#blank tag to keep out of searches

[loviatarsluv]

APHRODISIAC

— ‎ ꜝ synopsis: it should’ve been just like any other auction you’d attended with sylus - get in, gather information, and get out - but an unfortunate run-in with another organization’s leader leads to a very… sticky situation.

— ꜝ pairing: sylus x reader (reader is technically MC, so they are described femininely and use feminine pronouns)

—ꜝ genre: smut (18+ reader discretion advised!)

— ꜝ word count: 5.6k

— ꜝ tags/warnings: strong language, dr*gging, aphrodisiacs, (f)masturbation, fingering, oral (f receiving), sylus being a consent king (⁎˃ᆺ˂)

—ꜝ author's note: another lads fic I’ve been sitting on for months bc I wasn’t sure if it was good enough to post but when I tell u the urge to write sylus smut is so strong at all times, esp to push the munch!sylus agenda … so I went ahead and finished this one and left it on a lil bit of a cliffhanger for shits and gigs (❛ε❛“) just know sylus had her up until DAWN, bro is trying to give himself lockjaw I swear

18+ ONLY under the cut!! I mean it!!

You tug at the tight crimson silk bound around your midsection, adjusting the almost too low neckline and the high slit that stopped just at the top of your thigh every few minutes to avoid a malfunction.

You recall Sylus’ words from months prior when you attended that first auction with him.

No one can stay wary when there’s a beauty walking around.

His flattery almost always held motive behind it— his intentions were clear with his choice of dress to adorn you in, and all you could do was grin and bear it as dozens of the N109 Zone’s most affluent gawked at you as you meandered around the lavish ballroom while Sylus was off doing god knows what.

“Miss, would you care for a glass of wine?” A waiter with a bright smile appears seemingly out of nowhere, a golden tray held before him with one single wine glass in the center.

You eyeball the glass for a moment, your better judgment scolding you for considering it, before shaking your head.

“No, thank you.” You smile politely, turning to walk away before the waiter clears his throat.

“Are you sure? It’s compliments of that gentleman over there,” he points toward a tall man looming in the corner, indolently leant against the wall and watching with a sly smirk on his face.

You squint at him, mentally searching your mind for any trace of him only to come up blank. Your eyes darted between the glass and the man, something telling you it would be wise to accept the drink in case it could start a conversation with a potential person of interest.

You feign a thankful smile, grabbing the glass by its delicate stem and swirling it slightly to subtly check for any tampering.

“Thank you.” You coo to the waiter as he dashes off, bringing the edge of the glass up to your nose to sniff it.

Unable to detect any smell or visible alterations to the dark red liquid, you sample a tiny sip, glancing at the man out of the corner of your eye as you do.

A deep and husky voice chimes through the earpiece Sylus had given you earlier, instructing you to keep it on at all times. So he can eavesdrop on me, you think to yourself.

“Miss Hunter drinking on the job? What a little rebel.”

You roll your eyes, now certain that Sylus was watching you somehow. Your eyes scan the higher parts of the room for Mephisto, but find no sign of the mechanical crow or the pompous man he answered to.

“Wasn’t this part of your plan? I stay down here and dangle myself like a piece of meat over a lion enclosure and hope someone bites while you get to do all the actual work? Well, someone has finally bitten. You should be thrilled.”

He chuckles lowly, and you tune your ears to try to listen for him somewhere in the room, but his voice remains secluded only to your left ear.

“Are you not having fun playing pretend?” Underneath the slight amusement, there’s a hint of genuine concern in his voice that catches you off guard.

A loud scoff tumbles from your lips, forgetting yourself for a moment before quickly covering it with a cough. “Are you actually making any progress, or are you too busy watching me? Is your faith in me so little?” You huff in retort, annoyance clear in your voice despite the deceiving little smile that remained on your face.

“Hard not to look at you right now, kitten. Red is your color.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, reminding you that you really were little more than a lamb primed for slaughter standing in a room full of hungry wolves— one of them being your escort.

A gruff sigh reaches your ears, his voice almost sympathetic as he speaks again before the line cuts off.

“I’ll be done soon. Hold tight.”

Before you can even attempt to reach out to him again, you notice a dark figure approaching out of the corner of your eye. You silently curse to yourself.

Sylus, you better hurry the fuck up.

“Red is your color, angel.” The man who’d sent the wine coos, peering at you from behind a pair of dark sunglasses that seemed out of place in the dim lighting of the room.

Somehow, you manage not to audibly scoff once again, biting down on your tongue as you offer him a sanguine simper from behind the glass as it perches on your lower lip.

“So I’ve been told. Thank you,” you deadpan, raising the glass to him, your dark burgundy nails tinking against the side, perfectly matching the color of the liquid inside.

He smirks, a mouth full of impossibly perfect pearly white teeth on display, his sharp canines peeking over his lip. “Don’t mention it, doll. Strange to see a pretty thing like you standing alone. Did you lose your escort?”

Misogynistic prick.

“I escorted myself.” You lie, your tone harsh as you respond sharply, unable to contain the bite in it at his presumptiveness.

“Forgetting about me already, sweetie?” Sylus’ voice is in your ear again, and it takes everything in you to fight the urge to rip the device out of your ear and stomp on it.

How you manage to be surrounded by the most insufferable men constantly is truly astounding.

“Well, it must be my lucky day then. How about a dance then, Miss…?” The man purrs, holding his hand out in offering.

Your eyes scan him once again, trying your hardest to search your memory for anything of note that could help identify him.

He was handsome— he looked like he had been torn straight out of an issue of a fashion magazine in his perfectly tailored gray suit and his lean physique. He was tall, but still not quite as towering as Sylus. He could almost appear as Sylus’ perfect negative, draped in lighter tones contrasted by his immaculately styled raven hair. He certainly had the ego to rival that of the leader of the fearsome Onychinus, but likely lacked the merit for it.

“Don’t waste your time. I’m wrapping up now.” Sylus rasps in your ear, an uncharacteristic tone of urgency in his voice as the words fly out of his mouth in rapid succession.

A devilish smirk tugs at the corners of your painted lips, deciding to give him a bit of hell as payback for leaving you out here like chum in shark infested waters.

“Vale,” you grinned coyly as you offered the fake name, knowing better than to give your real identity away, placing your hand delicately in his outstretched one. “And you are…?”

He offers yet another captivating smile before bringing the back of your gloved hand up to his lips. “Fawkes. Pleasure to meet you, Miss Vale.”

Fawkes. Where have you heard that name before?

“Shit. You didn’t drink any more of the wine, did you?” Sylus asks, his prior tone of urgency now topped with noticeable concern. “I’ll be there soon. Hold on, kitten.”

Your brows furrow, a pit forming in your stomach as the pieces fall into place and you suddenly understand the situation you’d gotten yourself into.

You’d only taken a sip, so the haze was manageable as it came on, but still enough to cause your eyelids to feel heavier than they should. You manage to maintain your composure as he leads you around the room, one cold hand wrapped around your waist, his fingertips digging into the bare skin of your exposed back, nails slightly digging into the flesh as if they were clawed talons perched atop a piece of carrion.

He watches you expectantly— you could feel his eyes on you even behind his dark glasses.

“Feeling alright, Miss Vale?” He dips his head low enough to bring his mouth close to your ear, his voice sending an unpleasant chill down your spine.

You feign a smile, coyly placing a hand against his lapel.

“Peachy keen. Thank you for asking,” you reply simply, attempting to subtly scan the room for any sign of Sylus.

The smirk on the towering man’s face sent a wave of nausea through you as the possibilities of his intentions with drugging the drink swirled in your mind— had he seen you enter with Sylus? Or worse… Did he know who you were, and did he know about the Aether Core?

Dreary eyes sweep the dance floor once more as he guides you into a graceful turn, your dress swishing across the marble tiles. No sign of Sylus still, and the pounding in your skull was only getting worse…

Not to mention, the… other effects that had started to set in, that you were trying with all of your might to ignore.

“Are you sure you’re well, doll? You’re looking a little… feverish. Perhaps you should lie down for a bit,” he offers coolly, as if he were an actor performing his lines for the millionth time. Your blood boils at the thought.

You shake your head, keeping an iron grip on your composure.

Any second now, Sylus will swoop in. He always does. He’s so handsome, and strong, and big… I wonder if—

Oh god, snap out of it!

“I’m fine. It’s just been a long day, s’all,” you slightly slur, mentally cursing yourself for losing control of your words while still trying to reign in your bodily functions and your mind that you were rapidly losing control of. Your eyes sweep the room once again, the room beginning to feel as though it were in rotation before landing on the area where you knew the ladies’ room to be. “I think I need to use the restroom.”

Just as you begin to pull away from his grasp, he reaches out once again, roughly yanking your body back against his and bringing his sinister grin close to your ear, his hot breath sending a shiver up your spine.

“But we haven’t finished our dance yet, doll,” His sickly sweet tone makes your skin crawl as his hands grip at your waist.

Just as you begin to worry that your fate has been sealed, you feel another much larger set of hands grabbing you by the waist and hauling you away. Sylus’ voice is low and gruff against your ear as he leans down to whisper to you. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

The low timbre of his voice sends a wave of heat through you, pooling low as a bright flush washes across your face tinting it a rosy hue. You try not to look him in the eyes for fear that you may lose the last remains of control you cling to.

Before you can even attempt an answer, Sylus pushes you behind him, his large and looming body shielding you as you cling to his back, pressing against the warm fabric of his suit jacket as it drapes over his broad shoulders.

He always smells so good…

“Ah, Mr. Sylus. Didn’t anyone teach you it’s rude to steal another man’s dance partner without asking first?” You hear the man’s voice distantly as you feel Sylus tense against you.

“Not nearly as rude as drugging another man’s date, is it not?” He hisses, his tone sharp and full of venom as his hand reaches behind his back to grip your arm protectively.

You recall earlier how you’d planned to make Sylus jealous out of spite, and the perverse part of your brain that had been wrenched out of hiding silently thank past-you for concocting such a brilliant plan— he is so hot when he’s like this.

Wait, what? Ugh, what did that asshole put in your drink?!

“Quite a big accusation to throw at a man with no actionable proof,” the man sounds amused, as if he were simply toying with his food. “Whether I’ve done such a thing or not, it would probably be wise to escort this lovely lady home. I’ll get to the bottom of this, don’t you worry.”

Sylus’ jaw sets, his knuckles turning white at his side as he resists the burning sensation of his evol accumulating in his palm, the urge to send an angry mist of black and blood red to snap the man’s neck growing stronger with each passing second. He refrains, his demeanor calm and collected as he begins to lead you out of the ballroom.

As the two of you begin to pass the slightly shorter man, a hand reaches out to grip Sylus’ arm, halting him in his tracks.

What is said, you barely make out, every sound blurring together as the foggy haze makes itself at home in your unsober mind, but you could piece things together to discern what you thought was said.

“You have a long night ahead of you, my friend.”

Huh. Strange.

⁺⊹♡◦₊⋄

The silence in the car was deafening— or was it the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears? You couldn’t tell anymore, the world was all a hazy blur of sounds and lights and spicy cinnamon cologne that seemed so much stronger when contained and concentrated within the stark leathery confines of this small space.

You sneak glances at Sylus, your legs instinctively clenching together as you notice the iron grip his large hands held on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white with the force of his menacing grip strength. You worried he might break the wheel entirely.

God, you’re going mad.

Especially when he looked like that— the way his muscles tensed and remained taut, his entire presence buzzing with an energy you’d only noticed when he would come to your rescue; a sort of protective, almost possessive aura that always made your heart skip a beat, but now it had your heart doing a full on marathon in your chest.

Typically, him speeding with you in the car might bother you, but you were too gone to care anymore. Your mind could not focus on anything but that stupid. Fucking. Cologne.

Was it the cologne, or was it just him?

“I have half a mind to go back and snap that man’s neck,” he breaks the silence, casually throwing the sentence out as if he were simply commenting on the weather. You knew he meant it, too. You swallow thickly.

It’s just him. Good lord… you’re in trouble.

You remain silent, for fear that whatever comes out of your mouth might seal your own death sentence. Death by mortification.

Sylus’ head turns slightly to peek at you, his brows furrowed. “Are you alright?”

No. Nope. Not good.

“Y-Yeah. All good.” You muster, the tremor in your voice evident and undeniable. You pinch your eyes shut, hoping he won’t press you any further.

“Tch. You’re a bad liar, even with drugs swimming through your system.” He chastises.

Before you can attempt a defensive retort, the car lurches to a sudden stop, and you realize you were already outside of his base.

“We’re here.”

Just as your hands move to unbuckle your seatbelt, Sylus is already on the passenger side of the car, large hands making quick work of what your shaky, clammy ones likely would’ve struggled with. Heat radiates off of him as he leans over you for that brief moment and you feel your body instinctively lean into him, leaning your head against his shoulder.

He freezes, a soft chuckle leaving his lips. “Let’s get you inside.”

You nod, your slightly damp forehead rubbing against the fabric of his shirt as you do. He pulls back, carmine irises scanning your face with a softer look than you’d ever seen him adorn.

His arm wraps around your back, the smooth, warm flesh of his forearm brushing against the exposed skin on your spine causing goosebumps to raise across your arms and your hair to stand on end. The smallest amount of skin-to-skin contact was already almost too much for you, and you jolted away from his touch.

Confused, he looks you over, thinking maybe he’d hurt you somehow. “Did I hurt you? What’s wrong?”

You stare back up at him, chest heaving as if you’d ran here yourself, cheeks glowing and a sheen of sweat glistening all over your body despite the bitter chill of the winter air.

This is insane, it’s like I’m in heat! I have to get away from him before I do something stupid…

Without another word, you muster up enough strength to push yourself out of the car and dash through the front door, beelining it to the room Sylus had set up for you when you ended up staying the night in the N109 Zone.

You breeze past Luke and Kieran, who both offer some sort of silly greeting that you couldn’t be bothered to attempt to listen to this time, knowing you couldn’t look anyone in the eye right now knowing that your body was like a loose cannon.

It should be over in a few hours, right?

⁺⊹♡◦₊⋄

It had been much longer than a few hours.

At least it felt that way, for Sylus.

Sylus waited a bit before attempting to check on you, the familiar tug of worry in his chest that he only felt when you were hurt or in trouble persisting and making it hard not to fuss over you and make sure you were okay.

Not to mention, the last thing that wretched man said to him as he dragged you out of the venue echoed in his ears like a church bell— You have a long night ahead of you, my friend.

Whatever that meant.

“Boss, we can go check on her if you want!” Luke offers, breaking Sylus out of his swirling thoughts.

“Yeah! Don’t even worry about it, we’ll take care of her!” Kieran chimes in, stepping up behind Luke and peering at Sylus over his brother’s shoulder.

A heavy sigh escapes Sylus’ chest, his thumb and index finger pinching the bridge of his nose.

“That will not be necessary.” Is all he says before turning and disappearing down the hallway toward your room, restraining himself from telling the two of them off for even offering. The thought of anyone coming near you that wasn’t him right now was making his skin crawl.

He tried not to rush through the extensive maze that was his main base to get to you, but he couldn’t help but move swiftly knowing that you were unwell, much less that you were unwell due to his own negligence.

As he approached your bedroom door, he could very faintly hear a low string of odd noises on the other side— were you crying?

Worried, he pushes the door open slowly, and the scene he finds is not at all what he’d expected.

Silver moonlight pours in through the parted curtains near your bed, bathing your blushed and panting figure in a starry glow as your skin glistens, your legs parted with your hand buried between them, your forearm draped over your eyes as you bite down on the sheets in a feeble attempt to conceal the moans and whimpers escaping your throat.

Sylus’ throat goes dry, unsure whether he should leave or announce his presence, unable to tear his eyes away from your body writhing in the stark black silk sheets, a million and one terribly profane thoughts flooding his mind at the sight.

“S-Sy— ah!” You whine, muffled by the silk on your tongue, but audible just enough for him to hear, and just enough to snap the last few strands of restraint he’d been holding on to.

He crosses the room in two or three quick steps until he reaches the side of the bed, clearing his throat loudly to announce his presence.

You gasp, your eyes snapping open, scrambling to readjust your dress to cover yourself. “Sylus! H-How long have you been s-standing there?!”

His ruby irises seemed so much darker as he looked you over, a low hum resounding in his chest. “Long enough.”

Your jaw goes slack, unsure what all he saw, or much worse, what he’d heard.

“I was just— it’s because of the— I wasn’t—” You clamor over yourself attempting to explain, your entire being feeling like you might fall apart at the seams due to both embarrassment, and the fact that you’d been seconds away from orgasm before the subject of your depraved fantasies so rudely and abruptly interrupted.

“I know, kitten. And if you had simply said something earlier, I could’ve helped you.”

Unsure if you’d heard him right, you look up at him, confused. “W-What?”

He chuckles lowly, his body lowering down to sit beside you on the bed, the mattress dipping below his weight as he scoots toward you.

“The drug— he gave you an aphrodisiac of some sort.” He explains, yet still expertly dodges your question.

“No shit, Sylus!” You yell, exasperated, still on edge and aching from the current lack of stimulation. You squeeze your legs together to quell the throbbing between them, a whimper dropping from your lips as you do. You grab one of the pillows and shove your face into it, wishing this hellish ordeal would end.

Sylus grabs the pillow and pulls it back down to look you in the eyes once again, a glint of both mischief and lust in his eyes. “Don’t hide from me, sweetie.”

“This is a nightmare.” You groan, your eyes moving to focus on the ceiling and avoid his knowing gaze.

A hand comes up to push a few sweat slicked strands of hair off of your face, then a thumb presses your jaw back down, holding it tightly as he inches closer, his face only a few measly inches away from yours.

“My offer to help still stands. If you want it, that is. But you have to give me a clear yes or no.”

Yes! Yes, please!

If you were hot before, you must be on fire now, your entire body feeling as if your blood had been replaced with magma. It took all of your strength to keep yourself from pouncing on him then and there, all rational and logical thought having left you the moment you’d entered this room.

“I need an answer, kitten.” He repeats, his hand sliding across the sheets, inching closer and closer to your thigh. You were practically trembling with need, each one of your muscles taut like a bowstring ready to send you whizzing through the air into his capable arms.

“Fuck it.” You practically moan, launching yourself forward and colliding your lips with his in a heated, breathy, sloppy kiss that was all tongue and teeth and pure greed. Not only on your part, but on his as well.

He molds you to him instantly, strong arms wrapping around you and pulling you into his lap, one hand moving to grip the back of your thigh before travelling underneath your dress to get a handful of the plush flesh of your ass. You break away from the kiss, dazed and gasping for air, a string of saliva still connecting his mouth to yours.

“Was that a clear enough answer for you?” You breathe, your voice huskier than you’d ever known was possible for yourself.

“I’ll let it slide this time,” he whispers against your lips as you reconnect them, taking the lead by pushing him backward so that he was laying and you hovered above him. You could feel your slick dripping down your thigh, the cool air hitting it and sending a chill through you. You’d have likely been embarrassed in any other situation, but you had much more pressing matters in your mind— such as Sylus’ clothed cock pressing against you as it strains against his too-tight slacks.

You sit back, unsteady hands trying desperately to release it from its confines, but a large hand captures yours and brings it up to press a kiss to the inside of your wrist.

“What an eager little kitten, I’ve got,” he purrs. “As much as I’d die to sink into you and never let you go— I think now maybe isn’t the best time.”

Ouch.

You weren’t sure if it was the effects of the drugs still swimming in your system that made his rejection feel like a knife through your chest, or if it was something else, but that’s exactly how it felt— as if he’d grabbed your heart and stabbed it like it were a butchered piece of meat.

His eyes soften as he notices the look on your face, a hand moving to cup your cheek, thumb rubbing soothing circles under your eye. “Trust me, sweetie. I want to. More than anything, truly... But I want to do this when you want it for real, not because some deviant slipped a roofie in your drink.”

You remain silent, understanding his reasoning but wishing so badly you had a valid counterargument to against it, to beg and plead with him to just ravage you and not think twice about it— but damn this man for being so… thoughtful. You couldn’t possibly protest, even in your most addled state.

Taking note of your silence, he leans forward once again, pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose.

“Besides, I want it to be special. I want to take my time with you,” His voice is low as he speaks, dripping with the promise of passion that only furthered your current dilemma. His eyes flick down to the spot beneath you on his pants where a dark, wet stain pooled, and he almost looks pained. “Let’s just get you through tonight first, hm?”

You sigh, beginning to climb off of him before he grips your hips, holding you in place. You raise a brow in confusion, only to be met with a lustful smirk. “I thought you said—”

“I said no to sex, not no to everything,” He explains matter-of-factly.

In a swift movement, he flips the two of you over, softly tossing your back against the mattress, your hair splaying out around your head like a halo. Large hands move to grip the plush meat of your thighs, gently spreading your legs and pulling your skirt up to expose the mess you’d already made of yourself, your panties soaked and the insides of your thighs drenched in your slick.

He sucks in a sharp breath at the sight, a dangerous flicker of hunger flashing across his blood red eyes.

“Poor thing,” he tuts, his words like honey dripping from his tongue. “Already so soaked…” he grumbles more to himself as lays on his stomach, his face merely inches from your wet and waiting heat.

You can’t help but already moan in anticipation, your body aching with the fiercest need you’d ever experienced, that ache only intensifying the more he teased you. “S-Sylus, please…”

He ignores you, his eyes locked on your panties that were now essentially see through, examining your body as if he was trying to memorize it and save it for later.

He hesitates for a moment before leaning forward, his hot breath ghosting over you, eyes heavily lidded and full of pure desire as he peers up at you. Just as you open your mouth to plead with him, a long digit swipes up the center of your folds, lightly flicking your clit and making you jolt, wrenching a surprised yelp out of you.

“Are you sure you want this? I can try to figure out something else to ease your symptoms if—”

“Sylus!” You basically yell over him, leaning up and placing your hands on his shoulders, gripping at them as if your life depended on it. It sure felt like it did at this point.

“I have fantasized about this long before tonight, so I swear to all that is holy if you do not eat me out right now, I might actually keel over and die,” you ramble quickly, the words tumbling out as if a dam had burst in your brain and now the things that you barely even admit to yourself were spilling out freely. But you couldn’t care less at this point, you’d lost the ability to hours ago.

The words that leave your lips seem to shock both of you, an unreadable expression passing across his face before settling on something you could only describe with one word: primal.

He practically growls as he dives in, lapping hungrily at your still clothed cunt like a man starved. His voice vibrates against you, only furthering the sensation and nearly already overstimulating you. His arms wrap around your thighs, pulling you closer to him and fingers digging in and gripping them tight to prevent you from pulling away— not that you’d planned on it, anyways.

Your hand flies to his head, your fingers threading through his silver locks the way you’d wished you could dozens of times over. When your fingers find purchase, your nails scraping gently across his scalp, he groans loudly against your pussy— and god, you may not last much longer if he keeps this up.

“You are so,” he mutters into you, pausing to lick one long stripe from your entrance to your clit. “Fucking divine.” He finishes, one arm releasing your thigh so he could hook a finger beneath the soiled cloth and slide it to the side, the cool air biting at your drenched cunt as he exposes it.

“Fucking hell,” he murmurs to himself before diving in again, his tongue immediately finding your waiting hole, clenching and throbbing desperately around nothing.

Your back instantly arches off of the bed, a string of whiny, needy whimpers and curses filling the room amidst the profane squelching noises as he drinks you in as if you were the last drop of water in a burning hot desert.

He pistons his tongue in and out of you, using his still free hand to swipe against your neglected bud, shockwaves of pleasure wreaking havoc on your body and soul. You were already so close.

“S-Sylusss…” You mewl, bringing your hand up to bite down on your fist to muffle yourself. Sylus notices and quickly grips your wrist, yanking it away from your mouth.

“No, no, kitten. I need to hear you. Don’t hide from me,” he instructs, his voice a deep rumble akin to a purr against you. You lean up and nod at him with wide, teary eyes glazed over with pleasure. “Be good for me, won’t you?”

Good grief.

“Say it,” his voice is darker, more commanding. Your walls clamp down on the infuriating nothingness.

“I’ll be good, Sylus, p-please, pleasepleaseplease,” you plead, your voice more wanton and needy than you’d ever heard it before. It almost didn’t sound like you, if you hadn’t felt it drip off of your own tongue.

He hums in approval, bringing a finger up to tease at your folds, gently massaging and gathering up your slick on the pad of it before prodding at your entrance.

“I know, kitten. I’ve got you.” He purls as one finger slowly inches in, and a feeling somewhere between relief and desperation floods your body. It wasn’t enough, you needed more.

“More, please, please, I need—” You were practically sobbing, and he hadn’t even moved his hand yet.

“Hmm… so greedy,” without warning, he curls his finger, prodding perfectly at that spongy spot that made your vision go white and lit your body on fire, while his thumb starts to rub slow teasing circles around your neglected clit. “Is that better?”

“Yes! Just like that— I’m gonna come, just like that!” You scream, your hand instinctively pushing against his head to pull him closer.

He chuckles, complying with your nonverbal queue and replacing his thumb with his mouth, sucking down harshly onto your throbbing clit, sending you careening into the hardest orgasm you’d ever felt in your life.

Wave after wave of pleasure wrecks your body, slamming into you for what felt like forever while Sylus continued to work you through it all, one hand moving to lace his fingers between yours to help ground you while the other slowly moved within your pulsing walls as you came down.

Your body slumps, your chest heaving and your mind reeling. You’re still trapped in the haze of pleasure as Sylus pulls his finger out, placing one last lingering kiss to your over sensitive pussy before pulling away all together. You keen at the loss of his touch, already wanting more as he gazes up at you, chin glistening with the most pussy-drunk expression written across his features.

“Feel better?” He asks smugly, wiping his chin with the back of his hand and licking his lips, the burning embers of lust still flickering in his fiery eyes.

You want to say yes, but you know all too well that you could easily go for several more rounds and then some. You weren’t sure if you were even still under the effects of the aphrodisiac drug anymore, or if you were just finally admitting to yourself what you’ve known you wanted all along. This forbidden attraction to Sylus that had only grown the longer you’d spent time around him, the ache you felt to be closer to him anytime you went away or vice versa— you couldn’t deny it anymore, and that frightened you.

Sylus notes your silence, and chuckles, crawling over you until his hands are on either side of your head, his face hovering over yours. His breath smells strongly of you, and the thought makes your quivering legs clamp closed once again.

“Was that okay?” He asks, his eyes and voice softer than you think you’d ever heard from him, seeking reassurance.

Was that okay? You mock him in your head, your eyes flitting down to look at your disheveled dress, the sheen of sweat coating your skin, your heaving chest and not to mention the absolute disaster that was your lower half. Your eyes flit back to his, a wry smirk on your lips.

“If I say no, will you try again?” You ask earnestly, despite it sounding like a joke.

Sylus chuckles, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Only if you ask nicely.”

⁺⊹♡◦₊⋄

other l&ds works ➛ bloop

[adieutristana]

Hi hi hi! Was wondering if you could do a jinx x reader fic where instead of ekko saving her from blowing herself up it was the reader

Tyy <333

of course! thank you for the request <3

two out of three finals knocked out, then one more tomorrow and im free 💔

summary: fem! reader saves jinx from blowing herself up.

characters included: jinx

tags/warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, suicidal ideation, mentions of poor mental health, s2 spoilers, (some) fluff at the end, reader does not have ekko's time traveling skills (sorry)

men dni.

jinx stands on a ledge, dark tears staining her pale cheeks. long, blue braids gone. her shoes taken away, nail beds raw. she stands, with one of her own bombs, pulling at the safety pin. testing her own fate with each pull growing stronger and stronger.

pulling, pulling, pulling.

until she hears your footsteps, slowly looking over her shoulder. jinx looks through you, her eyes so utterly blank and dull. she looks so… defeated. she’s out of energy and out of resolve. she doesn’t say anything to you, though, only turns back to the bomb in her hands. pulling the pin one more time-

until you wordlessly sprint towards her, throwing your arms around her in a way that miraculously didn’t throw her off her balance. clasping both hands over hers, physically restraining her from putting the bomb to use.

“please, jinx, can we talk about this?”

you plead, your eyes desperately searching for any kind of reason. her eyes are downcast, her face relaxed. too relaxed. her voice comes out in a soft yet exhausted whisper.

“leave me alone, (y/n).”

“no.”

jinx tries to wriggle her hands out of your grasp, her shoulders thrashing with the movements and face contorting. she’s impatient. she wants to do this and get it over with.

“you’re too late.”

she says, still trying to escape your hold. still grasping her bomb, desperately trying to find any kind of purchase. anything. she’s given up, she’s done. there isn’t a point.

“too late for what?”

you gasp, now in a full wrestle with your girlfriend. wrapped around jinx from behind, your hands over hers, sharp nails scratching your skin and jinx writhing. grunting. she’s so frustrated yet so empty, and it makes your heart ache inside your chest. with the loss of isha, being thrown in jail, losing almost everyone she had… you understood jinx. finding motivation to keep living was already difficult enough for her, but almost all of those things had been ripped away from her.

it rips you into pieces seeing your girlfriend like this. you’ve seen it all: her breakdowns. screaming and crying because voices and hallucinations won’t leave her alone. her trying to act as if she doesn’t care when she gets blown off by her sister. coming home with bruises and cuts from god knows where after a mission, or even worse, coming home an inch from death. but never have you seen jinx like this.

jinx’s knees buckle under her and she falls to the ground, but your grasp is still strong.

“drop it, jinx.”

“no.”

“drop it.”

and to your surprise, she does drop it. you hoped to whatever was out there that this was the end of it, that she would give up. she would go home with you and finally tell you exactly what brought her to this point. stationery, the bomb falls on the floor, rolling away from the both of you and jinx staying in that kneeling position.

until she doesn’t.

“i’m tired of talking.”

she mutters under her breath, making her way to a ledge without so much as looking back at you. your senses are blown into full panic mode as you spring to your feet to sprint towards her, reaching for her braids to restrain her from stepping over- but they’re gone. your hand shot to the clasp of her top. holding jinx in place as if her life depended on it, probably because it did.

“jinx, baby, please. i know that things have been hard, you’re not happy. but you have to stay alive. for me, if nothing or nobody else. please.”

you plead. you circle jinx to stand in front of her, placing your hands on her shoulders gently. almost afraid that she’ll break if you handle her too harshly, especially after just restraining her to stop her from killing herself. your eyes are filled with tears just waiting to spill, your lips pressed into a thin line. and then you feel jinx begin to tremble.

like a bridge that's lost its foundation, shaking and threatening to combust. her breathing is getting quicker, her eyes are darting from place to place to place, but never once settling on you.

"jinx."

you squeeze her shoulders, looking into her eyes, desperately trying to get through to your girlfriend. there has to be something you can do, surely. how come nothing is working? you've already pulled out all of the stops, what more could you do? what, if anything, would be successful? the tears in your eyes spill over, but you don't make any sound. you can't. you have to hold it together for jinx's sake.

jinx swallows tentatively. quivering.

"i... i can't do this anymore."

"of course you can," you whisper. reaching up to cup one of her cheeks with your hand, but she jerks away.

"everyone i get close to dies. or they leave. mylo, claggor, vander, isha... will you be next?"

she asks, finally locking eyes with you. it's clear that it's a rhetorical question- jinx doesn't want an answer. she wouldn't be able to handle an answer, not right now.

“no. no. i’m not leaving, jinx- and i don’t plan on dying any time soon. please, listen to me.”

you beg her, still looking into her eyes, half-lidded and glowing pink. one hand coming up to try and cup jinx’s cheek again, and this time, she allows it. this is a good sign. you’re getting somewhere.

“i have to break the cycle. i have to do something to fix all of this,” she says. “i’ve done so much i can’t come back from. what else is there to do?”

“walk away.” you whisper.

“what?”

“walk away. you don’t need to die, jinx, walk away. go somewhere. take me with you. you can still break the cycle without doing this.”

your thumb is brushing her cheek, your own cheeks stained with dried tears.

“what is your death going to fix? if anything, it’ll cause more pain. zaun will be fine if you walk away, but could you imagine what would happen if you died?”

jinx looks down, and another tear falls from your eye.

“please, you have to stay. i’ll come with you. i’ll do anything. just please, baby, don’t die. i don’t know what i would do with myself if you did.”

you plead with jinx. desperation is obvious in your tone, her jaw quivering, threatening to cry herself. she’s spent.

you feel jinx’s hand slowly, hesitantly coming to rest atop yours on her cheek, and all she does is nod. slowly.

“let’s go home.”

you whisper, brushing a lock of hair from out of her eyes.

“what do i do from here?”

jinx asks, her voice low and unsure.

“we’ll figure something out. i promise.”

[ziminy]

I'll follow you until you love me

Having actor Gojo as your fan isn't for the weak

Tags: smut, ageless blogs do not interact, f!actress reader, actor!Gojo, dark themed, stalking, obsession, jealousy, fan boy Gojo, mind games, lots of lies, manipulation, kinda toxic ngl, panties stealing, yandere Gojo, making out, fingering, oral (f receiving), drunk s(e)x, dubious content, people are shipping you and Gojo, just me going over the top again,

Author's note: thank you for 100 flowers 🤗 I been working on this fic for a while and was waiting for a specific occasion to post it.

Words count: 16k (it doesn't feel like it, I thought it would be less)

Masterlist

The first time Gojo Satoru heard about you was a long time ago. He doesn't really remembers the details but he knows he was so done with hearing about you left and right.

Everybody was praising this new actor who appeared out of a blue, and it was getting on his nerves.

Nothing was known about you, you had no connections to the inside world, your name wasn't affiliated with any big names. It was like you were put on the big screen out of nowhere and lend a big role like the director was forced to.

And his feelings only got bitter the moment he met you in person. Walking into his set one day and greeting everyone left and right, remembering names of some crew members he didn't knew they even existed to begin with.

But the cherry on top was when the director, that was known for being a bit too eccentric, presented you with the biggest smile on. Praising you and talking about how the day is so much better with you there. And you, instead of trying to show off, being humble.

He didn't like it. The way you looked so sweet, how you would laugh at the poorly made jokes and how you left just as soon as you appeared, giving him no chance to actually learn something about you. But he does remember how you promised to buy everybody a drink next time you pass by and how you look forward to his movie.

Another one of his fans? Huh? He thought, being disappointed that you'd be much more easier than he hoped.

But he only ended up being disappointed once again, because a week later you appeared on his set one more time. This time with drinks just as you promised, and the biggest smile on your face talking about the role you're auditioning for and how the set is closer to his. Well, you weren't talking to him directly, but the director. But since you were on his movie set you were practically sets neighbors.

Full of himself, he went to you, expecting you to be excited and faint just from seeing him, since you said you were a fan. But instead you looked at him the way you looked at everybody else, the same business smile on that was basically your free pass card in life. Refusing his invitation to drink with him tonight, talking about keeping it professional and how you don't dare to accept since you respect him too much. Fearing that you might do something that would embarrass yourself in front of him.

It was a lie, he quickly noticed the way your face change as you left with your assistant. A blank expression on your face, that smile disappearing, not having to put an act on as you thought no one saw you. But he did, and it got him thinking, spending the next few days searching and looking at any media form that haves your name on it.

Were you actually pretending? Was everybody's sweetheart actually a liar? Did he actually found dirt on you? What is he going to do with this information? Surely you don't want everybody to know about about it, right?

But when he thought he had you, a scandal with your name all over it was the only thing everybody was talking about. How your company was mistreating you and how you finally managed to break ties with them. And it didn't helped that everybody on his set was whining about you not asking for help, and how they noticed your sudden demeanor but didn't said a thing.

Now you had people fighting over you to join entertainment companies. Biggest names arguing about which one was better for you, you even had his company begging you to join them. And now he was stuck with hearing your name once again.

It didn't stopped any time soon, because somehow, miraculously, you decided to sign a contract with his company.

It was like you decided to torture him, play with his mind and lead him on even if you clearly set some boundaries between the two of you. Were you playing hard to get? Because after all those nights awake he learned that you didn't get involved with anyone in the industry. You refused executives after executives, big actors and renowned directors. You would rather get banned from the industry than being known for giving any kind of services or being known as someone's partner.

He didn't knew if he was supposed to be proud or get mad at how stupid you were acting.

But it got him even more invested. And now you had him watching every single thing you appeared in. It could be a small role, you could just appear in the background for a second and he'll memorize the entire movie.

Soon he got bored of that, and he moved into interviews, appearances or just people speculations, the nda you sign or make people sign. He still remembers about that time you got a nobody as your partner and kept him around for a few months. Even so, it didn't changed a thing about his interest in you.

His room was filled with you, pictures, posters, stuff from movies you acted in. His whole house was like this in fact. His closet filled with stuff you wore, you could even find the same products you use in his bathroom.

And the less attention you pay him, the more obsessed he became. Spraying his bed with your perfume every time you went on a date with your little nobodies, sometimes even asking people from your sets about you, not daring to get to close to you so you won't acknowledge him, even if he's dying to get your attention.

Imagine his surprise when you first acted in the same thing. Well, not really because he auditioned for the same movie as you, trying for a role that had it's screentime at the same time as yours. But he didn't really expect to get it. Oh who is he lying to? He called the director and demanded to play by your side, talking about how he wants to try new things and putting a act on so nobody would rat him out.

Just as soon as the roles were revealed to the public, he even hired a few people to post about the two of you online. But he did got hit by surprise from the amount of people that actually shipped you two. It got him giggling and kicking his feet, staying up and reading comments about how you looked together.

And you seemed to feed into fans delusions, interacting with him more and putting on a more friendly facade, like you were actually friends behind close doors.

Even if it was fake, he liked it. The attention you gave him, the way you finally look at him right in the eyes with more than just your business smile. How you sit close to him at interviews, your legs almost touching. And how you would joke with him when people were looking, actually trying to get to know him.

The promotions ended sooner than he'd like, and now he was alone once again.

He should have let go of you, it been already two years since you two acted together, and he did in fact almost forgot about you. His house was finally you free, not a single thing that represented you in any way in sight. And he been clean for the past few months, finally going in public and acting like old him.

That was until a movie director contacted him, wanting him to be one of the main characters in this action movie he's making. And his costar? You. You would play his love interest. He can't really remember what he said after that, but he did ended up with the role, now reading the script with great attention, trying to picture how your scenes would be.

The romance scenes weren't enough, the fans would want to see more, he said while talking to the director, convincing him to add more. And that's how you ended up with some really unnecessary spicy scenes. Making out in the bathroom, somehow fucking each other on his bed, lots of kisses and the sexual tension should be felt the entire movie.

"Director, can I talk to you?" you said when you visit the set for the first time.

"Did something happen?" the older man looked at your concerned face.

"I received the new script." you said, holding the papers in your hands. "Are all the new scenes really necessary? It's supposed to be about fighting for justice, not a romance movie." well, you were right. But the white haired man happened to pay for the movie's budget out his own pocket.

"It would reach to a larger audience." but were the sex scenes really necessary? You looked at Gojo, trying to communicate telepathically with him. "Don't worry, I'm sure everything will be fine." the director said, ending the discussion there.

This wasn't just about you, it was also about your coworker and about how he feels. You had to pull him to the side and talk to him, you didn't want any hard feelings or to end up with a twisted relationship because of a stupid movie. "You sure you're alright with the new scenes?" you asked, looking at the tall man as he seemed to hold back something.

"Yes. Why wouldn't I?" he tried not to smile, happy at the way you seemed concerned about him and his well being.

"The change was out of nowhere and too drastic. I could talk to the director if you feel uncomfortable." you're so cute, he wanted to eat you whole.

"What about you. How do you feel about it?" he knew he went overboard, he blacked out when he made those changes after all. But he personally can't say that he regrets anything.

"It's just acting. Sure, I'm a little unhappy at the changes, but I'm alright with it if you are." god, he was dying to kiss you. He wanted to get to the parts where he could be closer to you, feel your skin against his and have a taste of your lips.

There were a few more weeks of filming until he got to the parts he wanted, and he was waiting patiently. Because he knew that once it started he'll get more than enough of you.

"That's all for today." the director said, finally announcing that it was the end of today's work.

"How about some drinks?" Gojo looked at you talking to your assistant before he looked at the director. "My treat." how could anybody refuse free drinks, especially ones that were payed by the white haired man.

You initially tried to refuse, looking at your assistant for a confirmation before you accepted. And that's how you ended in a bar with almost everybody on the set.

You let yourself to get losen for once, forgetting about the image you carefully builded and drank. You had your assistant there in case of anything, which you trusted a bit too much. But even so, you're just happy that you could drink, enjoy the company of others and feeling like you're just another person in there not just a big name actress.

And perhaps you enjoyed yourself a bit too much. Because people started leaving and you didn't felt like doing the same just yet.

It was just you, your costar, the director and your assistants in there in the end, it wasn't that bad.

"I'll call the car for us." your assistant let you know as they stepped outside for a moment.

"Our car is here." the director's assistant said, making the old man get up and leave. Now it was just you, your costar and his assistant that was nowhere to be seen.

"I'm kinda glad I'm doing this with you." you said, barely able to keep your eyes open. "I hear people talking about you all the time, and they all say how good you are." he stared at you with an expressionless face, still trying to think of what he should do next.

"Why don't we go outside for a moment? Take some fresh air." he wasn't prepared for a love confession just yet.

"Alright." you grabbed his arm, letting your body lean into his. He was sweating, his heart was beating so fast that he doesn't know what to do.

"T-then." he gulped, walking with you towards the back door of the bar. Good thing he reserved the whole place, because he doesn't know what he would have done if anyone saw you in that situation.

He placed you against the wall, sitting back next to you and letting you rest your head against his shoulder.

"Your hands are so big." you said, taking his hand in yours and comparing sizes. He was quiet, he just stared at you, his mind in a million places as he tried to figure out if this was some kind of hint or it was all in his head. "You're big in general." you looked up at him, blinking a few times and making him look away, a hand over his face as he tried to control his facial expression.

"It's nothing." he almost bite his tongue.

"I was a bit scared at first, but I'm glad we're in this together." seriously, are you trying to provoke him? "Let's work together in the future as well." if you weren't leading him on then he doesn't know what this is.

The way you look at him, and how you smile. It wasn't your work smile, you were genuinely smiling at him, heck, even your eyes were smiling. If this wasn't you telling him how much you want him then he really went crazy.

He lowered his head, taking another look at your face before he kissed you. At first it was something simple, just his lips touching yours for a second before he backed away. But the way you looked at him made him get closer. Those eyes of yours, having something that looked like sparkles in them. A fire that never seems to calm down, the heat that made him fall for you in the first place. Who can blame him that he kissed you again? Trapping your body against the wall, making you to wrap your hands around him, welcoming him in your warmth even more.

He let out a moan, looking at you with something lustful in his eyes and a smirk on his face. He looked dangerous, like he finally let go of that prince charming facade, showing you what he actually is.

You looked surprised, like you actually never expected him to act like that. Did you really thought that he's usually that sweet? How cute. He could play with you for a little longer, show you what he's actually capable of.

He bite your lip, looking straight into your soul as his kisses traveled to your neck. He sucked on your skin, placing a soft kiss on it before he sinked his teeth into it, making you to let out a gasp. He needed to leave his mark on you, because who knows when else he could.

He couldn't stay away from your lips for long, and now he's back on devouring you, filling the back alley with the sounds you make. "Come home with me." he tried to say, not wanting to get away from you.

You didn't respond, not because you didn't heard him, because trust me when I say you heard him loud and clear. It was more about what will happen after that, and your moral code. You'd rather die than get involved with anyone in the industry, and yet look at you still refusing to let go of him.

"Y/N, you're here?" you could hear somebody on the other side of the door. It was your assistant, probably looking for you to go home.

"Let go." you quietly moaned into his mouth. The door open, making you to push him away, looking at your assistant who had no clue of what's going on. "Is the car ready?" you felt like you sobber up, it's like you didn't touched a single drop of alcohol.

"It just arrived." your assistant looked at the actor next to you and then at you, not knowing if they should walk away or take you to your car.

"Alright." you left him in that alley, not even looking back at him for a single moment.

He had that look again, he's about to do something you'd both regret, or more like you won't like it. Because if he's shameless enough to do it, do you think he'd actually feel a little bit of remorse?

The next day you woke up with hundreds of text and missed calls, and your head killing you. And when you looked at your phone all you could see is people sending you the same article.

Two big stars making out in the back of a bar. Is this the start of a romance story?

Huh? What are these people talking about? Curious, and having no idea why people were sending it to you, you clicked on it. And you were welcomed with your name all over it, alongside Gojo's.

All you can do is cry. How drunk were you last night? You have to apologize to your costar. How could you have been so stupid? You can't believe yourself for doing such a mistake.

"Do not believe everything you see" you posted something on your social media. Trying to calm down the crowd somehow. You have to talk to your team about this since you have absolutely no idea how to handle it. For the moment it it was better to deny it then resolve this issues with Gojo's team.

Speaking of the wolf, you haven't checked on his social media yet.

You went on his profile, and instead of trying to take control over the situation he was putting more wood on the fire.

"Since everybody knows we don't have to hide anymore" you looked at his post in disbelief.

"???" you comment. Looking at your screen in disbelief at the way he was liking comments about how the two of you looked good together.

"Hi :)" he replied to your comment, making you even more confused. Was this a strategy for the movie? I mean, it wasn't a bad idea since you are his character's love interest.

Perhaps this was all an elaborate scheme that you weren't aware of just yet. That thought made you calm down. The internet was doing otherwise.

There were people who were genuinely happy about this, talking about how they knew it. Hell, you got other stars talking about how they always seen your interactions and they knew something more was going on. The fact that you didn't seen a single hate comment made you put questions, but who knows. You might see them sooner or later.

From that moment on, you didn't had a single peaceful time on set. Now you have people acting like your a married couple when nothing was going on between you and Satoru. But he seemed fine, in fact, he looked happy with the way people are treating you now.

He left his mark on you and you didn't even knew it. It was fine, even if you didn't looked at him as a potential partner, yet. It was alright. There was more than enough time. There's no rush, especially when he knows how to get rid of competition. Just like he got rid of your assistant for interrupting you at the bar, he can get rid of everybody that dares to get in his business.

"You're free later?" he came to you when you were on set, making people start whispering between themselves and giggle.

"Not really." you looked tired, if he knew you'd end up like this without an assistant he would have got you another one first.

"If you ever need my help let me know, I'll help you with anything." he means it, even if he looks like he doesn't. He will walk through fire if you tell him to.

"I'm just looking for a new assistant, don't worry." people were speculating that the assistant was the one who leaked about your so called relationship, but it was far from the truth. But the fact that they refuses to talk to you was confusing, even if it was your assistant who did that, why would they suddenly quit and go no contact? And what was more confusing was the fact that the only text from them was a screenshot of what you posted. Don't believe everything you see. What does that means? Was somebody bullying them? Then why wouldn't they tell you?

Now you couldn't help but be hesitant about chosing a new assistant. What if they end up having the same fate? Some people can be really mean and you don't want anyone to suffer because of you.

So, for the next few days you refused to even talk about your current situation. Only having your manager by your side and not trusting anyone that got too close near you.

This only made someone jealous, and a little angry. You don't want his help, even after what happened at the bar, you act like there was nothing you should talk about.

You should have went to him, jump in his arms and cry about how your assistant left you. But no, instead you chose to overwork yourself, still be the same kind actress that people loved and still giving him no attention.

He haves a limit, you should know that. How much longer he should wait for you to finally notice him?

So, he wrote you a letter. It was nothing more than his current thoughts and about his not so healthy love that was masked as 'admiration'. Shoving into your bag when no one was looking.

You were still on set when you were reading the letter, thinking it was made by one of the staff who happened to be your fan. You didn't really payed too much mind about it, finding it cute and putting it back where you find it after you were done with it.

Did you liked it? Should he write another one? Or did he went too overboard?

Do not believe everything you see, those were your own words and yet you were ignoring them. That letter did made your day, thinking that maybe you're just overthinking about your current situation. There were bad people out there, but there were also good guys. Why were you letting one bad incident ruin your mood?

A few days later you appeared at the studio with an unknown person next to you, you finally got a assistant. And this time you're planning on doing better than you did last time. Or so you thought.

You woke up with another letter, the same handwriting and the same sweet words written on it. This time was more about you than your so called fan, about how you should take more care of your health, how you got people worrying about you. But unlike last time, this letter had a signature on it, an S, nothing more, just a simple symbol.

How cute, S for secret, right? You giggled.

Do not believe everything you see. Really, do not. But for a moment you allowed yourself to be delusional, to think that the world wasn't that bad. I mean, even if there was someone who didn't appreciate you, you still had millions of fans and there are a lot of people who supports you.

And you decided to be more humanitarian, to step up your game and follow your costar's lead. One time after everyone was done with work you announced that you want to take everyone out for drinks, your treat. No one was crazy enough to refuse, especially you.

So, you called a friend of yours who owned a restaurant, the food is great, plus they also had a bar. And off you were.

Just like last time, you ended up all alone in that place with your coworker, laughing at his silly jokes before you finally got up to pay for tonight's feast.

"Your back?" you asked, feeling someone behind you and thinking it was your assistant. But to your surprise, it wasn't. It was the white haired man who seemed drunk, and maybe he was from the few drinks he had that night.

He leaned into you, trapping you between the empty cashier desk and him. He kept looking at you, eyes half open as he seemed to want to say something.

Your mind was wandering for a moment, moving your eyes on his full lips before looking up at him. Every sane person would have done that, I mean, he was eye catching even in that state.

"You're alright?" you sounded concerned, and for a moment he actually thought you cared about him. You looked around the empty room for a moment, looking for any other people in there, but for his assistant more specifically.

"Don't leave me." he got his face closer to your ear, whispering in a low voice, and placing his hands on either sides of your body, trying to get his body more closer to yours.

"Come." you tried to get on of his hands away, so you could move.

"Where?" he only got clingier.

"Let's sit down. I'll get you some water." the last thing you want to see is headlines with your name all over them, talking about taking advantage of him when he's such a state.

"Noo." he whined, resting his head against your shoulder. "Don't want to." you sighed, looking around the room once again, trying to see if anyone from his team is still there.

"I got the bill ready." the cashier came back, only to freeze in place and look at you and your costar hugging, or what it seemed like a hug.

"I'll pay for it as soon as my assistant comes back." you said, trying to act like you're not being suffocated by this mountain of a man. The poor girl ran back from where she came from, leaving you alone with Satoru again. You sighed, you could only sigh as you put a hand on his back, making him break character for a moment as he jolted under your touch. "You can be such a big baby sometimes." good thing that you can't see him, because he was grinning from ear to ear.

"What happened to you?" your assistant finally appeared, looking at the scene you two were putting.

"He's drunk." you said as you rubbed his back with one hand, the other resting on his side, to keep him in place from falling. "Have you seen his assistant?"

"Not since the director left." your assistant got their phone out. "I'll give them a call." you're so thankful that you overcame your fears, because you don't know what you would have done alone in a moment like this. "They turned their phone off." you looked at the man in your arms and shook your head, disappointed at how this turned out.

"Call his manager, or anyone from his team." maybe he was the one who needed a new assistant, not you.

"No one is answering their phone." you understand that it's late at night, but who could just leave a big movie star like Gojo out here without a single thought about it. "What do we do? There's a hotel nearby, we could get a room for him there." that wasn't a bad idea. However, neither you or your assistant would look good if you leave him there. I mean, someone will have to get in the hotel with this world famous actor, who's face is known by everybody. He clearly drunk, and there would 100% be someone who will post something online about it and you'll get backlash for it.

"Let's take him to my place." that was the only option you had left. He started rubbing his face against you when you said that, letting out a groan and letting more of his weight into you.

"You're sure about that?" your assistant asked, not sure how to respond to what you just said.

"He'll sleep in a guest room. It's better than a hotel." your imagine had to come first after all.

So, without any more words said, you took him to your car. Even if he was heavy, he was surprisingly easy to move around. Well, he did followed every single of your move voluntarily, refusing to let go of you in any way possible.

That until you got to your house, dragging him inside when your assistant left, and leading him to a room relatively far from yours.

You pushed him in bed, taking off his shoes and trying to get him comfortable in bed. You didn't even dared to get close to his clothes, just putting the blanket over him and then leaving him in there.

You didn't even thought of taking advantage of him, you just wanted him sleep peacefully, to keep him away from anyone who might do something bad to him. After all, you knew damn well the industry you're working in, they'll eat him like wolves if they get their hands on him.

You're just helping out, you don't expect anything in return. But what a surprise to wake up with him in your bed in the middle of the night. He was on top of you, looking at the way the moonlight hit your face, and somehow wanting to bathe in your scent.

You could feel his hot breath on you, and it made you woke up. You didn't looked scared, even if he looked like he wanted to do things you'd rather not think about, you stayed calm. "Why did you leave me?" was he still drunk, or perhaps he was pretending to be? He was a good actor after all, you wouldn't be surprised if this was one of his acts.

He doesn't understands you. If you were the one who jumped in his arms like that he would have devoured you alive. But even after he made sure he could get some time alone with you, you still didn't payed him attention, at all.

"Go to sleep." you looked unfazed, not even taking him seriously.

"Touch me." he was really going to lose his mind. He was serving himself on a plate to you, and you didn't even dared to take a bite.

"You're drunk." you'd always try to do the opposite of what he's saying.

"I'm not." you knew he was pretending from the start too, didn't you?

"That's what a drunk person would say." you were getting on his nerves.

In a moment of panic, he took your hand in his, kissing your palm, closing his eyes and looking desperate as he tried to show you how he's feeling. You didn't even bat an eye, looking at him expressionless and like you didn't believed a word be was saying.

"Why don't you like me?" he had to confront you, or else this will take him nowhere.

"It's not that." he got the wrong idea, but it wasn't your job to explain yourself when he only understands what he wants to understand.

"Then? Why do you keep avoiding me?" you shook your head.

"I want us to keep it professional." you're making him laugh.

"We weren't professional when we kissed." that's another story. "So you just used me and now you'll let me hanging like this?" he really didn't wanted to listen to you unless you said something he wants to hear. "Make it up to me." what a fucker. "I want something in return for what you did." he's talking like he didn't started it last time.

"What do you want me to do?" you really can't believe him and his stupid demands. This should have been a payback for last time. Taking care of him even if he wasn't your problem to begin with.

"Kiss me." he was waiting for your response. "Like you mean it." you just said you want to keep it professional, but it's like he didn't even heard it.

"Can't I do something else?"

"Post a picture of us." that was even worse. Who knows what people would say if you do that. You'd really be branded as his, and it was a pain in the ass to deal with it.

You grabbed him by his shirt and dragged him closer to you, giving him a kiss that he'd remember. A wet kiss that it filled the room with sound, and your tongue in his mouth dancing with his. You even wrapped your hands around his neck, making sure he doesn't back down and take back his words.

He moaned, his hands trying to get under your shirt to feel more of your skin. But you didn't let him to do anything because you ended the kiss, breathing heavily and looking at him a bit angrily. "What now?"

"Bite me." kissing wasn't enough, he wanted you to eat him. Bite him, devour him in any way you could so that way you could have a piece of him with you.

"I'm not-" he kissed you, this time pinning your hands above your head so he could explore you more freely. Every time you tried to say something he'd bite your lip, making you groan and continued to kiss you.

"Touch me." he moaned, finally getting his mouth away from yours so you could breath. He took his shirt off, tossing it somewhere in the room and taking one of your hands in his, placing it on his crotch so you could feel how hard he was. He looked at you, at the face you made and how you didn't looked happy to be in that situation.

"It's too soon." you still refuse to get involved with your coworkers? What does he haves to do to prove to you that he means every single word he's saying?

"Do you really not like me?" he wanted you to be at least a little interested in him. It was no fun if he's the only one with big feelings in there.

"It's not that." it's your moral code.

"Do you ever think of me?" you didn't respond to that, only looking down at your hands amd trying to avoid eye contact.

"I'm not ready." you finally open your mouth to say something. "If we do this then nothing will be the same. We still have work to do, I can't simply just do it." so it was because of work? He already knew that, but at least you didn't dislike him.

"I get it." he said, getting off you and sitting down in bed. "Just go to sleep."

"You can sleep here if you want, I'll go somewhere else." you tried to get out of bed, but he dragged you back.

"Just because we're not fucking that doesn't mean we can't sleep." he will not let this night go without doing something. And just being able to feel your body against his as he sleeps is more than enough. Trust me when I say that this will drive him crazy for many days from now on.

The way you stay in his arms, and how he's able to shield over you. You really have no idea what power you hold onto him.

Do you regret bringing him in? A little. You hate giving people false hope, and he seems to ignore all your signs of displeasure. He did grew up in this environment after all. Being rich and famous from a young age, he haves no idea how to react when people tells him no, he can't handle rejection. And it seems that he always got what he wanted.

He didn't had to put on an act if he wanted to be around you. You could be friends, if he wanted. But nothing more, you wouldn't dare to be something more than acquaintances. You just work together, and are signed under the same entertainment company. You were nothing more than cash cows. You were the biggest stars of your agency, and you seemed to be pushed under the spot light as much as possible. He must understand how you feel, no?

He in fact didn't. And unlike you, he had more control over his actions. You could even say that the agency was afraid of him. He did come from a big family of stars, he had so many connections that even he can't say for sure how much power he was holding. But it was no joke when someone says he's the strongest.

So how can you reject him like that? Leaving him alone in that bed without blinking twice. But perhaps it was for the best, because he could finally rearrange his thoughts and think of what he should do. Retreat wasn't an option, I mean, how could he step back when he basically was in paradise?

This place smells exactly like you, leaving a sweet taste on his tongue and making him salivate while bathing in your scent. Should he steal something? You shouldn't tell him twice, because he got up the bed and starting looking around the room. He should pick something small, that you wouldn't notice. And even if you do notice, what will you do? He's shameless, you'll only give him a reason to get off to later when he's alone.

He should get something practical, that would help him during hard times.

And that's when he saw it, your closet. Something in his perverted mind suddenly lit on, and he went straight for your panties. There's so many to choose from, so many colors and models. He wants to take all of them home, put them on display right at the entrance so he would be greeted by them every time he comes home. In the end he picked one of the prettiest pair you own, shoved it in his pocket and went back into your room.

He gained more than he expected. Perhaps he should play drunk more often.

He got his shirt back on and got out the room. You couldn't possibly just left him in there all alone. And he was right, because he found you in the kitchen, sitting peacefully and taking a sip of some unknown liquid from a cup. "You're up?" the way your voice was still husky, your hair messy and your shirt falling off your shoulder. You said you didn't wanted him and yet you're trying to seduce him, how does that come?

He didn't open his mouth, only getting closer to you and taking the cup away from your hand, drinking from it without a single worry of what it might be.

It was tea, not so sweet, still warm and somehow hitting just right. "If you wanted some you could have said so." you said, getting up and walking towards one of your cabinets, getting out another cup and pouring some tea in it. "Here."

"I'll drink from this." he preferred your half empty cup rather than a full one? What a weirdo.

"Do you want to eat anything? I still have some leftovers from yesterday. I also think I still have some jam left, we could eat it with toast." stop showing him your caring side. He really doesn't know for how much longer he can keep it like this. This moment felt too intimate, it felt like you two really hooked up last night, and it was messing with his head.

You take good care of him, don't you? Offering him some of the biggest clothes you own so no one would suspect a thing, giving him a ride back to the studio. And now acting like you don't even know him. Stop being so cute, it only makes him want to bite you.

"You're here today?" the director said, looking at the two of you who got there at the same time.

"Don't we need to be here for a costumes check?" you clearly remember your assistant telling you to come back and do a last minute fit check.

"It's tomorrow." the white haired man said, wrapping his arm around yours.

"Why didn't you told me?" he was enjoying this too much, all a smile as he was trying not to react at your expression.

"I thought you were taking me home." you didn't even knew where he lives.

"Just go, you love birds. You clearly have better places to be at." the director laughed, making you look in disbelief at him. Love birds? Who?

"Come on, let's go back." Satoru didn't let you say a thing and dragged you out of there.

All he needs to do at the moment is keep people away from approaching you. And it's not hard, at all. Just standing next to you, flash a smile and say something that could be interpreted in wrong ways. He doesn't even need to try to make people run.

"Seriously, why didn't you tell me?" you said when you got back to your car. "Now I look stupid." you looked so gloomy, he was going to eat the pout of yours.

"I thought you knew." he'll get you even more confused about things if it means he'll see you like this. It gave him a false sense of security, like you were finally accepting him.

You sighed, not wanting to let out your anger on him. "Let me drive you home." it would be bad if more people sees you together. And at this point you don't trust anyone to come near your home to get him.

What a joke.

The next day you woke up with people blowing your phone again, and another article of your name next to his, talking about everything you did in public. Your interactions at the bar, how he was spotted at your house where he didn't left until the next morning, and about how you always look lovey dovey at the sets.

The filming progress just started and yet there were already rumors all over the internet about how you two would end up being more than just coworkers by the end of that movie.

Who keeps writing this? Seriously, it was getting on your nerves. And the fact that Satoru kept feeding delusions to the fans wasn't helping.

All this hype around the movie wasn't supposed to be only about you two, the main cast. It was supposed to be about all the production. The set, the visuals, the acting and the script, everyone's hard work. You should have turned down the offer as soon as you heard who your costar would be. But you didn't see any of these coming, so who can you blame?

Things only seems to get worse, because when you stared filming again, you got assigned with a new task.

"So, we're filming what were doing behind the scenes?" you asked, looking at the small camera that one of your coworkers was holding and then at them.

"The director said it would be fun. Giving people a little preview of what's going on." well, it didn't sounded that bad. People seems to enjoy behind the scenes footage in general, letting them see a bit of the actors lifes.

"I see." if the director said so, then you guess you don't really have a saying in this.

"We started already?" the white haired man appeared next to you out of nowhere, resting a hand on your head and leaning into you.

"Satoru, say hi to the camera." the actor said, moving the device to his face.

"Oh right, Y/N." there was a hint of his evil plan in his voice, already knowing you'd be pissed with him. "Are my clothes still at your place? I think I forgot them there." you really couldn't control your expression in that moment, looking at him like he killed somebody.

"What?" your voice was shaking, still not over the fact that he would say something like that in this situation. "Why would they be at my house?"

"I changed there last time. I think I left the clothes on the couch before we left."

"Ohh~" the other actor said, making you to look at them, somehow begging them to not get the wrong idea. "I see you're busy. I'll let you be, I won't interact."

"No, wait. It's not what it seems." it was already too late. "Why would you say that?" because he knew the director loves drama, and this would end up being published sooner or later. He was killing two birds with one stone. Doing a favor for the movie's publicity and showing the world that he already been in places some wouldn't even dare of dreaming of.

"People love things like these." he wrapped his hands around you, resting his chin on your head. "Hug me, the camera is in our direction." if it was or not, he couldn't care less. He just wanted to feel your touch in that moment.

It only got worse and worse the moment you started filming the sex scenes. The scenes were like a reflection of your own actions in real life, because everything started with a drunk kiss at a bar. Then ending up in his apartment where you were eating each other in the hallway.

It was supposed to be acting, the kisses didn't even needed to be real and yet he's not even holding back, touching you in all kind of inappropriate places, groping you shamelessly like there aren't cameras all over the place.

He pinned you against the sturdiest wall in there, making you wrap your legs around him as he kept biting and kissing you all over the place. At this point, you don't think the editors would need any sonds effects for your scenes. Because you realized how filthy those sounds were, and loud. Every time you kissed it was echoing in that empty place, the small setting that was supposed to represent a house wouldn't be enough to muffle the sounds.

He bite your lip when he realized your head was in a complete another place. How dare you ignore him in moments like these. You couldn't run even if you wanted, because you'd have to come back to him and film everything from the start. Or perhaps he could make you screw up on purpose, to retake this scene so he could touch you even more.

"Wait." you tried to stop him when you felt his hand under your shirt, trying to unclip your bra.

"What?" he said out of breath, taking his lips away from you for a moment so he could look at you.

"Let-" you looked away, too embarrassed at the way he was looking at you, his pupils were dilated and he looked like he would really put his dick in you if it wasn't for all these people in there. "Let me do it." his lips were back on yours while his hands were trying to take your clothes off.

Both of your clothes were all over the place, and you know it would be a pain in the ass to pick them after. He was too focused on this, the way he looked like he couldn't see anyone but you, like you were really alone in his house.

That's the beauty of acting, no? How some could get so focused on the plot, acting like their character is supposed to and forgetting about the outside world. But he wasn't acting in that moment. Maybe you were, but he taking this very personally. And the fact that you were holding back moans, refusing to touch him more than necessary and trying to stay in your character was infuriating him. It wasn't his character that makes you feel good, it was him.

He ended up throwing you in the bed a little harder than he intended, his touch becoming rougher and his kisses even wetter than before.

Good god, it's good that the scene ended soon after you two got to the bed, or else you would have lost it. You're already soaking wet, you have no idea what you would have done if this kept going for too long.

The scene was perfect, as much as you're embarrassed about it, it was pure perfection. Not a single time did the director called cut, you didn't had to retake the same scene from another angle. Nothing was said about your so called acting besides that you were in complete sync.

He's taking revenge on you, isn't he? Because even now after you finished your scenes for today, he looked at you with the same hungry eyes. And you swear you didn't mean it, but it made your pussy clench.

You gave him a quick look, squeezing your thighs together for a moment when he looked back at you.

It was something that he never saw before, the way you act. That expression on your face, pouting and looking at him with this thing in your eyes that made him want to drag you somewhere far away from people. You needed him, didn't you? And he was going to help you if you asked him to. Because if he got you in that state, then he also had to resolve your problem.

But you didn't spoke to him, you just looked at him all needy for a moment, like you wanted his touch back on you and then left, leaving him with the worst bonner he ever got in his life. This, only to come back a few days later for your next scenes.

You were driving him insane. And there aren't enough interactions in the movie to take out his frustration on you. There are too little scenes, and sometimes he had to improvise when he was getting too lost in his feelings. A few kisses here and there, just a quick peak when you were in the background to give more life to the movie.

But you still didn't said a thing, acting like this was all part of the script, like you were payed to do so.

So can you blame him when he wrote you another letter again? This time more aggressive than the previous times. Talking about how you got him feeling, how he craves for your touch and it drives him insane the way you seem not to care. Give him attention, or act like you acknowledge him. And this time he left the paper in your dressing room, placed under one of your stuff where he knows you'll know it was meant for you.

Too bad he couldn't see your reaction when you read the letter, but he realized you weren't too happy about it. It got you acting paranoid again, he could see it in your eyes, your body language. How you need to have a bit of distance from anyone that tries to come too close to you, and how you seem not to trust people anymore.

It was just a letter, he didn't even wrote everything down. No, in fact, he held back a lot. Because if he did wrote his mind you would refuse to come back into the movie set ever again.

But that's your charm, I guess. How you don't hide your feelings, and how you try to not make it obviously that you're displeased with things even if it's written all over your face. You're a good actress, a very good one, and yet you don't act unless you're required to. You were the opposite of him, where he always haves a mask on, the same business smile as you. But unlike you, he doesn't mean an thing, this friendly facade.

You were genuinely a sweetheart, while he only acted as he sees fit. And in this moment he's so close on fucking everything up just to toy with you. Because he's at his limits.

It was time for another suggestive scene, the set being filled with less people than usually. The lowlights, the atmosphere and everything in there was a bit suffocating. But maybe because of how much you overworked yourself these days.

"Do you think the plan will work?" you asked, sitting on his couch and looking at the coffee table that was placed there by the staff members.

"Do we have any other option?" he said his line in a serious tone, his character was supposed to be stressed from all the unfortunate events that happened lately, but it seems that he too is stress. Well, everybody been working overtime lately, but the sooner you were done with this movie the sooner you could move on with your life.

"I wish we could resolved this peacefully, I'm tired of fighting." you sighed, looking at your fingers for a moment and then at him who was resting not so far from you on the couch.

"Come here." he pat his lap, his back resting against the couch and he didn't even wanted to move an inch from there. He was improvising again, he was supposed to get up and drag about bottle of alcohol into this.

You followed his instructions, not wanting to pretend to be drunk again, and somehow not wanting to act in that moment too. If he haves a better idea for this scene then you'll follow his lead.

So, you sat on his lap, legs spread on either sides of him and wrapping your arms around his neck. His hands resting on your hips, moving towards your ass as he grabbed you and dragged you closer to him, your chest pressed against his as he placed you over his hard cock. You could feel him through his pants, and for a moment you stopped functioning, not knowing how to react to this.

"Well figure it out." he kissed you, his hands going under your shirt to make contact with your burning skin.

The kiss was so sloppy, both of you too tired to figure out a pace you should go at. Just touching, getting lost in the way your bodies seem to welcome each other openly. For a moment even forgetting where you actually are at the moment, and if the director wouldn't have said cut, you could have definitely escalated things.

What was going on in your mind? How could you let yourself so carefree? If you was just a bit more tired and at a state where you couldn't think properly, you would have definitely dragged him to your changing room and fucked him there.

And you woke up with another letter, even worse than last time. Talking about how your body looks, how he wants to get his hands on you, how you turn him on in the worst way possible.

The more you ignored those letters, the more they came. It got so bad, describing his fantasies, the way you appear in his dreams to haunt him like he wasn't haunting you right now. You had no idea who the sender was, because sometimes the letters would be sign as S, sometimes they would just be filled with nothing but filthy words and no signature. But you knew it was the same person from their handwriting.

You'd always wake up with them in places where there aren't many people allowed. And no matter how hard you're thinking about, you can't figure who it was. There were no cameras in this side of the studio, so you couldn't even see who was tormenting you.

"Why don't we go drinking tonight?" the director said one time before you were almost done with work fot that day. "We're almost done with filming, lets celebrate." after all these stressful days, you could use a drink.

It will be quick, go there, have a chat with a few people, have a drink and then go home. But just like last time, one drink turned into too many and you ended up in a corner of the bar with your costar who seemed to feed you even more alcohol.

He had his chin resting against his palm, looking at you with a smile on his face as he kept pouring more of that bitter liquor into your glass. "I can't drink no more." you couldn't even speak properly, hiccuping and moving left to right, like you were about to fall off your chair.

"One more won't hurt." the bar was still filled with people, so he had to keep himself in place.

"I got the car ready." your assistant came to your table looking at you and then at the white haired man. "I have to take her home, she's already too drunk." maybe he should get rid of this one too. It seems that all your assistants like to get in between his plans.

But perhaps he got a better idea. He took your glass, gulping down everything that was in it in a second before he tried to get you to the car. "Give me a ride too." he got in the backseat of your car, pretending to fall asleep after some time.

Your assistant tried to call anyone related to him, to come pick him up from your house because he seems too drunk to even stand on his own feet. But since no one was answering, they had no choice but to get him in your house, leaving him on the couch before they left.

It was always easy, so damn easy. He couldn't help but laugh. Drunk, him? He never got drunk in his life. Alcohol seems to have no effect on him.

He made his way to your room, getting next to the bed and looking at you sleeping. How dare you be so at peace when he's there? You were panicking all over the place last time he wrote you a letter, crying and refusing to talk to anybody if it wasn't for work. And now you act like you forgot about it.

He stood in place, looking down at you with an expressionless face as he can't think of anything at the moment. He got this far, so what? He could scare you more, give you a reason to hate him but at the same time all he wants to do is stand there all night and look at you.

He took his phone out, taking a quick picture of you before he put it back in his pocket.

He sat down at the edge of the bed, not far from where you're sleeping, looking out the window and then back at you. You had quite a nice view, no wonder you always seem to be in a hurry to come home.

Should he do something mean? Leave another letter in your home to see your reaction the next day. He could put it in one of your pockets and act like he doesn't remember anything besides going to the bar to drink. Maybe even leave the front door open and say some shit about hearing something while he was asleep.

But before he could think of anything more, you extend a hand, grabbing him by his shirt and trying to drag him closer. Like before, he just stood in place, looking down at you who seemed to pull harder. Were you mistaking him for the blanket or something? Unfortunately for you, he won't take off his clothes until you do so.

"Mm." you groaned, opening your eyes to look at the white haired man confused. "Ah.." you rubbed your forehead. "Fuck." that was the first time he heard you swear. "Come here." were you still sleeping? Because he doubts you'd react that lightly to him being there. But you were calling for him, and he wouldn't dare to say no to you. So he got in that bed, getting all cozy next to you and waiting for your next move.

For a moment you just touched him, moving your hand on his face, trying to feel something before it went lower on his body. He stood there, observing your clumsy actions and letting you do whatever you wanted with him. Your hands kept wandering, from his chest to his abs under his shirt, and now you were tugging at his pants, trying to see what you didn't got to see until now.

You were funny, the way you looked surprised whenever you discovered something new about him. "Don't do that." he said when you kept trying to get your hands in his pants.

"I want to see it." you pout, looking at him for a moment before you moved his shirt out the way, exposing his lower abdomen. "If you're as big as it feels." his heart skipped a beat, he couldn't help but cover his face with his hands. Do whatever you want, he'll hold back so you can explore as much as you want. "Ohh!" seriously, he can't even look at you when you make those faces. He was biting his lips so hard, he's afraid he might moan before you even touch him. "Why are you so big? Look at the size." his cock twitched, making you let out another surprised sound.

"Touch it." he said between his teeth, looking at you between his fingers and at what you're doing.

Your eyes moved on his, a serious expression on your face before your eyes went back to his dick. Can you even fit something like this inside you? The size was just ridiculous, but that didn't stopped you from touching it. Moving your hand around and studying like it was the first time seeing a cock.

He was bucking his hips forward in your hand, breathing heavily as he tried to keep himself from touching you. This was the first time you ever showed interest in him, he can't just fuck this up.

"How does it feel?" you asked, looking at the way he throws his head backwards, his chest rising and falling down.

Good, it feels so fucking good. He might go crazy from how soft your hand was. He moaned, not even being able to let out words, or think of a way to respond to you.

"I want that too." you took your hand away, making him to finally look at you as you took your clothes off. Now sitting on top of him, taking his cock back in your hand and trying to take him inside your pussy. But it didn't matter how much you're trying, it was impossible to get at least his head. It hurts, the more you try the more frustrated you became. "It doesn't fit." his dick twitched again. You're killing him, you're saying stuff he didn't imagine you to say, and it was killing him inside.

"I'll make it fit." he pushed you off him, pinning you down into the bed as he got in between your legs, placing kisses on your body as he went lower and lower, until he got to your pussy.

He loved the way you taste, it was better than he imagined. So much fucking better. It was no wander he was trying to devour you, I mean, who knows when he's going to do this again. So he might as well do it until he memorizes your taste.

Your hands went through his hair, tugging at it lightly as you let out soft moans, even cursing under your breath from time to time, letting him know how good you were feeling.

He pulled a few orgasms out of you, loving way too much the way your thighs wrapped around him, or how you're trembling, looking at him with teary eyes and you only seem to want more.

He'll give you more, he'll give you as much as you ask for, fuck, even more. He'll make sure to make you fit him, prepare you so good that you could only fit his cock from now on. He'll give you a reason to keep going back to him.

He got up from between your legs, sitting next to you as he got his hand back to your pussy, slowly pushing two fingers inside and making you gasp. "Is it good?" he whispered in your ear, feeling the way you clench around him. All you did was to nod, looking at him with big doe eyes and leaning more into him, to feel more of his warmth.

"Deeper." you said when he didn't went more than halfway through, moving his fingers at a slow pace that it left you hanging, almost giving you no friction whatsoever.

He kissed you quickly before moving his eyes back on your pussy, resting his cheek against your head. Be careful what you're wishing for, he'll go so deep that you'd feel him in places you never knew existed. It's already hard to hold back, but if you keep provoking him he might let his mind slip for a moment.

So, doing just as you asked him to, he got deeper, curling his fingers upwards and making you squirm. He kissed you again, this time taking no break as he kept bullying your insides, making your walls get tighter around him. How is he going to live without this? How can he go back home and act like everything is normal after this? That's why he couldn't help but move faster, in a irregular pace as he kept stopping from time to time only to go rougher. So you wouldn't get too used to him.

You were a moaning mess, and he seems to only want you to lose your mind, pulling orgasm after orgasm from you, kissing you as he made you turn around so he could do it from another position. He wants to go even deeper, to get back at your words, for requesting unnecessary things when he was going to give you what you wanted anyway.

"One more, come on baby. Give me one more." for how much longer is he going to say that? He's starting to get on your nerves at this point. But in the end, he finally took his fingers out of you. Dragging you closer to him so your back could be pressed against his chest, one of his arms under you head as he kept your hair away from your face, so he could be able to look at you. "You'll fit me now." he whispered in your ear, dragging your hips back and grabbing one of your legs, spreading them apart as he start whispering more filthy words in your ear. "Look at how you're taking me in." he said, waiting for you to say something, but to his surprise, you're long gone into the dream world. Sleeping soundlessly in his arms, like you forgot that he was even there.

He can't believe this. You actually fell asleep. You really dared to fall asleep and leave him there after you dragged him in your bed. The audacity you had. He's going to make sure to give you a hard time tomorrow for this. So, he too fell asleep next to you. A bit hard to do so, but he managed somehow.

The next day you woke up with your head killing you. You shouldn't have drank that much, how could you have been so dumb.

You were about to turn around when you realized that someone was in your bed, a pair of muscular arms around you, and someone breathing into the back of your neck. Your heart stopped working, you froze in place as you saw your soul leaving.

"Morning." a masculine voice could be heard from behind you, and you feared that you knew exactly who it was. He pressed his body into yours, letting you know you were both naked, and feeling his hard cock pressed against your back.

You wanted to cry, you wanted to run from there and not look back for a single moment. How could you have been so stupid, how could you just do that. Just how drunk did you got?

"Don't tell me you're planning on running away." he whispered into your ear, making you flinch. "You dragged me into your bed, put your hands all over me and now you're going to leave me after you used me as you pleased? I had no idea you were that type of person." you whined, because that's all you could do in that moment. What other explanation do you have?

"I can explain." he pressed his cock into you harder, making you yelp.

"Oh yeah?" one of his hands traveled on your body, now going up towards your boobs, making you gasp when he groped one. "You kept me up all night." you cried at his words. "Don't you remember the way you got on top of me? Trying to get my cock inside then crying about how big it is." you closed your eyes shut, trying not to let out another whine from remembering what happened last night.

"I'm sorry.." what else could you say besides that?

"You weren't sorry when you were telling me to go deeper." his hand went down your body, wanting to go in between your legs to spread them again, but you jumped out of bed.

"I'm sorry, alright. I have no idea what got into me last night." you were really planning on running? Don't make him laugh.

"So you really just used me then, huh?" he stood there, in your bed. Half his body being covered by the blanket while the other was all naked, his skin exposed to you and he didn't seemed to me ashamed at all by what happened.

But if you think about it, he was the one who got a bottle of a really strong liquor and dragged you to the corner of the bar, making you have a glass with him. "It's your fault too." his eyes wided, looking at you like he didn't expected to hear that. "I might have dragged you in my bed, but if you didn't liked it you wouldn't have stayed." he smiled, finally letting his mask drop as his body language suddenly changed. He looked more relaxed, a smirk on his face as he uncovered more of his body.

"Come here. Let's continue from where we were." you moved you eyes away from him, not daring to look in his direction as you could see his cock. "Don't be shy now. You weren't last night, so why should you be now?" you're not going to listen to his nonsense anymore. "You don't want me anymore? How sad." he looked at the way you were going to your closet. "I still want you though." you ignored him as you went to get dressed. But you couldn't even do that in peace because he got behind you, wrapping his arms around you, and resting his chin against your head. "You should wear that, it looks good on you." he pointed at some dress you had in there.

"I'm not going anywhere today." you want to be comfortable, not dress up for nothing.

"Then wear nothing. I like it when you have nothing on." you could feel that, since he made it sure to let you know he was still as hard as before.

"Here." you said as you picked some clothes that were clearly too big to be on your size. "You can wear this." now that's he's thinking about it, something doesn't add up.

"Why do you have male clothes in your closet?" who else wore these? And you dared to give them to him like it was nothing too.

"I like buying them since they're comfortable." oh, that was an option too. Why didn't he thought of that? I mean, it's been quite a while since you last been in a relationship, and he knows that since he always knows what you're doing. What if he's not paying attention to you one time and you get married? He can't possibly let you do that. That empty spot in your bed was reserved to him. "We needed to talk." you said after you got dressed, getting out your closet and walking outside your room.

"About what?" he knows this moment. You always make people sign an NDA before you get into a anything deeper. But what he doesn't like about your relationships is that it's almost never too intimate, you just go out, eat, spend some time together and then that's it. Did one of those fuckers left you disappointed and now you're avoiding contact with other people? How sad. But well, since you have him now you don't have to think about that anymore. He'll get you drunk on his dick, and he'll make sure you only have eyes for him.

"I'm sorry, but I don't know if we can continue this." huh? That wasn't what you were supposed to say. "We still have to film the movie, and then the promotions. I don't want anything awkward between us."

"What about after?" you didn't said a thing, only looking down at your feet before looking at him. "So you did play with me, huh?" perhaps this was your revenge for making you feel weak. He can't believe you actually knew of his doings and you didn't said a thing.

"If you still feel the same after everything is done.." huh? What did you just said? You were actually going to give him a chance? The NDA still sounded better, and he'll sign it in a blink of an eye if you do hit him with one.

He thought that something would change, that you'd be more open to him. But no, you were still as distant as ever.

You were playing with him, weren't you? You were just playing dumb because you knew how he actually was feeling. Well, he too can tournament you. From that day onward he kept writing you everyday, placing the letters in really inconvenient places and watching your reaction from not that afar if he could.

He made sure to not let you rest a single moment while you were on the set. It did not lasted for long whatsoever, because the filming soon ended and the film was sent to editing, giving everybody a break until the promotions starts.

You skipped the party, lying about how you got a cold and you didn't want anyone else to catch it, so you stayed at home.

You still remember the day the trailer was published, the way your phone was blowing and how you didn't dared to even look at it that day. But when you did turned it on, everything was worse than you imagined.

The trailer opened with a scene of the city, then it got to the point of where the conflict started, and as you watched more, the more scenes from the movie were put in, the fighting, the peaceful times, and it ended with you and Satoru kissing against a wall. A big long scenes of just the two of you almost fucking in there, and you couldn't be more embarrassed.

The comments? You could smell them from a mile away. You could hear screamings and whistles, like you knew exactly what people were talking about. And you were right because when you opened that section you were met with people talking about you and your costar rather than the trailer itself.

"Was the last scenes necessary?" a comment said, and you couldn't agree more to it. But the replies under it said otherwise.

Your social medias? Filled with people purring about you and Gojo. And he seemed to enjoy this as he kept liking comments about the two of you. And now people were officially calling him your husband. He was the one demanding to be called yours, not the other way. Because you weren't his property, he was yours.

You tried to get out the house in god knows how many days, finally going to the agency to talk to your manager about the situation. Can't you calm it down somehow? And the answer was no. The media was responding so positively about this, you couldn't just say something about it when you were put in such a good light. I mean, look, there were so many people requesting for you appearance than any other times before. Your team was busy responding to phone calls and emails for you.

So many people wanted you in their movies, because if they get you they also get Gojo. Since he apparently, you have no idea when, said that he won't act in a movie unless you're there. And if you accepted a role, then they automatically get Satoru too. Killing two birds with one stone. Having two of the most hot actors, who happened to be a so called power couple, acting in their movie was a free pass to the most sold movie of the year.

But you didn't even looked at those offers, no matter how good they were. You don't want to get involved with him anymore, he was only going to bring you problems.

Instead of accepting any offers, you decide to make a quick appearance on some big show that only asked for you to participate. The first thing you heard today that didn't involved Gojo's name into it.

You were so happy to go there, all a smile and stress free knowing that you don't have to get involved with that guy any time soon.

Did you really think that it was going to be that easy? You just got there on the set and you were met with one of the questions you were trying to avoid.

"First of all, I'm a big fan." the host said when you sat down on the couch. "But I don't really wanna say much so your boyfriend won't get jealous." you awkwardly laughed. "How is he, btw?" you had no idea what to say.

"You know." you said, biting your lip and trying to think of an excuse. "We both been busy." you don't even know in what county is he right now.

"I'm sure you are." the interview went on, moving to other discussions and you managed to forget about the white haired man for a moment. "Hold on a second." the host said as they talked to a staff member. "So, um, I was informed about something. And, Y/N, we actually have a gift for you?" how sweet, you thought. Only to be welcomed with your costar on the set, making the audience clap. "What a surprise, right?" you smiled, putting on your same old business smile on as you tried to keep your composure.

"I was nearby and I was thinking why not paying a visit." he lied as he got closer to the couch.

"It's always nice to have you here." the host said. "Please sit down, I actually wanted to ask about the new movie you two played in."

"I'd love to but I'm kinda in a hurry." he leaned down towards you, placing a quick kiss on your cheek and messing with your hair for a moment. "You two have fun." he said as he got away from you. "I have to go now. I wasn't even supposed to stop to begin with." he waved as he left, making the audience sound way too happy about this.

"Relax, no need to be shy." the host said, looking at your expression. "We already saw the trailer, it's nothing we haven't seen already." you wanted to cry. "So, about the movie. Does it have more of those scenes or were we deceived with the trailer?" you'll make sure to pick a written interview next.

"I'm not really sure if I should talk about it.." you tried to change the subject.

"It's not like you're spoiling the movie for us. We're curious about you and your partner." and that's what you don't like.

"Well.." everybody's eyes were on you. "Let's just say that you'll see more." that was enough to make the crowd go crazy.

Because of that guy now you can't even deny that you two aren't together anymore.

You would have been alright with all of this if the nothing happened between the two of you, and if Gojo felt the same way as you. But he seemed to push the idea of something happening between the two of you to the public. It was driving you crazy because you didn't know how to react. You always told yourself that you won't get involved with anyone from the industry, that you'll make a few more movies and then retire, find someone simple and live an almost normal life.

But instead you're here, stuck with media actually approving of this non existent relationship.

You have to talk to Satoru next time you see him. But you never really got the chance to do that in private when the promotions started.

Interview after interview and it only looked like you were surrounded by more and more people. And he didn't wanted to talk to you when you tried to pull him aside, talking about how people will think something inappropriate about the two of you when he was the one who was saying stupid things in front of the camera.

Now it was the premiere, having to stay arm in arm with him the whole time. And he doesn't hold back even for a moment, letting his hands roam around your body and making the crowd go insane.

"Let's talk." you whispered to him, making him lower his head so he could hear you.

"What about?" he was playing dumb, he already knew what you wanted to say.

"Do you have some time later?" you said as you wrapped your arm around his, following his lead as he was guiding you around the red carpet.

"Who knows." he said that, but at the after party you managed to trap him in a corner not allowing him to go away before he had a talk with you. "There are people watching." a smile on his face as he said that, looking at your angry face as you had him pinned to the wall.

"I don't care. You're going to run again." look at how the roles switched. He had no idea you would actually try to confront him.

"Then." he wrapped his arms around you, looking down at you and grinning from ear to ear. "What do you want to talk about."

"People are thinking that we really are in a relationship." your current position wasn't any better either. People were giving you looks like you were being perverts in public.

"They are?" why was he acting shocked when he was the one feeding that idea to others.

"We don't have to pretend anymore." you said, but that only made him to drag you closer.

"You said you'd give me a chance after we're done with the movie." you said a lot of things that you didn't mean, why was this any different.

"I just said that I don't want people to think we're in a relationship. What do you not get?" snap at him more, he can't be any happier than he's at that moment. He leaned down, his face getting closer to yours and placing a kiss on your cheek.

"Keep your promises, don't disappoint me." you huffed, turning your face in another direction only for him to turn it back towards him and kiss you on your lips. "Let's get out of here. It started to get boring anyway." why did you listen to him was a mystery, why you followed him to his car and back to his house was something you couldn't figure it out. And how you ended up in his bed? You can't really respond to that either.

He was kissing you, hands under your clothes and trying to get them off as fast as he could. Moaning into your mouth whenever you touched him, pushing his body into yours and trying to become one with you in a way or another.

How could you think that you could leave him? What would he do if he doesn't have you? What is he supposed to do from now on if he can't think about you 24/7? To even dare to think about abandoning him, he's going to punish you for this.

"Turn around." that stupid dress was in his way, he can't believe your stylist really made you wear this. What if there are fuckers out there who still dares to look at you even after he made it very clearly who you belong to.

Well, whatever. He'll make sure to get rid of that stylist of yours. Not a big problem.

He kissed your back as your skin became exposed to him. With a swift movement taking your panties off and throwing them somewhere easy to spot, to not forget to take them later.

You had to tell him to take his clothes off so you could catch a break, otherwise he would have took you there from how impatient he was.

You just stood there, at the edge of his bed, one leg over the other and looking at him trying to take off his tie faster. He really had to wear a fucking suit, now look at him, he was about to rip it off him. And look at you, you look so calm about this, enjoying seeing him struggle while he was losing his mind. "Undress me." he looked down at you, taking a few steps closer to you, and taking your hand in his and placing over his white shirt to unbutton it.

You might as well do it, you don't see why not. But the problem was him and his stubbornness. Kissing you, almost pushing you in bed while you were just trying to do as he said. It took a long time, and the task seemed to never end, but here you were now, with him on top of you and making you wrap your legs around him. No fancy party could make him miss this, in fact he couldn't even care about that damn premiere to begin with.

His hands were traveling on your body, touching you in some of his favorite places. You were so warm, he couldn't help himself. How you gasp whenever he's groping you, dragging you closer to him so he could feel you even closer, even if there was no more space left between the two of you.

"Put it in already." you demanded, but he wasn't going to just give it to you yet. What if you struggle like last time? He can't let you say such dirty words again or you might not be able to walk at all tomorrow.

"There's no rush." you can act as cute as you want, he's going to take his time with you. After all, you need to see how good he can treat you, make you feel so good that all you'll remember is his name. He kissed your forehead before he moved his eyes on his hand that was going in between your legs. "Look how wet you are." you were a bit embarrassed about it. "And you said that you don't want me." your body can be more honest sometimes, and he'll love to learn more about it.

He got some of your juices on his fingers, moving it around your clit to see the way your body tensed immediately. Weren't you a needy one? He kissed the side of your face before pushing two of his fingers in, paying attention to the face you were making and at the way you were sucking him in.

He moved his hand at a relatively slow pace, it was more about to make you feel the way you're taking him, how deep his fingers can go compared to yours, or anybody else. You can only feel like this because of him. See the way you're still so tight? That's because he wasn't there to stretch you out the way you needed.

"Keep your eyes open, alright baby?" he spoke to you in a baby voice, making you feel like he was mocking you. "Don't hide from me." can't he just fuck you already? Why was he playing around so much.

You did tried to do as he said, keeping your eyes open and trying to avoid eye contact with him because it made your pissy clench. This was so embarrassing, the way he was taking his sweet time and giving you almost no friction at all, and how he seems to enjoy this. Like torturing you was bringing him pleasure.

He didn't let you say a word and smashed his lips against yours, placing his palm against your clit as he finally started to move like he means it. Curling his fingers up so hard it got you squirming and letting out a few moans. And you never seem to stay in place, moving around and arching your back every time he was hitting something that makes you see stars.

You were a mess, the way you were so wet that your juices got on his bedsheets, and the noises your body makes were so obscene and loud it was hard to ignore.

He noticed the way you look at him, pleading for some mercy like you were at your limit about to break. But there was so much more in you, one orgasm wasn't going to stop him from giving you another. And he swears on his name the next one will be even mind blowing.

That's when he took his hand back to himself, making you sit more comfortably in bed before he positioned back in between your legs. This time he'll make sure you'll stay awake and take all of him, there was no other way.

You looked at his face and then at his cock, at the way he had his head at your entrance, almost pushing it in. You'll take him? Like, you're really going to fit him? "You can do it." he said when he finally pushed some of his cock in. "Fuck." he cursed under his breath. "I know you can do it." he let out a moan, throwing his head back for a moment before moving his eyes back on you. Your eyebrows furrowed, eyes closed and the cutest pout you ever showed him. It was like you really had a death wish, to fuck with his feelings like this and making his dick twitch. If he couldn't control himself any better he would had came right there on the spot. "Too much?" he said as he kept pushing his cock all the way in, making you nod as your words were stuck in your throat. "That's too bad."

You won't see any sympathy from him. Does he even knows what that means to begin with? You're too delicious, and the fact that he could pull even more expressions out of you made him push you over your limits.

So here he was, moving in and out of you way slower than he wants, rubbing your clit with his thumb and observing you like the pervert he is. He was salivating, drooling over your weak form as you showed him your off guard self. His cock twitching every time you let out a moan, and making you jolt at the sensation.

"Does it hurt?" he asked as he kept looking down at you, moving his hips in the same old motion. You nodded again, eyes still closed and biting your lip because of how he made you feel. He'll make it hurt even more, don't think that you can rest yet just because he's going easy on you. Fuck, he wants to sink his teeth into you so bad, leave marks all over your body as he rams his cock in and out of you.

But then you looked at him, big teary doe eyes that had him seeing a flash before him. He almost came, like, he almost cum just because you looked at him. If you want him to keep it together you have to talk some sense into him, because he doesn't think he can recover from that.

"You can move." no, don't give him a green light. Torment him more, play with his feeling and edge him till he's losing his damn mind. Don't be so sweet to him, he'll end up locking you up if you do that.

He pressed his chest against yours, his mouth finding yours as he started kissing you like the most starved man on earth. He moved his hips without a warning, slamming into you like you were his toy, and yet demanding for your touch. He was pushing himself into you, trying to steal the air away from your lungs as he seemed more desperate with each thrust.

He was looking into your eyes, waiting for you to snap at him and push him off, or tell him that's he's being too rough so he could stop being so delusional. But you didn't, only dragging him closer, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him just as needy as he was, both of you being a moaning mess. And not letting go of each other even after you came, wanting to feel even more. To cum again and again, and to be filled by him to the brim, even if you knew that would bring you some serious problems later when you finally come back to your senses.

The next day you woke up with a sore body, your skin aching all over the place, and barely being able to get up the bed.

That didn't stopped you from getting dressed with some clothes you found around the room, what you can only assume it was his since they were way too big.

You got out the room, in hope to find your phone or maybe the white haired man so he could get you back home. And now you were in the living room, looking around for your things. Instead finding a letter, that seemed way too familiar.

That handwriting, you could recognize it everywhere. And that damn signature, the fucking S.

It was one of the letters he didn't managed to 'give' it to you yet. And honestly, you don't know if you should be relieved or terrified because this one was worse than anything before.

You turned around, paper still in your hand and looking at the tall guy who had his back pressed against the wall. He was expressionless, no thoughts behind his head as he seemed to stare at you like he was looking into the void.

It was him, that damn son of a bitch. He played with you all this time and you had no idea.

"I made you breakfast." he said, not every caring if you found out about his doings or not. "Come while it's still hot." he let out a laugh at your expression. You never hold back, do you? Can you at least try to not look like your about to kill him?

[capuccinodoll]

The boyfriend act, part 5: "The one with the red lights" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: Despite your reluctance, you find yourself at Santi’s house for dinner. But Frankie presses too hard, pulling things out of you that you’d rather keep buried—until all that’s left is the worst version of yourself. WC: 10.1k

A/N: Hope you enjoy this one 🤍 and don't forget to let me know what you think! I looove reading your comments <3 If you want to be in the tag list, let me know. Don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications!

The white ceiling stretched above you, blank and unfeeling, while your mind filled in the emptiness with shapes that weren’t really there. Faces, maybe. Or memories, distorted at the edges. You knew you were indulging in unnecessary pessimism, but you let yourself sink into it anyway. Surely you were entitled to a day like this every once in a while—one where grief sat heavy on your chest and refused to move. Unfortunately, your timing couldn’t have been worse. Not that you had chosen it; no one ever does. You don’t get to decide when your heart shatters for the second time, or when the pieces that were already broken fracture further, splintering into something even smaller, even harder to hold.

The day before, Frankie had left without much ceremony, tossing out a casual see you tomorrow as he passed you. You hadn’t answered. You’d been too consumed, too wrapped up in your own head, and he hadn’t pressed you on it. Just walked out the door like it was any other day. After that, the ghost of him lingered in the space he’d occupied, his scent still woven into the fabric of the couch where he’d slept. You hated it. Hated that it made your stomach twist, that it pulled you toward something you didn’t want to name. You forced yourself upright, inhaling sharply as if that could steady you.

Because, really, what was it about him? What had changed? He’d always made you uneasy—before, because you were simply too different, two puzzle pieces that would never click together. And now… now it was something else. Something worse. It had to do with the way he looked at you, the way he seemed to understand exactly what was happening inside your head without you having to say a word. As if he could see right through you, past all the sharp edges you put up to keep people from doing exactly that. And that wasn’t good. That wasn’t good at all. Because the last person you wanted to be understood by was Francisco. The person who irritated you most, who had always known exactly how to push your buttons. And now, somehow, he had figured out where your soft spots were too.

And after he left, you did your best to pull yourself together. You pushed yourself up from the couch, stretching limbs that felt heavier than they should, and searched for something to fill the space. A book, a movie—something to quiet the restless ache in your chest. But nothing worked. The feeling stayed, creeping up the way it always did, slow and insidious, like ink bleeding through paper. A dull, familiar ache, resurfacing in waves, catching you off guard just when you thought you’d distracted yourself enough to forget.  

Eventually, you gave up. Skipped dinner, still drained from friday’s birthday and the weight of everything you were carrying. You crawled into bed early, exhaustion settling into your bones, hoping—without much conviction—that sleep would make things better. That maybe sunday would arrive with something softer, something easier to hold.

And now, it was sunday, and you had promised yourself—firmly, resolutely—that you wouldn’t do this again. That you wouldn’t let yourself spiral down this particular rabbit hole. But somehow, your phone was already in your hand, your thumb moving over the screen with quiet urgency, scanning for details, for scraps of information, anything that might offer some insight into this world that was no longer yours. That had never truly been yours to begin with.

Harry.

Harry looked happy, the kind of happiness that came easily to people who knew exactly where they were going. His profile was filled with snapshots of motion, of departure, of a life that never stayed still—deep blue lakes, endless seas, rivers cutting through valleys, mountains rising against wide open skies. He had always loved to travel. He had asked you to go with him, more than once, throwing out invitations like they were simple, effortless things. But you had always said no. Too much to do. The bookstore, your finances, some minor health concern—a cold, a flu, a vague sense of exhaustion that never seemed to lift.

Now, Harry traveled with Lisa. They stood together in front of massive cliffs, on balconies bathed in golden light. She fit so easily into the spaces you never stepped into, the spaces you had let slip through your fingers. In one photo, a caption read:

"I would recognize you in the dark. Always you. There I belong."

The words blurred almost instantly. Your vision swam, the sting of tears creeping in before you could stop them. You set the phone down beside you, face down on the mattress, as if that could somehow soften the blow. Then you pulled the covers over your head, curling into yourself, as if hiding could protect you from any of this. As if it could make any of it hurt less.

Then your phone vibrated, the screen lighting up with a new notification.

Santi: Be here at seven. I got that cake you’re obsessed with, so don’t even think about bailing.

A grimace—something between a smirk and a scowl—tugged at the corner of your mouth as your fingers hovered over the keyboard. Then you typed:

You: Eat it yourself.

Silence. Then the three little dots appeared, pulsing like a tiny, judgmental heartbeat.

You let out a sharp exhale, tilting your head back against the pillow.

Santi: No

Santi: Don’t make me come drag you here

Santi: Consider yourself warned

His reply came almost instantly. He’d been expecting this.

You: I look terrible dude I’ll see you another day

You: Tell Yov I’m sorry

Santi: Too late, she’s already setting everything up 

You shut your eyes and pressed the phone against your chest, as if that might somehow shield you from the conversation happening in real time.

You: I’m serious

You locked your phone and let it drop onto the bed beside you, exhaling sharply as you rolled onto your side. Your hands tucked under your cheek, your eyes shut, as if squeezing them closed hard enough might make everything disappear.    

Santi: And so am I

Santi: Get. Out. Of. Bed.

Now what? Were you really supposed to drag yourself to Santi’s house and pretend everything was fine? Sit there, smiling, making small talk, acting like you weren’t unraveling from the inside out? And worse—look Frankie in the eye, knowing that just yesterday he had been prying into the most private corners of your mind?  

And how much had he read, exactly?  

Not that it mattered. Not in the sense that would be humiliating. Because Frankie wasn’t someone you were interested in impressing. If anything, he was the last person whose opinion you gave a damn about. You had spent years not caring what he thought of you, what he assumed about you, what conclusions he might have drawn from the glimpses he caught of your life.  

But then again.  

You weren’t stupid. You knew exactly what kind of man he was—sharp, perceptive, the kind who could take something small, something insignificant, and wield it like a weapon if he wanted to. He had the power to tear you apart if he ever felt like it.    

And the truth was, you’d already embarrassed yourself enough.

The cab rolled away behind you, tires humming against the pavement, as you climbed the steps to Santi’s porch. You had wanted to look decent—you had tried. A long, scalding shower, ages spent drying and combing your hair, a careful hand smoothing makeup over tired skin. Just enough to bring some life back into your face, to soften the edges of the bruises that still clung stubbornly to your lips. The swelling had gone down, but the mark was still there, a smear of purple at the curve of your mouth. A fresh bruise was blooming just above your upper lip, darker now, more noticeable.

The summer dress you’d chosen hit just above your knees. Light, effortless. You hoped it would be enough to make you look put-together. Unbothered. As if there was nothing clawing at your insides, nothing unsettled under your skin.

Behind you, the sound of a car door shutting made your breath hitch. You knew before you turned. Of course you did.

You pressed the doorbell, inhaling through your nose, exhaling slow. Behind you, footsteps. Measured. Unhurried. Then, close—too close—you felt him at your back.

“You gave me a black eye,” Frankie said, his voice easy, almost conversational. He stepped up beside you, watching you the way someone watches an oncoming storm—half amused, half waiting to see how bad it’ll get.

From inside, Santi’s voice called, distant over the low thrum of music. “Coming!”

You gave in, looking at Frankie. Couldn’t help yourself. And yes, there it was—proof of your handiwork. The deep violet shadow blooming under his eye, the cut along the bridge of his nose, healing but still raw. No more swelling, but unmistakable evidence that, at some point, your phone had connected with his face.

You smiled, slow and sharp.

“Hi, Francisco,” you said, saccharine-sweet. “Nice to see you. How are you? Do people not greet each other anymore?”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

“You and I are way past formalities, don’t you think?”

Before you could fire back, the door swung open.

Santi’s eyes flicked between the two of you, amusement quickly giving way to confusion.

“What the—” His brows drew together. “What the fuck happened to you two? Are you okay?”

You stepped inside, the familiar warmth of the house wrapping around you as you leaned in to press a kiss to Santi’s cheek, neatly sidestepping his question. The air smelled incredible and that, more than whatever interrogation he was preparing, held your attention.

Behind you, Frankie pulled Santi into a brief hug, murmuring something low enough that you couldn’t quite catch it. Not that you cared. Whatever was said between them didn’t concern you.

“Aren’t you going to tell me what happened?” Santi asked again, falling into step beside you as you made your way toward the kitchen.

Before you could answer, Yovanna appeared at the end of the hallway, her bright, welcoming smile instantly faltering when she caught sight of you. Her gaze flicked from your face to Frankie’s, concern replacing confusion.

“What the hell happened?”

You wrapped her in a hug, squeezing tight. Behind you, Frankie greeted her too, though his hug was more polite, restrained, as if wary of how much space he was allowed to take up here. Yovanna pulled back just enough to get another look at him, her expression shifting toward something almost amused.

“Damn,” she said, tilting her head. “You got the worst of it, huh?”

“Yeah, we got into a fight,” you lied breezily, propping yourself against the wall.

Santi shot you a look, eyebrows knitting together.

“With some drunks,” you elaborated. “Not that it means much, considering we were drunk too. Weren’t we, Francisco?”

Frankie turned his head toward you, one eyebrow raised, his hands settling on his hips like he was about to demand an explanation for whatever this was. His face was all curiosity and mild disbelief.

“I—”

“It was after the wedding,” you steamrolled on. “At a gas station. God, you should’ve seen us, it was ridiculous—”

“Oh, shut up,” Santi cut in, waving a dismissive hand.

Frankie bit back a laugh, tipping his head back slightly.

“Actually,” he said, as if suddenly feeling generous with the truth, “she hit me.”

Santi and Yovanna blinked at him.

“Right here,” he added, gesturing in a small circle beneath his bruised eye.

You let out an incredulous scoff, crossing your arms.

“I was naked,” you announced, tone scandalized, “and this pervert was just standing in my living room when he’d told me the night before that he was leaving.”

Santi looked between the two of you, his exasperation deepening.

“Stop it,” Frankie muttered, shaking his head.

“No, Santi should know,” you pressed on. “And while we’re at it, what’s with the whole going through my stuff thing? I swear to God, I’m sure—”

“Okay, enough,” Santi interrupted, slashing his hand through the air like a referee calling time-out. Yovanna, beside him, was practically vibrating with amusement.

“I’m hungry,” Santi continued, voice firm. “And you’re already late. Save the drama for later.”

An hour later, your plate sat in front of you, half-eaten, your fingers curled around the stem of a wine glass. The conversation had drifted, as it inevitably would, to your brother’s wedding. Across the table, Yovanna was talking animatedly about the preparations, her hands moving as she spoke, while Santi just stared at her like she’d personally hung the moon. He had that ridiculous, soft expression—the one that made you roll your eyes but also kind of want to cry because, well, love like that wasn’t exactly common.

Beside you, Frankie was quiet, his own glass in his hand, his plate already cleared. He wasn’t looking at you, but you could feel him there, as much a presence as the wine in your bloodstream.

“We were lucky we didn’t completely lose our minds,” Yovanna was saying, shooting a knowing glance at Santi, who nodded in agreement. “You know what they say—wedding planning is a trial for a couple. If you can’t survive that…” She shook her head, lips pressing together in mock seriousness.

“That’s true,” Santi agreed, his gaze lingering on her in a way that made you want to gag.

“Uh-huh,” Yovanna hummed, her eyes flicking from her fiancé to you and Frankie. Her expression shifted, just slightly, her amusement sharpening. “But, I mean, parties in general can be… intense. And I think you two might know something about that by now, don’t you?”

A laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it. “I was wondering how long it would take for someone to bring it up.”

Yovanna just lifted a shoulder, clearly entertained. “Can you blame us?”

“No, she can't,” Santi chimed in. “And trust me, I have so many questions. Number one—what the fuck happened to your faces?”

“She hit me,” Frankie said immediately, lifting a shoulder like it was no big deal.

Santi rolled his eyes. “Come on, I’m serious.”

“So am I.” Frankie’s grin widened. “She thought I was an intruder or something and threw her phone at my face.”

Santi turned to you, eyebrows raised in pure curiosity. Yovanna, beside him, stayed quiet, her gaze bouncing between the three of you like she was watching an increasingly ridiculous play unfold.

You exhaled, shifting in your seat, throwing Frankie a glare. “Okay, let me explain this properly.”

Frankie made a gesture like please, go ahead.

“So, after the wedding, we went to my place, and we were… kind of drunk—”

Santi raised a hand, cutting you off. “You both went to your place?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Yes, and then I fell out of the car, which is why my mouth is messed up. Frankie helped me inside, and then I went to sleep—”

“You fell?”

You huffed. “Yeah. He gave me slippers that were way too big, and when I stepped out of the Uber, I tripped.”

Santi looked between you and Frankie, biting back a smile. “Well, you were also drunk, right? That might’ve been a factor.”

You rolled your eyes, and beside you, Frankie let out a small, knowing huff.

“She doesn’t look where she’s walking,” he said, like he had just uncovered some deep truth about you. “She just moves and expects the world to accommodate her, her eyes always on the clouds. I noticed that last night. That’s why she fell, not the slippers.”

You turned your head slowly, squinting at him. “Francisco. If I hadn’t been wearing those slippers, I wouldn’t have tripped.”

Frankie exhaled dramatically. “Oh, I’m sorry for trying to help with the fact that your feet were literally almost bleeding from your shoes. Would you have preferred that? Just say ‘thank you’ and move on.”

“No.”

“Jesus Christ,” Yovanna muttered under her breath, shooting a glance at Santi, who just shook his head, trying—and failing—not to laugh.

You sighed and turned back to them. “Anyway. I fell, got hurt, my dress was ruined, so we went upstairs, Frankie helped me clean up, and then he said he was going to leave—”

“I was going to leave,” Frankie interjected. “But I fell asleep on the couch before I could even order an Uber.”

“Right. Anyway, the next morning, I woke up, went to shower, and when I got out, I couldn’t find my phone. So I went to the living room, and there it was. And I was naked—”

“She had a towel on,” Frankie groaned, rubbing his temple.

“Naked,” you repeated stubbornly, “and suddenly someone speaks behind me, and obviously I panicked! What was I supposed to do? I didn’t think, I just reacted, and my phone happened to be in my hand, so I threw it.”

Silence.

And then: “Well, I get it,” Yovanna said, tilting her head like she was weighing the situation. “You freaked out.”

“Of course I freaked out! But he doesn’t get it.”

“No, no, no, no,” Frankie cut in, shaking his head, holding up a hand like he could physically block the accusation. “I never said I didn’t get it. Obviously, I do. But the way you’re telling it makes it sound like I did it on purpose, like I was out to terrify you.”

“And how do I know you weren’t?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

Santiago snorted. “Okay, this is getting weird,” he said, rubbing his temple, amusement flickering in his expression. “Can we move on? I just want to hear about the party. Helena called me yesterday.”

Frankie straightened. “What? What did she say?”

You glanced at him, but he was already looking at your brother, his posture suddenly tense, like he was bracing for impact. His eyes were curious but edged with something else too. Concern.

“She sounded... happy. Surprised, mostly,” Santi said, dragging out the words for effect. “Asked a bunch of questions—what I thought, how I found out, if I saw it coming. A lot of questions, actually. Oh, and she also said she’s thrilled for me. That I have a beautiful, lovely sister.” He shot you a look, grinning. “And, well, I can’t lie. I may have gotten a little carried away. Told her I was also delighted about this whole ‘union made in heaven’ situation. And Frankie, man, you were already my brother before, but now… now it’s official. We are so much more.”

“Oh my God, Santi,” you groaned, throwing your head back. “You’re messing with us, aren’t you?”

Yovanna burst out laughing, lightly smacking your brother’s arm as he gave her a knowing smile.

Beside you, Frankie flushed. A deep, irritated pink creeping up his neck as he ran a hand over it—a nervous habit you’d noticed, one he did when he was overwhelmed.

“Of course not,” Santi said, his grin widening. “If you two get to have fun, why can’t I?”

“Fun?” Frankie scoffed, straightening up. “You think this is fun? We’ve been seeing each other for two days, and we’ve already collected enough bruises and near-death experiences to last a lifetime. That’s plenty.” So exaggerated.

Santiago just shrugged, barely suppressing a laugh at the absolute fury on his best friend’s face.

“Yeah. You’re matching.”

“Oh, cut it out, let them be,” Yovanna said, rolling her eyes.

“Well, anyway,” Santi said, his voice easy, casual, like he wasn’t dropping the weight of someone else’s curiosity into the conversation. “Helena asked about you guys. Wanted my opinion. I told her you were fine, that you—” he glanced at Frankie, leveling him with a look—“were doing well. That she didn’t need to worry, and that I’d come visit her soon.”

Frankie exhaled, sharp and short. “Good. Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “I mean it. Even if you’re enjoying this way too much.”

Santi scoffed. “No worries. You know I wouldn’t screw with you about this.” He leaned back, tilting his glass slightly in his hand. “Now, are you gonna tell me how the party went?”

Yovanna’s lips curled at the edges, her eyes gleaming with something decidedly un-serious. “Did you guys kiss?”

The question landed between you and Frankie like a slow-falling coin. You turned your head toward him, almost on instinct, and he was already looking at you, his expression caught somewhere between apprehension and amusement. His face was still faintly flushed, like the conversation had warmed the room a degree too much.

Santi’s gaze flickered between the two of you, and his expression sharpened. “You better not be method acting with my sister.”

Frankie’s mouth twitched into something resembling a smile. “Never. It’s platonic between us, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” you said smoothly, returning the smile. “I’d call it the opposite of method acting, really. This is professionalism at its peak.”

Santi raised his eyebrows, his signature I’m-about-to-ruin-your-day expression settling in. “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t call a situation involving towels and black eyes professional, but hey, who am I to judge?”

You groaned, rolling your eyes as Santi took a slow sip of his wine, barely suppressing a grin.

Yovanna, undeterred, steered the conversation back. “So? The party?”

This time, you forced yourself to give a proper answer. Frankie took the lead, his voice steady as he laid out the sequence of events with his usual matter-of-fact efficiency. You filled in the gaps, adding details here and there, but skirting around certain parts—the encounter with Frankie’s cousin, the kisses that followed. Frankie didn’t mention them either. You weren’t sure if that was a conscious decision or if he simply preferred to pretend they hadn’t happened. Either way, it felt like an unspoken agreement, and you weren’t going to be the one to break it.

From an outside perspective, everything had gone well. No disasters, no humiliating slip-ups. Just two people executing a plan. Yovanna seemed delighted by the entire ordeal, laughing at all the right moments, nudging you when Frankie said something particularly dry or sarcastic. Even your brother, despite his usual talent for being infuriating, had to admit you’d done a good job. In fact, too good.

“Helena was a little too excited when I talked to her,” Santi admitted eventually, his brow furrowing like the realization had only just settled in. He leaned back in his chair, swirling the last bit of wine in his glass. Then, after a pause, he added, “How exactly are you two planning to break up?”

There was a beat of silence. You glanced at Frankie, and he exhaled through his nose, shifting in his seat.

“We could say it just… didn’t work out,” he offered, his voice slow, careful. “Or that the feeling just faded.”

It was an answer, technically. But not the right one. Because the issue wasn’t how to break up—it was what was going to happen after that.

What was going to happen when Helena found out about the breakup, when the excitement wore off and disappointment took its place? Had either of you even considered that?

The questions started to wear on you, pressing down like a weight you hadn’t noticed until now.

You needed air. You stood up, murmuring something about stretching your legs, and Yovanna followed you outside.

The backyard was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of warm grass and something faintly floral. Yovanna lit a cigarette, exhaling slowly as she leaned against the railing. You stood beside her, arms crossed, letting the quiet settle between you.

For a while, the conversation stayed light—frivolous even. You talked about inconsequential things, things that had nothing to do with your fake relationship or her wedding or anything remotely demanding. It was a relief, an escape, and you let yourself sink into it.

But just as you were about to suggest going back inside, she stopped you with a gentle nudge of her shoulder.

“Hey,” she said, turning to face you more fully. “You okay tonight? You seem a little off.”

You sighed, tilting your head back to look at the sky. The stars were faint, barely visible against the city glow. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Just tired. This whole thing is fun, I guess, but exhausting.”

She nodded like she understood, like she’d already known that was what you’d say.

“Are you guys going to Harry’s wedding?”

“I don’t think so,” you admitted, shifting your weight against the wall by the back door. “To be honest, things get kind of chaotic when I’m around Francisco, and I don’t know if I want to put myself through that again.”

Yovanna exhaled another slow drag of smoke. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “It’s just... we shouldn’t be around each other. It’s not good for either of us.”

She hummed, unconvinced. “I don’t think that’s true. I think you two are fun. And I think you should admit that you like the chaos a little. You like the fighting. The drama. The making scenes.” She glanced at you knowingly. “I have eyes. I can tell.”

You snorted. “Yeah, maybe. Sometimes. The rest of the time? He just makes me feel bad. Really bad. It’s fun until he says something horrible or pushes the wrong button, and then I want to kill him.”

Yovanna gave you a long, thoughtful look. “What happened between you two? I’ve asked Santi, but he never has a real answer.”

“Nothing,” you said automatically, the lie slipping out before you had time to reconsider it. You thought about the first thing Frankie ever said about you, the way it had stung in a place you hadn’t known was raw. “We’re just not compatible. That’s all.”

Yovanna raised an eyebrow, waiting for more.

“You and Santi, for example,” you continued, “you just work. It’s easy, it’s natural. You get along.” You paused. “Frankie and I are the same, but the opposite. We repel each other. It’s like we were designed to be at odds.”

Yovanna tilted her head, eyes sparking with something suspiciously amused. “That’s kind of romantic.”

You groaned. “Oh, shut up.”

Time started moving faster once you were back inside. Conversations drifted toward things you didn’t care about, but you let them happen around you, nodding occasionally, offering a well-timed laugh when necessary. Santi was in a good mood—you could tell by the way he gestured when he spoke, the relaxed slouch of his shoulders, the way his voice lifted at the end of sentences like everything was lighter than usual. He was happy. And that pleased you.

Because he deserved it.

The girl, the house, the family, the quiet sense of certainty about his life. He deserved all of it.

But inevitably, like clockwork, the moment you found yourself comfortable on the couch, your thoughts took a familiar turn. The same restless tide pulling you under. You thought about earlier in the night, lying in bed, scrolling mindlessly until you landed on pictures you hadn’t meant to see—your ex, his fiancée. Smiling, glowing, happy. Their future stretched out in front of them like a neatly paved road, no cracks in sight.

And then—

“So how are you getting home?” Frankie’s voice broke through your thoughts, low and secretive, like a question meant just for you. You blinked, turning slightly to find him beside you, arms folded, his body angled toward yours. His face was close—too close.

You glanced around. Santi and Yovanna were nowhere to be seen.

“They’re in the kitchen,” Frankie said, reading your mind. “What are you thinking about now?”

You hesitated. Held his gaze for a second too long before looking away.

“I’m thinking,” you started, pausing as you searched for an easy answer. “I’m thinking I want to go to sleep.”

Frankie made a quiet sound in his throat, unconvinced. “I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t believe that I’m sleepy?” You lifted an eyebrow, trying for something light. “I drank three glasses of wine.”

“No,” he said, watching you too closely. “I don’t believe that’s what you’re really thinking.”

You exhaled, tilting your head. “And what do you think I’m thinking, then?”

He smirked slightly. “Something self-destructive, probably. I can see it in your crazy eyes.”

You huffed out a laugh, nudging his shoulder. “I don’t have crazy eyes.”

Frankie just smiled, slow and knowing.

“But you are thinking self-destructive things,” he pressed. “Right?”

“Why?” You leaned in slightly, matching his tone. “Are you enjoying it?”

His smirk faltered just a little, barely enough to notice. His brows pulled together, the amusement in his face dimming.

“Not at all,” he murmured. “What kind of fake boyfriend would I be?”

You let out a short laugh, crossing your arms. “I can’t wait to break up with you.”

He arched an eyebrow, interest flickering behind his eyes. “Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” you nodded, your voice taking on an exaggerated lilt. “I’m going to prance around like Nicole Kidman in that photo.” You threw your arms in the air in a triumphant gesture.

Frankie huffed out a laugh. “So what are we doing about custody?” he asked, shifting to face you more fully. “I want Santi during the week.”

You scoffed. “No chance. I get the weeks. You can have him on weekends.”

“That’s not going to work for me.”

“I’ll have my lawyer contact you, Francisco.” You turned your face away, lifting your chin dramatically. “This is not the place or the time.”

Frankie leaned in again, his voice conspiratorial. “You always say that,” he whispered. “You’re always so busy when I want to talk about the important things.”

You bit your lip, suppressing a laugh.

“First you take my dignity,” he continued, “and now Santiago. What’s next, Darcy?”

You turned to him, eyes wide. “Excuse me? That’s my son. Don’t confuse things.”

Frankie gasped, clutching his chest theatrically. “But he loves me.”

“He’s just a kid, he doesn’t know what he wants.” You waved a dismissive hand. “You bribed him, that’s all. He’s not yours.”

Frankie straightened, looking properly wounded. “I don’t care that I’m not his biological father,” he declared. “I love him—”

“What the hell are you guys talking about now?”

Santi’s voice cut through the air like a dull blade, rough with exhaustion but tinged with something closer to amusement than actual curiosity. He stood at the end of the hall, watching you and Frankie from beneath slightly furrowed brows. In his hands, he held two Tupperware containers, their lids sealed shut like he was offering contraband instead of home-cooked leftovers.

You straightened your posture, turning to face him with complete and utter seriousness.

“I’m sorry but this is private.” You shook your head solemnly.

Beside you, Frankie stifled a laugh, turning his face slightly like that might somehow disguise it.

Santi rolled his eyes, moving toward you with a slow, unimpressed gait.

“Sure. Well,” he said, setting the Tupperware down on the coffee table with an air of finality. “We made these for you.”

You reached for one immediately, lifting it to your nose and inhaling dramatically.

“I love you,” you murmured, then added, with more fervor, “I love you.”

Santi smirked, shaking his head. Before he could respond, Yovanna appeared at the end of the hall, her presence as effortless as ever. She moved toward the couch and perched herself on the armrest beside you, tucking her legs beneath her.

“Are you taking an Uber, honey?” she asked, her voice soft and unbothered.

“Yeah, I was just about to—”

“I’ll drive you,” Frankie interrupted, already getting to his feet. He grabbed his own Tupperware with the same efficiency as someone collecting evidence. 

You narrowed your eyes.

“What macabre plan do you have, Francisco?” You stood, crossing your arms. “Get rid of me so you can have Mr. Darcy all to yourself? It’s not going to work.”

Frankie ignored you, patting his pockets, searching for his car keys with the quiet urgency of someone trying to make a smooth exit. He found them and then—casually, effortlessly—reached out to clap Santi on the shoulder as he passed him in the doorway, like they were in some kind of silent agreement.

You watched them step outside, Frankie’s posture relaxed, Santi following with the sluggish reluctance of someone who had just endured an entire evening of unnecessary theatrics.

You turned to Yovanna, hoping for an ally. Instead, she just lifted her shoulders, gave you a half-hearted grimace that barely lasted a second before shifting into a knowing smile.

“I think your car is waiting for you,” she said after a beat, nodding toward the door where Santi and Frankie had already disappeared outside.

With no real choice in the matter, you stepped outside too, the night air cool against your skin. Your brother and Frankie were by the car, standing close, heads tilted toward each other in conversation. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but whatever it was, they were both engaged—gesturing, murmuring, nodding. The way Frankie’s brow furrowed and Santi rubbed at his jaw made it look like something actually interesting. Your curiosity sparked, but before you could linger too long, Yovanna’s voice cut in beside you.

“Okay,” she said, nudging you lightly with her elbow. “Don’t take too long to visit again, alright?”

You turned to her, nodding. “Of course not. Are you free this coming week?”

“For you? Always.”

You smiled, warmth bubbling in your chest. “Good, let’s get coffee.”

“Or a drink,” she amended, sighing dramatically. “I need it.”

You laughed, shifting your bag in your shoulder and the Tupperware in your arms to hug her, the container pressing awkwardly between your bodies. She smelled like perfume and warmth and something familiar.

When you pulled away, you started toward the car with her, trying—subtly—to catch fragments of whatever Santi and Frankie were talking about. It was something about Will and a car he’d just bought. Frankie was in the middle of saying something about the clutch, his voice low and even, when he abruptly stopped mid-sentence and turned to you.

“Ready?”

The word felt heavier than it should have, settling between your ribs. You glanced at your brother, mouth parting slightly, not sure what answer you were searching for. Yes?

Santi didn’t wait for you to say anything. He stepped forward, wrapped his arms around you, kissed your cheek. His warmth was familiar, grounding, the kind of comfort you’d had your entire life.

“Take care of yourself,” he murmured near your temple. “I’ll come see you in the week.”

You nodded against his shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

When you pulled away, Frankie was already holding the passenger door open for you. That threw you off for a second. He wasn’t usually this polite. You hesitated, glancing at him, but he just raised an eyebrow like, What? Get in.

So you did.

You waved to Yovanna as you settled into the seat, and she smiled, giving you a little salute in return before stepping back toward the house.

Then, with a quiet thunk, Frankie shut the door.

For a couple of strange, suspended seconds, you were alone in the silence of the car, the interior dimly lit by the soft glow of the dashboard. You bit the inside of your cheek and carefully dropped your Tupperware in the backseat, watching as Frankie rounded the hood, slipping into the driver’s seat with an ease that made your stomach feel unsteady.

He turned the key. The engine hummed to life, the speakers crackling softly before Red light by The Strokes filtered through the space.

You rolled down the window slightly, letting the night air in, watching the house disappear as he pulled onto the road.

“So, how’s that list of yours coming along?” Frankie asked abruptly, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You turned your head slightly, eyeing him.

“Are you asking if I’ve made any progress? I doubt it. In the last twenty-four hours, I haven’t gone clubbing, I haven’t camped in the woods, and I definitely haven’t gone skinny dipping. If that’s what you were hoping for.”

He hummed, hands steady on the wheel. “Well, you could cross off ‘kicking someone’s ass,’ if you count giving me a black eye.”

You exhaled sharply, unimpressed. “That was an accident. Get over it.”

“But are you actually planning on kicking someone’s ass?” He glanced at you, curious now. “How exactly are you planning to do that?”

“I didn’t say ‘kicking.’ I wrote ‘learn to.’ As in, learn to defend myself.” You folded your arms across your chest. “Were you even paying attention when you were spying on my diary?”

Frankie snorted. “Spying?”

“You barely even listen to me anymore,” you said, feigning exasperation. “We should break up.”

His laugh caught in his throat, rough and amused. “Nice try. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“I could set you up with someone else. A real girlfriend.” You straightened, only half-joking. “I actually know a couple of women you might like.”

“I told you—I’m not dating anyone,” he said, glancing at you like he was waiting for you to drop it. “Who are you now, my mother? I’m not going on one more date. With anyone.”

You smirked. “I could make you a Tinder profile. Craft it to perfection. I bet I could make you a success story.”

He shook his head, lips twitching toward a smile. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not? It’d be fun,” you insisted, already forming a mental plan. Good photos. A witty but slightly mysterious bio. He was a pilot, for God’s sake—women ate that up, didn’t they?

“I tried it once,” he admitted, like he regretted saying it the second the words left his mouth.

You gasped, delighted. “No way. You were one of those guys, weren’t you? The ones who post a group photo, making women guess which one they’re supposed to be interested in.”

He shot you a look. “Sounds like you have some experience with that.”

“I bet you had a picture holding a giant fish,” you said, grinning wider as he made a face that all but confirmed it. “Jesus, Frankie. That’s typical.”

He exhaled, shaking his head. “You know, if you have so many opinions on dating apps, why don’t you make yourself a profile? I really think you could use the 'going out' thing.”

You rolled your eyes and turned toward the window, arms crossed. “What makes you think I need it?”

Frankie hesitated. You could see it in the way his fingers flexed against the steering wheel, like he was trying to decide if this was an argument worth having.

“Well,” he said carefully. “If I’m being honest—”

“Don’t say it,” you cut in, raising a hand between you. “I have a faint idea of what you’re about to tell me, and trust me, I already know. So spare me the speech. I’m not in the mood to fight with you tonight.”

“Why? What's wrong?”

Frankie eased the car to a stop at the red light, using the pause as an opportunity to look at you—really look at you. His brows pulled together, the sharpness of his gaze pressing against your skin. “And you don’t actually know what I was going to say.”

You let out a breath, short and sharp.

“Nothing. Nothing's wrong.” You could hear the irritation threading through your own voice, but you didn’t bother softening it. “And yes, Francisco, I do know what you were going to say.”

“Is this about Harry?”

You let out a dry, humorless laugh, your hands slapping down against your thighs. Of course. Of course, he had to ask. He couldn’t just drive like before, couldn’t just let the silence stretch between you like a neutral space. When he’d come to pick you up in Dallas, the air had been thick with unsaid things, but at least he’d let you sit with them. Now, though—now he was prodding, poking, pressing in on a bruise that hadn’t even begun to heal.

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t care,” he said, too quickly. “I’m just asking why—”

“What do you want me to say?” you cut in, turning toward him, exasperation spilling out of you. “Apparently, you already know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” His tone was sharp now, defensive. “What are you talking about?”

You exhaled heavily, shaking your head.

“I hate it when you do that.” You turned your face toward the window, resting your chin in your palm, elbow wedged against the car door.

Frankie didn’t ask again. He just sat there, hands flexing against the wheel, his knee bouncing the slightest bit. But you could feel it, the weight of his attention, the questions hanging in the air between you. He was waiting for you to give in. To spill something you didn’t want to. And it bothered him—you could tell. The uncertainty, the not-knowing.

But in the end, he didn’t need to say anything. Because the way he looked at you, the way his eyes kept flicking toward your face, said enough. You knew exactly what he was thinking.

And when you turned back to him, catching the way his jaw tensed, something in your chest tightened.

Because he wasn’t going to let it go.

He wasn’t just going to drive you home, drop you off, and pretend none of this had happened. No, he was going to sit with it, turn it over, keep pulling at the thread until it unraveled completely. He was going to ask and ask and ask until he got the version of the truth he wanted. And the worst part was, he’d disguise it as concern—like this was about you, when really, it was about something else. Something that would probably hurt.

“I hate it when you act like this,” you said finally, voice quieter now, but no less pointed. Your eyes glowed in the reflection of the windshield, catching the red of the traffic light. “Like you’re above it all. Like you don’t already know I feel like shit about Harry. But you ask anyway, just to make me say it out loud.”

“That wasn’t my intention,” he said, softer now, shifting slightly in his seat. His right hand twitched off the steering wheel, hovering like he wanted to reach for you. But then, at the last second, he pulled back, curling his fingers into a fist before dropping his hand to his thigh. Like he’d thought better of it.

“You don’t act like it,” you said, your voice unsteady, throat tight. “You act like someone who enjoys figuring out my weak spots just so you can shove them in my face at the worst possible moment.” You swallowed hard, staring ahead. “Can you just take me home?”

Frankie’s jaw tensed, his hands gripping the wheel. The green light flickered on, casting a dull glow over the inside of the car. He didn’t hit the gas right away, just exhaled through his nose, long and frustrated.

“I was supposed to call a car,” you continued, your voice quieter now. “Is that why you insisted on driving me home yourself? So you could dig around in my life a little more?”

“No, I—” He cut himself off, shaking his head, eyes locked on the road as he finally pressed the gas.

Silence stretched between you.

A few blocks passed before he spoke again, voice tight.

“I know you’re upset about the wedding.” His fingers flexed over the wheel, his knuckles pale. “But I’m not going to assume things unless you actually tell me.”

You scoffed under your breath, gaze fixed on the window, on the streetlights smearing past. “Yeah. Sure.”

Home wasn’t far now.

“I don’t like this,” you said after a moment.

Frankie glanced at you. “What?”

“This.” You gestured between you, your expression hardening. “Everything was better when we didn’t talk. When we just ignored each other and kept our distance.”

“I think the same thing,” he said immediately, no hesitation. He turned his head just slightly, just enough to look at you before shifting his eyes back to the road. “Because talking to you is so hard all the fucking time. You know that?”

You blinked, taken aback. It was such a strange thing to hear, like he’d just told you the sky had turned green.

“When in your life have you ever tried to talk to me, Francisco?”

“Yesterday. Now. Probably sometime friday,” he muttered, clicking his tongue in irritation, shaking his head like he hated that he was even engaging in this conversation.

Another red light.

The street was empty, quiet. The glow of the signal reflected off the pavement, casting red against the buildings you knew so well—the café on the corner, the park where you went on morning walks. Your house was just a few blocks away.

You turned in your seat, facing him directly. The car’s dim interior light barely caught the sheen in your eyes, the warmth in your flushed cheeks.

“That’s not how this works,” you said, your voice quieter now, but no less sharp. “You can’t treat me like shit for years and then expect me to just—what? Open up to you? Tell you about the worst parts of my life? We’re not friends, Frankie.”

“Of course not,” he shot back. “But I’ve seen you get small today. Yesterday too.” His voice wavered slightly, but not enough to make him sound soft. He wasn’t soft. He was pressing in, hard and insistent, like he was trying to carve something out of you. “You pretend really well in front of other people, and they buy it. But I don’t. And it fucking bothers me.”

Your fingers curled into fists in your lap. “Oh, it bothers you?”

“Yeah,” he said, exasperated now. “It bothers me because you don’t do anything about it. You just let it all pile on, and I—I get it, okay? I get it. The guy broke your fucking heart, but you let him keep doing it. Over and over again.”

His voice rose, his hands waving slightly as he spoke, his frustration sharp and cutting. His eyes burned into you, filled with something you didn’t want to name.

“And no,” he went on, “maybe he’s not the villain in this. Maybe he couldn’t help falling in love with someone else. But I don’t buy for a second that he didn’t know exactly how you felt. And that makes him a fucking asshole.”

Your breath hitched.

Frankie leaned in slightly, voice lower now, but no less intense. “And you’re so mean to me, aren’t you? Doesn’t take you a second to snap back, to bite my head off. So why don’t you use some of that energy and tell Harry to fuck off already?”

Your eyes stung. You blinked, and the first tear slipped down your cheek, warm against your skin.

The weight in your chest was unbearable, like something pushing down from the inside out, something clawing its way up your throat. You felt transparent, like every single bone and muscle in your body was on display, like he could see straight through you.

“I never told him I loved him,” you whispered.

Frankie stared at you for several seconds, his gaze unwavering, scanning your face like he was searching for the lie, like he couldn’t believe you’d actually said it.

Then, quietly but firmly, he said, “He knows.”

You shook your head. Your eyes dropped to your hands, resting limp in your lap, one over the other like you were trying to steady yourself.

“He knows,” Frankie repeated, shifting slightly toward you. “Because it’s obvious. Because you wear every single thought on your face, whether you want to or not. Because it’s all right there in your eyes. If he doesn’t know, then he’s either blind or an even bigger idiot than I thought.”

A frustrated breath left your lips. You lifted your hands, exasperated, only to let them fall back onto your thighs with a muted slap. Your eyes, glossy and burning, locked onto his, frustration rippling beneath the surface.

“So then what?” you said, voice tight. “He knew I loved him, and he still left me overnight to commit to someone else? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“I’m telling you it’s fucking cruel to break someone’s heart and then send them a wedding invitation like nothing happened.” His voice was sharp, laced with something close to anger. “And that day, the way he acted so happy to see you, like you were just two old friends running into each other—does his fiancée even know what happened between you?”

You didn’t answer, but something must have flickered across your face because Frankie exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“We didn’t have anything serious, Francisco,” you said, your voice quiet, trembling but stubborn. “We were friends and—”

The traffic light turned green, but Frankie didn’t move.

You swallowed, waiting for him to break eye contact, to turn his attention back to the road. But he didn’t.

“Don’t give me that excuse,” he said finally, his voice quieter but no less forceful. “Even you don’t believe it.”

A fresh wave of exhaustion rolled through you, but it came tangled with something else—something hotter, heavier. You straightened up, shifting toward him, closing the space between you, and you felt more than saw the moment he registered the tears slipping down your face.

“Why do you care about it?” Your voice cracked, the words tumbling out in uneven breaths. “What do you want me to say, huh? That even if Harry knew I loved him, he still didn’t choose me?”

“Yes!” Frankie snapped. “That’s life! He didn’t choose you, he broke your heart. Well, fuck him! Get over it!” His hands lifted in frustration, his voice pitched higher, sharper. “The sooner you do, the better.”

The words hit you like a physical thing, like a slap to the chest, like something clawing its way up from the inside.

A sound broke from your throat—something half a sob, half a breathless, wounded laugh—and before you even knew what you were doing, your fingers curled around the handle, and you shoved the door open.

The night air hit your skin, cool against the heat burning in your face, and you were out of the car in seconds, walking fast, heart pounding against your ribs.

You heard Frankie behind you, his voice calling your name, followed by the thud of the car door slamming shut. But you didn’t look back.

It didn’t take him long to catch up, his footsteps heavy against the pavement.

“Get back in the car,” he said, breathless but firm.

“My house is three blocks away.”

“I don’t care.” His hand brushed against yours, an attempt to stop you, but you jerked away from his touch like it burned. “I’m not letting you walk home alone.”

��Oh no,” you said, your voice wobbling with emotion, “why? Because Santi’s going to be mad?”

Frankie didn’t answer. He just reached for you again, this time more deliberately. His fingers curled around your arm, not rough, but firm enough that you felt the weight of his concern.

“Please—”

“God, just leave me alone!” You wrenched your arm away, shoving both hands against his chest, pushing him back a few inches. Your breath came fast, shaky, fury and heartbreak tangled together in your throat. “Fuck you, Francisco! Get the fuck out of here! Why are you still here? Why the fuck are you still here? Why won’t you just leave me alone? I’m so tired of you, just go away!”

You stepped forward again, your hands pushing against his chest, but this time, Frankie didn’t budge. He just lifted his hands, fingers brushing against your wrists, hesitant, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch you. The contact sent a shiver up your arms, and you recoiled, jerking your hands away as if you’d been burned.

“I’ll leave you alone,” he said quickly. “Just let me take you home.” His voice was tight, strained with something he wasn’t willing to name. He was trying to sound firm, but the way his eyes moved over your face—restless, searching—gave him away. “It’s late, and it’s dark.”

You shook your head, blinking against the tears threatening to spill over again. Your face felt hot, your throat raw.

“Stop pretending you care,” you said. “About me, about what happens to me. I don’t need this. I don’t need you talking to me like you’re some kind of—some kind of fucking therapist.”

Frankie exhaled hard. “I’m sorry, okay? I won’t say anything else about Harry after this—”

You spun on your heel, turning your back to him, walking away.

A noise of frustration caught in his throat, something between a sigh and a groan, and before you could get any further, he was in front of you again, moving easily, stepping into your path. You stopped short, barely avoiding a collision.

Your breath came fast, uneven. You could feel how blotchy your face must be, your lips swollen, the bruise on your mouth sharper in contrast. Frankie's gaze flicked to it, and you saw the exact second he felt something close to regret—the slight pull of his brows, the way his mouth parted like he was about to say something and then thought better of it.

“You have to accept what happened,” he said finally, voice steady, though his jaw twitched. “For what it was. Don’t turn Harry into some tragic hero who hurt you by accident. That’s not what this is. It just—” he exhaled, shaking his head. “It didn’t mean anything. He didn’t choose you. So what?”

Your stomach twisted.

“You have no idea how I feel,” you snapped, your voice trembling, sharp with the effort of keeping it together. You dragged a hand down your face. “And why do you even care? It doesn’t matter. None of this fucking matters.”

Frankie shook his head. “I know how you feel. That’s why I’m trying—”

“Trying what?” You stepped closer, looking at him fully now. “To fix it? You can’t. I don’t need anything from you. I don’t need your pity, your useless advice. I know how this works. I know how people work. I’m good enough until the real thing comes along. That’s all I’ve ever been.”

His expression changed then—his eyes darkening, his mouth pressing into a line.

“That’s not true,” he said.

“Yes, it is, Francisco.” You said his name like it hurt. Like it was something you needed to spit out. “Because I’m always missing something. Because there’s always something I don’t have. And I know, I know that’s just life, that’s how it is, someone always gets left behind, someone always gets hurt. But why does it always have to be me?” Your throat ached from the force of your words, and when you spoke again, your voice sounded wrecked, on the verge of giving out. “Why do I always have to be the one to accept things as they are? Why am I the one who has to be mature, move on, be fine?”

Frankie exhaled, slow, measured. “You’re letting this define you.”

You let out a sharp breath, almost a laugh. “I’m letting this define me?”

“It doesn’t mean anything,” he insisted. “He wasn’t for you—”

“It does mean something.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Yes, it does! And you have no idea what you’re talking about. You don’t know me, you don’t know anything about me or what I feel or what—” Your voice broke, and you swallowed it down. “You don’t know anything.”

Frankie’s gaze stayed steady. “You’re just—numb. You think no one’s ever going to choose you because you’re in a bad place right now—”

“Shut up.” Your hands pressed against his chest again, lighter this time.

“I understand,” he said. “I do—”

“Shut up.”

But he didn’t.

“Somebody’s going to!”

"Or maybe not!"

Frankie let out a breath that was almost a laugh, but there was nothing amused about it. He glanced to the side, then back at you, his jaw tight, frustration bleeding into every line of his face. His eyes were dark with something unreadable, something that made your stomach twist.

"Okay," he said. "So what, then? You gonna spend the rest of your life wallowing? Feeling sorry for yourself forever?"

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides.

"You must have a lot of experience with that sort of thing, don't you?" The words sliced out of you, unfiltered, sharp enough to wound. Something ugly stirred in your chest, something raw and aching. The pain wasn’t his fault, not really, but he had pulled it to the surface, made it unbearable. And for some reason, you wanted him to feel it too. Even just a fraction of it.

"Feeling bad about yourself," you continued, your voice quiet but cutting. "Drowning in your own misery. Being a complete fucking loser."

Frankie didn’t flinch. Didn’t so much as blink.

"Yeah," he said simply, his voice flat, like he was stating an obvious fact. He was looking at you as if he was waiting for more, like he could take whatever else you threw at him. Like he wanted you to.

"Then why should I listen to you?" You took a step forward, closing the space between you. "Why should I care about anything you have to say?" Your head tilted up, and from this close, you caught every micro-expression—his eyes widening, his brow tensing, his mouth parting just slightly, like he was about to speak but couldn’t find the words fast enough.

"I take things as they come from people who matter," you said, voice low but unwavering. "And you? You’re nothing to me, Francisco. Just an inconvenience I can't seem to shake, no matter how hard I try."

His throat bobbed, but he stayed silent.

"This whole thing," you went on, gesturing between the two of you, "this back and forth, this—whatever the fuck it is—it’s pointless. Because no matter how hard we pretend to be something we’re not, it doesn’t change reality."

You exhaled, your pulse hammering.

"And the reality is," you said, looking him dead in the eye, "you're nothing but a failure."

Frankie exhaled, but he didn’t move at first. He just stood there, staring at you, unmoving, like he was bracing for something. His expression didn’t shift, but there was the faintest sheen in his eyes, catching the dim light. He blinked once, hard, and when he opened them again, the gloss was gone.

Then, suddenly, as if some invisible thread had snapped, he took a step back. It was abrupt, almost involuntary, like his body needed distance from you before his mind could catch up. But he didn’t say anything. His mouth pressed downward for a second, his gaze dropping to the ground.

When he looked at you again, his eyes met yours—just for a moment, like he was memorizing something. Or maybe letting something go.

And then he turned.

No hesitation, no last words, just the quiet sound of his shoes on pavement as he walked back to his car. His shoulders tense, his head slightly bowed. You watched him go, your arms folding tightly across your chest, trying to hold everything in. The rising ache, the anger that curled at the edges of your grief, the way your throat burned with unshed tears.

He didn’t look back.

You waited until he was nearly at the car before you forced yourself to turn away. Your legs felt heavy as you walked, like you were dragging some unseen weight behind you. Your breath came too fast, your ribs constricting painfully. All you wanted was to disappear inside your bed, to sleep until your body forgot how it felt to be this exhausted.

When you reached home, Mr. Darcy was there, waiting. He brushed against your legs, his tail sweeping across your calf, his little face tilting up as if he could sense something unsettled in you.

You dropped to the floor.

The second you sat down, your shoulders caved in. Mr. Darcy curled into your lap, his soft purring vibrating against your hands, but it didn’t soothe you the way it usually did. You pressed your face into his fur, and the sobs that had been threatening to spill over finally broke free, shaking your whole frame.

Your words echoed in your head, bitter on your tongue, and you hated the way they tasted. Because you knew you had been cruel.

But it didn’t matter.

He had been cruel too.

And maybe—finally—he would leave you alone.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Taglis: @paleidiot @gothcsz @everyth1ngfan @katw474 @mellymbee @pedritosgirl2000 @tsunamistorm123 @jokesonthem @sunnytuliptime @greenwitchfromthewoods @ashleyfilm @darkheartgatita @joelmillerisapunk @nandan11 @whirlwindrider29 @onlythehobi @diabaroxa @yellowbrickyeti @daybleedsintonightfa11 @mys2425 @pigeonmama @speaktothehandpeasants @pez3639 @stylesispunk @imaginecrushes @isla-finke-blog @smiithys @jokesonthem @brittmb115 @sukivenue

[leonsgfpost]

note: Hi! this is my third official post, crazy stuff. Thanks so much for all the support, I didn't think my trash was any good 😭 Btw, I hope you enjoy this too. English isn't my first language, so sorry if there's a mistake. 💕

tags: smut, comfort, insecurities, Leon is so cute, Leon x fem! reader, doggy style, orgasms and more!

Leon loves you madly. He really does. So every time you ask that question, "Do you love me?" he answers honestly, just because he can't tear his heart out and give it to you.

This man is capable of lowering the moon if you ask him to, he would do anything for you. He is honest, he doesn't lie. He wakes you up with soft kisses, on his days off he hugs you as if you were the only thing that keeps him grounded. You are everything to him.

And it's not that you doubt him, but different situations in your past led you to be insecure, to a sour whirlpool forming inside you about it. About him. Even now, when he's balls-deep inside you.

"Leon, Leon-" You murmured between ragged gasps, feeling his chest pressing hard against your back holding you in place. Taking every thrust he gave you. "Do you love me-?" And that feeling inside you came again. You felt like crying. Maybe from the pleasure, or maybe from the overwhelming sensations.

For a moment you think he doesn't hear you because of his current state. Heavy breathing, eyes tightly closed, body sweaty and his mind blank every time he sinks down to touch that spongy spot inside you.

But he wouldn't miss a hair of yours.

"I love you, I do, dear.... More than anything." He affirmed again, because he would repeat it to you every time you want. And the question sounds unreal in his fucked up head, of course he loves you. You're the only person he can open up to, show that young man who died inside him in 1998. He even took the audacity to have hopes, dreams again. Because next to you nothing seemed impossible.

"I love you, I love you." He murmured in your ear along with the low moans he couldn't contain, not when your walls were sucking him in so good. And I'd be lying if I said not now he's the one who wants to cry. He'd kiss every part of your body, kiss you all over until he could make you forget everything. Just like he does when he's with you.

His hips try to keep his deep rhythm, while his arms search for a way to embrace you to keep him grounded. Your ass is smacked by his pelvis every time he plunges in, over and over again with ambition. The wet sound of your wet pussy is the complete opposite of the cute words coming from Leon's lips.

"You're the only one for me, you're everything to me...Oh, G-God-" Now he started to ramble, trying to get his whole cock inside you until he can fuck your brains out and make you forget.

"Fuck, I love you, baby-!" His voice was already shaking, but I didn't know if it was from the effort of pushing you or the effort not to cry over you like a fucking baby.

"C-Come on, say you love me too." His voice tried to sound demanding, but it sounded like a plea. A desperate plea to know that you loved him too, because he wanted to be loved. He needed it.

"I love you, Leon. I-I love you, I love you so much." You said obediently, your voice coming out choked from having your face buried in the sheets. Your hair was disheveled, little beads of sweat trickling down your back and trembling thighs trying to support your weight. And little tears began to fill the corners of your eyes.

Maybe he had already fucked your brains out.

And Leon's chest tightened, pushing his lips carelessly into your hot cheeks. He was always so sweet even when he was fucking you like you were a slut. His cock bullying your bruised pussy again and again, because he couldn't catch a break. You were the air he needed to feel alive.

You made him feel alive.

As alive as he was now, as his hips began to quiver and his thrusts became sloppy, feeling his cock contracting tightly inside your walls. He could lose his mind right now for you.

His fingers moved down to play with your painfully throbbing clit, you let out a high pitched moan and your walls tightened feeling the familiar euphoria explode inside you, your orgasm coming in a sloppy way. Your body immediately relaxed into the sheets, trying to recover, but Leon wouldn't slow down, not when he was so close too.

He released your clit to run a sticky hand up to one of your tits, kneading it as if it were his own anti-stress toy. He carelessly kissed your wet cheeks and his hips pushed all the way in, releasing all his seed inside you. His cock contracted and discounted with spasms, giving you all of him.

"I love you." He whispered weakly, hugging you and trying not to fall on top of you. His heart beating fast in his chest, beating for you.

Because Leon Scott Kennedy loves you more than anyone. And he would devote every day of the rest of his life to prove it to you, if you let him.

were there too many "I love you"s? haha, sorry! But I can't help but think that Leon really needs a lot of love.

Let me know if u liked this, thanks!! 🎀💗

bye, bye (💌)

[zae-heeyyy]

Piquancy- II

Summary: You wake up in Arthur's room. Pairing: Arthur Morgan X Female Reader Word Count: 1,486 Tags: High honor Arthur, developing relationship, alcohol and intoxication, fluff, before the Blackwater Massacre

previous next

A/n: Well, I got carried away with the story, and now I don't know how many parts there'll be. I split some things to give you about 1,500 words instead of 5,000. I'm having a great time writing again, and I hope you enjoy!

piquancy: a sharp or stimulating quality that provokes a strong, often intriguing reaction.

For six seconds, waking up felt weightless. You'd forgotten where and who you were, your mind mercifully blank of heartache, running, and lawlessness. In that tenth of a minute, your lifestyle of living out of tents, squatting in abandoned houses, and sleeping under the stars felt far away, like some other poor girl's life and not yours. The logical, constantly worried part of your brain stayed asleep, and only half your senses stirred.

Despite the fireplace long gone cold, warmth enveloped you from all around. Sunlight beamed through the window, illuminating dancing dust particles and kissing your skin while plush blankets shielded you from the lingering morning chill. Most of the warmth, however, emanated from the colossus of a man beside you. Arthur's heavy arm anchored you close. You were spooned against him, his chest molded perfectly into your back, and his long legs loosely tangled in yours. And at seven seconds, you were fully conscious. Heaven's floodgates opened, and you were swept away in the deluge of your life.

Getting out of the bed was like breaking through the surface after being plunged deep into the ocean; you didn't even realize you were holding your breath until you surfaced and both feet landed on the dry land of floorboards. Standing now, you glanced back at Arthur, still sleepily adrift in the sea of blankets.

Cognizant of every creek and groan of the worn wooden planks beneath your feet, you walked nimbly across the room. The ark to save you from the flood, the door, was just within reach. Before boarding, you looked back at the sleeping man with a crinkle in his brow. Worry always seemed to plague him, even in his sleep. Part of you wondered what would happen if you stayed, how he'd react to waking with you in his arms, but you didn't even get to finish the thought.

Distracted by your own yearning, you got swept away in the debris of cowboy left by the previous night's tsunami of liquor. The heel of your boot caught on his gun belt, dragging the damn thing–– and everything attached to– it across the floor. 

The rouse was up then, the room filling with the racket of scrapping metal. Arthur's cattleman fell from its holster, striking the floor with a jarring clatter. The gunslinger jolted awake, and his hand instinctively shot to his side, searching for the very weapon that caused the racket in the first place.

His shoulders relaxed when it dawned on him that he wasn't in danger and was, in fact, looking at the one person who brought him a semblance of peace. He rubbed his face with both hands, wiping away the sleep and keeping out the morning sun. The room was silent now as the two of you marveled at each other.

"You stayed?" Disbelief and hangover thickened his already deep voice. 

"You asked me to," you answered quickly, "said you didn't want to do anything stupid."

Your words hung in the air, and you cursed yourself for acting so frantic. Arthur pretended not to notice, throwing the blankets off himself and walking around to your side of the bed. You didn't realize you were frozen all that time, an iceberg finally being thawed by the heat of him next to you. 

"Hope I didn't say anything more stupid than usual," he said, bending to retrieve his revolver. Seeing his belt still tangled around your feet, he offered a supporting hand while you fished yourself free.

"Youu get touchy and when you're drunk," you mused, feeling the awakeness dissipate with his hand in yours. "And sentimental." Upright again, you dangled the belt in front of him.

He chuckled nervously, buckled himself back in, and put the gun back in its holster, "Yeah, that sounds about right. M'sorry if I– "he scratched at his beard, frowning and internally fighting to find the right words.

"Whiskey does that to a man," You joked, trying to ease the new tension between you. Arthur nodded slowly, then shook his head and turned his back to you as the memories of last night came crashing back. 

"Ain't an excuse." Shame cast a dark veil over his handsome face. "Ain't an excuse for me to do what I did. Say what I said. I mean––talkin' like that, actin' like that—" he settled back down onto the bed, clasping his hands in front of him. His jaw was clenched like you'd seen after a job gone wrong or a disagreement with Dutch. "You're too good— too sweet for me to treat you like some —"

"Arthur..." you cut in on his self-deprecating monologue, sat beside him, and laid a hand on his knee. He seized that opportunity to lace his fingers in yours.

And his gorgeous blue eyes sucked you in. You were swimming again, more like floating away in them. His eyes were water, and his voice lulled you like waves.

"Want you to know I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or self-impose, I just—" Then he stopped himself and tore his ocean eyes away from yours again. "I just let the liquor get the best of me."

Your face fell despite you willing it not to, and you started to retreat into yourself, a lump swelling in your throat. Of course, everything had been taken out of context with the effects of the liquor. You should've known better, should've known that's just how he is. He'd have danced with anybody; would've said the same things to the next woman helping him up the stairs. He didn't mean it; he never did when he was drunk.

And then his grip tightened a desperate urgency to keep your hands in his. He shook his head as if reading your mind and dispelled everything you'd thought to yourself.

"Wasn' too far gone though. Not gone enough that I don'tremember what I said—what I meant—it wasn't just the whiskey talkin'." How his rugged man could soften himself so much and take your breath away would remain beyond you. His thumb stroked your knuckles tenderly, his eyes bore into you, and he swallowed.

"I know better. If I want a lady, I gotta court her right. I might've been raised rough, but I got enough sense to know that much."

Your four hands seemed to have minds of their own, twisting together as if trying to close the distance between you.

"Oh, Arthur," it was barely a whisper. You didn't know what to say, but you scooted in closer to him.

"Ain't good at this kind of talk," he confessed, "but whatever I said, I meant it."

There was a look in his eyes, almost pleading, like he couldn't bear the thought of holding it in anymore, couldn't bear you not knowing how he felt. You placed your hand soft on his cheek.

"You are stupid," you teased, pressing your forehead to his. He returned a chuckle and locked his fingers around your wrist, needing desperately to feel your skin under the tips of his fingers. He had to make sure this was real––that you were real— that this was happening, and he wasn't still trapped in some drunken hallucination from the night before. Blood rushed to his head, turning his ears a bright vermilion. With his other hand, he caressed your cheek despite the self-doubt pumping through him. 

And then you were submerged again, his lips an undertow, dragging you beneath the waves as they cut the air from your mouth. Drowning wasn't so bad as long as you were drowning in him. 

And the kiss lingered, both of your hearts pounding in your chest. You could've just about melted into him, but you pulled away as the town clock struck eight, its chimes slicing through the moment. Your hand dropped from his face heavily into your lap.

"Should get back," you sighed. "Got chores to do and all. Don't want Grimshaw to lose her head. She ain't exactly a fairy godmother."

Arthur's shoulders lifted with amusement, and he brushed a piece of your hair out of your face with a contained smile.

"I'm sure they're handling things just fine without you. Take yer time getting back; get a meal, have bath, wash the night away. I'm sure that weren't too pleasent––sleeping beside me and all."

It was all too pleasant, and you wanted to do it again soon. But you were on your way. Arthur put his boots back on and walked you down the stairs to the hitching post. You tried not to squeal as he gripped your hips tight and lifted you onto your house.

"Come back tonight," he said, stroking the animal's muzzle. An edge of nervousness scratched at his voice once more. "Spend the night with me, for real this time."

You departed, the lingering warmth of a kiss he'd left on your hand still tracing your skin. And, of course, you'd return.

next

[eu-nicola]

not yours part 3

summary: Rafe Cameron is the perfect boyfriend… but not yours, but Sofia’s. However, fate plays against you when you become the only person capable of understanding him in his darkest moments. What begins as a dangerous friendship soon becomes an attraction impossible to deny.

warnings: cheating maybe (yes)

word counter: 8960

author’s note: english is not my first language, penultimate part

tags: @xcinnamonmalfoyx @immyowndefender @tmlinsito

The days began to change subtly, as if something in the air had become different. Rafe was moving away from Sofia, but not in an obvious way. At first, they were small details that went unnoticed: messages that arrived late, plans that were cancelled with a vague excuse, and an increasingly frequent absent look.

Sofia, always sure of her relationship, tried to justify it. Maybe he was busy, maybe he needed time for himself. But with each passing day, the uneasiness grew in her, until she could no longer ignore it. There was something that didn't fit, a distance that wasn't there before.

One afternoon, while they were at your house, you noticed how his gestures had changed. His eyes no longer shone with the same confidence as before, and his hands nervously played with the cup of coffee. Although she tried to appear calm, the weight of doubt was wearing her down.

In silence, you listened to his words. She told you what had been going on: the distance, the excuses, the feeling that Rafe was somewhere else even when they were together.

Guilt settled in your chest. You knew that you had contributed, however silently, to that gap that now existed between them. Ever since that night when you almost crossed a line with Rafe, everything had changed. You had done everything you could to distance yourself, avoiding encounters, making excuses not to be around them. But the truth kept chasing you, and it seemed to be catching up with Rafe too.

Sofia tried to understand it, justify it, find a reason that would give her peace. But there was none. Rafe was distant because his mind was stuck somewhere else… or someone else.

“He’s always been so attentive to me,” she began, searching your eyes as if she could find an answer in them. “But now… now I barely feel him around.”

He asked you for advice, but you drew a blank. What could you say to him? The words seemed to get stuck in your throat, unable to come out.

You tried to comfort her. You told her that maybe it was a phase, that all couples go through difficult times. You assured her that Rafe loved her, even though your own words sounded hollow to you. Sofia wanted to believe it, and you wanted her to, because facing the truth would be too complicated.

You hugged her, trying to convey a security you didn’t feel. You knew she trusted you, that she always had. But this time, you felt like you were betraying that trust, caught between loyalty to your friend and the emotions that tied you to Rafe.

When Sofia left that afternoon, you were left alone, with too many thoughts running through your mind. Guilt invaded you once again.

Later that same night, your phone vibrated. It was a text from Rafe.

“Can we talk?”

You stared at the screen, hesitating. You knew the right thing to do would be to ignore it, to keep the distance you had tried to establish. But something inside you, that attraction you had been denying, made you hesitate.

"I don't think that's a good idea," you finally wrote, trying to maintain the firmness that was already beginning to fade.

The answer came almost immediately. "Please."

Your phone screen remained lit with Rafe’s last message. “Please,” he had typed. Just two words that echoed in your mind, like an echo that refused to go away. You tried to ignore it, to remember all the reasons why you shouldn’t get involved, but something in you gave in. Something always gave in when it came to him.

Finally, you gave in. You texted him a brief “Okay,” and before you could think twice, he replied with a clear address. “Come to my house. Sofia won’t be in tonight.”

Guilt crawled under your skin as you slipped on your shoes and grabbed your keys. You knew you shouldn’t go, but your feet seemed to have a mind of their own. You walked through the door of your house, knowing that at the end of this night, nothing would get better.

When you arrived at the mansion, the air was thick, heavy with unspoken words and repressed feelings. Rafe was waiting for you at the entrance, his intense gaze fixed on you from the moment you got out of the car. You didn't say anything at first, just walked in with a firm step, as if the decision to go there didn't weigh on you as much as it actually did.

The door closed behind you with a dry sound, isolating you from the outside world, leaving you alone with him and with everything you had tried to avoid. Rafe led you to the living room, but the silence you shared was too tense to be comfortable.

"Why did you ask me to come?" you finally said, breaking the silence, your voice a little rougher than you had planned. You didn't want to smooth things over, because this time he had to hear the truth.

"Because I wanted to see you," he replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He came closer, crossing the distance between you as if there was no moral or emotional barrier separating you.

You took a step back. "You can't keep doing this, Rafe." It’s not right. Sofia is worried, and you just walk away from her without any explanation. It’s wrong what you’re doing.

He frowned, but he didn’t seem surprised. He was used to people telling him he was wrong, but he rarely cared.

“It’s not that simple,” he replied calmly, almost as if he didn’t want to argue.

“Yes, she is,” you insisted, crossing your arms in front of you like a protective barrier. “If you don’t want to be with her, tell her. Don’t leave her hanging, wondering what she did wrong.” Don't be a coward."

Your words were harsh, but honest. You couldn't stand to see Sofia suffer because of someone who didn't have the decency to be honest with her.

Rafe was silent for a moment, his eyes locked on yours. That look... that damn look that always seemed to pierce through you, read every corner of your thoughts.

"You think it's that easy?" he finally said, his voice low but laden with something deeper, something that seemed about to explode. "You think I don't know what I'm doing? But every time I'm with her, I only think about you."

Your breathing stopped for a second. You didn't expect him to say it, at least not so directly. You knew there was something between you, a tension you couldn't deny, but hearing it out loud made it all too real.

"That's not an excuse," you replied, though your voice trembled slightly. "Sofia doesn't deserve this, Rafe. She trusts you. She trusts me. We can't do this to him."

He came closer again, more determined this time, and you didn't pull away. His eyes searched yours, his face just a few inches from yours. You could feel his breathing, the heat radiating from his body, and your heart began to pound.

"I don't care," he murmured, with an intensity that completely disarmed you. "I don't care what I should do. All I want now is to be with you."

His confession fell upon you like a storm, dark and electrifying. You knew that at that moment you should walk away, get out of that house and leave it all behind. But your feet remained motionless, as if a part of you was also trapped in that forbidden desire.

"This... can't happen," you whispered, trying to hold on to the last shred of reason you had left.

Rafe raised a hand, gently brushing your cheek, and the contact made you close your eyes for a second. "But it's already happening," he said with a certainty that made you He shuddered.

You opened your eyes and took a step back, breaking contact. “No. I have to go.”

Rafe didn’t try to stop you this time, but the intensity of his gaze continued to haunt you as you walked away. Your steps felt heavy, as if leaving him behind required titanic strength. When you reached the door, you paused for a moment, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. You knew the right thing to do was to walk away, but the desire you had tried to bury was awakening, and you couldn’t deny that something inside you was changing.

That night, when you finally returned home, you sat on your bed, your heart still pounding. You had distanced yourself from Rafe, but you knew that distance wouldn’t be enough to stop what was growing between you. And, for the first time, you realized that maybe you couldn’t control what you felt anymore.

The days that followed became a silent storm inside you. Every moment was a constant struggle between guilt, desire, and responsibility. You had managed to physically distance yourself from him that night, but the emotional burden remained, growing with every thought, with every furtive glance you remembered, with every heartbeat that quickened as you received his messages.

The hardest thing was being close to Sofia. You felt trapped in a labyrinth of contradictory emotions, having to be her support while your own stability was shaky. She trusted you, depended on you, and you did everything you could to be by her side. But every word of comfort you offered to her tore you apart a little more inside. How could you be a support for her when you yourself were on the verge of collapse?

You spent hours with Sofia, listening to her worries, her fears. Rafe had become distant, and she didn't understand why. He told you how things had changed between them, how every day he seemed further away, colder. And you knew it. You knew exactly why he was pulling away, and that knowledge weighed on you like a stone in your chest.

There were times when you wanted to tell her the truth, to confess what was going on, but the words died in your throat. You couldn't. You couldn't destroy her like that. So you stayed silent, nodded, and held her when she broke down in front of you, as if that was enough to keep her whole.

Until one afternoon, while you were at her house, Sofia surprised you with an idea you weren't expecting.

"I've been thinking about doing something special for Rafe," she began, with a smile that seemed forced but full of hope. "Something to help us reconnect. A romantic getaway, just the two of us. Something spontaneous, different."

Just hearing her talk about him that way made your stomach turn.

“Do you think that will work?” you asked, trying to sound neutral, even though you knew your voice betrayed some disbelief.

Sofia nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, I think we need to get out of here, away from everything.” Maybe a change of scenery will help us remember why we're together in the first place."

You nodded slowly, not knowing what to say. The thought of the two of them, together, trying to save their relationship, should have relieved you, should have given you hope that everything would go back to normal. But it didn't. Instead, you felt a knot form in your stomach.

"I want you to come with us," he said suddenly, as if it were the most logical thing in the world.

The surprise took your breath away. "What?"

Sofia looked at you with an almost pleading expression. "Yes, I want you to come. I know you've been distant lately, and I don't know why, but I think being in a different place will do you good. We could relax, have fun like before.

You stayed silent for a few seconds, processing his words. Going with them… on a romantic getaway. Being a third presence on a trip that should be just for the two of them. It all seemed absurd, out of place.

"I don't think it's a good idea." "I don't think so," you finally answered, trying to come up with a valid excuse. "It's a trip for you two, I have nothing to do there."

Sofia shook her head quickly. "It's not absurd. You're my best friend, and Rafe appreciates you too. Besides, it could be fun. I don't want you to be alone, and I know you're not at your best either." This could help us both.”

Her words left you speechless. Maybe for her, your presence would be a safety net of sorts, someone to lean on if things didn’t go her way.

And you… you were trapped. You couldn’t refuse without raising suspicion, without her wondering what was really going on.

“Okay,” you finally said, even though every fiber of your being screamed for you not to. “I’ll go.”

Sofia smiled, relieved, and you forced a smile in response. As Sofia began to talk excitedly about plans, you could only think about what was coming next.

From the moment you accepted Sofia’s invitation, you knew exactly what was going to happen. You had tried to ignore it, to pretend that maybe things would be different, that you could keep the emotional distance you had built with so much effort. But reality haunted you, and with each passing day, that certainty became harder to ignore.

Days later, as you absentmindedly checked your phone, Rafe's message appeared like a shadow you couldn't avoid:

"I can't wait to see you on the trip."

Your heart stopped for a second. There was no formality, no context, just that message, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to be eager to see you.

You didn't respond. It wasn't worth it. You would leave that message on read, buried among unimportant notifications, as if ignoring it could take away its weight.

And yet, you couldn't get it out of your head. Over the next few days, as you helped Sofia with the preparations for the trip, as you pretended to be excited about the getaway, that message was still there, latent, like a constant reminder of what awaited you.

Finally, the day of departure arrived. The chosen destination was a private island, a paradise hidden in the crystal-clear waters of somewhere not so far away. It was the kind of place only the rich and privileged could afford, with white sand beaches stretching as far as the eye could see, luxurious villas surrounded by lush vegetation, and a tranquility that seemed alien to the real world.

The plan sounded perfect. For Sofia, it was the ideal opportunity to reconnect with Rafe, to get away from everything that had been distancing them. For you, it was a gilded cage, a scenario where everything could go wrong.

You were nervous. You couldn't deny that the idea of ​​being so close to Rafe, sharing the same space, made you uneasy. Every time you thought about him, about his gaze, about the way he seemed to seek you out even when he shouldn't, a wave of anxiety ran through your body.

But you promised yourself that you wouldn't let it bother you. You wouldn't give it power over you. You wouldn't allow this trip to become anything more than what it was meant to be: a getaway with your friend, nothing more.

The day started early. Rafe picked you up with Sofia in his car, both ready to leave. Sofia was beaming, excited about the adventure that awaited them. You, on the other hand, kept a measured smile, trying not to let your thoughts betray you.

“Ready for a few days of paradise?” Sofia asked, with a smile that reflected all her excitement.

“More than ready,” you answered, with an enthusiasm that you didn’t quite feel. Your eyes avoided Rafe’s, who remained silent, driving with a calm expression.

The trip to the private port was short, but every second in that car made you feel as if the air became denser, heavier. Rafe didn’t say much, but his presence was impossible to ignore.

When they arrived at the port, a private yacht was waiting for them, ready to take them to the island. The luxury was overwhelming: an elegant vessel, with polished wood interiors, spacious rooms, and staff ready to attend to their every wish.

The trip on the yacht was as beautiful as it was uncomfortable. Sofia settled down on the deck, enjoying the sun and the sea breeze. You joined her, trying to relax, but you constantly felt Rafe’s gaze on you, as if he was waiting for something, as if the silence between you was a conversation in itself. 

When you finally arrived at the island, the place was even more stunning than you had imagined. The private villa was surrounded by palm trees, with an infinity pool that seemed to merge with the sea. From the balcony, the view was simply perfect: a clear horizon, the sky painted blue, and the sound of the waves like a constant melody. 

Sofia was delighted. “Look at this! It’s even better than I imagined.”

You nodded, pretending to be just as excited, while inside you tried to prepare yourself for what was to come. You knew you would be together, that you would share moments where the line between right and wrong would blur even further. And yet, you were there.

The afternoon passed in apparent calm. You swam in the pool, walked along the beach, tried to distract yourself with anything. But every time Rafe came closer, every time his presence became unavoidable, an electric current seemed to run through the air.

It wasn't the place, nor the time. It was him. It was what he provoked in you, that attraction that you had tried to deny but that grew stronger and stronger.

As night began to fall, you promised yourself that you would keep your distance. You wouldn't let anything happen. You wouldn't let it happen to yourself.

When night came, dinner was quiet, the table was set on the terrace, overlooking the beach and the moonlit ocean. The air was warm, and the sea breeze blew gently, filling the air with the soothing sound of waves breaking on the shore.

Sofia talked animatedly about the day, grateful for the trip she had planned. His voice had a mix of excitement and hope, as if this place could fix everything he felt was falling apart. Rafe, on the other hand, was more reserved, listening in silence, his gaze occasionally lost in the horizon or sometimes fixed on you for a few seconds that seemed eternal. 

You finished the last sip of your glass of wine when you decided it was time to leave them alone. Sofia had planned this trip to be with him, to reconnect, and you didn't want to be another obstacle. 

"I'm going to take a walk on the beach," you said in a casual tone, leaving the napkin on the table and standing up. You smiled slightly at Sofia. "I'll leave you two alone for a while." 

She looked at you with a mix of gratitude and relief. "Thank you." 

Rafe just nodded, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment before returning to his plate. 

You didn't wait for an answer. You walked away from the table, crossing the terrace and descending the wooden path that led directly to the beach. The night air was cool and pleasant, and as you approached the sand, you felt each step take you a little further from the weight you carried.

The beach was completely empty, an endless stretch of white sand that sparkled under the moonlight. The sky was clear, and the stars seemed to flicker with an intensity you had rarely seen.

You walked slowly, letting your feet sink into the soft sand, enjoying the feeling of freedom that only this place could give you. The sound of the waves, the salty scent of the sea, the pleasant cold on your skin... everything seemed to conspire to offer you a moment of peace.

You stopped at a point where the shore met the tide, letting the water lap at your bare feet. You looked up at the sky, noticing the moon illuminating everything with its silver light. There was something comforting about its presence, something that made you feel less alone, less trapped in your own thoughts.

You had lost track of time on the beach, wrapped in that calm that you had needed so much. The sound of the waves, the reflection of the moon on the water, the coolness of the night... everything seemed to have conspired to stop the world for a while. You felt good, at peace, something you had not experienced for a long time.

You didn't know how much time you had spent there, alone, with your bare feet sunk in the wet sand and your gaze lost on the horizon. The world seemed so far away, and for a moment you allowed yourself to forget everything: the doubts, the tensions, the mixed emotions.

It was then that you heard footsteps behind you. Light, careful, as if the person approaching did not want to break the tranquility of the night. You didn't have to turn around to know who it was. You felt it before you saw it.

“Where is Sofia?” you asked, not looking at him, keeping your eyes fixed on the ocean that stretched out before you.

“Sleeping,” Rafe answered in a low voice, almost in a whisper that mixed with the sound of the sea.

His answer made you realize how long you had been there. Longer than you had imagined.

“Maybe I should go to sleep too,” you said as you slowly turned to look at him.

Rafe was standing a few feet away from you, his hands in his pockets and his gaze fixed on you. There was something different in his eyes, something softer, less tense.

“Will you stay with me for a moment?” he asked, his tone calm but with a nuance that made you hesitate.

You thought about it for a few seconds. You knew that staying was risky, that the line you had tried so hard not to cross could easily blur. But there was also something in his voice, in his gaze, that made you give in.

“It’s okay,” you finally replied, turning back to the sea as he came over and sat down beside you on the sand.

Silence settled between you, but this time it wasn’t awkward. On the contrary, there was something comforting about that shared stillness, as if you could finally be together without the weight of everything around you. For the first time in a long time, the usual tension was gone.

You both stared out at the ocean, letting the sound of the waves fill the space between you. There was no need to speak, no need to explain. You were just there, in that moment, sharing a pause amidst the chaos.

Suddenly, without warning, Rafe reached out a hand and splashed some water towards you. It wasn’t much, just a few drops, but enough to make you turn your head and look at him in surprise.

“Really?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, but unable to help a small smile.

Rafe smiled too, a genuine smile, free of the shadows he often carried. For a moment, he seemed to have forgotten everything.

“I couldn’t resist,” he replied in an amused tone.

You decided not to be left behind. You quickly stood up and ran towards the water, wetting your hands before spraying a jet directly onto his shirt. Rafe stood up immediately, with an expression of mock indignation.

“Now you’re in trouble,” he said, advancing towards you while you retreated, laughing, with the water caressing your feet.

What followed was a game, an improvised battle on the shore, with both of you splashing each other, laughing as if you were children. The worries, the tensions, the doubts... everything was left behind in those minutes when there was only the two of you and the ocean.

Rafe seemed different, freer, more alive. And you... you felt light, as if you had finally found a respite in the middle of everything. Laughter filled the night, and for an instant, everything was fine.

Finally, you both stopped, soaked and panting slightly from laughter and exhaustion. Rafe looked at you, his smile still present, and for a moment the world seemed to stop again.

“Do you regret staying?” he asked quietly.

You thought about it for a moment, looking into his eyes, still feeling the tickle of laughter in your chest.

“No... not this time,” you answered, letting the peace of that moment envelop you once again.

After that little water fight, the breeze became cooler and calm settled between you again. You both remained silent, sitting on the sand, watching the sky begin to take on soft tones with the arrival of dawn.

Rafe stood beside you, relaxed but silent, watching the horizon. Despite the peace that surrounded you, tiredness began to take hold of you. The night had been long, and although the moment shared with him had been unexpectedly pleasant, your body was asking for rest.

“I think that’s enough for today… I’m tired,” you murmured softly, breaking the silence as you slowly stood up, shaking the sand from your hands.

Rafe stood beside you, with that carefree air he always seemed to carry with him. He didn’t say anything, simply nodded and began to walk beside you towards the house. The walk was quiet, accompanied only by the distant sound of the waves and the song of the first birds that announced the morning.

When they reached the house, they both climbed the stairs in silence, the sound of their footsteps muffled by the soft creaking of the wood. In front of the door to your room, you stopped, giving him one last look before saying goodbye. But before you could say anything, Rafe moved a little closer, leaning towards you naturally.

His lips brushed your cheek in a soft, brief kiss. It was an unexpected gesture, almost innocent, but it left you completely taken aback. The warmth of his touch was marked on your skin for a few seconds longer than it should have.

“Good night,” he murmured in a low, calm voice, as if it meant nothing.

You didn’t know what to answer. For a moment, your mind went blank, searching for some meaning in that kiss you hadn’t anticipated. But before you could say anything, Rafe had already turned around and started to walk away, walking down the hall as calmly as he had arrived.

You closed the door behind you, leaning your back against it, feeling a mix of emotions you couldn’t define. You had spent the entire night trying to keep things under control, reminding yourself not to cross any lines. However, that small gesture—so simple and yet so full of meaning—had shattered the apparent calm you were trying to build.

You brought a hand to your cheek, as if you wanted to check that it had really happened. The kiss had been brief, but the confusion it left in its place seemed endless. You didn't say anything, because at that moment, not even you knew what it meant.

When morning came, the sun shone brightly, illuminating the landscape imposingly as the fresh morning air swept through the palms of the tall palm trees surrounding the house. However, inside you, there was a palpable tension, as if everything that had dissipated the night before had returned to its natural state, denser than ever.

Rafe seemed as distant as ever, but now, every glance, every gesture on his part, caused a knot in your stomach. The kiss on your cheek seemed to have awakened something in him, although you didn't know exactly what.

You were all together in the kitchen, preparing breakfast while the sound of the coffee maker filled the space with its comforting aroma. Sofia was animated, chatting about trivial things, oblivious to what was really happening between you and Rafe. She seemed completely immune to the atmosphere that had changed between the three of you. You laughed with her, mechanically responding to her comments, but everything in you was distracted, focused on the small space you shared with Rafe. 

He moved around the kitchen with that same calmness as always, but there was something in his attitude that got on your nerves. He gave you fleeting glances, not with the same nonchalance as before, but as if he were evaluating something that he himself could not understand. But he didn't say anything, and neither did you. 

Sofia didn't notice anything. She was absorbed in the conversation, asking if you wanted to go out to explore the place after breakfast, always so cheerful, so oblivious to the discomfort that was beginning to form a thick layer between you and Rafe. Sometimes, it felt like the friendship you and Sofia shared was cracking with each moment you spent alone with him.

You sat down at the table, trying to ignore how uncomfortable the air around you felt. Rafe finally broke the silence, speaking calmly, as if nothing had happened, as if everything was fine. 

The conversation continued as if nothing had happened. Sofia was delighted, oblivious to everything, and you simply tried hard to go with the flow. 

The rest of the day passed like a routine, but one that felt forced and artificial. You were with them, yes, but you felt distant, as if an invisible cloak separated you from Sofia and Rafe. 

When you found the atmosphere becoming uncomfortable or you felt trapped, you took the opportunity to escape. You went out to the garden or to the beach, walking aimlessly, breathing deeply to clear your mind. You needed those moments of solitude, those moments when you could calm your thoughts and get away from the chaos that formed when the three of you were together. 

Despite your escapes, Sofia seemed to be calmer, happier even. Her eyes sparkled as she talked about Rafe, and she enthusiastically told him how everything in the relationship seemed to be improving. The trip, apparently, was helping, as she said. Sofia's smile was easier to see, and the small tensions between her and Rafe seemed to have dissolved, at least in his presence.

At night, while Sofia and Rafe stayed in the house, laughing, or simply cozying up together in front of a movie or on the terrace, you left early. You didn't want to be there, you didn't want to be the spectator of something you couldn't control, that you didn't know how to handle.

Despite the apparent normality that Sofia and Rafe achieved in the moments they spent together, Rafe always came back to you, and no matter how much you tried to escape the tension that was brewing between the two of you, he found a way to get close again, as if there was something inside him that he couldn't ignore.

It was in those moments that you felt that strange mix of attraction and frustration, when he sought you out in those small moments of silence or in the casual exchanges that never seemed to be casual. You felt it in the way he looked at you, that intense gaze that you sometimes avoided, but that you couldn’t help but notice. Every time your eyes met his, the world around you seemed to disappear, leaving you alone with that warm but dangerous feeling that invaded your chest.

He did it without saying a word, just with his presence. Sometimes it was a simple gesture, like when he passed by you and his arm brushed yours, or when he asked you something in a low voice, just enough for you to hear. Other times it was more obvious, when he asked you to accompany him to a secluded corner or when, for no apparent reason, he stayed by your side for longer than necessary, as if he enjoyed the discomfort it caused. 

Even when you tried not to pay attention to him, he kept coming back. You saw it in his messages, the ones he sent with a disturbing naturalness, as if it were normal after everything that had happened. Sometimes you answered them, other times you simply read them and left them unanswered. But he kept looking for an excuse to get closer, always in those moments when you thought you had finally gotten far enough away. 

It was as if, despite everything that was between you, he couldn't stop coming back. And you, even though you tried to fight your own feelings, couldn't help but feel like he knew it too. He knew that, somehow, you always came back to him. And the worst of all was that, even though you tried to resist, you felt attracted too. 

The next day, it was one of those afternoons where the heat of the sun was beginning to wane, and the breeze coming from the sea made the walk more pleasant. You, Rafe and Sofia were walking along a path next to the beach, enjoying a landscape that seemed straight out of a postcard. Sofia, with her usual energy, was talking non-stop with Rafe. They walked slightly ahead of you, while you stayed a few steps behind, distracted by your phone, answering messages and scrolling through social media without paying too much attention to the conversation. 

You weren't really there. Or at least, that's what you tried to be. It was easier this way, less complicated. 

At one point, Sofia stopped to look at some stones that had caught her attention. He walked away a few meters, bending down to pick up a small shell that was shining in the sun. He took the opportunity to take some photos, always attentive to such things.

Meanwhile, Rafe didn't waste a second. He looked down at the ground and saw a small wild flower growing next to the path. It was simple, with white petals and a yellow center, nothing special, but enough to catch his attention. He quickly bent down and plucked it. At first you thought he was going to give it to Sofia, like any boyfriend would do at that moment. It was logical, what anyone would have expected.

But no. It wasn't Sofia he gave it to.

It was you.

Rafe turned slightly and handed you the flower with a disconcerting calm, as if that gesture meant nothing, but in fact it said everything. His eyes met yours for a brief second, a second that seemed longer than it should have been. He didn't say anything, there was no need. You looked at him, surprised, and he just smiled with that expression that seemed to challenge you, that seemed to know exactly what he was doing. 

For a moment, your mind went blank. You didn't know how to react. You couldn't reject it, but you couldn't openly accept it either. So you took the flower, your fingers brushing his for just an instant. The contact was as brief as it was significant. 

With the flower in your hand, you quickly looked over to where Sofia was, making sure she hadn't seen anything. She was still distracted with the shell and the photos, not paying attention to what was happening between you. Your heart was beating a little faster than normal, as if the simple act of receiving that flower was a secret you shouldn't share. 

Not knowing what to do with it, you put it in the back pocket of your shorts, hiding it, but not throwing it away. You didn’t want to get rid of it, even though you knew you should.

You continued walking down the path until you finally arrived back at the house. The sun was beginning to descend on the horizon, tinting the sky in golden and pink hues, creating a perfect atmosphere for a quiet afternoon.

Sofia was the first to propose that you stay outside, on the sand, to enjoy the sunset. You and Rafe agreed, and the three of you settled down on a blanket spread out near the porch. A small cooler with beers sat to one side, and you each took one to relax as the day slowly gave way to night.

The sound of the sea was constant, a soft murmur filling the air.

You sat cross-legged, the cold beer in your hands and the small flower Rafe had given you earlier resting on your knee. At first, you tried not to pay too much attention to it, but before you knew it, you started playing with it. Your fingers gently twirled it, bending the petals, as if you were absorbed in your own thoughts.

Rafe was sitting next to you, closer than you should be comfortable with, but the truth was that you had stopped caring about the closeness. Without saying anything, he looked away at you, watching as you manipulated the flower. His eyes followed the movement of your fingers with an attention that was not casual. It wasn't the flower that interested him, it was the fact that you had kept it. That small gesture meant something, even if neither of you mentioned it.

For her part, Sofia seemed completely oblivious to the subtle tension that was forming between you. She talked about how relaxing it was to be there, about how the trip was helping to disconnect from everything. You nodded and smiled when appropriate, but in reality you were caught up in your own thoughts.

The afternoon passed slowly, between scattered conversations and the constant opening of beers. When it was finally time to eat, they decided to stay outside. Rafe lit a small improvised campfire, and they ate there, with the cool night air beginning to envelop them.

After eating, Sofia was the first to suggest getting into the water. You thought the idea was a good one. There was something liberating about submerging yourself in the sea under the dim light of the night sky. You took off your clothes, leaving you in your bikini, and walked into the water. 

Rafe watched you from where he was sitting, his eyes following you in a way he hadn't done so openly before. It wasn't the first time he'd seen you in a bikini, but this time there was something different in his gaze. An intensity that wasn't there before, an attention that was now impossible to ignore. 

It didn't bother you. You could feel his gaze on you, but you decided not to give it any importance. You weren't looking for his attention, or at least, that's what you told yourself. You entered the water, letting the freshness of the sea envelop you, trying to disconnect, to forget for a moment everything that was happening. 

Soon after, Rafe joined you. He swam close, not enough to invade your space, but close enough that his presence was unavoidable. The moonlight was beginning to reflect off the surface of the water, and the atmosphere felt strange, almost unreal. Sofia, meanwhile, stood on the shore, laughing and playing with the waves that barely touched her feet.

Rafe watched you silently, as if he were debating something internally. But he didn't say anything. And neither did you. You just floated there, in that moment suspended in time, where everything seemed about to change, but nothing did.

It was close to 1 a.m. when Sofia decided it was time to go to sleep. She got up, drying her feet and shaking the sand off her legs before approaching you.

"I'm going to bed," she told you.

You hesitated for a moment, weighing your options. You were tired, and that whole day had been confusing enough that you wanted to finally disconnect.

"Yeah, I think I'm going too," you answered, slowly getting up as Sofia called Rafe to join her as well.

He was sitting on the sand, his eyes fixed on the dark horizon of the sea, as if he were lost in some deep thought. He turned his head towards her, with a calm expression, and simply said:

“I'll stay a little longer.”

Sofia didn't insist. She smiled and disappeared towards the house, leaving only her footprints in the sand. You followed her with your gaze, with the firm intention of doing the same, of returning and closing the day. But when you took a step towards the house, something inside you made you stop.

You turned slowly, your bare feet returning to the cold sand, and without saying anything you returned to the water. You didn't want to think too much about what you were doing. The water was calm, a dark expanse that blended with the sky, and when you entered, the cold ran through your skin, waking you up completely.

Rafe saw you return. He didn't ask anything. He simply stood up and followed you, entering the water beside you. The silence between you was thick, but not uncomfortable. There was a different energy, a tension that needed no words.

You felt him close, his presence inescapable. You wanted to ignore him, to keep your distance, but every fiber of your being was aware of him. His eyes searched for you in the darkness, and you, despite everything, avoided looking directly at him.

Until you couldn’t take it anymore. You felt his hand reach out to you, his fingers brushing your arm with a softness that was almost imperceptible, but enough to make you stop. You didn’t move away. You let him touch you because, deep down, you wanted him to.

Rafe approached slowly, the water barely reaching the height of his hips when he took you by the waist, with a firmness that you hadn’t expected, but that you didn’t reject. You stood still, your breathing getting heavier, the air between you getting thicker.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he murmured, his voice low, barely audible over the sound of the waves.

You heard him, but you didn’t respond. Not because you didn’t have something to say, but because you didn’t want to break the moment. His words were a confession you’d been waiting for, even though you were afraid to hear them.

And then, without warning, Rafe kissed you. It was a kiss that didn’t seek permission, that didn’t hesitate. His lips found yours with a need you’d felt in yourself for days, but had repressed.

And you… you let him. Because you couldn’t take it anymore. Because you wanted it.

The kiss was intense, charged with everything you’d both been repressing. His hands slid down your back, pulling you closer, as you wrapped your arms around his neck. The water surrounded you, cold and silent, but everything about you was fire, heat, desire.

After what seemed like an eternity, you parted slightly, your breaths mingling, your foreheads resting against each other. You didn’t say anything, and neither did he.

They stepped out of the water in silence, their bare feet leaving small footprints in the wet sand. Rafe led you to a dark corner, out of reach of the light coming from the house, where the night seemed more private, more his.

He gently laid you down on the cold sand, his body leaning over yours, but with a gentleness you hadn’t expected. His eyes searched for you in the dim light, and you whispered to him:

“No one’s ever kissed me the way you do.”

These words pierced him. He had no answer. And he kissed you again, and you let him, once again.

The night became denser when the kiss ended. You slowly separated from Rafe, your lips still trembling from the contact, and your eyes, full of emotions you couldn't contain, closed for a moment as you felt silent tears fall down your cheeks.

You didn't want to cry, not like that, not in front of him. But you did. It was inevitable. Guilt and desire intertwined in your chest, drowning you.

Rafe noticed it right away. Without saying anything, his fingers gently brushed your face, drying one of those tears, as if that gesture could erase everything that was going through you.

"I feel bad..." you whispered with a broken voice, barely a murmur that the sound of the sea almost drowned out.

You regretted it. Not just the kiss, but everything that had led up to that moment. Of having let yourself go. Of having crossed a line that you swore you would never cross. Sofia was asleep just a few feet away, trusting you, him, and you had broken that trust.

“I shouldn’t have… we shouldn’t have done this,” you added, your gaze fixed on the ground, unable to meet his eyes.

Rafe didn’t look away from you. You could feel his attention, that intensity that always seemed to envelop him, as if the rest of the world didn’t matter when you were around. He placed a firm hand on your cheek, gently forcing you to look at him.

“Don’t feel bad,” he said in a low, serious voice. “I need you more than you know.”

His words were simple, but heavy with weight. You stood still, your thoughts teetering between what was right and what you wanted. You didn’t want to hear that, but at the same time, you had longed for it.

“If this is what you want, I’ll leave Sofia. I’ll do whatever it takes.” His eyes searched yours, looking for an answer, a sign that you could accept what he was willing to offer you.

You shuddered at that. It wasn’t what you wanted, at least not like this. Sofia was your friend, an important part of your life, and you knew how much it would hurt her. The last thing you wanted was to destroy her, to take away something she still believed was hers.

“No…” you answered, shaking your head with a mix of firmness and desperation. “You can’t do that. I don’t want Sofia to suffer. She deserves to be happy.”

Rafe sighed, his frustration evident, but he didn’t let go of you. He moved a little closer, as if his words could convince you.

“You have to be happy too,” he replied with determination. “What about you? Why are you always thinking about everyone but yourself?”

You didn’t know what to say. Because, deep down, you knew he was right. You had spent so much time worrying about others, about keeping Sofia happy, about protecting the friendship, that you had forgotten about yourself, about your own wants and needs. But at what cost?

“I don’t know…” you admitted quietly, feeling each word cost you more.

Rafe leaned closer to you, his eyes locked on yours, his voice softer now, almost whispering:

“When we get back, I’m going to leave her. I can’t keep pretending. I can’t keep walking away from you.”

His words shook you. It was a statement you had feared and hoped for at the same time. Your heart was pounding, while your mind struggled to find an answer, a way out that wouldn’t hurt anyone. But you knew there wasn’t an easy one.

You stayed silent, letting the night breeze wash over you, while Rafe was still there, his hands still on you, his presence unwavering.

The next few days in that paradise you had longed for became a kind of torture. A sweet and bitter torture that seemed to have no end. Every morning, every afternoon, every night, Rafe found a way to get close to you, to seek you out with the slightest excuse. A touch of hands when Sofia wasn’t looking, a look loaded with meaning as you walked together, a stolen kiss in the shadows when the moment allowed it.

You couldn’t help it. He was constant, persistent. He knew exactly how to attract you, how to make you lower the defenses you had built up so much.

One afternoon, while you were on the terrace, watching the calm ocean, Rafe approached with something in his hand. Without saying anything, he placed it in your palm. It was a ring, delicate and beautiful. You looked at it, bewildered.

“Why are you giving me this?” you asked him with a lump in your throat, your fingers closing around the ring.

He didn’t respond with words. She just looked at you, with that mix of desire and determination that worried you so much, as if she were marking a silent promise. You didn't understand why she had it, or why she had given it to you, but there it was, in your trembling hand.

The days passed, and you felt more and more trapped. The sun, the sand, the sea breeze, everything that had seemed perfect to you before now suffocated you. You wanted to go home, return to the routine, to the family chaos, to anything that would allow you to escape this dilemma. Because at home, perhaps, you could separate from Rafe.

Not because you didn't want to, not because his kisses didn't burn your skin or his gaze didn't make you tremble. But because you knew it wasn't the right thing to do.

Sofia was still by your side, oblivious to everything, excited about this trip that she thought was saving her relationship. And every time she looked at you with a grateful smile, you felt the weight of your actions sinking you deeper.

Rafe, on the other hand, didn't seem to feel that weight. He looked for you every moment, as if nothing else mattered. As if he was sure that everything would end well, that when he returned, his life would change, with you by his side. But you didn't share that certainty. You couldn't.

But it didn't matter how much you wanted to deny it. It didn't matter how many times your reason screamed at you that you had to stop, that this wasn't right. Because at the end of the day, none of that seemed enough. You still loved Rafe.

You loved him with an intensity you hadn't felt before, a force that dragged you every time you were near him. It didn't matter how much you told yourself that you had to be strong, that you had to get away. Every time he looked for you, every time he looked at you with those eyes full of desire, you fell again.

His kisses were a trap you didn't want to escape from. His hands on your skin were an anchor that kept you in a place where logic and morality faded away. You liked how he made you feel, how he loved you, how he seemed so sure of what he wanted, of what he wanted with you.

And you... you wanted it too. You wanted it from the first kiss under the shade, from that flower you kept in the back pocket of your shorts. You wanted it from the first touch you shared in secret. You wanted him.

Rafe loved you too. He didn't say it in words, but he showed it to you every time he found a way to be alone with you. In every furtive glance, in every caress when Sofia wasn't there, in every moment when his lips urgently sought yours. He liked loving you. He liked the power you had over him, the way his thoughts revolved around you, leaving everything else in the background.

You knew it was wrong. You knew that every kiss you shared, every moment his hands sought you out, took you further away from what was right, from the loyalty you owed Sofia. But you also knew you couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to stop.

Every night, when the world fell silent, you thought about it. About how you had crossed that invisible line and how there was no turning back. You were trapped in a dangerous game that neither of you seemed to want to leave. And even though a part of you felt guilty, another part—the one that flared up every time you were with him—didn’t want to let go.

Because in the end, no matter how much you tried to convince yourself that you should stop. No matter how much your reason screamed at you. You still loved Rafe. And the worst thing was that he loved you too, and that made it impossible to stop.

[cokoladasljesnjakom]

tag you're it

summary: shes a ruthless killer. she does not care if someone dies on her watch. her moves are like shadow. she is a shadow. once you see her, its too late. its not her problem. she cant complain, but what she can do is to complie. thats what is she made for. thats what they made her do. but once she escapes from their grasp, she searches for him. for her brother. but of course what goes around, comes around. and thats is when she meets him. the winter solider. and oh yeah the rest of the avengers.

bucky barnes x fem! reader

word count: 5.9k

a/n: sorry it took me years (a week) to write this down. i lost the motivation but the i got it back... somehow... anyways! shes here and im hoping someone is going to like it because my sleep schedule is fucked up so PLEASE LOVE ON HER! thank you for the reading! by the way if you cant tell this is SLOW burn... (GO READ SECOND PART RN!)

masterlist part iv

He escaped. The target had escaped. How dare he? He was supposed to be dead, not running, not hiding, not slipping through her fingers. Not from her.

Shadow stood frozen, her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides.

The man beside her spoke, voice sharp and impatient. "We have to go."

She didn’t move.

When she still didn’t respond, he snapped, "Now. The mission is messed up. It’s over. He escaped. You failed."

Failed.

That word echoed in her skull like a gunshot. No. It couldn’t be. She didn’t fail. She wasn’t supposed to fail. Not now. Not ever.

She was designed to kill. To shape history with bloodstained hands. To make people suffer while they begged for mercy that would never come.

The ruthless, cold assassin known as Shadow was not supposed to fail.

And yet, the mission was compromised.

A hand grabbed her arm, yanking her toward the black SUV waiting for them. Her boots scraped against the pavement, but she didn’t fight back. The realization of her failure was too heavy, suffocating her.

She slid into the car, staring blankly ahead as they drove away.

And yet—she couldn’t stop thinking about him. That man. The way he looked at her. Like he knew her. Like he had seen a ghost.

Something about him… it rattled her.

She tried to shove the thought away, but it clung to her, sinking into her bones. He wasn’t just another target. He was something else.

And she needed to know why.

Thirty minutes later, they arrived at the safe house. Every step inside made her stomach twist. Not out of fear—but because she knew what was coming.

The footsteps came first. Slow. Heavy.

She forced herself to stand still, to keep her face blank.

Then, a voice. Sharp. Cold. Unforgiving.

"Mission report. Now."

Her mouth opened. The words should have come easy. The usual, precise details, the confirmation of success.

But instead, she asked, "Who was that man in the car?"

The slap came fast and hard. Her head snapped to the side, the sting blooming across her cheek.

Not the first time. Not the last.

"No one you’re supposed to know," the thick Russian accent said. But he was lying.

She could feel it.

"He was a mission, and you failed."

The words cut deeper than the slap.

She took a slow breath, but it didn’t steady her.

Her handler stepped closer, grabbing her jaw, tilting her face up to his.

"Now what do I do with you, hm?" His voice was mocking. "Do I throw you in that room for days? Let you starve? Break you? Or..."

He trailed off, laughing darkly.

She swallowed, not daring to move.

"Or do I wipe you clean again? Make you forget, all over again?"

Her hands shook. She curled them into fists.

Then, softly—so softly she almost didn’t hear her own voice—she whispered, "I want to be free."

The laugh he let out was cruel. "No, you don’t. You don’t get to be free. You don’t get to feel free. You don’t get to think about freedom."

He leaned in, voice lowering to a venomous whisper.

"You don’t get to know what it feels like to have a family."

Something inside her cracked.

Family.

Tears burned in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

Because she had a family once.

A mother she had killed. A brother she had nearly destroyed.

And now?

Now, she didn’t even know his name.

not even thinking a second Vasily, the man in front of her demanded told the siencetists in russian "wipe her and make sure she freezes to death. she doesnt deserve to live after all this."

one of the man that worked here took her carefully under her arms and wiped her clean. the look he gave her was soft. he was sorry for her. for everything she had to go through.

he never actually wanted to be the part of this, but his family was in the picture and he had a daguhter maybe younger than her but they were close in the age.

to think that this can happen to his daguhter made him sick in the stomach. he never wanted for anyone to experience this kins of torturement.

she was tired and her eyes wanted to close badly. she wanted to fight ot off, but she couldnt.

"мне жаль" and she really was. all she wanted was to feel free. to feel the warmth in her dreams in real life too.

"я не хотел потерпеть неудачу" she only spoke russian when she needed to but this time she felt like she wanted to.

the man looked at her and wanted to comfort her, to give her something to hope for anything at this point. so he jsut whispered "я помогу тебе сбежать" he looked at her again and smiled at her.

and for the first time ever, she believed it.

then the another group of men took her and put her to a cyro alone. and all of her memories of her brother and mother? wiped clean. they dont exsist anymore.

while in the room next to hers, stood the infamous assassin. the winter solider. before named james buchanan barnes.

his mission went suscesfull. he eliminated the targed just perfect. clear shot through the skull and no signs of blood.

by the time he killed the person and hide the body, he was ready to go back. to his "home." where he belonged.

the footsteps were louder than he expected. sitting in a chair and waiting for the man that made him do the mission, he stated at the wall.

"mission report." the american accent said.

"mission suscesfull. target eliminated." same answer same mission. over and over again for 60 years.

"well done solider." the voice called out. it was cold and mocking.

suddenly a young man busted through the door and said "mr. pierce!" and alexander pierce turned around facing the young man.

however the man continued "shadow... she failed in her mission. shes put back in a cryo."

rolling his eyes he said "of course she would. for gods sake you are stupid enough to put her to kill him."

the man stuttered "we- we thought she was ready for this mission and she shiwed the signs that she had it all under control."

pierce laughed and grabbed the man by the collar choking him slightly "she was supposed to kill that idiot in the best way possible. i have given to you plenty of time to do that AND YOU DID IT IN THE MIDDLE OF A DAY?!"

the man now in the air chokjng in his own breath said "w-we thought maybe she is going to do it. the-the perfect shot but he just ran away and dissapeared." the man softly cried "we are sorry mr. pierce.

watching closely the winter solider gripped the armrest on the seat and took a slow and steady breath trying to calm his racing thoughts.

while pierce trying to shake off the feeling having his hands on the man smirked. thats what he wanted to happen. he wanted to break her. to rip her apart. to make her suffer and to destroy her. all of her memories that she had, he was planing to rewind them back all over again just for her to remember the one spesific memorie.

her family. her mom. her brother. her previous life that she had. when she was peacefull. when she was just 10 years old. making friends and trying to live her life, until that night happened.

where she was taken away from it. mom. brother. her family and all of her memories.

turning around to face the man he told him while taking the slow steps "next time dont be so stupid. or i swear to god ill make you beg me to end your life faster than you expect me to." he leaned down to a mans height "understand?"

the man now shaking and noding "yes mr. pierce. i understand. "

smiling to himself and patting the man on the shoulder he turned to the winter solider and asked him "you see that solider? we just made a deal."

dissmissing the man he turned to the solider and spoke the next words "now solider... if you dont want for the same thing to happen to you... you'll have to do your missions perfect. not good not okay but perfect." then he narrowed his eyes at the soldier "understand?"

the winter soldier looking straight at the wall emotionless noded his head "yes sir."

patting the solider on the arm he turned around and told the siencetists to wrap it up and put him on the ice.

walking out from the room, pierce's phone ringed making him stop in his tracks and huff when he saw an ID's caller. and before he could say a word a voice interrupted him.

"we need you back." a thick, gruff voice called out.

then a sarcastic laugh followed from pierce "yeah well I was on my way to do something and you just interrupted me nick."

nick however replied in the same tone as before "pierce this is important. come back as soon possible. you have an hour and a half. see you there."

and then the line went quiet. pierce now looking at the phone scoffed and murmured under his breath "asshole." and went off to the shield compound.

using his super hearing the solider listened to the conversation making the information hard to understand. what did the man know? was he trying to do something? where is pierce going? is this another mission? but soon enough his thoughts were interrupted by siencetists leading him in the capsicle making his thoughts freeze.

while the man from far away watched what was happening, his promise still lingered in his head. for more than 14 years he watched the young girl and a man getting tortured by hydra. their memories getting washed away again and again. every time when there was a mission to kill someone they were the one who got to do that, without asking them if they really want that.

now finally he had a chance to do something good. even if his life was in a danger. thinking something like that could happen to his daguhter made him to do this. shadow was someones daguhter too. the solider too. they were someone and it was eating him alive.

creating a plan how to get at least her out the man walked out from the room and started to make a plan.

MEANWHILE

The summer heat was unbearable, pressing down like a suffocating blanket. Even inside the apartment, the air felt thick.

Sam had just gotten back from his morning run, drenched in sweat and starving. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, kicking off his sneakers as he walked into the kitchen.

At the same time, Max trudged in, still half-asleep, hair a mess, eyes barely open. He didn’t bother with a greeting—just went straight to the fridge and grabbed some eggs and ham. Living alone meant cooking for himself, and since he barely knew how to cook, breakfast was usually the same thing.

Sam smirked, watching him fumble with the pan. "Look who finally decided to wake up." Max groaned. "Can you be quiet for like... five seconds? Thanks."

Sam chuckled, leaning against the counter and taking a long sip of his orange juice.

That’s when Max turned, looking at him like he had just committed a war crime.

Sam frowned. "Why are you looking at me like I just killed someone?"

Max squinted at the drink in his hand, full of nothing but judgment. "Why are you drinking orange juice?" He scoffed, shaking his head. "Apple juice is literally superior in every way."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "…Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Apple juice is better. You’re actually disgusting for drinking that."

Sam blinked, genuinely taken aback. "Because I like the texture? I like how thick it is, okay?"

Max visibly recoiled. "Jesus Christ. You’re actually insane." He shook his head in disappointment. "Like, actually brain dead."

Sam just stared at him for a second, then took another slow, deliberate sip of his thick orange juice. Max sighed. "I have lost all respect for you."

Sam smirked. "Good. Now shut up and eat your eggs." Max muttered something under his breath but didn’t argue further.

Sam let out a breathy laugh, still smirking. "What is up with you? You just woke up and you’re already walking on eggshells? Calm down, man."

Max didn’t respond, just finished cooking and dropped his breakfast onto a plate. Then, without breaking eye contact, he poured himself a glass of apple juice.

Lifting the cup to his lips, he took a slow sip—staring directly at Sam—before sitting down at the table and digging into his eggs and ham.

"There’s nothing wrong with me," he said finally. "But you? Waking up at—what?—5 AM? Running around like a lunatic? AND drinking orange juice?" He shook his head, clicking his tongue.

"That’s a crime, dude. A literal jail sentence."

Maintaining eye contact, Sam took another slow sip of his orange juice, dragging it out just to make a point. Then, without a word, he walked over to the table, pulling out a chair and sitting down with an easy, unbothered confidence.

"Yeah, yeah." He waved Max off like his opinion didn’t matter. "Anyway, when you’re actually awake—like, fully awake—and freshened up, because damn, you look like shit, man, I need you to be wide awake for the conversation we’re gonna have."

That got Max’s attention. He paused mid-bite, brow furrowing. "What conversation?"

Sam didn’t answer. He just stood up, stretched, and started walking toward his room. "You’ll see." And with that, he disappeared, leaving Max alone at the table.

For a moment, Max just sat there, staring at his plate, replaying Sam’s words in his head. 'What does he want? At 8 AM? Who even talks at this time?'

He sighed, checking the clock—8:07 AM. Way too early for anything serious. Still, something about the way Sam said it nagged at him. With a shake of his head, Max shoved the last bite of eggs and ham into his mouth and downed the rest of his apple juice. God, he loved apple juice. Seriously, he could kiss the person who invented that stuff.

Plate in the dishwasher. Bathroom. Fresh clothes. All done in 15 minutes.

Finally stepping into the living room, he found Sam already there, casually lounging like he didn’t just drop a cryptic bomb on him. Max narrowed his eyes. "Alright, dude. I’m awake. What the hell is so important?"

"I found the HYDRA base she’s in." A punch to the ribs. A fist squeezing his lungs. Max’s body froze. Then everything sped up. His heartbeat wasn’t beating anymore—it was slamming. Pounding so hard he thought it might break through his ribs. His breathing was off, wrong, useless. He tried to pull in air, but it wasn’t enough. Not enough.

The world cracked open. No—it collapsed.

Everything hit him at once, a tidal wave of too much, too fast, too loud. Sam’s words were still there, hanging in the air, but they didn’t feel real. They didn’t feel like words at all.

The fridge hummed. The clock ticked. Sam’s chair creaked. Too loud. Too fucking loud. His mind was screaming at him, Why did you let her go? You could have stopped them. His hand was small, too small to pull her away, but he should have tried harder. If he had just reached farther, if he had screamed louder, if he had done anything differently, maybe she wouldn’t have been taken.

Max’s breath hitched again. Why didn’t you save her? He felt like he was suffocating under the weight of that thought. The thought that had haunted him for years—that he hadn’t done enough, that he hadn’t been enough.

'If I had tried harder. If I had just been stronger.' He remembered the look on her face as they pulled her away. The way her eyes locked with his, desperate, begging. Please, Max. Please save me. And he couldn't. The floodgates opened. Her hand—small and desperate—reached out for him. She was begging for him to save her, and he had failed her.

Why didn’t you do more? Max’s throat closed up, and the panic rose again. His body was trembling, shaking in a way that felt so foreign, so uncontrollable, he couldn’t stand it. His chest was tight, but his hands were ice cold. He felt like his skin didn’t belong to him anymore.

And then, like a flood of dread that washed over him, the memories came crashing through—louder, sharper, heavier. He could still hear their mom crying. The desperation in her voice when she begged them to take her instead, to leave her alone. He could still feel her, right there, clinging to them, helpless, powerless.

Why didn’t I do anything? Tears burned his eyes. He wanted to scream, wanted to throw up. But no sound would come out.

His mind was a mess of memories and regret, spiraling so quickly that he couldn’t catch his breath, couldn’t catch his thoughts.

I couldn’t save her. I never could.

He wanted to smash his fist into the wall, punch something, anything, just to stop the overwhelming flood of emotions that were drowning him.

Sam’s voice cut through the chaos like a lifeline, but Max could barely grasp onto it. His hands were trembling. His heart was hammering. His lungs—his lungs felt like they were being crushed. "Max, breathe. Just breathe with me. Four in… hold… four out." The words were far away, muffled by the chaos in his head, but he latched onto them like they were his only chance of survival.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus. Focus. Focus on something.

But the guilt was still there, clawing at his chest. He had failed her. He had failed his sister. If he hadn’t been so small, so weak, maybe he could have stopped them. "Maybe I could have been strong enough to save her." But he hadn’t been. He wasn’t.

I wasn’t enough. The guilt wrapped itself around him, tightening until he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. She’s still out there, Max, and you’re still sitting here like you can’t do a damn thing.

He felt the walls closing in, felt the air in the room getting thick again. God, just breathe, please breathe.

Sam’s words repeated in his ears, soft and steady: "We’re going to save her, okay? We’re going to do this together. But you need to stay calm."

Max wanted to scream. He wanted to punch the wall, to break something, to do anything to make the pain go away. But he knew if he didn’t calm down, if he didn’t find a way to fight the panic that was pulling him under, he wouldn’t be able to save her.

I can’t lose her.

Sam’s hands were on him, steadying him, grounding him. The steady pressure was like a beacon in the storm. But Max couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still going to lose her.

What if I don’t save her? What if I fail again?

I can’t fail again.

Slowly, his breath began to even out, but the guilt didn’t go away. It lingered, hanging over him like a dark cloud. He wiped the tears from his eyes, muttering to himself, barely able to keep his voice steady.

“I’m… I’m not going to fail her again. I can’t.”

Sam, seeing that Max had finally calmed down, let out a breath and leaned back in his chair. "You’re not going to lose it, okay? You’ve got me, man. We’re going to get her out. Of course, if you fuck something up while we’re doing it, then yeah, your ass is on its own." He smirked, hoping to get at least a flicker of a smile out of Max.

And somehow, it worked.

A small, tired smile broke through the tension on Max’s face. It wasn’t much, but it was enough—the room didn’t feel as suffocating anymore. Air actually reached his lungs. It had been a long time since he’d had a panic attack this bad, and even longer since he’d let himself feel just a little bit okay afterward. But this? This was his life now. The panic, the overthinking, the feeling of his own breath catching in his throat like barbed wire. He had learned to live with it, even when it felt like it was killing him.

"What?" Sam raised a brow. "I got something on my face?"

Max furrowed his brows, taking a deep breath. His voice was rough when he finally spoke. "No… it’s just…" He trailed off, trying to steady himself, trying not to slip back under.

His fingers twitched against his knee. His heart still felt like it was trying to break out of his ribs. "I need to find her, Sam. I have to save her—" the words caught in his throat. His breath hitched. He squeezed his eyes shut for just a second, like that would be enough to stop the rush of panic creeping back up his spine.

Max blinked hard. His breathing was turning shallow again, too quick. He clenched his jaw and shut his eyes, desperate to block it out, but it was right there. The echo of his own voice, five years old and screaming himself hoarse: “Give her back! Please—don’t take her, take me instead!”

No one listened. No one ever listened.

Sam’s voice cut through the noise. "Hey—breathe. Just breathe."

Breathe. Just breathe.

Max opened his eyes, forcing a deep inhale, then another.

He nodded, wiping his hands against his jeans like that would stop them from shaking. “I can’t—I won’t lose her again.”

This time, Sam didn’t tease. He just nodded, serious now. “We won’t.”

He lifted his gaze to Sam, his voice barely above a whisper, but heavy, so heavy. “Every time I close my eyes, I see her, Sam.” His throat felt raw, like he had been screaming for years. In a way, he had.

“She’s reaching for me. Like—like I’m supposed to save her. Like I could have saved her.” His breath stuttered, his vision blurring. “And every damn time, I fail. I keep failing her. I keep failing Mom.” His hands curled into fists so tight his nails dug into his skin, but the pain wasn’t enough to drown out the memories. “I should have done something. Anything. But I just—stood there.”

His voice broke, and for a second, he thought he might shatter with it.

Sam didn’t hesitate. He gripped Max’s shoulder, firm and steady, like an anchor. “I know, man,” he said, his voice rough with something close to grief. “I know. But you listen to me—she’s still out there. And she’s alive.”

Alive.

That word lodged itself in Max’s ribs, sharp and relentless. For years, he had imagined the worst. Had convinced himself that maybe it was better not to hope. That hope was a cruel, twisted thing that only made the fall hurt more.

But Sam—Sam believed it like it was the only truth that mattered. Sam exhaled slowly, his grip tightening. “We’re going to get her back, Max. I swear it.”

Max stared at him, searching his face for any sign of doubt. There was none. Just that unshakable, stubborn loyalty that had held him together more times than he could count.

Something inside him cracked, and before he could stop himself, he pulled Sam into a tight, desperate embrace. His body shook, but he didn’t care. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice wrecked. “For everything.”

Sam clapped a hand against his back, not letting go. “You’re my brother, man,” he said, quiet but fierce. “Always.”

And for the first time in years, Max allowed himself to believe it.

Not waisting a minute max asked sam with a glint in his eyes "So whats the plan genius?" and Sam replied with a smirk on his face "Thought youre never going to ask."

AT THE S.H.I.E.L.D’S COMPOUND -

Pierce stepped out of his car, smoothing his suit as he made his way to the elevator. He pressed the button for the top floor, his face impassive, but his mind was already turning. "World Security Council."

"Confirmed."

As the elevator ascended, he replayed Fury’s message. “We need to talk. Urgently.”

No details. No context. And that? That wasn’t Fury’s style.

Pierce exhaled through his nose. Was this about her? No. Couldn’t be. He had buried that truth so deep it might as well not exist. If this was just another pointless security briefing, he was going to be pissed.

The doors slid open with a soft chime. He stepped out, pushed open his office door—

And found Fury. Sitting in his chair.

Pierce stopped just inside the doorway, his grip tightening slightly on the handle before he let it go. “You make yourself at home in everyone’s office, or is this a special occasion?”

Fury didn’t react, just leveled his gaze at him.

Pierce sighed, letting a casual smirk settle on his face. “What is it, Fury? Forgot your password again? Or—” he gestured to his eye with a smirk, “—misplaced another one?”

Fury didn’t take the bait. “Sit down, Pierce.”

The humor in Pierce’s expression didn’t reach his eyes. “I am sitting, technically.” He leaned a hip against the desk, folding his arms. “Now why don’t you tell me why I’m here instead of wasting my time.”

Fury stood, slow and deliberate, crossing his arms as he took a step forward. His voice was calm, but heavy. “December 25, 2006.”

Pierce gave a slow blink, but inside, something locked into place.

“Ring any bells?” Fury asked.

Pierce tilted his head. “Christmas?” He let the word hang, feigning indifference. “What, are you feeling sentimental?”

Fury wasn’t amused. “That was the day we were supposed to wipe out a Hydra base.” He stepped closer, his voice lowering. “Shut them down. Sabotage their entire operation. Make sure they never got back up again.”

Pierce kept his expression even. “That mission went south. Things happen.”

Fury exhaled sharply through his nose. “Things happen?” He shook his head. “A ghost tore through our team that night. She wasn’t even old enough to drive, and she damn near wiped us out.”

Pierce gave the slightest incline of his head. “And?”

Fury’s eye narrowed. “She took my eye. Almost took your life. And now—eight years later—she’s back.” He tossed a file onto the desk between them.

Pierce looked down at it but didn’t move.

“Over a hundred assassinations in those years,” Fury continued. “Then, last week, she tried again.”

Pierce finally lifted the file, flipping it open with practiced ease. The name staring back at him made his pulse slow, measured.

Y/N Harrison.

Fury spoke again. “Her target?” He let the weight of it settle. “Max Harrison. Her own brother.” Pierce barely reacted, but the air in the room shifted.

Fury took another step. “You know what doesn’t sit right with me?” He tapped a finger on the desk. “Why she just—vanished. Why there’s nothing on her for years. And now, all of a sudden, she resurfaces hunting her own blood?” He let the question hang, watching Pierce.

Pierce slowly closed the file. His grip on it didn’t tighten, didn’t betray anything. But inside? His mind was already moving three steps ahead.

Fury kept his eye locked on him. “I’m gonna find out why, Pierce.” He started toward the door. “And when I do—” he glanced over his shoulder, voice lower, darker, “—I hope you’re on the right side of it.”

The door shut behind him.

Pierce stayed still, staring at the file in his hands..The name on the page burned into his vision. He had erased this. Made sure she was nothing but whispers and smoke. But somehow, Fury had cracked the foundation.

Slowly, Pierce exhaled. Then, reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone and dialed.

A voice picked up immediately.

“Burn it.” Pierce’s voice was flat, emotionless. “Everything. Every file, every record. Fury’s onto her.”

The person on the other end hesitated. “Sir, that would mean—”

“That’s the point.” Pierce cut them off. His grip on the phone was steady. “Do it. Now.”

Silence. Then: “Understood.”

Pierce hung up, tossing the phone onto his desk as he leaned back in his chair.

He had spent years building walls around this secret..And now? The cracks were starting to show.

HYDRA’S FACILITY -

The man’s breath came fast and shallow as he hurried down the corridor, gripping the files like they might slip through his fingers. His hands were sweating. Not just from the heat trapped in the underground facility, but from what he was about to do.

He had spent years collecting this data. Cross-referencing. Double-checking. Piecing together fragments of information into a weapon sharper than any blade. And now, with one phone call, Pierce had ordered it all erased.

It was like setting fire to a masterpiece.

He swallowed hard as he reached the old terminal, its outdated screen flickering dimly in the dark room. The keys felt stiff under his fingers as he typed in his credentials. The system took longer than it should to respond, forcing him to stare at his own reflection in the black monitor while he waited. His heart pounded.

Then—there it was. The archive.

Decades of classified information. Projects. Identities. Secrets Hydra had buried so deep they shouldn’t exist. And soon, they wouldn’t. His hand shook as he moved the cursor to the DELETE ALL command. It was simple. Just a click. One click, and it would all be gone. His index finger twitched. He couldn’t do it. Not yet.

His eyes darted to the TRANSFER option.

A different kind of anxiety curled in his stomach. His rational mind screamed at him—this is treason. If anyone caught him, he wouldn’t even get the dignity of an execution. He’d just disappear.

But another voice whispered: It’s not wrong to keep a copy. Not everything. Just the important files. Just enough.

His breathing grew uneven.

His hand hovered over the mouse, his fingers tingling like they weren’t even his own.

The walls of the room felt like they were closing in. He had spent years building this database. Hydra had spent centuries constructing its empire. And he was about to erase it like it was nothing?

He pressed his fist against his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut.

Then, in a sudden burst of defiance, his fingers flew across the keyboard. He selected a handful of critical files—the most valuable data Hydra had. The ones no one should ever have access to… but someone had to.

His pulse was a hammer in his ears.

The TRANSFER IN PROGRESS bar crawled forward, each percentage point making his stomach twist tighter.

Come on. Come on.

His foot tapped anxiously against the floor. The room felt smaller. His skin prickled with heat.

Then—TRANSFER COMPLETE.

He barely let himself breathe before shoving the drive into his pocket. He had what he needed.

Now came the hard part.

His hand clenched into a fist as he forced himself to move the mouse again. Slowly, hesitantly, he guided the cursor back to the DELETE ALL button. His finger trembled, hovering over it.

For a second, he thought about stopping. Thought about keeping it all.

But that was suicide.

With a deep, shuddering breath, he squeezed his eyes shut and clicked.

CONFIRM DELETION?

The final warning. A last chance to back out.

He hesitated.

Then, before he could lose his nerve—

CLICK.

It was done.

The screen blinked. The files—the ones he hadn’t saved—began vanishing before his eyes. Line by line. Folder by folder. Years of Hydra’s work, turning to dust.

His stomach churned.

He stood up too fast, nearly knocking the chair over as he grabbed the physical files and turned toward the door. His hand trembled as he swiped his keycard, the door locking behind him with a dull click.

It was over.

Or at least, this part was.

He forced himself to breathe, to swallow down the nausea curling in his gut.

He had saved something. A piece of history. And no one would ever know.

At least… that’s what he told himself.

From the shadows of the corridor, another man watched. Unlike the scientist, his hands weren’t shaking. He wasn’t nervous. He was waiting. Calculating. In his palm, he held a small device—a custom override chip. It wasn’t enough to crack the system entirely, but with the right access…

His gaze flicked to the scientist’s keycard.

That was the way in.

The man—Ivan—knew exactly what he needed to do. He had done unspeakable things for Hydra. Followed orders without question. But this? This was different.

This was about her. He was going to get her out. No matter what it took. His mind was already forming a plan when— "Тсс, Иван, что ты здесь делаешь?"

Ivan stiffened. The voice was sharp, laced with suspicion.

Turning, he found himself face-to-face with a lab technician. Thick glasses framed the man’s beady eyes, his white coat hanging loosely over his thin frame. He was watching Ivan carefully, expectantly.

Ivan forced a breath, pressing a hand to his chest like he was steadying his heart. “Ах, не пугай меня так.”

The technician didn’t flinch. He simply repeated the question.

Ivan hesitated for half a second—then exhaled sharply, feigning frustration. “Эээ, я хотел пойти поесть, но блокнот выпал у меня из рук.” He gestured vaguely toward the floor as if proving his point.

The technician squinted at him. Then, after a moment, he gave a curt nod. “Ну, ну… просто возвращайся. Ты нужен нам в лаборатории.”

Ivan nodded quickly. “Скоро буду.”

The technician turned and walked off, leaving Ivan alone once more.

He didn’t move for a moment, letting the tension bleed from his muscles.

Then, finally, he turned back to the door.

He still needed that keycard. Still needed to get to the files. And still needed to free her.

But first?

He needed a plan.

Back in the cold, sterile chamber, she stood frozen in cryo—locked in time, trapped in silence. No thoughts. No movement. No feeling. Then—a twitch. Just her fingers, barely noticeable. But it was enough.

If she woke up, there would be no alarms, no time to react. One punch. One snap of the neck. One second. That’s all it would take for bodies to hit the ground. No screams, no struggle. Just dead weight collapsing onto cold concrete.

Across the hall, in another chamber, he stood frozen too. The Winter Soldier.

Once, he was Bucky Barnes. A man. A soldier. A friend. But that version of him had been buried beneath blood and metal, his name carved away like it never existed. Now, he was nothing but a weapon. Cold. Precise. Controlled.

Orders were given. He obeyed. Targets were marked. He killed. No hesitation. No mercy. No questions.

And yet, something cracked in the programming.

It happened every time they crossed paths, even in passing. Just for a second. A flicker of recognition—something human clawing at the edges of their minds. A moment of clarity, suffocating under the weight of their conditioning.

They wanted to speak. To ask. To remember. To scream.

And then—the switch flipped back.

Their bodies locked. Their minds erased.

No hesitation. No mercy.

What goes around, comes around.

And soon, something was coming for them.

One mission. One mistake. One fracture in the system.

And when it happened?

No one would be ready for it.

TO BE CONTINUED...

the translation -

мне жаль - im sorryя

не хотел потерпеть неудачу - i didnt want to fail

я помогу тебе сбежать - i will help you escape / i will help you out

Тсс, Иван, что ты здесь делаешь - hey! what are you doing here?

Ах, не пугай меня так - ah dont scare me like that

Эээ, я хотел пойти поесть, но блокнот выпал у меня из рук - Uh, I wanted to go get something to eat, but my notebook fell out of my hands

Ну, ну… просто возвращайся. Ты нужен нам в лаборатории - okay, okay... just come back. we need you back at the lab

Скоро буду - i'll be there soon

[paucubarsisimp]

you need more hector?? say no more bae. HECTOR FIC WITH THE PROMPt: “you can do better,” x “i don’t see anybody else better for me.”

(either way around idc idc ily🩷) 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

good enough

pairing: hector fort x reader

summary: in which you don’t think you’re good enough

warnings: cussing (i think), angst

tagged: @barcapix, @universefcb, @nngkay, lmk if you want to be added to the taglist!

a/n: i’m sorry this took some time to get out, but here it is love xxx

it had been building for a while—the unspoken tension between you and hector. there had been those quiet moments, the ones where your eyes met and lingered just a little longer than usual, where the air felt thick, heavy with something neither of you could name. you’d always felt it. he’d always felt it too. but neither of you had dared to speak it aloud.

you loved him. or at least, you were pretty sure you did. how could you not? everything about him drew you in—his confidence, the way he carried himself with such ease, the way his presence seemed to calm everything around him. and when he smiled at you, like that small, private smile just for you, it made your heart do strange things. but despite all of it, you couldn’t shake the voice in your head telling you that you weren’t good enough. not for someone like him.

hector was always the one people turned to, the one who had everything figured out, the one with that effortless charm. and you? you were just… you. unsure of yourself, tangled up in doubts and insecurities, wondering if he’d even notice you if you weren’t there, always in the background, just out of reach. but still, something about the way he looked at you made it hard to deny the possibility that maybe, just maybe, he felt the same way.

tonight, however, it felt different. the usual distance between you both, even when you were close, was gone. the space between you was charged, electric. you could feel the pull, the desire, humming beneath the surface, threatening to break free. but you weren’t sure if you were ready for it. and maybe that was why you kept finding excuses to keep it all at arm’s length.

you sat on the couch, your knees pulled up to your chest, trying to focus on the movie playing in the background. but your attention kept drifting to him, sitting just a little too close for comfort, but not close enough. every time you glanced over, you’d catch him watching you, his gaze soft, almost unreadable, like he was trying to figure something out. it made you nervous, made your heart beat a little faster.

finally, he spoke, his voice low, almost hesitant. “can we talk?”

your stomach dropped. you’d been waiting for this moment, but now that it was here, you felt yourself stiffen. you nodded, trying to keep your composure. “yeah, of course.”

he moved a little closer, his body angling toward you, and there it was again—the undeniable energy between you. it wasn’t just friendly anymore. the air between you two was thick, charged with something unspoken, and you could feel it in the way your skin prickled with awareness.

“i’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he said, his voice quiet but firm, like he was choosing his words carefully. “about us.”

you could feel your heart pounding in your chest, the weight of his words sinking in. you swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “what do you mean?”

he turned his head slightly, his eyes searching your face, like he was trying to make sure you understood exactly what he was saying. “i don’t want to just be friends anymore,” he said softly. “i want more. i want you.”

the words hit you like a wave, overwhelming and unexpected. for a moment, your mind went blank. you couldn’t breathe. all the thoughts you’d been holding back, the fears, the insecurities—they all rushed to the surface. you opened your mouth to speak, but the words didn’t come. you couldn’t say them. you’re not good enough for him.

hector’s gaze softened, and he took a small step closer. “what is it?” he asked, his voice gentle now, like he was waiting for you to tell him what was going on in your head.

you shifted uncomfortably, avoiding his gaze. “hector, i… i can’t. i’m not good enough for you.”

his expression faltered, confusion flashing across his face. “what are you talking about?” he asked, his voice more forceful now, though there was still a hint of concern. “how can you say that? you’re perfect just the way you are.”

but the doubt was there, thick and suffocating, and you couldn’t shake it. “you deserve someone who’s got their life together. someone who doesn’t have all this… baggage. someone who doesn’t doubt everything about themselves.” you shook your head, feeling the weight of everything you’d kept buried. “i’m not that person, hector. i’m not good enough for you.”

the words stung, and you immediately regretted saying them. but you couldn’t take them back now. you wrapped your arms tighter around yourself, bracing for the rejection that you feared was coming.

hector’s eyes darkened with frustration. “don’t say that. don’t ever say that about yourself again.”

he stood up, his hand gripping the back of the couch as he paced, clearly trying to control the anger rising in him. you flinched at the movement, unsure of how to respond. part of you wanted to apologize, to take it all back, but the other part—the part that was terrified of what would happen if he really saw you, saw everything you were hiding—didn’t know how to let go.

he stopped in front of you, his gaze sharp but softer than it had been moments ago. “you think i don’t see you?” he asked, his voice strained, like he was trying to keep his emotions in check. “you think i don’t notice how you are with me? the way you make me feel when i’m around you?”

your breath caught in your throat, your heart skipping a beat. “hector, please…” you whispered, not wanting to hear it. not wanting to believe it. “i’m just… i’m not what you need.”

he placed his hands on the couch beside you, leaning in close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. the closeness made you shiver, and for a moment, you couldn’t look away from his eyes—eyes that held something raw, something real, something he hadn’t shared with anyone else. with you.

“you are exactly what i need,” he said, his voice rough now, like he was struggling to keep control. “you think i care about all that other shit? all the perfect things you think i want? i don’t care about any of that. i care about you.” his face was inches from yours now, his lips just a breath away, and you could feel the heat rising between you two.

you opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. he didn’t give you a chance to speak. before you could process it, his lips were on yours, hot and demanding. it wasn’t gentle—no, this kiss was full of everything he had been holding back, everything he wanted to say but couldn’t. it was raw, intense, and you felt it all the way down to your bones.

he pulled back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting against yours, both of you breathless. his hands were still on your face, his touch gentle but insistent, like he was grounding you, reminding you that he was there.

“don’t you ever think you’re not good enough for me,” he murmured, his voice low, sending shivers down your spine. “because you are. more than you’ll ever know.”

your pulse raced, and as he leaned in again, you felt it. that pull between you two, undeniable and intense. the way your body responded to him was something you hadn’t fully realized until this moment—something deeper than just the emotional connection, something physical that you couldn’t ignore anymore.

when he kissed you again, slower this time, it wasn’t just a kiss—it was an unspoken promise. a promise that he wouldn’t walk away. not now. not ever.

and as you pulled him closer, as his hands slid to your waist, you felt the spark between you two ignite, your doubts slowly burning away under the heat of his touch. the kiss deepened, and for the first time, you allowed yourself to believe—you were enough.

don’t forget to leave a request!

[xsister-serpent]

Whispers Of Power

Summary: Y/N, a gifted Force-sensitive student at Luke Skywalker’s academy, struggling to control a rare power called “The Voice.” Their bond with Ben Solo deepens as they explore their abilities, but a dangerous confrontation reveals Ben’s darker tendencies and Y/N’s growing dominance.

Years later, Y/N is part of the Bene Gesserit sisterhood, having mastered her powers. When Supreme Leader Kylo Ren arrives, specifically requesting Y/N, their shared past resurfaces, setting the stage for a fateful and powerful reunion.

Warnings: Dark chapter/ Intro, Bullying, Eventually this is have smut but it will be tagged as so/ Slowburn/ y/n is a bit prideful but every woman should be/female reader pronouns/ A/N at end Word Count: 1954

Flashback: Planet Ossus 

You were in the quietness of space now. Your eyes closed, and you felt your soul within the low, pulsating heartbeat of the Force. Your senses heightened—picking up the shuffle of birds and the shifting blades of grass. This was your solace, a small hideaway from the other students, who you knew were secondary in Luke’s Academy. Except for one student: Ben.

You knew something had changed in you, and you were certain it wasn’t just puberty. You felt it the day you met Luke and his nephew Ben on your lush, oceanic home planet of Pelagora. Something cracked in your psyche a month after settling in—something even Ben couldn’t understand.

But little did you know, you could use it. Hone it.

“Y/N!” Ben’s voice pierced the silence, jolting you out of your trance.

A heavy sigh left you as Ben’s footsteps approached. You were introverted by nature, and since Ben was the only boy in the academy who was only two years older than you. The two of you had become friends through Force proximity.

“Y/N—” he paused, seeing you in the soft glow of the sunlight. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Mh, and now you’ve found me,” you said, shifting your legs.

Your eyes went to the books he carried under his arm with a spark of excitement. “Did you find anything?”

Ben’s lanky legs folded as he sat beside you, pulling out a leather-bound book. “Not much, but it’s something. From what I’ve researched, it’s a rare gift—one that very few possess. By ‘people,’ I mean women.”

You took the book from him and opened to the page Ben had marked for you. Your eyes scanned over the text, mumbling a few words.

“Bene Gesserit,” you read faintly, your hand going to your neck. “Are they Nightsisters or something?”

“No, they’re a secret organization, almost like us, except it’s only women,” Ben explained with a shrug. “They have all kinds of cool abilities, including the one you have.”

Ben’s eyes drifted to your profile as you read over the page again. Reverence flickered in his gaze as he watched your lips silently form the words.

“The Voice,” you read aloud at the bottom of the page.

You felt a hint of resolution, but it was cut short as you turned the page to find it blank—or, rather, ripped out.

“What? Where’s the rest of it?” you asked, skimming through the book.

Ben sighed and took the book from your hands, his slender fingers grazing yours. “That’s all I could find. I searched everywhere, even sneaking into Luke’s study. Sorry, Y/N.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line as his words faded into defeat. You wanted to understand this gift—this power. It set you apart from the others, possibly even from Luke. You got up, pacing slightly as you glanced back at the book.

“Do you think he ripped out the pages?” you asked, pausing mid-step.

Ben’s eyes snapped to you, one brow raised. “What? Why would he?”

“To keep it hidden. You said you had to sneak into his study, right?” you questioned, kneeling in front of him. “Luke only keeps important things in there. If your uncle ripped it out, it means he didn’t want anyone to find it.”

Ben hesitated, his posture stiffening under your scrutiny. You knew he could sense your longing for control over your abilities. Even if he wouldn’t admit it, you knew he’d help. He always did.

“My uncle has been acting differently lately...” Ben pondered, crossing his arms and creasing his forehead.

You shrugged, glancing around the forest to ensure no one else was near. Luke had been apprehensive lately, and you didn’t need to tap into the Force to feel that something was stirring in the unknown.

Your eyes fell on the smaller book in Ben’s hand, which he suddenly tucked away.

“What’s that?” you asked.

“It’s nothing,” Ben retorted, clutching the book tightly and avoiding your gaze.

You scrutinized him, noting the tension in his posture and the slight gulp in his throat.

“Let me see it,” you demanded.

“Y/N, it’s just my calligraphy book. You’ve seen it before,” he stammered, standing abruptly.

“Your calligraphy book is blue. This one is brown,” you countered firmly. “If it’s nothing, why does it matter?”

Ben’s eyes darkened into a glare as he sneered, “Y/N, it’s just a book. You wanted answers for your so-called gift, and that’s all I could find.”

He moved closer, invading your personal space. An electric pull seemed to spark between you, drawing you both into an unspoken standoff.

A sudden Force pull snatched the book from Ben’s hand, landing it in Khal’s grasp. Khal, a boy who often bullied Ben, grinned as he thumbed through the pages.

“Yeah, come on, Solo. Let’s see what’s in the book,” Khal taunted, standing beside you.

You glared at Khal as he began to read aloud in a mocking tone.

“Y/N and I were training today—” Khal read, attempting to mimic Ben’s voice in an exaggerated mockery.

“Shut up,” Ben cut him off, anger lacing his tone.

“She moves so gracefully and powerfully... Oh no way...” Khal chuckled, continuing to read, “I can’t look away. I don’t know if I want to be her... or want her…” “Stop it!” Ben shouted, his voice ripping into the air.

Your eyes snapped to Ben, and his gaze met yours in return. You knew it was forbidden for Jedi to form attachments, to have any tether to another. But in that moment, as you both locked eyes, something shifted in Ben’s expression. The mask of anger fell away, revealing vulnerability.

“Ben... I—” you gasped, but Ben’s hand shot out, gripping Khal and lifting him off the ground.

Khal flailed, desperately clawing at Ben’s wrist, but Ben’s face darkened as he held him suspended in the air, his eyes now glowing brighter than before.

“I told you to stop,” Ben warned coldly, his gaze scanning Khal’s terrified face. “I warned you.”

“I-I’m sorry...” Khal gasped, looking up at Ben with pleading eyes. Then he turned to you, “H-help me, Y/N! Make him stop!!”

You stood motionless, unsure whether to step between the two boys. But something clicked inside you as you glanced from Khal to Ben. With a sharp inhale, you tapped into the hidden power—the one that was dangerous, powerful.

“LET HIM GO!” you commanded, feeling the voices swirl in your throat.

Like a marionette, Ben released Khal, dropping him roughly to his feet. Khal scrambled up, stumbling over a fallen stump, his eyes wide with fear.

Ben’s eyes widened in shock and awe as he stared at you. “What did you do??” he asked, his voice laced with both trepidation and veneration. “How?”

You ignored Ben’s question, keeping your gaze fixed on Khal, whose fear was palpable.

“No, please, I won’t tell anyone! I swear I won’t tell Luke or anyone!” Khal pleaded, clinging to the dead wood for support.

Perhaps it was that protectiveness that sparked within you. You remembered finding Ben alone in a room once, his lip split open as he wiped the blood away. He never wanted to talk about it, but you knew... you knew who caused it. You placed a reassuring hand on Ben’s forearm—a small, silent understanding between you two. Your eyes locked onto Khal’s.

Taking a deep breath, you tapped into the power once more. “KNEEL.”

Without hesitation, Khal sank to his knees, trembling in his sweat-soaked clothes. Ben’s gaze shifted from the scene to you, filled with awe. He’d heard voices in his dreams, but this voice was different—ancient.

You spoke again, your voice carrying a dangerous authority, “BREAK YOUR THUMB."

A loud snap echoed through the forest, followed by a sharp, agonized cry.

Present Day, Planet: Rossak

You observed the younger Bene Gesserit training, watching them move with their blunt knives. You kept your focus on a few who showed potential, making mental notes to report to your superiors. There was a slight sense of pride in knowing you had mentored a few of them. They had also become your whisperers, reporting on the life you had left behind.

But there was nothing to be found.

A sigh escaped you as you pulled your gaze away, shifting your focus to the trainees. The hushed voices around you grew quieter as you entered the study, where your fellow sisters awaited. The familiar scent of ink and parchment reminded you of the academy—its large bookcases and the sense of peace it once gave you. But as you settled into the space, something shifted. A subtle ripple in the waters of your mind.

You stopped, a wave of nostalgia washing over you. A quiet tug. A whisper. The voice that carried it froze you in place. Ben’s voice...

A sudden, distant boom above the keep caused some of your sisters to pause in their tasks. One of the younger girls approached the window, looking out with curiosity.

“Lady Y/N...” she called, looking over her shoulder. “Have you ever seen a ship like that?”

You raised an eyebrow, walking over to the window with quiet steps. In the distance, a gunmetal black command shuttle stood, surrounded by a squadron of Finalizers. Standing at attention to receive them was Reverend Mother Gala, her face stoic and unwavering. But what caught your attention was the tall, imposing figure who emerged from the shuttle. His black robes billowed in the rain-tossed wind, giving him an ethereal, almost phantom-like quality. His helmet, obsidian black with silver accents, hid his face, but his body language spoke volumes. He bowed his head to the Reverend Mother before approaching her alone.

Your mind raced in different directions as you tried to piece together the mystery of this masked man.

“He specifically asked for you,” spoke Elder Sister Mya, her brown eyes following you closely as you walked beside her. “The Supreme Leader was very... insistent that it must be you. He refused other, more experienced sisters without a second glance.”

“Did he?” you murmured, glancing over your shoulder as you rubbed your thumb over your knuckle—a nervous habit you tried to break. You could see the troopers moving your boxes carefully toward the command shuttle.

“He knows you, Y/N,” Mya said, her voice soft but firm. “The Reverend Mother has sensed it, and so have I. But you have no idea who he is?”

“I have a few theories, but they’re far-fetched,” you replied, rolling the tension from your shoulders as you braced yourself to meet him.

“Hmm. Regardless, the Bene Gesserit and myself have approved your relocation within the First Order. Having one of our own in that fractured part of space is enough to pinpoint its weaknesses,” Mya continued as you reached the bottom of the stairs. “Remember... we Bene Gesserit do not hope—”

“We plan,” you finished for her.

With a steady, slow exhale, you set your mask of stoicism in place, your veil securely shielding you from the rain that cascaded from your robes. Through the thunder that rumbled across the sky, you heard faint footsteps approaching. Your eyes tracked them, seeing the Supreme Leader draw nearer. His steps echoed in the gray corridor, each one deliberate, imposing.

He was even more monumental up close. His broad shoulders and towering height gave him a predatory grace. He stopped in front of you, allowing you to take him in. His face hidden, but his body language clearly inviting your inspection. It was as if he was silently offering you a form of parity acknowledgment.

Power recognizes power.

A deep, metallic voice emerged from behind the mask, carrying a single, simple word.

“Come.”

A/N: Got inspired by Dune and Dune: Prophecy so I figured why not mix two sci-fi epics together? This will be a multi-chapter fic, please lmk if you'd like to be tagged.

[starryal1na]

—❀ ‧₊˚. 𝑱𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒘𝒐 𝒐𝒇 𝒖𝒔, 𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒆𝒆𝒑𝒍𝒚 𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒄𝒌

about: you and aventurine's first time making love ♥︎

genre: nsfw (18+ NO MINORS or AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS please, if i see you i will block you)

tags: afab reader, first time for reader, vaginal penetration, implied unprotected sex, handjob, petnames, kisses, handholding

words count: 1.4k

notes: i am nervous as hell since it's my first time writing nsfw and posting it is even more stressful for me (｡﹏｡") this was proofread by me but i'm not an english native so it's possible there are still errors remaining, i apologize for this and i hope it won't prevent you from having a good read <3

(divider by @/cafekitsune)

"Keep those pretty eyes on me," you barely hear the whispered tone directed at your ear as Aventurine brushes the tip of his lenght against your core, slowly entering your welcoming warmth.

"That's it, sweetheart", he mumbles against your swollen lips when you open your eyes to stare right back at him. The stretch between your thighs stings, but Aventurine is careful, keeping his hips still once he bottoms out.

Never breaking eye contact, you manage to bring one hand up to brush the softness of his bangs, leaving your palm on his flushed cheek. Aventurine leans into the gentle gesture, his hips slowly grinding into you. His Avgin eyes are as intense as ever as he searches for any sign of discomfort on your face. "You okay ?"

Brows furrowed in both pain and overgrowing pleasure, you breathlessly mutter a tiny yes as he shifts to kiss your nose. With your confirmation, his hand moves down to your thigh, gently spreading you wider for him. You bite back a moan as he slides out of you only to reclaim your damp core with his own arousal, groaning at your tightness.

"You're perfect for me, my precious gem. Taking it so well" his forehead bumps into yours as he begins languid thrusts, feeling you loosen up little by little. You end up struggling to keep your eyes on him as you feel yourself relax under his devoted care. You let go of his cheek to wrap your arm around his neck instead, urging him to come closer to you as your thighs tighten around his hips.

As your digits toy with the strands of hair stuck to his nape, Aventurine's own hands shifts from your thighs, one settling on your waist and the other finding your free one. Your fingers intertwine, palms pressing firmly together. You can't quite grasp whether it's the relentless buck of his hips or the gentle press of his hand but the atmosphere is becoming overwhelming. The burning pleasure in your lower stomach expands suddenly and Aventurine's heated stare, paired with his whiny breaths, is doing nothing to help your state.

Aventurine must have sensed the sudden shift in your demeanour. He smirks, nipping his way down your neck licking and biting at your burning skin. Your grip tightens on his neck, a silent encouragement that Aventurine is quickly picks up. He lavishes your neck with feverish kisses, his airy moans of pleasure muffled as he quickens his pace into your heat. Your own cries fills up the room, your head falling back as the soft expanse of your throat exposes itself to Aventurine's greedy mouth. He wastes no time, crashing his lips down along your collarbones before making his way to the side of your neck, then up to your earlobe he teasingly bites.

"I'm not gonna last baby", you whisper as your fingers tighten into his. Aventurine inhales sharply at your words, shivers running down his spine as the hand on your waist slides back down to your thigh.

"I'm not far too," he chuckles breathlessly as he picks up the pace to fervently pounds into you. Encouraged by your high pitched moans, he raises your knee higher to allow himself to dive deeper. The slight change in position works wonderfully, Aventurine noticing the way your thighs tremble around his slim waist. "There you go," he coos down at you, admiring your face contorting in pleasure and your flushed neck covered in lovebites. He smiles at your needy gaze, glancing lower to where you're both connected. "Do you need something more ?" he purposely teases. Leaving your thighs, his hand lay flat down between your lower abdomen and your pubic bone, breath hitching at the thought of his lenght being buried down there. When he hears you pleading, he obliges and slowly lets his thumb travel down to find your sensitive nub. "May I bet that this is where you want me to touch ? Am I right, beautiful ?"

You nod, sitting on one forearm to look down at Aventurine's thumb gently circling your nub. "F-fuck..." you mumble against his neck as you cling to him, arm still around his neck. Your hips raise up against your will, filled to the brim by your lover as he toys with your clit in slow yet precise movements. "Baby–" you bring yourself even closer, forehead bucking against his as your orgasm start to build up dangerously.

"My beautiful girl," his tone is strained, that tightness of yours driving him crazy as he feels himself getting very close as well. He rubs your swollen clit purposely, wishing to hear more of your pleads and to have you cum on his lenght.

The compliment makes your heart skip a bit, gasping and leaning into Aventurine's touch. You desperately crash your lips against his, licking your way into his mouth as he moans softly into the kiss. Tongues battling and moans threathening to escape from your closed lips, you feel Aventurine twitching inside of you, a sign he is on the verge of cumming.

The thought of him finishing inside of you suddenly arises in your mind, bringing you closer to the edge since it takes a few more flicks of his thumb on your clit to have you see stars and clamping hard on him. Your orgasm is so intense you don't make a single sound, eyes rolling back, mouth slightly open in silent whimpers and barely hearing Aventurine's praises. Your body trembles against his, and you slowly come back from your high, tiny moans leaving your mouth as Aventurine continue to fuck you through the remaining of your climax. "Mh you did so well" he kisses your temple, as he helps you lay down back on the sheets, pampering your face with kisses. His member twitches inside of you, reminding you he didn't reach his orgasm. Though you wanted him to cum inside, you mentally grimace at the thought of how sensitive it would be to have him moving into you right back.

"Can I ?" you flush as you gesture toward his lenght still buried in your heat. He watches you with wide eyes as he nods, allowing you to slide his cock out of you. Your flush deepens as you notice he is glistening with your arousal. Carefully wrapping your hand around him, you cast him a questioning look, silently asking if you can keep going.

"Go on," he gives you one of his usual smirk but you can tell Aventurine is trying hard to keep his cool, as he is very very close. His brows furrowed and he sighs contently when you begin to pump his shaft up and down. His body still hovers yours as he shifts slightly, propping himself up on one forearm beside your face and taking your free hand in his. You stare up at his Avgin eyes and kisses the side of his mouth. "Keep your beautiful eyes on me", you murmur, licking his bottom lip. Your words brings a smile to his face through his lusty desire to cum right there and now. He knows you used those on purpose, as a reminder of his earlier request. However, it carries a deeper meaning, as the color of his eyes has always been a source of discomfort for some people. You, on the other hand, cherish his Avgin eyes more than anything, complimenting them every chance you get. So, as the words leave his pretty girl's lips, he makes sure to maintain eye contact as requested.

Kissing your way up to his cheek, your hand quickens the pace on his leaking lenght, thumb teasing the tip and smearing the precum down his shaft. Aventurine's breaths turn into high pitched moans as he feels his lower stomach contract. His eyes are still on you as he lets go with a loud moan, painting your hand and your tummy with his release. He bucks his hips into your hand until he collapses against your chest, nuzzling his face between your neck and shoulder. His heart is pounding fast in his chest, just like yours, as you glance down at him with a tender smile that he warmly returns.

You swipe his sweaty bangs out of his eyes, the pad of your clean fingers tracing gentle patterns on his face. He takes a deep breath, inhaling your comforting scent before kissing one of the marks he left earlier. You both stay in each others arms for what seems like hours, savoring the warmth of your bodies and whispering "I love you"s in between soft kisses.

/!\ don't steal, translate or repost this and claim it as you own /!\

[mx-pastelwriting]

RDR2 HC - Running away together & what would it take

RDR2 x GN! Reader

Summary: Running away together & what would it take for them to.

Warnings/Tags: Angst, Fluff, Established Relationship, Running away, Some Happy Endings

Characters: Dutch van der Linde, Arthur Morgan, Javier Escuella, Charles Smith, Bill Williamson, Hosea Matthews, John Marston, Josiah Trelawny

Dutch van der Linde

- A hard task in itself, prying Dutch away from his power over the gang, it's an almost impossible task. Though echoing Hosea's words to lie low would earn you some time in having a voice over Micah's, he would consider it.

- Nightly talks cuddled up in his arms, imagining life away from the one you have aloud; he entertains it, but not without saying some doubtful scenarios. Having to change your ways, almost manipulating him into taking that life as a real thing.

- Never leaving his side, hearing every thought, not giving Micah a chance to talk to him in private, in turn driving you crazy. Doing anything for that good life, leaving your intentions to change just to get your Dutch safe.

- Every day drained you; all that work had finally caught up to you. Slowly, you lost faith as the gang came into more trouble, making you come to a realization. You made your choice.

- A night of loving Dutch one more time, cuddled up into his arms, then having to leave them. Leaving him in a deep sleep with a final kiss. Taking your horse he had gotten for you a long time ago and what little clothes you had left from all the years of running. Finally leaving in the cold night, not daring to look back.

A year had gone by, and still you dreamt about that day and its many outcomes, but all you could do was smile at the memory of his messed hair loving him for that final night. Telling yourself over and over that it spared the both of you, there was no use to keep trying. Leaving to build your own life, living out your dream that you tried so hard to convince Dutch of so many times.

He would have loved it, just the two of you; he just couldn't see it. Getting up from your bed, dressing up for the day, and having to live off of the small land you fought to get months after. Making your way to the kitchen, readying breakfast before your day of work, but a knock interrupts you from the task.

Grabbing your old weapon, hoping it still worked, then walking slowly to the door, pointing the weapon from your hip. Upon opening the door, your mind and body went blank. Dutch was standing at your front door, looking like shit. "Dear," he says, voice cracking. Even after all this time, he charmed his way into your heart, igniting your love again.

-

Arthur Morgan

- You both have always talked about that kind of life and what it would be like, but it always ended as a joke and never as something to look forward to. Until you really thought about it, hearing Hosea's story of him and his wife fed into your dream.

- Bring it up to Arthur one night, making sure he took it seriously, not knowing what to say, only he couldn't leave the gang just like that. Over time, you pushed the matter, and he always listened but never said anything.

- Being with the gang for a long time, you watched it change as Dutch came into more trouble. Finally, it hit a breaking point when Arthur went missing from the meeting with Colm O'Driscoll. The camp had to calm you down, but it didn't stop the tears every night, fighting your mind to just leave, but it turned to worry that if he'd come back, you needed to be there for him.

- After days of the gang searching, you finally spotted Arthur's house with him on top, thinking you had just gone crazy. Hearing his groans of pain, you ran to him, crying aloud, causing the camp to spring into action, with some having to hold you back so the rest could work.

- After an hour of working on him finally letting you see him, never leaving his side as you waited for him to wake. Hosea brought you something to eat every day, knowing what you had been going through.

Snapping from your exhausted state as a groan came from Arthur, watching as he stirred from his rest. Tears once again spilled from your eyes while grabbing his hand and placing it to your cheek. Waking fully, he whispered your name, running a hand through his hair earning a hum from him as he rested his eyes once again.

"I thought you were dead," you whispered, kissing his hand earning another hum. "Okay," he whispered weakly, making you look at him meeting his blue-green eyes. Taking a minute for you to understand, you nodded, "Tonight." You responded, getting only a weak nod back. Quickly getting up to then plant a kiss on his lips before preparing your leave.

-

Javier Escuella

- Being so loyal to Dutch, as soon as you'd bring that idea of life up, he'd tell you of the time he tried to find that kind of life, with it ending with Dutch saving him, in turn needing to repay Dutch with his life. A life for a life.

- Still, of course, you stayed with him, but it didn't stop you from trying. From mentioning small things, such as telling him to look at the homesteads as you passed them or talking to couples who owned their land, hearing the stories of home life making sure Javier was near you to hear.

- Wishing aloud to love him behind closed doors, but he brought up the suggestion of a hotel quickly you shot it down with wishes of loving him in your own home. Unknown to you, it wasn't till the end that he would change his mind.

- Seeing as he buddied up with Micah breaking your heart, seeing what Micah did to Dutch, there would be no way he would sink his claws into your Javier. Realizing it even more after hearing Arthur's words confirming your Javiers changed, solidifying your thoughts. Having to do the only thing that was left.

- Grabbing a bag, you started to stuff your things into it. Hearing footsteps come closer, you didn't look up, knowing who it was. When asking what you were doing, you told him you were leaving him. Shocked, he begged, but you gave it to him in the end, giving him an ultimatum. You or Dutch.

Pain washed over his face. He looked to the floor, hoping it would have the answer, but you continued packing. "Amor," he begged, but you kept your back to him as much as it pained you. "I can't do this, Javi," you say, tears stinging the brim of your eyes. "Tell me," he says, putting a hand on yours.

"All of this, you hate Micah. What changed?" You asked, making him look away, but you brought his face back softly with your hand. Cupping his face, "I know you see it. He's not well. I'm not going to stick around anymore, Javi," you say, turning to zip up your bag.

"It's your choice," you say before grabbing a few more things. "I can't," he says weakly. "Okay," saying your final words before walking to the horses, putting your things onto yours before hopping onto your horse.

Taking a last look at the camp, not caring who chose to look. Hearing as the horse next to you stirred, looking to see Javier hop on his with his belongings behind him. Smiling at each other, you turned away from camp, taking off quickly to start your new life.

-

Charles Smith

- Having been in the gang for a small amount of time, he had never shut down the idea, though never did he start to make plans on it. Figuring it was from his friendships with Arthur and John or him just settling in having run with him before the gang, you were of course thankful for them taking you both in, but shaking off the idea was never going to happen.

- Taking long rides on the days he got off, hugging his waist while resting your head on his back, talking about many things: camp gossip, your past travels, the future. Sometimes passing by a homestead watching as the people worked away at their land, imagining out loud how that would be, it would be better than always running.

- He loved you dearly; it pained him whenever leaving you to do a job with the gang, but you hated it more when he came to you from a watch stumbling on his tired feet to then crashing into your arms falling asleep before he could even mumble, "I love you.".

- Making his choice after the bank job that had gone wrong, having to bury Hosea and Lenny's bodies, the both of you talked about the decision ending with a kiss and the start of packing your things. Though quickly interrupted by the law, causing you to run once again, making you both stick around the gang a little longer.

- Knowing it put the both of you in more danger, he tried to make it quick by using the gang to help the tribe, only meeting them once by going with him, you understood. Finally, the day came telling only Arthur and John and those closest to you, getting hugs and wishes of luck to your new life.

Waking to the cooing of birds wrapped in the warmth of Charles's arms, hearing him snore softly, kissing his scared cheek, waking him from his slumber earning a smile. Looking at you with tired brown eyes, taking a moment to admire your well-rested faces.

Wiggling out of his arms with an objection as he tightened them, making you both laugh before you headed off to the kitchen in your homestead, but not without getting dressed first from the night before. Having been years since that day, leading to a new life, though the past caught up a year later, causing Charles to go with John just to make Dutch and Micah pay for all those years ago.

Of course, coming back to you with a bullet in the shoulder and a promise to never leave you again, from John's home, you both made it up to Canada, living out your dream of a homestead. Ending your reminisce on the past as Charles wraps his arms around you once more, kissing your neck softly while you readied the morning drinks.

-

Bill Williamson

- It had never been an idea to the both of you from all the years you ran with the gang until going into town. Seeing how a couple talked about their lives after getting that first taste of that kind of life, you never looked back.

- Not telling Bill at first, wanting him away from Dutch a bit before springing it upon him after one of your hotel nights away, he entertained your thoughts, though laughing at some parts until he realized you were serious.

- His first feeling was anger at how he could never do that to Dutch, but you argued that Dutch doesn't control your lives. Finally, he calmed down, telling you he looked up to Dutch. Knowing how he wanted the limelight that Arthur and John had, you convinced him that even if it was painful to say and hear, he would never be them. His obsession can't control him.

- Even though he listened with understanding, even agreeing, he told you the time wasn't right. Giving your understanding back to his reasoning, you stayed with him. But things didn't stay still for forever.

- The bank job had gone wrong with the law running you out of Shady Bell, feeling as if it was years before you got Bill back in your arms after hearing tales of him on Guarma. Having enough, you started to pack your things, causing Bill to freak. Hearing none of it, you gave him a choice. Hoping he would pick the right one.

Standing in front of your horse, holding your bag tightly, "I've hit the end, Bill; I-I can't. I can't stay up every night hoping you're alive; it's not fair to me or you." You choked through your words, causing a scene for the whole camp to see, but you didn't care; you were done.

Seeing his hesitant look back at Dutch, who watched on calmly, you had your answer. His continuous seek for approval from Dutch would never stop, and you weren't going to be around to watch it kill him or you.

-

Hosea Matthews

- Having left before he would hear the idea once again, not shooting it down immediately though ending your talk with how his story ended, right back where he started.

- As time went on, his coughs had gotten worse, as well as his attitude towards it, helping with his cough fits earned a hand wave and a choked-out "I'm fine." But you kept pushing, knowing if it was the end for him, it should be anywhere but running with the gang.

- Bringing it up more, he entertained it a bit more, but other reasons would always pop up after, trying to understand you let it go after every talk. As the gang settled into Shady Bell slowly, you noticed that he became even worse; he barely came to bed, but when he did stumble in, smelling of booze, giving you a slurred "I love you" before snoring away.

- Not waiting for his final say any longer, you slowly packed your things over the days, making sure both of your horses were ready to go in the night. Thankfully, you met a couple who knew of a cabin not too far away at a cheap price. Saving up quickly, you bought the cabin, leaving it to wait for you. Taking note of when the watch shifts change and when the camp dies down for the night.

- Finally, you made your move. As Hosea stumbled into being his familiar drunk self, you went into action, calling his horse over by the back door quietly loading on what little you had left. Then, waking Hosea leading him to the horse with false words, finally, you were ready with Hosea in a drunken sleep on your back, fleeing into the dark swamp.

Riding through the night, keeping Hosea on the horse, with luck, you made it through the swamp and into the forest on your way to the cabin. Not knowing how long this would last not even sure if this was a new life. "Just enough for you to rest," you whispered into the cold night air.

Making it to the cabin, using all your strength to get him in the cabin, laying him on the bed, tucking him. Going back out, taking your things from his and your horses, then letting them rest in the small stable for the next few days.

Waking into the morning still hearing Hosea's snores with his warm arms around you. Slowly, you get up, readying his medicine, hoping he'll understand your actions. Being all for him in the end.

-

John Marston

- Having entertained the idea only came up two times. The first was for one of Hosea's cons, having you and John play as a married couple that lived on a farm just for another couple who actually lived on a farm to come along to buy into Hosea's con.

- As years went on, seeing how the gang dwindled, thankful for not taking your John, but not without a scare and a promise to stay with you. Getting out of the snow, helping John to Horseshoe Overlook, fighting to keep him down, and resting. John made a joke about you being his spouse and having a little farm. That was the second time.

- John wasn't the only one with that joke; being protective over him, Hosea started to joke about how the con act ended long ago, but you were still acting the part.

- Finally, John was ready for jobs again, so you loosened your protection, though you weren't afraid to give it to Dutch if he came back with so much as a small scratch. Furthering that joke in the camp led you two to talk. John agreed to the possibility, but it was different in his mind. You saw it coming sooner than him.

- Sadly, it wasn't until the very end you could live out that idea. The gang fell apart, pushing you both towards Strawberry, but not without making a rule for yourself. Never to live that life again. It was easier said than done. John helped the framer, and you fled, leaving your John behind.

Reading the letter over again as the carriage hit every bump on the road, making your impatience worse. Finally stopping, not wanting to look out the window, needing to see him up close, you hurried out.

Standing there face-to-face with your John, having been gone for so many months, your eyes stinging as you wrapped your arms tightly around him. "It's over," he whispered into your ear, making the threatening tears spill, tightening your hold, not wanting to let him go again.

-

Josiah Trelawny

- Living that dream already in Saint Denis, but unbeknownst to you, Josiah had dealings with a gang. Hearing the name of the gang from officers around town yet not thinking anything of them. Not even questioning his absence at home as his "office work" makes him travel a lot.

- Loving the stories of his travels made you susceptible to listening for things, but never did you think you'd hear about your husband from an officer's mouth on the street. Then the next day, another questioned you on your doorstep, being very hostile and pushing past you just to find nothing, but before leaving, accusing you of dealing with the "Van Der Linde Gang.".

- Hearing nothing from your Josiah in the few passing days got you worried—maybe you didn't know the man you married. Though finally, you saw him as he crawled up the stairs of your Saint Denis home, the sight brought you to tears.

- The damage to him was heartbreaking. He groaned and hissed through his teeth as you cleaned up his bloody wounds, then bandaged them up. Saying nothing, you let the silence fall with his story quickly following, but you didn't let him finish.

- Saying the name of the gang, seeing how his face turned pale. Telling him of what transpired days before, hit you hard speaking of what you knew out loud to him. Starting with a sigh, he told you everything with a voice filled with shame.

"Stop," you said, interrupting his explanation, doing as you said, looking to you. Not being able to handle the sight of him knowing every cut or possible broken bone was because of his deals with the gang. You started to question whether the life you built was even real; was the love you got from him even real?

"Love," he pleaded, placing a hand on yours looking into the eyes you fell in love with so many times. Still, you held your ground. "No more J," you say, making him look down watching as he nodded. Slowly, you wrapped your arms around his upper back and shoulders, hugging him as he sat in your home, where he belonged.

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is any grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

♥ mx-pastelwriting does not consent to their fanfiction being copied, copied & credited, translated, used in videos and/or audios, screenshotted, used in AI.

Fanfiction is protected under copyright law when plagiarism is involved. If you plagiarize my work, either a piece or whole in any language, I will take legal action. Inspiration or the same idea does NOT apply to this, only word-for-word plagiarism in any language.

[guiltyasdave]

if only

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

summary: Dave loses the one person he ever cared about. (kind of a John Wick AU if you squint)

word count: 1k

tags/warnings: dark content!!! so much angst, death, grief, violence, murder, suicide, alcohol consumption, able-bodied reader, no use of y/n, no carol or daughters in this, i call him david in this because i wanted to

a/n: @almostfoxglove said let's write some angst and i said bet (thank you for the moodboard freya and SORRY i'm late!). don't say i didn't warn you, and i'm so serious, if any of those tags might be triggering for you, maybe sit this one out <3

follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for fic updates and find my full masterlist here :)

dividers by @saradika-graphics 🤍

Nothing good ever lasts. 

David York knows this. Has known it for a long time. He should have known better than to hope that it would last with you. 

Now he’s staring at fresh earth, flowers in elaborate arrangements, a stone engraved with your name. Voices in his ear, hands on his shoulder, well-meant sentiments that he doesn’t hear. 

You were always the people-person. The one who effortlessly made small talk while he could silently stand beside you, one hand tethered to the small of your back. The one whose wide smile made up for the lack of his. 

Now it’s just him. 

He arrives at the house after far too many hours, far too many pointless conversations in which he was searching for you to exchange a glance, the hint of an eye roll from him and the glint of amusement from you. Only to remember that he’s there, wearing black and letting people drone on about what a loss and still so young because you’ll never catch his eye again. 

Kicking off his shoes and loosening his tie, he sinks into the couch cushions. They smell like you, faint traces of your perfume from how often you spent your mornings curled up on the soft fabric. Wriggling your feet under his thigh where he was sitting next to you, reading the paper and jokingly grumbling over the sudden jolt of cold. His breath comes out in a sob. 

Daisy, the black cat he had finally agreed to on your last birthday, jumps up to him and settles on his chest. He welcomes the pinpricks of claws digging into his skin, the warm weight that settles on top of him. His fingers trace through the soft fur, like yours did so many times. He wonders if the small creature knows, understands that its human is not coming back.

David only gets up to pour himself a whiskey, then another. To feed the buzzing in his head until he’s numb, until the void in his chest stops feeling like it will swallow him whole. 

He tortures himself, watching photos and videos. Vacations, Christmas, your wedding, the normal days when you shoved a camera in his face for no particular reason, freezing the memory of your smiles. It’s stupid, but he’s waiting, hoping for your eyes to look up. Hoping they’ll meet his one more time. The glint of understanding that you had reserved exclusively for him, the constant feeling that there was a secret joke only the two of you were in on. 

He always knew he would love you until the day he died. David doesn’t think of himself as a spiritual man, doesn’t believe in fate, in soulmates. But if he did, he knew that you were his. 

He had wanted out. Desperately wanted to get out. For you, to be with you, to keep you out of danger. Fulfill one more task, one more impossible task. Then you’ll be out. A bitter, double-tongued promise. One he should’ve known better than to believe. 

He wasn’t stupid, wasn’t naive. But he had hoped. You had given him hope, and he’d let himself believe. It was all his fault. 

His fault, when he’d come home, and there you were. A lump on the mattress of the bed you used to share. Not moving, your limbs contorted in ways that made his stomach heave. Your eyes blank, unblinking, unseeing. And the blood. God, there had been so much blood. Soaking through white fabric, staining his hands as they flew over your body, praying, begging that there was still time, that there was something he could do. That he hadn’t failed you, like he had always known he would. His fault, all his fault. 

If only he had been there earlier. If only he had made your home safer, if only he had been more prepared. If only he had never been selfish enough to keep you in his life. If only he had never met you. You’d still be alive, then. Never tainted by him, by the darkness that he carried around like a curse. 

There’s nowhere for all the love he has for you to go. He used to pour it into you, never let you go a single day without knowing how entirely he’s yours. It stays inside him now, burning a hole through his chest. Unable to let go of it, holding it like a grudge, letting it push him forward. Down a road he knows you wouldn’t have wanted him to follow. 

But you’re not here anymore, and there’s nothing else he can do. He’s doing it for you. Once he stops, once he lets go, he’s not yours anymore. He doesn’t know who he’ll be then. If he’ll be anyone. 

He plans. Methodical, determined. No mistakes, no second chances. He doesn’t stop. Cold rage flows through his veins, fuels him, drives him, his movements. He pulls countless triggers, stabs countless knives, lands countless punches. Doesn’t flinch, doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t listen. 

Until there is no one left. Until all he sees is blood, and death, and darkness surrounds him like a thick fog. He sets it all on fire, lets it burn to the ground, but it can’t reach him. The blinding brightness, the heat of the flames. All he feels is emptiness, the void where his heart used to sit. 

It isn’t until he’s back at home that he realizes he’s wounded. He feels the ghost of your fingers where you used to help patch him up. Almost feels your breath huff against his neck. Misses the way your lips used to press against his skin when you were done. 

God, he misses you so much. It builds inside of him, flooding his lungs until he’s gasping for air, but he can’t let go of it. The grief, the anger, you. Once he lets go, lets it spill from between his ribs, you’ll be really truly gone. He can’t live like this. 

David York is methodical. Determined. No mistakes, no second chances. 

His eyes close. His finger curls around the trigger, the movement as familiar as embracing an old friend. He will not live like this.

thank you for reading <3 as always, reblog and comments are love!

[scorpioriesling]

WE NEED PART 4 OF HOW YOU GET THE GIRL!!!

You Are In Love

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairings: Bodhi x reader

Warnings: angst, violence, injury, mentions of blood, smut, 18+, mdni

Summary: You finally come to terms with your feelings, and realize what you'd been so blind to all along.

SR’s Note: This is the FINAL PART to Blank Space, How You Get The Girl, and This Love! How are we feeling, because I was personally giggling and kicking my feet near the last 1/3 of this one! This has been an incredible writing journey for me (and the first Fourth Wing series I've completed! Yay!) and I'm glad you all have liked it. Cheers to the final part; I hope you all enjoy it. <3

Tags: @mellowmusings @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @kitsunetori @velarisdusk @nctsawrus @freakishfandomfiend @paintedbyshadows @poeticbookwormcat @lreadsstuff @desprrssooo-espresssooooo

(inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

The weekend felt like torture, every evening filled with regret over how things ended with Aaric and wondering how Bodhi was feeling after everything happened.

And of course, what Jesinia had said.

My best friend is in love.

You'd immediately denied it, your mental walls closing off the idea. There was no way you'd felt something so massive for Bodhi, you couldn't.

Reguardless, the thought still lingered as you made your way to the training room, trying real hard to convince yourself and Markham that the issue was past you. He still side-eyed you this morning upon arriving for class, but he seemed happy to see that you had time to be alone this weekend.

Inside though, you only felt like shit.

"Why did you need me for this class, again?"

Markham chuckled, rounding the corner to head to the mat room.

"Just wanted an extra hand in keeping the records for today -- with Professor Emmetario being on leave, and all."

You sighed, following him into the gym where countless riders flanked the training mats. Heads began turning to face you, and many eyes widened when taking you in alongside Markham.

"Good morning riders," he announced, stalking to the middle of the room. "As you can see, I'm filling in for Professor Emmetario as he is on temporary leave."

Many riders nodded, but you felt the weight of their gazes on you. Markham gestured to you then, and you shiifted on your feet.

"In addition, I have Y/N here with me to keep record of the challenges today," he looks around, and smirks. "So, do your absolute best -- she'll be writing all of it down."

Many of the eyes looking at you narrowed, and you couldn't help but feel so small under their gazes. You absentmindedly scanned the crowd, searching and praying for the brown ones that you love.

You caught yourself. Liked.

"Y/N, please," Markham's voice intruded your spiraling thoughts. "The first names on the list."

You gulped as you raised the notepad in your hand, your eyes roaming over the names at the top.

"Okay, um," you cleared your throat. "To start, um... the first challenge is going to be Liam and Matthew."

Two larger guys flanked the mat, getting into position while the rest of the riders moved to the outer edges. Markham announced for them to begin, and as expected, they began to duel it out.

Five minutes later, the blonde had the other male pinned.

"And that's a win for Liam! Congrats," Markham announces. You scribble on the notepad, taking record of the win. Seconds later, Markham was looking to you expectantly.

"Right, um," you announced. "Next is Rhiannon and Lydia."

The two women took the mat, and once again, Markham announced for them to begin. A soft hand on your shoulder caused you to turn, only to be met with the soft green of Violet's eyes.

"Oh! Violet, hi," you said in quiet surprise. She gave you a half-smile, her eyes searchign yours for answers to her impending questions.

"Hey, I just wanted to try and talk to you today -- crazy weekend, I didn't get time to try and find you." She said apologetically. Your brows furrowed.

"No that's alright! Why, what's going on?"

"Well," she said, her eyes flickering between you and the match happening before you. "I just... wanted to make sure you were okay. You know... after Friday, and everything."

Your heart sank.

"Oh... um, yeah, I'm alright."

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she winced at a punch the woman with the braids took before looking to you again.

"Y/N... I saw what happened on Friday. I mean, Markham putting you in a position like that with Bodhi, and then everything with Aaric-"

"That's a win for Rhiannon! Congradulations."

Markham frowned at you when you didn't immediately write down the outcome, and he coughed loudly.

"Y/N... the next pairing, please."

Your eyes looked up, realizing the room was awaiting your announcement expectantly.

"Oh! Um," you stuttered, fumbling with the papers. "Next up is Ridoc and Andrew."

You barely watched the two men take the mat, your focus returning to Violet.

She breathed out. "Y/N, I know I'm not your very best friend or anything, but... I'm also not blind," she said in a hushed whisper. "Bodhi and Aaric are my friends too, especially Bodhi."

Her words were pointed, and she looked up at you with a raised brow.

"I can see how you feel for him. And, I can see how he feels for you too."

You swallowed hard, images of the man you've begun to fall for flashing through your mind. All the way from the first time he picked up your fallen books, to the way he walked you home after the bar, all the way to your last, magical night together-

"Next, please."

You looked up, meeting Markham's irritated expression. Glancing down at the sheet again, you opened your mouth to speak.

"S-sorry, next is-"

"I'd like to initiate a challenge, please."

Your gaze snapped up at the voice, disbelief clouding your mind and making it hard to register what was even said. However, Markham finds delight in the situation.

"Bodhi! What a wonderful surprise," he trills, and you watch the crowd part to reveal your worst nightmare. Bodhi steps forward, fresh cuts barely dry on his face as a nasty bruise spreads down his lower leg. His eyes meet yours, and you nearly bawl at the sight of him.

"Please, Mr. Durran -- who would you like to challenge today?"

Bodhi's jaw tightens as you gaze worriedly at him.

"Aaric."

Violet gasps behind you, and your heart sinches at his response. Markham claps loudly, redrawing the attention of the crowd.

"Excellent! Bodhi and Aaric then -- please take the mat."

You stood, frozen in place as the horrific scene unfolded before you. Aaric looked at you once before confidently taking the mat, his anger almost as telling as Bodhi's. The disbelief was truly unreal, especially the professor's reaction to the whole thing.

"Begin!"

Your eyes widened when Bodhi immediately lunged for Aaric, grabbing him by the waist and hurling him to the ground. The whispers and shocked discussions around you were drowned out by the ringing in your head, every alarm bell sounding at once.

Bodhi straddled Aaric, his fist rearing back and slamming into his nose. Blood sprayed across the mat, and a few riders stepped back to avoid the splatter. Your eyes burned, seeing the two fight so viciously right in front of you.

You were pretty sure Violet grabbed you by the shoulders, attempting to turn you from the grizzly scene, but everything around you was a blur. You watched the muscles in Bodhi's back flex as he got one more good hit on him, seconds later being thrown off by the force of Aaric's legs. He winced on impact, his leg taking most of the weight as he fell to the mat. Aaric was on top of him in seconds, drawing his hand back as blood dripped from his nose onto Bodhi's cheek.

"Stop."

Your voice was a whisper, only loud enough that a few riders around you heard.

"I said stop," you said it louder this time, your focus zeroing in on Bodhi's clinched expression. Riders moved as you dropped the notepad, your small steps turning into a jog as you shoved person after person out of the way.

It wasn't until your feet hit the mat that Markham said anything.

"Y/N, you cannot interrupt a challenge-"

"I SAID STOP!"

Your voice came out in a shout, so loud it echoed off the stone walls around you. Aaric turned, his gaze refocusing as he took you in. Before you could think too long about it, you were reaching for him, pulling him right off of Bodhi.

"He needs a mender," you said, your brain working in auto-pilot. No one moved, so you took it upon yourself to sling his arm over your shoulders, helping him to stand. You angrily looked around as everyone watched on, the only person moving being Violet as she ran for help.

"DID YOU HEAR ME? HE NEEDS A FUCKING MENDER!"

✧･ﾟ: *

You sat in the mending room with Aaric, watching the girl's skilled hands as she wrapped his injuries.

"It'll take a little time to recover," she said after a long stretch of silence. Aaric looked to her through slitted eyes, and you opened your mouth to speak.

"Will he need support? Or, extra amenities or anything?"

She msiled knowingly at you, securing the bandage.

"No, he should be quite alright -- but, I'm sure he'd love your support nonetheless. Are you his girlfriend?"

Your cheeks reddened, and Aaric coughed before answering.

"No, no. She's not."

The woman nodded slowly, shrugging before she stood.

"I'd say give it a week at most," she gestured to the bandage. "You shouldn't need... help, I suppose, in changing it." She eyed you.

Aaric nodded, blowing a breath out before giving her a thumbs up.

"Sounds great."

She pursed her lips, turning to leave.

"Stay as long as you like."

When she closed the door behind her, the room fell silent. He wouldn't look at you, and you found it hard to do more than glance at him.

When you did speak, your voice came out small.

"Aaric, I'm... I'm really sorry."

He shrugged, chewing on the inside of his cheek before looking at you finally.

"Not your fault he challenged me today."

You sighed. "You know that's not what I mean."

Now he sighed, adjusting in the bed to look at you.

"I take that back -- it kind of is your fault."

Your head reared back in shock.

"I... I mean, yeah, I-"

"I was just blind to it, you know?" He kept talking. "I should've known. I definately should have known the trouble I'd be getting myself in going after Bodhi's girl." He chuckled dryly. "So, in a way, it's my fault too."

Your brows furrowed as you pondered what he said.

"Aaric, there was no fault in you asking me out. It's just, I mean, everything happened all at once, and even I didn't know that Bodhi-"

"Oh, trust me. I knew." He said, his brows raising. "I knew from the first damn night at the bar what I'd be getting wrapped up in trying to go for you." He shook his head, and your chest ached.

"Aaric... I truly am sorry. I shouldn't have said yes to the date, and with the way everything happened..." You threw your hands up, shrugging. He gave you a genuine half-smile, moving his bandaged hand to rest on your knee.

"I'm just honored a pretty, ambitious second year even considered the offer."

✧･ﾟ: *

It was raining when you left the mending room -- like, pouring rain.

You stepped through the exit doors, pulling your hood over your head. Heavy raindrops pelted your robes, and you squinted to make out the pathway before you. Puddles splashed as you delicately stepped over and around them, so focused on crossing the courtyard at this point that you hadn't looked up to see the person making their way to you.

But when you did, you broke into a sprint -- puddles be damned.

"Bodhi," you breathed, runnign straight to him and throwing your arms around his neck. His hands wrapped around your torso, clutching you to his chest like you were his most prized posession. You breathed him in, the scent you'd grown to know and miss when it wasn't around. When you did finally pull back, his eyes gazed softly down at you.

"Gods did I miss you," he mumbled, his breaths coming out in small puffs of steam amidst the chilly air. "Y/N, I'm sorry. I should've never left the way I did, and I should have just heard you out, and I know what I did was stupid, but-"

"I'm so glad you're okay." Your soft voice cut through his rambling, and he paused. You pulled him close again, yoru arms wrung so tightly arond his neck that he had to bend at the waist to hug you properly.

"What I'm not okay with though," you said, a hint of defiance creeping in. "Is you challenging and beating up someone two years younger than you for simply asking me on a date."

He pulled back, his brows knitting as he stared at you.

"Yeah, a guy two years younger than me who asked out my girl," he said, and your heart fluttered. "And, a guy you agreed to go out with."

You let out an exasperated laugh. "Bodhi, seriously? He asked me out before... well, before last week," you fumbled. "And besides, I don't remember ever agreeing to be your 'girl' anyways."

His eyes darkened at that, the silence stretching between you thick as tiny rain droplets fell to his shoulders from his curls. His hands gripped your waist, fingers flexing and unflexing.

"Last I checked, you're mine," he said through gritted teeth. "Can't believe you'd even consider a first year, knowing all I could do for you."

A small, sly smile tugged at your lips as you inched closer, your lips mere centimeters from his.

"Well, maybe I prefer thirds."

His eyes widened, and you bit softly on your bottom lip. His hands released your waist, moving instead to lift the cream hood from atop your head. Rain immediately soaked your hair, wetting the braided crown and the long strands flowing behind it.

A mere minute later, his hands cupped your face.

"I only prefer you."

And with that, his lips crashed onto yours.

✧･ﾟ: *

The skill with which Bodhi unlocked his dorm with one hand was impressive, but not something you were hyper-fixated on. Him guiding you through the door and onto his bed while not breaking the kiss with you, was.

"Lie down baby," he rasped, hovering above you while beginning to gently slide your robes off. "Let me take care of you."

Your legs rubbed against one another at that, and he took the action as an initiative to get your clothing off of you as quickly as possible. He blew out a long breath when you were stripped down to only your bra and underwear, his eyes eating you up as though you were his last meal.

"So beautiful," he whispered, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your lips. The speed at which he removed his clothes was also impressive, but again, not what you were focused on. Left only in his boxers, your eyes fell to the large tent beneath them.

"Bodhi... please,"

He chuckled, bending down to slot his face between where your legs dangled from his bed. Luckily, he had the room to himself, being a third-year and all. Unluckily though, you were already a moaning mess as he merely kissed the inside of your thighs.

"Shhhh," he teased, his pointer finger reaching up to circle your clothed clit. "My girl should never have to beg for me."

Your eyes rolled back as he pressed harder, the nerves stimulated in the most delicious of ways. His lips touched your panties covering your core, and he grinned.

"That is... unless I want you to."

Your bottom lip was between your teeth again as he pulled your panties off, his lips and tongue diving straight into your aching pussy. He let out a groan of satisfaction as his tongue swirled inside of you, his finger still spinning small circles against your clit. He drank in every whimper and squeak you illicited before standing once more.

Rising up onto your forearms, he gently took your fingers in his, pressing you back to lie down flat once more.

"Bodhi, I wanna make you-"

"You can next time," he said, his lips lazily kissing down the column of your throat and over your chest. One hand slid beneath your back, expertly unclipping your bra before he pulled it off of you. His breath caught as he took in the bare sight before him, his eyes so dark brown they looked black.

"I want this time to be just for you."

You nodded in understanding, gasping when he leaned down to take one of your nipples between his teeth. He grazed over the swelling bud with expertise, but didn't linger long before trailing the kisses back up to your lips. He shrugs off his boxers, discrading them to the floor before his free hand wraps around his growing length. Your mouth dries as the sheer size of it, longer than his already big palm wrapped around it.

"Is this okay?" He asks, his eyes searching yours for confirmation. You nod, and he squeezes your hand.

"Y/N... you're the best person I've ever met," he admits, aligning his length with your awaiting core. You clench at the small touch, and tears spring to your eyes.

"I really do think I'm in love with you," he admits, looking down at you with caring eyes. A single tear falls from yours as you let out a breathy laugh, leaning up to kiss him before agreeing.

"I think I'm in love with you too, Bodhi."

A smile works its way across his lips, and he holds tight to your hand as he presses his cock in, his eyes studying you as he inches further and further in.

"Bodhi," you whimper, and he halts just before sliding it in to the hilt.

"Are you okay?"

His caring tone warms your heart more than any fire you'd ever sat before, and you stare up at him lovingly.

"Yes -- please, move... oh Gods please-"

He slips his cock from you, pushing back in slowly again before sliding out once more. He set a slow rhythm, his eyes searching your face for any sign of discomfort before speeding up.

"You feel so good," he groaned as his pelvis continued snapping against the backs of your thighs. Your mouth fell open as he drove deeper, the tip of his cock reaching your most inner parts. Your fingers squeezed his, and he leaned in to kiss you again.

"I love you."

The admission had more tears stinging the backs of your eyes, and your watery smile was the best you could muster before answering.

"I love you too, Bodhi."

His thrusts sped up, his breath coming out in soft pants as he continued fucking you. His eyes however, never left yours.

"I love you," he repeated, his fingers squeezing yours. You gasped as he continued thrusting against you, his ab muscles flexing with each minstration.

"I love you... Gods, I really... really do," he gasped, his opposing hand sliding to cup your jaw. His thumb wiped away a stray tear, and your eyes squeezed shut as your back arched.

"Bodhi... please..."

He leaned in, kissing your lips as your core tightened around him.

"Let it go, baby."

You cried out as you came, your walls fluttering around him as he pumped his cum deep inside of you. His breaths tickled against your neck, and you were left gasping for air as you completely let everything go around his cock.

You laid down flat on the bed, your fingers unwrapping from his in favor of tangling in his damp locks once more. His eyes reconnected with yours, his hand tilting your chin to press your lips together again.

"I love you, Bodhi."

He grinned lightly at the admission, his fingers brushing a lock of hair from your forehead.

"I love you, Y/N -- all mine, you're all mine."

Jesinia's words rang loud and true in your mind once more, and for the first time -- you felt you'd finally accepted it.

✧･ﾟ: *

[simphoraa]

Rags to Riches Challenge (Revised) - Sims 3

Created by HedvigsUnicorn & Revised by Simphora

Hey guys! A while ago, I told myself that I wouldn’t attempt to do another challenge until I completed the Sweet & Sour Legacy Challenge, but I lied. As of lately, I have been in the mood to do the Sims 3 Rags to Riches Challenge, but I noticed that it was a lil’ outdated. Sooo, I decided to add and change some of the rules to the Rags to Riches Challenge because I wanted to enhance and toughen the gameplay.

Disclaimer: I did not create the Rags to Riches Challenge. It was created by HedvigsUnicorn. I only revised it.

If you’re interested in doing this challenge, please feel free to tag me: @simphoraa or #ragstorichesrevised. I would love to see your progress and gameplay!

S T O R Y L I N E:

You’ll start with a blank slate—a single Sim with zero Simoleons. Your Sim has been dealt a rough hand in life and is now starting from the absolute bottom of society. They have nothing, but a will to survive and succeed. Will your Sim rise to the challenge? Or, will the weight of their past keep them from reaching the heights they dream of?

The choice is yours—but one thing is certain: success will come at a cost.

T H E U L T I M A T E G O A L:

In this challenge, you struggle your way from homelessness to a rich life! The goal of this challenge is to earn §100,000 in household funds, and fulfill your Sims Lifetime Wish.

R U L E S:

Create a Sim or select a Sim from a household. The Sim can be female or male, but they must be a Young Adult. 

Style your Sim in a worn-out look to reflect a more rugged, carefree style.

Give your Sim the traits of your own choice, but you need to give them the ‘Living in the Lap of Luxury’ Lifetime Wish.

Have your Sim move into an EMPTY LOT of any size, and then build/upgrade your Sims house as you progress in earning Simoleons (Remember: your Sim has to live on the same lot the entire time, they cannot move until their Lifetime Wish is completed).

Feeling extreme? You are not allowed to buy a bed, toilet, shower, and a fridge until you have enough Simoleons to build a house. (OPTIONAL)

Change the household funds to §0. (Open the cheat window (CTRL, Shift, C), and type in "familyfunds ________ 0". Replace the lines with the last name of your Sim). 

Visit friends'/partner houses or community lots for your Sims needs, if needed.

Relationships and marriages are allowed, but your Sims partner or spouse must be unemployed. And if they move in, deduct ALL of the Simoleons that your partner or spouse brings in.

Lifetime points can be used, but you cannot use inheritance or the Dusty Old Lamp.

No public transportation (ex: taxis and subways).

No stealing objects.

No engaging in real estate or growing money trees.

No purchasing any lottery tickets or traveling to the future to cheat the lottery.

Once your Sim has earned at least §10,000 in household funds, they are allowed to travel to other worlds.

Do NOT get a part-time/full-time job or profession. It will defeat the purpose of the challenge.

Do NOT use any money cheat codes (ex: motherload, kaching, or rosebud).

U S E F U L W A Y S O N E A R N I N G S I M O L E O N S:

Collecting (ex: flowers, gemstones, rocks, seeds, insects, etc)

Crafting

Creating potions

Experimental Subject

Dumpster diving

Fishing

Gambling

Gardening

Inventing

Moonlighting

Martial Arts

Nectar Making

Painting

Photography

Playing an instrument for tips

Sculpting

Search the galaxy

Social Networking

Training a pet to hunt

Treasure hunting

Writing

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[nolita-fairytale]

burn your life down | chef luca x fem!reader | chapter one

summary: leaving your old life behind, you move to copenhagen to follow your dream of opening a restaurant. almost a year after opening, luca's quest for inspiration brings him right to your doorstep.

warnings: fluff, eventual smut, eventual angst not use of y/n, second person pov, swearing, danish inaccuracies, very little connection to the world of the bear.

word count: 2500

a/n: remember when i said we'd get pastry chef luca fanfic whether we liked it or not? well, it seems i can't be normal about anything bc i have an outline of (potentially) 10 chapters right now based on this headcanon. while i try to keep reader characters pretty neutral so that you can picture yourself, i have this reader creating food from her own life experiences/cultures so do what you will with that. also, i tagged some peeps from my headcanon post, but please let me know if you'd like to be removed.

masterlist | part two

He’s in search of inspiration when he finds the restaurant – your restaurant. 

It’s an American stagiaire and a single conversation that makes him realize that he’s missing something – that he’s been in need of something fresh, a new perspective– setting him on his quest. 

The best things are inspired. 

Luca stares at a blank piece of paper for what feels like hours, writing a few things down, sketching up an idea, before viciously crossing them out, hopelessly stuck on new ideas for the new menu. After a few half-baked ideas that go nowhere, It occurs to him that he may be in need of a little inspiration himself. He can’t think of the last time he’s taken his own advice, mulling over the carefully-chosen words of wisdom imparted to Marcus a couple of weeks ago, and he’s determined to change that. 

A review in the paper, an old colleague’s recent trip there, and a glowing recommendation from a close friend are what bring him to the restaurant. 

He’s not sure what to expect – having forgone any interest in cuisine described with the words trendy or fusion a long time ago – but Luca reminds himself that it’s the writer’s word choice, not the chef’s, when writing the article. 

When Luca steps into the small home-turned-restaurant, he’s immediately inundated with a warmth, a homeyness, that takes him by surprise. From the open kitchen, to the golden lighting, it feels vastly different from the classic Danish-style, fine dining establishments that have swept the country. 

But Luca reminds himself that the announcement of noma’s 2024 closure, has shifted the conversation around dining culture in Denmark, and already, he can feel that this is the breath of fresh air that he’s been looking for. 

Luca’s seated quickly with care and hospitality by a highly-attentive host, which he only assumes is a symptom of the fact that he read somewhere that you’re an American. While Danish, the host is boisterous, as if he’s known Luca since childhood. Luca smiles politely in response, graciously thanking the man and his chocolate brown curls. 

The menu is small, indicating that each dish receives enough care to be excellent and he likes that, despite being described as trendy and fusion-focused, your menu is creative. It’s different. It’s inspired. 

He chooses the special of the day: the mapo tofu bolognese – a traditionally Italian concept done from an Asian perspective – and the suggested wine pairing.

It doesn’t take long for him to receive his glass of wine, or his food, and he’s pleasantly surprised by how efficient service seems. Stealing glances through the open kitchen, he watches as you and your sous lead dinner service with a kind of compassionate leadership and playfulness that warms him from the inside out. 

“We recommend mixing the whipped tofu into the dish for a creamier sauce. Skal,” his waitress greets, with a warm smile on her face as she sets down the bowl of noodles. 

“Cheers,” Luca replies, his eyes savoring every single detail of the dish. 

It’s somehow elevated, thoughtful, and elegant, yet comforting all at once. 

Luca picks up his fork, using it to collect a little bit of everything – a perfect noodle twirl with just enough sauce, and ground pork before running his fork the whipped topping – raising the fork to his lips for his first bite. 

As the flavors hit his tongue, he closes his eyes, and it’s as if time has stopped, just for a moment. 

The wheat noodles are perfectly al dente while the whipped tofu is almost ricotta-like, transforming into a silky smooth addition to the dish, cutting the tingle and heat of the Sichuan chili peppercorn-based sauce. 

The corners of his lips turn up as he takes a breath, opening his eyes as he savors the delicate layers of flavors. With a crooked smile on his face, he decides that he’ll most certainly be back next week. 

-------------------------------

You make peace with the fact that tonight is one of those nights – a slow night – as you finish washing your hands. It being a slow night, you’d encouraged your staff to up the hospitality at the pre-shift meeting. Treating guests with the utmost personal touches in an effort to build genuine connections would be the focus of tonight’s slow service. In fact, you and Mathilde, your sous chef, had been running dishes out this evening – something you rarely had the luxury to do. 

“You should go say hello,” your sous encourages, nodding towards the dining room through the expansive window of the open kitchen. 

“Thought it was your turn,” you reply in a casual tone, paying no attention to who she’s referencing.

“No, I think you should take this one,” Mathilde nudges you, causing you to look up. You shoot her a funny look, your eyes flickering over the mischievous expression she has on her face, to where she’s gestured towards. 

“To-?” you begin to ask, before seeing exactly who she’s talking about.

“Ehm. Tall, blonde, and tatted!” she emphasizes in a whisper yell. 

You don’t really need the description as you glance over at the dining room, easily spotting the man seated at a two-seater near the front window.

“You’re right. He’s become a bit of a regular,” you agree with a curt nod that means all business, no pleasure, as you move a few things as you walk and talk around the kitchen, tidying up.

“That’s not what I meant,” she scoffs with a playful eye roll. 

“You know, Jesper thought he was Swedish because… look at him… but he’s apparently a Brit,” she gossips with you, her eyes stealing a glance his way. “We’re slow tonight. He’s here every week. Sure he’d appreciate a direct thank you from the chef!” 

“I-,” you hesitate, wondering why she’s so damn insistent on this. “... yeah, alright. I’ll go.”

“That’s my girl!” Mathilde cheers, in a sing-song voice, she hands you the beautifully plated bowl of pasta to take out to the dining room.

As you walk over towards his table, you make a note that it seems as if the mystery man has made this a bit of a routine. He shows every Saturday at exactly 7 pm, week after week, for the past month or so, as if it’s a standing date he has with himself. After his first visit, you half-expected him to bring a date when he returned, or bring a group of friends, or for something different to happen. 

But it hadn’t and you’ve watched him come in, week after week, with a different book each time. He always orders the special of the day and whatever suggested wine pairing Jesper’s recommended that week.

Most Saturday nights you're busy leading a kitchen or cooking on the line – having little to no time to fixate or wonder curiously over your weekly diner – but tonight’s pace affords you the luxury to spend more time at the front of house. Truthfully, you know it’s the thing that sets you apart. Sure, the hospitality here in Copenhagen is excellent, but you bring an American hospitality-style to this restaurant – and above and beyond mentality – that feels welcoming, personal, even, as if your restaurant itself is just an extension of your home. 

You’ve heard your staff – front of house and back of house – whispering about him, all seemingly enamored and enchanted by the charming Brit. All any of you knew about him was that his name was Luca and that he’s always more than kind to your front of house staff. 

He doesn’t say much when he comes in, you’ve noticed, but every Saturday at 7 pm, he’s pushing his way through the front door with punctuality and a gentle ease.

The whisperings from your staff had all revolved around who your mysterious regular must be: whether he was Danish or Swedish, that someone that good looking must already have a partner, that he doesn’t wear a ring. 

You hadn’t paid much attention to the gossip (or at least that’s what you’ve told yourself) more focused on running dinner service then trying to piece together the story of your handsome, mysterious regular. 

“Hello,” you greet him warmly. “I just wanted to come introduce myself and say thank you for becoming one of our regulars. Your support means a lot to all of us.”

“Hi, I’m Luca.”

You share your name with a smile as he shakes your hand. 

Luca turns his attention down to the bowl you’ve put in front of him, his eyes taking in the beautiful presentation hungrily. 

“Wow, this looks… incredible,” he marvels, returning his gaze back to you. 

“Thank you. I’m sure my front of house already walked you through this but if you’d like for me to-,” you begin. 

“Yes, that’d be great, thanks,” he interjects, a crooked smile on his face that makes your heart skip a beat. 

You have to pull your attention away from him, hoping he doesn’t notice that you’re quite possibly gawking at him. 

He’s kind, charming, and he’s easy on the eyes (easy on the eyes, really being an understatement here).

“Today’s special was inspired by a childhood favorite of mine,” you begin, walking him through each component of the dish. 

Crispy Rice. Caramelized marinated trumpet mushrooms and charred broccolini. Your mom’s sauce approached with classic French techniques, courtesy of your sous, Mathilde, a classically French-trained chef. 

It’s a marriage of your story. Of the people around you. It’s your heart and theirs, put into a dish. 

“You’re the chef?” he asks, unable to hide the surprise in his voice. 

“Yes,” you answer, trying your best to get a read on him. 

He balks, and you’re unsure of how you’re supposed to respond. Was he surprised that you’re a woman? That he’s been eating your food the whole time and expected a male chef? Before you can overthink it, Luca clarifies with:

“I’m sorry. It’s just-, I can't think of the last time I saw a head chef work front of house, let alone with this much care.” 

Oh. 

You let down your guard, wondering why you’d assumed the worst when the man’s been nothing but kind to you and your staff so far. 

"We're a little short staffed tonight. And I love getting to talk to diners… especially on nights like this,” you explain, trying your best to sound like you hadn’t just assumed that he was a sexist asshole. 

He shakes his head in disbelief, looking down at the picturesque bowl, then back to you.

Luca is impressed, and he has no intention of hiding it.

He picks up his wine glass by the stem, raising it to you.

"Cheers,” he says. “And thank you. This is a really beautiful dish.”

“Of course. Enjoy,” you reply, giving him a polite smile, before heading back into the kitchen. 

 -------------------------------

“Good service tonight, everybody!” Jesper, your front of house manager, announces while clapping a few times to signal to staff that it’s time for a post shift meeting. 

As you all gather in the pristine front of house space. Some of your cooks have taken their aprons off, others haven’t had a moment to unwind from the shift yet – business picking up in the last hour or so of service. 

Jesper goes through his nightly wrap-up notes, celebrating the wins of tonight, and making sure to celebrate how everyone rallied to pick up pace when business spiked. He’s gregarious, larger-than-life, the kind of person who can talk to anyone about anything, making him an excellent front of house manager, and even better sommelier. You really lucked out with the twins, you think to yourself – with Jesper and Mathilde – when they were more than eager to work with you on opening this restaurant. 

“Oh, and before we go, a client left a gift… table number four,” Jesper says, in reference to Luca’s table. He pulls a tan-colored pastry box from another table, setting it down on a table where everyone can take a look. 

“As a thank you. He requested for me to share. So have it and let’s make a note next time he’s in to really treat him like a VIP.”

One of your most-talented servers opens the box, eliciting a chorus of gasps, giggles, and excited whispers as soon as the assortment of croissants and pastries are revealed. 

You and Mathilde exchange a look as everyone else busy themselves with unpacking the pastry box. Mathilde raises an eyebrow and you’re not sure what to say. Witnessing your silent exchange, Jesper makes his way over to the both of you, before extending his arm to reveal the card he’s holding. 

“And this, my dear…” he begins, exchanging a look with his sister. “...is for you.”

“What do you-, just me?” you ask as you take it, hesitantly. 

“I think so, yeah,” he nods, confidently. 

To the Chef, the front of the card reads. 

“Jesper, let’s check out some of these pastries, yeah?” Mathilde suggests, not so subtly hinting towards her brother. 

He nods, giving you a little space so that you can read the card Luca’s left for you. 

As your staff divvy up the box of laminated pastries, sighing with joy as they taste the decadent, hand-crafted sweets, you take a few steps away to open the note. His handwriting is pristine – perfectly neat in every way, like he’s written over carefully measured invisible lines.

Chef,

Thank you for all of the great meals. I'd like to return the favor, that is, if you're open to it. 

Tomorrow. 5 pm. Dronningens Tværgade 2, 1302

While Luca’s gift has been more-than-generous, you find yourself overwhelmed by questions. Was he a chef too? And why had he not said anything? And what was this gesture all about anyways?

You read the card a few more times, turning the words over in your head as you try to make sense of it. 

Mathilde can see your overwhelm, your eyebrows knitted into one confused expression as she saunters back over to you.

“What does it say?” she asks, curiously. “A love confession perhaps?”

“Mathilde, you really have to stop reading all of those French romance novels!” you tease her. “It’s giving you too many ideas.”

“It’s the only way I keep up with my French!” she defends herself with a lackadaisical shrug, earning a laugh from you.

“Uh no… it’s actually a thank you card… only I think he… wants to feed me,” you share with her, holding the card out so that she can take a look. 

“He’s a chef too?” she asks, taking the card from your hands. 

“I think so, yeah,” you reply, letting out an exasperated laugh. 

“Oh shit!” Mathilde exclaims, as soon as she sees the address that Luca’s written down. 

“What?” you ask her, wondering if there’s something you missed. 

“The address… that’s AOC. I think he’s a chef at AOC, babe,” she gasps, shaking her head as she hands the card back to you, sending a ‘you lucky, bitch’ look your way.

Oh shit, is right.