. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Nothing important.”

He doesn’t believe you—you can see it in the way his brows knit together, the way he studies you like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle. But he doesn’t press.

“You know,” he says softly, “quitting wasn’t easy for me.”

You raise a brow, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says, taking what was left of the cigarette in your hand. “There were a lot of nights I thought about lighting one up. Not because I wanted to, but because it felt like I needed to. Like it was the only thing that made the rest of the world shut up for a bit.”

His words hit closer to home than you’d like. You look away, staring down at your own cigarette, now burned to the filter in his hand. “And what changed?”

Suguru shrugs, his gaze steady. “I realized it wasn’t fixing anything. It was just… giving me an excuse not to.”

You don’t say anything, but his words settle uncomfortably in your chest. He crushes the cigarette under his heel.

“You can still fight it,” he says after a moment, his tone soft but unwavering. “Whatever it is. You don’t have to let it win.”

You scoff, but it lacks conviction. “It’s not that easy.”

“I never said it was.” He shrugs, tucking his hands inside his pockets.

You don’t respond, the weight of his words mingling with the lingering taste of smoke in your mouth. Somewhere in the back of your mind, that voice still whispers, still taunts. But for the first time in a long while, it doesn’t feel quite so loud. Maybe it’s his presence, steady and familiar, or maybe it’s just the faintest flicker of hope. Either way, you don’t feel entirely alone. Not tonight.

You feel it before you even realize it’s happening—a tear slipping down your cheek, warm and unwelcome. You quickly turn your face away from Suguru, staring hard at the ground.

He doesn’t say anything, but you feel his gaze, calm and steady, like he’s waiting for you to say something first.

Another tear falls, then another, and before you know it, your shoulders are trembling as the quiet sobs escape you. You clench your jaw, swallowing hard, trying to hold it in, but it’s like a dam has broken.

Suguru shifts slightly, the faint sound of his shoes scuffing against the wet pavement. “Hey…” he says softly, his voice low and tentative.

You don’t respond. You can’t. If you open your mouth, you’re afraid you’ll break completely.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a moment. The sincerity in his voice makes your chest ache even more. “If I said something to—”

“No,” you manage to choke out, cutting him off. Your voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper. “Just… no.”

He doesn’t press further. He just stays there, silent and steady, his presence grounding in a way you didn’t expect.

Your tears fall freely now, mixing with the remnants of rain on the ground. You haven’t cried in front of anybody in so long. And yet, here you are, crying to some guy who was practically a stranger to you for four years.

“I ruined everything,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

Suguru shifts again, and this time, you feel his hand hover near your shoulder before settling there gently. His touch is warm, reassuring. Without a word, you lean in, wrapping your arms around him. He hugs you back with one arm, his hand on your head as he pulls you into his chest. You haven’t been held in so long. You’ve slept so many sleepless nights alone, wondering if the warmth of another person would make you feel better. It never did, not like Suguru’s.

The weight of his words settles in your chest, heavy but not unbearable. You don’t know exactly how this night came to be, but for the first time in a long while, the thought of waking up another day doesn’t feel entirely impossible.

Suguru stays quiet after that, his hand still caressing your hair, offering silent reassurance. He doesn’t try to push you further or tell you everything will be okay. He just stays, letting you cry, letting you feel.

And for now, that’s enough.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Day 18: Jingle Bells: Our muses take a sleigh ride

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Character: Spencer Reid

Naughty or Nice: Nice

A/n: Continuation of the Happy November fic

Spencer knew had to make it up to you, he hated knowing that he upset you. You meant the world to him, you were someone that made him feel happy, wanted. Though you forgave him he could still see the hurt in your eyes.

"Okay now open them." Spencer held his hands around your waist, a beautiful horse drawn sleigh in front of you.

The sleigh, adorned with twinkling fairy lights and pulled by two majestic horses, awaited you both.

Blinking back a few tears, you turned to look at Spencer with a weak smile on your face. "Spencer, what's this?"

"I'm making up for how much of a dick I was."

Shaking your head you placed a hand on his cheek then stepped close to kiss his forehead. "You weren't a dick Spencer...I over reacted."

"But I think it's cute you wish everyone those little things.."Spencer stated as he helped you into the carriage as he nodded to the driver. "So just enjoy this ride"

As you two settled under a thick, woolen blanket, the sleigh began to move, the sound of jingling bells filling the air.

Smiling, you nuzzled into Spencer side as his hand gave yours a gentle squeeze.

As you two rode through the snow-covered park you couldn't help but feel like the world around you both were in a winter wonderland. The moonlight reflected off the snow, casting a magical glow. You lent into Spencer, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. His arm around you, pulling you closer to his side.

“Look,” Spencer whispered, pointing to the sky just as shooting star streaked across the night, leaving a trail of light. “Make a wish.”

Closing your eyes, a smile tugged at the corner of your lips, once you opened them you found Spencer watching you with a soft gaze.

"What did you wish for?"

You smiled, your cheeks rosy from the cold. “My wish won't come true if I say it out loud." You teased.

Spencer, letting out his own chuckle let his eyes soften as he pressed his nose against yours as he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a gentle kiss. The world seemed to stand still, the only sound the soft crunch of snow beneath the sleigh and the beating of their hearts.

Once the kiss was broken, Spencer smiled softly squeezing your hand. "I love you."

"I love you too Spencer."

[wickjump]

i need to see more characters missing their abusers in fics. like i need more cross missing xgaster. wanting to return to him and agree with him and do what he says because he's used to that and there's a sort of comfort in the predictability of that. i need him to miss him irrationally, even if you make it in a setting where xgaster was never nice to him (he canonically did have his nice moments though which makes it worse) there's a chance he'd still miss him. there is often a sick comfort in being abused and i think cross would be victim to that. like in one comic he hugs xgaster and says "i hate you soooooo much" while smiling.

like, he wants his father's attention and adoration. part of him wants to do whatever he can to get it, even though he's angry and hurt and beyond enraged at xgaster's actions. and i need to see that more. i also need this applied to some other characters but im not the expert on those ones.

idk i just think that people make cross and other characters who are victims of abuse turn away from their abusers too much when in a lot of cases its a mindfuck to endure. characters who are victims of abuse like that can often miss their abuser, reflect their abuser in their own actions/mindsets (acting the same way or similar, either to their horror/realization or not), or hurt others, intentionally or unintentionally.

sometimes, though this wouldnt apply to cross given he's canonically stated otherwise a solid few times, they dont even hate their abuser. they come up with justifications, blame themselves, it can take a lot to process that sorta thing. cross especially would have a hard time processing it because the abuse also shaped his very character. he would be entirely different were it not for xgaster’s physical, mental, and verbal abuse (all of which we see/is heavily implied in comics).

feel free to expand on this in reblogs if you have other characters that fit this i want to see,,,, i love characters who are victims of abuse bc i am too

[divinegrey]

𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧 / 𝐜𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐲𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

hi folks! it's good to be back and stretching my writing legs again. starting off with a caitlyn prompt! this could be read as a stand-alone or as a continuation of another caitlyn fic, broken pillars.

prompt: heyya! i'm absolutely in love with caitlyn AND your writing, so i was hoping we could combine the two :DD maybe something along the lines of cait x reader, a continuation of "broken pillars"? reader was injured in the blast, and Cait helps them/her (whatever you prefer) recover. maybe reader sees how much ambessa is manipulating her, and they end up getting into a fight over what's right?

words: 1162

warnings: mentions of violence, light angst, happy ending

“Caitlyn, this crusade is only going to end in more violence. You can’t possibly not see that!”

The Kiramman library has become something more of a battleground, in recent days. You were finally discharged from the hospital after extensive care to the leg you lost in what has been dubbed one of the worst terrorist incidents of Piltover’s history. And in those days since you’ve been home, you’ve become privy to every single thing that happened, everything that Caitlyn went through in her attempt to find Silco. 

Now Silco’s dead, and the whole of Zaun is in disarray. It only took one woman stepping in at the right time for Piltover to begin mobilizing; Ambessa Medarda. 

“It will be necessary for the safety of Piltover, our safety that we find Jinx and put her into Stillwater. She cannot be allowed to remain free for what she did to you,” Caitlyn says, standing at all too far a distance from you. She’s unreachable, has felt utterly unreachable ever since the explosion. Between tending to you, you know the gaps of time when she wasn’t at the hospital was spent sitting beside the famed warlord of Noxus. 

You’ve seen the change happen before your very eyes. It makes you scared. 

Pushing your hands on the wheels of your chair closer, you try again. “Cait, please, just listen to yourself. You’re suggesting arming an entire battalion of Enforcers and leading them into Zaun will fix the problem. You tried the strike team, it didn’t work the way you wanted it to, but that doesn’t mean—” 

“Until Jinx is behind bars, we are not safe.” Caitlyn’s stare is steely, but therein lies the exhaustion found in the bags of her eyes. Neither of you have been sleeping all too well; she comes into bed late at night when you’ve tired yourself out trying to stay up, and she rises before you have a chance to kiss her good morning. Caitlyn turns, hands on her hips. “You are not safe. I cannot stand for it.” 

“So, what? You slap a gun into every willing hand and shoot every Zaunite that gets in the way?” You sigh, leaning back against the cushion with a sigh. “And you’re fine with that? I know you, you’re smarter than this.” You wheel yourself closer to her side, taking her hand. “I know that this has left you distraught. Your mother in a coma, me in a wheelchair, but we are both still here, Caitlyn. An eye for an eye. You took Silco out, the Undercity is in chaos. People down there are scared. The Caitlyn I know and love wouldn’t be putting together weapons; she would be putting together aid, a plan to unite Zaun peacefully as possible.” 

Caitlyn doesn’t look at you. Rather, the fire that burns in the library hearth, the flames reflected and dancing in her eyes. She squeezes your hand, the callouses from shooting for so many years evident on her fingertips. Her throat bobs with a swallow. 

“It makes me scared, Cait. To know that Ambessa is saying these things into your ear and it feels like I can’t even get through to you,” you start, rubbing your thumb over her knuckles. “I’ve been friends with Mel long enough to get a sense of what her mother is like, I’ve studied enough politics to know what Noxus prioritizes. Strength and power. They see that in Hextech. That is all they want. They don’t care if they have to start a war to get it, because that is what they’re good at.” 

Caitlyn blinks, and for the first time in days, you see a tear fall from her eyes. Her chest rises with a heavy breath. “I failed to keep you safe. I had an opportunity to pull the trigger on Jinx. Vi, she— she weakened me. I wanted so badly to believe there was a way to end all of this with everyone alive, and the cost of believing that was nearly losing you and my mother.” A small scoff. “If my mother will ever wake up.” 

“Look at me.” You tug on her arm, and only then does she turn to you. You make a gesture for her to sit down on an armchair and she follows, slumping with an exhaustion you both feel in your bones. You take your hands and hold them tightly. “You can’t burden yourself with every ounce of responsibility, Caitlyn. You are one of the strongest people I know, but even you will crack under that pressure. Please, just give yourself some more time, give Mel and I some more time to try and put together a plan. The Council is angry. Ambessa has power enough as it is, but what she sees in you is someone to exploit. Grief is a powerful motivator; all I ask is that you don’t let it motivate you into something you’ll regret.” 

If it weren’t for you holding her hands, you might not have noticed the shake in her fingers. You know your girlfriend well enough to understand that the shaking only comes when the stress has built up so much that it reaches her hands; a sharpshooter can’t risk shaking hands when they need to take the shot. With something of a forlorn smile, you bend your head, trying to catch her eyes. 

“Love, I promise, you didn’t fail me. Nor your mother. I’m still here, and I still love you so, very deeply with everything I have in my heart. So please, if there is any guilt or grief you carry about me, drop it. Because I am with you, until the end of time,” you say, pouring every ounce of devotion that you possibly can into your words. What you see in turn is the exterior of Caitlyn’s armor cracking, the tears falling, and you cup her face within your hands, bringing her eyes to yours. “I love you, Caitlyn Kiramman.” 

Her hands hold your wrists tight; it’ll take time for her to lay down her guilt, and you’re happy to stand beside her in the meantime. You kiss her, soft and tender, the salt from her tears on your lips but you couldn’t care less. You survived death and lost a leg, a grief that will settle, but you count your blessings where you can find them. Your family is still alive, Caitlyn is still alive, and her parents are still alive. 

It will have to be enough. 

“I love you,” Caitlyn whispers into your mouth. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Your heart is safe with me, and mine with yours. There is a light at the end of this tunnel; we need only find it, okay?” You stroke her cheekbone with your thumb, wiping away the tears as they come. She nods, resting her forehead against yours. 

Only time will tell of what happens to Piltover and Zaun, but you breathe easier, knowing you have your partner at your side. 

~~~~~

A/N: thank you for reading! anon, i hope this was what you wanted!

[acid-ixx]

If you don’t mind me asking, what does your planning process look like for your chapters and what do you write first?? I’m trying to write my own Ybatfam fic rn but I just don’t know what to add to my chapters and really just how to start them.

I love your work, your really the one who inspired me to try writing my own🩵🩵🩵

hii anon !! i'm glad u asked this, though i am no way an expert in writing, i've been doing so for years now and i've learned quite a lot from it. thanks for asking this and i hope this is comprehensive enough 😭

so when it comes to planning for a chapter, or just a one-shot, i always write out what i want to establish within it. ask yourself; what does the chapter center around? would it be the relationships with characters, or the emotions you want to portray, is it angsty or just hurt/comfort? in planning, i write the general gist of what will happen through the entire thing (read: planned fanfics) before i move on to outlining.

and here, outlining helps like a god. i like to separate a chapter into multiple parts, and combine them altogether in the end. so when it comes to outlines, i just write out what i want to write and not the actual dialogue or actions in it (example: in this scene, jason tries to talk it out with you, you fight back and force him to let you out. in the next part, you're of the apartment and near to breaking down, you don't notice two sets of eyes watching over you).

sometimes, if i'm ever stuck i just write in the middle or the end because it helps me establish a flow and the build up.

also, setting the settings, changing the atmospheres, adding parallelism, and using figures of speech (simile, metaphors, personifications, etc. (e.g. conner knows you're perfect, with just how the flowers at the manor sings for your presence or how the beams of sunlight always directs itself at you)) are really helpful for when my writing feels dry or doesn't feel as compelling. it's not always required but it helps adding flowery (but not-so much) words or relating characters into objects with symbolisms to give readers an even deeper insight of who the characters is and why they are like that.

writing for the actual chapter, even starting it is always going to be the hard part. it's like starting an essay, but i suggest treating it like an essay— what do you want to focus on? always remember that the start of a chapter helps set up the mood and pacing of the story, so whether it'd be action packed or something lighthearted, reflect it upon the flow of your words too.

start with an interesting hook, whether it'd be rhetorical questions or digging deep into a character's personality and diving into specifics about it, have key points and expound upon it; and always take note of the atmosphere of how your entire story should be, show it through actions, reactions, gestures and dialogues.

otherwise, i've not much to say but take your time and don't pressure yourself with trying to achieve perfection. i'm pretty much someone who likes to write out my ideas before the actual planning so most of the time i wing most of what i want to write (loving family, unpalatable desire is a product of it) and hope to god that whatever outcome will be decent.

and thank you so much anon for finding me as an inspiration 🥹 it's unbelievable, the amount of support i mean— and if you ever do wish to post your own fic and feel doubtful of it still, you can always also chat me through my chatbox here in tumblr since it's pretty much open for anyone.

[whateversawesome]

Fandom Wrapped + Some SxF Fic Recs

The year is almost over so it's a good time to reflect on all the wonderful fics we read and all the fics we wrote as well. I'm sure you have your favorites 😃

Here's my fandom wrapped plus a few fic recs and reflections:

(Special thanks to @katty-king-elfans for creating these templates so we can all have a fun fandom wrapped)

It's always hard to choose a favorite but this year, there was a clear winner in my heart:

After Peace by @unhappy-sometimes : To me, this fic is a masterpiece. I could talk about its interesting premise, the development of the characters or even the use of beautiful metaphors, however, for me, the most important thing is how this story just reached the deepest part of my heart.

Do you sometimes feel like you can't make any mistakes? Do you feel like if you do, you could derail your life forever? Well, this story shows us that's not true. It's a story about second chances about rebuilding life after huge mistakes, after being hurt, after thinking life is over.

And it's also a story about how unsettling "peace" can be after a lifetime of fighting. Here, Twilight is retired, he has "won" and there's finally peace between East and West, but his life is now meaningless. It takes place after the hero reaches the climax of his story and wonders 'now what?' Enter Anya and Yor to revive this man!

I won't say anything else to avoid spoiling it for you. If you haven't read it, do yourself a favor and read it here!

Other amazing piece this year that I loved in the visual art field was:

Bad Omen by @buf309-art-binder , which is not a fic per se, but a fancomic that uses both visual art and written language to tell an amazing (and angsty) story about wanting to protect what we love the most by becoming "hunters".

Here, we see Yor's perspective through a memory. She protects Yuri's innocence from death and pain by hiding both from him. In the present, Yor reflects about how fragile life can be and we learn how she views herself: as someone who stole her time from others.

However, Twilight tells her otherwise. To him, she's more than someone who just fights and destroys. To him, he's the reason why he's been able to heal 💖

The fancomic wraps up in a spectacular way, right in the middle of an action scene, where we see Yuri as an adult but at the same time, relying on his sister's wisdom, just as when he was a child, because of a dire situation. In this scene, Buf warps up everything and tells us that Loid and Yor were right about referring to themselves as a canary and an owl.

And the story's cliffhanger at the very end is to die for!! 😱 If you haven't read it or if you want to read it for the 100th time like me, here it is.

I would also like to send a ton of love to Ari_Gateau @lpham2525 for her amazing stories that never fail to lift my heart; to @rachellysebrook but writing the most emotional fic I read this year: Pink Sakura (Rach, you owe me a box of tissues.) And to Puolain @loveroma whose fics are truly magical (and that kiss scene in Hide and Seek was hands down my favorite). Honorable mention to Talik_Sanis who is not on tumblr (not that I know) for writing some of the funniest sxf fics I've read.

I want to thank all the authors who kept writing and contributing to the fandom. Thank you!

Now, if you're also interested on my Writer Wrapped, here it is!

As you can see, My Enemy took almost all the categories in this wrapped. It has been very challenging but also very satisfying.

As some of you may know, I love reading and writing AUs but before writing this AU, I thought AUs were not very popular among readers. That's why I'm so grateful this fic has had such a positive answer. Thank you to all of those who have read, commented, and supported this story 💖 And for those who have no clue what I'm talking about 😆 you can read it here.

On a personal note, this fic has helped me understand a lot of things about life. My favorite scene this year (the blessing) felt so cathartic to me, because we're so conditioned to think that we must be useful for people to love us and that's not true. The people that love us do so because of our simple existence. Writing that, seeing those words on the screen, made me feel relieved. If you're interested, I explained it in detail a couple of weeks ago here.

Although My Enemy has taken most of my writing time, I've also had the opportunity to write other one-shots. My two favorites this year are:

Birthdays: A tooth-rotting fluff fic about all the Forgers' birthdays.

Deadly Encounters at the Department Store: A comedy in which Yor faces an embarrassing situation at the department store.

Also, I got to write a small one-shot sequel for Love Is... called I Choose You.

In addition, I also wrote for a couple of different ships besides Twiyor. Given my strong twiyor brainrot, I considered these two fics a fun challenge. Both fics were written as birthday gifts for two dear friends and I'm happy with the result:

Yuri and Chloe Big Daycare Ordeal (Yurikuro)

A New Dance Partner (Franky x Fiona)

AND to top it all, I did my first collaboration in the fandom with the amazing @unhappy-sometimes This collab was a gift for our friend @buf309 , who actually gave us the prompt for it. Unso was in charge of creating the art for this prompt and I was in charge of writing the fic. The result was fantastic!! You can see the fancomic here and read Sleeping Beauty: Twilight's Version here on ao3.

Well, that was a big wrapped but it was also a big writing/reading year. Thank you to all of those who read my stories, commented and left kudos. Thank you also to @twiyorbase for organizing so many wonderful events that kept us writing. And special thanks to my friends, who listened to me, encouraged me, and made me laugh. You make my life beautiful 💖Thank you!

[harmonyrae]

Devil in the Mirror: Part 2

Synopsis: Part two of my AU fic about Abysswalker inspired assassin Rafayel. His one night stand is his next target. He’s already signed the contract, but she’s captured his attention - and maybe his affection. He surprises himself when he invites her to be his date to his art exhibit. He is great at thinking on his feet, but his lack of self-control could be his undoing. (Written in Rafayel's POV)

Warnings: Mentions of violence & death & very explicit sexual descriptions. 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 6.9k

Rolling over, your hand falls to the mattress, when you don’t feel her your eyes snap open. Sitting up straight in bed you glance around the room. The wave of anxiety settles when you hear the sound of the shower. You spot her clothes piled on the desk. You swing your legs off the bed and stretch, your breath catches as you notice just how sore you are. Yeah, that definitely wasn’t just because of the absolutely insane sex - oh how you wish it was. 

The man you “dealt with” yesterday was huge. Double your size and a total beefcake. Probably spent more time in the gym in one day than you spent in a whole year. But in the end, you’re faster and years of practice with your blade meant the final slash across his throat was precise. But he got some good hits in and you’re sure the bruising was worse. Would it be more noticeable in the daylight? 

You slowly make your way across the room to the desk. Your fingers gently sweep across the fabric of her dress. Memories of the club flash through your mind. Her hips swaying against you, her hands threading through your hair, her pulse racing as you kissed her neck. Your peripherals catch your reflection in the mirror above the desk. 

Fuck.

Those were not the bruises you were expecting… Sure, the giant bruise across your rib cage was dark and tender, but you could explain it away easily. Took a tumble off your ladder while finishing your latest painting. But how the fuck are you supposed to explain the small bruises across your neck and chest? The press would have a field day…

Ding

Your phone chirps from its place next to the bed. You trudge back, grab the phone and fall back onto the plush blanket. You hold the phone above your face and swipe to unlock. A new message from Thomas. 

Thomas: Started a new file for your new project. Should I bring it to your place or hand it off tonight?

“Oh fuck…!” 

Your nose burns as you rub it. The panic you had suppressed from last night had resurfaced catching you off guard, causing you to drop your phone, right onto your face. For fucks sake… Your next target was literally in the next room. Your target, who was beautiful, bold, enticing… Who rocked your world less than 12 hours ago and slept beside you. Who you were desperately trying to stop imaging standing, hot and dripping, in that shower. God, you want to join her. Feel her hands on you again. Your hands holding her hips, pulling her to you, your lips on hers. NO. STOP. She’s your fucking target. You should go in there and finish the job.

No, no, no… Who knows who she came to the club with last night. You remember another girl, with short brown hair, dancing with her. Did they notice you and her on the dance floor? Did they notice her leaving with you? Did she text her friends or family this morning while you were still asleep? Too many risks. It wouldn’t be hard to link her death back to you. No, it wasn’t a good idea to do this now. And do you want to? What the fuck? That should NOT be a factor. But it is and the more you deny it the more your stomach twists into a knot.

You hear the water shut off. Shit. What do you do? What is the plan? Like you ever really make plans for these things. But this is different. Why is it different? It just is. So what do you…

While you’re thinking, well more like panicking, she exits the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her. She notices you sitting up on the bed and smiles. God, she’s radiant. Stop complimenting her. Well, complimenting her in your head. Just stop it. 

“Good morning, beautiful.” 

Really? You’re pathetic… Why did you say that? Now she’s blushing and walking over. In a towel, she’s in a towel. Your thin sweatpants are proving to be very revealing, your cock throbbing at the thought of her dropping that towel.

She cups your face with her hands, placing a gentle kiss to your forehead. You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks. Can she feel it? Can she see it? Oh, she 100% can. Her eyes fall, trailing their way down your torso and - oh shit - she lets out a breathy giggle as she notices how hard you’ve gotten. Her smile widens and she leans down to kiss you fully. Her lips are just as soft as last night. She smells like heaven, you can tell she used the hotel soap but her fragrance is so much stronger. Delicate and breezy. Fucking hypnotic. 

Your hands find themselves on her hips, pulling her closer. She smiles against your lips and pulls back slightly. You can feel yourself pouting - real mature, she’ll love that. She giggles and swipes her finger across your bottom lip that’s pushed out. Wait, does she? 

“Usually, I would have left by now. To avoid that uncomfortable morning-after small talk. But… I didn’t really want to.” She says in a hesitant voice.

“I’m glad you didn’t leave.” Are you now? Really?!

“Me too.” 

You pull her back to you trying to continue the kiss, even though you know it’s a bad idea. It’s like you can’t stop yourself. You start trailing kisses down her chest, but she pulls back, stopping you in your tracks.

“But I do have to go. I have a meeting in an hour.”

“A meeting?” At the Hunters Association, most likely. 

“At the Hunters Association. Oh, I don’t think I mentioned my job before. I’m a hunter.”

“Ohhhhh wow!” Thank god, she bought that.

“Yeah, I have to do a debrief before my leave.”

“Your leave?”

“I… It’s mandatory after I got injured a few days ago. A huge Wanderer showed up at the park and I was the only hunter around and there were kids. People were getting hurt, so I… ugh… I jumped in and ended up in the hospital again.”

“Again?!”

“Well, I was on desk duty and not supposed to involve myself in any fights… My new injuries made my previous ones worse. I had to have a minor surgery. So now, my boss is making me take a mandatory leave and turn in my weapons so…”

“Wait, you’re telling me you just had surgery…”

She hesitates and avoids meeting your eye.

“Well, it was like… two days ago…”

“Are you serious?! And last night… You were at a club? Drinking? Dancing? And then we… Fuck! I could have hurt you?!” 

The panic in your voice is too intense, why are you panicking? She is a grown woman capable of making her own choices. However questionable those choices might be...

“I’m fine. Seriously, when I say it was minor, the doctors literally told my boss I could go back to work pretty much right away. But she’s still pushing for the leave. It’s more a punishment than a recovery. You didn’t hurt me. Well, you did, but in a good way.” Her smile turns dangerous and there you go blushing again.

“You are a handful aren’t you?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

She tugs at her towel, letting it drop down her waist and over your hands which are still on her hips. Her breasts sit perfectly in front of your face. You spot the various bruises you left, mostly surrounding her nipples. As you move your hands to let the towel drop to the floor, you see her lower stomach and inner thighs are also covered with your love bites. Her hands trace over the bruises she left on your collarbone. She shifts her legs and straddles your lap, her bare pussy sitting directly on your barely covered, painfully hard, cock. She gasps softly when she feels the rough stitches over the wound on your chest. 

“When did this happen? Wait… Did you stitch this yourself?”

You take her hand away from the wound and hold it tenderly, placing a kiss on her knuckles. 

“It happened the other day. It wasn’t serious so I handled it myself.”

“And you were upset with me… Wait, are you a doctor?”

“No, not a doctor. Stitches look pretty good for a non-doctor? Pretty impressive, yeah?”

You were avoiding her question of how for as long as you possibly could. Her eyes narrow and she pushes you back onto the mattress before moving to straddle your torso. Feeling her grind against your stomach, you could feel how wet she was, and it wasn’t from the shower. Fuuuuck.

“You didn’t answer my question. How did it happen?” Her hands drift down your arms and take hold of your hands.

“So, I’m an artist. I make my own paint. Sometimes finding the ingredients I need can get… risky.”

She squints her eyes, considering your story. Her hands close in around your wrists as she pulls them to her waist.

“Risky, huh? So what happened?” 

“I uhh… I was diving to find some coral. I needed a particular shade of red for a - ahh hah…”

She had slowly lifted your hands to her breasts and your self-control was at an all time low. You already sounded extremely suspicious. What if she felt the cut on your head? Would she buy the diving story a second time? She moves your hands up and down, giving her the friction she desired. She dropped her hands away when you started kneading her breasts on your own, letting her head fall back. Your thumbs moving up to roll over her peaked nipples.

“I thought you said you had a meeting…” You almost didn’t recognize your own voice. What was she doing to you?

“You’re right, I should go then…” 

She smirks down at you as she shifts slightly, moving to get up. You sit up and reach your arms around her waist, pulling her down on top of you. Her chest flush against yours, you could feel her heartbeat. You crash your mouth into hers. She kisses you back with equal intensity. One of her hands makes its way down your torso, the other still, braced against your chest. Her hand begins rubbing over your cock through your sweatpants. This is such a bad idea. You should… Your thoughts come to a screeching halt as a moan escapes your throat.

“Too much?” 

She had reached her hand down into your pants and was cupping your balls. The squeeze she had given them had taken you by surprise - you really are getting lost in your thoughts... She felt so good, her body melting into yours.

“No… no, I just didn’t expect it. It felt good - kinda…”

“Kinda?”

“You’re not afraid to be a little rough, are you?” She smirks before taking your bottom lip between her teeth, giving it a tug before letting go. Well that answered your question. 

Ding

Your phone chimed. It’s got to be Thomas. Shit, what time is it? The exhibit…

“Sorry cutie, that would be my manager.”

She releases your balls and you whine. You. Whine. What are you, twelve? But she was literally bringing you to the brink so fast you didn’t want her to stop so suddenly. She smiles and leans down to place a kiss to your forehead before standing up and grabbing her towel to wrap around her once more. 

You sit up and pick up your phone. Sure enough, a message from Thomas. 

Thomas: Exhibit is in 2 hours. Please tell me you are getting ready…

Thomas really needs a vacation. That would also mean he wouldn't schedule interviews or exhibits for a while. Okay, mental note, plan a mandatory vacation for Thomas as soon as this mess of a job is done.

Me: Stop worrying, I’ll be there.

You toss your phone to the bed and look up to see she was fully dressed again. There goes your chance at a round two. Thanks, Thomas. You stand and approach her, she’s carefully touching up her lipstick and trying to smooth out her messy curls in the mirror next to the desk. You wrap your arms around her waist and look at her in the mirror. She smiles as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You have to get to work?” 

“An art exhibit. I have a new collection on display today. Starts in a few hours” Before you had even a minute to process your next words they were spilling out of your mouth. “Would you be interested in joining me?”

“Are you asking me out?”

You were losing your nerve. Good, you shouldn’t be asking her to join you anyways.

“I am.”

Rafayel, you are truly the worst.

“As in, you want me to check out your art or…”

Yes, just a guest. Just check it out. Not a date.

“As my date.”

For fucks sake…

“I don’t really want this to be a one night stand.” You continue. “You’re gorgeous, funny, bold and sexy as fuck…”

“I’d love to be your date.” She answers quickly.

You see your goofy ass smile in the mirror, you try to hide behind her head. She laughs before turning around. She places a kiss on your cheek. She grabs her purse off the desk and pulls out her phone.

“I’ll call you after my meeting?” She hands her phone to you and you put in your number.

“And I’ll pick you up. Do you need a ride there?”

“No, I’ve already texted Tara to pick me up. I guess I will see you later?”

“Yes you will.” 

— —

You spend the next 2 hours gathering your things and getting back to your house to shower and get ready for the exhibit. Fuck, this is going to be a nightmare. You’re going out, on a date, with your target. How the hell are you going to get yourself out of this one? Do you want to? 

As you mull over your current situation, you stand in your closet and look through your designer suits. Maybe the blue one with a crisp white dress shirt? Low key, casual, nothing fancy. Could give the impression this date is more casual and certainly won’t lead to anything serious. Or maybe the red suit with a black dress shirt? Or the black suit with a lavender dress shirt? You have never thought about what to wear to an exhibit before, usually grabbing the first suit you see and slapping on a smile for a few hours to make Thomas happy. 

Buttoning the lavender dress shirt proves to be challenging with your hand shaking so much. No shot you’re nervous. Well, the contract you signed agreeing to kill this woman did say if you failed to accomplish this mission the consequences would be… well actually, they didn’t specify. They just said “you don’t want to know” trying to be menacing assholes. Honestly, you kind of want to know at this point. She did give you the best head of your life and she’s funny and cute and… 

Ding

Your phone chirps bringing you back to your very complicated reality. Placing your golden sea turtle cuff links on the dresser you pick up the phone to see a message from her. She’s ready. Are you?

— —

Settling into your dark blue McLaren, you do a quick quality check to make sure the interior is pristine. You haven’t driven this car in a while, but it certainly makes a statement. So why not? The cream interior is spotless and it smells like vanilla. Thomas definitely took it to get detailed recently. That little shit used it without asking again. Maybe you can use that against him to get out of this event early. 

Pulling up to the address she gave, you spot her on her phone pacing along the sidewalk. Blood rushes straight to your cock. Oh fuck… The black high-waisted skirt falls just above her knees, a loose black blazer hangs off her shoulders and the pop of red from a lace bustier tucked into her skirt props her tits up so perfectly. And of course she’s wearing the same heels from last night. You can’t stop yourself from remembering how she kicked them off before tugging her dress down to fall to the floor. Oh, she sees you and is waving. Pull it together, for the love of god. 

You hop out to open the passenger door and hold her hand as she ducks her head to get in. You damn near run back to the driver side so you can sit beside her. As you close the door, she giggles and you turn to face her.

“You look really good in a suit. Damn.” There’s a hint of blush creeping up to her cheeks. 

“Are you saying I look bad in everything else?”

“No! You look good in everything I didn’t… you’re such a tease how dare you!” She swats at your arm laughing along with you. “But honestly, I think you look best in nothing at all.” 

Oh. Great. Just what the press want to see you arrive with - an erection. You feel her hand lightly graze your thigh. You look over at her with a smirk. 

“Oh and I’m the tease?”

She giggles and removes her hand, but you grab it and place it back on your thigh. She gives you a gentle squeeze and settles back in her seat to watch the city blur as you speed to the gallery. Your hand stays over hers, relishing in her warmth. 

Pulling up to the gallery, photographers surround your car. Security works to usher them away so you can get out. Once there is a path, you give her hand a squeeze before hopping out to open her door. Helping her out of the car, she keeps her head down as the flashes strobe around you. You wrap your arm around her, protecting her from the photographers pushing closer. Once inside the gallery she looks up at you with wide eyes. 

“They knew it was you immediately! They really wanted to talk to you out there.”

“Yeah, they memorized all my cars… And the only people I talk to are the reporters inside and I don’t even want to talk to them.”

“Why not?” You sigh in response.

“I don’t like talking about my art. I want my art to speak for itself. Everybody interprets a piece differently, I don’t want to tell people what they should see.” 

“Well I certainly look forward to telling you what I see in your art.”

“I can’t wait.” She smiles up at you, damn her smile is breathtaking. 

Her hand clings to your arm as you take a turn around the gallery. You politely greet patrons and listen to her analysis of your work. You scan the room for Thomas. Eventually you spot him, his eyes go wide when he spots the woman on your arm. You wink at him, but he stares daggers directly into your soul. You approach him with a shit eating grin. You aren’t sure why he is so mad, but he’s just too fun to mess with at this point. 

“Rafayel! Right on time, wow, that’s so unlike you.”

“I’m always right on time Thomas. Nothing really starts until I arrive.”

“Right. Right. And hello miss, who might you be?”

Now he is staring daggers at your date. The primal urge to wrap your hands around his throat takes you by surprise. This is literally your first date with this woman - besides your night with her at the club and in your hotel room. It just makes you angry. That’s all you know. You wrap your arm around her shoulder, your smile tense.

“This is Y/N. She’s my date tonight.” 

Thomas chokes on air. He coughs for a minute before regaining his composure. 

“I apologize, ahem, hello Y/N it is a pleasure to meet you. I just didn’t expect Rafayel to bring a date tonight. He usually attends exhibits alone.”

“Well, I’m glad he’s branching out. It’s nice to meet you Thomas.”

“Might I have a word with Rafayel for a brief moment? I have to prepare him for a few interviews.” 

“Of course. I’m going to find the bar and grab a drink.”

“I’ll find you as soon as I’m done.” She winks at you before turning to stride towards the bar. You watch her walk away, her ass swaying. She knows what she’s doing, you just know it. 

“Fuck!” Thomas hits you over the back of the head. The sting of the slap against the stitches makes your vision blur momentarily. “Thomas, I have stitches you dickhead.” 

“Oh shit, I’m sorry. But what the fuck are you doing? You know who that is right?”

Thomas lowers his voice to a whisper as he pulls you over to an empty corner. His face is shrouded in shadow, but you can tell he is beyond pissed.

“Yes, I know who she is. I met her at the club last night and we might have… uhh…”

“You might have what?”

“I might have… okay, before you sent me the details I might have met her at the club and then we may have gone back to my hotel room and…”

“Please stop. You did not fuck. You did not. Oh for fucks sake, Rafayel!”

“I know! I know it's complicated, but I have a plan.” 

“Oh, you have a plan?”

“Yes!”

You did not, in fact, have a plan.

“Just trust me.”

He should not trust you. 

“I’ll do the interviews and be out of here in a blink and focus on the job.” You couldn’t focus on anything but getting back to your place with her and getting a repeat of last night.

“Fine. Lucy and Kenneth want to interview you and let the photographers get a few shots of you. But I beg of you, don’t get any pictures with her that look, too friendly. It’d be front page news tomorrow.”

You decide not to tell him they’d already photographed the both of you when you arrived. She had kept her head down and the security surrounded you, they hadn’t gotten a clear shot. It’ll be fine. 

“I got you. Don’t even worry about it. Oh and next time you want to borrow my car… ask.” 

Thomas’ face turns bright red. He nods and runs a hand through his hair before scurrying away to talk to a group of businessmen surrounding one of your latest works. Probably looking to purchase and hang up in their stuffy office. You’d rather go broke than let your art suffer in such a place. 

You turn towards the bar and spot your gorgeous date sipping a martini, chatting with a woman in a navy suit. She looks like… oh no. Not McCarthy. You damn near sprint over to stop the conversation before McCarthy can pull any salacious details regarding your connection with the mystery woman everyone saw you arrive with. 

“Oh that’s fascinating! Rafayel seems like someone who wouldn’t need a muse if I’m honest.”

Shit.

“I’ve been reporting on Rafayel’s career since the very beginning. I’ve seen him go through many muses. I am so looking forward to seeing what he has in store with your… influence.” 

Your instincts to drag her to a secluded building and end her miserable little life… The moment you see the sparkle fade from your beautiful dates eyes, your mind shifts into overdrive. You step closer and wrap your arm around her waist pulling her close to your side.

“McCarthy. So good to see you. How’s the divorce going? Must be a nightmare with the defamation lawsuit my lawyers launched against your agency.”

McCarthy’s face falls and her nostrils flare as you air out her dirty laundry. If she’s going to be a bitch, you have no problem being a bitch as well. You’re not going to let her ruin this… whatever “this” is.

“Ah, yes, it’s uhm… difficult, but I have no doubt the lawsuit will be dropped. My sources are always airtight, Mr. Rafayel.” Oh she is really trying your patience. 

“Airtight? Hmm… a thieving gallery janitor, an abusive valet, a housekeeper who set up secret cameras in my house on behalf of - oh right - yourself and your agency. I think you might need to look up the definition of airtight, Madison.”

McCarthy’s brows knit together. She sucks in a breath and bows her head. 

“I believe my colleague just arrived. I do hope you both enjoy the evening.”

She turns on her heel and leaves in a hurry. You stifle a laugh at how red her face became after calling out her bullshit. But the cutie on your arm shifts uncomfortably next to you and all the joy of ruining McCarthy’s night vanishes. Turning to face her, you see her cheeks flushed and her restless fingers twisting the martini glass in her hands. 

“Sorry about that cutie. McCarthy is a pariah. She had to start her own news agency since no one would hire her with her dirty investigation tactics.”

“Yeah…”

“What are you thinking? Come on, I see those wheels turning.”

“Just because she uses dirty tactics doesn’t mean her intel is false.”

This is not the conversation you wanted to be having tonight. Sure, you’ve had a few slut phases and the term “muse” was widely used by the media when referencing your… escapades. But this girl… she’s not a muse. She’s the air in your lungs. She makes colors brighter and the sun warmer. What is above a muse? Whatever that is, she’s that. But you have to be honest with her now. She could just go home and look you up on the internet. And that would make everything worse.

“She’s not wrong, I’ve had my fair share of muses. But before you start thinking you’re just another one - you’re not.”

“You have to admit, that’s what I’d expect you to say.”

“You got me there. But I mean it. You approached me last night, remember? You took me by surprise, I couldn’t… I didn’t even… I…” 

“You’re cute when you stutter.”

You let out a loud laugh and pull her closer to you, her hand reaching up to rest against your chest.

“You make it hard for me to think straight. It’s why I like being around you, I can’t get lost in my thoughts when you’re around.”

She shifts her leg to press against your cock - half hard from earlier and growing harder as she rubs her thigh against you. She is playing a dangerous game.

“It’s not the only thing that gets hard around me, huh?” Oh she really likes to tease… damn it. That is your specialty and she is beating you at your own game. 

You lean in close and let your lips graze her ear. She shivers as your breath hits her skin.

“Have you seen yourself? You drive me crazy.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” She leans back and bats those dark lashes at you. 

“Please do.” 

She reaches her arms around your neck and pulls you close. Her chest pressing against you so you can feel her nipples hard against the thin fabric of her top. Yeah, you’re not going to be the one to kill her, she’s going to kill you at this rate. You feel her hot breath against your ear as she speaks..

“I’ve been wet for you since we got here.” 

You don’t even hesitate before grabbing her hand and pulling her towards the offices at the back of the gallery. Digging into your pocket you find your phone and open the gallery management app. She giggles as she jogs along behind you trying to keep up with your pace. You press your phone to the panel on the door and slide the bar on your phone to unlock. You swing the door open and pull her into the dark hallway, closing the door with your foot and relocking it on your phone. You find the nearest office and pull her inside.

And just like that, your lips are on hers again. Your pounding heartbeat steadies, the closer she is the calmer you feel. Her hands run all over you, your chest, your neck, your hair. She pushes your jacket off of your shoulders as you pull her skirt up over her hips. You pull back and start trailing kisses down her jaw, settling yourself into her neck nipping and sucking until her breathing is ragged. 

She tugs at the buttons of your shirt and slides her hands in to caress your chest. God her hands against your skin feel like fire. You shrug off your shirt before returning your hands to her back, tugging at the clasps of the bustier. They unclasp easily and you pull back to watch it fall away, her breasts bouncing as they’re released from the structured top. You toss the top to the floor before leaning forward and capturing one of her nipples in your mouth. She lets out a moan as her head falls back. 

You tuck your hands under her ass and release her nipple from your mouth with a loud pop. You lift her and she wraps her legs around you. She wasn’t lying, you can feel her wetness against your stomach as you carry her to the desk. 

You don’t even bother to look for the nameplate on the desk before shoving the folders to the side and settling her ass on the cool wooden surface. Your fingers hook on her lace panties and you tug them forward. You both gasp when you hear a ripping sound. You look down and see the fabric is torn in half. She slaps you on your shoulder.

“I liked those!” Her voice is raspy and full of need. Her hands quickly wrap around the back of your neck, almost forgetting her torn undergarments. 

“I’ll buy you a new pair in every color. At least now, it’s one less thing to remove later.”

“Later?” She giggles against you as you resume kissing her neck, slowly moving down to her chest. Your hands digging into her hips.

“I plan to make you cum until you lose your voice from screaming my name. This is just a preview.” 

You reclaim her nipple in your mouth and gently tug at the sensitive bud with your teeth. She groans loudly and shifts her hips forward, desperate for more. You oblige, of course. You run your finger over her entrance and whimper against her skin - she’s so damn wet. You pull back and press your forehead to hers, flashing a devious smile at her before sinking your middle finger into her needy pussy. 

She brings her hands to the back of your head and pulls you to her. She kisses you hard between breaths. You feel your cock throb as she kisses you. Her tongue presses against your lips, but you’re enjoying these moments of teasing. Your finger plunges deeper, earning you a low grunt and shiver. You press your ring finger inside of her, dragging the pads of your fingers against her slick walls.

It seems she isn’t going to let you be the only tease. She bites your lower lip and drags it out as she leans back. You taste the faintest bit of blood on your tongue and make a sound you didn’t even know you could make. You hate how it sounds like a growl, she probably thinks you sound like an animal. As quickly as you think she hated it, you were proven wrong since she is squeezing the living fuck out of your fingers.

As you remove your fingers, she breaks the kiss to whine at the sudden emptiness. She looks down, expecting you to pull your cock out, but instead, you lower to your knees. Her eyes widen and you chuckle as you catch her eye. Your hands slowly caress her calves until you reach her ankles, you lift them swiftly and toss her legs over your shoulders. She gasps and shifts her hips pushing her pussy closer to your face. God she smells divine.

You press your mouth against her, allowing your nose to split her open before dragging your tongue from her entrance to her clit. You suckle her clit slowly as you unbuckle your pants and push them down over your hips to stroke your aching cock. With one hand on your cock, you move your other hand up over her thigh to thumb her clit. 

You shift your mouth away from her clit as your thumb takes over. You turn your head side to side to sink your mouth as deeply inside her as you possibly can. You press your tongue into her entrance, savoring just how sweet she is. She writhes against your mouth as you continue to swirl and push your tongue deeper. You feel her pussy squeeze your tongue and you can’t hold back a moan. The vibrations must have sent her over the edge because she’s gripping your hair and trying (and failing) to stifle her shouts of pleasure. 

“Rafayel... fuck I’m coming ahh- I’m oh my god…”

Her voice is low, she can barely breathe, and it completely unravels you. As if there was a countdown, both of you are coming. All you can hear are the filthy sounds coming from your mouth, the slurping, the moans, you aren’t even thinking about the mess you’re making under the desk. 

When you finally pull back and look up to her, her cheeks are flushed and her chest heaving. She looks down at you and clasps a hand over her mouth to muffle a giggle as she looks to the floor below you. You follow her gaze and see the mess you made. Whoever uses this office is going to lose their shit tomorrow…. 

“It’s always a good sign when it’s messy.”

“Is it now?” 

She smiles as you rise to your feet and tuck yourself back inside your pants. She reaches for you and you settle your hands on the outside of her thighs. She slowly traces her fingers over your abs, chest and down your arms. Your breath catches when her hands return to your shoulders and trial up to your face, tugging your chin upwards to look at her.

“As much as I like seeing this side of you, I’m really glad you invited me today. Seeing your art, you’re incredibly talented.”

“I’ve never enjoyed these events, that is until today. How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Make me feel on fire and completely calm at the same time?” 

“I was going to ask you the same question…”

Your heart skips a beat. She locks her fingers behind your neck. She gently pulls you into a kiss. Not a heated, passionate kiss, but a gentle kiss. Her soft lips press against yours, her tongue tracing your bottom lip slowly. She doesn’t tease like earlier, she’s sweet and slow. You don’t deny her this time. She slips her tongue between your lips and she sighs softly as she tastes herself on your tongue.

Knock knock

You pull back and she gasps, quickly wrapping an arm over her breasts as she glances over her shoulder at the door. You quickly scoop her top off the floor and toss it to her. She wraps it around her backwards and reconnects the clasps before shifting it around and pulling the cups up over her chest. Just as you finish buttoning your shirt another knock sounds at the door. 

Knock knock knock

You stride across the office thrusting your arms through the sleeves of your jacket. You glance over and see the gorgeous woman beside you straightening her skirt. She gives you a soft smile and nods. You know the desk will hide the mess you made and there’s nothing else to signify anything unsavory happened. You take half a second to wonder who else at the event had access to the private offices. Maybe Thomas? Is he looking for you?

You swing open the office door and are blinded by a flash. You blink rapidly as your eyes readjust. You hear a gasp behind you and as your pupils return to a normal size, you understand the reaction. Your stomach drops in an instant.

“How interesting… Seems I was right after all.”

McCarthy stands in the doorway, a camera in one hand and her other on her hip. By the shit eating grin on her face, she must think she has something worthwhile to print. You chuckle under your breath and stare at her.

“McCarthy, if you’re not careful, I could easily add stalking to that lawsuit.”

“I have a key. And I’ve used this office before. But I will admit, I’ve never used it like you two just did.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about McCarthy, but if you don’t-” She cuts you off.

“A photo is worth a thousand words, Rafayel. And a photo of a famous playboy artist, his… muse… and her torn panties on the floor of an office is surely worth several thousand.” 

You hold your breath as you look over your shoulder. Sure enough, the torn panties you tossed aside are on full display. By the time you turn back around, McCarthy is gone. You stumble out into the hallway, jogging to the end and back looking for any sign of her or where she could have gone. Your chest starts hurting and you realize you haven’t taken a deep breath in several minutes. You gasp for air and run a hand through your hair. Thomas asked you for one thing.

“I’m sorry…” Her voice is barely above a whisper. 

When you turn to look at her, you see her wrapping her blazer around her torso. You hadn’t realized she’d slipped it on. It’s like she’s using it to hide. You walk right up to her and hold her face in your hands. 

“No no no. Stop. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“If I hadn’t been teasing you, we wouldn’t have even come in here and-”

“McCarthy is the lowest of the low. I’ll call her to see what I need to do so she won’t publish the photo. I’ll even get the fucker who gave her a key fired for good measure. It’ll be okay. You have nothing to apologize for and I don’t want you to think you’re responsible for any of this bullshit.”

“I know you have interviews to do before we leave. But you probably shouldn’t go out there with lipstick on your neck.”

She licks her thumb and gently wipes away the lipstick stain. You smile and lean in to kiss her forehead. You let go of her hips and cross the room to where the discarded panties lay. You stoop down and pick them up, swiftly placing them in your pocket.

“Are you keeping them as a souvenir?”

“What if I was?”

“That’d be pretty hot.”

“What would be pretty hot?” 

Thomas’ voice startles both of you. You glare at him over her shoulder, but as soon as you meet his eyes you know you’re on borrowed time. He’s angry. No, not angry. He’s homicidal. You’ve never seen him look like this. It’s kind of impressive, if not terrifying. 

“Thomas, I’m glad you’re here. Have you seen McCarthy?” 

You approach the door, casually slipping your arm back around her and pulling her into a reassuring embrace. Keep her calm. Defuse the bomb that is Thomas. Bribe McCarthy. Talk to the journalists. Get this woman home to fuck until neither of you can walk. Easy.

“Oh, I’ve seen her. And boy, does she work fucking fast.”

“What do you mean?”

“Rafayel, I asked you for one thing. Just one. And now, I have an absolute shit storm to deal with.”

“Thomas, what are you talking about?”

“Check your phone.”

You pull out your phone just as her phone rings. 

“I have to take this, one sec.” She steps further into the office to take the call.

Unlocking your phone you see a never-ending list of notifications. Social media, texts from friends and other artists, multiple missed calls from Thomas and a call from an unknown number. As you sift through the notifs you finally see what they’re in relation to. Your knees nearly give out. You look up at Thomas, eyes wide.

“What… I… how…”

“You never pay attention to my updates and now it is biting us both in the ass.”

You look over your shoulder and your eyes lock onto hers. The horror in her eyes tells you she already knows. Her eyes glisten with tears and your anger is about to take over. When this is sorted, McCarthy is dead.

“You told me…”

“I told you McCarthy has moved to instant news. As soon as she got that damn photo she was already uploading it. Now the world knows about your little sexipade and her name is trending with the hashtag Rafayel’s girlfriend.”

“Fuck.”

Tag List (comment if you wanna be added!): @crystalrainforest @libriomancer

I wasn't sure I would write another part to this, but I am low key glad I did. More to come I hope!

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 22: This Misery We've Made

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x OC

Summary: It's Tommy and Lizzie's wedding day.

Word Count: 4,667

Notes: I cried while writing most of this chapter. Friendly reminder that Lucy is suffering from severe depression and C-PTSD after what happened to her in the previous part, and therefore cannot be considered an entirely reliable narrator. Her self esteem is nonexistent and her thoughts are only a reflection of what her fucked up brain is causing her to think, not actually what Tommy feels. Warnings for depictions of insecurity, jealousy, depression, and references to self harm.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 3: The Bells

The bells were ringing overhead. Echoing in a thunderous clang for all to hear. The sound of them was intended to announce a joyous occasion. Something to be met with celebration. 

Lucy was not in a particularly celebratory mood. 

She stood with her back resting against the shaded side of the church, the cigarette in her hand poised to soon join the others she’d already dropped to the ground after they became too small to properly grip. Her eyes followed the well dressed guests walking up from their cars towards the big double doors that lead into the chapel. None of them paid her even a parting glance, the angle and shade of the church shielding her from view.   

She was hiding. From Tommy. From Lizzie. From everyone. She didn’t want to ruin their happy day with her melancholy. Casting a glance at her watch, she drew in a trembling breath at the realization that she would have to go inside soon. 

Dread built within her, creating a pressure that felt moments away from bursting. It had been there since Tommy had proposed to Lizzie, growing steadily by the day like a tumor.

She let her most recent cigarette drop into the grass, grinding it down under her heel to make sure it didn’t spark. Wouldn’t that be something? She could see the headlines now: Lover of MP About to be Married Sets Church on Fire. 

The crunch of grass under a set of shoes alerted her to footsteps approaching. She didn’t need to look up to know who it was. She’d know him by gait alone. 

“I’ve been looking for you,” Tommy said softly, once he’d come to a stop beside her.

“Sorry,” Lucy mumbled, looking down at her nails, freshly painted their usual shade of bright red for the occasion. Picking at an imaginary speck of lint on her oxford blue dress, she avoided having to look up at him. 

Tommy’s hands were sheathed in the pockets of his carefully tailored wedding suit, eyes boring into her. “Are you alright?”

She forced herself to plaster on some semblance of happiness–and if not that, then at least serenity–onto her face before raising it to finally look at him. “Of course.”

Tommy just frowned, moving so that he was standing in front of her, taking care to keep them both still hidden within the shadows of the church. His hands came to rest on her upper arms, smoothing up and down before slipping around her back, pulling himself in closer to her until their foreheads were touching. Lucy closed her eyes, swallowing around the immovable lump in her throat and resting her palms on his waist.

“We can still call it off,” he whispered, warm breath fanning out across her cheeks.

Lucy shook her head, trying to remind herself of the things he’d told her last night. “It’s okay.”

His thumb was rubbing circles into the lower part of her back, attempting to soothe her. 

“I will love you forever,” he promised, and she felt her lower lip start to quiver, eyes filling with tears that she furiously blinked away. She nodded jerkily, angling her face up to kiss him. 

“I will love you forever too,” she murmured. For a moment, it felt like the rest of the world had fallen away, and it was just them, standing in their own little bubble where nothing and no one could touch them. Not even the sound of the bells ringing overheard.

She made a move to pull away, but his grip on her tightened, holding her in place against him firmly so that he could kiss her again. The last kiss they would share that would not be tainted by his bonds and marriage to another woman. 

“It’s time,” Lucy said after they parted. Why did it feel as though she were sending him off to his death? Like she would never see him again; never hold or kiss or even touch him. Like she was about to lose him forever. 

Tommy nodded, expression that of a man about to make his final walk to the gallows. He kissed her forehead firmly, and, with blatant reluctance, loosened his grip on her. 

It took nearly all her willpower for Lucy to force herself to take that first step away from him. Then another and another, grass rustling under the small heels she was wearing. Tears brimmed at her lash line, but by some miracle she swallowed them down. Her arms wrapped around herself, trying through the makeshift embrace to soothe herself. She did not look back. If she did, she knew she would run to him, throw her arms around his neck, and never let him go.

It would be fine, she just had to keep reminding herself of that. He had promised.

So why did it feel like they’d just broken up? 

Keeping her head down, she slipped into the church, quietly finding a spot in the pews close to the doors next to Ada.

She could barely watch the ceremony. In her lap, her hands gripped each other so tightly that the nails dug into and broke the skin. Tommy entered and went to stand at the end of the altar, hands clasped at his front and expression unreadable. Jeremiah was standing behind him, dressed in his robes and prepared to officiate, while Arthur stood to Tommy’s left, once again serving as best man for his younger brother. To the right, one of Lizzie’s sisters had taken the place for the maid of honor. Lucy could sense Tommy’s gaze darting to her every once in a while, but couldn’t bring herself to look at him. Instead her eyes remained downcast, entire body stock still. 

Lizzie looked utterly radiant in her white wedding gown, her eyes dancing with uninhibited joy, the biggest smile Lucy had ever seen splitting her face. The dread inside Lucy tripled, twisting sickly inside of her. 

Lizzie came to a stop beside Tommy at the altar, fixing him with a look of such deep love that Lucy had to quickly look away.

What have we done?

Ada gave her shoulder a squeeze, and while she did not have the energy to properly acknowledge the gesture, she was thankful for it nonetheless.   

It was a quick ceremony, thankfully. Only the necessities. At the sound of Tommy’s deep voice reciting his vows to Lizzie, Lucy’s eyes squeezed shut. 

He had made promises to her, that was true. But he was now in the process of making ones to Lizzie as well. And he would not be able to keep some of those promises to one woman without breaking the ones he’d made to the other. He was going to have to choose. 

Lucy twisted one of her rings around her finger. It was a position she had never wanted to put him in. 

The saying of the vows and the exchanging of the rings ended, and Jeremiah’s voice boomed throughout the church as he announced the new union of Tommy and Lizzie as husband and wife. Cheers erupted from both sides of the rows of spectators. Polly nearly flew out of her seat with the force in which she stood, clapping her hands together and beaming. 

So different from when Tommy had married Grace, Lucy couldn’t help but think. She wondered, not for the first time, what exactly it was Lizzie had that she and Grace didn’t, which had so earned her Polly’s undying adoration, love, and approval. 

That’s it. It’s done, Lucy thought to herself, somehow managing to remember to bring her hands together in quiet, numb little claps against each other. 

It felt like something had just died. Like her whole life up until that point had been one long sentence, and a period had just been placed at the end of it. Something was changed. Ended. Gone. Maybe forever. 

What it was, she wasn't entirely sure. Did she really think that all it took was a few vows and a ring to murder Tommy’s love for her? No, not really. But it still felt as though something had shifted in the air. A hollowness had widened inside her, like something had been ripped away. Her face screwed up slightly as she tried to figure out what it was. 

The rest of the family started to gather up their things to follow the bride and groom outside and head down the street to the hotel where the reception was being held. She was watching the family shuffle towards the door, chattering, laughing, and smiling amongst each other, not one of them sparing her a parting glance, when it dawned on her entirely what she’d just lost.

Her and Tommy’s life together was gone. This was how all public encounters would be from now on. Tommy and Lizzie, connected with their arms linked or hands entwined, able to touch and talk and laugh with each other as much as they pleased. And the family would orbit around them. They all loved Lizzie. Accepted her. Approved of her as a partner in Tommy’s life. Lucy might as well be left locked outside, able to do little more than peer in through a window while the family gathered together. It would have the same effect. She was not naive enough to believe that she had previously ever been invited into anything they did together for reasons other than her being at Tommy’s side. A space that Lizzie now filled. 

The only moments she and Tommy could have together anymore would be in private rooms and dark, shadowy corners. No more touching when others could see them. No more mumbled jokes into ears, or sitting next to each other. No more kisses when there was a risk that someone else might see them. No more dates. Hell, probably never even another vacation spent together. 

That was all over. All she would get of him anymore were the crumbs that Lizzie left behind. Rare slivers of moments when he had the time.

She remained in her seat in the church, hands hanging limply over the wooden banister, eyes staring into space while the final few guests filtered out the doors, leaving her alone.

The bells had taken up their ringing once more. Lucy wondered if they rang them for funerals as well as weddings. Fitting, either way, considering that both had just taken place.

Still sitting there, she finally allowed her tears to overspill and run down her cheeks. Leaning forward with her head on her arms, she sobbed alone, the sounds of her mournful cries drowned out by the cacophony of the wedding bells. 

∗ ∗ ∗

They all love her so much. 

Lucy couldn’t entirely keep the bitterness out of the thought as she watched the Shelbys encircle Lizzie, practically oozing adoration and excitement at being able to finally welcome her officially to the family. 

Lucy quickly turned away, cutting through the crowd to get to the bar and order what she suspected to be the first of many glasses of whiskey she would consume over the evening. 

After ensuring there was no evidence of the tears she shed at the church, she’d finally made her way to the room that the reception was being held in. The place was jam packed with guests. Not only were all the Shelbys there for the occasion, but so were the small handful of Lizzie’s friends and family, as well as a good share of Tommy’s colleagues from Westminster, and various business partners and associates. 

It was her primary goal this evening to avoid everyone. Including Tommy. She would probably just stick around for dinner and then sneak away. They had paid for rooms at the hotel for all the guests that wanted to spend the night, but Lucy frankly just wanted to go home. At the very least her dogs and cat were there to keep her company. She would tell someone–probably Ada–when she was off so that they would know where she went. Assuming that they even noticed her missing at all, of course. 

“Lucy, can I speak with you for a moment?”

She started, hand tightening reflexively around her glass of whiskey. Lizzie had snuck up behind her without her even noticing, too lost in musing over her plans of escaping the event early. Lucy stared up at her like a deer in headlights, eyes wide. She suddenly felt even shorter than usual. On a normal day, Lizzie towered over her, but in heels and her wedding dress, she seemed even taller and more regal than usual. 

She truly did look every bit the part of the new Queen of Birmingham. 

“Sure,” Lucy said, having to clear her throat in order to get the word out. Lizzie took her firmly by the arm and began to steer her away into a side room that was unoccupied. 

“I wanted to ask you, since we arranged for Ruby’s things to be moved into Arrow House while we’re away, if you would be willing to move rooms,” Lizzie wasted no time on small talk, immediately stating her request the moment that the door was closed. Her fingers traced over the wedding bands on her left ring finger. Lucy wondered if it was an unconscious movement, or if she was trying to remind her of her place. “I want her room to be closer to mine, you see. In case she needs anything in the middle of the night.” 

Lizzie had been by the house earlier to get more familiar with it, and to choose her room. The main master bedroom they once shared with Grace was off limits, but she had her pick of any of the others. She had chosen a large room next door to the one Tommy and Lucy normally occupied. 

She hadn’t been bothered when they informed her that her choice of room was next to theirs. Had she been planning to ask Lucy to move even then?

She gave a slight shake of her head. You’re being paranoid, she scolded herself. Lizzie’s thought process made sense. Ruby ought to be close to her mother’s room. 

“Yes, of course, that’s fine. I’ll tell Francis when I get back–”

“I already told her,” Lizzie cut her off. “And I already picked out another room for you. I told them to move your things today while we were out.”

Then why did you bother asking? Lucy mused internally, but bit her tongue.

“I hope that’s alright,” Lizzie added, and Lucy immediately felt bad for thinking the worst of her. Especially when she was probably just trying to ensure that Ruby was able to get settled as quickly as possible. 

“Oh, it’s…fine.”

Lizzie smiled, reaching out to squeeze her arm. “Thank you.” From outside, there was the sound of someone announcing that dinner was to be served soon, asking everyone to find their seats. “We ought to go.”

Lucy nodded, and followed her out the door, lingering back a little while Lizzie dashed off to go to the table reserved at the far end of the room for her and Tommy. Circular tables were scattered all throughout the room, and Lucy began to weave carefully around them. Notecards sat atop each place setting, inscribed with each guest's name written in delicate calligraphy to indicate their assigned seat.  

All of the Shelbys were seated near the front, right by Tommy and Lizzie’s table. All except for her, notably. She found her notecard at a table near the back, placed about as far away from Tommy and Lizzie’s table as it was possible for her to be. She stared down at it, rubbing her thumb across the golden loops of her name as if that would somehow encourage it to change. 

Sighing, she sank down into her chair, sharing an awkward smile with the other guests at the table, none of which she knew. Sneaking a glance to the other side of the room, she eyed the Shelbys all sitting at their table together, chuckling at something Arthur was saying. The ache of feeling left out pinched at her heart.  

I’m not a Shelby. I’m not family, she reminded herself, though it did nothing to soothe the sting. 

There was a tug in her mind so strong that it was impossible to ignore. She’d been feeling them all day. Little nudges and pulls that were trying to get her attention. Begging her to please, just look at me. And yet also not wanting to push, trying to respect her space and leave her be to process what was happening.    

But this was much more of a considerable yank, as if the person on the other end of the bond was a little panicked. 

He didn’t know where she was, she realized. He was looking for her in the crowd and couldn’t find her, and was panicking that she’d left. 

Guilt welled up inside her, because had that not been exactly what she was planning on doing once dinner was over? Disappearing without even a goodbye, and wholly believing that Tommy would not notice if she was gone. 

What’s wrong with me? It was not the first time she had asked herself that. Why, no matter how many times he reassured her, could she not bring herself to fully believe him? She did in the moment, when his sweet words washed over her and he curled his body around hers in a protective, loving embrace that left her feeling warm and cherished. But the doubt always came back. 

 He said he loved her. He said he would never leave her. He had given her no reason not to believe him. So why couldn’t she?

Her fingers curled into a small fist, nails biting into the flesh of her palm; an attempt to punish herself for her ridiculous thoughts and even worse behavior. 

She forced her eyes to raise from her plate, focusing across the room at Tommy. He was sitting up in his chair next to Lizzie, gaze scanning across the room, not really listening as his bride chatted giddily into his ear. His brow was knit, lips pulling down into a worried frown. 

I’m here, she pulled gently on the indescribable bond between them, giving a small tug to the little red string tying them together. She had never spent much effort in trying to puzzle out what exactly the bond between them was. It had just always been there, even before she actually knew him.

His blue gaze snapped to her almost instantly, but his frown only deepened as he noticed where she was sitting.  

The fuck are you doing all the way over there?

She held up the little note card to him in answer to his silent question. His gaze narrowed, lips parting, and she realized with horror that he was about to kick up a fuss to try to have her moved. 

No! Don’t!

His mouth closed. Why not?

Think of how it will look! 

So? You’re family. You ought to be seated as such. I want you close to me.

I don’t want to upset her. It’s supposed to be her day, Tommy. It’s fine, don’t worry about me.

The look on his face said that he very much did worry, but he thankfully kept his mouth shut, leaning back in his chair and casting her a regretful, apologetic look before his attention was pulled away by Lizzie.   

Dinner was awkward, given that no one at her table seemed all that interested in talking with her. Lucy instead busied herself with pushing her fish around on her plate, her appetite evaporated. Once it was over, the band started up playing, and Tommy and Lizzie made their way onto the dancefloor for their first dance as husband and wife. People stood from their tables to gather around to watch, and Lucy took the chance to slip away, ducking back into the side room Lizzie had taken her to before dinner.   

Rooting around in the little black clutch she’d brought with her, she snuck her fingers past the small gun tucked away inside to fish out her cigarettes and lighter. Upon cracking open the window to let the smoke out she was met with a rush of chilly evening air from outside. Goosebumps rose up on the skin or her arms despite the long sleeves of her dress, but she ignored them, perching herself on the windowsill to gaze down at the dark street below. 

She would need to get a driver to take her home. It would be late by the time that she finally got back to the house, but she doubted that she would be sleeping much tonight anyway. 

Her fingers squeezed a little around her cigarette. She had been trying not to think about the wedding night. Ever since they’d gotten together, she and Tommy had a rule regarding bringing others into their bed: they would not sleep with someone else unless they were both present. It was a rule they’d both followed steadfastly. Except with Grace, after they moved to Arrow House with her. But that had been different. 

Grace would never have tried to rip her and Tommy apart.

It was a rule that was about to be broken. And even though she’d agreed to it, it still hurt. Whether it was simply the idea of Tommy sleeping with Lizzie without her, or Lizzie’s rejection of her being permitted to still be involved–they’d had plenty of threesomes with Lizzie in the past, after all–she could not entirely say. She had never handled feeling left out well, and try as she might, she could not bring herself to wholly trust Lizzie.

Despite his promises, would Tommy really be able to prevent Lizzie from driving a wedge between them? She was his wife. And Ruby’s mother. And Charlie’s step-mother. He needed to keep her happy. Lucy was his…what? His mistress, she supposed. The other woman. His dirty little secret. 

She had once mused to herself how miserable it must be to be the mistress of a married man. So much of their lives doomed to be spent alone, only able to enjoy brief, fleeting moments with the person that they loved. 

She understood a little better now. You take what you can get of them, because even a few seconds together was better than nothing at all. 

She was going to have to get used to it. While Tommy said things would go mostly back to normal once they got back from Paris, she wasn’t so sure. He only planned to spend limited nights with Lizzie, and the door was still open for all three of them to fuck if they all wanted, but Lucy doubted Lizzie would be that amiable to the idea. 

And what if either of them changed their minds?

That was all it would take to eradicate Lucy’s involvement with Tommy entirely. She could imagine it already: them, returning from their honeymoon, Tommy taking her by the hands and gently leading her away, telling her he was sorry. He wouldn’t be unkind about it, but that would not hinder him from speaking the words that would shatter her heart. 

It was not out of the realm of possibility that he would realize during the honeymoon that he favored Lizzie over her. Honestly, she was still shocked that it hadn’t happened yet. Because when push came to shove she knew she wasn’t anywhere close to as pretty as Lizzie. No one in their right mind would choose Lucy over her. And that wasn’t even factoring in the children. Or that his family adored her. Or that they just looked right when standing next to each other. He always kept going back to Lizzie, even after she ceased her work as a prostitute. Sure, Lucy had always been agreeable to sleeping with her, because she liked Lizzie. But perhaps there was a reason why Tommy kept returning to her. One that not even he was entirely aware of.

Her head turned at the sound of the door opening. Tommy slipped in, quickly closing the door behind him and flicking the lock into place. He stood there, just looking at her, the dim light from the ornate lamps on the tables bouncing off of his sharp features.

“Love,” he said, softly. Stubbing her cigarette out on the windowsill and reaching over to pull the window closed, Lucy didn’t even hear as he moved closer. Not until his hand brushed tentatively against her shoulder. 

“I think that I’m going to go home,” she said after a moment, not looking at him, instead keeping her gaze fixed firmly out the window.

“Okay.” She both was and wasn’t relieved that he didn’t fight her on it. “I’ll get someone to drive you.”

“Thank you.” Awkwardness settled between them. Lucy could not remember the last time that the silence they shared was anything but comfortable. Turning, she stood from the windowsill and finally forced herself to look at him. He was gazing down at her with a look of such deep regret and heartache, that just the sight of it almost made her start to cry. 

“You’re still planning to leave early tomorrow morning?”

“Yes.”

She wouldn’t see him before they were off, then. Nodding, she glanced down, unable to meet the sad look in his eyes any longer. “You don’t need to worry about work or Ruby getting settled or anything. I’ll take care of it.”  

He leaned forward, hand finding her chin and gently nudging her face up to look at him. His eyes searched her features. She parted her lips to speak, but it took her a few tries until her voice wasn’t too tear-laced for her to trust it. 

“Have a fun honeymoon,” she finally managed to choke out. When she tried to pull away, his hands landed on her upper arms, holding her firmly in place. 

“Lucy,” he said, a layer of franticness in his voice, “When I’m with her…I’m not with her.”

She stared at the center of his chest, examining the pattern on the tie tucked into his waistcoat, then tilted her head back up to him. His eyes were desperate, scared, grip tight like he was afraid if he let her go, he’d never get to touch her again. 

“I know,” her voice was shaking, about two seconds away from starting to cry. And she was afraid that when she started, she would never be able to stop. 

Tommy tugged her fully into his arms, folding her against his chest. He kissed her forehead softly, then laid his cheek against it as he held her tight.

“We’re not saying goodbye,” he said. “I’m coming back to you.”

Lucy squeezed her eyes shut, arms circling his middle and squeezing him to her. He squeezed her back, spreading kisses all across the crown of her head. For a moment the warmth of his body muffled the storm of doubt within her. The surety of his words, and the firmness with which he held her, were both nearly impossible to argue with. Surely he would not be holding her like this if he no longer loved her, would he?

Her breaths trembled in her chest as she tried her hardest to believe him. And yet a part of her still stubbornly insisted that she needed to commit every detail of his embrace to memory. The way that his chest rose and fell with his breaths. The scent of his natural musk and cologne. The slight flexing in his muscles when he adjusted his hold on her. His heartbeat was a steady thump against her cheek, and his chest was solid and pleasantly warm. She needed to remember all of these things. Store them away in a safe spot in her mind so that she could call back on them when she was alone and cold in the dark.

Because this may very well be the last time that he ever held her.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!