#and we discussed it that day. And we agreed to do it before we separated n she went back to her hometown

[welcometogrouchland]

Batman #149 by chip zdarsky is mostly unremarkable, but I'm really fascinated by how it makes a great case for 'good' endings not saving 'bad' stories*. Because there's a lot of interesting concepts in this issue (bruce having to deal with his rapidly aging and decaying clone making him think about his own life, re-establishing a 'nest' so to speak for his family after pushing them away, etc) but bc of the OOC slog that came before it, almost every moment w/ the batfamily comes off as unearned and disingenuous imo.

Like, everything with Damian is the perfect example in this. Because in isolation it's...fine. admittedly it's a missed opportunity to not go deeper into how Damian would feel about a clone of his dad who tried to kill considering Damian's relationships with clones of himself (the heretic rejects and respawn) or with former enemies who wanted him dead but who were manipulated and/or brainwashed (like suren and maya).

Zdarsky doesn't go into any of this but you could maybe excuse it as the issue not being about Damian. However, coupled with the previous bizarre characterizations of Damian in 147 and 148, it ends up not being fine- instead it starts to feel...icky how Damian (who, despite often being drawn and written as white, will never have his connection to the non-white al ghuls forgotten and will always be effected by racism even when not portrayed as a poc) is constantly written as overly violent, uncaring and narrow minded in this run. Coupled w/ trying to recanonize the morrison origin for Damian it's like. OH this is badly written and laden with subtle bigotry, sick**

That's me going into detail on it with Damian but it's applicable to other things in this issue- the way Cass, Steph and Duke have all been ignored or turned into jobbers makes their inclusion in the 'family' here feel hollow instead of satisfying. Bruce proclaiming that Zur was still a part of him and he needs to accept responsibility for his actions (when it means taking in clone son) wrings hollow when just last issue zdarsky was bending over backwards to separate Bruce and Zur bc otherwise the Jason thing would get really awkward. Ends are achieved through means that feel hollow or strange. I'm at my destination but damn why'd the bus have to do all that???

I only really have opinions on this latest arc of zdarskys Batman bc it's the one I've read the closest (bc I'm a hater, masochist and avid follower of even the bad damian storylines) but it's not saying great things.

Bc zdarsky can do one thing good in this book, and it's write Bruce and Tim. And yet this entire story, whether of his own volition or editorial mandate, includes other characters who aren't Bruce and Tim, the fabric starts to unravel in very telling ways.

(p.s, I think pennyworth manor is an interesting idea but I feel like in execution it's just gonna be 'bruce living in a house haunted by the memory of the people he couldn't save' but with a different dead guy this time. Illusion of change and whatnot)

*whether or not the ending is good is up to you ofc, as is your opinion on the proceeding arc! I saw some ppl complain that the ending was too "WFA" for them, which I get even if I dont think it'll literally be the same premise. If anything it's probably a lead into the new tec run. Likewise many ppl who aren't in the weeds of Damian and Jason characterization liked the previous arc! But I have my opinions and rest my case before the bench

**disclaimer, I'm white and portrayals of bigotry in comics are complicated and subjective, but I am basing my point here off what other poc comic fans on socmed have been saying about 149. Also the "sick" is sarcasm incase that wasn't obvious

[lilac-melody]

Wondering if I should make a little oneshot about first kisses...

[ohtobeleah]

Chameleon // Jack Abbot

Summary: When Jack Abbot sees the love of his life has changed her hair colour…it doesn’t go as well as he, or the rest of the ER, would have hoped.

Warnings: Separated Reader x Jack Abbot. Jack Abbot x F!reader. OBGYN Reader. Marriage problems. Mental health issues. Mentioning of divorce. Age gap relationship. Younger female x older male.

Word Count: 2k

Author Note: I’ve used this scene before in a series. But for this one-shot, it was perfect inspiration. I had to revamp and create this little one-shot for my Friday afternoon serotonin boost.

“You know, soon enough you’ll have to sit down and have a genuine discussion about the state of your marriage, brother,” Robby walked with Jack down the bustling ED corridor. The two were getting ready for handover, as they did every morning and night, like yin and yang. “Personally, I think the two of you can work through whatever this is, together. I don’t think a divorce is necessary.” 

There it was…that goddamn word that carried the weight of the world. ‘Divorce’, Jack Abbot hated that word. He always had. But he’d never hated it more than when it became relevant to his own marriage. 

“Besides, I hardly recognise you, all you do is work and go home and listen to that scanner. Then, come back as soon as the sun goes down.” Robby wasn't wrong. He wasn't wrong in the slightest bit. But Jack still didn't appreciate it. 

“Who said anything about a divorce?” Jack growled as he caught the back of someone by the nurse’s station he couldn’t recognise. “Look, it’s complicated,” Jack paused his steps. Robby mimicked his friend's stance as the two continued to talk, all the while Jack never let the blonde in pink scrubs out of his sight. “I love Y/n, and I know she still loves me, because if she didn’t, we wouldn’t be in this mess trying to fix what I broke.” 

It’s an inevitable part of depression. The part where you tend to push people away. The part where self-isolation becomes a form of therapy. Jack knew the solace of being alone far too well. He knew it so well that he forgot that he was married…

And that broke your heart. Enough that the love you had for Jack couldn’t outweigh the pain of his behaviour and lack of affection. Attention. Understanding and empathy. He forgot you even existed. So…You left him. But not before you gave him everything you could. And not without explaining in great detail, why you were leaving. 

Jack needed time and space to better himself. You wanted him to come back to you when he was ready to love you the way you deserved to be loved. You wanted him to realise what he’d done to drive you away. PTSD, untreated depression. It all became too much. 

“You need help, Jack!” He can still hear your words echoing in his mind. “You save people all day and yet you can’t seem to understand that you’re slowly killing yourself with this fucking bullshit!” He knew you were right, you had been from the start. But at the time? Jack wasn't ready to listen. So he watched you walk out of his life instead. “I can’t keep waiting for you to jump off a building because you don't give a shit who you hurt as long as your pain ends, I can't watch you die because you won't let me help you.” 

It's a haunting reminder of his biggest mistake. Letting you go. But a reminder Jack won't ever forget. 

“Who’s the blonde from OB?” Jack followed up his statement with a question that hung heavy in the air. “There’s no blondes in OB? Did we get a new resident?” 

Robby doesn’t answer right away. He simply studies the way Jack's eyes examine every inch of the woman standing over by the nurse’s station. He has to know, right? It’s the woman Robby had only just seen in the elevator ten minutes ago. The woman who had just been sobbing on his shoulder about how much guilt she felt for separating from Jack. 

He needed it, though. Even Robby agreed that Jack had been teetering on the edge of a full-blown psychotic episode. Your separation was the best thing for him. He needed to realise that he was going to lose the one thing that mattered most if he didn’t get a grip on reality. 

“Uhh—“ Robby knew it was you, the blonde that was. You’d told him about your crash-out. The one that ended with a bottle of hair bleach and some not-so-professional measurements. You’d explained how you’d been missing Jack like crazy, but maybe it was time to think about divorce. You weren’t sure if he was ready to change. To help himself get back to a point where he could love you just as much as you loved him. It killed you every day that passed, but you knew if you went back now, Jack would only revert to his old ways. 

And he’d slowly, but surely, been making progress. Robby had mentioned to you that Jack had been seeing a therapist. He wasn’t sure for how long, but he had mentioned it. That gave you a little hope, and eventually stopped the tears from flowing before you had to get out of the elevator. 

“I’m not sure, but let’s—“ Before Robby could think of any excuse to remove himself, and Jack from your trajectory…the normally brooding attending was excusing himself with a smirk only reserved for mischief. 

“Excuse me.” Jack looked at his best friend with the intent to cause trouble before he walked off in the direction where you stood. Not knowing it was you. 

“Oh, well, now I recognise you,” Robby chuckled as he watched Jack saunter off. “This isn’t going to end well—” He groaned through mumbles as he looked anywhere but at the car crash about to happen right in front of him. His hands were tucked deep into his pockets with fear. 

“Hey—!” Jack started as he approached the nurse’s station. “Are you down here for a consultation? I’m not sure if we’ve met. I’m-“ It was worse than a car crash… it was like a double homicide. But not a soul could take their eyes off the scene before them. 

Emergency Room attending physician. Dr. Jack Abbot verves obstetrician and gynecologist Dr. Y/n Abbot. Separated spouses, who can barely work in the same hospital right now, let alone have a conversation face-to-face. 

As you turned around, Jack swore his heart fell out of his stomach. His heart raced inside his chest. You were stunning. He’d never seen you like this before. In all your years, you’d never been blonde. It looked…you looked beautiful. 

“Ahh!” Jack stepped back a little, fear was evident in the lines on his face. Holy shit, what was he supposed to do now? “What did you do to your hair?” Nope…That wasn’t what he should have said. But it was a question with many layers. 

Much like Jack Abbot himself. 

“I—I-I changed it.” You stumbled over your words as your husband, uh, ex? Husband? Separated spouse? asked with a tone you couldn’t tell was good or bad. Self-doubt immediately bubbled to the surface. “I uh, I coloured it.” You reach up and ran your hand through your blonde hair, not usually the standard issue colour. “I just—“ Then, as you stopped your mind from running off with the idea of shaving your head entirely, you caught onto what was happening... 

“Wait, you thought I was someone else?” Your heart sank. Jack didn’t even know it was you, yet here he was.

Jack immediately turned to look back at where he’d left Robby. Much to Jack's dismay…Robby had vanished into thin air. Shit. This wasn’t going to end well. He’d really put his foot in it this time. 

“You didn’t know it was me? And you were hitting on me!?” There was a tone in your voice that had everyone around you on edge. It made the blood in Jack’s head rush south…he liked you a lot when you were being mean to him. 

Langdon, who was only just getting situated with his patient pool for the morning, looked over at Jack with wide eyes and a shocked expression plastered across his smug face. He was so thankful it wasn’t him in Jack’s shoes right now. 

“No! No—“ Jack tried to explain himself. “No, I just thought you were, you know, some blonde.” But he had nothing to explain as he lowered his head and pressed his lips together. 

God help him. 

“Jesus, Abbot—“ You sighed. It was hard enough to love him enough as it was. Now, the idea of him running rampant around the Emergency Department, flirting with anything that moved, was going to ruin the small ounce of strength you had left. “You’re pathetic, and hypocritical—and slutty!” You whispered, shouted through gritted teeth. 

“And you are no blonde!” Jack retaliated, sending the Emergency Department into a buzzing gossip column. It was rare to ever see the two of you together anymore, let alone arguing like a married couple. 

“What did you just say to me?” It was a loaded question, like you were just daring Jack to continue. You stepped closer to where he stood, matching his intense gaze like you knew the way passed and into his heart. He fucking loved you. Being this close made his heart yearn for you. He just wanted you to be his again. 

You can’t pull that off, sweetheart.” The term of endearment slipped off his tongue like it was something Jack said every day. It was…But he wasn’t supposed to be calling you that anymore. Much like he wasn't supposed to be wearing his wedding band. 

It made your heart race. He still noticed you. He still wanted you and only you. He still cared. But not enough for you to trust he had your best interests at heart. 

“Blondes are either badass, or fun, and you’re—“ Jack paused, he was trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t inadvertently hurt your feelings. He was flirting, after all. “You’re a brunette.” 

“Fuck you, old grumpy bastard!” That was all you said as you collected your things and turned away with quick haste. You needed to leave. You were needed for a consultation, and that's what you were here to do. You weren't here to argue with your ex. 

“Damn—“ You heard it as you walked by. Langdon was looking at you like he’d just witnessed a public execution. “If you want my opinion, I think the blonde looks rad.” He smiled. 

“Oh, shut up!” You hissed with enough conviction that it had him thinking you might actually be venomous. 

“That didn’t end well, did it, Romeo?” Robby reappeared as Jack stood idly, watching you walk away. His heart ached, like he had a school-yard crush on the popular girl at school. 

“When did she dye her hair?” He asked softly, kicking himself for not noticing sooner. 

“Two weeks ago,” Robby replied. He knew Jack would take that as an answer he was hoping not to get. An answer to the question he secretly asked. The question was about your hair, but in reality, Jack had asked how long it had been before he noticed you. 

And the fact you’d been walking around like a totally smoke show for two weeks and Jack hadn’t noticed…made his stomach churn with guilt. 

“She’s too good for me,” Jack sighed. He knew he screwed it up. He knew he stuffed up your marriage. He just wanted to get back to you. “But holy shit, she looks good.”

“I think that’s what she was going for,” Robby smiled as he tapped his friend on the shoulder twice. “C’mon, we got hand over to get through Mr. Casanova.” Teasing, Robby coaxed Jack to follow him. 

Meanwhile, you watched on from where you’d run off to, secretly pining for your husband to flirt like that with you again any time. He was coming back to you. 

Slowly. But surely. Jack Abbot was coming back to life.

[hoshifighting]

Arranged Marriage — Hoshi x Reader

— Synopsis: In contrast to the tired old plots of arranged marriages where the couple can't stand each other, you and Soonyoung are childhood friends. It's not just like marrying a friend—no, no, actually, it is marrying a friend, no-frills and simple. — WC: 10k — WARNINGS: smut, fluff, fingering, oral (m. receiving), penetrative sex, multiple orgasms, choking, one single slap on the ass, hair pulling, aftercare, whipped!hoshi, hoshi teases reader until she almost cries for dick, mentions of alcohol, mentions of body fluids (cum, sweat), DIRTY TALK—prob the nastiest dirty talk i've written.

You knew this day would come. 

Growing up in a world where luxury, money, stock exchange, and business were the pillars of existence, arranged marriages were just another part of the cycle. Two patrimonies merging into one for the benefit of both families—it was a tradition as old as time. 

Some couples embraced the spotlight, showcasing their unity to the world. Others barely tolerated each other, living in separate homes to maintain a fake image. There were also those whose mutual disdain led to chaos both in their personal lives and in the family businesses.

When you saw Soonyoung in your home, dressed in a suit that clearly wasn’t his style, you felt a hurricane of emotions. His usual vibrant, carefree energy seemed stifled under the weight of the tailored fabric. You greeted him and his family alongside your parents, both of you a shy mess, but something in his eyes told you things might not be as bad as you feared.

“Hey,” Soonyoung murmured as you both found a moment away from the adults’ formal discussions. “This suit is killing me.”

You laughed softly, feeling a sense of relief. “You look... different.”

“Yeah, definitely not my usual style, you know me” he grinned, loosening his tie. “But I guess we’re both out of our comfort zones today.”

You nodded, memories flooding back of the two of you playing outside when kids, during business congresses, your parents inside discussing mergers and acquisitions while you and Soonyoung chased each other around the gardens. “Do you remember those days?”

“Of course,” he said, eyes lighting up with nostalgia. “We had our own little world, didn’t we?”

“We did,” you replied. “And now, here we are.”

“So, how do you feel about this?” he asked, shy, looking at your expensive dress, clearly set for tonight. “About us... getting married?”

“I’ve been preparing for it my whole life, I guess,” you said honestly. “But with you... it feels different. Less intimidating."

“I feel the same,” Soonyoung admitted. “I mean, if it had to be anyone, I’m glad it’s you.”

You smiled. “Maybe we can make this work. Find a balance between our lifes.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “We can create something new, something that’s ours.”

You looked at him, seeing not just the boy you grew up with, but a partner. Someone who understood the complexities of your world and was willing to navigate them with you.

You looked around your house, taking in the scene. Soonyoung’s family mingled with yours, coworkers from your parents’ firms exchanged polite conversation, and your and Soonyoung’s nephews were playing circles around the couch. 

The weight of the day pressed on your shoulders, a burden that didn’t match the elegance of the dress you were wearing for the marriage proposal.

Soonyoung’s eyes met yours, noticing your tense posture. “You’re nervous, aren’t you?” he asked softly.

You looked at him, sulking, and he recognized the same expression you had when you were eight. 

He leaned in, whispering, “Don’t tell anyone, but I brought a bottle of tequila. It’s in my trunk. Would you like some to relax?”

You stared at him in silence before nodding with an exasperated look, feeling like it was exactly what you needed.

“Did you bring a shot cup?” you asked, following him outside.

He stopped, bottle in hand, and you both laughed. Taking the bottle from him, you leaned against his car, opened the cap, and poured a generous shot—maybe a little more—straight into your mouth. Soonyoung watched, his mouth wide open in surprise. You handed the bottle back to him.

“Why are you nervous?” he asked, taking a swig himself, looking comically exaggerated as he did. “I’m the one who has to kneel and propose today. My heart feels like it’s about to explode.”

You both laughed like teenagers getting away with something forbidden, hiding behind his car.

After a moment of comfortable silence, you broke it. “Do you have the ring here?”

He looked at you and nodded.

“Can I see it?” you asked, your curiosity piqued as if he had a rare Pokémon card.

“Is that right?” he teased.

You made doe eyes and asked, “Pretty please?”

He smiled, pulling a small black box from his pocket and opening it for you. 

The diamond ring sparkled in your eyes, its brilliance captivating. “It’s beautiful,” you murmured.

Soonyoung nodded, grinning. “My sister helped me choose it. I originally wanted a diamond shaped like a cat, but she said that wasn’t appropriate.”

You laughed, the image of a cat-shaped diamond making you smile. “It’s beautiful, but a kitten-shaped ring sounds adorable. I would’ve loved that too.”

His grin widened, a small, proud smile lighting up his face as you both admired the ring.

Your moment was interrupted by Soonyoung’s mom's voice, echoing from the house. “Oh my god, are you already proposing?”

Soonyoung choked on his own saliva, his eyes wide with panic. The best thing to do now? Say no and face his mother’s scolding for showing the ring prematurely, or actually propose right then and there?

Before he could think it through, he found himself on one knee on the sidewalk, his heart pounding. You quickly hid the tequila bottle behind your back.

“Soonyoung, what are you doing?” you whispered, eyes wide.

“I... I’m improvising,” he replied, clearing his throat. “Y/N, will you marry me?”

The spontaneity of it all, made you laugh and cry at the same time, you needed to pretend you were actually emotional. “Yes, Soonyoung. Yes, I will.”

You barely noticed the sudden crowd that had gathered around you, they'd appeared out of nowhere, all eyes on the two of you. Soonyoung’s hand trembled slightly as he slid the ring onto your finger, the cool metal contrasting with the warmth of his touch.

You smiled nervously at him, teeth gritted. “Hug me,” you whispered urgently, your eyes darting to the tequila bottle that was precariously wedged behind your back. “Please, put the tequila bottle inside your car. It's practically shoved inside my ass.”

Soonyoung blinked, processing your words before a grin spread across his face. He pulled you into a tight hug, the kind that felt both reassuring and grounding. As he embraced you, he expertly reached behind you, his fingers brushing against the bottle. 

You could feel his body shaking slightly with suppressed laughter.

“Hang on,” he whispered back.

He managed to grab the bottle and discreetly slid it out from behind you. Still holding you close, he took a step back towards the car, opening the door with one hand and slipping the bottle inside. The whole maneuver was so smooth that you doubted anyone noticed the clandestine operation.

That moment eased the tension of the night, but the tequila hadn’t taken effect yet, and you knew you had to keep an eye on Soonyoung. His alcohol tolerance was notoriously low, and you didn’t want him to embarrass himself—or worse, get into trouble.

As the night wound down and Soonyoung’s dad started to lead him to the car, Soonyoung sulked, trying to resist. “I want to talk a bit more to my bride,” he protested, his voice slightly slurred. His words elicited good-natured laughter from both families, who were enjoying the unexpected turn of events.

You walked over to him, giving him a warm hug and patting his head affectionately. “It’s time to go home, Soonyoung,” you said gently.

He looked at you with wide, earnest eyes, the warmth in his gaze reminding you of why you felt less nervous than you should. Soonyoung had always been warm-hearted, and maybe that’s why you felt a sense of calm amidst the chaos.

As you pulled back from the hug, Soonyoung’s hand lingered in yours for a moment longer. “Promise you’ll call me tomorrow?” he asked, his tone earnest despite his tipsiness.

“Promise,” you replied, smiling as you squeezed his hand.

With one last affectionate look, Soonyoung allowed his dad to guide him into the car. You watched as the vehicle pulled away. Your parents approached, their expressions a blend of amusement and expectation.

“Well, that was quite a night,” your mom said, her eyes twinkling with delight.

“Yes, it was,” you agreed, glancing at your dad, who nodded in approval.

“You two make a good pair,” your dad said, his tone warm. “I’m glad to see you both getting along so well.”

Your parents were now expectant, believing you and Soonyoung were truly becoming a couple. And in a way, you were—just not in the conventional sense they imagined.

The next day, even though it was a promise to a drunk boy, you called Soonyoung in the morning. Like any typical business wedding, the preparations started swiftly, aiming to have the wedding happen as soon as possible. Today, you were going to choose the food and drinks for the event.

When Soonyoung arrived, he was all tidied up, but his face was clearly tired. You laughed a bit, “You look…”

He completed for you, “Fucked?”

You chuckled, “I wasn’t going to say that.”

“Long night,” he admitted, rubbing his eyes. “But I’m here.”

“Good, because we have a lot to decide,” you replied, glancing at the event agent who was discussing the dessert options.

As you both looked at the event agent, who insisted on adding superfluous things to the sweets—like a layer of gold—you exchanged amused glances. The agent was enthusiastically explaining the virtues of gold-leaf-covered desserts.

“Gold? For us to... poop?” Soonyoung murmured incredulously.

You stifled a laugh and leaned closer to him. “Can’t it be something more tasty?”

The agent looked slightly taken aback. “Gold leaf is quite a statement piece.”

Soonyoung nodded, trying to be polite. “But we were thinking of something simpler.”

“How about churros?” you suggest.

The agent blinked, clearly not expecting that. “Churros? For a wedding?”

“Why not?” you said with a grin. “They’re delicious, and everyone loves them.”

“But they don’t exactly scream luxury,” the agent protested.

“They scream fun,” Soonyoung countered. “And isn’t that what weddings are supposed to be?”

The agent sighed, making a note. “Alright, churros it is. Anything else?”

“Maybe some street-style tacos?” he added, enjoying the agent’s bewildered expression.

“Tacos?” the agent repeated, as if the word was foreign.

“Yeah, why not?” Soonyoung agreed. “Let’s keep it simple and tasty.”

The agent finally nodded, albeit reluctantly. “Very well. I’ll make the arrangements.”

Honestly, days flew by with Soonyoung by your side. Planning every little detail of the wedding together brought both fun and challenges, especially when your tastes didn’t always align. It was a bit complicated at first, like when you two were choosing the destination for your honeymoon. 

Soonyoung wanted an adventure-packed trip to the Amazon rainforest, while you preferred a relaxing beach resort in the Maldives. The negotiations were intense, but you eventually settled on a compromise.

Choosing Soonyoung’s suit also proved to be a task. He insisted on wearing a tie with a tiger print, a nod to his childhood love for tigers. You were surprised that his fascination with the big cats had persisted, but you drew the line at a tiger tie. “Absolutely not,” you told him firmly, trying to imagine the looks you’d get. “A tiger tie is a no from me, and I think a lot of people would agree.”

“Fine,” he conceded with a sigh, but you could tell he was already thinking about how to sneak a little tiger motif into his outfit.

When it came to choosing your dress, you were accompanied by your mom, Soonyoung’s mom, and his sister. 

Soonyoung, the only man in the group, tagged along as well. The other brides at the boutique initially assumed he was either your brother or your stylist. 

Their jaws nearly dropped when they overheard he was actually the groom.

One of the brides, adjusting her veil in front of a mirror, turned to you, wide-eyed. “Wait, he’s your husband-to-be?”

“Yes, he is,” you confirmed with a smile, watching Soonyoung fuss over a lace detail on one of the dresses.

Another bride laughed softly. “Lucky you! He’s so involved.”

“He’s been amazing,” you said. “Except for his obsession with tiger prints.”

Soonyoung, overhearing, grinned and walked over. “What can I say? Tigers are cool.”

“Soonyoung, you’re a unique groom,” his sister teased, shaking her head.

As you tried on dresses, Soonyoung offered his opinions with surprising thoughtfulness, balancing out his more quirky suggestions. He was genuinely invested in making sure you felt beautiful and confident in your choice.

You’d tried on everything: the biggest gowns, the tightest silhouettes, dresses with endless layers of skirts, and others that hugged your hips so closely it felt like they were molded to your skin. 

There were corsets that took your breath away—literally—and fabrics that shimmered under the boutique lights. 

But this time, when you left the dressing room, you were wearing a veil.

Soonyoung’s eyes didn’t lie for a second. He liked this one very much. The women around you—your mom, Soonyoung’s mom, and his sister—fussed over the dress, adjusting it here and there, offering compliments. But Soonyoung was speechless.

If Soonyoung were to be completely honest, up until this moment, he had always seen you as his friend, the girl he was going to marry because of an arrangement. You were the same girl who used to run around the events, eluding the security guards with your mischievous giggles. 

But now, you were different. You were a woman. His woman. And you looked stunning.

He couldn’t take his eyes off you. The transformation was breathtaking. You stood there, looking radiant in your wedding dress, and for the first time, the reality of the situation hit him. You weren’t just a friend anymore; you were about to become his partner, his wife.

He was so lost in the moment that he didn’t realize he was gawking until you and the women turned to him, waiting for his response. He blinked, snapping back to reality, and managed to find his voice.

“You look...” he started, his voice trailing off as he struggled to find the right words. “You look absolutely stunning.”

Your cheeks flushed at his earnest compliment. “You really think so?”

Soonyoung nodded, still unable to tear his eyes away. “I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.”

His sister grinned, nudging him playfully. “Told you she’d find the perfect dress.”

Your mom wiped away a tear, “You’re going to make a beautiful bride.”

Soonyoung’s mom stepped forward, adjusting a tiny detail on the veil. “This is the one. It’s perfect.”

You looked at yourself in the mirror, feeling a sense of certainty wash over you. “Yes, this is the one,” you said, smiling at the reflection and then at the people around you who made this moment even more special.

[...]

The days leading up to the wedding were a whirlwind of activity. Every day brought something new to choose, and your creativity was running dry. You were worn out, and Soonyoung knew it. Today had been particularly exhausting.

As the realtor showed you yet another option for apartments in the Metropole, you responded with short answers, your enthusiasm long gone after visiting sixteen places that day alone.

“So, what do you think?” the realtor asked.

Soonyoung noticed your hesitation. “Can I talk with my wife for a sec?” he asked.

The realtor nodded and walked off, giving you space.

“Y/N-nie... are you okay?” Soonyoung asked softly, looking at you through his lashes.

You sighed, your shoulders slumping. “I’m so tired,” you confessed.

He took a step closer, his voice softening. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You breathed out heavily. “My family is putting a lot of pressure on me, and I’m working relentlessly at the company. I can’t wait for us to get married…”

Soonyoung’s heart sank a little. “You want to get married just to get free from it?”

“No, it’s not just that. It’s everything. The wedding preparations, the constant decisions, the endless work... I feel like I’m drowning.”

He reached out, gently taking your hand. “We don’t have to rush this, you know. We can take our time.”

“But everyone’s expecting so much from us,” you replied, feeling the weight of expectations.

“Let them expect,” he said firmly. “And I want this to be as much about you as it is about us.”

“I just... I don’t want to disappoint anyone,” you admitted.

“You won’t,” Soonyoung assured you. “You’ve already done so much. It’s okay to take a step back and breathe.”

You took a deep breath, feeling a bit lighter. “Alright. Let’s look at this apartment one more time.”

Soonyoung nodded, giving you an encouraging smile. “And if it’s not the one, we’ll keep looking until we find the perfect place for us.”

You laughed softly, the tension easing. “You always know how to make things better.”

“Just doing my job as your soon-to-be husband,” he said playfully.

Soonyoung was doing an incredible job. 

From what you’d heard from friends who had gone through the same situation, they didn’t have partners like Soonyoung. You felt proud of him. 

He was your rock, making sure you took a breath when you were overwhelmed by the slightest things. He even insisted you didn't move a finger during brunch, making you so relaxed that you found the apartment you’d been searching for on the very same day.

The drive home was quiet, the car enveloped in a peaceful silence that allowed you a moment to rest. You laid your head back as he drove, appreciating the tranquility. Once you arrived, you stayed seated for a bit, soaking in the comfort of the quiet.

Soonyoung looked at you, waiting patiently. When you finally looked up, he gave you a gentle smile. “Ready to go in?”

You nodded, feeling a bit more refreshed. “Yeah, let’s go.”

He stepped out of the car and came around to your side, opening the door for you. “Take your time,” he said softly.

You appreciated his patience as you slowly got out of the car. “Thank you, Soonyoung.”

He smiled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you walked towards the house. “I’m just doing what any good partner would do.”

You leaned into him, feeling grateful for his support. “I don’t think everyone is as lucky as I am.”

He chuckled softly. “Well, I’m pretty lucky too, you know.”

As you entered the house, you felt a sense of relief. The apartment search was over, and you had found the perfect place. More importantly, you had Soonyoung by your side, making every step of this journey easier.

“So, what’s next on our list?” he asked, guiding you to the living room.

You sank into the couch, feeling the exhaustion of the day catch up to you. “I think a nap is next on my list.”

He laughed, sitting beside you. “That sounds like a perfect plan.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the weight of the day lift off your shoulders. “Wake me up in an hour?”

[...]

The days flew by in a blur with the whirlwind of wedding preparations. It felt like only moments ago you were choosing flowers, tasting cakes, and finalizing guest lists. 

Now, as you stood at the end of the aisle, holding a bouquet in front of Soonyoung, the reality of the moment hit you with full force.

The weight of the dress and the pressure of looking perfect made your hands sweat like never before. You felt like a porcelain doll, perfectly polished and poised.

Soonyoung stood there, his eyes fixed on you with pride. He couldn't help but feel a surge of happiness. Here you were, a perfect woman by his side, and even better, an old friend he'd known for years. 

The familiarity of your presence brought him comfort. Despite the fact that you hadn’t really dated, the idea of having someone as pretty and cool as you with him every day made him feel at ease about the whole situation.

As you walked down the aisle, your eyes met his, and a small, reassuring smile played on his lips. He looked stunning in his suit, and the way he stood tall, waiting for you, made your heart flutter. 

You could see a hint of nervousness in his eyes, mirroring your own, but there was also a calmness there, a silent promise that everything would be alright.

When you finally reached him, he extended his hand towards you. He leaned in slightly, whispering just loud enough for you to hear, “You look amazing.”

You blushed, your nerves momentarily forgotten. “Thank you. You look pretty good yourself.”

The vows were sincere, filled with heartfelt words that spoke more to your shared friendship than any romantic notion. Both of you couldn’t help but giggle as you remembered all the crazy things you’d done together as kids. 

Your minds flashed to the time you stole sweets from an event or when you both jumped into a water fountain during an important dinner with company directors.

As the officiant declared you husband and wife, all of these memories became a sweet reverie. You leaned in and whispered with a playful glint in your eye, “Are you going to kiss my lips or my cheek?”

Soonyoung blushed, clearly caught off guard by the question. A kiss on the cheek was typical in such moments since most arranged couples didn’t share a romantic bond. He stammered for a moment, his face flushing a deep shade of pink.

“Well… uh… I suppose the cheek would be safe,” he mumbled, eyes darting nervously.

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly, leaning closer. “But where’s the fun in that, Soonyoung?”

He looked at you, his eyes widening slightly. The playful challenge in your gaze gave him the courage he needed. With a deep breath, he moved in, his hand gently cupping your face.

“I think I’ll go for the lips,” he whispered back, his voice steadying.

The crowd held its breath as Soonyoung leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a soft, tender kiss. It was a simple kiss, not passionate, but filled with the warmth of years of friendship and the promise of a shared future. The applause that followed was thunderous, but all you could focus on was the feeling of his lips against yours.

As you pulled away, you both wore matching grins. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” you teased,

He laughed, shaking his head. “Not bad at all. Actually, it was kind of nice.”

You linked arms, turning to face the crowd together. Your parents looked relieved and proud, while your friends were cheering loudly, clearly entertained by the spectacle. Soonyoung’s eyes met yours again, and there was a newfound spark there, full of possibilities.

As you both shared champagne with your parents, Soonyoung playfully asked, "No tequila tonight?" You were about to respond when his mom's voice cut in, "Tequila?"

Soonyoung’s eyes widened, and his mouth twisted into a frown as he tried to suppress his laughter. You quickly improvised, "Huh, h-he meant... tacos! We had tacos with tequila last time, remember?" You forced a smile, hoping it sounded convincing enough. His mom seemed satisfied with the answer, nodding along.

After mingling with guests—aka talking with people from work about the next meeting—you finally found a moment to escape the spotlight. You and Soonyoung crouched behind the kitchen, hiding from the crowd. The chefs chuckled at the sight of the newlyweds sneaking bites of food, but they made sure to hand you the best eats, knowing how overwhelming the day could be.

Soonyoung grinned, playfully nudging you. "We're so used to doing this at parties that we're practically pros now."

You nodded in agreement, a mischievous smile on your face. "Even though it's our own wedding party," you said, shaking your head in disbelief.

He chuckled, looking at the gold ring on your finger with a sense of wonder. "Our wedding... I still can't believe it. Oh my god, we're grown adults now."

You couldn’t help but laugh, reaching out to pat his head mockingly. "We've been grown adults for... kind of a long time already," you teased, a playful glint in your eye.

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly, then leaned in closer, his voice softening. "Yeah, but it feels different now. Like, we're really starting something new."

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words. It was true. The reality of your situation was sinking in, but in a way, it felt comforting. You had each other, and that made everything seem a little less daunting. As you sat there, hidden away from the chaos of the celebration, it struck you how much you appreciated this moment—just the two of you, stealing away for a breather.

“Shall we follow tradition?” Soonyoung asks, a playful glint in his eyes. You frown, confused, as he reaches into the fridge and pulls out a bottle of tequila.

“Should tequila be kept in the fridge?” you ask, laughing at the sight.

“I hope so,” he replies, pouring the liquid into a cup. “This one is expensive.”

You raise an eyebrow, taking the cup from him. “The cheapest has the same effect,” you say, waiting for him to pour his own.

He chuckles, raising his glass. “But today’s a special day. We deserve the good stuff.”

You laugh it off, crossing your arms before taking the shot together. The familiar burn makes you both scrunch up your faces.

The wedding party was truly one of a kind. You and Soonyoung were a bit too excited, turning the waltz space into a wild dance floor. 

At first, your parents were too embarrassed to join, especially at the sight of Soonyoung twerking on you. But soon, even the directors and business partners were on the dance floor, dancing and drinking extravagantly.

[...]

The next morning, you and Soonyoung were woken up by the buzzing of your phones. 

Your makeup was smudged and stamped on the pillow, and you were still in your wedding dress. You scratched your scalp, feeling the bobby pins still tangled in your hair. 

Soonyoung was no better; his shirt was unbuttoned to his belly button, his tie was loosened around his neck, and his hair looked like a bird's nest. He scratched his forehead groggily. Despite sharing the same bed, you both seemed unbothered by it.

You grabbed your phone and saw the company group chat flooded with messages:

“Wow, last night was incredible! Congrats to the newlyweds!”

“I can't believe we all danced that much! My feet are killing me. :')”

“Best wedding party ever! So happy for you guys!”

“My head is pounding, but it was totally worth it. ^^ Cheers to you both!”

“I’m still recovering from all that dancing. What a party!”

“Never thought I’d see the CEO breakdancing. ㅋㅋㅋㅋ”

You couldn't help but smile at the messages, as Soonyoung peeked over your shoulder, a sleepy grin spreading across his face.

“My head hurts,” Soonyoung complains, rubbing his temples.

You adjust the corset of your dress, feeling the tightness around your ribs. "My ribs are squeezed," you grumble, wincing as you try to get comfortable. "I can't believe I slept in this."

He yawns, glancing down at your leg. "You even kept the garter on," he points out, noticing the delicate band still around your thigh.

You crack your neck, feeling the weight of the long night. "Your sister gave it to me, so I put it on," you explain, lifting the voluminous skirt to reveal the bridal garter.

His eyes widen comically. "My sister?! Is there something I don't know?"

You frown at him, a bit confused. "You don’t know about the tradition?"

Soonyoung looks a bit lost, scratching his head. "I mean, it’s my first time getting married."

You sigh, laying back down. "Traditionally, the groom is supposed to take it off when... taking the virginity," you explain, watching his face turn a shade of pink.

His eyes dart around nervously, processing the information. "So... my sister thought I was... a virgin?"

You shrug, teasing, "Probably. Are you?"

He laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "Definitely not. And you?"

You raise an eyebrow, smirking. "Nope. Sorry to disappoint."

He chuckles, finally relaxing. "Good to know. Not that it matters, but... it's funny to think about how everyone just assumes stuff."

“Are you going to take it off?” you tease, stretching your leg up and wiggling your foot playfully. Your eyes glint mischievously as you watch Soonyoung’s reaction.

He scoffs, but a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “What, you mean right now?” His eyes flicker to your thigh, then quickly back up to your face, trying to gauge if you’re serious or just messing with him.

You arch an eyebrow, maintaining your playful expression. “Why not? It’s tradition, right? Don’t you want to fulfill your husbandly duties?” You stretch your leg out further, making the garter more visible.

Soonyoung chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable,” he mutters, but there’s a sparkle of joy in his eyes. He reaches out hesitantly, his fingers brushing lightly against your thigh. The touch sends a shiver to your skin, and you can’t help but giggle.

“What’s the matter?” you prod, your voice dripping with mock innocence. “You’re not getting cold feet, are you?”

He rolls his eyes, trying to suppress a laugh. “Not at all,” 

You bute your lip as his fingers graze the lacy fabric of the garter. His touch is feather-light, almost ticklish, and you squirm a bit under his hand.

Soonyoung smirks, clearly enjoying your reaction. “You’re squirming,” he notes, his voice low and teasing. “Does that mean you’re nervous?”

You scoff, shaking your head. “Me? Nervous? Please,” you retort, trying to sound confident despite the rapid beating of your heart. “I’m just surprised you’re taking so long. I thought you’d be an expert at this.”

He chuckles, sliding his hand a bit higher up your thigh, his thumb brushing against your skin in slow, deliberate strokes. “Oh, I am,” he replies smoothly. “Just savoring the moment.”

“Well, don’t take too long,” you murmur, your voice softening slightly. “We wouldn’t want to miss out on any other wedding traditions.”

Soonyoung grins, his fingers hooking under the garter. “Right, can’t forget those,” he says, his voice tinged with a hint of naughtiness. 

He gently tugs on the garter, slowly sliding it down your leg, his eyes never leaving yours. 

As he finally slips the garter off, he holds it up triumphantly, a goofy grin on his face. “There, tradition fulfilled,” he declares, waving the garter like a trophy.

You laugh, shaking your head at his antics. “Congratulations,” you say, clapping mockingly. “You’ve successfully removed a piece of elastic lace. Truly, a remarkable achievement.”

He bows dramatically, playing along. “Thank you, thank you,” he says, flashing you a cheeky smile. “It was a tough job, but someone had to do it.”

You can’t help but laugh, the light-hearted banter making the moment feel even more special. Soonyoung’s hand lingers on your leg for a moment longer before he finally lets go.

As Soonyoung gets up, stretching his arms with a yawn, he announces, "I'm going to take a bath." He heads towards the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

You sit up, still feeling the effects of last night's festivities, and shout after him, “Ya! Ladies first!”

From behind the closed door, you hear Soonyoung's laughter echo in the bathroom. “Sorry, didn’t hear you over the sound of me already starting the water!” he calls back, his voice filled with playful defiance.

You shake your head, smiling to yourself. It’s these little moments that make everything feel so natural and easy with him. After a few minutes, you hear the sound of running water stop, and Soonyoung emerges from the bathroom, his hair damp and a towel wrapped around his waist.

“All yours,” he says, grinning. “I left some hot water for you, too.”

You roll your eyes playfully, grabbing your toiletries and heading into the bathroom. The warm water is a welcome relief, washing away the remnants of makeup and the night's events. After a quick shower, you step out feeling slightly more human, though the hangover still lingers.

As you both finish getting ready, the thought of breakfast crosses your mind. However, just the idea of food makes your stomach churn. The hotel's breakfast spread is typically lavish, but today, the thought of greasy bacon and pastries is anything but appetizing.

Soonyoung, dressed in a casual outfit, catches your expression as you look at the food options. “Yeah, not feeling it either,” he says, rubbing his temple. “Let's skip it.”

You nod in agreement, both of you opting for just a coffee to stave off the worst of the hangover. With minimal conversation, you gather your belongings, checking out of the hotel and heading straight to the airport.

But one thing you definitely didn’t expect was Soonyoung falling asleep on your shoulder within the first thirty minutes of the flight. His head rested heavily against you, and his hand, seemingly by accident, was placed on your thigh. 

As he softly snored, you couldn’t help but chuckle at how comfortable he looked. Anyone passing by would probably think you two were an old married couple, so naturally attuned to each other.

His head's weight pressed down on your shoulder, a constant reminder of his presence. Every now and then, you felt him subconsciously moisturizing his lips, a small, almost imperceptible movement that somehow made the moment even more cute.

You glanced at the small TV screen in front of you, trying to focus on the movie playing. It was a romance novel adaptation, the kind with sweeping gestures and grand declarations of love.

Normally, you might have rolled your eyes at the cliché, but with Soonyoung sleeping peacefully beside you, it felt oddly fitting.

As the plane cruised through the sky, you found yourself getting lost in the storyline, occasionally glancing at Soonyoung. His breathing was steady, a gentle rhythm that added to the soothing hum of the plane. 

You shifted slightly, trying to get more comfortable without disturbing him, but his hand tightened instinctively on your thigh, holding you in place. It was a small, protective gesture that made your heart flutter.

What you loved the most was when Soonyoung finally woke up, blinking sleepily and then immediately apologizing. "I'm so sorry," he repeated, his face flushed with embarrassment. You chuckled, assuring him it was okay, that he had every right to rest. He seemed genuinely mortified, even offering, “You can sleep on my shoulder too, I promise.”

You smiled at his earnestness, brushing it off with a light, “Maybe on the way back, then,” as the announcement came that you were about to land.

Once you arrived, Soonyoung was quick to grab the suitcases from the taxi, his efficiency a comfort as you made your way to the hotel's check-in counter.

The concierge’s eyes seemed to linger on you a little too long, his gaze sliding over your sundress and perhaps admiring more than just the attire. 

As you waited for the receptionist, the concierge leaned casually on the counter, offering a friendly, yet slightly flirtatious, smile.

“First time here, ma’am?” he asked, his tone smooth and inviting.

“Well, yes...” you replied, keeping your voice polite but detached. You could feel the weight of his attention and tried to subtly stretch your hand, making sure the gold ring on your finger was clearly visible.

The concierge didn’t seem to get the hint, or perhaps he chose to ignore it. “You’re in for a treat. We’ve got some wonderful spots for—”

Before he could continue, you felt Soonyoung's presence behind you, a comforting warmth at your back. His body pressed lightly against yours, a subtle yet possessive gesture that didn’t go unnoticed. His hand slipped around your waist, resting just below your belly, the touch gentle but unmistakably protective.

He leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. “Everything alright?” he murmured, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity and a subtle edge.

You could almost feel the shift in the air. The concierge straightened up, his expression flickering between surprise and a polite smile. “Oh, just making sure your stay is perfect,” he said, his tone now more professional, eyes darting between you and Soonyoung.

“Thank you,” Soonyoung replied, his voice steady. His hand didn’t move from its spot on your belly, and the slight squeeze he gave was enough to send a clear message. You leaned back into him, feeling a rush of warmth at his silent claim.

The receptionist finally returned with your room keys, handing them over with a bright, “Welcome to our hotel! We hope you enjoy your stay.” With the keys in hand, you and Soonyoung made your way to the elevator.

As the doors closed, sealing you both from the world outside, you turned to Soonyoung with a smirk. “Looks like someone’s a little possessive.”

He grinned back, a playful glint in his eyes. “Just making sure everyone knows you’re taken.”

You tease him back with a playful smirk. “Well, it’s just a business marriage. You shouldn’t worry about stuff like that,” you say, your tone light and slightly mocking.

Soonyoung scoffs, turning his gaze to the side with a dramatic sigh. “You’re such an idiot,” he mocks, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“An idiot, hm?” you counter, crossing your arms with a smirk. “Well, I’m an idiot you agreed to marry, so I guess that makes you twice the fool.”

He raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Sharp tongue of yours, huh?”

You nod, feigning innocence. “What can I say? I’ve had years of practice.”

Soonyoung leans in closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You know, it’s a shame. I was really looking forward to giving you something special once we got to our hotel room.”

Your curiosity piques immediately. “Something special? Like what?”

He grins, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Oh, just something that’ll make you remember tonight.”

You raise an eyebrow, trying to gauge his meaning. “Something that’ll make me remember tonight, huh? Care to elaborate?”

Soonyoung chuckles, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, I think you already know what I’m talking about.”

You narrow your eyes, playfully challenging him. “Do I? Because you’re being awfully vague.”

He leans back, enjoying the game. “Well, I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

The teasing glint in his eyes only fuels your curiosity further. You know exactly what he’s implying, but you play along, eager to hear him say it outright.

“So,” you press, “what is it? Can you give me a hint?”

Soonyoung’s grin widens, clearly relishing the moment. “Let’s just say it’s something that’ll make you very excited. And not just because of the hotel’s decor.”

You roll your eyes, laughing softly. “Alright, alright. I get it. You’re being all mysterious.”

You sulk, trailing behind Soonyoung as he walks down the hallway toward your room. “Tell me, pleeeease,” you plead.

Soonyoung glances back at you with a mischievous smile. “Nope, not telling,” he says, his grin widening as he enjoys your insistence.

When you reach the door, Soonyoung unlocks it and pushes it open, gesturing for you to enter. You walk in, your eyes scanning the room briefly, but your focus quickly returns to Soonyoung. He places the suitcases by the door and then hops onto the bed, sprawling out with a relaxed sigh.

You stay standing by the door, your arms crossed over your chest, giving him a sulky, upset look. 

“So,” Soonyoung says with a defiant glare, “am I forgetting something?”

You pout, trying to look as curious and frustrated as possible. “You’ve got me curious,” you admit, your eyes wide.

He laughs, brushing his hand through his hair with a playful sigh. “You’re almost throwing a tantrum over this?”

Soonyoung slides his hand down his abdomen slowly, getting lower and lower, until he's wrapping his fingers around his cock through his white shorts. The outline is clear, thick, and perfectly defined against the fabric.

He gives it a little shake, a sly smile playing on his lips as he watches your reaction.

You stare at him in shock, your knees almost giving way as you take in the sight. Your mouth opens slightly, but no words come out as you struggle to process what you're seeing.

Soonyoung’s smile widens, clearly enjoying the effect he’s having on you. “Are you surprised?”

He chuckles softly, clearly pleased with your reaction. “Well, I figured it was time to give you a little hint,” he says, his hand still resting casually on his bulge. “So, do you think you’re ready to find out what else I have in store for tonight?”

You stammer, unable to look away from the outline of his cock pressed against the fabric of his shorts. “Do we have to wait until nightfall?”

Soonyoung licks his lips, his gaze never leaving you. “Oh,” he drawls, “but you have to walk properly tonight, so we can go to the restaurant.”

Your eyes darken, a fire igniting within you. “You think I can’t handle all of this inside?” 

He raises an eyebrows. “You shouldn’t,” he says, his voice dripping with devilishness. “It’s just a business wedding, after all.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Just a business wedding, huh? You really want to test me?”

Soonyoung chuckles, clearly enjoying the playful back-and-forth. “That’s right. Let’s see if you can keep your composure while we enjoy a nice dinner.”

You take a deep breath, feeling a rush of adrenaline. “Challenge accepted,” 

You’ve never been so turned on by someone’s mere presence before. The entire city tour was a cruel game of torture, all at Soonyoung’s hands. 

In the taxi, his hand had wandered to your nude thigh, brushing against your skin like a feather. The way his fingers lightly caressed your inner leg made your heart race and your breath catch. 

At the restaurant, the casual caresses continued. His leg pressed against yours under the table, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

The warmth of his skin against yours, the way he would occasionally let his knee slide up your thigh—each movement was like an electric current surging through you, leaving you squirming in your seat.

Walking through the jewelry fair was an exercise in restraint. As you admired the sparkling displays, Soonyoung’s hands kept drifting to the exposed skin of your back. His touch was light, almost playful, but each graze against your bare skin made you shiver with need. 

You could barely focus on the dazzling jewels in front of you; your mind was consumed with the need for him.

By the time you were back in the elevator, you felt like you were on the edge of losing control. You could feel his eyes on you, sharp and hungry, as you pressed yourself against the wall. 

You turned your face away, but you couldn’t hide the truth from him. Your nipples, straining against your dress, betrayed your arousal. Your legs, pressed tightly together, were a clear sign of your desperation. Even your unsteady breaths gave you away.

When you finally arrived at the hotel room, you barely made it inside before your desperation took over. 

You throw him against the wall, hands planted firmly on his chest. The sound reverberates through the room, probably making the neighbors wonder what the hell is going on. His usually small eyes are wide, staring at you flaggerblasted. 

Your breath mingles with his as you lean in, letting your lips barely graze his. Your voice comes out breathy, almost desperate, “Please. Stop teasing me.”

For a moment, he's stunned, caught off guard by the whininess in your voice and the look on your face—like you might break if he doesn't give you what you need right now.

It's a twisted scenario, considering you're his childhood friend turned wife is standing before him with an expression that borders on agony—an agony only he can alleviate.

For a moment, he looks like he might laugh, but he knows he's on the verge of losing all sense of control, but a part of him relishes the idea. 

“Say it again,” he murmurs. He knows he's playing with fire, but he can't resist the thrill. His lips barely brush against yours, teasing, taunting.

“Soonyoung, I'm going to fucking cry if you don't—”

“Hold it,” he commands,you shudder, your breath hitching as he lifts your dress. And you comply, bunching the fabric in your fists to keep it out of the way. 

His hand slides down the front of your panties, and your head falls back. 

Soonyoung leans in, his lips ghosting over your ear. “You’re so fucking impatient,” he growls. 

His fingers slide through your slick folds, finding you wet and wanting, throbbing everytime he rubs his fat fingers on you. “You’ve never even tasted my cock, and you’re already obsessed, huh?” He presses his thumb against your clit, making you gasp. “You’re such a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

You whimper, your hips bucking against his hand. You can barely think straight. “Please, Soonyoung,” you beg again, your voice cracking.

He chuckles darkly, clearly relishing your desperation. “You want my cock so bad, don't you?” His fingers slide inside you, curling just right, and you cry out. “You want me to fuck you senseless? Make you scream my name?”

“Yes,” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper. The words spill out of you, unfiltered and raw. “I want you to ruin me.”

“You’ve never had anyone fill you up like I will,” he says. “I’m gonna stretch you out so good, baby. You’ll be begging for more, even when you can’t take it.”

The dirty talk, the sheer vulgarity of his words, makes you even wetter. You feel like you're on the verge of losing control, and it's rousing. 

Soonyoung's fingers pump in and out of you, each thrust bringing you closer to the edge. His thumb rubs relentless circles on your clit, and you can feel the tension building, winding tighter and tighter.

“You’re gonna cum on my fingers first,” he whispers. “And then I’m gonna fuck you so hard, you won’t be able to walk straight for days. Is that what you want, baby? To be fucked so good, you can’t even think about anything else?”

“Yes, yes, please,” you pant, your voice high and desperate. You can feel the orgasm building, Soonyoung's touch is all-consuming, driving you wild with every stroke.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs.“So eager to please. I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good.”

Here and there, Soonyoung is driving you insane with his body affixed to the wall, one strong arm holding your leg up. His wrist swiveling to match his fingers as they explore your weeping cunt and his repetitive rubbing of the areas that cause you to roll your eyes. 

You cry out, gasping as you roll your hips onto his fingers, the orgasm making you forget what would be appropriate at the time. Soonyoung's fingers work you through it, drawing out every last drop of you.

As you come down from the high, you realize you're still clinging to him, fingers deep on his muscular shoulders, your breaths coming in hiccups. Soonyoung pulls his fingers out of you, and you feel a pang of loss.

Your legs feel like jelly, and you can barely stand. Soonyoung catches you, pulling you close. 

Soonyoung's eyes rake over you, his smirk widening as he takes in the sight of your trembling legs. “You're trembling,” he chuckle. His gaze drops to the slick mess between your thighs, and he bites his lip, clearly reveling in the sight. “Better than this... you're literally dripping,” appreciating. 

He lets your leg down, holding you firmly as he guides you back onto the bed. The plush mattress sinks under your weight.

“God forgive me,” he continues, “but if our mothers weren't in that dressing room that day, I would've fucked you right there in the store. With that princess veil of yours... I would've pinned you against the mirror and made you scream my name.”

Your mouth falls open. The image of him taking you into that bridal shop, surrounded by white lace and satin, ​​hitting you like a punch to the gut.

You're not sure what shocks you more: his bold declaration or the way your body reacts to it, growing wetter with every word.

He smirks at your reaction.

“What's the matter, princess? Cat got your tongue?" He teases. His fingers slip under the waistband of your panties, slowly dragging them down your legs. “Or are you just too turned on to speak?"

He's right; you're completely at his mercy, unable to form a coherent thought, let alone a response.

He strips off his shirt, revealing the sculpted lines of his torso, then shucks off his shorts. His erection strains against the fabric of his boxers, and he groans, closing his eyes and tilting his head back as he palms himself.

“I could've fucked you on that altar,” he visualize. "In front of all those guests. Just to show everyone that no matter how arranged this marriage was, you're mine. No one else's.”

He opens his eyes, locking onto yours. “I would've spread you open right there, had you screaming my name, showing them all who you belong to."

His dirty words, the way he claims you with every syllable, makes your head spin.

Soonyoung's hand moves over his bulge, his eyes never leaving yours. “You don't even know how much I've wanted you,” he hisses. “How much I want to fuck you senseless, make you mine in every way.”

He leans over you, his breath hot against your ear. “And tonight, I'm going to do just that. I'm going to fuck you so hard, you'll forget about everyone else. Just me, and this cock inside you, filling you up until you can't think straight.”

You squirm, your body responding to his filthy promises. You can't tear your eyes away from him, your mind racing with the possibilities of what the night holds. 

Soonyoung's fingers brush against the hem of your dress, and you shudder at the contact. “Take it off,” he orders, his voice rough. “I want you naked, spread out on this bed, ready for me.” His eyes bore into yours, and you know he's not just asking—he's demanding. 

You slip your dress over your head, tossing it aside as you finally catch sight of Soonyoung completely naked. His hand moves over his erection, the cockhead glistening with precum. The sight makes you lick your lips.

“Can you—” he starts to ask, but you cut him off, not needing him to finish.

“Yes!” you nearly moan. His eyes darken, a smirk playing on his lips as you drop to your knees in front of him.

You take a moment to appreciate the sight before you. His cock is thick and veined, the head an angry red, glossy with precum. You can almost taste it just from looking.

Tentatively, you lean in and press a soft kiss to the tip, tasting the salty precum on your tongue. It's musky and slightly bitter, but it makes you want to choke on this cock. You swirl your tongue around the head, savoring the taste and the way his breath hitches above you.

Soonyoung's hand tangles in your hair, guiding you closer. “Yes, baby,” he groans, his voice thick with need. “Just like that.”

Encouraged by his reaction, you take him deeper into your mouth, your lips stretching around his girth. The texture of his cock is smooth yet rigid, the veins pulsating against your tongue. You hollow your cheeks, creating a tight seal as you bob your head, taking more of him with each movement.

His hips jerk forward involuntarily, and you hear a strangled moan escape his lips. “Shit, that feels so good,” he pants, his grip on your hair tightening. You look up at him through your lashes, your eyes meeting his. The sight of him looking down at you, his face twisted in pleasure, spurs you on.

You slide your hand up his thigh, wrapping it around the base of his cock to stroke what you can't fit in your mouth. Your other hand cups his balls, gently massaging them as you continue to suck him. 

You hum around his length, sending vibrations through him. He shudders, a deep groan rumbling from his chest. “You're so fucking good at this,” he praises, his voice breathless. “So eager, so perfect.”

You moan around his cock at the praise. You take him deeper, pushing your limits as you feel him hit the back of your throat. You gag slightly but push through, wanting to please him, wanting to show him how much you want this.

“Y/N,” he gasps, his hips bucking forward again. “You're going to make me cum if you keep doing that.”His voice is strained, you don't know if he's warning you or if he's desperate.

You don't let up, doubling your efforts. You suck harder, your tongue swirling around the sensitive head every time you pull back. Your hand continues to pump the base of his cock, matching the rhythm of your mouth. You can feel him throbbing, his cock pulsing with need.

Soonyoung's moans grow louder, more desperate. His breaths come in uneven pants, his body tense with the need for release. “Fuck, Y/N, I'm so close,” he warns, his voice breaking.

You look up at him, your eyes locking with his as you take him even deeper. You want to see him come undone, to watch him lose control because of you. You feel his cock twitch in your mouth, and with one last swirl of your tongue, he lets out a choked moan.

He comes hard, his hips jerking as he spills into your mouth. The taste of his release floods your senses, warm and salty. You swallow every drop, savoring the way he trembles above you. His hand in your hair tightens, holding you in place as he rides out his orgasm.

His hand gently strokes your hair after, a contrast to the rough grip from moments before. You pull back, licking your lips and savoring the last taste of him.

He lifts you up effortlessly, his lips crashing into yours. He doesn't care that his cock was just in your mouth seconds ago or that his cum lingers on your tongue. The taste of himself on your lips makes him moan, the sound vibrating between you.

After a moment, he pulls back, one hand wrapping around your throat, not tight but firm enough to make you feel his presence. His eyes bore into yours, as he licks his sensitive lips.

“You were sucking me so good,” he rasps, “that I almost said ‘I love you’.” 

A laugh bursts out of you, hearty and genuine, and he watches you with a smirk. 

“I swear,” he continues, his tone playful. “if I'd known marrying you would come with benefits like this, I would've done it way sooner.” “I feel like I owe you something after that blowjob,” he says, his voice dropping into a deeper, more sultry tone.

You bite your lip, a dirty thought flashing through your mind, and Soonyoung picks up on it immediately. Soonyoung's gaze narrows, reading the filth in your expression

“What is it? What do you want?” he asks excitedly.

“Can you fuck me… doggy style?” you ask.

“Yes, I can,” The corners of his mouth twitch, barely holding back a grin.

You look up, pretending to be lost in thought, then say, “Can you fuck me in missionary?”

He nods again, biting his lip, his grip on your throat tightening just a little.

“Can you fuck me inside… the shower?” 

He presses you tightly against him, his hand gripping your waist possessively, but your gaze still eating him whole. 

“I can fuck you upside down, sideways, any way you want, baby,” he answers, his voice steady and confident. “Just say the word, and I'll make it happen.”

You moan in response. Too early to say that you're already dumb for his cock?

“Get on all fours and lift that pretty ass for me.”

As you crawl up the bed, you make sure to put on a show. You arch your back, lifting your ass higher, giving Soonyoung the view he wants. You wiggle it a little, teasing him. 

The motion makes your pussy lips part slightly, already slick and ready for him. You can feel his eyes on you, burning with thirst. Without warning, his hand comes down hard on your ass, the sharp sting making you gasp. You let out a yelp. You know that mark will be there tomorrow, like a postmark, like a stamp, like a reminder of this moment, and the thought makes you even wetter.

He moves behind you, the bed dipping under his weight. You feel his hands on your hips, gripping you firmly as he positions himself. You can't help but push back against him, seeking more contact.

“So fucking perfect,” he mutters, running his hands over the curves of your ass, squeezing the flesh and kneading it roughly. He spreads you open, taking in the sight of your wetness.  “Look at how ready you are for me. You're dripping, baby.”

You moan, pushing back against him, desperate for more. “Please, Soonyoung, I need you.”

“Fuck, you sound so desperate,” he taunts, positioning himself behind you. His cock slides against your folds, teasing you, making you whimper. “Beg for it. Beg for my cock.”

“Please, Soonyoung, fuck me,” you whine. “I need your cock inside me, please. I can’t wait any longer.”

He doesn't tease, doesn't make you wait any longer. He thrusts in with one hard, deep stroke, filling you completely. The sudden intrusion makes you cry out, a slight discomfort as your walls stretch around him. But it makes your toes curl. 

“God, you’re so tight,” he groans, gripping your hips as he starts to move. “So fucking tight and wet for me. You feel that? That’s my cock stretching your pussy.”

You moan loudly, the pleasure building with each thrust. “Yes, Soonyoung, I feel it. It feels so good. Fuck me harder.”

He picks up the pace, his hips snapping against yours, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. He reaches around, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing it in tight, fast circles. The sudden burst of pleasure makes you gasp, your body jolting.

He pulls back slowly, only to slam back in, setting a rough, punishing rhythm, making you roll your eyes back.

He's so deep, hitting spots you didn't even know existed. Each thrust makes you see stars, and you can't help but moan loudly, not caring if the entire hotel hears you. The stretch, the fullness, it's all so overwhelming, so fucking good.

“Come on,” he urges, voice a low growl. “Cum for me, baby. Let me feel you squeeze this cock.”

It's all too much. The feel of his cock, his fingers on your clit, the dirty words spilling from his lips—it all sends you over the edge. The second orgasm of the night making you feel already exhausted. Your voice hoarse, as you feel yourself sloppier between your legs. 

There's no mercy in his movements; he's fucking you through your high, pushing you beyond your limits. Each time he hits your cervix, a sharp jolt of pleasure-pain ripples through you, making your arms tremble uncontrollably.

You try to hold yourself up, but your strength falters. With a soft cry, your arms give out, and your chest falls against the bed. Soonyoung lets out a low chuckle, a smug grin spreading across his face as he watches you crumble beneath him. Even with your body slack, you're impossibly tight around him, your pussy squeezing him like a vice. 

Soonyoung’s hands grip your hips tightly, holding you in place as he continues to pound into you from behind. You can feel his cock throbbing inside you, stretching you, making your walls clench involuntarily around him. 

He leans over you, his breath hot against your ear, and you can hear the pride in his voice as he coos, “Aww, look at you. So fucking helpless, so fucking wrecked. You can’t even hold yourself up, can you?” 

You can barely muster a response, a breathy whimper escaping your lips as you feel the tears start to stream down your cheeks. It’s an almost incredulous feeling, the tears mixing with the sweat on your face. 

You’ve never been fucked like this before, never been pushed to the brink and then beyond, your body betraying you as it trembles under his control. It’s a raw, visceral experience that leaves you gasping for air, your mind a hazy blur of feel.

Soonyoung notices the tears, and his smirk grows wider. “Look at you, crying for me,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. “Is it too much, baby? Too fucking good? Love being fucked so hard you can’t even think straight?” 

His hand moves from your hip to your hair, tangling his fingers in it and pulling your head back, forcing you to arch your back even more. The angle shifts, and he hits that perfect spot inside you, making you moan loudly, your voice cracking with the intensity of it all.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groans, his hips snapping forward with even more force. “God, you’re squeezing me so fucking hard. It’s like your pussy doesn’t want to let me go.” He punctuates his words with deep, hard thrusts that leave you reeling, each one sending a jolt of pleasure-pain through your body.

“So pretty when you cry,” he continues, his tone almost taunting. “I could do this all day, just watch you fall apart on my cock” His words are filthy, degrading, but they ignite something inside you, a desperate need for more. 

The way he speaks to you, the way he claims you with each word and each thrust, is addictive.

You can’t hold back your sobs. “Please,” you manage to choke out, not even sure what you’re begging for anymore. 

More, less, anything—just something to ease the dizzying sensation coursing through you.

He laughs softly, a dark, knowing sound that makes your skin prickle. “Please what, baby? You want me to stop? You want me to fuck you harder?” 

He pulls out almost completely, the emptiness leaving you gasping, and then slams back in with a force that makes your whole body jolt.

“You’re so fucking greedy. Can’t get enough, can you? You want this cock to ruin you, want me to fuck you so good you’ll feel it for days.”

All you can do is moan and sob, your body shuddering with each thrust as he pounds into you. The bed creaks under the force of his movements, it’s dirty, raw, and utterly nasty.

“Gonna make you cum again,” he murmurs, his voice a dark promise. 

And as you feel the tension building inside you again, that familiar coil of pleasure tightening in your belly—you know he’s right.

He lays you gently on the bed, your back sinking into the mattress. Your face, flushed and glistening with sweat, looks completely wrecked, completely exhausted. Soonyoung feels a brief flicker of pity, but it quickly dissipates as you babble out your dirty words, barely coherent but dripping with need. “Please... Soonyoung... more, need you so bad... fuck…”

He smirks, spreading your wobbly legs apart, exposing the slick, swollen mess between them. “You can barely form a sentence, and yet you still want more.”

He slides his cock back inside you, stretching you open once more. 

Soonyoung's thumb finds your clit again, and he begins to work it in slow, light-touch circles. The sensation is maddening, a delicious contrast to the deep, methodical thrusts of his cock. 

He watches your face intently, drinking in every expression, every gasp and whimper."That's it, baby," he coos. “Let me see that pretty face when you cum.”

You can barely keep your eyes open, your body overly sensitive from the previous orgasms, but he doesn't let up.

His other hand moves to your chest, fondling your breast, his fingers pinching and rolling your nipple before sliding up to wrap around your throat. This time, the grip is firm, real, and you can feel the delicious pressure as he chokes you just enough to make your head spin.

He leans in closer, his eyes never leaving your face. 

You cling to him, your arms wrapping tightly around his body, pulling him closer as if you could merge with him, become one. The scent of sweat and skin mingling in the air—it all consumes you. 

Your body is trembling, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your core, a white-hot band of pressure that threatens to snap. Soonyoung's moans are louder now, but they seem distant, like they're coming from underwater, muffled by the roaring in your ears.

His pace quickens, and you feel yourself losing control, your mind slipping away from the physical world. The room, the bed, even Soonyoung—all of it fades into the background. 

There's only the blinding, all-encompassing pleasure that fills every nerve, every cell in your body. It's like being pulled under a wave, the sensation crashing over you with a force that's almost violent.

Your thighs tremble uncontrollably, and you can feel the muscles in your abdomen clenching, the buildup to your orgasm reaching its peak.

And then, it hits. The climax rips through you, a white-hot explosion that leaves you gasping, the world narrowing down to the blinding sensation of pure, unadulterated pleasure. 

Your back arches off the bed, your mouth opening in a silent scream as your vision goes white. The intensity is mind-numbing, erasing everything else from your mind except the overwhelming euphoria that pulses through you.

Your body shakes with the force of it, your legs quivering, toes curling as the pleasure radiates outward from your core. You can feel the slickness between your thighs, the way your walls flutter and squeeze around Soonyoung, pulling him deeper inside you. 

Soonyoung's name falls from your lips in a choked sob, your voice hoarse and trembling. 

You slowly come back to reality, feeling the weight of Soonyoung's body on top of you, his cum warm and sticky between your bellies.

Soonyoung pants loudly, trying to catch his breath. He lifts his head slightly to look at you, concern flickering in his eyes despite the satisfied smile on his lips. “You okay, wifey?” he asks.

You manage a weak smile, still feeling the aftershocks of your intense orgasm. “I’m okay, hubby,”

His smile widens, and he leans down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Good,” he murmurs. “You were amazing.”

You chuckle softly, the sound a bit strained. “You weren’t too bad yourself,” you tease, your hand coming up to rest on his back, feeling the muscles still taut from effort.

He laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating against your own. “Glad I could satisfy my wife on our first night together,” 

“Think we should clean up?” Soonyoung asks after a while.

“Probably,” you agree, though neither of you makes a move to get up just yet. You’re too content, too wrapped up in the warmth and comfort of each other’s presence.

Eventually, with a reluctant sigh, Soonyoung shifts, carefully pulling away from you. The cool air hits your skin, making you shiver slightly. He helps you sit up, his hands gentle and supportive as you both make your way to the bathroom.

The weight of the wedding ring on your finger feels heavier now, more symbolic than ever. It’s not just a piece of jewelry; it’s a constant reminder of the commitment you’ve made and the life you’re building together.

Soonyoung, despite his own exhaustion, is kneeling beside the tub, gently washing you. His focused expression as he works to make sure you’re clean and comfortable. The sight of him, so dedicated and caring, makes your heart swell.

You feel a pang of guilt as you see the tiredness etched on his face, a reminder of how much he’s given for you, both physically and emotionally. Your legs, still trembling from the aftermath of the passion, had given up on you, leaving you reliant on him. The thought of him taking care of you, even in his weariness, makes you feel both grateful and a bit ashamed.

“Hey,” you say softly, reaching out to gently touch his arm. “You don’t have to do this. I can manage on my own.”

Soonyoung looks up at you, his eyes softening as he smiles. “I want to,” he says quietly. “You took care of me earlier, and now it’s my turn to take care of you. Besides, it’s kind of nice, being able to do this for you.”

You look him in the eye and sense the truth in his words. His warm, comforting smile belies the weariness that is evident in the lines on his face. 

[...]

As you and Soonyoung lie together in bed, the room is quiet except for the soft rustling of the sheets and the occasional sigh from either of you. The memories of what just happened still lingers in the air, making both of you feel a bit shy and stunned.

As Soonyoung lays his head on your chest, you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. He sighs contentedly, his fingers lightly tracing patterns around your breast. 

“So,” he begins, his voice tinged with both surprise and a hint of playfulness, “when I hinted at what I wanted, I honestly didn’t think you'd go for it. I was kind of... hoping, but also preparing for a rejection.”

You chuckle softly, your fingers running through his hair. “Oh really? And why not?”

“Well, for one, you’re ridiculously hot. I didn’t think you’d be that into it right off the bat.”

You giggle, feeling a rush of confidence. “Oh, come on. Why wouldn’t I? You’re hot, and let’s be honest, you knew exactly what you were doing.”

“Damn, so you think I’m hot, huh? And here I was thinking I’d have to put in a little more effort.” He rises to look at you, but you make him lay again, your cheeks flushed.

“I can’t believe we managed to go from ‘I do’ to ‘Let’s fuck’ in just a few days. We really don’t waste any time, do we?” You say, grinning. 

“Yeah, I guess I underestimated how much I’d resist you, but I knew I was in trouble from the moment we got married… I thought I’d be a strong soldier, holding out a bit longer.”

He hums thinking. 

“I’m surprised I managed to hold out for as long as I did.” he finishes.

You raise an eyebrow, a naughty smile playing on your lips. "Well, I guess you’re not as disciplined as you thought. Seems like you fell for me quicker than you’d like to admit.”

Soonyoung’s eyes sparkle. “You’ve got me completely hooked.”

You let out a dramatic sigh, your hand resting on his cheek. “Poor soldier. Captured by the enemy and all. What will you do now?”

He leans in, brushing his lips against yours in a tender kiss. "I guess I’ll just have to surrender to you completely.”

“Even the strongest can fall. And let’s be real, I’m pretty good at making sure my soldiers surrender.” You shrugged, smirking. 

He bursts into laughter, shaking his head in disbelief. “Damn, you really know how to make a guy feel like a total pushover.”

“I plan on keeping you hooked, you know—well, at least until the next time we have a ‘conversation’ like tonight."

“Well, if this is what marriage looks like, I think I’m going to enjoy every minute of it.”

[honeypiehotchner]

The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part eight

More lore! Work and life have kept me busy busy busy but trust I am still here for this fic and will be finishing it! (Also if you can't tell I started writing this fic after I first watched the Seaver episodes and thought I can write this so much better and with so much more angst)

Warnings: Rossi being Rossi, Hotch doing something he really shouldn't be doing but he thinks it's justified and maybe it is so who's to say if he's in the wrong!

You first knew something was different about your dad when you were ten.

There were the usual, obvious things that confused you as a kid. Like when he’d go away for long stretches of time, only to return like nothing had happened and act like he was never gone at all. Or when he’d return with these extravagant gifts, as if that made up for the birthday party he missed, or the big recital. Or when you heard your parents arguing, your mom tearfully asking if there was someone else, and screaming “I don’t believe you!” when your dad insisted there was no one.

There are the less obvious things that confuse you now, things you look back on when you want to analyze his behavior. Why he traveled so far to find his victims, why he tried to live a double life, why he did any of it at all. You dip your hands into the memories day after day and each time you come up empty handed. Why did he let you get kidnapped, only to help them find you? Was he ever behind your kidnapping at all? You don’t know. You’ll never know.

Even if you could ask him, you don’t know that you would. Your mom picked you up, changed your name, and moved you away for a reason. She gave you a fresh start. She’s the reason you are where you are, and you’re not going to throw that away. 

You had no idea Rossi worked on your father’s case all those years ago. You knew the BAU had gotten involved briefly at one point, but not who. 

What are the odds and what kind of bad luck streak do you have to have to be working with one of the investigators who helped catch your father?

The ceiling offers you no answers. You left the precinct as quickly as you could, wanting to take a hot shower and crawl in bed and pretend to be asleep when Hotch or Rossi inevitably knocks on your door later.

Rossi knows. He must. Why else would he look at you like that? And if he does, how long has he known? Has he told Hotch? Would he tell Hotch, or would he keep it quiet? Does he know that part of your file is sealed? Does he know you discussed it with Strauss, keeping that part of your life sealed because it isn’t relevant, not after all the work you did to create a separate life?

You’re going to make yourself sick if you keep asking this many questions, but how are you supposed to stop? 

You’ve worked too hard to create a life completely separate from your father to let it all unravel like this. You knew it was risky going into this line of work, let alone the BAU, but with a name change and two decades worth of distance, you thought it was deep enough in the past. You thought you had buried it far enough below the surface.

You cannot afford to have it haunt you like this, to interfere with your work so badly that you flee. You have to figure this out. And you have to get yourself under control.

+++

Hotch and Rossi are, like most nights, the last two at the precinct, trying to squeeze out some final leads before calling it a night. They don’t get far, and it’s Rossi who caves, saying they should get some rest for once. Hotch is quicker than usual to agree.

“What was that about earlier? About The Strangler?” Hotch asks. “Since you worked it, do you think we have a copycat on our hands?” 

It’s a poor excuse for a subject change, and Rossi is onto him in a second.

He shakes his head. “No, we don’t.”

Hotch grabs his cup and heads for the door. “And…Y/N? She seemed shaken up.”

Rossi raises an eyebrow, changing the subject slightly. “You two seemed to be getting along today.”

Hotch lets out a laugh as they exit the precinct. “We’ll be back to our usual selves tomorrow, probably, don’t worry.”

“I hope not,” Rossi says, rounding the car to hop in the passenger side. “You’re the only people who like to hear you two bickering, you know.”

Hotch rolls his eyes, sticking the keys in the ignition. “I don’t like arguing with her. She just insists on it.”

“And you push her buttons.”

“I don’t try to.”

Rossi only smiles to himself, always happy to rile Hotch up in whatever way he can, especially when it comes to you. It’s too easy to do it.

Rossi is able to convince Hotch to head back to the hotel, but not to grab a drink at the bar.

“I think I’m just gonna head to bed,” Hotch says, pausing outside the elevator. “You should too.”

“I will,” Rossi smirks, though he turns toward the bar anyway, nodding to Hotch as he presses the up arrow for the elevator.

Rounding the corner, Rossi finds a familiar face perched on a bar stool, nursing a glass of red wine.

He watches you briefly, gauging whether you’d like to be left alone. He can’t tell. He decides to slide onto the stool next to you, waving the bartender down to order two fingers of whiskey.

You won’t look at him. You won’t look anywhere other than your wine, but you knew Rossi and Hotch had come back. You could hear Hotch’s voice from the lobby, your body tense as you prepared for them both to make their way here and see you not at all asleep like you said you’d be.

You meant to sleep. But your mind was wide awake, and before you knew it, you were dragging yourself downstairs for a glass of wine, hoping the alcohol would tire you out.

And now, apparently, the price you’ll pay is a conversation with Rossi.

Seeing as he’s here alone, you figure there’s no sense in hiding behind cryptic sentences and silence. Better to rip the band-aid off now, while no one else is around.

“How long have you known?” you ask, studying the stem of your glass instead of looking him in the eye.

The bartender sets Rossi’s whiskey down in front of him. Rossi nods to him, and hands a black card over. “Another glass of red for her, please. On me.”

You swirl the remaining swallow of wine in your glass before downing it. The bartender replaces it with a silent smile before leaving you both alone.

Rossi takes a sip of his whiskey, studying the array of liqueurs along the wall across from him. “Do you remember meeting me?”

It’s not an answer to your question and it confuses you. “Yeah? You told me ‘good luck’ with Hotch because I was late.”

“No,” Rossi shakes his head with a fond smile, turning his head to look at you. “You were young.”

You wrack your brain, trying to remember when you might’ve met him. You come up empty, but you’re not surprised that you don’t remember. Your memories are hazy at best from those times, but the few you do remember are vivid. Just none of them include David Rossi.

“It was brief,” Rossi says, taking your silence for the answer it is. “After we had found you, and we needed to talk to your mom about some of what your dad admitted to while we had him in custody while we searched for you.”

That day comes back to you in fits and starts, flashes here and there. A much younger David Rossi floats into your mind, but with no words to accompany him, except—

“Didn’t you offer me a cup of coffee?”

He laughs quietly. “I did. I was trying to lighten the mood.”

“It worked,” you say, remembering with a smile. You pause. “So you’ve known the whole time?”

He shakes his head. “I thought I recognized you the first day, but I ignored it. It wasn’t until tonight that it clicked all together. You are twenty years older, you know.”

“Hey,” you feign hurt, punching him lightly in the arm. “You too, old man.”

“Don’t remind me,” he chuckles, taking another sip of his whiskey. “Have you told Hotch?”

You practically snort into your wine glass. “God, no.” You pause to take a long sip, needing it to steel your nerves. “Only Strauss knows, because she saw my background check before I asked to have some of it sealed. My father and original name were part of what I decided to have redacted.” You take a deep breath. “My mom moved us away and changed our last names for a reason. A fresh start. A new life without being haunted by what my father did.”

Rossi nods slowly. “Well you’ve got everyone suspicious after how you acted earlier.”

You grimace. “I know.” Not your finest moment.

“Why not get it over with and tell everyone?” Rossi asks. “Or at least Hotch?”

You roll your eyes. “He’ll look at me differently.”

“Will he?” Rossi argues gently. “How do you know?”

You give Rossi a look. “Because I know him.” 

Rossi hums. He doesn’t need to say anything to prompt you to continue.

“He already hates that I’m here — as if working with him is any better — and I’m sure he’s looking for any reason he can to tell Strauss to get rid of me,” you scoff. “The last thing I need is him saying I’m unfit for the job just because I’m a little shaken up at a random mention of the man who nearly killed me and my mother.”

Rossi goes still beside you, turning his head slowly.

You sigh, finishing off your second glass of wine. “You’re telling me none of you suspected he had tried anything with my mom and me?”

Rossi shakes his head. “We were never told otherwise, and your mom—”

“Yeah, well,” you shrug. “She loved him.”

Rossi frowns at your dismissal, resting his hand on the bar, but not touching you. “No one will fault you if you need time.”

“I’ve had two decades of time, Rossi,” you cry, placing your forehead in your hand. “I thought that was long enough.”

This time, he does reach for you, resting a hand gently on your shoulder. He’s never seen you this broken up, not even when you were thirteen, after they found you, when they all expected you to be upset. You were put together back then, your brain having not had any time to process it all. Now, you’ve had the time to process, you’ve lived your life in between, and it still haunts you. Because it always will. Because these things don’t just go away, no matter how badly you want them to.

“It’ll always be hard,” Rossi says. ��I’m sorry I can’t say it goes away.”

You snort, burying your face further into your hand. “I wish it would. He’s dead, I wish he’d stop following me around.”

“You couldn’t have chosen a different career?” Rossi teases, shaking your shoulder a bit before letting go.

It does make you laugh, because he’s right. “I know. What was I thinking?” Your mother tried talking you out of it, but you never listened. She eventually came around to the idea after she heard you talk about how much you loved helping people, but it always worried her somewhat.

“I have no idea,” Rossi says, smiling around his whiskey as he finishes it off. “I’m having another, would you like one?”

You shake your head, sitting up. “No, no…I should actually go to bed now, I think, but thank you. For the wine and the uh, conversation.”

“Anytime,” Rossi says, squeezing your shoulder one more time. “Get some rest.”

“You too,” you give him a pointed look, eyeing the new whiskey the bartender sets down.

“I’ll sleep good after this,” he picks up the glass, raising it toward you.

You roll your eyes as you head back toward the elevator, strangely feeling lighter — and not because of the alcohol. You’ll begrudgingly admit, talking it out with Rossi helped.

But that doesn’t mean talking to Hotch about it will have the same effect.

+++

Back in his hotel room, Hotch takes a shower and crawls into bed. He tosses and turns for an hour, staring a hole into his eyelids. He gets up to take a walk around the room, hoping it’ll help. All it does is make him pause when he spots his briefcase, knowing what lies inside.

The files he asked Garcia to pull weren’t unusual. Just your background check, with one condition. To unseal whatever was hidden. 

Because he had thought it was odd for you to have parts of it sealed, let alone that Strauss agreed to let you. But it wasn’t something he particularly wanted to argue with Strauss about. 

After seeing you stop breathing entirely at the mention of The Strangler — an obscure case, one truly infamous only to Reid and his eidetic memory — Hotch is worried. That’s the only name he can think of to give the feeling swarming in his chest.

He’s worried about one of his agents, and dammit, he feels like that is a justifiable enough reason to do some digging. If it concerns the well-being of one of the agents he oversees, he wouldn’t forgive himself if he didn’t try to get to the bottom of it. Even if they seem hellbent on keeping it hidden.

That’s all the convincing he needs to do for himself before he walks over and snatches his briefcase off the desk, opening it with a click. 

Your file lies right where he left it, along with Penelope’s sticky note. Her gel writing makes him pause.

Should he be reading this?

What’s his alternative, though? Asking you outright? That will only start a fight, or worse, you’ll quit on the spot. You’ve made it clear that you don’t want to tell him what’s going on, and if he pushes too far, you’re both liable to say things you can’t take back.

This is better. It’s going behind your back, but it’s better. Is it really betraying your trust if it’s clear you don’t trust him? You don’t even like him, which you have made abundantly clear. 

You seemed to open up a little to him today, but that doesn’t mean tomorrow you won’t be right back to the way you were yesterday. There’s no way to know for sure.

So, Hotch stops the back and forth, and pulls the file out, flipping to the second page. Then the third. Then to what was sealed.

The words jump out at him too fast for him to understand them, his heart thundering in his ears as he reads.

Your name — the one he knows you by — is not what you were born with. Well, your first name is, but your middle and surname are changed entirely. Your original surname was Adkins.

Adkins. Like—

His eyes scan further, finding the inevitable on your birth certificate. Your father. Carson Adkins.

You were fourteen when your names changed. Fourteen when you moved to Washington state. Fourteen when your mother changed her surname, too, back to her maiden name — the one you now have. Fourteen when your life started over.

Because when you were thirteen, Carson Adkins, The Strangler, threatened to end it.

[sgiandubh]

In which the Music Manager strikes again

I very honestly think it's time to try and sort out a very complicated question, that bothered this side of the fandom for a long while.

This comment summed it up perfectly and I promised a separate post to discuss some of it, bearing in mind that this is Just My Opinion:

I think the early days on this side of the fandom were the best of times and the worst of times, too. The best of times, because shippers had daily receipts and renewed confirmation. The worst of times, because fanfic or just wishful thinking did find a way to sometimes overlap with what obviously already was a very complicated reality.

By the time the Dreaded MC reached our shores, the shockwave was cosmic. People cried. People quit. Former friends started bitching on and about each other. But once the first shock was taken full front in, some tried to make sense of it, as I have already written. I maintain my position which is to never judge or discuss anything I was not a direct part of, and so I choose to remain silent on all the things that were done to that extent. It is not my call and it is not my intention. My intention is to try and correct some fantasies and plain untruths that have been taken for granted for many, many years, in here.

I have already explained here why the Ibiza marriage is, at worst, fanfic and at best, some sentimental-binding handfast ceremony on the beach, possibly: https://www.tumblr.com/sgiandubh/772076510404395008/hola-hola-pregunta-de-novata-asombrada-de-veras?source=share

To back it up, here are the applicable regulations, as per the UK Government itself:

[Source: https://www.gov.uk/world/organisations/british-consulate-ibiza]

The only problem is, you can get married in a British consulate if and only if the host country's legislation gives permission for it:

If you click on the link below, you will not find Spain on the list of the countries where a consular marriage can be arranged. The reason for it is that Spain does allow same-sex marriage (which is the main reason this type of ceremony is still being performed as such, in a handful of British consulates across the world) and also because it does allow two foreign citizens to marry on its territory, provided certain requirements are being met.

[Source: https://www.gov.uk/guidance/getting-married-at-a-british-embassy-high-commission-or-consulate]

This is where things become impossible for that Ibiza marriage scenario, because there is no way they could have arranged a Tijuana marriage of sorts. While Spain does allow foreigners to marry on its territory, it leaves to the provinces the power to set the criteria of doing so. For Ibiza, you have to be a legal resident (which means, to have a residence permit issued by the Spanish authorities) there for at least two years prior to the date of your marriage:

This leaves, in theory, the possibility of a legally binding Catholic marriage, celebrated only in church, since C is a Catholic herself and, unlike the case of Anglicans (Presbyterians, in the US) not needing a prior UK civil marriage certificate (something which in theory, would have extended also to S):

[Source, for both of the above: https://www.hitched.co.uk/wedding-planning/organising-and-planning/getting-married-in-ibiza/]

But we know that never happened, unfortunately. And we know it because on that damned Marriage Certificate both C and McGill wrote and signed, is that horrible little word: 'single'.

Sorry for hurting your eyes with this. Some say the best way to overcome your greatest fear is to face it - I wholeheartedly agree with them:

[Source: https://www.tumblr.com/hurleyburly/649158609642618880/arrived-this-morning-april-22nd-by-post-from-the?source=share - I used this particular one, because the legal watermark is very obvious on it and also, because it is the easiest to look for and find].

Before the 2004 reform of the UK marriage and civil partnership legislation (enforced starting December 2005), the appropriate mention on a marriage certificate was either 'bachelor' or, accordingly, 'spinster'. That meant none of the two future spouses were married before. This has been further clarified by the Registrar General of England and Wales, acting as sole competent authority in that field, in September 2005:

[Source: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/magazine/4141996.stm]

Therefore, all of the above beg the question: which scenario applies?

1. SC got married in Ibiza, the USA, or Atlantis (doesn't matter, legal case in point is entirely the same). In that case, C would have been already married to S, on August 10, 2019. That would make her a bigamous woman. The punishment for bigamy, in the UK, is 6 months (convicted) to 7 years (indicted) in prison and a fine of £5,000, according to the Offences against the Person Act 1861:

[Source: https://penmansedgwick.com/bigamy/]

On top of it, writing 'single' on that paper without it being legally true would also qualify her as a perjury. In the UK, the punishment for perjury, in the special case of marriage procedures, is 2 years in prison if convicted and up to 7 years in prison, if indicted, plus a fine of £100, according to the Perjury Act 1911:

[Source: https://www.legislation.gov.uk/ukpga/Geo5/1-2/6]

Does anybody seriously (I repeat: seriously) think C or anyone else involved, for that matter, would have risked that? Now, I know the integrity of the Authorized Person and/or the GRO people has been questioned. I am not going there, because I was not involved in that entire business. Corrupt officials exist everywhere, after all, and that is not entirely out of the question. However, without the misdemeanor being denounced as such, you can bet no investigation has been conducted on that particular point. As such (and one last time, for I shall not discuss this anymore, lest we'd have news about it) the Dreaded MC is still a legal paper, producing legal effects. You can choose to ignore it and go your merry way, but you cannot tear it apart in a fit of rage and hide the shreds under the carpet. It is there and it happened. What possessed her and why exactly, we might never know.

Finally, if C would have been (secretly) married to S (in Ibiza, the USA or Atlantis - legal case in point still the same) and divorced before August 2019, the appropriate wording would have been 'previous marriage dissolved', with no mention of any other specifics. The same we'd have if... but I'll stop here.

2. Second scenario and what I think might have happened (in Ibiza, the USA, or Atlantis - doesn't matter): a symbolic blessing ceremony, with no legally binding effects. There is an entire thriving industry of it, yes, in Ibiza:

[Source: https://www.hitched.co.uk/wedding-planning/organising-and-planning/getting-married-in-ibiza/]

Again, you draw your own conclusions. I am not here to fuck your Sunday evening chamomile/Monday morning coffee to shambles. But I am here to tell you and all those idiots across the street that we are not naive and the fantasy, as wonderful as it might be, is exactly that: a dream. In real life, that horribly dull place with mortgages and taxes and responsibilities, things are infinitely more complicated and possibly even dirtier. And that is exactly what makes their story more interesting and endearing to me, in fact.

Many of you will probably be upset. If so, feel free to unfollow, by all means. I cannot and will not lie. I never did, because I think it is useless and idiotic. What bothered me the most is to see this witty community becoming the laughing stock of a bunch of brutal cowards, just because some thought it was easier to make believe than take the bull by the horns. And yes, accept the crooked reality of a paper that does not translate by any stretch of the imagination into a genuine relationship.

A relationship where the two spouses would publicly be glad for each other, celebrate their closeness, act like Mr. Tweedledum and Mrs. Tweedledee, invite the press to see the Taj Mahal, have joint interviews or at least offer some fucking snippet of normality. Because no, 'he is shy' is borderline insulting to McGill, who is a 48 year old man, by now. Because no, acting like deer in headlights every single time a more focused question is asked will only fuel further speculation. Because no, gaslighting in the mainstream press hundreds of people who questioned this entire mess is akin to PR suicide. And because no, you can't really hide forever a ridiculous arrangement, backed by a single piece of paper where the groom wrote himself, under oath, he was a 'music manager' (remember, BIF? you recently wrote a PhD thesis about it, isn't it ironic moronic?).

[puck-luck]

play house with me | alex lyon

warnings: breeding kink HEAVYYYYY, use of mommy/mama/daddy but it’s very brief and not always related to the sex, obvious creampie???, childhood best friends to lovers &&& co-parents LOVE, mentions of breastmilk during the fucking (alex will totally want to try said breastmilk when it comes in), dirty talk pairing: alex lyon x fem!reader request: yes (alex lyon gets reader pregnant woohoooooo) wc: 2940

Everyone has made a deal like this before– especially those with guy best friends, like you. It didn’t help that you had had an on-again, off-again crush on Alex since you both were teenagers and he had grown into his looks. You had known him for practically your whole life and Alex was the picture-perfect boy next door with his dark curls and goofy personality, so it was a no-brainer when Alex proposed a pact. 

You were both eighteen at the time, ready to go your separate ways for college. It was late, a warm and humid summer night, and you and Alex has just gone for ice cream. You were picking at your cup of ice cream with your spoon, watching it melt in the rapid summer heat. It was then that Alex said, “You know, if we’re thirty and neither of us are with someone else, we should have a kid.”

It was no secret that you wanted to have kids, nor a secret that Alex wanted to have kids, so the deal was a no-brainer. You said yes, not thinking much of it because… why wouldn’t you be with someone by age thirty?

Well, it’s funny. Yesterday was your thirtieth birthday, and here you are: single. Frustrated and annoyed can also describe your current state. 

Alex had texted you the day before to wish you a happy birthday, promising to see you when he came back into town today. He should be on the way to your apartment right now and all you can think about is the deal you made twelve years prior. 

You had no doubt about it– you wanted to have a baby and you wanted to do it with Alex. You just had to broach the subject, but you were torn about how to bring up the deal without sounding desperate or weird. There was a chance Alex wouldn’t even remember your deal, even though he was the one who thought of it in the first place. 

When he arrives and knocks on your front door, you let him in with an awkward hug hello. It’s only awkward because you know that you’re about to ask him something that will change your friendship and relationship forever. Alex, always able to read you like an open book, notices that you’re acting weird immediately and calls you out on it.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” Alex asks, quirking an eyebrow at you with a bemused smile. “Are you alright?”

You groan, rolling your head back. “How do you always know?”

Alex’s smile turns into a proud smirk. “Because I know you. What are you thinking about?”

“Just some stuff about you and turning thirty,” you reply, ready to explain yourself further.

Alex interrupts. “Thinking about our baby pact?”

You balk at him, shocked. “How did you know?”

“Again– because I know you.” Alex repeats. His gaze takes in your features, admiring you. He brushes a piece of hair behind your ear. “Plus, it’s part of the reason why I wanted to see you today.”

“Oh, yeah?” You ask, a little laugh tinging your words. “You wanted to come over so we could discuss babies?”

“Isn’t that why you agreed to have me over?” Alex answers with his own question, smug because he knows he’s right. “So that we could even go a little further, since you’re thirty now, and our pact has to come to fruition?”

You blush, biting your lower lip and rolling your eyes. You’re pretending to be annoyed, but you’re really just fond. Alex does know you best, can practically read your mind and provide you with anything you want before you realize you want it. Before now, that mostly related to when you could go and get food together– he always knew exactly what you were craving, always taking you to the right restaurant that would hit the spot and satisfy you indefinitely. 

Now, it’s a much bigger decision, one that will change your lives forever, but Alex is completely on board. So are you.

Once again, it’s a no-brainer.

“I wouldn’t complain,” you tease, purposefully coy. 

“Good.” Alex sweeps you off your feet, carrying you over one shoulder. “We can talk about everything later. I’ve been dying to get my hands on you for years.”

He says it casually, like that’s not the most Earth-shattering revelation you’ve ever heard. You and Alex had always toed the line of flirtation and all of your friends swore that you were meant to be, but things had never gone this far. You and Alex had never kissed, save for one accidental peck when you turned your cheek in surprise and caught his lips, the ones intending to meet your skin in a sweet greeting. It had caused a laugh, but it was the closest to romance that you and Alex had ever physically experienced. 

Now, he’s tossing you on your bed and climbing above you like this is an everyday occurrence. 

“Alex,” you say, putting a hand on his chest to stop his movements. “Are you really, really sure about this? It’s a big decision.”

“I’ve wanted to have a baby with you since I was five years old and you made me be the daddy when we played house,” Alex replies, leaning down to capture your earlobe between his teeth. “You were the mommy to our little baby doll and the idea never left my mind. Now we’re thirty, single, and I think we should make my dream a reality. I’m all in, Y/N.”

A breath of relief leaves your lungs at his reassurance. He mouths along your jaw, coming to hover with his lips just out of reach of your own. You look up at him, waiting for him to make a move. 

Alex looks up from your lips, finding your eyes. “Are you really, really sure about this?” He parrots back, lips twisting up at the edges. “You’re the one who’s going to be tasked with carrying our baby.”

You make a soft noise of assent, the breathy moan pulled from your stomach like a gut-punch. 

Alex chuckles. “You like that, huh?” He brushes a kiss against the left corner of your mouth, then the right. “You’re going to look so pretty all swollen and full of me. I want it so bad, Y/N. I’ll give you as many babies as you want. I might have to keep you pregnant all the time– you’re going to glow, darling.”

Moaning again, you bring your hands up to his face and pull him into you, crashing your lips against his. Eager and desperate, you kiss him until you’re breathless and your cheeks have gone hot. As far as first kisses go, this is your favorite one you’ve ever had. Alex is confident and just as eager as you are, his tongue filling your mouth and tasting you like he could devour you. Inadvertently, you find yourself wondering how his tongue would feel against your clit and your entrance, but that can wait for another time.

Another time, because this will certainly be happening again. It’s the easiest decision you could ever make, seeking out Alex again. You’re comfortable with him, you’re happy when he’s around, and you love him deeply. You know him and he knows you. Your friends were right all along– you two are meant to be.

“Do you want it? I need you to tell me,” Alex implores between kisses, allowing his hands to roam over your body. 

It’s distracting and it takes a moment for his words to click, especially when his hands find their way under your shirt and start to pet over the skin under which your ribs reside. 

“I want it,” you cry when Alex’s fingertips graze your underboob. You whine when his fingers withdraw from your middle, but Alex soothes you with a whispered coo and a soft kiss to your lips.

He lifts your shirt over your head, leaving you in your bra underneath him. He grabs his own shirt by the back collar, pulling it over his head and revealing his bare chest to your wandering eyes. You drink him in, running your hands all over his warm body and feeling the ridges of the muscles he’s worked so hard to build and maintain over the years. 

He brings a hand to your chest, cupping the swell of your breast and fishing your boob out of the article of clothing, pinching your nipple. After one final kiss, Alex brings his lips down and replaces his fingers with his teeth, nibbling at the peak of your breast before sucking. 

You arch your back, your hand fisting his curls again. You moan out a wanton sound and you can feel Alex’s lips curve into a smile against your skin. He releases your nipple with a wet pop, kissing over your sternum and up your neck. 

“So pretty, mama,” Alex mumbles against your skin, lips warm and scarring. You wish you could tattoo the path he takes along your chest, physically marking your body permanently so you never forget this. “Let’s make a baby, hm? Give me a real reason to use that name?”

“Give me a baby,” you agree, tousling his curls. “I wanna make you a daddy, Alex.”

Alex groans against your skin, popping the button on your jeans and drawing the zipper down. His mouth doesn’t leave your body, not even for a second as he struggles to work the tight denim down your body. 

You adjust yourself on the bed, helping him push the fabric down. You take to his own bottoms, tugging eagerly at his waistband until he gets the hint and removes his shorts. You push him down, making him sit back against the headboard. You swing a leg over his lap, straddling him. Still separated by the barrier of both of your underwears between you, you sink down on his bulge in a satisfying grind. 

Alex’s hands find your hips, pulling you flush against him and rolling his own hips. He reconnects your lips, swallowing every sound you make and vice versa. He’s straining against his boxers, pulsing against you with each grind.

“I want to ride you,” you tell Alex. “Just like this.”

Alex moans, closing his eyes and throwing his head back, knocking it against the headboard in the process. “Fuck,” he breathes out. “Want me to prep you?”

“No, I want to feel everything,” you say. “I want to feel your big cock stretch me all on its own before it fucks a baby into me.”

Your words only spur him on and he jostles you on his lap as he tries to remove his underwear without feeling your absence. You take matters into your own hands and remove yourself from his lap to take off your own underwear, tossing it onto the floor without another thought, the thin scrap of fabric joining the rest of your scattered clothes. 

Both bare and dripping, you climb back on top of Alex, fitting his cock between your folds to grind against him before allowing him to breach your entrance. You spread your slick all over his member, using his precum and your wetness as lube. 

Alex whines at the contact, clutching at your skin desperately after he removes your bra with both hands. Your boobs sit prettily on your chest, drawing Alex’s eyes and causing his pupils to swell. He cups one and licks over the nipple he hadn’t previously sucked, needing something to occupy his mouth and muffle his sounds. He’s far gone– the idea of filling you up has him channeling something primal, overtaken by his instinct to stuff you with his cock and thoroughly breed you.

He wasn’t lying when he said he’d been thinking about it for years– one of the images that caused him to spill over his fist countless of times in his twenties was just this: fucking you bare and starting a family with you, forever entertwining your souls and destinies in an irreversible way. You would be his, in this way, forever. He could shoot off now thinking about it, but the promise of the real thing stops him.

And the real thing comes sooner than he thinks, with you rising up onto your knees and lining him up with your entrance. You lower yourself down slowly, achingly slow. It takes everything out of Alex to not buck up into your heat as the head of his cock enters you with a jolt.

The sigh that leaves your mouth and the roll of your eyes chips away his restraint even more than your heat. All of your pretty noises are like a watering hole in the middle of the desert to Alex– and he’s lapping them up. 

“Y/N,” Alex moans as you work your way down his shaft. Your walls hug him tightly, squeezing him as you take his cock. “Fuck, you feel so good. You’re made for me.”

“Alex,” you sigh, pressing his forehead against yours. You’re unable to form many words other than that– melting into a puddle of moans and whines as you find yourself sinking fully onto his length, enveloping him entirely. He reaches the deepest part of you, his tip nudging your back wall. 

“Can’t wait to see these tits all full of milk,” Alex tells you, filling in the gaps of silence. He reaches up, cupping the weight in his palms and kissing over the smooth skin in his hands. “You’re going to be so great to our baby.”

You start to bounce on his cock, tossing your head back as the ecstasy of fulfillment washes over you. His words just spur you on.

“You’ll take care of them so well, won’t you?” Alex asks, his question rhetorical.

Your response is a moan and a stutter in your rhythm, which causes Alex to take over. He flips you over without pulling out, your back hitting the mattress and knocking the breath out of you.

Alex practically breathes life back into you when he kisses you, insistent but charged with the sweet love that you share for each other. It’s the love that you’ve shared since you were kids– and now, it’s the love that you’ll pass along to your child. 

“Fuck, Alex,” you whine at the thought, unable to keep it to yourself. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Alex says, kissing you again. His thrusts are harder in this position, hitting you deeper. 

It feels impossible, being in this position with Alex. Yes, your friends had always said that you and Alex were meant to be, but there was a line you’d never crossed. You never expected to cross it. Now, with Alex inside of you and filling you so well, ready to start the next chapter of your lives with each other, you can’t imagine it any other way. 

Alex continues, pushing you further towards your peak. “This pussy was made to take my babies, huh? Made just for me?”

“Yeah,” you agree, breathless, pulling Alex down to connect your lips. You can barely handle the words, much less the little noises and grunts that fill your mouth during the kiss. 

It’s like you’re becoming one being. Everything is perfect, and you’re feeling so good that your orgasm approaches quicker than expected. 

“Alex, ‘m gonna come,” you let out, holding him tight.

“Let it go, lovebug,” Alex coos, tracing the line of your cheek with a light touch. “I’m right there with you.”

Your eyes roll back and your mouth opens in a silent scream. Alex continues to fuck into you, prolonging the waves of pleasure that overtake you with each bump of his cockhead against your g-spot. You’re moaning unintelligibly, jumbled words falling from your mouth and barely reaching Alex’s ears. 

He shoots off when you keen into his mouth, teeth clashing in a messy union that has you on the verge of laughter. You’ve never laughed during sex before, but it just seems right. Everything with Alex seems right.

His seed fills you and warms you from the inside out, settling deep in your core and coating your walls in the weirdest, most unique feeling you’ve ever experienced. You can feel the come dripping down from your ridges, letting gravity take control as it starts to leak out of you when Alex pulls out. 

You pout, closing your legs as much as you can with Alex still between them in order to keep his release from leaving you, desperate for it to take. 

“Don’t worry, Y/N,” Alex soothes, brushing your hair away from your face and thumbing over the sweat on your brow. 

You don’t reply, enamored by the way his own curls have gone sweaty and his cheeks and dusted with a blush from the exertion of your union. You bite your lip as Alex opens his mouth to speak again, admiring his straight white teeth in a moment that should be weird, but isn’t. You hope your baby has his teeth– no need to pay for braces, not that that’s something you’d have to worry about with Alex’s salary.

“We’re going to go again in a bit, I think,” Alex muses, his words a proposition rather than a command, despite his definitive tone. He kisses over your face, little pecks that make you giggle again. His lips find yours, sweet and chaste. When he pulls away, he whispers conspiratorially in your ear. “Gonna fuck you all night to make sure this takes.” He winks, a smile crossing his face. “Join me in the shower, mama? I want to wash your hair for you.”

note: this is for my lyon girlie who was all up in my asks, ily <3 i hope i captured your man well and you enjoyed this <3

[mypoisonedvine]

𝔞𝔯𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔰 (part III) | frater imperator x reader

(part I) (part II)

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶 | your first trip together ends on a sour note as some of your suppressed concerns about your relationship begin to show, but a delayed wedding reception might turn it all around.

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱 | 6.7k (fucking hell)

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 | jealousy/insecurity, MORE heathers references for some reason???, alcohol consumption/slight intoxication, nothing too bad but I swear the slowburn is almost... burnt, or whatever just bear with me

The next day of your visit to Brussels was mostly boring meetings; you almost wanted to ask him why you both had to travel all this way to do the same things you always did, but ultimately you did understand the value of this trip even if it wasn’t especially exciting.  And though you weren’t really capable of assisting with any of the business side of things, you figured out after a while that you were mainly here just to be here— because it would be weird if you weren’t.  Because it would be, for lack of a better word, suspicious if a newly-married couple were traveling separately.

So, you were here, sitting beside him as he and the clergy of the local church discussed various important topics— mission work, ministry, how best to spread the message of Satan and bring in the age of the antichrist… you know, the usual.

His hand rested on your leg again— maybe a little higher than before?  You weren't certain, but it made you smile to yourself as you tuned out the boring conversation going on around you.

You glanced down at the leather-covered hand by your knee, his fingers moving slightly; the silver grucifix embossed on the back shined in this light.  Absent-mindedly, you traced it with one finger, not even noticing that it made him look over at you— not even really appreciating that his hand was still under there, and could probably feel you drawing shapes over his skin.

“Frater,” a clergyman interjected sternly, “do you have a response?”

You'd both totally zoned out, and were quickly brought back to reality; Copia jolted in his chair and cleared his throat as he sat up straighter.  Worst of all, he took his hand off your leg to clasp them both together in his lap.  “I-I’m sorry?” he coughed.  “I fear I lost my train of thought, could you repeat the question?”

“Don’t ask Frater Imperator so many complex things so early in the morning,” Comis scolded his fellow cardinal, “he didn’t get much sleep last night— non?”

He wore a lopsided grin as he playfully elbowed Copia in the side, who nervously reached up to run his fingers through his hair.  “Oh, well— eh— I just lost focus for a moment, is all…”

“Sure,” Comis agreed sarcastically.  “Maybe we should take a break, anyhow.  Give us all a chance to stretch our legs.”

“That sounds nice,” you agreed quickly, mainly just jumping on any chance to get out of this stuffy room and personal conversation.

The meeting room had a sort of lobby outside— or maybe it would be called a parlour?  A sitting room?  You weren’t really sure, but it was fancy; there was tea and little cakes and things, the whole place was so detail-oriented like that.

Copia was busy making small talk with some clergymen and women, while you were nursing a cup of lemon-water just to have something to do with your hands.

You heard someone coming up the stairs but didn’t think much of it at first.  “Sister Imperator,” a Sister greeted you— though you didn’t really process it until she reached out and touched your shoulder, making you turn around.

“Consortia,” you added once you realized she was addressing you.  “Sister Imperator Consortia.  Sister Imperator was my mother-in-law.”

“Oh, yes— I’m so sorry for your loss,” she offered gently.

You realized they were under the assumption that you knew her much better— maybe you would’ve if you’d been dating Copia before marrying him like, you know, most people do.  Instead of trying to explain, you just accepted her sympathies with a nod; it was a loss, after all, just not as personal as she might’ve imagined.

“I thought you might want to visit our convent,” she suggested.

“O-oh, um,” you stalled, nervously glancing over your shoulder at Copia as he sipped on a glass of water, “I—”

“He’ll be just fine,” she promised, leaning into you and lowering her voice.  “He knows meetings like the back of his hand.”

And he’ll probably fare better without me touching the back of his hand…

Nodding in agreement, you slipped out of the sitting room and followed her.

The woman introduced herself as Sister Nomina and guided you through the winding halls— Cardinal Comis had shown you the wing that housed the convent the night before on his tour, so you knew where it was, but you hadn’t been inside yet.  

“We keep a garden,” Sister Nomina explained, “and we have some outreach programs— an orphanage, a literacy program.  But nothing compared to what your church is doing!”

“Oh, yes,” you replied, “I suppose our reputation precedes us…”

“It must be very exhilarating, being in the Church of Ghost,” she presumed with a wide smile. 

“Well, I wish I could take more credit for all the work that's been done,” you 

The two of you arrived at the convent; visually it was similar to the one you'd been living in up until recently, but the inhabitants were quite different.  For one, they dressed a bit differently, and seemed to be more lenient with uniform (Sister Imperator would've never let that fly back home…).  And for another thing, they were much more excited to see you than anybody in your convent would've been on any given day. 

Actually, a group of nuns flocking to you excited reminded you of that day of the fateful clergy meeting— it felt like a lifetime ago already.

“Ladies, Sister Imperator Consortia from Linkoping,” Nomina introduced you to the group of women surrounding you, before reversing to introducing all of them to you.  “Sisters Mila, Lascivia, Camille, Perita, and Triette.”

“Lovely to meet you all,” you nodded, smiling warmly. 

“Give her some room, ladies, please!“ Nomina scolded gently, shooing them back with her hands until they took a few steps away from you. Admittedly, you appreciated the extra breathing room.

“Everybody's been looking forward to your visit immensely,” Nomina justified. “I hope you don't mind answering a few of their questions.”

“Of course not!”

Sister Camille piped up quickly: “As Sister Imperator Consortia, what responsibilities do you have?”

“W-well, I'm not qualified to serve on the clergy,” you explained, “because I wasn't nominated by the clergy— I was nominated, well, by my husband. So, mainly my job is to support him…”

“Did you grow up in the church?” Sister Perita asked politely.

“Well, yes and no,” you replied.  “I wasn’t raised a Satanist, so not in the traditional sense— but I ran away to join the church when I was still just a teenager… ever since then, up until rather recently, I was living in convents much like this one.”

That seemed to surprise Sister Triette.  “You really were another Sister of Sin, just like us?” she observed.

It wasn’t until then that you realized they didn't just find you interesting, but that they looked up to you— a role model of sorts, a Sister like them who was perceived as achieving some kind of greatness; it was sweet, even if you felt their admiration was misplaced.  “Yes, I was,” you nodded.

“Did you work closely with the Papa?” Sister Mila asked.

“No, my role mostly involved stewardship, administration, occasional gardening—”

That seemed to confuse them.  “So, then, how'd you fall in love?” Sister Perita wondered.

Your eyes widened; maybe you should've seen some of these questions coming and had answers prepared, but you were completely caught off-guard in that moment.  “O-oh, um, it's not a very interesting story…”

“No no, please!  We've all been dying to know since we heard you two were coming!” Camille insisted.

The Sisters leaned in excitedly in anticipation; you hadn't realized the news of your marriage had so much impact.  Then again, Copia was technically a celebrity— you just weren't used to his popularity outside of your own church.  “You're not all just trying to get pointers to seducing clergy so you can get a promotion, right?” you wondered with a frown.

“No!  We just want to hear how you two met,” Perita explained, “and how you realized you loved each other— and how he proposed!”

They all clapped and giggled excitedly, but all you could manage was a nervous grin.  The real story was definitely not going to satisfy them; you felt guilty imagining disappointing them with some clinical explanation of it all.  “W-well, how we met is sort of… obvious, I guess.  We met in Mass, when he was the Papa— he served me communion.  I didn't know him as a cardinal, I hadn't moved to his church yet, but he… well, I was pretty intimidated by him.  You can't blame me— it's the Papa, after all…”

Up until then, you had told the truth— but you started, for lack of a better term, winging it at that point.

“The first time we spoke— it was an unexpected thing, you see.  We bumped into each other, literally; I wasn't paying attention and he was rushing to get to a clergy meeting— I helped him pick up some books he’d dropped.” 

Clichéd?  Absolutely, but you felt like that was ultimately what they wanted to here: a too-good-to-be-true story about how an ordinary Sister was swept off her feet by such an important man.  Why the Papa would be running around carrying a stack of books is an absurd question for another day…

“We got to talking… we had more in common than we expected.  We bonded over—” you fought back a smirk as you figured out an easy lie— “slushies, actually. He said that traveling with the band meant hardly ever being in the same place, but that there was almost always a convenience store with slushies wherever he was. They became a comfort, I suppose.”

You decided not to go on and say that the two of you had played strip croquet together… probably too obvious of a reference.

“We were just friends for some time, but eventually we started to grow real feelings for each other,” you concluded simply.

They broke out into a collective aww; “What's he like?  You know, when he's not in front of so many people.”

“Um… he's not that different, I guess,” you mumbled, “maybe not as dramatic.  But he's so sensitive, too, and gentle…”

“I’ve always thought he would be that way,” Sister Lascivia agreed, “but intense, too, you know— like, dominating.”

You choked on your own throat for a second.  Why were you thinking about him at all?  “U-um, what makes you say that?” you wondered.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, biting back a grin, “he just seems that way.”

“Y-you mean, on stage?” you pressed, but the line of questioning shifted suddenly when Sister Perita interrupted.

“And the proposal?  It must have been some fantastic gesture!” she assumed.  “Only fitting for a rockstar, right?”

“You’d think, but he doesn't really act like that… he's so humble.  Actually, it was very intimate,” you decided.  “He knows I can get a little overwhelmed with those big crowds, so instead we went out in a— um, little rowboat onto the lake nearby our church, right around sunset, and watched the stars come out… he played a little guitar for me, just to be nice because he knows I love how he plays— and then under the full moon, he told me that, uh…”

Why was your heart racing?  Why could you picture it so clearly in your mind, as if you weren’t just making it all up as you went along?

“That meeting me had made his heart whole,” you concluded.  “That he couldn't go on unless he knew we were going to spend the rest of our lives together… and he showed me the ring and— and, you know, all that.  Of course, I said yes right away.”

“Oh wow,” Sister Mila cooed— she looked as close to having heart-shaped irises as you’d ever seen anyone in real life.

But of course, another had to chime in as well: “And you don't get jealous, knowing how popular he is?  Plenty of people would kill for your spot, you know.”

You willed your eye not to twitch.  “He's, um… he's never given me any reason to be jealous,”   He's loyal, he always has been, even when we were just dating.  B-but we didn't date very long before we married…”

You realized you couldn’t retroactively ascribe some kind of fidelity to him— after all, he’d been a rockstar (as Perita had put it) on tour… 

And he’d been to this church before.  Your heart almost stopped as the sick thought entered your mind that he could’ve, potentially, hooked up with any of the people in this room; certainly Sister Lascivia would’ve probably jumped him if she got the chance, but she was far from the only candidate.  Come on, he was Papa fucking Emeritus the fucking IV, he had his pick of the litter if he so desired.

You knew it shouldn’t make any difference to you, you knew it was none of your business and you had no right to worry about it— but just the idea of him with one of them— with anyone—

“I guess he married you so quickly because he loves you so much,” Sister Nomina smiled.

You smiled back, even if you felt like you were still trying to keep bile down.  “Yes, I guess so.”

“And now you’re married to the head of the clergy; it’s like a fairytale or something!” Sister Mila beamed, clutching her hands together.

What kind of fairytales is this girl reading? “It all really has nothing to do with his status— Frater, Papa, Cardinal, he could be a janitor for all I care,” you assured her.  “I married him because he's the most patient, talented, generous man—”

You noticed the way many of them seemed to straighten up suddenly, the way Sister Perita’s eyes widened, and you spun over your shoulder to see Copia sauntering up behind you.  He had a good poker face, but there was an obvious smugness to it.  “What’s that they say?  Speak of the devil?” he mused as he leaned against the doorway.

“Oh, hello… dear,” you blurted out— seems you’d used up all your creativity on that fake meet-cute and proposal, didn’t have any left for a good term of endearment.  

“You’re not telling stories again, are you?” he asked, approaching you slowly, the slightest swagger in his step.

“Everyone’s very curious about you,” you explained.

“No, I don’t think so,” he denied, “they already know about me— they’re curious about us.”

Us sounded so nice when he said it like that.  He touched your shoulder for a moment, sliding his hand down to clasp at your upper arm.  Paradoxically, he acted more confident with an audience; you couldn’t tell if this was for your benefit, or theirs.

“Don’t go running off without me, hm?” he scolded sweetly.

“Yes, Frater,” you answered politely, wondering afterwards if it was too formal.

It didn’t seem to deter him: he brought his hand to your chin and held it delicately, keeping your head tilted up towards him.  “I worry when I lose sight of you,” he explained.  “We have to get ready for Mass soon, will you meet me at the chancel before the service begins?”

“Of course,” you agreed, smiling a little as he looked down at you so… lovingly?  Could that be the word?

You wondered if he would kiss you right then— you hadn’t kissed in public since your first kiss, and you thought you wanted to keep it that way… but wouldn’t it be a little fun, to show him off just a bit in front of these ladies?  Wouldn’t it be the best way to rub it in that he chose you?

Instead he only stroked your jaw with his thumb for a second, before letting go of you and stepping back.  He gave only one moment of attention to the women around you— with a quick bow of greeting and a polite “Sisters” — before spinning on his heel and departing.

You pressed your lips together and kept your eyes on the door even after he was gone; there was a heavy silence until the echoes of his steps down the hall faded.  Then they all broke into the squealy, girlish reactions you were expecting.

“Great Belial below!” “He’s so sensual!” “You can tell he’s completely enamoured with you!”

“O-oh, enamoured?” you repeated sheepishly.  “I don’t know, he’s just— like that…”

But your face warmed and you had to reach up to partially cover it with your hand— you didn’t want them to see your growing smile, in case someone asked why you were so giddy over a small interaction with your own husband.  

You departed from the convent not too long after that, knowing you didn’t have much time before Mass began and wanting to give yourself time to navigate to the chapel.  A walk through the church alone would’ve been a nice opportunity to clear your head, if your head was actually capable of clearing— but no, instead it was swirling with memories.  Memories all the way back as that first time he served you the body and blood, when he’d apparently taken an interest in you which eventually lead to this; memories as recent as the way he’d touched you just before.

Did it still make you feel a little nauseous knowing Sister Lascivia— and likely tens of thousands of other people— were somewhere out there thinking about how dominating he must be?  Yes, but you also felt a little proud of yourself… because that’s all they had, their thoughts.  You actually had a shot at finding out for yourself.

If you ever found the nerve, that is; regardless, you tried to push that thought process aside and actually listen to the priest as he officiated Mass that evening.  Of course, you really weren’t able to do that until being mentioned by name got your attention.

“And we have some visitors this Mass!” the priest announced.  “Frater Imperator and Sister Imperator Consortia—they’ve come all the way from the church of Ghost in Sweden!  Give them a warm welcome, will you?”

As the congregation applauded, Copia stood up; you followed suit quickly, getting a good look at the sea of people in pews all looking at you both.  You hadn’t seen a crowd like this since your wedding.  

Your smile was genuine but flustered when Copia placed his decorated hand on your shoulder; it already made your heart tremble when he did it in front of a few Sisters of Sin, this was on a whole new level.  He guided you a little closer to him, tucking you into his side, and you looked out over the massive crowd before glancing at the glove on your shoulder— namely, the wedding ring on it.

Then you looked at his face, at how polite and distinguished he looked standing before all these people.  “What do I do?” you asked your husband in a whisper.

“Hm?” he pressed, only briefly glancing at you.

“With all this attention,” you clarified, “what am I meant to do?”

“Just smile,” he encouraged.  “All they want is to see you.  Just give them a smile, maybe a little wave if you’re feeling generous.”

He was a showman, he knew what he was doing— you tried to copy him, with moderate success.  It was comforting, somehow, to see him in his element.  Unfortunately, how comfortable he was here only served as kindling for the flame of insecurity in the back of your mind.  Because he’s him, and you’re just… you.

And there in that sea of congregation members were plenty of those people you’d had mentioned to you before: the ones who would kill to have your spot.

~

“You should be proud of yourself,” he grinned as he took his seat across from you on the jet once again— it felt like so much had happened since the last time you were here.  “You shouldn’t be so adverse to social engagements, you’re a natural.”

“No, definitely not,” you laughed a bit, “but I didn’t hate it as much as I thought I would.  You made it easier for me.”

“They love you already, darling,” he promised, and the casual affectionate name made you smile even more, though you tried to hide it from him.  “So does everyone back at our church— anyone who knows you would, really.”

Your heart swelled, but you just hummed and looked away in lieu of responding.  

Of course, as soon as your heart was happy, your brain had to pop in and ruin it: that smile on Sister Lascivia’s face, the way she was so clearly picturing your husband in some kind of compromising way.  And the horrible, sick idea that maybe she didn’t have to just imagine it.

Copia was already prepared for a quiet flight— he had his legs crossed and a book open in his lap, his chin resting on one of his hands as he read.  You looked at him for a moment, appreciating how calm he seemed to always be; sometimes it was hard to believe he was the same man with that rockstar reputation, but you knew it was too naive to assume just because he could be quiet that he must not have lived to the fullest in his time as the Papa.

You managed to distract yourself by watching out the window as the jet took off, but once you were high enough to break through the clouds, the view was basically just white light and was not nearly interesting enough to keep your mind occupied.

It shouldn’t have even mattered!  So what if he was a bit more intimately acquainted with someone you’d met on that trip?  It didn’t make any difference now.  Yet, it was all you could think of, and even knowing it would only bring you pain, you compared yourself to her— she was quite pretty, after all, even with that habit covering up most of her.  Maybe she was more his type… maybe she was exactly his type.

By that point you’d basically convinced yourself it was true, without any evidence at all.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, but for some reason you couldn’t seem to hold back the words forming there.  “Do you know any of the Sisters there?” you heard yourself ask before you could stop yourself.  “I-I mean, did you know any of them before today...”

“Eh… no, I don’t think so,” he mumbled.

“But you’ve been to the church before,” you recalled, “you know Comis.”

“Well, yes, he’s their main ambassador— Sisters come and go, you know.”

You nodded, and he looked back down at his book.  You let the moment rest for a few seconds that felt like an eternity.  “It’s just that—”

He sighed a little and shut his book.

“They seemed to be so fascinated by you,” you explained.  “I think you had quite a few fans there.”

“Fans?  You mean, the band?” he raised an eyebrow, and you nodded.  “Then that’s not me, is it?  I just sang for a while— I’m interchangeable, by design.”

“But still— you were, are, so popular.”

“Eh… if you say so…”

“Come on,” you tilted your head, a bit of frustration leaking into your tone, “don’t be like that— you know what you’re doing.”

He looked a little confused, if not almost hurt by the implied accusation of deceitfulness.  “What are you asking me about?” he pressed, narrowing his eyes.

“Did you fuck any of them?”

Your eyes widened when you heard yourself say it— you really couldn’t believe you’d just word-vomited it out like that.  He seemed a little shocked, too, but much more amused than anything.  You didn’t like it at all, the way he smiled; it made you feel even more stupid for asking it, for thinking it even.

“I’m sorry,” you said instantly, “I shouldn’t have—” I shouldn’t have started this conversation while we’re trapped together for four hours, for one thing— “it’s not my place.  Forget I asked, it doesn’t matter.”

“Now now,” he cooed, “if it concerns you, then it matters.”

He was teasing you— dangling it in front of you.  “It doesn’t concern me,” you assured, “in every sense of the word— it’s none of my concern.”

“You look concerned.”

“Yes, but… that's my problem, not yours.”

He sighed, looking at you as if he were a little disappointed for some reason.  “Do you remember our vows, tesoro?”

You swallowed thickly.  Not really, I'm pretty sure I was in the middle of an anxiety-induced blackout.  “Uh…” you stalled.

“We agreed to care for each other, to share our hearts forever,” he reminded you.  “That means that if something upsets you, then it upsets me.  Even if you think it's silly— and from what I can tell, it's not.”

“Of course it is,” you rolled your eyes.  “It's silly to ask a famous musician if he slept with any fans— of course you did.”

“I did,” he admitted, “but surely not with the frequency you're imagining.  And not with anyone in Brussels, if that's any comfort.”

You crossed your arms over yourself self-consciously, looking out the window even though the cloudy scenery hadn't changed much.

“Of course I've had lovers before— you have too, I know.  I hope we won't hold that against each other.”

“Yes, of course,” you sighed.  “Obviously I never expected, or even wanted, either of us to be virginal or something, Satan forbid.  And there's nothing wrong with you meeting women on the road, either… it's just… is it wrong that thinking about it makes me kind of want to strangle someone?”

He laughed; “No,” he assured, “I don't think so.”

Unfortunately, he was right— that talking about it made you feel a little better.  

“Is it wrong that I think you're especially sexy when you're jealous?”

Your throat caught and you looked away from him quickly, holding your face in your hand as an excuse to cover it, but he obviously noticed the way you crossed your legs tightly.  His eyes raked over you, you could feel it somehow even when you were refusing to actually look back at him.

“I don’t think you have much right to be so shy, after asking me such personal questions,” he purred.  

“I-I’m not being shy,” you denied in a mumble, “I just didn’t expect you to say that.”

“I hope it doesn’t offend you—”

“No!  No,” you assured quickly, letting go of your heated face to look down into your lap.  “You’re being sweet, thank you.”

“It’s only the truth,” he insisted.  “Let’s always tell each other that, alright?  Just the truth.”

You nodded in agreement, finding the strength to meet his gaze again; the look in his eyes was just like the one he’d had when he found you in the convent.  It must not have been just for show, then… 

“Promise you’ll get some rest while we fly,” he sighed, “we won’t be landing until the late evening and we have quite a day ahead tomorrow.”

You only remembered it right then: your wedding reception.  As if you hadn’t had enough excitement for a lifetime in this week already.

~

It was a unique reception in a number of ways, probably too many to count.  First of all, most receptions happen right after the wedding, of course— but late night Masses left little time for that.  Secondly, receptions usually have speeches and sentimental things for the families of the betrothed; while Copia’s family of phantasms were in attendance, they didn’t have much to say, and what could they say?  They didn’t even know you.  So, instead, your reception was much more of the good stuff: dancing, eating, drinking, and good old-fashioned partying.

And then there was, you know, the demonic statues and sacrifices.  But that, to you, wasn’t so out of the ordinary.

You were seated at the head table with him, watching the crowd in all their merriment, feeling an odd sense of pride— of responsibility for all this joy.  It wasn’t like you’d planned this, it was a gift from the clergy who had done the work of putting it together, but technically you were half of what was being celebrated.

Maybe it was just appreciation for home, after your trip to Brussels.  It was always nice to see familiar faces filled with joy.

He leaned in closer to you so you could hear him over the music as he spoke, and you felt his breath on your shoulder.  “I'm sorry we didn't have time for this sooner,” he said.

“Oh!  I wouldn't have known what to do if we'd done it any sooner,” you admitted with a laugh.  Not that you especially knew what to do now— but you at least, by now, knew how to fake knowing what to do.

“And I’m sorry we couldn’t do something a little more traditional,” he added.

“Traditional?” you repeated with a laugh.

“What’s that American thing, where they feed each other the wedding cake?” he raised an eyebrow.  “Maybe we should have done that… I’ve always thought it looked sweet.”

You had no idea he had any opinions about things like that; it was endearing to imagine he ended up watching wedding videos at some point and wanted something like that for himself.  “Well, we can still do that another time,” you offered, “when there aren’t so many people watching.”

Again, you didn’t quite put together how that sounded until he cleared his throat and his cheeks pinkened at bit; of course it sounded suggestive when you phrased it like that, how could you have not seen that coming?!

Before you could correct yourself, though— or decide if you actually did need to correct anything— the ghouls on the chancel began playing a familiar song.

It didn’t sound the same, of course, with another singer filling in, but you could so easily hear Copia’s voice in those words:  You'll soon be hearing the chime, close to midnight…

He stood up suddenly, and you looked up at him.  “May I have this dance, cara mia?” he asked with an extended hand.

You took it with a smile; “I think one of the privileges of marriage is that you don't have to ask me that.”

Guiding you to the dancefloor, it felt like one of those movie scenes with the way the crowd parted for you on their own.  Was there a spotlight on you or was that just your imagination?

One of the few things you'd known about him before marrying him was that he was quite a dancer— what you hadn't known until now was how much you enjoyed dancing.  He made it easy, guiding you through the moves so well that people would probably think you had more experience than you did.

You had every right to be nervous, and you were, but for the first time it felt sort of… good?  Surely the alcohol in your system was aiding you, but it wasn’t just that.  Your heart was racing but you didn’t feel the urge to run and hide; he was smiling at you, he was pulling you closer, and for just a few moments you were suddenly fearless.

I just wanna be, wanna bewitch you in the moonlight

I just wanna be, wanna bewitch you all night

He spun and dipped you, making you laugh with exhilaration.  When he pulled you back up, the look in his eyes almost took your breath away… so determined, yet romantic and vulnerable.  A look you felt like only he could pull off.

If the song’s lyrics were some sort of manifestation, then it was working: you were totally bewitched by him.  It was just the two of you and the music playing, it was just his hands holding and guiding you, it was just this perfect moment that you could hardly believe was happening to you.  Weren’t you just an ordinary Sister this time two weeks ago?

You knew when the song was nearly over, and when he spun you one more time and pulled you into him, your hand came up to the side of his face, your leg lifted to slightly straddle his side… your eyes drifted down to his lips.

Just one more split-second and you would’ve kissed him.  Not just any kiss, you would’ve kissed him like you never had before— like nobody ever had before.  

But the crowd of people around you instead began to proudly clap and cheer, and it tore you out of the moment; honestly, you’d sort of forgotten you were surrounded by all the guests.  You looked away from Copia and smiled at the people who had watched you dance, hardly even noticing that he never stopped looking at you.

It went by too quickly— not just the song but the whole night.  All too soon, you were back in your room; ears still ringing, heart still thumping, and (less enjoyably) feet still a little bit sore from dancing in new shoes despite having changed into your night clothes and comfy socks already.

As Copia walked to his side of the bed in his own signature embroidered pyjamas, you fell back on the bed limply, laying your arms out wide and staring up at the ceiling with a sigh— a happy sigh of course, a does this night really have to end? sigh.  “That was wonderful,” you announced with a beaming smile.  “I didn't think I'd enjoy it so much, but it was perfect.”

“I hoped you would,” Copia agreed.  “You've seemed so tense— I'm not sure I ever saw you looking so relaxed, and joyful… you look so beautiful that way.”

“Y-you don't have to flatter me,” you mumbled, pulling your arms back in towards yourself as tilted your head back to look at him— upside down, but still at him.

“Of course, I never would,” he assured, laying down carefully on the bed beside you.  “It's just the truth.  I bet everyone was as taken with you as I was… but only I got to dance with you.”

You smiled a little more softly, admiring how sweet he could be— a side of him you felt privileged to see so close.  You wanted to say something, but you really had no idea how to respond to a statement like that, or even how to just take the compliment.

“Can I tell you something?” he asked quietly.

“O-of course,” you answered, “you can tell me anything.”

“I-I'm a little embarrassed,” he admitted with a soft laugh, “but I… I've seen Heathers.”

You tilted your head, laughing in confusion.

“I don't know why I lied to you before,” he shook his head, “I know it quite well— I saw it in theaters when it was released!  I just— I thought— I'm not sure.  I guess I liked you explaining it to me.”

Your heart jumped, and you looked down at the bed under you sheepishly, as if your finger tracing the pattern on the quilt was fascinating all of a sudden.

“I wanted to give you an excuse to talk to me,” he added.

“You… you could've just… talked,” you told him quietly.  “It wasn't like I would've ignored you.”

“Yes, I know,” he sighed, “but the moment never felt right.”

“How does the moment feel now?” you asked shyly.

“Oh, tesoro, everything about tonight feels perfect.”

Your heart skipped a beat; everything?

You wondered, of course, if he would try something again; it was hard not to imagine that, since this was such a similar set of circumstances to that very first night.  But it felt so different, too— it felt less terrifying, for one thing, and less confusing.

But instead of letting yourself wonder about that for too long— afraid he’d somehow see it on your face, and know what you were picturing— you sat up a little bit and propped yourself up on your elbows.

“I asked why you chose me already,” you began, “but I never asked the bigger question, did I?  That is, why you got married at all.”

He sighed shortly before he answered.  “My mother, she asked me to get married.  At first, I thought it was just the will of the clergy.  I understand now it was much more than that.”

“She wanted you to be happy,” you assumed.

“Yes, yes…” he trailed off, looking to the side.  “She knew I didn't want to be alone anymore.”

Your heart twisted a little; “I figure the Papa himself never has to be alone,” you mumbled through a sheepish smile.  “You could take anyone to bed you wanted, a new companion every night.”

He chuckled a little.  “I think you know that's not what I mean— I learned better than anyone that being by oneself and being alone are different things,” he explained.  “Even if I did find the time and energy for a thousand lovers, I would've still been lonely without a real partner… something to call my own.  But I never had the time— or, I told myself that, to justify why I didn't have anyone.”

You understood that better than he could know— better than you wanted to realize.

“My parents loved each other, but spent most of their lives apart,” he explained.  “I don't want to be like that.  I don't want to have something beautiful and let it go to waste.”

He looked at you right then, and it seemed like it meant something but you wouldn't let yourself imagine what.

“Could I kiss you again?” he asked softly.  It sort of completely caught you off-guard, not what he said but the way he said it: the unsureness in his voice, the slight flush on his face.

You didn't answer with words, you simply reached up and brushed your fingers through the hair at his temple, where it was turning silver— another reminder of how long he'd been alone. 

You moved your hand in to cradle his face, leaning closer.

There was something shockingly comfortable about it, like you'd known each other for years.  You had grown to care for him, you couldn't deny that, but you surprised even yourself by how you pulled him closer as he kissed you.

It brought back memories of your wedding night, of course, and you couldn't decide if it felt like just yesterday or months ago.  All that fear and anxiety you'd been nearly crushed by then— it was only a distant memory, to the point that it was almost hard to believe you were the same person who had felt all that.

In some ways, you weren't.

His hand gently rested on your side, before carefully moving around to your lower back to keep you pressed against him.  Why did that feel so perfect?  His head tilted a little more, his kiss deepened a little more, you sighed a little heavier. 

As he pulled away, he looked into your eyes; you saw something new and totally indescribable in them.

If he kisses me again, I won't be able to say no to him, you realized.

He only smiled at you gently, his fingers brushing over your cheek.  “Goodnight, darling,” he offered quietly.

You were still in shock just a bit as he kissed your temple softly, before pulling back and turning to face away from you as he climbed under the covers.  Blinking quickly, you wondered if you would've asked him not to stop if he'd given you a chance.

Slowly laying down yourself, you faced towards him and sighed a little as you looked at the back of him.

You stared at him for so long that night, watching him sleep, willing yourself to just reach over and wake him; to run your fingers through his hair until he stirred and turned to face you.  And then you wouldn’t have to say anything, you could just kiss him and he’d understand.  All you had to do was lift your hand and touch him… then his arms would be around you, his lips would be on you, his weight would press you into the bed…

You fell asleep before you ever found the nerve.  But that’s not to say you fell asleep quickly; no, not at all.

[super-cosmic-library]

staring at you staring at me

written for @steddie-week day 3: mutual pining

wc: 1085 I rating: G I tags: alpha steve harrington, omega eddie munson, courting, happy ending I [ao3]

“If you don’t stop staring at him, I’m going to tell Keith you’ve been slacking on the job.”

“You wouldn’t,” Steve says, turning away from watching Eddie examine every single VHS in the horror section of Family Video.

“No, I wouldn’t,” Robin agrees. “Did you know he tried asking me out again?”

“What the fuck? What’s wrong with him?”

“I could give you a list. First off, he needs a better deodorant, his sense of humor is abysmal, he thinks that women can hold their periods in like pee, he doesn’t know what the Loch Ness Monster is, he . . .”

Steve glances back at Eddie as his best friend continues to prattle on about their manager’s flaws. Eddie’s examining the same copy of Friday the 13th he’d looked at the day before. Steve loves the way the omega’s face scrunches up as he reads the synopsis before putting it back on the shelf and moving on to the next film.

Eddie’s attention flickers over to them, catching the alpha’s eyes. Steve gives him a little finger wave, which has Eddie pulling a chuck of hair in front of his face to hide behind.

“Steve, are you even listening to me?”

“Uh, yeah,” he whips around to look back at her, trying to recall the last thing she’d said. “Keith calls mashed avocados guacamole.”

“It’s just avocado, salt, and lime juice, Steve! That’s not guacamole!”

“Yeah, no, totally.” His gaze wanders back to Eddie, who’s now examining Fright Night.

“Just court him already.”

It’s a discussion they’d had repeatedly over the past several months. Steve had come up with excuses to not court the omega every time, ranging from giving him time to heal from his demobat wounds to having to kill Vecna again to Steve just having a bad hair day.

“My hair can’t be a mess if I’m going to start courting someone. It’s my best feature.” Steve had said.

Now, though, after months of excuses, he doesn’t have the energy for anything less than the truth. “What if he doesn’t want me?”

Robin raises an eyebrow at that. “Really? You think that Eddie doesn’t want you?”

“Well, yeah. I’m not exactly the type of alpha a guy like Eddie would go for. I mean, you’ve heard his cafeteria rants. I represent everything Eddie hates in the world.”

“He hates secretly nerdy guys who fight monsters and mother pups that don’t belong to him?”

“Preps,” he gestures to his starched polo and jeans. “He hates preps and rich kids.”

“Well, you’re not exactly rich anymore.”

She’s right. His parents had cut him off back in June when they found out once again that he’d not been accepted into any of the colleges they’d wanted him to apply for. In the year since he had graduated, his parents had expected that he would use the free time to round out his character and develop more “real world” experience to make his college applications more appealing to admissions boards. Unfortunately for them, the colleges they’d demanded he apply to required better greats than the ones he’d eeked by with. So his dad decided to cut him loose. Now, he rents the Henderson’s basement from Claudia, happy to help out around the house and get more time to torment Dustin like a real brother would.

“Come on, Steve. He’s in here practically every day for hours at a time, browsing the same selection of movies and making eyes at you. I mean, have you ever even seen him rent a VHS?”

“That’s because I rent them for him with my employee discount.”

“Does he even watch them?”

“Yeah, we watch them in the trailer for our weekly movie nights. I’ve told you about them, Rob.”

“Uh huh, uh huh,” she nods. “And how, exactly, do you two sit when you ‘watch’ these movies? Opposite ends of the couch? Separate seats entirely? Cause I’m willing to bet that not only do you cuddle during them, but Eddie initiates it.”

She’s right. But friends can cuddle without being romantically interested in each other. He and Robin cuddle sometimes. He and Tommy used to cuddle all the time before they drifted apart. Cuddling doesn’t mean Eddie’s interested in being courted by him.

He repeats the sentiment to her.

“I’m just saying, I think he’d be interested if you court him.”

“She’s right.”

Steve practically jumps out of his skin. He hadn’t heard Eddie approach the circulation counter. Embarrassment floods his cheeks. “Eddie, what–”

“You know I can hear everything you guys say, right? This place isn’t that big, and your voices are loud.”

Steve wants to shrivel up in a hole and die. He’s going to have to change his identity and move to a different state in order to escape his mortification. He’s going to have to–wait. Did he say . . .

“Did you say she was right?”

“Yeah. I feel like I’m going crazy with anticipation for when you start courting me,” Eddie easily admits. “I would have started courting you, but you seem like the kind of guy who’s traditional in that sense.”

Oh, god. He gets to court Eddie. Eddie wants him to court him. This revelation makes him want to sprint home to grab the gifts he’s been accumulating over the past few months and give them all to him at once.

Calm down, tiger. No need to rush it. Eddie deserves a proper courting ritual.

“So, when I ask to court you, you’re going to say yes?” His thoughts are in overdrive. He needs the confirmation before he gets ahead of himself with planning.

“Yes,” Eddie smiles.

Steve takes in a deep breath. “Eddie, sweetie, I’m going to need you to leave.”

The omega’s face falls. “What? Why?”

“Because I’m going to start freaking out in a really embarrassing way, and I don’t want you to see it. And,” he shoots him the signature Harrington smile. “I’ve got to start planning out our first date.”

Eddie pulls his hair in front of his face, swaying on the balls of his feet. “Will I still see you for our movie night tonight?”

“Wouldn’t dream of missing it. You still want Beetlejuice?”

Eddie nods.

“See you at eight, then.” He gives him a wink.

As soon as the shop door closes, Steve turns on Robin, eager to start talking through all his ideas until he comes up with the world’s best and most perfect first date.

The beta slumps against the counter. “Oh, god, what have I done?”

[jacksonekennedy]

The last six weeks had been the most invasive, probing moments of his entire life. Jack had been used to living under a microscope, but this was different. His squeaky clean reputation was no more. Six weeks ago, his divorce from his wife was made public, despite having been separated for several months before that. Sophia had very conveniently waited until the FOIA request from the shitty tabloids had been fulfilled.

Yes. His wife filed for divorce on the day that Jack’s arrest had been made public.

Now, his life consisted of dodging sleazy reporters and paparazzi, long discussions with an expensive team of lawyers, and an upcoming disciplinary hearing. Jack’s team was working fervently to fix his image, all while he hid out in his Westport home.

Somehow, he'd been talked into an extensive, week long interview with a reporter from New York. She was apparently an excellent writer, and Jack was under strict instruction to be as personable as possible. Likable. Maybe even remorseful due to his recent controversies. But not so regretful or likable that it seemed rehearsed.

Jack didn’t feel like facing the public, so he’d agreed to host the reporter at his home. She was there to observe, essentially. Every bit of his life, dissected by a stranger.

Which is why Jack had kept her waiting. Thirty minutes. He wasn’t doing anything important. He was reclined in his office chair, feet propped up on his wooden desk as the newest Kendrick Lamar album played at an obscenely loud volume.

His office door swung open, and one of his staff members seemed shocked that Jack was just … sitting there, hitting his vape.

Abby tried to speak, but Jack couldn’t hear her. She seemed flustered. She motioned for Jack to turn the volume down, and he did — slightly.

“Um, I don’t know if anyone told you, but Ms. Shaw is waiting downstairs, and—”

“Ohhh. Fuck. I forgot that was today.” Jack said, sitting up. “That’s the one doing the photoshoot, right?”

Abby’s eyes widened.

“N-no. She’s the reporter from New York? We spent hours going over questions with you last night?”

“I’m fucking with you.”

Jack flashed her an apologetic smile. He finally turned his music off, took another hit from his vape, before following Abby down the stairs.

He walked into the living room area, and … there she sat. She was … young. Late twenties, early thirties? Black hair. The bluest eyes he’d ever seen. She wasn’t old and decrepit like he’d been imagining this entire time.

What was her name again?

“Sorry about the wait. I lost track of time,” he told the reporter, extending a hand. “I’m Jackson. Jack.”

[floralcyanide]

― ᴅᴀᴛɪɴɢ ᴊᴀᴠɪ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴs

headcanons of you being friends with Javi and it leading to something more in the future.

↝ pairing: Javier "Javi" Rivera / Gender Neutral!Reader

↝ warnings: SPOILERS FOR TWISTERS (2024), friends to lovers, kissing, innuendo, mentions of injury/ scarring

↝ word count: 1k

↝ author's note: this was requested by anonymous! thank you for the request, and for the others who have sent some in, I will be getting to to them soon! (: enjoy more Javi content ♡

masterlist ⋇ divider credit: @saradika | @cafekitsune

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

✲ You and Javi were thick as thieves all throughout school. You were those two best friends who stuck together no matter what came at you. Even when you harbored a major crush on Javi, you still remained his partner in crime. There wasn’t anything separating you two.

✲ The two of you went on to college together, even. Working in the same field, nonetheless. You meet Kate, Raveen, Addy, and Jeb in environmental science class. All of you worked together on a grand project that Kate had proposed. And the time came for you all to go out in the field and conduct the research.

✲ It goes horribly wrong very quickly. You ended up injured just like Kate, except you have a nasty scar on your arm instead. You, Javi, and Kate are the only ones who survived the ordeal, and after that, communication slowly comes to an end between the three of you.

✲ You lose touch with Javi when he leaves for the military. The storm changed him, and he wasn’t really the same after. Neither were you, but you still deeply cared about Javi and hated to see him go. You tried sending letters and even calling but to no avail.

✲ 5 years have passed, and you’re now an environmental science professor specializing in tornadic weather. You work closely with meteorologists for research purposes. You have written several essays, books, and even textbooks on weather phenomena. 

✲ It’s a normal day when you get a call from an unknown number. Usually, you don’t answer them, but this time something inside you said you should. Much to your surprise, it’s Javi. 

✲ “Hello?” you answer after accepting the call. “It’s so nice to hear your voice again.” a familiar voice says. “Javi Rivera? Is that you?” you immediately close your laptop, sitting in your office chair, nearly frozen in place. 

✲ Javi explains that the company he works for is trying to find a way to stop tornadoes or at least learn how they work, and they need your help. He tries to say you’re one of the best in the field. “Just one of the best, huh? Who else did you call before me?” “I’ll be honest, we called Kate. But she didn’t want anything to do with it.”

✲ You agree to meet with Javi to discuss the project further. The day comes for you to see Javi again, and you’re beyond nervous. But when you arrive at the cafe, and he’s sitting there, all that nervousness fades away and is replaced by those old feelings of butterflies. 

✲ After talking about the company’s ideas, you veer off-topic. You notice Javi staring at you with an expression you can’t quite put your finger on. “What is it?” you ask. “Nothing, I just didn’t expect you to be so much more beautiful now.” Javi smiles as a tinge of red dusts his cheeks at the confession. “Well, if it helps, I didn’t expect you to be more handsome, but I’ve always thought you were.”

✲ A deep conversation leads to both of you finding out you had liked each other all those years and even now. A considerable amount of time has passed, and you realize you must head home for work early the next morning. Javi walks you outside to hail a taxi, but before you climb inside the backseat, he grabs your face and kisses you. It’s sudden, and you aren’t expecting it, but you kiss back. It isn’t until the taxi driver honks his horn that you pull away. 

✲ “Let me know what you think, okay?” Javi says. “About you or chasing again?” you ask, a playful smile on your lips. “Both.” 

✲ Chasing with Javi knowing how you feel about each other is a little more nerve-wracking than it probably would have been if you hadn’t known. Especially since you feel the need to be in the truck with him every time you go somewhere or worry incessantly every time you go to put out the panels during a tornado. You’re afraid something is going to happen again.

✲ But it all fades away eventually. You succeed in the project and are able to create an early-warning system and have enough data to possibly get rid of tornadoes all together. You and Javi decide to go on a proper date after everything settles. 

✲ It’s a simple picnic out in the fields of Oklahoma, but you don’t mind. It’s where everything started with you and Javi, anyway. You thought you’d never come back here, yet here you are. “Can I say something?” Javi asks suddenly after a few minutes of silence. He stares at the clear sky for a moment before turning to you, “I’m sorry I left you behind here. And I’m sorry I never reached out while in the military. I just didn’t know when I’d be coming home or if I’d be coming home, actually.” “I understand, Javi. You don’t have to apologize.” “I kept your letters. I got them all, and I still have them.” 

✲ Javi is taken by surprise when you lean in and return the kiss he gave you weeks ago back in the city. But he kisses back, of course. “I’m glad you kept them, Javi. I just wish you would have at least responded to one,” you chuckle. 

✲ The two of you end up working side-by-side on the project to take down tornadoes once and for all. Your relationship blossoms as you get to know each other all over again. Javi treats you like royalty, always running to open the car door for you, drawing your baths, and cooking you dinner. He always ensures you’re taken care of and makes up for lost time.

✲ Oh, there’s a lot of making up, for sure. Sometimes, you have to sneak into a storage closet at work to compensate. It’s for all those times you and Javi thought about doing something about your attraction yet never did. But there’s the rest of your lives now.

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: Reset (Again and Again…)

Day 1 (First Attempt)

You stood at the kitchen sink, gripping your coffee mug like it was the only thing tethering you to reality. Behind you, Marshall sat at the table, sipping his own coffee, flipping through his phone, and very loudly existing.

You weren’t supposed to acknowledge him.

This trial separation wasn’t a normal one—your marriage counselor had suggested something drastic: a thirty-day same-house separation where you couldn’t talk, couldn’t touch, couldn’t interact beyond discussing the kids. The point was to see if you could actually live without each other, to determine whether divorce was truly the answer or if there was something still worth fighting for.

The first two hours were hell.

By lunch, Marshall was already getting on your nerves—not because he was doing anything, but because he wasn’t doing anything. He was just there, like a ghost of the life you were trying to decide if you wanted to let go of.

By dinner, he broke first.

"Are we seriously not talking at all?" he asked, shoving a bite of food in his mouth.

You glanced up at him from across the table, ignoring the warmth that bloomed in your chest at his voice. "Marshall—"

"Come on, babe. This is stupid," he grumbled. "We’re literally eating dinner together."

You sighed. "We agreed to this."

"No, you agreed to it. I just nodded because our marriage counselor told me to."

You rolled your eyes, taking another bite.

Marshall’s foot nudged yours under the table.

You looked at him sharply.

He smirked.

You were doomed.

Day 6 (First Restart)

The marriage counselor stared at you both, visibly frustrated. "So, you broke the rules by… talking?"

"And touching," you admitted, shifting in your seat.

"And having sex," Marshall added with a smirk.

You smacked his arm. "Shut up."

The counselor pinched the bridge of her nose. "You lasted five days before breaking the rules. Do you see how this could be a problem?"

Marshall leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "Yeah, yeah. We get it."

"Do you? Because you just admitted that you couldn’t go a week without interacting like a married couple. If you truly wanted to separate, this should be easy."

You and Marshall exchanged a look.

The counselor sighed. "We’re resetting the thirty days. Start again."

Day 1 (Second Attempt)

Marshall ignored you this time. He went out of his way to be in a different room whenever you were around. If you walked into the kitchen, he left. If you sat in the living room, he went to the bedroom.

It pissed you off.

This was supposed to be about testing if you could live separately, not avoiding each other like middle schoolers after a breakup.

By the end of the day, you’d had enough.

"Marshall," you called, finding him in the garage.

He didn’t look up. "We’re not supposed to talk."

"Then what the hell are you doing? You won’t even look at me."

"Yeah, because every time I do, I wanna talk to you. Or touch you. Or fuck you." His voice was sharp, his frustration bleeding through. He turned, raking a hand over his face. "I’m trying to actually do this thing, okay?"

Your heart clenched.

You wanted to be mad at him, but the truth was, you were feeling the same way.

That night, you rolled over in bed, staring at the ceiling. The house felt colder, emptier, even though he was just in the other room.

At some point in the night, you woke up to find him lying next to you, his arms wrapped around you, his breath warm against your neck.

You should’ve pushed him away.

You didn’t.

Day 1 (Third Restart)

"Let me guess," the counselor said, tapping her pen against her notepad. "You broke the rules again?"

You and Marshall sat side by side on the couch in her office, looking anywhere but at each other.

Marshall cleared his throat. "Define broke."

"Did you touch each other?"

Silence.

"Did you talk?"

More silence.

"Did you have sex?"

Marshall smirked. "Twice."

You groaned, covering your face.

The counselor exhaled heavily. "You two aren’t even trying, are you?"

"I am trying," you argued. "It’s just… hard."

"It’s stupid," Marshall corrected. "You keep making us restart like that’s gonna magically make me not want my wife."

The counselor arched a brow. "So, you’re saying you do want to stay married?"

Marshall’s jaw tensed. He didn’t answer.

You swallowed hard, your stomach twisting. Did you?

"One more restart," the counselor said. "And this time, follow the rules."

Day 10 (Fourth Restart, Almost Halfway…)

You were doing so well.

No talking. No touching. No slipping up.

Until he got sick.

You walked into the bedroom to find Marshall curled up under the blankets, shivering, a feverish flush on his cheeks.

You stood in the doorway, hands on your hips. "You look like hell."

He groaned. "No talking."

"Yeah, well, I’m making an exception."

You spent the next hour taking care of him, despite his grumbling. You brought him soup, made him take medicine, and even ran your fingers through his hair when he dozed off.

Then, at two in the morning, he grabbed your hand and mumbled, "Baby, stay."

And just like that, you were back in his arms.

Day 1 (Fifth Restart, And The Last…)

The counselor was visibly done.

She tossed her notepad onto her desk and stared at you both. "Again?"

Marshall shrugged. "It’s not my fault I got sick."

"You chose to let her take care of you."

"Yeah, well, I’m not gonna tell my wife to fuck off when I feel like death."

The counselor rubbed her temples. "This is the fifth time we’ve restarted. Do you see the pattern here?"

You bit your lip. "We’re not good at being apart."

Marshall let out a dry laugh. "No shit."

The counselor leaned forward. "Then why are you trying to force yourselves to separate?"

Silence stretched between you and Marshall.

You looked at him. He looked at you.

And suddenly, it all felt ridiculous.

Marshall exhaled, shaking his head. "Fuck this." He turned to you, blue eyes fierce. "I don’t wanna do this anymore. I don’t wanna not talk to you. I don’t wanna not touch you. And I sure as hell don’t wanna live in this house pretending I don’t love you."

Your breath caught.

Marshall reached for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. "Baby, I don’t need thirty days to figure out I can’t live without you."

Tears burned in your eyes.

The counselor watched you both for a long moment, then smiled slightly. "Well," she said, "I think that answers your question."

You squeezed Marshall’s hand.

Maybe you didn’t need a trial separation. Maybe you just needed to admit what you both already knew.

You weren’t meant to be apart.

Not now. Not ever.

[jasmineandcedar]

Stepping away

I have written and rewritten this so many times it now turned into a full-blown incoherent ranting essay but I don’t really care anymore. I am trying to remain my usual level-headed self but I will allow myself one rant before I’m out. (Proceed with caution—I will be mentioning the pliant bones pile of shit below)

Until recently, I hadn’t fully grasped how vile this fandom can be. Blocking and filtering kept things tolerable for a while, but the closer we get to the announcement, the harder it becomes to escape the vitriol.

This has been my first fandom experience. I enjoyed ACOTAR offline for six years. It was a peaceful, enjoyable part of my life. Nothing about my love for the series has changed. The only thing that’s changed is that I no longer want to be part of this fandom.

(I have edited down this post a little since I first posted it, because I just don't want to be involved in any of this. I wanted it to be clear that I don't think this has to do with ships at all and I dont mind at all who people ship together. I also don't really want any of this to be seen, but I didn't want to just disappear.)

With the resurfacing of the ‘pliant bones’ garbage, the past few days have been the straw that broke the camel’s back for me. And that camel had been struggling. Holding itself together through sheer willpower. I’m surprised it lasted this long.

I am sure that most people in this fandom don't agree with the implications of this 'theory' but every time it resurfaces, it spreads in ways that make it impossible to avoid. It has become one of those cyclical shipwar debates, and ‘women with fertility issues’ are caught in the midst of it. Women who do exist and deserve better than this discourse. It is, in fact, more common than some might think to either struggle with fertility or not be able to have children at all.

I joined this fandom excited about Elriel. I never thought that excitement would turn into being constantly reminded of one of my life’s biggest pains. I never thought I’d have to filter the words ‘womb,’ ‘children,’ ‘pelvis,’ just to be part of the ACOTAR fandom. Because I could never have imagined a scenario where a couple that want each other being separated due to perceived fertility issues would be considered part of the basis of romance between another pair.

It’s the foundation of tragedy.

Even if one does not struggle with this oneself, it should be possible to imagine the pain of not being able to have children with the one you love. But people throw this argument around like they’re discussing the weather. Over a fictional ship! For some people, this is not just a hypothetical. It isn’t just an abstract concept. It isn't a dainty little literary device. It is a reality, and it is damn hard pill to swallow. In many cultures, the ability to have children is considered the very essence of womanhood, making the inability to do so an existentially painful reality to come to terms with.

I’m leaving. I don’t know if I’ll come back. Maybe if the hostilities die down, I will. I wanted to have fun alongside others who love Elriel and the other characters. I wanted to anticipate Elain’s book together. And I have had fun, but at a cost I’m no longer willing to pay.

To those who stay and continue creating—writing fics, poetry, theories, headcanons, and doing art—you’re the ones actually fighting the good fight, trying to make this space fun. Those who ride at dawn for the fics and the art. I tried to do the same. Five months was all I could manage. Now, I surrender. I’m no Elain. I’m not a rose in a mud field. I’m a miserable twig drowning in the dirt, who just wanted some goddamn memes and joy in life.

So, I’m going back to my peaceful offline existence. Enjoying my ACOTAR memes and inside jokes with my fiancé.

I’m going back to peace and quiet.

(Sorry for ranting)

[dayas]

Prompt 27: "I’m pregnant." Fiyeraba

Maybe post-canon where either Elphaba got pregnant during ALAYM or after she transforms him back into a human 🤔

Anon! Oh my goodness, this is so scandalocious!

Let me see what I can do 🙏🏽

Drabble Prompts

—

She remembered it all. She remembered his hands roaming over her, pulling her closer against his bare body. Her name falling from his lips like a star in the sky, over and over. His name leaving hers in higher pitches, her nails digging into his back. She remembered thinking that nothing else mattered, as long as she was his and he was hers. For one single night, she was reckless.

For one single night, she was wicked.

It was a mistake she shouldn’t have repeated.

After she managed to return Fiyero to his original form, Elphaba was overcome. They spent another night together, entangled, so close she was certain to part with him would mean death for them both.

A few weeks later, she was spilling the contents of her breakfast out onto the ground, pure fear coursing through her veins. She’d never been prone to vomiting, even as a child, even under cases of extreme duress or sadness. She wracked her brain, trying to think of what could have possibly brought this on. It hit her a moment later, and her hands flew to her stomach. She calculated, considering the timing, the lack of a particular covering or separation, and the fact that she had never expelled her favorite breakfast before.

Great Oz.

How was she supposed to tell him? They were in no way prepared to be parents, she couldn’t fathom having a child now. Not when there was still so much to be done in Oz.

She had considered it once, briefly, what a family of her own would look like. Someone little, half of her and half of him. The wanting had burned through her so fiercely that she’d buried it under every single emotion she had. One day, perhaps. But not like this.

Elphaba set off, finding Fiyero in their room.

“I need to tell you something.”

Immediately, he stopped what he was doing.

“What is it?” Fiyero said softly, approaching her. Elphaba claimed his hand, threading her fingers through his. She gave it a single, hard squeeze.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Fiyero’s murmur was accompanied by his free hand cupping her cheek. Elphaba closed her eyes, sighing, “I know.”

She took the hand that was holding his, pressed it gently against her stomach, and told him.

“I’m pregnant.”

She opened her eyes after, watching Fiyero’s face shift as he processed the news. He was quiet for a few seconds. Then, he brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it.

“What do you want to do?”

She leaned her head into his chest, wrapping her arms tightly around his middle. He held her, his cheek resting against the top of her head.

“I don’t know. I don’t think I want this right now. I do want a family with you, eventually, but I just don’t think that this is the right time.”

It hurt, as all things seemed too lately.

Fiyero took her face in his hands.

“We have time, Elphaba.”

“We do?”

Her voice cracked. He nodded.

“We do. So when we’re both ready for it, we can consider adding on to you and me. We should discuss it first, though, at length.”

“I completely agree.”

She leaned forward, kissing him quickly.

“When did you become so sensible?”

Fiyero smiled against her lips.

“I learned from studying you, of course.”

He dropped another kiss against her neck.

“You do realize this means we’ll have to be more careful.”

Elphaba’s chuckle was sharp — he’d startled it out of her. She exhaled, running her fingers through his hair to calm herself.

“I think we can manage that.”

[becauseicantthinkwritings]

And all that I have

Part 8 of my Accidentally on Purpose Series

Warnings: Smut (18+), cockwarming, conversations about CNC (consensual non-consent) play, kink discussions, talks about non-consensual kinks, toxic relationship, conversations about burglary, insecurities, angst, obsession with reader, mild body insecurity. Charred the dove and the dove kinda liked it.

Disclaimer: I want to be clear that although the conversations are centred around non-consent, the entire thing is completely consensual, if reader was uncomfortable, the conversation would stop. They are discussing a scene they plan to do in the future, so be warned that this will come up later in this series.

You loved him.

You knew it now, without a doubt.

You’re gazing at him from your spot at your desk, peeking over your laptop so that it’s not obvious to him that you’re staring.

You watch him scratch at his eyebrow, deep in thought as he reads the report on his desk. You feel your stomach flip as he squints for a second, no doubt reading something he disagrees with on the page.

He runs the backs of his fingers over his cheek, scratching at his beard, deep in thought, unaware that just a little distance away, you’re admiring him with every piece of your heart.

Whatever  you had felt for anyone else before was nothing compared to what you were feeling for him right now. Your relationship with Dominic had been nothing but a shell, hollow, it had been filled with moments of self- doubt, separated by spaces of indifference that you’d tried to convince yourself was happiness. But it wasn’t, it wasn’t contentment or satisfaction or delight. Being with Dominic had been nothing but a mediocre meal when you were starving, only perceived as amazing because you were unfed.

Now, with Billy, you knew what it was like to really feel.

“Billy.” You say softly, watching him blink and raise his head. He gives you a tired smile.

“Yeah?”

“I’m bored.”

The corner of his lip twitches before it pulls up into a smile.

He looks down at his report before looking back up at you. 

“Feeling for anything in particular?”

You study him for a moment, before closing your eyes.

“It’s been two weeks since we last had sex-”

“Two weeks and six days…” He pauses when you open your eyes to look at him curiously, “...To be exact, but,” He clears his throat, “who’s counting?”

You can’t help planting your face in your hands and letting out a little laugh.

“Fine, it’s been two weeks and six days, and there’s still about a week left before we can- and I really want a distraction from it.”

He swallows, nodding eagerly, in full agreement with your words.

“I get it," Billy agrees, and you watch him drop his papers onto the desk with a decisive thump, "It's been actual hell to not be able to follow through with any of the things I want to do to you."

You give him an amused raise of your eyebrows, a slow feeling of delight spreading in your abdomen. You take a slow breath to help ease the feeling.

“Well, that didn’t help distract me, just made me want you more.”

The look on his face is one of pure mischief.

“Oops.” Is his only response.

You blink at his audacity.

“You know,” You say, pushing yourself to a stand, “You really shouldn’t tease, there’s no chance of you winning this.” You advise, moving toward him. You don’t stop till you’re leaning against his desk. 

You take your time, moving his phone and staple remover out of the way, and when it’s just papers, you lie down on his desk, smiling proudly as you turn to face him.

The muscle in his jaw jumps as he clenches his teeth, eyes skimming your body as you lie on his desk, knees bent for comfort. After a moment, the pins in your hair begin to stick your scalp and you grunt as you unpin your hair and let it splay across his reports.

“Everytime you tease me, I play this game in my head where I come up with payback.” He says, eyes fixed on you, “At the rate you’re going, you’re not gonna be able to walk after.”

You smile at him, your only response is to raise one hand, and undo the top button of your shirt.

His eyes follow the movement. 

“I doubt,” You hum undoing another button, “That you’d be able to last long after four weeks of no sex.”

“Maybe not.” He sighs, “But I’ll find a way.”

When you reach for a third button, his hand reaches up to cover yours.

"Mercy." He whispers finally, "You're pretty, and I want you and I don't know how much more of this I can take."

"Poor baby." You tease.

He grunts out a laugh, closes his eyes and shakes his head.

"God, you're really in for it when I’m fully healed."

“What am I in for?” You tease, tugging your shirt open as wide as possible.

He looks up, as if asking a higher being for his sanity back.

“You really wanna know? It might scare you.”

“God I hope it does.”

He groans, low in the back of his throat.

“Alright. I’ll tell you.” He looks down at you again, the back of his fingers tracing over your cheek softly.

You smile, closing your eyes as he touches you softly.

“I want to tie you to our bed, and use you whenever I want. I want to leave that sweet little cunt dripping with my come.”

He lets out a soft sigh, his thumb tracing over your lips gently.

“I want to… rent a cabin in the woods, and chase you, make you run, play with you and when I catch you- I want to make you regret running.”

You swallow, excitement swells like a wave within you.

“I’d love that.” You confess to him softly, “Make me regret running from you, sir.”

You watch his throat bob as he swallows, his eyes a hue of darkness you’ve never seen before.

His fingers slip down your chin, tracing its way over your jaw.

“I didn’t expect you to be so… open about this.”

Maybe I'm just right for you, you think helplessly.

You smile up at him.

“I’ve always wanted to explore that side of myself, but Nic wasn’t very accommodating, so I hid those desires from him. But I’ve… I've wanted to be touched the ways you want to touch me for a long time.”

You think about the last time you’s asked Dominic to choke you- he’d done it so poorly, despite the way it had intensified your orgasm, and then he’d never done it again, it was like he wasn’t willing to learn what really got you off, so why would you ever try to push him further, or ask him for more?

Billy grips your jaw tightly, pulling you back into the present, into his dark, hungry eyes.

“Let’s come up with something, that we can,” His tongue darts out to swipe at his bottom lip eagerly, “do together.”

You feel a smile creep onto your face.

“Of course, Mister Russo.”

He leans in, his lips meeting yours softly, contradicting the rough implications of his words.

“Come sit on my lap.” He offers when he finally breaks from the kiss, and you nod easily, rising from his desk, giggling when you feel some papers stick to your arms. He helps you remove them, and then guides you into sitting on his lap, your legs being tossed over one of the arms of his chair.

“Will this even hold us?” You ask, resting your cheek against his chest.

He wraps an arm around you, humming an affirmative.

“Am I hurting you?” You check next, worried.

“Not at all, Mrs. Russo.” He murmurs, kissing the top of your head, “Now, tell me about your limits.”

You smile, looking down, playing with your fingers.

“I’m not that into anal, or hitting. Those are hard limits. I like being spanked.”

Billy hums in acknowledgement, his arm on your knee to keep you steady.

“What about slapping?”

You feel your insides clench.

You shake your head, looking up at him.

He smiles, the hand on your knee moving up to cup your cheek.

“So you like small amounts of pain? But nothing harder than a spank?”

“Yeah.” you answer, breathless at the conversation. No one had ever made you feel this comfortable and safe talking about topics like this.

“I like being scared.” You offer up, “I wanna be scared into acting like a good girl.”

He makes a low sound in the back of his throat.

“God you’re so fucking hot.”

You giggle in disbelief.

“What about pet names? I know you like the nice ones, but what about degrading ones?”

“I like ‘slut,’” You offer, “But not ‘bitch’ or ‘whore.’”

You groan when a thought pops into your mind.

“Literally, I think calling me your little plaything would make me see stars.”

His laugh is deep and alluring.

“What about you?” You ask, desperate to hear him affirm your desires with his own, “Tell me some things you like.”

“The idea of forced breeding is nice,” He starts, and you nod eagerly, already obsessed with that idea, held down and made to take his cum, being teased about having his kids. It makes your skin flush with heat.

“I have- uhhhhh-” He hesitates, and you adjust yourself to watch him carefully.

“Sorry, fuck, it’s embarrassing to say.” He mutters, and you realise that maybe he needs some reassurance.

You raise your hand, cupping his cheek, loving the feel of his coarse beard against your hand. You trail lower, fingers caressing his neck, before you try to slip your fingers under the collar of his button up shirt.

“You can literally tell me anything. I won’t run, I promise.”

He goes still, looking up at you, something unnameable in his eyes. After a moment, he blinks, looking down.

“I have a little fantasy about being a thief, maybe you have something valuable I want. Maybe it’s not what you think it is.”

You swallow, nodding your head eagerly, thinking about what it would be like to find him rifling through your home, touching things that weren't his to touch. You think about the way he’d grab you, about the way he’d lean in to kiss you harshly, the way he’d rip at your clothes-

“T-that’s a nice idea.” You whisper hoarsely. 

You think about him all masked up and taking you on the floor of your home. You shift a little in discomfort caused by your definite arousal.

“I can't- I really need to be inside you.” He rushes out.

“Couch?” You offer, and then you slip off of his lap when he nods.

While he settles himself, you reach up under your skirt, pulling your panties down the length of your legs, smiling when you catch him staring at you.

You carefully climb onto him, reaching to undo his belt, the sound of it making you more and more aroused. 

“You're so fucking beautiful.” He whispers, and you glance up at him feeling a little shy under his obsidian gaze.

“Thanks.” You whisper, your voice so soft that you barely hear it.

The back of his hand traces your cheek.

“Do you need help?” He asks, and you manage to be amused at the question, considering how absolutely wet you were between your thighs.

You shake your head, clenching when you finally get his cock free, giving him a few gentle strokes that has him groaning and dropping his head back.

He's so big, heavy in your hand, you love the slight curve of him, the wideness.

“Ready?” You ask, and he raises his head to look at you.

“If you are.” He says, voice pained.

You lean in, pressing a kiss to his lips before raising your hips to guide his thick cock to your entrance.

His head falls back again, his breathing shallow as he stares wide-eyed at the ceiling.

When you start slowly sinking down on him, you watch him suck in a deep breath, his hands gripping harshly at the couch.

“You're so wet, sweetheart. Fuck.” Billy exclaims, finally able to look at you once more.

You clench around him, your prolonged denial in support of his, claws at the walls inside your mind.

You feel a pinch of pain, the size of him stretching you open but you pay it no mind, your wetness makes taking him in so much easier.

Your eyelids flutter as you sink down onto him fully, you bite your lip harshly when the head of his cock presses firmly to your cervix.

“Oh my god.” You groan, panting, unable to comprehend the world around you with his cock so deep within you.

Before him, you weren't so desperate. You could usually go a month without sex without any problem at all, now though, Billy made lasting four weeks the biggest challenge.

He stays perfectly still, But you can't help yourself, making micromovements on his cock, rolling your hips a little just so you can feel something more.

“Princess.” He warns, and then groans loudly when he feels you clench hard around him in response. He loses himself for a moment, rolling his hips into you, before he grits his teeth, stopping his motions.

“You've never called me that one before.” You purr, trying to distract him while keep your body still.

His hands grip your thighs, blunt fingers pressing into your skin, sliding up to grip your ass harshly.

“It's cause I've got you so spoiled right now.” He hisses, "Couldn't tell you no if I wanted to.”

It makes you clench down on his cock a second time. You watch your own desperation mirror itself in his expression.

“You're so big, Mister Russo.” You moan, gripping his shoulders to keep your body steady.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself, to relax the vise grip your cunt has around his stiff erection.

Billy has always thought of himself as a man with great strength, but it's in this very moment, he learns precisely how weak he is. Watching his gorgeous, breathtaking wife, try her best to sit still on his cock, brings out a darkness in him, gives him ideas of what exactly he's going to do the moment he can.

No woman has ever felt as good as you, and he knows no woman ever will.

You're having your own debate in your head at the same time, wondering how you're going to last another week without him fucking you into oblivion.

“Tell me what you want to do to me.” You plead, eyes squeezed shut to hide from him.

He doesn't speak for a moment, the only sound filling the room is both of your laboured breaths.

“I want to see you submit to me completely.”

You squeeze your eyes tighter, nodding.

I want that too.

“And I don't care how hard it is, or how long it takes, I want to fuck you until you're just my messy pile of wife, no brain at all.”

You whine, a low sound in the back of your throat, you can almost taste the pleasure on your tongue as if it’s something physical.

You roll your hips, feeling him inside you, the grip of his hands on your ass tightens.

Your eyes meet his, half lidded, panting and desperate as you gaze at one another, you know that it wouldn't take much to get you off, and you're trying your hardest not to, you really really want to support him this way.

It makes you a true mess, aroused beyond thought. You can see it in his eyes too, delirious yearning looking right back at you.

“What else?” You ask, needing to know the exact ways he wanted to unravel you.

He licks his bottom lip.

“I wanna fill you up, watch my come drip right out of you with the number of times I come inside you.”

“Yeah? M-maybe you can… use a plug if you get tired of watching your cum drip out.”

The sound he makes next is nothing short of a gowl, pulling you closer until your noses brush, You swear there's a fire in his eyes that you've never seen before.

“I can't stop picturing it,” he whispers roughly, one hand leaving your ass, trailing around to your front. You cry out when the tips of his fingers press to your aching clit, “The way you'll look when I'm done with you, passed out of course, my come messy between your thighs, I'll ask you if you're okay and you wouldn't be able to do anything more than make a little sound.” You tilt your head to the side when his finger begins rubbing softly at your swollen bud, he doesn't take kindly to the movement, his other hand reaching to grip the back of your head, forcing you back to him, “Maybe I'd keep fucking you. Even when you're out cold I could still fill you. You'd be so far gone you wouldn't even want me to stop.”

You nod, whining, knowing that you'd let him do anything he wanted so long as he was doing it to you.

“I know how that makes me look- I've been so ashamed of this side of me, but I want this, every little bit of it, and I want you.” You confess.

“There's nothing wrong with you I promise.” He says, leaning in to kiss you softly, his fingers speeding up their touch on your clit.

You gasp into his mouth.

“S-stop or I'll-” You find that the words evaporate on your tongue.

“You'll what, little wife? Come around my cock? Don't you want to?”

You shake your head violently.

“Not if you can't. Don't make me.”

He drags his fingers away, and you sigh in relief despite the way your body burns, aching for you to just take the edge off.

He kisses you again, harsh and all-consuming, you hum happily, trying to return his passion with a little of your own.

“No more.” He says, and you nod, rising from his cock, your cunt clenching as you get free of him, registering the emptiness, before you feel disappointment immediately follow.

He reaches down, grunting as he wraps his fist around the base of his cock, squeezing in what you can only assume is a method to avoid orgasm.

He’s beautiful, the way his skin is so flushed and his breaths are shallow and you think it’s mostly because of you, and you wonder why on earth would someone like him ever-

You swallow nervously, looking away.

You don’t want to ask, exhausted with your own insecurities to voice them.

Luckily you don’t have to, because at the same time, your cell on your desk starts ringing.

You turn to it, standing, adjusting your skirt before taking the few steps to it. You sigh internally when you see it’s your mother calling.

“Hey mom.” You greet softly.

“Hello. I’ve been sending so many messages. Why haven’t you responded? I thought you were dead.”

You try to hold it in but a laugh comes out against better judgement.

“Dead? Really? Wouldn’t someone have given you a call?”

“Who? Who’s going to call me if you die? Dominic? Your friends? This mysterious husband I have never met that might be the person doing the killing?”

“Why was murder the first thing you thought of?” Humour dripping from your voice.

“Because you’re living with a random stranger and I’m very worried.”

You let out a slow breath.

“I get it mom, I’m sorry I wasn’t able to reply to your messages, I’ve been trying to take care of Billy.”

After a moment, you swear you can hear the anger leave her over the phone.

“Okay well… how is he?”

You feel like you've won something.

“He's doing great, recovering well, that's what the doctor said, a few more weeks and he'll be recovered.”

“That's good to hear. When am I meeting him?”

“Soon.” You promise.

“That's fine. I also have something I want send to you. Can you give me your new mailing address?”

“Yeah, no problem, I'll message it to you.”

She's silent for a long time, and you know she's thinking about saying something terrible to you. You tilt your head back in frustration.

“Mom? You still there?” You ask politely.

“Are you doing okay? Dominic said you gained some weight.”

Your mouth parts in surprise.

“Why are you still talking to him?” You ask in disbelief, looking down at your body automatically. Why did everyone care so much about the way you looked?

“I called him. I wanted to hear his side of the story and to hear more about this Billy guy.”

You stiffen, realising that Billy was still in the room somewhere overhearing this conversation.

“Tell me that you didn't believe a word he said.” You beg.

“Some of it was definitely a lie, I remember when you'd called to tell me you'd broken up, that sounded genuine. I don't think you actually cheated on him, and I know you well enough to know that gold digging isn't your style.”

You smile, “Thank you.”

“But,” she continues, “One thing that confuses me is the custom rings. How did those happen?”

“Um,” you squeeze Your eyes shut, shaking your head, “We um,” Fuck, you didn't know what to say, “We had them made the day after.” You lie.

“Why? Why a stranger? Wouldn't you have tried to get the marriage annulled first?”

Shit.

“Um, we tried and then decided not to on the same day. Hey mom? I gotta go, my next meeting arrived early.”

“Okay, cupcake, talk to you soon.”

“Yeah,” you say with a shaky voice, “Bye, love you.”

You hang up before you can hear her parting words.

You stare at your phone, forgetting how to breathe for a long moment.

When he says your name, you turn quickly, looking at him. You finally find the strength to take in a breath.

“I'm fine. I just need a minute, be right back.” You rush out, walking out the room without a second thought.

You press your hand to the wall outside, taking a few deep breaths. You wanted to hide, to stop being perceived at all.

You glance at Martha, sitting at her desk, typing into her computer. When she senses you looking, she turns her head with a smile.

“Are you doing alright, Mrs. Russo? Do you want me to get you some water?”

Mrs. Russo. That was you.

You straighten.

“I'm okay, thank you though.” You say with a smile, turning in the direction of the elevators.

You press the button for his floor when you're inside, and only after you shift your feet impatiently, do you realize that you're not wearing any panties.

It gives you more confidence if anything, you were just sitting on your husband's cock, and he'd asked you to. He'd called you beautiful, he'd wanted you. 

You squeeze your hands into fists, Dominic would not take him from you.

He’s in a meeting, his receptionist says to you, apology in her voice, and when you inquire with who, you find out that it’s just his boss.

You give her a smile, before walking right past her desk and knocking on his door.

You open it without waiting for a response, a smile on your face when you see both men looking at you.

“Sorry to interrupt, but can I please have a moment to speak with Dominic? It’s urgent.”

Both men glance at each other, and you know that his boss would not deny you your request.

“Of course,” The man says, rising from his chair, “We’ll pick this up later.”

Dominic only nods, his face set into harsh lines.

The door closes behind him softly, and you don’t speak for a moment, studying the landscape picture on his wall.

“That day we broke up,” You declare, not turning to look at him yet, “You told me that I wasn’t as pretty as some of your old girlfriends, you told me my laugh was irritating, that my friends annoyed you. You gave me reason upon reason as to why you didn’t like me and why we weren’t a good match, and I’d sat there and apologised to you.”

“Look,” He interjects, “I’m sorry I was so harsh-”

“-I’m not done.” You interrupt, turning to look at him, showing him that there was nothing between you anymore, that he could look into your eyes all he wanted, he would not find the version of you he once knew.

He lets out a breath, raising his eyebrows to seem amused by your intervention. 

You didn't care.

“I can’t believe I ever did that, apologise to you for not being what you wanted. If I could go back, I’d tell you to go fuck yourself.”

He blinks, stiffening his shoulders.

“And then, you come back, assuming that I’d forgive you for the shit you said, and get back together with you. But I was never going to, marriage or not, I’d rather be alone forever than spend another minute with you.”

“So stop trying to mess with me, stop trying to destroy my life over something that happened after you broke up with me. You can’t hurt me anymore, and if you try to, I’ll show you exactly what I’m made of.”

You turn to the door, reaching for the handle.

“I love you.” He blurts, making you freeze in place.

You can’t help it, laughing softly at his admission.

You pull his door open, a smile still on your face as you glance back at him.

“You don’t even know the meaning of the word.” 

.

“Where’d you go?” Billy asks when he sees you come in a few minutes later.

“To give some closure.” You say with a smile, approaching him, cupping his face in your hands, and leaning in to place a kiss on his lips.

You feel him relax under you, you hum softly at the feeling of it.

“Are you in any pain?”

“A little,” He confesses, “I might have pushed myself a little too much.”

Your eyebrows draw together, worried that you might have hurt him.

“I’m sorry, my full weight-”

“-was perfect. It was the tensing up when I got too close to coming that caused the strain.”

You groan, squeezing your eyes shut, one hand pressing to your tummy.

“Why do you even like me?” You rush out, in disbelief that you were literally making power moves just now, to come back to him with your insecurities.

Maybe power was exhausting to hold on to for you.

“Because I do.” He says softly, with an encouraging tone of voice, “Because you see me.” He’s quiet for a moment, biting the edge of his lip in deep thought. 

“Growing up in the system was bad, it was real shitty. I don't think I’ll ever truly recover from the abandonment. I pretend I’m okay, and I pretend that I’m whole but,” He shakes his head, “I’m just pieces on the inside. Broken glass.”

“You make me feel like something more. A mosaic.” He utters, as if the word has just come to mind.

You take in a deep breath, your face contorted into one of sorrow.

I love you, Billy Russo.

You simper, leaning in to kiss him again.

“Let’s go home.” You suggest.

He’s nodding before you can even get the sentence out.

.

The hardest thing is keeping your hands to yourself. You want to touch him all the time, run your fingers through his hair, slide your hands under his t-shirt, gently trace the veins on the back of his hands. You want to smooth your thumbs over his eyebrows and taste his collarbones and you try your best to resist for a couple of reasons.

The first reason is that you don’t want to get him hard- you don’t want to torment him any more than he’s already being tormented. The second reason is because you worry he’ll eventually get annoyed with your insistent touching, that he may find it irritating eventually. The smallest hint that he’s getting annoyed with you might be enough to dissolve you into thin air, you don’t think you’d ever recover from it.

So sometimes you find yourself reaching for him, only to draw back at the last second, hoping he doesn’t see how hard you’re fighting yourself.

You should be more open about it- you know that- he tries so hard to open up to you and the least you can do is respond with the same effort.

And yet, your experience with Dominic lingers. 

You and him had been so good at one point too, and the next thing you know, every aspect of you had irritated him.

How long would it take before Billy felt that way too?

This was bad, you had no support system in place, no one to talk to aside from him, no one to tell you that your thoughts were unreasonable. This, this was why staying with him wasn’t sustainable.

You’re lying motionless in the bath when he finds you after excusing himself to take a work call.

You turn when you catch movement, smiling up at him when he approaches. He’s got an apologetic look on his face, one that tells you that he has to leave you alone before he even says it.

“I’m sorry.” He breathes, coming to sit on the edge of the tub, “There’s an issue with our servers and I have to go.”

“It’s 8 p.m.” You state, “You can’t do this tomorrow?”

He shakes his head.

“Some of our guys are at risk without the intel.”

You take a deep breath, giving him your easiest smile. You wanted to fight, but maybe in this moment you didn’t know if you were capable of winning.

“Alright, Billy, I’ll see you later.”

He leans in, kisses the top of your head, then your cheek, and then tilts your head up for a quick kiss.

He leaves the room, and you hear him grab his things before the front door closes.

You close your eyes, letting your body sink below the surface of the water.

.

You sneak out maybe an hour later.

You wait by the door till the guard stationed there gets up to use the bathroom, and then you slip out in your fluffiest coat, making it to the elevator right outside with your heart slamming into your ribs.

Only after the doors close do you realise that you don’t have anything to help you get back inside, and that you should have maybe left a note. No worries though, you know Billy will call once he gets home and finds you gone.

You’d called Martha earlier, and begged her to find the address you were looking for, apologetic for disturbing her evening.

You take a taxi there, and you knock on the door softly once, in the cold air, before realising that you hadn’t knocked loudly enough.

The second time you knock, you hear footsteps, and you suck a deep breath in, smiling at the peephole before you hear the door unlock.

Maria looks concerned, her lovely brunette hair pulled over one shoulder.

“Are you okay?” She says with worry heavy in her tone.

You try to give her a cheerful expression.

“I’m great, I was just a little lonely, Billy left a while ago.”

She opens the door wider to let you in.

“Yeah, Frank left too.”

“I figured,” You admit, “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind some extra company?”

“Of course! I’m just cleaning up. You can hang your coat over there.” She says, pointing to a place behind you.

You thank her, shedding your coat with minimal difficulty and hanging it on the spot she had pointed to.

You follow her into the kitchen, where she’s mostly done with her dishes, only a few left to dry.

“Can I help?” You offer.

“No, thank you, I’m almost done. I have some leftovers if you want. Chicken parm, or do you want tea or coffee or something?”

You’re a little shy in her presence, trying to pick something easy so that she doesn’t insist.

“Water, for now, though I might pick at your teas later.” You say politely.

She smiles, and you feel so soothed by it, you find yourself smiling back. Not long after, she places a glass of water in front of you. You thank her again, sipping on it gratefully.

“So,” She starts off easily, looking over her shoulder to glance at you while she wipes a pink plate dry, “What brings you here at this hour?” 

God, you wanted to tell her the truth, fold like a stack of cards because you didn’t think you could lie to her. For once, you wanted to be honest about your situation.

But you couldn’t. You couldn’t do that to her, and you definitely couldn’t do that to Billy. You’d ruin their friendship if you said anything, you’d ruin his relationship with Frank, he’d hate you for it.

You let out a pained breath.

“All my friends kind of hate me.” You murmur, deep in thought, “and you don’t seem like you’d hate me.”

She nods in understanding.

“Why don’t you tell me everything?” She says easily, and you nod, willing to try.

“My ex- Dominic- we’d been together for two years before we broke up. He works at Anvil, and for a long time I thought I was going to spend forever with him.” You look down into the glass of water, studying the stillness.

“Looking back at it now, I realise how wrong we were together. He never really liked me, I was just a convenience, he only kept me around because it was better than being alone, you know? We took care of each other at first, but somewhere along the way he stopped caring and then any little thing I did pissed him off.”

You watch her finish one plate, reaching for another.

“Our breakup was really brutal, he literally just picked me apart and left me outside my apartment, and then three days later I woke up married to Billy.”

“And you think,” She says, interrupting your thoughts, “That this one is going to end up like your last one.”

“Isn’t it?” 

She smiles, shaking her head.

“You wanna know how long I knew Frank before we got married?”

“A reasonable amount of time?” You offer.

She laughs.

“Four months.”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise.

“I’m in no place to judge.”

She grins.

“I got pregnant three months into dating him, and we were married a month later. The first time I met Billy, was stepping on him when I woke up to pee in the middle of the night.” Her shoulders shake as she laughs, remembering the entire story.

“According to Frank, he’d climbed into our small apartment at the time from the fire escape, drunk off his ass, and crashed on the floor before Frank could help him to the couch in the living room. The way Frank says it, he just tossed a sheet over Billy, and stuffed a pillow under his head where he passed out and went back to sleep. I woke up, and stepped on him and he didn’t make a sound,” She laughs,” I screamed though, because there was a random man on the floor and I’d just put my full weight on his leg and he hadn’t made a sound. I thought he was dead.” 

You try not to grin at the imagery.

“After some convincing from Frank, I fell asleep, and in the morning both men were gone. Billy… well he didn’t like me at first. He was sure I’d trapped his friend in the marriage or something, but over time, he… honestly he didn’t really warm up to me until I went into labour.”

You sit there, transfixed by her story.

“Frank thinks she came a week early, but she was just on time. He was supposed to get back before she came but something top secret kept him there longer- anyways- Frank called Billy and Billy showed up at my doorstep in maybe ten minutes. Back then, he had this old, beat up Harley- strictly american- you know?” She glances at you as if you’re supposed to understand what she’s saying, but you can only shake your head in confusion.

She grins, “Sorry, he used to be real patriotic, American brands as much as possible,” She shakes her head, “He’s grown out of that since his discharge. Anyway- that was maybe the first day he actually cared about me, held my hand all the way to the delivery room, almost punched a nurse that told him family only. I was so mean to him too, probably almost broke his hand with the contractions. And then Lisa decided to wait, had me in labour for fourteen hours.”

Your eyes widen drastically, mouth dropping open. She laughs when she sees your face, finishing up her last mug to sit next to you.

“Yeah, gave Frank just enough time to get there. And then there were four of us.”

She blinks, smiling, deep in thought.

“Billy was scared of her, he didn’t hold her for at least two months after, he’d somehow worked it into his head that she wouldn’t like him, but one night I got real sick, and while Frank was taking care of me, he’d begged Billy to come over and take care of Lisa. The first time Frank put her in Billy’s arms, she cried, at the top of her lungs. I thought Billy would have given up immediately, but he didn’t, he rocked her in his arms till she was asleep, and even after he held on to her for as long as he physically could.”

“The moral, of my very long story is that Billy isn’t someone who gives up at the first sign of trouble, and he’s definitely not someone that gets annoyed with someone he loves. If he chooses you, he’s going to stick with you. He knows what it’s like to have no one on his side, and because of that, his loyalty is unbreakable.”

Your heart squeezes in your chest. You wanted to know him the way she did. You wanted stories like this to smile at when you thought of him. You wanted to know what he looked like, riding an old era motorbike, and to see him so drunk he can’t make it to a couch.

“I lost all of my friends because of him.” You whisper, heartbroken, “They thought I cheated on Dominic. Friends that I loved, blocked me because they thought I’d done something terrible.” 

She reaches to place her hand over yours, squeezing tightly.

“Maybe they weren’t very good friends to begin with.” She suggests softly.

You nod, understanding the point she was trying to get across. 

She makes you tea, something calming that makes you sluggish, offers up one of Billy’s old shirts for you to sleep in, and shows you to the guest room. Not once, does she suggest you go back to his home, so easily welcoming, that sleep is attainable within minutes.

Maria, considers for a moment while watching you sleep, that she should tell someone that you’re here. No doubt Billy doesn’t know you left, travelled all the way here by your lonesome. She unlocks her phone, pulls up her husband’s number, and hesitates on the call button. Maybe Billy’s reaction to finding you gone would set the both of you straight. 

She grins deviously, putting her phone away and getting ready for bed herself.

.

It’s almost three a.m when Billy gets back home. He’s tired, his shoulders sagging with having to carry the weight of them. His eyes hurt, feels so much discomfort in his whole body that only sleep can provide.

His shower is quick, functional, though the warm water begs him to stay and enjoy it, he gets out as soon as he can, ambling to the closet to grab a pair of comfortable pants for sleeping.

He moves in the dark, working on a memory of where everything is to stop him from making too much noise, not wanting to turn on the lights either, he really doesn’t want to wake you.

In the dark, his bed is deliciously comfortable, he lies on his front, before the area where his appendix was removed screams in protest and he’s forced to roll onto his back. He tucks his body under the soft duvet, feeling a thick sense of coziness overcome him.

He reaches a hand out- won't be fully comfortable until he touches your skin, confirming that you're there. In his drowsy state, he struggles to find you. He groans, moving even closer to where he thinks you are, fingers scanning the bed, only finding chilled sheets. He opens his eyes, squinting at the other side of the bed and sees no shape that even resembles you. You simply weren't here.

Were you sleeping somewhere else? 

He sits up, rubbing an eye so that he can see a little more clearly, turning to flip on the bedside lamp to confirm that you really weren't next to him.

Yeah, definitely not in bed.

He stands, sways, groans, pads his way to the living room to find it empty, then searches your office, then his. He says your name, but the only thing that answers is the silence.

He grabs his phone, looking into the almost too bright screen, trying to decipher words that help him find your contact. He squints, pressing the call button before waiting.

Your phone rings and rings and rings and no one answers.

It's then, that Billy begins to feel the panic. He takes a deep breath, calling your number again, searching his house for anything he might have missed, anything at all that tells him where his wife had gone.

He calls for you, all sleep erased from his mind, he does a finer walk through of his place, looking for items out of place, signs of struggle.

If you'd left, someone would have seen you and told him, right?

What if you'd been kidnapped?

Billy feels his lungs seize up.

He looks down at his phone again, hands shaking, opening up the location app he'd installed just in case. He'd told you about it, told you how to disable it if you really didn't want to be found. This would help him narrow down what kind of situation he was in.

He lets a breath out when he sees your little symbol pop up- you'd chosen the image of a black cat for some reason- he zooms out, eyebrows drawing together when he sees where your phone is.

He closes the app, calls Frank.

“Whad'ya want, Russo?” Comes Frank's sleepy voice after a few rings.

“Is my wife in your house?” Billy asks, a lot calmer than he feels.

Frank says your name in question.

“Yes, Frankie, ask Maria.”

He hears some shuffling.

“It's four in the morning Bill, I'm not waking my wife for that, I'll just check the guest bedroom.”

Billy waits, listening to Frank's slow breaths, his hand gripping his phone tightly, his other hand curled into a fist.

“Oh yeah, there she is.”

Billy sags with relief.

You were okay.

“I'm coming.” Billy announces.

“Use your spare, I'm going to bed.” Frank grunts, before ending the call.

Billy grabs his coat and the keys to his fastest car and nothing more, leaving his apartment quickly, wide awake now more than ever.

He breaks every speed limit possible, makes it to Frank's home in half the time it usually takes. His body hurts as he has to move slowly now, quietly so that he doesn’t disturb the peace in the house.

He uses his spare key, locking the door behind him, double checking Frank's security while he's here. 

He finds the guest bedroom easily, having stayed here countless times, he knows this place like he knows his own.

His stomach twists, he wonders why you left. Did you not want to be around him? Had something else happened? He knew that the chances of you running away were low, ever since he'd shamelessly listened to the conversation between you and Dominic (He'd bugged the office of course) he'd had an inkling that maybe you were growing to love him as much as he loves you.

The door clicks shut behind him, and he feels a sense of ease wash right over him at the sight of your sleeping form. 

He pushes his coat off his shoulders, torso bare underneath as he climbs into bed and hovers over you.

His hands cup your face, waking you with a little start.

“Billy?” You hum, voice so tiny, his little wife disturbed from slumber.

He can't help it, leaning in to kiss you softly, followed by him wrapping his arms around you tightly.

“Why'd you leave home, baby, hmm?” He asks, cheek pressed to the top of your head.

Your voice is muffled in his chest.

“Was lonely.” You say.

It damn near breaks his heart.

“I'm sorry.” He sighs, and he means it with every bone in his body.

“S’alright, you're here now.”

And he is, crawls under the sheets, wraps you in his arms, and feels the stress drip right out of him. Only then, does he allow sleep to take him.

.

He wakes to laughter. He blinks, sitting up, an automatic response to the sound.

Hearing laughter while he slept was never a good sign. In the group home it meant that some poor kid's face was being written on. In the military, it was shaving cream on your hands, or dirt in your bed.

He bolts up, looks around, determines no danger before he relaxes.

He smiles, slips out of bed, and goes in search of one of the shirts he keeps around for situations like these.

.

“Honestly,” Maria says enthusiastically, uncapping the milk she just pulled from the fridge, “I thought we were goners, Billy was still recovering from that gunshot that almost made him bleed out in the desert, and Frank had several grazes, but even injured like that, the burglars never stood a chance.”

Your eyes are wide in suspense.

“Where was Lisa?” 

“In bed beside me, Frank shook me awake and we hid in the bathroom. Ten minutes later, he came and got me cause the fight was over.”

“Holy shit, that sounds terrifying. I've had some almost run-ins with burglars as well at my old place.”

“Really? What happened?” Maria asks, really interested, concern in the undertones of her voice.

“It was close to Christmas and almost everyone in the building was out visiting family, but I was studying for an exam the next day for my old job.” You think back to it, deep in thought, “I remember hearing heavy footsteps in the hall, and then the sound of doors shaking. I had my lights off because they’d made my eyes burn and I was just using my lamp lights, so it maybe looked like I wasn’t home. The person was trying each door, shaking them hard. I can still hear the rattle. I texted Nic, and he’d told me to hide, but before I could call the police, the rattling just stopped. I sat in silence for a long time. I was kind of shocked dumb, and I didn’t call the police because it seemed like he left without any real harm being done. I probably should have, but also I really needed to study for this stupid exam. I did tell my landlord though, and she tightened security and it never happened again. I really regret not calling the police though.”

Maria nods, relating to you.

“Fear can really hold you in place. I’m sure whoever it was, got what they deserve, don’t stress about it too much.”

You smile, mimicking her nod. She really understood you, and you find yourself hooked to the Castles just a little bit more.

Just then her smile widens as her eyes flit behind you for just a second.

You turn to look back curiously when suddenly you get pulled into someone’s arms. You know it’s him from the moment you touch, you grin widely at the way he squeezes you.

“Excuse us for a second, Maria,” Billy says, hand gripping your wrist to tug you in the direction of the guest bedroom, “I need a moment with my wife.”

She nods, before remembering something.

“There are kids in the house.” She warns sternly, locking eyes with Billy.

“Wet blanket.” He shoots back as he tugs you around the corner and out of the room.

The door to the guest bedroom can only slink shut before you’re pressed against it. Your eyes fall shut as his mouth meets yours, your heart fluttering so surely that you’re sure it’ll fly soon. He kisses like he’s starving, hands holding your face, mouth eager against yours, you copy his fervour, pulling him closer by the shoulders, the delight of feeling your passion mirrored isn’t lost on you.

You smile up at him happily when the kiss breaks, only for him to drop his head once again, ever eager for just one more kiss.

“Is everything alright?” You whisper softly, confused about his feverish kisses.

“I’m sorry.” 

“...For?”

He touches the tip of your nose softly with his.

“Where do I even fucking begin? I’m sorry I left you alone, I’m sorry I made you feel like you had to sneak out, I’m sorry that I’m the reason you have no friends-”

“-That one wasn’t really all you,” You interject, “They didn’t even give me the benefit of the doubt.”

He shakes his head.

“I’m just… sorry for all the pain I put you through.”

You can’t bear to hear him say it, your throat squeezes tight at the very sound of the words.

“It’s alright,” You reassure, rising onto your toes to kiss him, “We’re alright.”

.

You peek at him while he drives, wondering if now was the best time to talk to him.

He catches you looking, raising an eyebrow curiously, eyes turned back to the road.

You think that maybe there’s no time like the present, and you take a deep breath, reaching out for his hand before you catch yourself, moving your hand back to your side.

Before you can get fully there, he reaches out, taking your hand in his. You turn your head to look at him in surprise.

“Notice you’ve been doing that a lot.” He murmurs, tugging your hand up to his mouth so that he can kiss the back of your hand, “Reaching for me and stopping halfway. Making fists with your hands to stop yourself. Why?”

“I just, don’t want to annoy you is all.”

He huffs in amusement, you feel his warm breath on the back of your hand.

“You’re funny.” He hums, giving your hand another kiss.

“I’m serious.” You whisper.

His lips part, eyebrows drawing together as he slows his driving a little to look at you.

“You’re serious?” He echoes, “You think you could annoy me?”

“I think I could annoy a saint.” You grumble.

“You know that I’m… obsessed with you right?” 

“Are you? I hadn’t noticed.” You say dryly.

He huffs out a breath of amusement for a second time.

“Do you know what that means? It means I’ve seen your medical records.” 

You glance at him, shock running down your spine.

“And?”

“And I’ve done background checks on everyone you’ve ever met.”

You try to swallow but your throat has gone dry.

“And?” You whisper, his hand is still in yours, holding on to you.

“And I know where you went to school, I pulled your student records, I’ve scoured the internet for your face and I’ve probably seen photos of you that maybe you don’t even know existed. I’ve wanted you since the day we met, and nothing could have stopped me,” He turns to look you in the eye, “Not even you.”

“I’m sorry to scare you, but if you think that I don’t know how needy you are, how touch starved, how badly you want to be held, what makes you cry, you’re lying to yourself. I know all of these things, and I want you because of them.”

You close your eyes, trying to process his words in a reasonable way.

God, there had to be something seriously wrong with the both of you. Him, for saying those things, and you, for managing to somehow feel reassured by them, even if there was a little fear mixed in.

You don’t say another word to him the rest of the way back.

There’s a silence all around you as you follow him into the apartment, a whirring in your ear that sounds like waves of static, disconnecting you from reality.

You reach out, gripping his arm tightly. He turns, looking down at you with an unnameable expression.

“I need you.” You say softly through half-gritted teeth, pulling him roughly, feverishly toward the living room.

He doesn’t say a word, and you’re grateful for that, he’s said enough already.

“Take it off.” You breathe, reaching for your own pants, pulling them off, followed by your shirt. He catches the intention behind your movement, and drops his coat easily.

When you get yourself naked, you lie back on the couch, not having to wait long before his naked body covers yours.

“Do you need me to-” He offers, and you silence him by pressing a finger to his lips.

You shake your head, reaching down, pumping his hard cock a few times before guiding him into your dripping wet core.

Billy gasps in surprise.

“Shocked?” You tease, “I thought you knew everything about me.”

His eyes darken, something terrifying crosses his features. He moves his arms, braces one on each side of your head. Your eyes flit to the snake curled over his shoulder.

“I don’t know everything about you,” He hums, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement, “But I will.”

.

.

.

A/N: Happy Holidays to you!

[floweryvibes]

Puppet Darling - Part 9

I said I was back, and then I was so not back lol (blame college and finals. I am innocent)

Warning: Rhysand is really pulling out all of his emotional manipulation abilities for this one.

Credit: Inspired by @wallflowers-in-the-wind’s post here.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8

Feyre snuggled close to Nesta, hugging her sister. Nesta groaned softly, but remained asleep.

I am sorry.

Feyre wasn’t sure how many times she had uttered and thought these words by this point but she was pretty sure it was still not enough. 

Apparently while they had been left alone for that week, Eris and Tamlin had been busy staging a coup in the Autumn Court. According to Tamlin, Eris fought his father and won, claiming the throne as his own.

Deeming the court safe enough, they secretly moved her and Nesta into the palace after a couple days.

Nyz snoozed quietly, shifting slightly in his new crib.

He really was taking the constantly changing environment like a champ.

Feyre sat up as the mating bond hummed, throbbing with annoyance. 

Did you trust Mor so much to get me back that you didn’t bother antagonizing me during our fight, or were you busy with something else?

The latter thought made Feyre shiver, forcing her completely out of bed. Quietly, she pulled a shawl around herself, walking down the hallway of the private wing of the palace. 

I wonder if there’s any snacks around here?

She paused before the door to the kitchen space, hearing Tamlin’s and Eris’s voice.

“We can’t simply launch an assault.”

“Well, we can’t wait around either.”

“Then what do you propose?” Eris sighed. 

“We have our men search for Elain and Lucien while we’re at the meeting with all the High Lords. They can scout out and gather information. If we’re lucky they get them out. If not, we shall use the recon work to make a plan of action.”

Feyre knocked, not wanting to eavesdrop.

The two males went quiet.

“It’s me.” she said softly.

Tamlin opened the door, “Feyre, why are you awake? Is something wrong? Is Nesta in pain again?”

“No, Nesta is alright. She’s recovering from her injury well.” Feyre smiled, “I just couldn't sleep. Thank you for having such good healers treat her.”

“It’s nothing.” Eris muttered, looking away.

“Are you discussing how to save Elain?” Feyre decided to not dance around the subject.

“Yes.” Tamlin sighed, running a hand through his hair, “We’re currently creating a list of places where she and Lucien could have been taken.”

“He most likely took them to a prison in the Night Court.”

“He could be hiding them in a separate palace. Doesn’t Rhysand own several homes? Azriel could be using any one of them.” Eris countered.

“Azriel is practical in that way.” she shook her head, “Why waste time on fancy rooms if the goal is to merely contain?”

He’s not Rhysand.

“We’ll prioritize the prison then.” Tamlin nodded, noting it on the map stretched out across the mahogany kitchen table.

“What is this about a High Lords meeting?” she tilted her head.

“Oh, nothing much. A continuation of the previous gathering to be truthful. Not as many trading deals were agreed upon as people would have liked.” Eris chuckled.

“The meeting is in about two weeks but we’ll be leaving early to investigate the kidnapping.” Tamlin said, “Eris has arranged for several servants and trusted officials to remain and watch over you. I will also have some of my people here, just in case chaos attempts to break out. So, just focus on recovering with Nesta, alright?”

Feyre nodded, eyeing the map, “In how many days will you be leaving?”

“Three.”

Soon.

Tamlin and Eris winnowed to the palace of the Dawn Court, arriving at the designated area for High Lords.

Eris stretched, “Good thing that Nesta is recovering.”

“Yeah.” Tamlin nodded.

Although, her justified grouchiness grates on my nerves.

“What’s with you?”

“What do you mean?” Tamlin grumbled, walking ahead down the hallway, ignoring the servants that bowed to them.

“You’re brooding.” Eris sighed.

“Aren’t you rather chipper for someone who just stabbed their father like eight days ago?”

“No, I am in fact not chipper enough!” Eris smiled coily, “The joy I felt…yeesh Tamlin you should have seen me.”

“Yes, yes, I am sure it was spectacular.”

“You can be dismissive all you want but it was. I sat on a bloody throne.”

“Let’s just hope your rule won’t be as such.”

“It won’t be.” Eris’s smile dropped, a serious tone returning, “I will make sure of it.”

Tamlin hummed, “As to what is on my mind…I am concerned about how we’re going to deal with Rhysand.”

“Nothing much we can do in public.” Eris sighed, “Even though we have some of the powder left, we can’t exactly waltz in and just expose this to all of them.”

“We have to be cautious.” Tamlin agreed, “Let’s observe during the meeting and see what Rhysand’s angle will be. We should try and approach Helion in private to try and explain the situation. How is the investigation going?”

Eris nodded, “No news yet but my officers are on it. We’ll hear back from them soon.”

Their conversation died down as they approached the meeting hall, Thesan greeting them first, “Lord Tamlin…Eris, it’s good to see you two. Will Lord Beron be joining us soon?”

“Unfortunately my father has passed away.” Eris smiled, a little too widely, “I am here in his place. Permanently.”

“Ah.”

Autumn’s intelligence works well at keeping things under wraps when needed.

Tamlin couldn’t help but smile at Thesan’s surprised expression.

I am sure your soldiers will have no problems finding what exact cell Elain and Lucien are being kept in.

“Well, I am happy to have you both here.” Thesan smiled politely, leading them over to the main sitting area.

Helion was already there, chatting with Kallias while Viviane laughed at something Tarquin said. 

“Rhysand must be running late.” Thesan noted, sitting down at the head of the table, “While we wait, would anyone like some te-”

The door to the spacious room swung open to reveal Rhysand, with Feyre on his arm. 

Tamlin blinked. He then looked at Eris who was just barely masking his confusion.

What was happening.

Tamlin stared at Feyre as she sat down beside Rhysand.

“Did something catch your eye Tamlin?” the High Lord of Night smirked, wrapping an arm around Feyre.

Eris narrowed his eyes.

“No, just wondering why you’re late.” Tamlin kept his voice even.

Something was seriously wrong. Why in all of Prythian is she here? Was Autumn Court compromised? There’s no way he launched a full on attack on them and won, especially not without one of us getting notified. 

“Well, what a married couple does on their own time is none of your business.”

Who is the one making crass comments now?

Tamlin gritted his teeth, “No it isn’t. However, punctuality is preferred for political matters.”

“Since when are you an expert in what’s preferred for politics anyways?” Rhysand tilted his head, “I don’t think you are fit to be giving me any sort of criticisms.”

Tamlin growled, unable to restrain the rage boiling underneath.

Was it a lie? Just another trick?

He looked at Feyre, the woman’s eyes blank, staring off into the distance with a slight smile. 

This wasn’t the Feyre he had interacted with the past half a month. Not the Feyre he had yelled at or spoken to. Not the mother he watched tenderly take care of her child.

What if she tricked them?

“What game are you playing at Rhysand?” he snarled.

“What do you mean Tamlin?” Rhysand laughed, “Seriously, did you only have enough energy to be presentable and respectful for one meeting?”

“Difficult to be respectful to someone who uses their daemati powers on others.”

A hush went across the group.

“Tamlin-” Eris pulled him down into his seat.

“No. Eris, we can’t just-”

“Do you want a full out war?” Eris asked quietly.

Tamlin didn’t answer.

“Then sit your ass down.”

Tamlin looked back at Rhysand’s smug expression.

I’ll tear out your throat like I did with Amarantha.

I probably should say I am sorry, but I really am not. 

Feyre gently kissed her sleeping baby as he tugged on the blanket covering himself and Nesta.

I will be back before you two know it.

Feyre got out of bed, pulling on proper clothes.

I can’t wait for Tamlin and Eris to go and save Elain.

She shuddered, imagining the possible ‘punishments’ Rhysand could inflict onto her sister or Lucien.

It’s my fault.

Feyre shook her head. 

This is no time for such thoughts. I need to focus! Mor mentioned that Azriel was the one who took Elain and Lucien. He most likely took them back to the Night Court’s prison.

Highly doubt Rhysand would give them a warm welcome.

Feyre glanced one last time at Nest and Nyx.

I promise I’ll be back soon.

Taking a deep breath Feyre began the journey to the Night Court.

Feyre was grateful Tamlin and Eris had left early, permitting her the time to go rescue Elain. 

It would work out well, while they distracted Rhysand at the meeting, I can get them out. She sighed, avoiding a wagon passing through the shimmering streets of the Night Court.

If only I could winnow longer distances. Of all the powers the cauldron gave me it couldn’t have invested a bit more energy into granting me the most useful and practical ability of all?

She felt exhausted from walking and riding her horse but it would all be worth it in the end. Pulling her hood up close, Feyre made her way past the familiar vendors of Velaris. The sparkling light of the lamp posts reflected off the cobblestone, and the stars in the sky shining brightly. Customers haggled with the shopkeepers, and kids happily ran past her, playing hopscotch. 

I missed this place.

Feyre did appreciate the beauty of this city. Adored the liveliness of it. The memories she had made with him…

She shook her head.

I am not here for that. These thoughts will do no good.

Feyre paid for a room at an inn and left her horse there, sneaking up to the palace using one of the many beloved pathways Rhysand had shown her that he had used to avoid his classes or parents when he had the chance.

Carefully knocking out several guards and slipping in through a back entrance of the castle Feyre tiptoed down the hallway, checking corners for fae. Carefully she made her way downstairs to the prison. The floor was moist and slippery. Feyre gripped her hand into the stone walls, making sure to keep herself stable.

The prison was dark. Soft groans echoed off the walls, quieted as Feyre approached the cells, trying to see who was inside. The further she went however, the more her stomach twisted into an uncomfortable pretzel. 

Where are they? They have to be-Wait. Azriel works as a torturer. Perhaps he has his own jail? To keep the people he was interrogating?

Feyre frowned. 

If that is the case, how am I supposed to-

“Feyre?”

She whirled around to face Cassian.

“By the Mother, we’ve been looking for you!” he took a step forward. She matched.

Feyre looked behind him.

No reinforcements. I can run.

“Are you hurt? We heard you were staying in Spring, and then moved to Autumn. Did Eris or Tamlin hurt you? Did they kidnap you?”

“Cassian, I left of my own accord.”

“Yeah, Rhys said you argued and so you left to take a small break. But I know you wouldn’t willingly ‘take a break’ in either of those places.”

I don’t think I would ever choose a fae court as a vacation spot at this point.

“Cassian, Rhysand has been controlling my mind.” Feyre decided to be honest.

In my current state it will be hard to fight. I have recovered partially but…

She eyed the sword on his hip. 

I don’t want to test where his true loyalties lie in battle.

Feyre knew deep down they were not with her.

“Huh?” Cassian gaped, “What are you talking about?”

“It was after he began teaching me how to use my daemati abilities.” she rambled, “It didn’t happen immediately, but slowly he took power from me and I…I confronted him and he just…took over completely.”

Cassian remained quiet.

“I haven’t been in control since then.” she whispered, “Cassian, please. I didn’t leave to ‘take a break’ I ran for my life. You have to help me free Elain and Lucien, I am scared for them.”

“You’re saying he did this to you?”

“Yes.”

“Rhysand…hurt you like this?” Cassian looked conflicted.

“It’s the truth!”

Cassian shook his head, “For him to do something like this…there must be an explanation.”

“Cassian…”

“There has to be more to it.”

“Cassian, he kept me trapped inside my own mind.” she felt anger tint her tone, making Cassian look away, deep in thought.

“I didn’t realize a reunion was being held down there.” that obsidian voice, as dark as the walls of the cells around them made Feyre scramble back, her eyes falling on Rhys who descended down the spiraling stone steps.

“Feyre, welcome back. If you had told me you were returning I would have greeted you properly.”

Cassian turned to his brother in arms, a small frown on his face, “Rhys, Feyre just said something…strange.”

“Oh?” Rhysand looked concerned, “Not something bad from Spring I hope?”

“She said you used your daemati powers on her.”

Rhysand laughed, not missing a beat, “That was a part of our argument. A huge misunderstanding.”

“Misunderstanding my ass!” Feyre growled, “You forced me!”

“I didn’t force you to do anything darling.” Rhysand corrected, keeping his tone collected and even, “You asked me for help and I delivered.”

“So, you didn’t manipulate her mind?”

“Of course not Cassian.”

His brother nodded.

No!

“That’s not true!” Feyre yelled, “He’s lying to you Cassian! He has been lying to everyone! ”

You have to believe me!

Cassian glanced between the two of them, his expression conflicted, “Rhys…maybe we should-”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Rhys, are you sure?”

“Yes, my mate looks like she’s about to attack us no? Let me handle it.”

Feyre broke her fighting stance, straightening her back, “You’re twisting this.”

“It’s just an observation.” Rhys smirked, “I admire your spirit.”

Cassian nodded, “I trust you…”

Feyre had nothing to yell at the Illyrian, as she watched with betrayed eyes as he left, his own a bit glassy.

“Shouldn’t you look at your mate rather than another male?” his cold voice brought her attention back to the scene.

Feyre snarled.

“Oh, Feyre, darling, I have missed you.” his voice became sweet again, approaching her slowly, as if she were a wounded animal.

“Stay away from me!”

To her shock he obeyed, raising his hands as an act of surrender.

“Feyre, you’re scaring me.”

I am scaring you?

She backed away from Rhysand even though he didn’t approach her.

I have to run.

“You’re not acting like yourself. I understand the argument we had was serious, but we should stop this madness.”

“Argument…?”

“Yes darling, argument.” he smiled.

“W-What are you talking about?” Feyre felt panic bubbling under her skin.

“We had an argument.” he explained slowly, “You thought I did something that I didn’t do. So, we decided some space would do us both some good. Are you ready to have a proper conversation now?”

“No! You mind controlled me! Y-You…”

The expression of confusion, betrayal and hurt that he gave her made Feyre want to tear her eyes out.  

“I didn’t ‘mind control’ you dear. That’s an over exaggeration.”

She blinked in confusion.

“Do you really think I could hurt my own mate?” he whispered, “It pains me to see you get hurt. My heart breaks. In fact, do you know how scared I was when I heard you went to Spring?”

“I left you willingly. You hurt me. You…you’re the monster here!”

“What is this about going there willingly?” he brushed a stay lock of hair out of her face, “Did you forget how he treated you?”

Feyre gasped, feeling the panic she had felt back then resurge, the scenes of her begging and crying to be set free replaying in her mind.

“Oh darling.” Rhysand cooed, pulling her into his arms. 

Stop that!” she shoved him away, shaking the images out of her brain.

“I am just reminding you of what happened dear.” he smirked.

“I don’t need a reminder.” she growled.

“Everyone sometimes does.” Rhysand hummed.

She glared, “Where is Elain and Lucien?”

“Elain…? Darling, what are you talking about?” Rhysand chuckled.

“Where did you take my sister?!” she yelled, grabbing him by his nice dress shirt.

Rhysand looked bemused, “I don’t know because I didn’t take her, sweetest. However, you’re welcome to check every cell in here if you like?”

Feyre narrowed her eyes and the man raised his hands in surrender again, “Promise, no games. Every room is yours to check down here.”

She took a step away from him, seeing if he would try to stop her. When he didn’t, Feyre continued further down the dark hallway, scrunching her nose at the rotting and moldy scent that hit her nose.

But no matter where she looked, she couldn’t find them.

Feyre turned back to Rhysand with narrowed eyes.

He merely raised an eyebrow in response, “Well? Any luck?”

“Fuck you. You’re hiding them somewhere else!”

“Maybe, maybe not.” he drawled, “Does it really matter when you’re not going to find them anyways?”

“What?”

“I mean, can you actually do anything by yourself successfully, Feyre?”

“What kind of question is that?!”

“Well, whenever I see you try to do something independently, you need help.”

“That’s not true!”

“Is it not? It’s okay to need help Feyre. You’re doing your best but you need someone to do the heavy lifting. “

Her heart skipped a beat, feeling his hot breath against her ear, “All you need to do is ask and I am right there for you.

“Fuck off, dickhead.” she shoved him away, walking back to the staircase.

“What are you without me?”

“What?”

“I mean, what can you even do?”

“I protected my family. I fed us.”

“Ha…protected? You sure are one hell of a protector. Ran off with a fae the moment he gave you the chance at a better life.”

“That’s not what happened!”

“Is it not? You seemed happy to enjoy your time at the Spring manor.”

“I was taken, I wouldn’t have left if I hadn’t been lied to!”

“You thought you deserved it. The luxury, the power.” he leaned in, “I concur my dear. You do deserve all that and above. With me you can actually have those things.”

“I helped defeat Amarantha!”

“Feyre, darling, please…truly, what were you under that mountain?”

“I…”

Because what I recall is a pretty little thing dancing in the palm of a faerie’s hand. Ah well, and in other places too.

Feyre went red.

“No need to be ashamed darling. It was quite pleasant, and when it comes to skills it’s something you’re actually good at.”

She looked away.

“You could barely read before me. You only got through those puzzles because of my generosity, my love for you.”

Feyre couldn’t come up with a rebuttal.

“Oh, dear. I am sorry, I didn’t mean to be so forward with you.” he brushed her hair back again, gently turning her to face him, “I know how sensitive you are.”

“I am not-”

“You must have been so frightened all alone.” his fingers felt nice against her scalp, “Tamlin can truly be a brute.”

What…can I even do?

Feyre stared down at the ground.

I always thought I was a good fighter, but I can’t fight him off. He’s right, I didn’t beat Amarantha…I had so much help.

“Darling, look at me, please.” his voice was soft, so gentle. 

Feyre obeyed, tentatively looking up at Rhysand.

“There are those pretty eyes I missed so much.” he smiled, “You had me so worried. We searched everywhere for you. Knowing the way you are, I couldn't just let you get hurt. You understand, right?”

I constantly need help. When was the last time I actually rescued myself? Have I ever even done such a thing?

Feyre felt hot tears rolling down her cheeks.

“I am sorry.” she mumbled, “I am sorry, I am sorry, I am sorry-”

“Shh.” he pulled her into a tight hug, one that Feyre couldn’t help but find comfort in, “It’s okay. I am here now. You don’t have to worry anymore.”

I am scared.

“Relax for me darling.” he ran a soothing hand up and down her back. 

Feyre felt so tired. Everytime she tried to help or do something to change her situation it only got worse. She only mustered a wriggle as his power gently creeped into her mind, slowly enveloping her thoughts and worries.

I am weak.

I am powerless against him. 

I am nothing.

‘Where the fuck did you put Nyx you poor excuse of a mother?’

She blinked inside the void, watching as he sifted through her memories of the time she had been away.

Nyx.

He can’t know where Nyx is. 

She grabbed onto her recent memories of her child, pulling them down with her into the dark abyss.

The last thing I want to be is a terrible mother. I won’t let you know where he is.

Feyre blinked slowly.

Rhysand hummed, “Have you calmed down now darling?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” he kissed her, “Cauldron, how I have missed you.”

“I missed you too…” she mumbled.

“Let’s get you to bed, you must be exhausted after everything you’ve been.” his eyes narrowed, still searching for where exactly Nyx was being kept, “Although, I must say, I would love to not only have you back but our son too.”

“Of course dear.”

“Mind telling me where you put him?”

“I…” her body blanked, unable to recall the memory with Feyre hiding it.

“Hmm, maybe I shook her up a bit too much.” he said quietly, “No matter darling, we’ll get him eventually, just focus on remaining calm for now, okay?”

“Okay.”

‘Have any fun fighting words for me now dearest?’ his triumphant voice echoes throughout her mind.

Feyre said nothing.

‘Darling?’

I am nothing.

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