#briefly mentioned it in my fic too but I should work more with this

[nekrosmos]

Went on a walk under the rain and now I'm drenched to the bone. Which is giving me NikPrice ideas .............

[always-just-red]

I wanted a slightly suggestive fluff with the twins if that's alright👁️👄👁️

A scenario in which they're finally done with Sylus's tasks for the day and get to spend some time with MC

CRYINGGG anon I low-key did deviate from the brief but I had this idea and I just ended up running with it. I hope you enjoy, regardless! I went into this ambivalent towards Luke and Kieran but something just possessed me honestly. Also dragged Sylus into it because there's no way in hell I wasn't subjecting him to this dynamic!! 😇 (I made MC here separate from canon MC for plot reasons, but if you want a fic with the twins and canon MC, just let me know!)

Onychinus' Finest

Luke and Kieran x Reader

Summary: All in a day's work for Sylus's loyal and committed worker bees crows

Genre: fluff & shenanigans

Warnings/Additional tags: MDNI (not smut but it's a lil spicy and I'd rather play it safe tbh), f!reader, nonMC!reader, platonic Sylus x reader, humour, swearing, suggestion, kisses, the twins are just obsessed with your legs honestly and who could blame them

| Word count: 2.1k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Your call connects almost instantly.

“What?” Sylus hisses from the other end, and you get the impression he’s disappointed.

“Oof,” you groan, smiling, “what’s the matter, boss? Waiting on a call from a certain Deepspace Hunter?”

There’s silence in your ear, but not far from you, Kieran snickers. Your smile broadens. “You have three seconds,” Sylus seethes, with the precarity of a pot that could boil over at any moment, “to tell me what I want to hear.”

Three seconds is a bit of a push. You’re sat on a desk and Kieran is tapping away at the computer beside you, the light of the screen catching the sharp features of his mask; he looks like something from a horror story. You nudge his knee with your foot. He glances at you.

Wrap it up, you signal with a twirl of your forefinger.

His mask tilts downwards, almost imperceptibly, and you know he’s glaring at you from behind it. He flashes his middle finger back and you chuckle, watching him return to his work. “Files should be on their way shortly,” you explain to Sylus, because you know when to stop pushing your luck. “Ever’s upped the security on these damn computers. The device that guy sold you didn’t do shit.”

It’s also now pieces of a device, shattered against the floor from when Kieran had thrown it down and stepped on it in frustration. You’re not gonna mention that.

Sylus sighs impatiently, but there’s a hint of regret. “I knew there was something off about that deal. Do you think he tipped them off?”

You glance around the room and it’s littered with bodies. Not dead! Just… unconscious. At least, most of them, you think. “Yeah…” you muse. It was a lot more security than there should have been in a high-rise office in the middle of the night. “You might be onto something there, boss.”

Another sigh from Sylus. You watch Luke as he finishes looting— wait, no— checking the last of the security guards for anything helpful. He’s found a phone and he’s staring down at it, head tilted, reminding you of Mephisto. You briefly wonder what came first: the crow masks or the crow-like behaviour. Maybe you’ll ask Sylus one day.

Luke lifts the phone, holding it at arm’s length, and you realise he’s taking a selfie. He pivots until you and Kieran are in the background, and you lean into the frame, making a peace sign with your free hand. The moment is captured. Luke tosses the phone over his shoulder and it hits the floor with a crack.

“Are you all alright?” Sylus checks, and you know his eyes are burning with frustration, even though you can’t see them. He wears a mask too— most of the time— it’s just a little more figurative than yours or the twins’. You’re an expert at reading past them by now.

“Yeah,” you say, “we signed up for this, remember? You’ve got the best of the best, right here.” You glance between Luke and Kieran. “Well, the best of the best and her sidekicks.”

“Hey!” Kieran interjects. “You wanna have a go on this computer?”

“No,” you lilt back sweetly. What’s he gonna do— make you? Sure enough, he goes back to tapping away, his head sagging slightly, and you can tell he’s pouting.

Luke has wandered closer to the pair of you. “How much longer?” he whines, throwing himself into a wheely chair, setting it on a slow collision course with Kieran’s. You stop it with your leg.

“Shut up,” Kieran snaps. “At least I’m doing something.”

“I can do something,” Luke retorts. He captures your ankle, pulling it away from the leg of his chair, and rests a hand on your shin.

“Something isn’t in the mood right now.” You lift your foot from his grasp, inching it up his lower abdomen, and he groans as you plant it against his chest. “So unprofessional,” you tut.

You’d stifled your phone against your chest, but you can hear a deep voice leaking out of it. “Say that again, boss?” you request, bringing it back to your ear.

“How long is this going to take?” Sylus repeats.

“Not long. You know what they say, though…” You meet the eyes of Luke’s mask. Your tone drops: “All good things to those who wait.”

Luke’s chair squeaks, rolling back as you push him away with a soft kick.

“Fine,” Sylus murmurs, “Mephisto is with me. Stay on the line, and send the files through when you can. I’ll check them before you leave. If they knew we were coming, there’s a chance that—”

“Yeah, yeah, I get the picture,” you interrupt. You get Kieran’s attention again, then gesture between the computer and the phone. The beak of his mask dips as he nods.

Luke has used your lapse of focus to draw himself close to you again. He takes your ankle once more and guides it to rest in his lap, one hand tight— holding you in place— and the other deftly undoing the buckles on your boot. After a few clinks, he pulls it from your foot, the leather dragging down over your skin and leaving it cold. He throws the boot at his twin’s leg.

Kieran huffs as it tumbles to the floor. He doesn’t look away from the computer, but you know he wants to. Now that’s professional.

Decidedly committed to another priority, Luke draws shapes on your lower leg, his finger grazing over your shin and ankle. He’s staring down, fixated, and maybe they aren’t shapes— maybe they’re letters. Every stroke of his finger is deliberate. You could ask what he’s writing, but you really don’t care so long as it’s more than a word or two.

If it is, he doesn’t have the patience for it. His fingers walk higher, stopping only as they reach your knee. The fabric of your dress is draped over your leg and he pushes it aside, letting it slink closer to the floor. He looks up at you, head angled like a question.

“Any progress?” Sylus asks.

You’re holding your phone between your ear and your shoulder, both hands splayed on the desk beside you so you can lean slightly back. “Getting there,” you say, lips curving. You’re not looking at the computer.

You could swear you hear Luke laugh, but it’s ever so faint. He rests his whole hand on you, warming your lower leg with broader strokes, and whatever he wrote has been erased. Your breath catches as his touch moves above your knee, and it’s a tiny sound; no-one would notice.

Kieran’s mask turns towards you. “Oh, come on,” he sighs. “No fair.”

It’s an intimate art: seeing behind a mask. You have to notice everything.

“So hurry up,” Luke answers, his voice heavier than the last time he spoke. His chest rises and falls with every breath, just a little slower, a little deeper.

Kieran rolls his eyes—you guess, from the listless way his attention goes back to the screen— and you detect a huff. “Not fair,” he says to himself. He repeats it as he punches keys with his fingers: “Not fair. Not fair.”

Luke shakes his head gently: a fond exasperation rather than anything serious. He rolls his chair closer until he’s framed by your legs, then lifts your ankle to rest on his shoulder. His fingers curl, the pads of them brushing over the top of your foot idly, but it tickles, so you try to pull away. He grasps your ankle again. “Nuh-uh, kitten,” he teases.

It’s one of your favourite in-jokes; you laugh. Sylus can still hear you, and you’re glad he doesn’t know it’s at his expense. “Something funny?” he asks. Maybe he does know.

“Yeah,” you say. He could string you upside-down with his Evol and you’d still never tell him what.

Luke is chuckling to himself, and the sound changes as he lifts his mask just enough to free the lower half of his face. It’s not the first time, but it sobers you instantly. He turns to press his lips to your ankle, leans in— kisses further up. Leans in again— his mouth moves higher.

“Why so wriggly?” he speaks into your knee. “Stop.”

“You stop,” you counter, reaching forward to grab one of the horns peeking out of his hood. You use it to pull him away. Make him look at you. “Your little book on conquest doesn’t work on me.”

His lips widen into a smirk.  

“What book?” Sylus’s voice echoes.

You smirk as well. “Ask your pet hunter.”

You’re interrupted by a thud and your head spins. Kieran is standing up, slapping the top of the computer in frustration. “C’mon, work!” he urges. “So freakin’ slow.”

“Ah, ah, ah.” You shoo him away from the computer like you would a too-friendly pigeon from your lunch.

He flaps back in answer, his hand engaging yours in a brief slap-fight before he backs down. He slumps into his chair, defeated. “It’s almost there,” he groans, folding his arms. “Hey, Luke? Wanna swap?”

“No.”

“Do it,” you prompt.

Luke’s head rolls begrudgingly. “Yes ma’am. Jeez.” He plants a warm kiss on your leg again before clambering out from underneath it, pulling his mask back down over his face.

Another moment later and Kieran is in front of you instead. “You ok?” you wonder out loud.

“Bored.” He rests his head sideways on your thigh. His fingers find your bare lower leg and he runs them up, down, up, down, but it’s soft and purposeless. Soon, his head lifts— thin, red eyes staring up at you. The gaze doesn’t waver as he leans back in his chair and starts to unfasten your other boot.

“She’s gonna get cold,” Luke quips from the computer.

“Nah. She’s not.”

Your skin prickles as Kieran pulls away your boot, like a reflection of his brother, but tortuously more slow. He lets the cool air of the room set in. “Huh,” he corrects himself. “Maybe she is.”

You get the sense you’re being punished; both of them are petty. You’re pettier, though. “Sylus?” you speak into the phone.

“Mmm?”

“Did I ever tell you about the time that Kieran— ah!”

In a heartbeat Kieran has lifted his mask— not enough, but enough— and planted a kiss above your knee. His hand is around your leg, pushing it further from the other, and you can’t help but gasp again.

“What are you…” Sylus starts to ask, but then he changes his mind. “No. I don’t want to know.”

“You sure, boss?” you chuckle breathlessly. “It might surprise you.”

“Nothing would surprise me at this point, sweetie. Those files had better be on their way.”

You tear your gaze away from Kieran to glance over at Luke. He’s sat, propped on an elbow, his chin in his palm, and he’s definitely not looking at the computer. He sits up straight under your scrutiny. Turns to the screen. After a few more drums of the keyboard, he gives you a thumbs up.

“Got it,” Sylus chimes in, no doubt perusing the files already. “Nothing seems amiss. Nice work.”

“Thanks, boss,” you grin. “I’ve been working very, very hard.”

The phone is snatched from your hand. “She has, sir!” Kieran speaks into it. He stands, putting it on speaker before setting it down beside you. “I think she deserves the night off.”

There’s a crash as he shoves the computer from the desk, and Luke leans back, swinging his feet up onto the now empty space. He lifts his mask marginally to put two fingers to his lips, whistling in celebration. There’s a slow clap for good measure, too.

Kieran bows to him with a flourish. Then to you; you bow your head back.

“I’m hanging up,” Sylus states plainly.

“Ok,” you chirp, distracted. “I hope she calls you soon, boss!”  

“I don’t… I’m not…” your leader stutters. He reconsiders. “Thank you. Don’t think, however, that I’m—”

He doesn’t get to finish the warning, threat, or whatever else it was. Luke’s finger stands proudly on the phone, still connected to the ‘end call’ button. “What?” he dismisses as you and Kieran look at him. “I slipped! If boss asks, you saw me slip.”

“I did see it,” Kieran nods.

“I saw it too,” you add solemnly.  

There’s silence for a single moment, and there’s never silence with you three around. It lasts as long as it usually does.

You all burst into laughter.

[lvrrgirlll]

Knight in Shining Armor

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Pairing: medieval princess ! reader x knight ! Patrick Zweig

Word count: 3k

Warnings: smut, p in v, fem reader, knives mentioned (briefly in a nightmare?), some Christian biblical imagery and mentions of sin/religious related guilt (I was playing into the whole medieval royalty thing idk)

Notes: Thank you guys for all the love on the moodboard/little blurb on this!!! Without all the support I wouldn’t have been inspired to go crazy and write this (I fear this will seem like the most pretentious fic ever written bc I really lent into the medieval thing so the language feels kinda crazy at some points…idk, if y’all were rocking with the last one, you’ll probably rock with this lol) Enjoy!!

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

You did your best to avoid Patrick in court the following days. You were unsure if you could even face him after your dream. But, of course, nothing can last forever. An attempted attack on your wing of the castle (which was, thankfully, stopped by the valiance of Sir Patrick) led to a change that would greatly affect your fate.

As you entered the grand hall of the castle to take your seat in court, you noticed Sir Patrick in his armor —something rather unusual to see in the castle, though you didn't mind— speaking to your father, metal helmet in hand. Your father had always favored Patrick, you presumed for his determination and natural swagger, and acted as such. He was the head knight of the royal guard and spoke with the King frequently. Taking notice of your presence, your father addressed you whilst you curtsied. “Good daughter, what fortune you arrive now of all times. In light of the attack on your wing, I have decided to appoint Sir Patrick himself to be your personal guard. Your safety is of the utmost importance to me and this entire kingdom. It is only right I appoint our best knight.” Your father smiled warmly at Patrick then.

“I thank you, your majesty,” Patrick bows before the King. “I shall be prepared to risk my life for the life of our princess.” At that, he turns to you, offering a look so secretly smug you have trouble maintaining your composure. You simply smile and nod, silently acknowledging the workings of your father and the knight that now create a great dilemma for you.

“Father, I am suddenly feeling quite faint. Might I take my leave and rest for the afternoon?” You just want to get away from him. He’s dangerous. You can hardly control yourself around him. And what’s worse is he knows it.

Your father, concerned, approves of your leave, though you feel dismayed when Sir Patrick follows you. “I am perfectly capable of making my way back, myself. Thank you, sir,” you offer, trying to be as strict as you can, for your own sake more than his.

“M’lady, perhaps you did not understand. As your personal guard, I am tasked with protecting you at all times. This would require that I be with you at all times. The King wills it so.” He speaks formally though his tone is far too pleased to be merely dutiful. You had not considered that. Sighing, you merely nod in understanding before turning again to return to your room.

In your room, Patrick takes his station directly outside the door. “I am only a moment away. Do not hesitate should you need me.” He may not know exactly how you may need him…

You nod, though, smiling softly before closing the door, creating a divide between the two of you. You are overcome by desire. You feel dirty, guilty, and wrong…but you know he feels the same. And he is noble; he is a gentleman…would it be so bad if you acted on your feelings? God, you feel foolish. You have hardly spoken to him in the years he has served at the castle. What feelings could you really be harboring?

Sick of your racing thoughts, you resolve that a nap would be the best right now. In your sleep, though, you dream of enemies breaking through your windows and climbing up the tower of your wing. It is utterly terrifying. You can feel yourself stirring, heart racing and sweating profusely, as your subconscious plays tricks on you. In your nightmare, a cloaked figure, face hidden in the shadows of his hood, plunges a dagger through your heart, causing you to lurch awake with a loud cry. You are breathing heavily, trying to adjust to your new, real surroundings and shake the terror of the dream when you hear Sir Patrick through the door.

“Your Majesty? Are you alright…?” You do not answer, still shaken and attempting to compose yourself. “I am entering, m'lady.” And before you can tell him not to, that you’re alright, Patrick burst through the door, already reaching for his sword. Seeing you are merely sat in bed, his urgency leaves him, concern taking over. “Is there not a threat?” He observes, then, the state you are in. Dressed only in your thin, white nightgown (which has grown somewhat see-through on account of your nightmare induced sweat soaking through the fabric), Patrick is reduced to nothing but a mere man in love, forgetting himself entirely. Unbeknownst to you, he adjusts himself in his trousers, clearing his throat.

The room is illuminated only by the cold, pale light of the moon shining through your large paned windows. Shadows dance across his features as a breeze blows the trees outside steadily. He has never looked more beautiful. Both concern and lust play on his face, leaving you to squirm just a bit more than you normally would have under his gaze. Looking down then, you reply, embarrassed. “Forgive me for my foolishness. There is no present threat. I am sorry to have wasted your time and effort, good sir.” You bow your head in remorse. This on its own is a sign of you respect for the knight before you. Technically, he should be bowing to you, but under his gaze you feel so small, yet so regarded at the same time. It is unlike with any other man, though it is rare you interact with many often anyways. You lift your head, meeting his eyes again and feeling your stomach flip.

A pang of guilt runs through you as you realize you are noticeably smiling at him. Despite his nobility, you believe the two of you would never be. The only way your union: emotional, physical, spiritual, or (more officially) marital would ever occur would be if your father willed it. And though Sir Patrick was your father’s right hand man, it was the relationship of that of an employer and his best employee, not that of father and son nor of old companions.

Your smile dropped and so did his. He knew what he was doing, his silent, unspoken, but clear pursuit of you ever since that fateful night was wrong. But he did not care. He had no regard for his own life or death, he was a knight, after all. He risked himself for this kingdom, he would be willing to risk himself for you. He brought a hand up, cupping your face in his large palm, and offering you a sorry smile. “To defend you, threat or no threat, is my life’s honor, m’lady. You have wasted nothing of mine.” His hand brushed your ear as he tucked your hair behind it. Seeing you with your hair down for the first time was something entirely new to him, similar to when you first saw him shirtless that night. In typical court fashion, you would never leave your chambers with your hair fully down. Seeing you so bare, so honest, and unadorned felt novelty. He was grateful for his wit, being able to convince the King that he should serve you personally.

You, however, were so deeply conflicted. You knew better. Your station in society as well as in life did not allow for these endeavors. But your mind, you body, your heart…they longed for your knight in shining armor. His touch, though somewhat chaste, only holding your head in his hands, felt deeply intimate. You considered your options. “Sir, might I ask your discretion in asking a favor?” Your felt fearful of your own desires, but conjured up as much confidence as possible.

“Always, m’lady.”

You tugged your bottom lip into your mouth for a moment, before continuing. “M- might you…kiss me?” It was hard to maintain your composure, overcome with shame as you looked up pleadingly into his eyes. It was only the two of you in your bedchamber, the door closed —yet another forbidden thing.

Softening, a smirk gracing his features, he sighed. “I would be a fool not to.” This was exactly what he had been wanting since he first saw a portrait of you. The strength required of his position kept his feelings concealed, but in this one, small moment alone with you, he could reveal them. He leaned in slowly, closing the gap between you as his lips move against yours feverishly. You can feel his tongue dart out and wet your bottom lip, but you pull away quickly before he is able to deepen the kiss.

“I am sorry. This is…” you search for the words, not wanting to be so harsh but wanting to be clear. “This is sinful.” Your eyes meet his, pleading for him to offer you a reprieve from your consuming feelings by distancing himself. Though, that twinkle behind your eyes and in the corner of your lips betrayed you. He could see you had fallen for him the same as he for you.

He takes a seat next to you on your bed, looking into your eyes earnestly. “If I it is a sin to touch you, I would become a sinner every day till I am dragged to hell, should you allow me?” He was begging you to let him touch you, feel you, love you. And who would you be to deny him?

You were quiet for a moment, considering your fate and whether or not you would be able to find absolution after giving in. Throwing caution to the wind, you allow yourself, for once, to make your own decisions. "Please, good sir. Touch me. Take me, for I am all yours."

He wasted no time, leaning in to kiss you, his armor clanging against itself as he did so. The kiss was passionate, the years of admiring you from afar being poured out in this one moment. Breaking the kiss, suddenly, he stood, leaving you confused until he began swiftly removing his armor. He made sure to set each piece down gently, so as not to alert and servants lingering nearby of his presence in your chambers. You tried to stifle your smile as his form was revealed more and more with each layer of metal gone. It was new and exciting, and his gentleness despite his clear eagerness was unbelievably admirable.

Once he had removed it all, clad only in a white linen undershirt and trousers, he returned to your bed, leaning over you and pulling you into another deep kiss. This time, he slipped his tongue into your mouth, licking softly into it, his nose brushing against your cheek as he pressed closer into you, as if he longed for your two bodies to be one. It was impossible to be any closer, but you did not mind one bit. Though timid at first, your kisses matched his fervor. You could feel his calloused hand combing through your hair as his other snuck lower, carressing you through your nightgown. You let out a shivered breath at his touch.

"Is this alright, my lady?" He pulled back, looking into your eyes longingly. God, forgive you, but you needed this so badly. You both did.

You nodded, lifting your hips to gather your nightgown up and off of you, casting it aside carelessly. Now, you really felt exposed. But something about Patrick made you want to feel honest; made you want to seek pleasure shamelessly. His eyes widened in tandem with his smirk. He was so pleased and so in love.

"I've never...I-...I'm a virgin," you admitted, looking up at him through your thick lashes. His smile only widened, but not in some sort of sick, smarmy way. It was genuine and kind.

"Oh, I know, your highness. Or...I imagined as much. Not to worry, I am well aware of how to please a woman," he spoke softly, trying not to intimidate you. You would have taken offense at his mention of his previous experience, but you had imagined he was experienced in the first place, as many men and knights of his age are by now. It is different for you, a princess, always expected to remain pure. With him, you did not fear impurity after this. You felt strongly that you would steadfast remain pure in his eyes till the end of time.

He leaned in again, placing hot kisses along your neck. He moved to remove his trousers as he did so, working at the string that held them up quickly. As he did so, your fingers found their way to the tie that held his shirt together, pulling at the string with a new confidence, you brought your hands to the hem and he pulled away from your neck to remove his shirt. Both his bandages and bruises were gone, a good sign, but there was a scar where he had been scratched, a reminder of your previous encounter.

His trousers finally hanging low around his legs, he teased himself around your entrance, causing you to jolt and whimper beneath him. The feeling was entirely foreign but oh so enchanting. He reached a hand down, running his fingers through your folds, smirking at the wetness that gathered on his fingers. "You are like the Lady of The Lake...beautiful, otherworldly, and so, so wet..." Patrick murmured lustfully. It was such a dirty compliment, but you were so deeply moved.

Like your dream, you were both under your layers upon layers of white sheets, so warm, close, and intimate. His fingers danced around your clit, circling it at an agonizingly slow pace. You gasped, sucking in a breath quickly and biting your lip so as not to make any more sound. He did not miss this, leaning in to peck you on the lips before reminding you "The walls are stone, the door thick oak and iron. We should be cautious, yes, but you mustn't be embarrassed to make a sound. It is better, in fact, if you do."

His reassurance brought a smile to your face as you dropped your lip from your teeth, a sign that you were allowing yourself the honesty you so craved with Patrick. He resumed his hand movements around your most sensitive spot, causing you to let out a symphony of high pitched gasps. His fingers moved away then, moving down and slipping inside of you, first one, then another. The stretch was unfamiliar and hurt a bit, something your scrunched eyebrows didn't hide, but he did not move them for a moment, allowing you to adjust. "All will be well," he cooed into your ear, lips brushing against your skin. "I just need to warm you up."

His fingers began to move, first only in and out at a steady pace, but soon replaced by him scissoring his fingers deep inside of you, your walls squuezing him tightly. "Good sir..." you sighed in pleasure.

"Patrick," he corrected. "You may call me by my God given name: Patrick."

"Patrick..." you sighed again as he quickened the pace of his fingers. To your surprise, though, he pulled his fingers out abruptly. You almost protested, but he swiftly replaced his fingers with his cock, pushing lightly at your entrance.

"May I," he asked, looking into you eyes unwaveringly.

"Please," you nearly moaned in response. He followed your request, sheathing himself inside of you slowly, allowing you time to adjust to the thickness and length that so differed from that of his fingers. He watched your reaction carefully, taking in the way your breath hitches and your eyes flutter shut, eyebrows knitting together in both pleasure and pain. You inhaled sharply as he bottoms out, feeling as if he was practically prodding at your stomach.

"Are you ready for me to move," he inquired, eyes lidded and breathing already heavy in awe of you beneath him.

Looking up at him then, as if he were an angel or possibly some type of temptation sent by the devil that you had so easily fallen for, like Eve and the apple, you yearned to take a bite. "Patrick," it felt unfamiliar to address him so informally, but there was an undeniable intimacy in doing so as well. "If I should wait any longer it may kill me."

With that, he began moving, his pace quick but not agonizing, instead quite tender. You cried out, moans, sighs, and gasps leaving your lips repeatedly as his hips met yours time and time again. His gaze didn't leave yours, except when he would close his eyes, losing himself in a particularly deep thrust. His skin on yours was warm, a stark difference from your naturally cold body. "God, Princess, you are better than I've ever imagined."

The thought that he had imagined this with you made you feel elated, but you couldn't even bring yourself to offer a witty reply, overtaken by pleasure. "P- Patrick," you moaned, your whole body feeling hot suddenly. He quickened his pace just a bit, leaning in to suck at your neck as his other hand came up to toy with your hardened nipples. It felt so sinful but so perfect and right. How could something this good ever be wrong?

At his added touch, hips still pistoning in and out of you, it all felt like too much. Your stomach began to tighten, walls clenched tightly around him, bringing him to an almost sorry state as his jaw went slack, eyes closing suddenly and his thrusts becoming sloppier. It was impossible to restrain yourself as your hips began bucking up to meet his. "Please, please, please," you didn't even know what you were asking for but you knew you needed it.

"I'm there too, Princess. Come on, let's finish together..." he moved his hand from your chest to you clit, rubbing swift circles as he slammed his hips into yours. Pleasure finally overtook you entirely as you fluttered around him, body stiffening and falling weak as you reach your high. He pulled out of you quickly, his hand moving to finish himself off lazily on your stomach through stifled grunts. When you were both completely spent, he momentarily laid next to you in bed, both of you looking up at the grand vaulted ceilings of your bedchambers.

"Thank you, Patrick, for showing me a kindness I should never know how to repay," you whisper softly. He sits up slightly, turning to you and offering a chaste kiss to your cheek.

"You should never have to 'repay' me. After all, I live to serve you, my dear Princess."

[getitoutofmymindwrites]

The crushing | joel miller x f!reader, 5.2k

Summary: This is the story of a man who had everything in the palm of his hand and traded it all for an empty space in the hollow of his heart. Or This story follows Joel, two to three years after he cheated on his wife.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, ANGST, cheater!Joel, Joel's POV, this is NOT “The Falling” from Joel's POV, brief mention of smut (p i v) but nothing too graphic (I think), self-loathing, depression, therapy, flashbacks and memories from the past, alcohol consumption, Tommy being a supportive brother (eventually), as always let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: Ok, so, Joel gave me a whiplash on this one, he was either staring at me through the screen giving me nothing, or he was mumbling unintelligibly in my ear while I was trying to keep up with him. It started out as a final chapter, but I really think that this part should be Joel's POV and the next and -probably- final one should be the resolving, however that may come. I guess it can be read as a standalone, but if you're interested, it's a sequel to “The Falling”. I edited it seven thousand times because I kept adding things along the way, so I hope it all makes some sense and there are not too many mistakes.. Thank you for taking the time to read anything I write! Love you all! 🥰😘

P.S.: I just wanted to take a moment and let you know that I really appreciate everyone who has read, liked, commented, reblogged and asked about “The Falling”. I honestly didn't think a single soul would take the time to read that kind of story. It means more than you know and I didn’t take lightly how close to home this fic hit for some people; yet you’ve given it a chance, sharing some of your own experiences with me. I love you all, take care and I'll see you -hopefully- in the comments! 🥹🫂

Dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics

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...need your reassurance...

...your only focus…

...for the foreseeable future...

He did make it his sole focus. Because of course, he closed the deal, even after he left that damn table like a madman. He still found a way to get what he wanted. That's the man he was. And he wasn't sure if he hated himself for it or not. But self-loathing was a daily occurrence now, so one more reason added to the list was nothing he couldn't handle.

For two years he would wake up every day, is it called waking up if he doesn’t sleep at all?, he would work his ass off, he would go home, he would sink into despair and then he would start all over again the next day. A vicious cycle consisting of 730 days in a row. The deafening silence within the walls of the house was excruciating, the loneliness was unbearable. Even the light penetrating through the windows seemed different than when you were there with him, a dullness surrounding every corner of the now barely lived in space.

You. He hadn’t seen your face in 730 days. He hadn’t smelled your scent or touched your soft skin. He barely listened to your voice anymore, any form of unavoidable communication, you preferred to be conducted by the lawyers, or via text messages, at the most. At the 731st one, he finally knew, something had to change. He couldn’t repeat another day, like all the others that came and went. He simply couldn’t.

Tommy suggested that therapy might help Joel, a few times, but he refused every one of them. Maria was keeping her distance, her place was delicate, being his brother’s wife but also his wife’s best friend. Surprisingly, she was the one who finally got through to him.

“Are you gonna stay a recluse for the rest of your miserable life, then?” Maria wonders, switching her gaze between Joel and the dining room. Everything was untouched, as you left them when you moved out, but the place felt empty, depressing, probably mirroring Joel’s existence.

Joel sighs, closing his eyes briefly. “I’m not a recluse..”, he snarls through his teeth, rolling his eyes at her. He was more than eager to be done with the dinner his sister-in-law insisted on having in his house and be left alone, in his natural state. Alone. Infuriating woman.

“What do you call that?”, Maria persists, goddamn lawyer to the bone.

“What?!” Joel spits back pissed off, looking at his brother next, for support.

“That!” she gestures around his body and his surroundings. “The way you go on for the past two years! Either get over it or do something about it!”, she doesn’t hold back, even when Tommy proposes a gentler approach. Yeah, look where it got you, is the paid answer, so Tommy steps back, shaking his head and raising his hands up in surrender.

“You’ve got him on a leash, hm?”, Joel jokes absentmindedly, “Can you breathe alright, Tommy boy?”, earning himself a hard glare from Maria.

“Maybe the wrong Miller is on a leash..” Maria mutters, causing Tommy’s eyes to widen in horror.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”, Joel retorts doing a double back at her.

“Means that freedom is for those who can bear it.”, Maria throws her napkin on her plate and leaves the room. Joel remains silent, pondering the meaning of her words. It would be a long time before he understood what she meant.

Therapy was hard.

Therapy was hard because he had to do it for himself. He had to concentrate on himself. He thought, being the contractor that he was, that he would walk into the room, get the answers he needed and fix his marriage, just as he rearranged the bricks and the wood and the steel on the construction sites.

But this wasn’t about his marriage. His marriage and the way it crumbled down was the aftermath, he came to learn. It was the outcome of insecurities, selfishness, lack of communication, ungratefulness.

He got it all wrong. Everything. Every little thing. He had to rewire his brain and change every point of view he was holding onto. Honesty. Honesty was the key.

“Why didn’t you reach out to your wife after that night?”, his therapist insists.

“I respected her boundaries.”, Joel was quick to respond.

“And what were those?”

“She didn’t want to see me.”

“Did she say that?”

“No-, I mean-, the way she left that night, she didn’t say much in general. But she blocked my number, so.”, he shrugs in defence.

“So, how can you be so sure that she didn't want to see you? Even if you're right, it doesn't mean that she didn't expect a reaction from you, or that you weren't allowed to try, if that’s what you wanted.”

“Why would she? I upset her, she needed time to think, work things out.”, Joel explains.

The therapist swipes her fingers over her lips, contemplating her approach. “Joel, you walk into your bedroom, into what is supposed to be a safe place and you see your partner with another person in an intimate moment. How does that make you feel? Just say the first words that come to mind.”, his therapist changes the point of view.

Joel shudders just at the thought of it. You, naked, flushed, lips parted and swollen, skin sweaty, breaths short and pupils blown wide, coming for anyone other than him. It would utterly destroy him. “Furious, pissed, betrayed, heartbroken.. I think I would lose it, if I’m honest.” he admits instantly, in his haste to throw the abomination of this image from his thoughts.

“I see. But in her case, you think your wife was just upset?”

“No, of course not.” Joel slightly frowns, shaking his head.

“Do you think she felt all those feelings that you just described to me?”

“I believe so, yes.”, god this is so hard.

“You believe so?” the therapist pushes, again.

Joel’s nostrils flare from the sharp inhale, “I know so.”

“So, she wasn’t just upset.” the therapist concludes and Joel agrees without meeting her eyes, “No, she wasn’t.”

Over time, Joel came to realize that his choice of words was a subconscious attempt to diminish the seriousness of his actions.

“You said in a previous session that you gave space to your wife to work things out.”

“Yeah, it was only fair.”, Joel confirms.

“So, it was hard for you to give her that space?”

“Yes, of course, I missed her every day.”

“Was that a constant in your relationship?”, the therapist wonders.

“I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”

“How did you work things out as a couple, before? I assume you had difficult times as partners, no?”

“Nothing major to be honest, my wife was a very calm and reasonable person. If anything occurred she would talk to me about it.”

“And how did you respond to that?”

“Uh, I was there to listen, we always found a solution together as a couple.”

“Hmhm, so, what changed this time?”

“What do you mean?” He knew exactly what she meant.

“Why didn’t you talk to her? Communicate with her? Maybe help her see your side of things, like you did before, find your way out of this together, as partners.” his therapist explains. “And even before the infidelity, did you let her know that something was bothering you, that you felt differently?”

"I didn't feel differently about my wife. My feelings for her never changed.", he immediately corrects her. "My love for her was never the problem," he confesses and it's the first time since his therapy began that he's shared something so personal, so private.

“But there was a problem, something was wrong if you felt the need to be intimate with another woman. So, why did you keep that from her?”

Joel opens his mouth already knowing he does not have an answer. Or that he doesn't want to give one. He shakes his head, raising his brows in a silent admission that he can’t answer that. Or he won't. His gaze is fixed on a loose thread on the fabric of the couch, his fingers keep picking on it.

“Joel?”

“I- I don’t know what you want me to say, I don’t know.” he keeps shaking his head. He can’t answer that. He won't.

He was so angry when he left the session that day. He was so angry at you. He was angry at your honesty, your clarity, your courage to have a mind of your own and to speak it freely, knowing full well that probably no one else shared the same opinions as you did. That's what he loved most about you, but now he hated it.

“Own it, Joel. Own what you have done. At least that way it will be worth something. Otherwise it was all for nothing.”

This was one of the last things you said to him on the phone, while he was trying to persuade you to change your mind about the divorce. You were always so brave about those matters. Matters of the heart, of integrity. He remembers you always talking about things that he found admirable but utopian. Easy in theory, hard in practice.

“I need to be able to sleep at night. I need to own my decisions; not because I’m always right, far from it, but at least I know I’m being honest with myself. And that matters.” he recalls one of your late-night talks.

You usually found it easier to share your most vulnerable thoughts once you were thoroughly fucked and satiated. When Joel held you in his arms, your breaths almost shared over the same pillow, your scents and your fluids mixed together.

“We’re all imperfect beings, flawed; we all feel embarrassed when we fuck up,” you continue, “it’s hard to admit our mistakes to others, I get that. But deep down we always know what we’re doing and why we’re doing it. Admitting it only helps us to be present in our lives.”

“Be present?”, Joel seems fascinated by the way your mind weaves your thoughts together into deeply rooted beliefs.

“Yes, my love, there's no greater freedom than to live your life truthfully.” you smile at him, softly. Your sleepy eyes roam his face affectionately. Your fingertips caress his jawline, your thumb pressing lightly against the bare patch of his beard. He can feel your devotion pouring from your fingers and sinking into his skin at that moment.

“That’s one of my greatest fears, you know. Living my life in ignorance, in a lie.”, you whisper your deepest insecurity against his soft lips. His hold on you tightens as he rolls you onto your back, nestling his hips between your welcoming thighs. You are safe in these arms. His arms. You surrender to him, body and soul. You can feel his growing erection pressing between your folds, already wet from your combined releases. He tenderly brushes his lips against yours and slowly licks his way into your parted mouth, as he intertwines his fingers with yours. He enters you in one fluid, slow thrust, his warm exhale cooling your wet lips. “Then let me give you something real.”

Thinking back to those moments, Joel couldn't reconcile himself to the fact that he was the one who had brought that fear of yours to life. What broke him was that it was not a lie. Your life together had not been a lie. He loved you. In fact, he was burning up for you. He was a man of control, but not with you. Never with you. You consumed his every thought; being around you for too long made his lungs constrict in pain, begging for a deep breath. Sometimes he was worried sick that if he completely let himself love you like he needed to, he would suffocate you. He loved you. And it killed him that his actions suggested otherwise.

But at some point he had to be honest with himself. He was just protecting his ego. He was trying to get the upper hand out of a shitty, compromising situation. He wasn't being thoughtful, he was being selfish. He was biding his time. He thought the longer he left ‘it’ untouched, the less it would hurt when the inevitable time of confrontation came. He was scared out of his mind that he would lose you forever. No second chances, no redemption, no reconciliation.

No lingering scent on his pillow as your hair pools there, under his chin, as you nestle your face between his neck and shoulder, breathing him in. No laughter through the enormous house, damn, why did he build it so big; you never clarified what the disbelief in your eyes meant when he said he built this house for you, while he pulls you up on your feet for a silly cowboy dance.

No more gentle touches, no more noses brushing together as a silent goodbye in the kitchen before you rush off to work. No more turning around just before you open the door to leave, running to him like a little girl, giving him quick, hungry pecks on the lips while he laughs on your mouth, squeezes your butt cheek and slaps it playfully to say goodbye. Later, baby, he would promise you, his teeth nipping at your earlobe and he could feel your skin crawling with anticipation.

No more I love yous, either breathed, either whispered, either panted, as he makes a home for himself inside your warmth.

When did he fuck you last? He used to have you every day. You craved it every day. You craved him. Why did he stop telling you he loved you every chance he got? When was the last time you said it?

A week before that fateful night, when you touched him longingly, aching for him to touch you back and he told you he had work to do, he wasn’t a teenager anymore. Why the hell did he say that? Why did he sit there and watch the light fading from your eyes? I love you, you said with a sigh against his temple and walked out of his office defeated. Why did you say that? Did you know? Did you suspect? Why didn’t you fight him? You should have said something, anything, pushed him, punched him in the chest, woken him up. Would he have woken up? Or did he need that to come to his senses? Does he have to fall? Does this falling ever stop? Does he have to let you go? Will you come back to him? Does he deserve you?

Days blurred seamlessly into one another. Joel drifted further and further away from everyone. The house haunted him, all the progress he was making within the therapy walls was dissipating once he stepped inside the cold space of his empty house. Leaving the confines of it was his first thought in the morning, while he hurriedly dressed to go to his office far earlier than necessary and his last when he closed his eyes, as he laid his weary limbs on the couch, chasing still your now long gone scent on its fabric, knowing another sleepless night was his only companion until the first rays of sunlight hit the floor-to-ceiling windows to announce the beginning of another day.

People at work tiptoed around him, not knowing how to act. It was as if he was there, but not really. He was focused solely on the Marks project, mechanically going through board meetings, paperwork and supervising the construction site. He. Just. Wasn’t. There.

Joel, will you please sign the papers?

He simply stares at the text message for a good full minute, his thumbs hovering over the screen of his phone. This was one of the rare occasions you had initiated communication with him, always about the progress of the divorce.

No, no, I won’t, the little toddler in him screams, stamping his little feet on the ground.

The papers are not ready.

Joel texts back. He keeps it simple, frightened he might not get an answer back.

Joel, we both know they are. I don’t want any of your assets or your money; this is an easy signature, please.

An easy signature? You think he cares about the houses, or the cars, or the money?

You know I can’t accept that. The house is yours and so is a good part of the money.

The point was to share this house together, Joel, don’t you think us splitting up kind of defeats the purpose? And what on earth makes you think I would ever want to go back in there?

So, there’s nothing I can do to make this easier for you?

Easier? You think money or property can make up for what you’ve done?

Of course not, I wasn’t implying anything like that. Just wanna do something for you, anything.

Can you turn back time?

Of course, he can't. So, he doesn't know what to say to that. He just keeps staring at the screen, lost in thought. After 2 minutes another text follows.

?

You know I can’t..

Sign the papers. Please.

“Is there anything in particular you want to talk about today, or should I take the lead?”

“Actually I’ve been thinking a lot about that night.”, Joel suggests for the first time. He usually lets the therapist decide where to steer the conversation, then simply refuses to elaborate until he feels ready to talk.

“What about it?”, he shifts his gaze from the window to the direction of her voice.

“I should probably rephrase that. I’m always thinking about that night, repeating it in my head again and again and I’m troubled by something I realized.”

His therapist nods to signal that she's listening.

“Why did she just leave? The more I think about it, the more it doesn’t make sense to me. She just left. No shouting, no breaking things, no attacking either me or-”, her. “Why she didn’t stay? Why she didn’t insist that I leave? She was just- so quiet.”

The therapist smiles in recognition of Joel's near breakthrough. They were beginning to get somewhere, his empathy nudging him under the surface.

“I'm really glad you mentioned that, Joel, so I'd like to take you back to that night and try to understand what might have been going through your wife's mind at that moment," she explains.

“So, she walks into the house, finds her safe space violated by her husband, and she chooses to handle the situation calmly and quietly-” Joel tries to stop her, but she already knows what he's going to ask. “I can't tell you why she chose that path, that's for her to answer, only she knows why.” His therapist continues, “She is making one request of you and one request only, can you tell me what it is?”

“She asked me to leave the house.”

“Hmhm.” the therapist looks at him expectantly.

“I just wanted to talk to her.”, Joel elaborates, “I thought that if I refused to leave, she would accept to listen to me.”

“So you forced your needs on her, while she was in a particularly fragile state of mind.”

“I should have made my intentions clearer, you mean?”

“I mean, that maybe you shouldn’t have had any expectations in the first place. Why do you think was so important to you, to explain yourself right at that moment?”

“Because I knew it was probably the last time I would see her for a while, I just wanted to ease her pain, why is that so wrong? Should I be indifferent? Would that be better?”

“Did it ever occur to you that you might be depriving her of her right to choose?” Come on, Joel, break some eggs.

Joel now begins to make connections. He rubs his hand over his face, the realization of what has really happened crushing him. “Oh, god, I-” He's been so selfish from the start. He hasn't shown you any respect, not even at this delicate moment. He didn't give you a choice as to whether you wanted to listen to him or not. He didn't even let you choose where you wanted to stay. He just made you leave the house. Did he make you believe he wanted you to leave? That he wanted her to stay? Because he didn’t. Fuck. “-I never thought about it like that.”

Fuck.

How could he be so blind? Why was he so blind?

His therapist insisted on it. Because no matter how much progress Joel made over the course of a year, he never revealed the true reason behind his infidelity.

“Joel, we’ve talked about a lot of things; you’ve tried really hard to make this all about your wife and about understanding what she was feeling and how your actions have affected her, but as I keep reminding you”, she smiles understandingly, “you’re the one in therapy, you need to heal your wounds before you even attempt to heal hers. And although it is in fact a really noble thought, this” she gestures between them, “can only work if you do it for yourself. I know it may sound selfish, but I promise you, it is not. It is the exact opposite.”

Fuck.

“Yeah?”, his voice hoarse from sleep as he answers the door after the insistent knock at it. Tommy looks at him surprised once he opens it, “You’re sleeping, already?”. No, he wasn’t. He wouldn’t call it that. But when he goes almost a week without any proper rest, passing out is the right word for what he’s doing. “Yeah, I guess I dosed off..” Joel lies. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.” Tommy responds as he squeezes himself through the door to enter the house. “Yeah, sure, come on in.”, Joel mutters under his breath. “You just saw me at work this morning, is everything all right?”

“I just came to check on you.” Tommy confesses uncomfortably.

“You could have called.”

“Would you have answered?” Tommy deadpans.

Touché.

“Tell Maria I’m fine, Tommy, no need to worry about me; go spend the night where it counts.”, Joel replies in an attempt to push him away, as he walks farther into the house, rounding the kitchen island.

“Hey, brother, I’m here, I am here for you.” Tommy’s eyes narrow in pain and concern as he stares at his sibling's back, following behind him.

Joel exhales hard through his nose, his grip tight as he grabs the edges of the counter, his head lowering between his shoulder blades.

“You shouldn’t, nobody should.” Joel sighs, rubbing the pads of his fingers across his forehead.

“Ok, that’s enough.” Tommy snaps at him. “Enough self-loathing, enough resignation. Enough. You’ve punished yourself enough.”

Joel laughs at that. “Is that right? Is it enough for you? What about her?” he asks, his head turned to the side, looking at his brother over his shoulder.

“What?” Tommy is genuinely confused.

Joel turns his back, resting his waist on the edge of the counter, now looking straight at Tommy. “I should have what? Just get on with my life? Let it all be water under the bridge? Disrespect her even more?”

“Jesus..” Tommy mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand, the other resting on his hip, his eyes shut in frustration.

“Are you doing this for her? Does she even know that?”

“It doesn’t matter, Tommy!” Joel raises his voice, exasperated. “I’m not doing this for her, I’m not doing anything for her, apparently and that’s the problem.”, his voice breaks, the lump in his throat too big to push down. “She’s not here anymore, Tommy.” he’s standing fully on his feet now, pushing himself away from the counter, leaning slightly forward, like he’s trying to make his brother understand; his eyes are glazed, Tommy had never seen him so devastated before. “She’s gone. I’ve lost her.”, his palms clenched in fists in front of his chest, resisting the urge to wrap them around his shirt and rip it to shreds, as he wants to do with his heart.

“I thought therapy was working..” Tommy whispers, his eyes dropping to the floor beneath him.

“Oh, it’s working, all right!” Joel chuckles in irony, sniffing his nose. “I’m getting a front-row seat, witnessing what a piece of shit I am-”

“Hey!” Tommy tries to cut him off.

“-what on earth was she doing with me to begin with, is beyond me.”

“HEY!” Tommy's eyes bulge out of his sockets, angry at his brother's self-deprecating words. Joel bends his waist forward, puts his elbows on the island in front of him and lets his head sink in again.

“Ok.” Tommy breathes deeply to ground himself, his hands in a position of a prayer in front of his mouth, “Ok, we could both use a drink.” he realizes, as he moves to open the cupboard to grab two tumblers and the whiskey from the shelf with the drinks. “..or five.”

The two brothers drink their first round in silence, both calming their nerves down. Tommy refills their glasses without asking; he knows this is going to be a long night.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.” Tommy begins, pushing Joel’s drink back towards him. Joel wringles his brows in confusion, “What are you talking about? You’re always there for me.”

“No, I haven’t, not really.” Tommy admits, “I let Maria take over when all this happened and I’m sorry.”

“There was nothing you could do, Tommy, don’t sweat it.”

“Let me say this, please.” Tommy raises his hand, his palm facing his brother. “I was just- fuck, we all knew how much you loved her, how much you loved each other, so when it all went down, I just didn’t know how to deal with it. What to say to you, how to comfort you. I didn't know how to deal with you.”

“You blamed me.” Joel says matter-of-factly.

“No-”, Tommy weakly refuses but Joel shakes his head dismissively, interrupting him. “It’s ok, Tommy, you should.”

Tommy looks embarrassed, his cheeks slightly pinkish, not only from the whiskey. “It’s just that I- I couldn’t reconcile the image of the man you were with her, with.. you know..”, he stutters.

“..the image of a cheater. Say it.” Joel adds.

Tommy shakes his head, like he still can't believe what's happened. “Besides, while she was staying with us those first few weeks I saw how devastated she was, man- she was a shell of a woman, so I was confused, I didn’t know how-”

“Tommy. Tommy, it’s fine.” Joel feels his skin crawl visualizing you like that in his head, cutting his brother off once again; he deserves every ounce of mistrust and he knows it.

“No, it’s not.” Tommy insists. “Yes, you fucked up. Brother, you really did. You did a number on her-”, Joel’s body tenses instantly at his brother’s words, his jaw clenching as his eyes darken, moving down to his hands, his grip on the tumbler tightening, his knuckles turning white and Tommy stops abruptly, “shit, sorry, I didn’t mean-”, his face twitches with regret.

“It’s the truth. That’s exactly what I did.” Joel’s gaze seems detached as if he's somewhere else right now.

“What I meant to say, is that I should have been there for you in spite of what has happened. I can see you're suffering, it's taking its toll on you, it has been for some time now; tell me what I can do. How can I help you?” Tommy seems almost desperate, like he’s the one in need of redemption.

Your text flashes through his mind, can you turn back time?, making him smile bitterly.

“Can you turn back time?” Joel's repeating your question and as the words leave his mouth he can feel your presence next to him. That's the most he felt of you for the last three years. He's almost blissful.

“You know I can't.” Tommy sighs. Joel laughs earnestly, the irony of the moment too good not to appreciate.

“Joel, brother, please, just talk to me. Help me understand. You act like you’re the one who’s been cheated on. So, what happened? Why did you do it?” Tommy is pleading with him to give him anything.

Silence fills the room for much longer than either of them would like. Joel feels torn between telling his brother everything or keeping his mouth shut. He wants to tell him, he hasn’t told a soul, but he’s not sure he can get the words out. He’s not sure he can bear to hear the words coming out of his mouth. He’s not sure he can substantiate it, make it real. Because that’s how it feels. He talks about it and it becomes real.

But maybe this is the right thing to do. That’s what needs to be done. He needs to talk about it. He needs to tell the truth and admit the pain he’s caused. Make it real for you, too. Perhaps it is time for him to give you what is rightfully yours. Acknowledgment.

Joel’s made up his mind. He’s gonna talk to Tommy. He lifts his glass to down his drink for some liquid courage, freezing his hand in mid-air as the next words fall from his brother’s mouth. “First of all, who was it?”

“What?” Joel's eyes search Tommy’s through his glass for an explanation.

“Who did you do?”, Tommy clarifies.

Joel feels like he’s been struck by lightning. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Who did you fuck, Joel?”, Tommy begins to feel confused, are they not on the same page here?

“You don’t know?”, Joel can barely speak now, his voice low in shock.

“No one does, not even Maria; she never told anyone.”

You told nobody? Not even your best friend? Why on earth would you do that? Did you feel ashamed? Was it just too much to talk about?

But his brain takes pity on him, helping him for once to understand. He’s connecting the dots while your voice fills the corners of his mind through his memories. His head is swarming with images of you standing in that walk-in closet, remembering what you said the last time he saw you. You’re the one I married, not her. I expected better from you, Joel, not her.

You were right.

It didn’t matter who it was. That is why. He was the one making the choice. He was the one breaking his promises, breaking your trust, breaking your heart; breaking you. He was the one who should have known better. He was the one who should have been honest. Easy in theory, hard in practice.

He feels a fresh wave of pain scattering through his body. He welcomes it. Damn, he’s craving it. He’s glad you chose to withhold the identity of the woman. Not because somehow it’s making it easier for him to defend himself, on the contrary.

There’s no one else to blame. Nobody. Just him. All of the anger, the resentment, the disappointment, all of them on him. He embraces them all. Everything. He will take it all, swallow it down and let it rot inside of him.

Joel tells Tommy everything. Everything, but her name.

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Taglist: @southernbe, @orcasoul, @auteurdelabre

[cwritesforfun]

Hi!!

So, I'm so desperate for a Emma D'arcy x Fem Reader fic!!

Pleeeasee

Ok here you go: hope you enjoy!!!

Emma D'Arcy x Fem!Reader: Co-Workers or Something More? (Request)

Y/N = Your Name using She/Her/Hers pronouns Emma's pronouns are They/Them ** I do not own any House of Dragon plot points briefly mentioned

Y/N's POV

Getting the role of Alicent on House of Dragon was nerve-wracking. You were a huge fan of Game of Thrones and even read all the released books. You've been working for years towards getting a role in any TV show or movie. You have been in some indie films and when you got the call to be Alicent, you thought you were dreaming. It was amazing. It was probably one of your favorite days to ever exist.

At the table read for the first season, you were pouring a cup of coffee for yourself when you heard, "So you're playing Alicent?" You turn and see someone beautiful staring at you. You felt lost in their soft blue eyes for years if you could. You instead say, "Yes I am, my name is Y/N. Nice to meet you, what's your name?" The person standing opposite you says, "It's lovely to meet you, Y/N. Y/N is such a beautiful name. I'm Emma D'Arcy and I'm playing Rhaenyra." You reply, "Emma is a beautiful name for a beautiful person. Rhaenyra is a Targaryen, so I am jealous." Emma lets out a laugh and says, "I'm flattered. Say, do you want to grab a bite to eat after this?" You nod and answer, "Sounds great." You both take your seats next to each other, and the table read begins. It lasts several hours.

Afterward, you and Emma make your way out to a restaurant that claims to have great cocktails. You arrive, get seated in a booth, and both order drinks. Emma orders a Negroni Sbagliato with prosecco in it and you order a Gin Martini with a twist. (If you know, you know.)

The night carries on with you two discussing your career, your lack of a love life, and dragons. It's a great night with even better company.

The next 10 months as you film season 1, you become close with the cast, especially Emma. You both hang out outside of filming time and you really like Emma. You find yourself dreaming of Emma some nights and you can barely meet their eyes. It's so embarrassing to have a crush, especially on a coworker. Emma also flirts when they get drunk and it's always directed to you. You don't know if they're just drunk or actually like you.

Season One finishes filming and the whole cast is at an open bar. You're sitting sipping your second gin martini and you are starting to feel tipsy. You hear, "Is this seat taken?" You see Emma standing there in all their glory and you shake your head. Emma sits next to you, leans back, and puts an arm around the back of your seat. Should you lean back... or what...? You lean back and Emma's hand finds your shoulder. Emma exclaims, "I was wondering if you were going to move closer." You reply, "Sorry, what was that? I keep getting lost in your eyes, what too cheesy?" Emma laughs and asks, "Is that why you've been avoiding me on set?" You shrug and answer, "Yes, you exist in my daily life and in my dreams. It's hard to look at you after I dream about you." Emma raises an eyebrow, places their other hand on your thigh, smirks, and asks, "And what are we doing in those dreams, may I ask?" You place one of your hands on Emma's hand on your thigh and answer, "Oh you know hot stuff." Emma smiles and asks, "Wanna get out of here?" You nod.

You both leave the party together and head to Emma's place.

When you get there, Emma complains about being hungry so you agree to cook with them. You both cook pasta, listen to music, and dance together. You both eat dinner so fast while laughing whenever you make eye contact.

You both walk to the couch and Emma asks, "Just a question, but when you said hot stuff in your dream with me, does that mean you have a crush on me?" You answer, "It's so embarrassing being a 30-year-old with a crush, but yes I do like you like that." Emma says, "I think the only embarrassing thing would be if I didn't feel the same way... I like you too. I really like you. I want to kiss you, but I know we're both really tipsy." You reply, "We can still kiss tipsy. I give my consent." Emma smirks and replies, "I think if we kiss, I won't be able to stop." You smirk and ask, "OK then what should we do?" Emma answers, "We could just watch a show or sleep."

You both watch a part of a movie until you both start falling asleep and waking each other up. You go to the bedroom to sleep and you wear one of Emma's shirts to bed. Emma is the big spoon and cuddles you as you drift off to sleep.

You wake up cozy and with a raging headache. You groan and twist a little. You hear Emma groan next to you and they say, "Morning. Is it just me or did those drinks really break your head?" You say, "I'm in pain. Yeah... but I liked waking up next to you." Emma replies, "I liked waking up to you too. You're a good cuddle buddy."

You both get up, you borrow clothes from Emma, and you go out to eat breakfast. You eat breakfast sandwiches and start to feel like a human. You go back to Emma's place, get back into pajamas, and turn on the TV to watch something.

Emma exclaims, "Let's kiss." You smile and say, "OK." Emma cups your face gently and you kiss. It's even better than in your dreams when you kiss them.

Part Two

[1920sladydectective]

Best Friend's Mother Ch.3 6.8K

This is part three of the story inspired by @shinyshayminflower

It was gonna be the final part, but it's looking like there's at least another chapter or two to come

Angsty, Sad, just loads of stuff. Tiny bit of Smut MDNI 18+

Link to the whole fic on AO3 here lovelies, or you can scroll down my acc to find it here

Thank you @uselessbard1031 for being the best story sounding board

HERE WE GOOOOOOOOOO

The cold light of day revealed more than you could stomach. 

You hated yourself, hated her, hated everything you had ever stood for and accepted and wanted in that stupid house. 

Mel’s film came back a few days after you’d settled back into your flat, the Kodak Gold showing the pathetic rose tinted glasses that covered you for July and August. It was picturesque, toes in sand and melting Mr Whippys. Smooshed faces and a pissed off Mina. She showed them off, with a happy voice and gesticulating hands. It felt sort of like she was trying to cheer you up. 

You’d been in a ‘funk’ since you got back and it was being chalked up to your immediately heavy workload. 

That was it. Too much reading, four new essays and some new bullshit about work experience. Not the crushing void in your heart, not the breakup that was barely there, that existed for you and you alone. 

Ambessa Medarda was a black hole, alluring in her violence, beautiful in her consumption and you were mere space dust. That she had made abundantly clear. 

It kept you up at night, embarrassment curdled in you like milk. Body in tatters trying to keep your mind in check. 

I’ll ring you when I’m back

Whyever would you need to do that

You fucking idiot. 

Her stupid, soft pyjamas kept her grip on you, your phone’s fancy screen shining like her eyes. She was everywhere and you couldn’t tell anyone. 

You were the living dead, cursed to be unloved and used forever. You never thought of yourself as dramatic before, preferring humour and dismissiveness, but the gaping wound in you cried for attention. Cried to be acknowledged and picked at, a scar in the making, as each little flicker of healing was ripped off again and again. 

Six weeks later you still felt like a lovesick puppy. University and your job made time sparse and relaxation sparser still, but somehow the sadness lingered. You’d been grieving it for nearly as long as it had happened, some weird crossroads where it felt inappropriate to be sad. It was a summer fling, how many had existed since the dawn of time and yet it dug into you like an elusive splinter. 

Mel was another issue entirely. Warm and tender, trying to prop you up when you stopped eating or didn’t keep up with the laundry. Part of you wanted to scream and cry. I’m not who you think I am, your mind shouted, I’m awful and you should hate me like I hate myself. 

Then you’d eat a sausage roll, she’d send you a shitpost and you’d cry in the shower. Selfish as it was, you couldn’t lose both Medardas. 

Sometimes you thought you saw her name pop up on your phone, you’d look each time like a baby falling for a game of peekaboo. Nothing. The last message made your lungs tense every single time. 

 Bacon Crunchy or No?

Crunchy, but still soft. 

Demanding x

That breakfast in bed was the most revisited memory, probably spurred on by how many times you’d read those texts. You wouldn’t eat bacon anymore, flicked it out of your meal deal BLT before realising how counterproductive you’d made your sandwich. Wet mayonnaise and lettuce with half a tomato slice. What a sad life. Your cheeks were damp again and it was hard to breathe.

At some point enough was enough. You were a twenty three year old mooning over a woman over twenty five years your senior. You had a life, you had friends and a dad who called you sometimes. She was not the sun, you did not revolve around her. 

That lasted for about a week, until Mel mentioned going back briefly for her Mum’s birthday. November 9th. You hadn’t known that, wished you still didn’t. Somehow you were in a shopping centre helping her search for a gift. Budget was extensive and so was Mel’s ability to shop. 

What would be a good gift for Ambessa? Rat poison perhaps? 

You saw it or maybe it saw you. Gold, each chain link tiny, making it look almost like falling sunlight. One large crimson ruby hung at the end, metal criss crossing over it in a pretty setting. It would fit almost every outfit she wore. It matched her favourite earrings. It was unique, like her and she didn’t deserve it. 

“That seems perfect,” Your voice croaked, pointing towards the glass cabinet. 

Mel agreed because well, it just was. You lived, slowly and painfully, Rowan Atkinson’s scene from Love Actually. This was your punishment, your karma for your indecisiveness and deceit. Leaving Selfridges (dissociated and bankrupt from a bagel) you allowed yourself to be talked at. That seemed to be happening a lot these days, more sounding board and less person. That seemed to be what you’d lost, your personness, stuck in silk sheets in Surrey. There was no recon mission to be had either, the invitation for birthday celebrations blissfully, brutally not extended to you. 

You heard all about it though, obviously. You weren’t that lucky. Mel and Kino had organised a party, she had pretended to be ever so surprised and you had received fourteen drunk videos at three am. The house was different to how you’d ever seen it, twinkling lights and darker furnishings to herald the stormy winter approaching. Kino was doing the CanCan, offscreen choked laughter making your heart hurt. Each video devolved to make less sense, snapshots of the living room, pretty decoration and discarded champagne. The last one made your world spin, bile eating your throat. 

It was Ambessa, glassy eyed with shimmering makeup and bouncy curls, grinning at the camera with a cupcake in hand. Sitting pretty, as perfect as you’d imagined, was the necklace. 

“How’s your party been, Mum?” Mel’s hiccupped voice. 

“Perfect, Darling,” Ambessa muttered, an easy smile growing. 

“And your gift?” 

“Also perfect, Little wolf,” Her fingers stroked it instinctively, feeling along the ruby. 

“Say thank you to the camera then,” Mel says, impatient and swaying slightly, “She’s the one who helped me find it,” 

The shift was slight, you only noticed because you were looking, her face draining of some joy. 

Tone coy and light she stared directly at the screen, “Ah I see, when you said one of your friends, I didn’t realise you meant her! Who knew she knew me so well?” a criminally long pause, “Thank you, Sweet Girl,” 

The footage stopped, her smirk immortalised.

You hated her. Vile, vindictive little bitch. You burned all but one of your pyjamas sets in the garden, mesmerised by the flames as if their heat could cleanse you. Charred linen smelt like shit and you dumped it in the bin before it became a problem for the neighbours. Lip chewed raw, you curled onto the dining chair you had occupied half an hour ago, looking down at your traitorous phone

Your text response was calmer after that.

                                                            Nice, cute party! Drink some water babe xox

I kissed Jayce

                                                           Oh? 

And Viktor

                                                            OH

Can you call? 

                                                             It’s 4am Mel. 

                                                            Yes

The shrill thrum of Facetime rang throughout your kitchen, ear twitching slightly as you answered. 

“Thank fuck,” Mel sounded both stressed and excited, “This party has been so weird I wish you were here,” 

You didn’t. “Weird cause you tongued your two closest friends? Or weird some other way?”

“Don’t say tongued it’s vile,” She was clearly stumbling down the corridor to her bedroom, “And both, I guess? It’s a long story” 

“Babble away then, babe,” You’d missed this, missed her.

It actually wasn’t that long at all, content wise, Mel was just so drunk she restarted five thousand times. Jayce and Viktor were together, this you knew. Mel would sometimes kiss them both, occasionally more, and she didn’t know what to feel; this was new. Having a conversation about emotional intimacy versus physical with her when she was drunk and your last fuck had been her mother was like a stupid game of Monoply. It took forever, not much was accomplished and she ended up falling asleep just as you were getting to the good bit. 

“Mum’s also been weird,” It was slurred, hair spraying on the pillow, “Nostalgic or something,” 

“Nostalgic?” You didn’t want to talk about her, you didn’t.

“I dunno, think she missed me and Kino,” She coughed, “She’s been more quiet,” 

Quiet. Of course. She didn’t seem quiet when she threw your pet name in your face, but hey what did you know? Follow up questions were useless, Mel’s snores crackling through the phone. 

“Are you sleeping, Little wolf?” 

You were going to throw up, twitching hands launching your phone across the table. Mel’s phone echoed the crashing, drawing Ambessa’s attention. Picking the phone from her daughter’s fingers, she raised a quizzical and then uncertain brow. 

“Night Mel,” You whispered, slamming the end call button. The last noise from her end was that voice calling out your name. 

You didn’t sleep, your only remaining pair of pyjamas mocking you from the laundry basket. 

It washed over you like the tides, again and again, each time inching closer to consuming you. So much energy had been expended to move past this, but you crumbled like a stale biscuit in the face of her teasing, of your name from her mouth. Even now your heart skipped, ached, sang. It wasn’t real, the adoration and attraction she had looked at you with. How could you grapple with that? Alone and surrounded by all the kindness she had gifted you. There was a doubt, tart and strong, in your mind that you would ever matter to anyone ever again. Your clanking alarm clock seemed to agree, burrowing into your fitful dreams and warping to the sound of her laugh.

Mel came back, hungover and a little emotionally unstable which seemed to happen every time she went home. You had tacos on the sofa, sharing a beer and having the same conversation as before, though sober this time. You steered clear of her, focusing on Mel with an intensity that made the girl snort. 

“Back to planet earth then?”

“What?” Lettuce tumbled out, they’d given you a hard shell by accident. 

“I mean this is probably the most you’ve spoken to me since the summer,” 

A flinch, body rejecting the truth, as your lips turned down. 

“I get it, work and stuff,” Mel quickly added, stroking your arm like she would Mina, “Just missed you,” 

“Missed you too,” It choked out, despite your efforts to stay calm, flinging yourself against her and squeezing. 

Fuck Ambessa. It settled in you, a certainty fuelled by the intense turmoil of the past twenty four hours. You loved Mel and you would not be a shit friend anymore. 

Days were lighter after that, your acceptance shifting the colours of your world slightly. Your fancy laptop was a blessing, not a collar, helping you write your thesis without trouble. The coffee shop could have been worse, it was in a beautiful building with a rich history and it meant you could eat branded beans instead of 26p sludge. You’d even managed to save some money for Christmas. You were rising from the ashes of unrequited love, becoming a true optimist. Maybe you might start liking yourself soon. 

Then your dad called. 

“Hey, Peanut,” His gravelly tone was easily decipherable. He was about to disappoint you, again. 

“Hi Dad,” You settled in the armchair, chest deflating, “Everything okay?”

“I’ve got some news,” a rattled sigh, “I’m gonna need to stay on till January,” 

Rough hands ran over your face, “Of course,”

“I’m sorry kid but with the mortgage and-”

“I know, I understand,” 

“Maybe you could go back to that friend’s house?” He said hopefully, “You had such a good time,” 

Not fucking likely. If you told Mel that’s exactly what she’d suggest, so this one was staying quiet, you weren’t that healed. “It’s alright, I think I’d like to be at home, see some familiar faces, could always have dinner with the cousins,” 

“Yeah,” He sniffed, “Yeah okay love,” 

“I love you, I guess I’ll see you in the new year?”

“Of course, and I’ll ring you in the holidays,” He was firm in his intentions, even if it wouldn’t stick, “Love you,”

Christmas alone. Lucky you. 

It took more effort than you’d anticipated to censor the news around Mel. Part of you, small and desperate, wanted to fall into her and cry about it but then you would end up sniffling, sitting in her car on the way to that damned house. The last few weeks of term flew by, deadlines and Christmas parties numbing you out, pushing you into a glitzy, overwhelmed state. Mel was in her element, glittering gold as she wrapped a mountain of gifts, covered all of your kitchen surfaces in icing sugar and screamed George Michael. She was supposed to leave before you, giving you three days of peace in the house before you ended up in rural Derbyshire with nobody but the deer to talk to. 

About an hour before Mel was due to leave you received a phone call from your father and it affirmed for you that the universe, in all its cosmic wonders, had it out for you. 

Your terraced house had a very complex and old heating system, which had apparently died a sudden and dramatic death. Sure, whatever, no problem. Except a new one was going to cost at least ten thousand pounds and couldn’t be installed until January anyway. The neighbours had told him about the sudden flooding, and he had tried to deal with it faster, but being so far away and with so little immediate funds. 

“So it’s fucked,” You groan, “I guess I’ll have to stay here then,”

“I-” Your dad sounded shattered, “We might have to looking at selling, I haven’t got the cash to fix it,” 

“I’ll figure that out Dad,” Tight throat, air raspy, “It’s okay, thanks for calling,” 

“What’s fucked?” Mel said, appearing like a ghost, your shoulders jolting. 

“Eavesdropper,” It was a grumble, “It’s nothing,” 

“It’s clearly not if you’re looking at staying here,” 

Your eyes rolled, frustration bubbling,“House’s heating broke, can’t be fixed till January so I’ll stay here,” 

Mel looked crestfallen, “Oh no,” She embraced you, the hug more loving than you deserved, “What’s your dad going to do? Come up here? He can have my room obviously,” 

“Why would he need that?” You snorted, “He’s staying on the rig for Christmas-” Uh. Oops. 

Brown eyes flared with anger, “What? You didn’t tell me that!”

“I-I” You were at a loss, desperate to avoid what was obviously hurtling your way, “I didn’t wanna be a downer on all the cool plans, I was just gonna relax alone or whatever,” Lame excuse, loser. 

“You’re coming to ours,” Mel said, decided, waving away all of your protests like one would swat a fly. Somehow she was already calling her mother, telling her to expect another guest for Christmas. The stress of heating was the final straw on a decrepit, twitching camel. 

Had you died? Were you in Hell? 

That’s what the Land Rover felt like, speeding through endless countryside as she sang Christmas Wrapping for the ninth time. You felt almost outside your body, about to reunite with a part of yourself you’d allowed to die. Mel had chewed you out for the first hour of the journey about being an idiot, about upsetting her by not just asking to stay. I know it was awesome in the summer, she had whined, you’re not like a burden or anything. 

Rolling up the driveway felt like that moment on a rollercoaster just before the adrenaline floods you. Your stomach turns, you feel the wind and feel how high up you are, seeking an out you know isn’t there. Then the ride drops, hurtles down the track and you’re too overwhelmed to think much of anything at all. Ambessa standing, cashmere jumper and longer curls, against the door waiting to greet you both was your drop. Blank, hot nothingness. 

“Darlings,” She cried, lips as crimson as ever. 

She stepped forward, throwing her arms around both of you and you thought you might die. You hated her. Her smirk showed she could tell, though it wasn’t as firmly fixed as usual. Sunrays, squinting eyes and that smirk as she ate a slice of watermelon. Shut Up.

A small dinner was already ready, a weathered looking Kino dishing up portions. His greeting was warm but distracted. 

“Mum’s had me hauling all the trees into place,” He grumbled, passing you a bowl of stew, “because of course it couldn’t wait until the precious princesses arrived to help,”

Gods you’d missed him. “You think I’m a princess Kino? I’m touched,” 

Mel forced you into your chair, snorting at her brother, “Would you believe this idiot was going to stay at uni all by herself?”

You didn’t feel like an idiot, you felt like a prey animal fleeing one predator to sprint into the den of another. 

Ambessa interjected then, “Yes, what’s this I hear about broken heating?” 

It was an innocent and very valid question from the woman hosting you. She needed to shut the fuck up. “Uh, our terraced house was still using its system from the 60s and it finally died,” You said, instead of telling her the former, “Dad’s on the rig and can’t get anyone to fix it sooner than January,” 

“We’ll have you for the whole festive period then,” Ambessa said, tone calm as she sent you a smile. It was indifferent and kind, in the same way she had been those first days of the summer. It rocked you, eating some of the adrenaline and replacing it with tears that glazed embarrassingly for a second. Long enough for her to see, but with enough control to spare you from Mel. 

 Five weeks of being in Medarda Central, playing happy families, “If that’s okay,”. 

“We’re so happy to have you, Dear,” 

Bitch. “Thank you, Ambessa,” 

That evening was like a dream, stuck behind the screens of a nightmare. Three large christmas trees to decorate, a tradition apparently, with mulled wine and gingerbread. Everything was beautiful, and to your surprise each ‘child’ was given a tree. The larger one in the foyer was put up on November 21st every year by Ambessa, Mel told you, but the Medarda siblings and Mina each got their own tree to decorate once everyone was home. 

You had been given Mina’s with a snort from Ambessa, who was supposedly happy to have someone else take on the ‘lazy demon’s workload’. It felt nice, for a moment, as you stared down at the fluff ball who seemed to have accepted you as a guest. This was a new thing and if you closed your eyes and breathed out of your armpit no memories appeared. You decorated methodically, using some of Mina’s and some spare that had been assembled for you. A perfect evening, with your best friend and her stupid big brother. And their sexy, evil, confusing mother. 

Like you thought, a dream to nightmare pipeline. A trend you saw continuing for the rest of the holiday. It ended with watching The Grinch, something you had never seen. Jim Carrey was unusual and Martha May was disturbingly attractive, but that’s all you really gained, too busy ignoring Ambessa’s joking gaze. Did she think you were crazy? That you wanted to spend this holiday being fucked about by her too? Mel’s head on your shoulder grounded you, saved you from the turbulence of her.

It caught you once, entirely by accident, and your head began to swim. Golden swirls, tender and amused. She looked more beautiful somehow, finally victorious in getting your attention as she raised a brow. Your neck mottled red as anxious teeth crushed against one another. Rough hands stroking your cheek, kissing your sleepy eyelids as you ignored the film that followed Trading Places. This place was haunted and you realised that you were just another ghost. Kino went to bed first and unlike a few months ago, you were determined not to be a straggler. You got your water and tea whilst Mel spoke to her Mum about the upcoming Carol Concert you were supposed to be attending. 

“Night,” You said, voice soft, as she nodded to them. 

“Oh,” Mel said, “Bit early for you, isn’t it?”

“Long day,” A smile, “See you in the morning,” 

“Nice to have you back, well done with the Tree today,” Ambessa’s silky tone drifted, “Sleep well Sweetheart,” 

That was a new one and it caused no reaction at all. Your hand was trembling because the tea was hot, that was all. Your body shook from the exhaustion in the spare room, lip wet and trembling, because the journey was long and you missed your Dad. You could not feel her phantom touches brushing the tears away, it was simply the wind.

Ten days of Christmas festivities passed and it did not get any easier. No matter when you woke, she still somehow had your tea ready for you. You’d hoped initially that it was Rictus, the man you had come to know slightly better than in the warmer months, but alas he hadn’t a clue what you were on about. Those eyes, hypnotic and cruel, still attempted to lure you in each day. Hands lingered, bodies closer than needed as you passed in corridors or sat on the same sofa. 

One day you boiled over, alone in the kitchen with her as she sorted through recipes. 

“Will you knock it off?” 

“Hmm?”

“Don’t hum at me,” You snapped, hands clenching your mug, horror clenching your heart, “T-The touching and the looks, stop it,” 

Ambessa laughed, pushing her glasses onto her head as she fixed you with a look, “Didn’t seem to mind it a couple of months ago, Sweet Girl,” 

“A couple of months ago I was a fool,” A stuttered breath, half stuck and bubbling, “Mel’s my priority, I love her and this fucked up thing would hurt her, so stop it,” 

Ambessa’s look changed into something you couldn’t understand, eyes pensive and face blank. She nodded once, head tilted to scan you. Was it respect? Surely not, she barely saw you as a full person. 

“Okay,” Her tone was measured, “I can work with that,” 

It relieved you, the thick, invisible smog circling overhead finally beginning to clear. You didn't trust her intentions towards you, but you could trust them towards Mel. The tremors and the cries slowed slightly, your sleep troubled but not totally absent. 

Something new formed, something you could just about stomach. It was just as if she was your best friend’s mum, hosting you for the holidays, with jokes and motherly pats. She had never known the taste of your lips, you had never nestled your head between her thighs, never shared an overly fond look over her daughter’s head. It was easier this way, you promised yourself in the dead of night as you tossed from side to side. You’d spent so little time actually in this bed, that now it seemed as foreign to you as the woman who occupied the other. Her eyes still stayed on you from time to time, but it was insignificant now. 

Did you prefer that? Was this better? 

All Ambessa knew was that she did not like this change. Not one bit. She was unsure of how to process you coming back. You were a nice enough girl, an excellent fuck and actually funny to be around. You made Mel happy, which made her happy, but you had gotten a little too attached. She had avoided you since then for that reason, the thoughts of you that drifted through easy to push away. That being said, she missed you sprawled in her bed babbling nonsense as she ruined you. You were a pest, lingering around her thoughts and she was unsure of how to proceed. She seemed to regain one part of you, sarcastic and passionate, at the expense of any and all private access to you. It irked her, though she would not admit it, that you had called it before she had. Guilt sat heavy in her stomach, mixing with something else as she remembered your aggressive devotion to her daughter. Parts of you, buried, now resurfaced for her. How you took your tea, which hand would brush back hair behind your ear, in which order you would put your socks and shoes on. Tiny, minute details. She glanced at you, licking up cream on a hot chocolate and saw images of a similar kind, your pretty crinkled eyes eating an ice cream as you gazed at her across the sunlounger. 

Ambessa Medarda could not wait for you to get the hell out of her house. 

How ironic, considering you finally felt you were flowing into the new rhythm. 

She wasn’t scary, she had no power. Other than the fact that this was, you know, her house. You shared tea, read together, joked and laughed. You only looked at her lips every now and again, a natural thing. You looked at Mel’s lips sometimes. Yeah. Her nicknames only caused nausea, not an actual gag to choke you. Plus you were distracted half the time by Kino and Mel. Frockiling about in London, seeing a show or wandering through museums, it was endless. Somehow you had done more in the first two weeks here than most of the summer, mind frazzled by Christmas joy. The best part was that on December 17th it started to snow and showed no signs of stopping. A true winter wonderland. 

The only other distinct change from the summer was the shiny new vibrator in your bedside drawer. You still had needs, for god sake and the distraction should help. Nothing would satiate the burn like she did, but you tried not to think about that once you realised it was her you pictured to send yourself over the edge. Oops. 

Ambessa, restless and frustrated, strolled down the corridor in the dead of night. Each door zipped past until a grunt startled her into stillness. It was from behind your door and a flare of worry resounded in her at the pained sound. Against her better judgement, her fist rose to knock on the wood when she heard it again. Clearer now, louder. Not pain, her mind roared, it was a cry of pleasure. Pleased little pants and gasps travelled to her ears, turning her thoughts to molten nothingness. She had uncharacteristically avoided sex for the past few weeks, and this was enough for her to tumble over the edge. Leaning against the wall, breath silent, she gulped. This was ridiculous, wrong and crazy and reckless. She was in the hallway for christ’s sake. Still, with chaotic urgency, her hand slipped beneath her trousers as she caressed her neglected clit. 

You lay, legs wide and twitching, pleasuring yourself in bed totally unaware of your desperate audience. Tonight had been tougher on your resilience, her dress was so simple and yet it hugged her in a way that made you think of flowing water. Water led you to thinking of the pool and suddenly you were smacked with images of her naked swimming. It was too good to ignore, already halfway down the hot spiral your body craved, teeth bruising plump lips. Head thrown back, you began to keen and mewl, the toy pushing you into mindlessness, each gentle buzz pulling a whine. 

Ambessa was almost nonsensical, unable to battle for her ironclad control as your noises had her frantically chasing release. You had haunted her for days, flushed cheeks and snide comments, as if nothing had ever happened. You essentially ignored any heat from her and it was maddening. She wanted to fuck you into the mattress you lay on now, the image making her eyes roll slightly. The final straw, shooting her into a shaking climax, was a sudden, bursting whimper of her name from your lips. 

You hadn’t meant to, rocking yourself against this thick rabbit, but the image of her was so clear and you wanted it so bad, craved it. You cried out for her, as you had so many times before. Everything sang, bright and harsh, as you went limp. 

She was much the same, choking her gasps back as her knees shook slightly. Finally some relief, her thoughts able to order themselves slightly. She did not, however, like the form they took. You, temptress and forbidden fruit, carved a home in her head she could not fill with anything else. 

This was a mess. She was a mess. You were a problem. 

Ambessa found herself bundling up, rambling at Rictus about almost everything as she prepared to check the lake, to see if it was ready for skating. He took it well, he was trusted for a reason. There was a merry glint in those eyes, a knowing of his Mistress. Something was wrong, was grating on her and he believed that something had a name and sparkly, open eyes. 

“Need anything else?” Rictus asked, passing her the mug of coffee so she could finish it, “I’ll sort out whatever part of your wardrobe Mina has mutilated and then start wrapping the kids gifts,” 

“Fantastic,” Distracted, dismissive, till her shoulders tensed, “Did you get anything for her?” 

He remained neutral, “Did you want me to?” 

A pregnant pause, stormy eyes, “I-Uh yes, I’ll send you a list,” 

As if her house had become a prison, she smacked into you just as she wandered outside. You stood, fluffy coat and thick scarf, staring mystified at the white landscape.

“I’m sorry,” It was a squeak, mind haunted by your enjoyment last night. 

“No, no,” She said, “That was my fault,” 

“What,” A swallow, as you met her eyes with passiveness, “Where are you off to?”

“The lake,” She grunted, “See if it’s ready,” 

“Ready?” 

“For skating,” 

Your mind exploded with excitement, never having even considered this as a possibility, lips betraying you, “Oh my god really, can I come?”

Your childlike wonder clawed at her lungs, posture softening, smile tugged forward unbidden, “If you’re careful, and do as I say,” 

That was how you’d ended up watching Ambessa Medarda check this huge lake with military precision. You hadn’t visited it much in the summer, it was a fifteen minute walk through the woods so in the heat the pool was the obvious preference. Now though? It was a magical, entrancing grove that you giddy with joy. It was almost like it didn’t matter that it was her, that this was the longest you’d spent alone since August. 

“Well,” Ambessa called, “Looks perfect to me,” 

To your surprise, she removed two pairs of skates from her bag and chucked one at you, leaning against a large Yew tree to put her own on. 

You didn’t know she knew to bring a second pair and it flared suspicion in you, “Why do you have these?” 

“They’re Mel’s, Sweetheart,” She answered, amusement tickling her cheeks, “Didn’t realise they were still in there, you’re the same shoe size,” 

Oh. Okay. That still didn’t solve the issue that you had no idea how to skate, and you said as much. 

Ambessa could feel, as intimately as the danger of an oncoming bullet, that this would not end well. The offer left her lips all the same. She could teach you, it was Christmas tradition and Mel would end up dragging you here the second she found out it was ready. 

She was a good teacher, patient and calm, with a habit of everexcessive praise and degradation intermingling. You were being a twat when gaining momentum, but did turning very well Darling. It felt unreal, distant from the dull ache she had placed in your heart, as acceptance slotted further into your bones. 

Soaring like an injured bird, she watched you. Round and round you moved, grace slow to arrive but firm in staying, as her eyes stung. She couldn’t understand why, breath quick, as she coughed into gloved hands. The pressure built the more you moved and Ambessa nibbled her lip in contemplation. 

“Oh my god, it’s ready,” Kino’s loud shriek saved his mother from further emotional introspection, “MEL. MEL. Come Skate,” 

The Medarda siblings joined you, both skilled and dangerously competitive, forcing Ambessa to tug you left and right across the ice to avoid their thundering. 

In short, it was the best day yet and that night you could sleep without a cry or an orgasm to force you. Christmas might actually be salvageable. 

Another party. You’d joked to Mel that she really was the perfect upper class stereotype with a pool and horses you had avoided out of immense fear, with all her time spent getting drunk and talking about all the things she’d done. Mel was a bit offended, which made your assessment all the funnier, gold lips pouting. This one was very intimate, you’d know everyone there and it was more just a chance to see everyone before Christmas Day.It was just the Medardas and you on the big day, their first year having another person due to Ambessa’s usual strictness that it was only family. That was like a lobster slap to the face, making you feel special and like a burden all at once. 

Somehow you were crucial in planning yet again, Mel too busy seeing old friends before they went away and Kino refusing to engage. He’d done his bit for the year with Ambessa’s birthday, he stubbornly replied, hiding himself away in the library with Mina. 

That was how you found yourself in the kitchen, at the breakfast table expending half your energy to a Chess Game with Rictus and the other to being a food tester. 

“Don’t like cranberry sauce,” You grimaced at her offering, Rook takes Knight “That one’s for him,” 

“I don’t either,” Bishop takes Rook, his gruff smile making you laugh in kind. 

“What’s the point of you then?” Ambessa snapped, eating the canape herself. 

“Idle decoration?” “Part of the furniture?” You responded the same time as Rictus, giggles hidden by an insincere hand.

The three of you powered through the Everest of washing up she had created, humming to the radio and thinking up the worst Christmas cracker jokes we’d heard over the years. You were on drying duty initially, till it proved you hadn’t got a clue where anything lived. 

“Didn’t you live here for three months?” He mocked, reordering the baking trays. 

“She didn’t cook once in that time,” Ambessa sighed, “Some people just take and take and take,” 

It was a joke, but it made you angry and the plate hit the water with more force than you could control. Soapy, lukewarm water crashed against both you and Ambessa, leaving you incredulous and her as still as a statue. 

“Well,” Rictus said, warm presence cutting through the tension, “Off you both go to change, it’s enough for me to finish alone anyway,” 

You both rushed down the corridor, and you felt yourself lurch as something reminiscent of the echo of an apology left her lips. You waved it away, eyes stinging as you slammed the door and curled under the duvet. 

Everything was fine. Everything was good. You were friends now and you didn’t love her at all and you weren’t fuelled most by her laugh, her approval, her existence. You fell asleep with a wet stomach, melancholic music echoing in your head as you ended up back on that dreamlike lake. 

The day arrived, December 22nd and you felt weird nauseous butterflies. Things had backtracked a bit since the washing up, but you were determined to drag yourself forward. 

Everything shone, the powerhouse of a small country fuelling the lights and decorations as Mel sat crisscrossed on her bed, painting you like one of her canvases. 

“This feels like a lot,” You said, yawning, “Everyone coming already knows what I look like,” 

She smacked your arm lightly, “It’s Christmas, live a little,” 

“I’m already living a lot thank you, you’ve got me in heels and spanx,” You flicked the snap to emphasise your point, moving your lips to hinder her lipstick application. 

“Brat,” She gripped your chin, keeping you steady as her face lit up, “There you look like an angel now,” 

You did, Your hair was shiny and curled, your face a painted marvel of Mel’s imagination and one of her white and gold dresses clung to you, highlighting everything you had ever been blessed with. Your eyes burned. A click smashed through your thoughts, the film camera flash capturing you forever, awestruck at yourself and grateful for your best friend. 

Joy came easy here, her presence diluted by people you had come to love, as you slipped through the small crowd, challenging Viktor to a sober chess rematch. You didn’t win, but neither did he, and with a stalemate reached you gobbled up Ambessa’s admittedly perfect food parcels. Rictus seemed to circle back to you more often than anyone else, smirk on his face, a silent comradery. 

The record player was soothing, champagne and eggnog mixing to make an odd sensation in your stomach as Kino twirled you around. 

“I’m glad Mel has you,” He mutters against your ear, “She’s needed a friend to ground her,”

Everything spun weirdly, the compliment ironic as you nodded roughly, “I love her, she’s the best, and hey, you’re not too bad either,”

He laughed, twirling you a final time, “Always the charmer, Princess,” 

Chaos devolved, as it always did with this group of friends, the snow too tempting a siren. You’d actually been having a coherent conversation with Ambessa and Cassandra Kiramman about your thesis progress, eyes only slightly hazy with booze, when you were hauled away by Jayce and VI. A snowball fight on the patio had erupted, bodies numb to the cold as their skin was heated by alcohol, violent throws and crashing dodges. No true adult participated, though some watched fondly, as Rictus recorded the whole thing on an old camcorder, another Medarda tradition apparently. 

Ambessa trailed the scene, heart warm at the sight. She loved her children, loved the people they had become even if sometimes they seemed alien to her, more gentle and considerate than she considered possible. Their friends were a great reflection of them, loud and eclectic, with the loyalty of a wolf pack. You flitted about like a golden mote of light, drawing her eye more than she wished. That dress was sinful, you filled it in a way that made her ache, makeup turning your eyes into deep pools in wish she lost her senses. She knew nothing about your thesis, though Cassandra seemed to have continued that conversation with her as you were dragged away. This was becoming impractical, her body not her own. She retreated to the kitchen under the pretense of refills. 

You bowed out early, freezing your tits off was fun until it wasn’t and you were less agile than the others. Beelinging for the kitchen, desperate for tea and to choke down more canapes, your cold skin smashed against a warm, firm wall. 

She was beautiful tonight, as always. Resplendent and controlling, wielding her space perfectly. Braids and curls intermingled to frame her angular face, statement birthday necklace in place with matching earrings, as long lashes fluttered. It was the most stuck you’d felt since coming back to the house, an aura so similar to that first barbeque, that you’d almost slipped and made an inappropriate joke. 

Your damp, snow soaked curls stuck your face as you stood inches from her, the kitchen silent save for your mingled breath. 

“Good party,” You crooked, frozen in face. 

“Yes,” She responded in kind, “A success I think,” 

“I-I just wanted another salmon tart thing,” 

She placed one in your hand, eyes widening, as she gripped your bare shoulder “You’re freezing,  Sweet girl,” 

Sweet Girl the tipsy, happy haze called. You nodded, “Was in the snow,”

She could warm you up, her sly and corrupted mind cried, thoughts blank as your innocent, devil eyes captured her body and perhaps even soul. She moved thoughtlessly, a gentle ringed hand tilting your chin as her dark lips crushed against yours. 

Euphoria. You were in heaven, succumbing hungrily to the kiss, lungs starved of oxygen for four months. No logic here, no reason or doubt. Only her firm guiding embrace, and warm tongue. Ambessa Medarda was an evil, perfect woman and you could not escape her. 

Dizzy, drunk in more ways than one, you pushed her off gently. It took everything in you, salmon tart crushed to nothing on the ground as you gulped. 

Her inability to treat you a person was not why you’d stopped this, though if you respected yourself it should have been, it was because of Mel. 

“This isnt-” 

“Oh my fucking god,” It was shrill, whispered and bitter, your heart dropping out of your ass, ”No, you haven’t done this to me Mum, not again,”

Speak of the devil.

[pedriache]

aaron… hotchner… you were always there for him, maybe one day he snaps? “listen, im sorry, but i don’t need you here.” and she’s like oh well girl shit okay, but she obliges of course and he just feels guilty and apologizes? (angst/comfort/fluff)

Night shift — Aaron Hotchner.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your husband was overworking himself, so you thought it would be a nice gesture to bake his favorite cookies and make him coffee to help relax him. Until that plan back fires and he snaps at you.

Word count: 602

Disclaimer/s: slight yelling, mentions of a child murder/abduction case, hurt to comfort. established relationship (married)

A/N: omg i haven’t written for cm since my emily fic hi!

Aaron was overdoing it, no doubt. He had only briefly explained some of the case details as he made his way towards his office. “Two kids abducted and murdered, now another body has been found.” That was all he said as the oak wood doors slammed behind him. Closing you off completely.

So, you’d decided making his favorite cookies and some coffee would help ease his spirits as it usually did. Throughout the few hours it took to make and prepare it all, you’d checked in on him every thirty minutes.

You simply received a few small, ‘i’m working’ or ‘not now’ every time you tried to talk. But you didn’t take it to heart, he got like this during particularly hard cases.

Once the cookies were finished, you grabbed his coffee in your free and and slowly made your way into his office with a warm smile.

“Hey, hon?” You say gently, trying to gain his attention. Placing the cookies down and holding out the coffee for him to take.

You’re only met with a, “hmm?” instead of actual words. Aaron doesn’t look up, he doesn’t do anything except for flip to the next page of the case file. His eyes scanning the paper trying so desperately to find a missed detail.

“Aaron.” You sigh, “I made you—“

“Listen, i’m sorry, but I don’t need your distractions right now.” His voice raises into his angry voice, his eyes only darting up to look at you for a second before looking back to the papers.

Flinching at his words, you nod shortly. “Oh. Okay.” Setting his coffee mug down on the desk, you take a few steps back. “Well, they are there is you want them.” And without another word, you make your way out of the office, shutting the door quietly behind you.

The second you leave, Aaron rubs his temples, guilt seeping into his every crevice. He was stressed and overworking himself, he didn’t have a right to take that out on you.

You were trying your best to make him feel better and all he did was snap at you. His eyes then flicker to the cookies at the end of the desk, then to the coffee, then to the door. Even in your anger and hurt, you’d still shut it gently.

Taking in a deep breath, the man stands from his seat and exits his office. You weren’t in the living room, and he had a clear view of the kitchen, which you also weren’t in.. next was the bedroom.

Walking down the hallway, past Jacks room, where he caught a peep of his sleeping son, then toward their bedroom. The second the door opened he caught sight of you sitting on the bed running a stressed hand through your hair, his eyes softened instantly.

“I’m sorry.” He sighs out, taking a few strides toward you. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice.” He finishes softly, the bed sinking down as he sits beside you.

“It’s fine.” You mumble, looking at your husband. His eyes were tired, his hair was a mess, his tie loosened around his neck. “You should get some rest.”

Aaron nodded, “okay. I will. Soon. I just need to—“

“No, Aaron. Now.” You say, this time more firmly. “Sleep, now.” Your hands reach forward to undo his tie, “I know child cases are hard on you, but you can’t do your job properly if you aren’t sleeping.”

The dark haired man’s lip turns upward ever so slightly, but you caught it. “Okay. Sleep it is.” He finally caves, leaning down to press a tender kiss to your lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

DTS , @halfwayhearted !

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

a/n: hey there! i never actually planned on writing a sequel to ‘9 pm’ but a few anons asked about it and i liked the idea of giving them some happiness following that fic! the perfect title gave me the idea for the fic and here we are ☺️ i hope you guys enjoy!!

word count: 2.8k

tw: brief and minor mention of a miscarriage, pregnancy

direct sequel to 9 p.m. in vancouver

summary: andrei’s off on a road trip and you’re more exhausted than normal. once you realize why, you have to call andrei immediately

It’s barely ten at night and you’re falling asleep on the couch, Friends rerun playing at a low volume on the TV. Your blinks get longer, eyelids heavy, while Joey yells about the Coast Guard.

A yawn creaks at your jaw and you try to blink away some of the sudden exhaustion in your body. It doesn’t really work, another yawn catching you a few minutes later. You wrap your arms around one of the throw pillows, cheek smashed up against the pillow tucked under your head.

It’s been a long few days, work overwhelming you and Andrei up in the tri-state area for a mini road trip. The Canes had lost to the Flyers before beating the Devils. They’re currently up two goals on the Rangers, according to your NHL app updates, with just a few minutes left in the third.

The team will spend the night in the city before heading to Long Island for the second half of a back to back tomorrow.

It’s a grueling schedule so early in the season, four games in six days, and you know Andrei will be exhausted when he gets home on Monday morning. At least they’re off for two days before hitting the ice for a home game on Wednesday. You yawn again and decide vaguely that maybe you’ll go to the game, if you can keep your eyes open. It’s been a while since you went to the arena and you miss watching Andrei play live.

You can’t help but think briefly about the game in Vancouver last November, almost a year ago now, and your hand drifts to your stomach.

The baby would’ve been four months old, probably keeping you wide awake right now.

You don’t really think about the loss as much anymore, you can go long stretches of time without thinking about him - because you’d decided that it was a boy, even though it was too early to ever tell. Your due date had come around at the end of July and Andrei had spirited you out of the country, the both of you quiet and moody for a few days.

And then training camp had started and you’d gotten busy with work and then the season started and you didn’t dwell on the loss for a while.

But now it’s late and you’re tired and you haven’t seen Andrei in a few days and you should be cuddling a baby right now.

A few tears trickle down your temple and you swipe at them, emotion clogging your throat.

“God, get a grip,” you mutter to yourself, shaking your head slightly. It’s not even like you’re on your period to be so hormonal right now. Your brain takes a second to process the thought and when it does, your eyes widen and you kick your legs out, struggling with the blanket to try and sit up.

“Oh, oh my god,” you scramble for your phone, tossing blankets around until you hear the tell-tale thunk of the phone hitting the floor. You lunge for it, the TV remote going flying, but you barely pay attention to that as your fingers wrap around the loop on the back of your phone case and snatch it off the floor.

Your hands shake violently as you unlock your phone and thumb over to find your period tracker app. The app takes seconds to load, seconds where your heart beats wildly and your vision goes a little blurry. You mutter, “come on, faster, faster,” under your breath and suddenly the screen loads and there in the center of the screen, in bold font, is the notice that your period has been late for more than thirty days.

You’ve missed two periods.

Without even realizing it.

To be fair to yourself, after the miscarriage, everything was thrown off and you’ve only had seven or eight periods in the past year. So it’s not totally crazy that you didn’t realize you missed two cycles.

Your stomach lurches a little bit and you chew at your lower lip. You probably should take a test. But do you want to know without Andrei, again?

It didn’t work out so well last time.

You’re probably not even pregnant, you rationalize, it’s the stress of a new season starting and your body getting back to normal.

Never mind the fact that you’ve long been cleared to get pregnant again and your gynaecologist hadn’t said anything was wrong at your last appointment.

Your phone vibrates in your hand, nearly scaring the shit out of you. It’s just a notification from the NHL app - sometime in the last few minutes, while you’d been spiralling, the Rangers had tied the game and it was going to overtime.

Overtime anxiety is better than maybe-pregnant anxiety, so you tune into Bally, the sudden brightness of the glare off the ice making you blink. You’re half-heartedly paying attention, fingers tapping against your thigh while the players zip up and down the ice, trading scoring chances. Andrei’s on the ice for a shift and then he’s back on the bench. Pyotr makes a save and then another and then he doesn’t.

You frown at the TV, watching Andrei and the guys file off the ice, miserable for the team’s loss. You change the channel back to Nick at Nite, not interested in seeing the post-game analysis of the loss.

The audience laughter from the show echoes around the living room and you chew at your lower lip anxiously. Andrei won’t be back to his hotel room for hours, the post-game process already underway, but between media, a shower, and the travel. Well, it’ll be at least close to midnight before you can talk to him.

He’ll reassure you that you’re overthinking, that it’s nothing. But a quiet part of your brain is insistent that you’re pregnant and it just won’t shut up.

The smartest thing would be to take a test, find out once and for all if you’re even going to mention anything to Andrei. You’re pretty sure there’s no tests left after last time and if there are, they’re probably expired.

Your fingers tap at the screen of your phone almost by memory, the Google search showing that there’s a twenty-four hour CVS just a ten minute drive away.

The episode ends and another begins while you sit on that information, giving yourself a moment to imagine what you’ll do if the test is positive. He has to know immediately this time, you don’t think you’d be able to wait.

“Oh fuck it,” you mutter to yourself, pushing the blankets off your legs and getting up from the couch. Your vision goes fuzzy, briefly, the blood rushing from your head. You blink and everything shifts back into focus, your heart hammering a little.

Before you can overthink it, you turn off the TV and head for the front door, making a stop at the front hall closet to grab a jacket. Your fingers close around the sleeve of one of Andrei’s, the jacket dwarfing your frame as you slip your arms into the sleeves. You shove your feet into a ratty pair of Uggs and drop a faded Canes ball cap on your head.

You look insane, more like a college kid doing a walk of shame than a married woman, but Andrei’s scent embedded deep into the collar of his jacket is comforting you.

At CVS, you grab at the pregnancy test boxes like a woman possessed - Clear Blue, First Response, and the CVS generic brand all go into your basket, along with a bag of pumpkin shaped Reese’s Cups and a pack of Twizzlers. Something about the waxy, artificial strawberry ropes seems appealing right now.

Thank God for self-checkout, you don’t think you can face another person right now.

The pregnancy tests feel like they weigh a million pounds in the plastic bag and you gnaw anxiously on a Twizzler as you drive back home.

It’s well after midnight by the time you manage to drink enough water in order to pee on all the sticks and this round is more anxiety producing than when you’d done it over a year ago. Once you’re done, you set the timer on your phone and flip each stick over on the counter, so you can’t see the displays.

Instead of waiting in the bathroom, which is feeling small and stuffy despite how large it actually is, you pace around your bedroom for the few minutes it takes for your timer to count down. You wonder if you could call Andrei now, be on the phone with him when you look at the display, but if you’re not pregnant and he’s on the phone, he’ll be disappointed right before the next set of games. He’s been talking about it a little more lately, in the abstract, how nice it’ll be to have a baby one day. And you maybe haven’t been as enthusiastic as he’s been, so you don’t want to get his hopes up.

If you’re not pregnant, Andrei doesn’t need to know that you worried yourself into a tizzy over nothing.

But if you are? Well, Andrei will be the first call anyway.

The timer goes off on your phone and the sudden, shrill noise makes you jump. Your stomach lurches and you flatten your palm over it. Underneath the anxiety, there’s a little bubble of excitement growing, the thought of a baby providing a little spark of joy.

You wander back into the bathroom and close your eyes before flipping the tests over with shaking hands.

The plastic clatters against the countertop and you squint one eye open and then the other, vision focusing on the little displays.

“Oh!” You gasp, eyes immediately filling with tears, hands flying up to cover your mouth.

All three are positive, the little Clear Blue display declaring you ‘Pregnant’ in tiny letters.

Tears slip down your cheeks and you start giggling wildly, overwhelmed in the best possible way. Your hands press on your stomach, palms flat and fingers splayed.

“Hey there, baby,” you murmur, looking down. “Stay safe in there, okay? We want to meet you.”

The tears fall faster and you wipe at them with your shoulder, a damp splotch forming on the fabric of your sweatshirt. It’s so late, but you need to tell Andrei, and you move on autopilot, climbing onto your bed and finding your phone among the messy covers - the bed hasn’t been made in two days because Andrei is more of a stickler for that than you are and you like to get right back into the nest of blankets at the end of the day. It’s on your list of things to do before he’s back in a few days. Now, you pile yourself into a little cocoon of the blankets and comforters, warm and happy.

You text him first, just a quick ‘you awake?’ that you know he’s going to read as a request for phone sex.

True enough, your phone vibrates in your hand a few seconds later, Andrei’s name at the top of the screen. You grin and slide the bar to answer, “hey there.”

“Is late,” he replies, a faint laugh in his tone. “Thought you would be sleeping.”

“No,” you giggle, feeling a little unhinged. “Not asleep. Couldn’t sleep. Um, are you alone?”

Your husband laughs fully now, the sound echoing over the line. “Solnyshka, been a long day. I love you, but we have early morning,” he teases and the rumble of his voice makes you smile.

“No, not for that you perv,” you shoot back, twisting your fingers in a loose thread. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

You know you’re sounding vague and strange, but to his credit, Andrei doesn’t call you out on it. Instead, he’s quiet for a second before your phone vibrates against your ear, signalling an incoming text. You pull the phone from your ear and tap over to your messages, laughing when you see the picture Andrei just sent.

The hotel room is nearly pitch black, but you can still make out the shape of Martin Nečas passed out in his bed with what looks like an eye mask covering his face. Andrei’s grinning face is cut off in the corner of the picture.

“Guess that’s a yes then,” you smile, bringing the phone back to your ear.

“Neci has earplugs in too,” Andrei informs you. “Says I snore, which is lie.”

It’s not, but you don’t feel like relitigating that particular point with him right now. So you move on.

“I know I should’ve waited, done something cute, but I’m bursting,” you let the words come out in a rush, feeling lightheaded with excitement. “I couldn’t, I had to tell you right away, Drei, baby, I’m pregnant.”

Andrei’s silent on the other end and a slightly manic laugh bubbles out of your mouth while you wait for him to say something.

“Pregnant?” He repeats, sounding like he’s just taken a blow to the stomach - winded and hoarse. “Like, with baby?”

“Yeah, mhm,” you hum, just letting the news soak in. Andrei’s breathing is audible in your ear, a soft ‘huh’ puffing out.

He starts to laugh and you can hear the grin in his voice when he says, “oh, solnyshka, fuck, I’m… ya chertovski schastliv.”

He slips into Russian and you’re not totally familiar with the words, but he repeats them in English, “I’m so fucking happy. Are you okay? How you feel?”

“I’m okay, I was feeling a little tired earlier,” you say. “That’s kind of why I took the test, just to see.”

Without asking, Andrei switches the call to a FaceTime and you pull the phone back, his grinning face taking up the entire screen. He looks lighter and happier than he has in months and the sight of him, of that smile that you love so much, makes you emotional.

“I wish I could kiss you,” he shakes his head, still smiling. “Hold you, something other than smile like idiot on phone.”

“I’m just happy to see your smile,” you say truthfully. A hug wouldn’t be unwelcome, but just seeing Andrei’s face has you calmer. “It’s late,” you continue, catching sight of the time in the top left corner of your phone - nearly 1:30 in the morning. “You should get some sleep.”

The adrenaline is starting to wear off now and you slump back against the pillows and headboard.

Andrei nods. “Call me when you get up,” he requests, phone bouncing slightly as he shifts on the bed. “We leave early, but call any time, okay?”

“Okay,” you promise, pressing your lips together to smother a yawn. “Hey, I love you.”

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” Andrei replies in Russian, warm and awed. “You and baby, both.”

You’re both quiet for a bit, comfortable and sleepy, reluctant to end the call. You just want to enjoy his long-distance presence and this little bubble, but eventually Martin lets out a snore on his side of the room, startling you since you forgot he was there. Andrei laughs faintly and reluctantly ends the call, after telling you he loves you again.

Now that Andrei knows, your whole body relaxes and you sink happily into the nest of blankets and pillows, curled up in a c-shape, one hand on your stomach.

There’s a million things to figure out in the coming days, weeks, and months, a million worries to ruminate on, but for now, you fall asleep with a smile on your face and pure happiness bubbling in your stomach.

The next morning, you snooze your alarm and allow yourself to wake up slowly and lazily. It’s an easy morning and you don’t plan on getting out of bed until you hear the doorbell ring.

With a grumble, you climb out of bed and shove your feet into a pair of slippers to pad downstairs, wondering who could be at the door this early.

It’s a delivery man, half-hidden behind a huge bouquet of flowers. You accept it, surprised at the delivery but not at the sender.

The oversized bouquet made up of baby roses, baby’s breath, and a few other types all in various shades of baby pink and baby blue can only be from your husband. Your face hurts from the size of your smile and you dig out the little card from between a pale pinks rose and a light blue hydrangea.

‘I love you, we will celebrate as soon as I am home. A hug and a kiss from New York for you, mama. -A’

It’s not Andrei’s handwriting, but you trace your fingers over the letters and feel tears well up. Any concerns or worries you might have about having a baby are pushed aside.

Andrei’s going to be the best dad and you’re so lucky to be doing this with him.

[pampushky]

Teaser: My Name Is Brutus (And My Name Means Heavy)

Alpha! Lando Norris/Omega! Lauda! Reader

oooo what's this?? me dropping a juicy little teaser of probably one of my favorite things I've written??

so. this is basically an ABO au with a race engineer & lauda mc, with the wonderful trope of enemies to lovers thrown in, as you will soon see from the scene I'm releasing a bit early.

other things about the fic: slow, and i mean fucking slow, burn. exploration of what disabilities would look like in the ABO world (especially centered around the sense of smell and how that could be considered a disability if someone doesn't have one in a world where most things are communicated by smell), societal pressures about what the ideal alpha/omega/beta should look like to the rest of the world which leads to Lando making assumptions about MC's secondary gender/sex, mentions of past emotional & mental abuse, PTSD, scarring, and worries about self-worth. Oh. and obvious hurt/comfort. But again, and I cannot emphasize this enough. Slow. Fucking. Burn.

uhhh i guess i'll do a tag list too for this so. tell me if you wanna be on that.

“I do have… issues, with the way you run things here,” you scratch your claw into the wood of the table, a low rumble in your throat. The scent blockers you have on are distracting to Lando. He wonders, briefly, what your scent is like, when it’s not so medicinal. “You need more discipline. Less media. It makes you seem… soft.”

“Soft?” Lando leans forward, tilting his head. You look back at him with your constantly blank stare, a slight frown on your lips, icy eyes that challenge even the Lauda death stare. “What do you mean?” You hesitate, looking to Zak and Andrea, who both gesture for you to continue. You then look at Oscar, who bites his lip and makes eye contact with you, and shrugs softly, as if permitting you to say whatever you were about to say.

“....you will take offense to what I’m about to say, I’m warning you.”

“Please, I’ll be fine,” Lando waves it off, grinning lazily. His nose twitches. The heavily medicinal smell of your scent blockers is getting to him. Do you truly need to cover your scent that much? Are you worried that he’ll act aggressively because you’re also an Alpha?

“.... no. You won’t. I’ve seen your interviews.” You say dryly, and fold your arms. Lando balks. 

“I beg you pardon?”

“You don’t take criticism well.”

“I take it just fine!” Lando shoots back, feeling himself starting to get frustrated. Why did you have to wear them? Even if you are an Alpha, the medication provided by the FIA should be more than enough to keep anyone’s tempers from flaring.

“Then you won’t throw a hissy fit when I list out all my problems with the way you work?” 

Your tone is icy. Even. Perfectly calculated. 

“Oh, you know I want to hear about your issues with me,” Lando slams his hands down onto the table, and you just raise an eyebrow at him. He’s down to his undershirt, his fireproofs hanging at his waist as you stare at him. “So say it! Don’t hold back!”

Andrea just massages his temples as Zak looks like he wants to be anywhere else. 

“Only if you don’t throw a tantrum when I’m right.” You state, examining your nails from where you sit, as though this is boring for you. Monotonous and icy-calm. 

Lando hates your voice. Specifically how robotic and monotone it sounds. What little he knows about you— which is as much as the rest of the world, with how private the Lauda family is— is that you apparently have some vocal chord and brain damage. Nothing substantial enough to impede your thought process or the way you speak to make you mute, but enough to have caused the monotonous way you talk. A small enough problem that Lando doesn’t feel like a total dick for what he’s about to say.

“Oh, just fucking say it, you robotic bitch!”

That gets your attention. You pause, slowly bring your hand down, and look at him. With the classic, terrifying Lauda glare. Your eyes pierce his soul, and for a second, just a second, Lando considers apologizing. Tucking his tail between his legs, his ears folded back. But then, he remembers who he is, and he meets your glare with his own, lips drawn back to bare his teeth....

[weirdsht]

Heya!! Can I request a tcf x reader fic from where the reader is teenager and got teleported there? Somehow they can see the dreams of the future and knew about tcf novel while also being a full on simp for the main characters?(But also the thing that the young reader was someone who has been to various worlds and was in a loop, repeating things but without the memory of them doing so each time. They get glimpses ofcourse but it was just their past self trying to give out signals to not repeat any mistakes)

Definitions - Cale & Teen! Reader

notes: sorry anon i couldn't reflect all of your ideas because i found some of them hard to combine when i started writing. also this plot is better suited for a long fic/series but i don't have that time and energy huhu

tags: gender-neutral reader, mentions of death and dying (can be a little graphic but nothing too bad), teenager reader, nightmares

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Constructive criticisms and any kind of interaction are more than welcome

Requests are open and welcome (for a limited time)

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“You should be more careful, this is uncharted territory.”

The look-a-like caressed your face softly as they spoke. Eyes filled with concern and uncertainty bore into you.

You may look alike but there’s something different about them.

Maybe it’s their mature aura. Perhaps it could be the tired look in their eyes. As though they have been suffering for eternity and want everything to end.

Whether they long for peace or eternal rest even you do not know.

“Still… this is a good opportunity and something we haven’t tried yet. Maybe you’ll be safer under his watch.”

“What do you mean by that? Who are you?”

You spoke for the first time since being transported in this weird abyss.

Being transmigrated into a novel like a lousy isekai protagonist was already confusing, but now you have to add weird dreams on top of that.

However, it beats trying to survive in that place you used to call home.

Between being endlessly confused and going back there… you’d choose the former any time of the day.

“I am you, well a part of you at least. As for what I mean… let’s just say this is for your own good.”

The supposed “you” paused briefly as they rested their hand on their chin. Probably thinking about how much they can disclose. Once they made up their mind their fingers caressed your head.

You may not know what’s happening, but you can tell they’re trying to provide comfort.

And it’s probably for the arduous path waiting beyond this dream.

“We’ve been through this many times, and each time you forget… I do not know if god has forsaken us or is playing a cruel joke…”

The look-a-like sighed before hugging you tightly. You meant to reciprocate, however, before you could raise your arms a sharp pain went through your neck.

“AGH! IT HURTS!”

It really does. It feels as though someone’s digging a knife through your neck, Trying to separate your head from your body.

When you manage to come back to your senses the other you are gone. The only thing left in the abyss is your and your throbbing neck.

…And wouldn’t you know, the moment you looked at your hands that were previously clutching your neck… all you could see was blood.

“-[me]”

“-[me]!”

“[Name]!”

“[Name] wake up!”

You jolt up as the familiar voice wakes you up from your dream. That’s right, you are currently under Cale Henituse’s wing after being transmigrated inside the novel you were reading. You have momentarily forgotten such a fact.

Clutching your throbbing neck, you tried to look at the redhead through your tears. Not that you are succeeding at the moment. However, you think you could see a slightly startled look on the young master’s usually calm face.

“Young master..?”

You asked, unsure of everything as your mind is still hazy. Still trying to get out of dreamland.

“You were screaming and crying in your sleep.”

Cale stated calmly as if he wasn’t panicking a minute ago. Still, his eyes roamed around you several times to double-check if there was anything wrong.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

The redhead asks as he gently wipes your tears and pry your hands away from your neck.

“I’m sorry young master. I don’t think I can for I don’t remember the contents of my dream… All I could remember was that there was a searing pain in my neck. It-it felt so real. As though I was in the middle of the battlefield and someone was sawing their sword back-and-forth on my neck…”

You tried to explain to the best of your abilities. You didn’t want to lie to the man that you considered your saviour.

Both when you were reading the novel and when you transmigrated.

In every form, fictional character or not, Cale Henituse has always been your saviour in one way or another. And thus you hold deep respect for the man.

“Don’t push yourself. Sometimes forgetting and never remembering is better than being reminded constantly.”

Ah, he must be referring to his record ability. A blessing and a curse indeed…

“Still, if you feel unwell or anything come to me. I took a kid like you in so I must take responsibility for you till the very end.”

Cale Henituse probably doesn’t know the impact of his words. Just how much you have longed to hear such things.

No, perhaps he does. Perhaps more than anyone, Kim Rok Soo has been the one longing to hear those words since he was a child.

“I’ll keep that in mind…”

With that, Cale stepped out for a moment to ask a servant to fetch a glass of warm milk. After doing so he returned to your side, sitting on the side of your bed. He looks unwilling to leave you, despite having three younger children waiting for him in his bedroom.

“Don’t hold back, have you seen me holding back from doing and saying whatever I want? You don’t have to push yourself to act like a grownup around me. I’m the adult, those things are for me to bear.”

Cale’s words suddenly found their way to your memory when you were about to urge him to go back to On, Hong, and Raon. That combined with the redhead’s determined gaze to not leave your side has you clamping your mouth shut.

Soon enough a maid delivered the glass of milk to your room and you drank it to your heart’s content. Then the morning after that you could feel the children averaging 7 years old sleeping beside you.

The weeks following that are peaceful. Well as peaceful as Cale’s life could get at least. Not that it says much since he has the tendency to meddle in things that will only jeopardize his slacker life.

Despite that, your days are looking better. After that night you didn’t seem to experience excruciating nightmares anymore. You also seemed to have opened up to the rest of the crew.

Perhaps that’s why Cale became complacent, causing him to lower his guard.

And perhaps that’s also why his face hardens 10x more than it would have weeks ago. His anger soars through the sky, reaching the gods even, as he hears the heartbroken sobs you utter on your lips after waking up from a nightmare.

“Am I such a bad child for the gods to do this to me? Have they forsaken me? What did I do that was so wrong that warrants this kind of suffering?”

You sobbed on the young’s master chest. You look so out of it. Eyes glazed over as if you’re not with Cale despite being in his embrace. You continued to wail, continued to curse the world for putting you in a type of pain that not even Cale can comprehend.

“I’m tired, I’m so tired. How many times has it been? I’ve tried my best… I always did, but I don’t know what the gods want.”

As you looked up at the ceiling, perhaps trying to directly ask the gods, Cale could finally clearly see your eyes.

They were filled with pain and suffering. Such young eyes carry the weight of the world.

It did not belong to the teen who was laughing and playing around with the kids and Choi Han.

It was still you, but it wasn’t the you that Cale is currently raising.

The meddlesome transmigrator couldn’t understand it himself, but he was sure of this feeling that he had about you.

Hence why when you finally passed out he immediately ordered someone to summon Cage and Saint Jack.

Cale Henituse might be a piece of trash but he always sees through his promises.

Even if he has to fight every god out there to fulfil it.

Because for Cale Henituse, that’s what it means to be a guardian.

[missfrustration]

thirty-six pushups (serirei mp100 nsfw fic)

rating: explicit 18+, minors do not interact!

pairing: serizawa katsuya x reigen arataka

tags: pwp, smut, anal sex, fingering, top serizawa, bottom reigen, sweet/hot, hand jobs, boss/employee, office sex, desk sex, first time, loss of virginity, spit as lube, whimpering, old men yaoi, and yes pushups.

A/n: as soon as the pushup challenge on tiktok started popping off, I knew I had to make this. guys IFKYK. on ao3 here!

word count: 4.9k

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“I’m telling you, Serizawa! If Mob can do it, I can too!” 

Reigen stands before Serizawa in the Spirits and Such Consultation Office, looking childishly proud.

This conversation sparked after Serizawa and Reigen finished up with their last job of the day. A gym owner claimed their dumbbells would randomly fall on the toes of guests. After briefly searching the facility, they exorcised the spirit of a washed-out bodybuilder who was spiteful of anyone more buff than him. The owner promptly thanked them with a lifetime membership, even inviting them to compete in a push-up challenge. 

Although caring, Reigen decided to turn them down. Serizawa asked why Reigen didn’t participate. 

“Ah, you see, Serizawa. I have been creating my secret training regime where I have reaped better benefits than going to some sweaty gym.”

On the way back to the office, Reigen revealed the details of his secret training regime: the Remote Psychic Muscle Activation Technique. Reigen uses his psychic powers to target each muscle in his body, producing his "current muscular physique." Thus, he was confident he would win that competition and didn’t want to hurt those gym bros' egos. However, the more Serizawa asked questions, the more Reigen shifted around to find answers. 

Once arriving at the office, Reigen had beads of sweat dripping down him, which he immediately wiped off with a towel when he reached his desk. Serizawa enjoyed hearing about his boss’s stories; it was another side of Reigen he didn’t experience in the office. It was refreshing to Serizawa to hear Reigen talk about whatever he wanted just for him to listen. 

After Reigen wiped himself off, he continued with the discussion on push-ups. They mentioned Mob’s recent accomplishment of doing 35 push-ups in a row, which both men were amazed by. 

Thus comes the current conversation. Serizawa stands in awe of Reigen, smiling back at his boss, “I think you can too, Reigen. You could do anything if you put your mind to it.”

Reigen face warms up, swatting his hand as to dismiss him. He bashfully shakes his head, saying, “Come, Serizawa, that is too nice of you. Alright, I have made up my mind. Watch me as I perform the most pushups humanity has known!” 

Serizawa is pleasantly surprised that his boss would want to demonstrate something like this in front of him, “Oh, I believe in you. You can do it!” He quietly claps as he sits down. 

In a flash, Reigen swiftly slips off his suit jacket and undoes the buttons on his dress shirt before tossing it, revealing the white T-shirt hiding underneath. Reigen hits the floor and gets in position.

In reality, Reigen doesn’t have a plan. Hell, the last time he worked out was the last time he jogged with Mob for his marathon, and even then, he tapped out after 10 minutes! 

He looks back at Serizawa, debating if he should smooth talk his way out of this or not. Serizawa looks back with awe and determination in his eyes, ready to see his boss ace this challenge. The twinkle of excitement in the hues of his pupils strikes a chord in Reigen. How could he possibly turn down a face like Serizawa’s?! 

He sighs in self-defeat, now knowing he has to do it. He can’t flake right now, not after all that talking up! He probably could pull it off if he did those modified pushups… no, but girls usually do that.

“Okay, here goes,” Reigen is unprepared for what the next few minutes will bring him. Nevertheless, he inhales deeply and starts.

“One! Two! Three! Hey, this is easier than I thought!” Reigen says pleasantly. “Piece of cake already.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, sir.” Serizawa says, “Keep going!”

Reigen feels warmth on his cheeks from the compliment Serizawa gives him. A boost of motivation hits him immediately, and he keeps his arms pushing like a hot knife on butter.

“Six. Seven. Eight. Nine-”

Reigen immediately recognizes that his mouth feels dryer. His arms are starting to shake. There's a slight tremble in his voice after counting each rep. 

This is not a good sign for Reigen. 

“Ten.” He stammers. Reigen feels weak already. “Hahaha, man. Eleven.” Maintaining his previous swagger in front of Serizawa is getting more challenging now. Screw it. He will just have to keep going until he can’t anymore. 

“Twelve. Hahh.” A now-winded Reigen pauses to catch his breath before continuing to push out more in hurried intervals rather than the past cadence he started. He manages to push out 3 or 4 reps each time before needing a few moments to recuperate. Slowly, though, Reigen finds it more challenging to keep a strong voice. 

“Twenty-two. T-twenty-three.” Reigen accidentally whimpers but doesn’t give up hope. Sure, he sounds like a total weakling, but as long as he shows he can do enough, maybe Reigen can squeeze away with all the panting by his ad-libbing. He can’t bear to see Serizawa’s face in the middle of this; he is way too embarrassed.

Serizawa quickly notices this but doesn’t think much about it.

“Twenty-four.”

Of course, that is the best way for Serizawa to help his boss create a positive work environment! Supporting others is always necessary.

“Twenty-f-five.”

There is nothing more than professional work going on, after all.

“Hahh. Hah, twenty-six.”

A disciple should support their boss just as much as Reigen helps him.

“Twenty-seven.”

So why does Serizawa feel weird? Why is his face so hot and his chest tight?

“Twenty-eight.” Reigen whimpers again as his arms begin to shake.

Serizawa can’t believe what he’s feeling. It’s an overwhelming feeling he hasn’t ever had to this degree. Not with anyone but… 

“Twenty-nine.”

Serizawa knows. He’s felt this way about Reigen dozens of times since they met. Whether it was the first act of kindness when Reigen offered to hire him, the times they would eat lunch on break together, or how much it meant to him when he smiled. He’s felt this way about Reigen before, but not to this degree.

Thirty.

Serizawa knows what this is now. Reigen’s noises are starting to make him feel very unforgiving thoughts.

Thirty-one.

Serizawa can’t help but imagine Reigen moans like that for different reasons. He can’t help but think of Reigen moaning because of him . He’s been holding it back since he first realized what he was thinking, but the need got increasingly hungry.

Thirty-two.

Serizawa can’t keep his erection down. He has never needed to handle himself this hard in public, much less in the office--only in his private time. He feels the pulse in his groin, straining increasingly against his tight suit pants. He has an animalistic desire to touch it, palm it, do anything to take care of it. But Serizawa is in the worst position for this. 

Thirty-three.

Serizawa looks at Reigen, panic in his eyes. He can tell Reigen might stop any moment. Oh god, Serizawa can’t stop thinking about the most degenerate things. The thought of Reigen’s face of pleasure, his body, the feel of his skin, the panic of how fast he needs to get together, the sound of Reigen’s whimpers right now. 

Thirty-four.

This is too much pressure. Reigen’s pushups are starting to slow down between each repetition. Serizawa is panicking about what to do next. He rips his eyes off Reigen, trying to curl his body in on himself. If he could do anything else– think of anything else–then there has to be a way he can come back from this.

Thirty-five.

Anything will help right now. Anything!

“Thirty, thirty-six. Uf!” Reigen stops, panting and falling back onto the ground to collect his breath. “Hah. Hahahahhh, see?! I’m not just a smooth talker, after all. Heh, alright!”

Reigen catches his breath, feeling very confident in himself. He overlooks Serizawa’s minor life crisis as he kneels on the floor.

“Well then, Serizawa, I showed you how it’s done, didn’t I?” Reigen fixated his eyes on the carpet, focusing on evening his breath. “Hey, hah, hand me a towel from the cabinet over there, will ya?”

Silence fills the room, save for Reigen’s pants. “Serizawa?” Reigen raises his head to see if Serizawa heard him. 

He pauses to see Serizawa’s body practically curled into the chair, purposefully avoiding eye contact with Reigen. 

Immediately, insecurity washed over Reigen at why Serizawa was acting like this. Oh crap, is he disgusted by my struggle to do pushups? Did I need to do more to impress him? Is he trying not to laugh? 

Reigen swallows his insecurities and adjusts his tie.

“Hey, Serizawa? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong, sir,” Serizawa whispers. Though, it’s obvious to both men that this is a lie. Around the two, things start to float up and down in the office. Reigen is the first to see it, however. 

“Hey, now. I can tell when you are not like yourself. More than anyone. Especially with this,” Reigen gestures around, which Serizawa notices and immediately places down all the objects, “Please, Serizawa. What can I do to help you?” Reigen asks.

“I'm sorry, but,” Serizawa uncurls himself, now turning away from Reigen by swiveling around the chair. “You can’t help with this.”

“Of course, I can. What kind of boss would I be if I didn’t come to the aid of my employees?” 

Reigen steps in front of Serizawa before he can curl himself up again. Serizawa is too late to cover up the large tent in his pants that Reigen just saw.

“Ah, Reigen! It’s not, ah, well, it is, but- wait, no!” Serizawa stammers, scrambling for anything to save this. Under all this pressure, he cannot lie anymore. “I’m so sorry! I have been thinking… horrible thoughts about you. When you were pushing up, you were making noises. I turned to dirty thoughts, and I–” Serizawa eyes wide, realizing how quickly the words slipped from his mouth. In times like these, lying is impossible for him. This is it for him. He’s going to get fired for sure!

“Serizawa…” Reigen is stunned, but things are now starting to click for him. His hand goes to his tie to try to fidget with it, immediately adjusting it until it rests flush with his collar. He clears his throat from any frog before opening his mouth.

“I can… take care of that too, you know.” The statement and his voice cracking at the end sounded like it didn’t even come out of the always-confident conman’s mouth. What escaped him was more meek, as quiet as a church mouse that Serizawa almost didn’t hear.

Serizawa sits straight up and meets Reigen’s eyes with his bewildered expression. Reigen looks back at him with a pink blush blooming across his face. The eye contact between the two men is electric when they realize what is slowly unraveling.

The air goes silent before Serizawa breaks it. “Reigen, what do you mean? Did… did I hear you right?” Serizawa’s Adam's Apple bobbed up and down in disbelief. It feels unreal. He needs to snap out of it, but Serizawa wants this to be real. It's so bad he needs proof that he is dreaming or living in this moment.

“Ahem. Well, as your boss, I- no… it’s more than that now. I want to help you with this because I,” Reigen leans forward, gently placing his hand on his shoulder before looking down at Serizawa, “We’ve been working together so well, and I’ve started to feel things. Unprofessional things.”

Reigens hand softly sweeps off the tall man's shoulder, now moving to the middle of his thigh. He softly laughs, “And this? Seems right up my alley.” 

Serizawa can’t believe what he’s hearing. Something in him snaps. All the days of suppression, all the days he’s cared for Reigen, all the days after work that he couldn’t stop thinking about him. It was enough to spring him up and unintentionally jump Reigen, causing his back to push against the wall in surprise.

“Woah, big guy! Hah~,” Before Reigen can speak, Serizawa’s arms slam on either side of Reigen, caging him between the wall and the tall man. 

“Reigen, I can’t hold these feelings back anymore.” Serizawa leans forward and rests his head against the wall right above Reigen. His eyes knit together, trying desperately not to go any farther or even say anymore. But it’s too late. 

Reigen raises his head high enough to see the agony on Serizawa’s face, fully understanding what is happening. His hand reaches up to caress Serizawa’s cheek. “I get what you mean. Please, just for me, you don’t have to hold back anymore.” 

God, I hope I can do this right. Serizawa thinks.

Immediately, he raises his head from the wall and smashes his lips onto Reigen’s in a hungry lust. Serizawa can’t control himself, pressing himself intensely into Reigen, practically smushing the shorter man into the wall. 

The passion is unleashed on Reigen, making him groan on the lips of Serizawa. They part lips and dance their tongues together in a rather clunky manner. It feels right before them, though, even with the minor teeth clashes. 

Reigen meets the man’s face with his hands, deepening the kiss. Serizawa awkwardly grabs Reigen’s shoulders with an immense grip, making him grunt. The noise Reigen makes goes straight to Serizawa’s pants, making him want the kiss even harder. He can’t control his wants any longer. 

Breaking the kiss, Reigen and Serizawa’s saliva connects to each other’s lips in a thick line. Both men gasp for air as they look at each other.

“How do we… what do we do with this then?” Serizawa's mind is dizzying, having no clue how to handle the peak in his suit pants.

“Well, the best way we can.” Reigen handed Serizawa’s pants, earning a long sigh and twitch from his member. 

“Reigen, I-I can’t stop holding back if you do that.”

“You don’t have to anymore. Plus, it feels good, right?” Reigen addresses Serizawa’s uneasiness, “Tell me how you feel. Should I keep going?”

“You don’t understand. I want you to sound like earlier when you were doing those pushups. I want that to be because of me . I don’t know what I’ll do if you keep going.”

“I think we can find something to help that.” Reigen sighs, trying to figure out exactly how he wants to take this. He looks at Serizawa, who seems seconds away from bursting, then at the desk just inches away from the two, and an idea creeps into the forefront of his mind. If he wants to do it, though, Reigen must prepare both.

“Let me show you.”

Per Reigen’s instructions, Serizawa flushes as he helps Reigen against the desk. Reigen sighs when his backside reaches the chill wood of the desk. They quickly use their nimble fingers to remove his suit pants and boxers gingerly. Serizawa thinks he’s going to pass out on cloud nine. His hand grips the small of Reigen’s back, making him instinctively arch himself, giving Serizawa a generous view of Reigen’s erect penis twitching against his stomach.

 “Hah… Do you like what you see?” Reigen neck leans forward to meet gaze with the man over him, entirely in awe of the sight.

“Absolutely.” 

“Go ahead then. I’ll be patient.” Reigen gasps when Serizawa places his shaking hand on the exposed skin, palming his ass with rough desperation.

The only time Serizawa has touched someone in any sexual way is himself. He seldom has watched porn, much less gay porn. His head spirals in confusion, but Reigen sees this quickly; he knows what to do next. 

“I know what to do. I can help lead you.”

“Okay. W-what should I do now?”

“You can use your finger to start. Put it in your mouth–make sure you coat it, and,” Reigen paused, looking away to hide his face from Serizawa’s gaze. “It will warm me up for the next steps.”

Serizawa does what he’s told. He looks at Reigen inquisitively with his digit still in his mouth, “What do fingers have to do with this?”

Reigen grunts, “...You know,” Serizawa’s face tells him he doesn’t know. Reigen continues, “You need to warm me up with fingers before that . I think…” He nods to Serizawa’s hard tent, “I need you to put your fingers in my ass. It has to be wet first for it to work.”

“R-right. I can do that.” He turns around and watches Serizawa coat his forefinger and middle with his saliva. His finger comes out with a string connecting him to his mouth. He awkwardly holds his fingers out, looking almost innocent as he waits for Reigen’s following instructions.

“Just know, I’ve never done this before. So just go easy on me.” Reigen says, looking away. Serizawa nods before not so subtly pulling into Reigen’s desperate lips with his tie. Reigen's face tells of nothing but timidness, yet still with needy lust. His body shivers with want as he reaches to find the hands of his employee, still covered with spit. He moves Serizawa’s fingers down, and down, and down. Serizawa can feel Reigen’s hands tremble when he touches something warm. 

Reigen guides Serizawa’s fingers to his hole. At first, it takes Serizawa a moment to process what he’s being guided to while he gently kisses Reigen’s face, still held close to him by his tie. Reigen’s other hand fumbles Serizawa’s hand around, trying to find the spot he needs Serizawa to fill while also hiding his face during their kisses. 

When Serizawa feels his fingertips protrude Reigen’s entrance, he knows what to do. 

As soon as he feels pressure on his asshole, Reigen’s death grip on Serizawa's tie pulls him closer into the kiss. He can’t bear to look at Serizawa’s face, who he’s adored so long. He can’t bear to see those eyes like it will wake him up from his remarkable dream. 

Serizawa’s hand presses gently inside, and soon, the pads of his two fingers are warmed by the inside of his boss. He can feel Reigen shift into the kiss.

Reigen grabs his arm, slowly pulling him into one knuckle deep, then two, to the fullest extent. Reigen completely freezes his mouth on Serizawa’s tongue, breathing quickly through his nose.

Reigen pushes Serizawa’s arm, awkwardly stopping at his fingertips before Reigen guides him back. Serizawa feels extreme pressure around his fingers when they are thrust inside. Reigen makes a slight squeak against his lips before hastily making Serizawa thrust into him again.

Reigen fully guides each thrust of Serizawa’s fingers as they continue, slowly loosening himself up in the process. Soon, however, the gentle pace changes. 

Reigen’s hands are gripping Serizawa’s arm and tie, giving him erratic and fast pushes into himself. Reigen’s voice fails on him, slowly humming into each sharp exhale he provides. He tries desperately to keep himself from sounding like a dog, but when he feels Serizawa’s fingers take the lead without his guidance, he can’t help but pant. 

Serizawa knows what to do for now. As Reigen showed him, he pulled his fingers out before sloppily pushing back in. He feels the walls of Reigen slowly lower themselves.

“Okay, Serizawa. You can curl y-your fingers now.” Reigen meekly whispers against his lips. 

Serizawa isn’t confident about what he means but tries to enact what Reigen asks in a wordless agreement. He slowly bends his fingers. 

Reigen let go of his tie, leaning against the table with his palms as the sensation felt too much. 

“You can’t do this to me, Serizawa. The way you’re looking at me, I– Ah!” Reigen arches into the desk when Serizawa’s fingers reach a delicious spot in him. 

Serizawa twitching cock is reaching its limit. There’s only so much the man can take before he crumbles under pressure. 

Suddenly, Reigen feels two firm hands placed at both sides of his face that causes him to snap out of his twitches. 

“Reigen, please let me push this further.” Serizawa’s face is stone; besides the sweat on his face, you would think he is back in his first job interview with Reigen.

“Idiot, I was gonna say yes to that.” Reigen scoffs, grabbing Serizawa’s tie. He solidifies his want by kissing Serizawa deeply. Their tongues touch again, causing Serizawa to huff and press his hard tent against the conman. 

“Please, for the love of god, take it out, Serizawa.” Reigen whimpers against his mouth. 

Serizawa didn’t need to think twice. It's a surprise to him when he knew exactly what Reigen was referring to in the first place. In a flash, his cock was free from his clothes, pinkened and twitching. Nobody had ever seen this part of him before, but Reigen looked at it like it was the sexiest thing he’d laid eyes on. The way his eyes lingered, the way he bit his lip, and the way he seemed to sweat a little more made Serizawa groan. 

Maybe Reigen let his eyes stay on Serizawa a little too long out of anxiety because, damn , his employee was fucking packing. This entire time Serizawa was carrying a fucking package on him? Reigen swallowed. Even if he’s never seen another man's dick in real life, he wouldn't have known they could have that many veins on them, even in porn. 

“I need you to go slow, okay?” Reigen says, now shifting his legs apart, gingerly holding them against the desk as he leans back. 

Reigen doesn’t know if his words reach Serizawa at this point. Serizawa practically jumps at him like he’s never seen a tastier meal. Serizawa’s thick cock presses down Reigen’s crack, making him tremble on standby. 

He can feel his breath quicken when he helps Serizawa line him up to the hole. 

“P-please, go-ah!” Reigen gags out as Serizawa begins to push in unceremoniously and can already feel pain searing into his asshole. 

“Sorry, I will go slow, but it just, you feel so,” Serizawa’s cockhead slips into Reigen’s body, now pausing to adjust Reigen before inching in more. “So good.” 

Reigen practically whimpers in Serizawa’s hold, but tries to play it off as a clearing of his throat. He grips onto the hands that hold his small hips, letting himself relax for the man who keeps sinking deeper. 

It takes a hot minute until Serizawa’s girth is fully inside, many times Reigen needed to stop and pause to take a breather, whimpering like a dog in heat. Once it was in, Reigen felt his cock twitch up in excitement. The pain subsided as the pleasure started to rear its head.

“Please, Serizawa, start moving your hips,” Reigen pleads, tapping his foot against Serizawa for some friction. 

Serizawa breaks loose, immediately thrusting out before putting his whole cock back inside. Reigen can’t keep the noise he makes down as his voice chokes from the pressure. He sputters on Serizawa’s cock as it keeps moving, slowly making his rational spiral into something unintelligible. 

“Reigen,” Serizawa groans out. “God, I’ve never felt anything like this. You’re so warm.”

He continues his tirade, practically thrusting his hips into Reigen as fast as his heartbeat. 

Reigen tries to collect himself to complain to Serizawa, to say that he can’t possibly keep up that pace if he has anything to say about it. The neighboring offices can only ignore so much noise before they file complaints, even worse, Reigen’s moaning louder than a train station. But he can’t get himself to spit the words out. His tight ass starts to loosen in Serizawa’s rugged strokes, now replacing the searing pain with white, hot pleasure. It’s a feeling he cannot help but ride. He pants out, only mumbling small obscenities and panting like a dog. 

Serizawa sees Reigen huff into the air, practically growing hearts in his pupils from the sight. 

This is the exact picture he wants to frame. Reigen’s legs hang in the air, constantly thumping to and fro from each jerk of Serizawa’s hips. His hands do little in gripping onto his legs, and his face is so blissed it’s driving Serizawa crazy. His eyes are dilated, Reigen rolls his eyes into the back of his skull every few seconds before trying to focus on the man in front of him, only to be hit into a particularly delicious spot, hypnotizing his sight and causing his vision to blur. Again. His pretty tongue that once led the kiss now peaked out of his mouth, lips plumped from kissing and agape, huffing and moaning every single octave his voice could possibly ring out. This same kind of face was what Serizawa wanted to give Reigen. It’s what he wanted to recreate. 

He wanted to ruin that pretty little face of his boss, and he was going to do more of just that. 

“Reigen, please look at me.”

Reigen's pretty legs dangled in the air as he tried to come to his senses, now trying to fully focus on Serizawa but blurring out every now and then. It wasn’t until Serizawa grabbed his chin and leaned in close that Reigen sharply looked at him. 

Serizawa was closer, angling his thrusts into Reigen just right that he practically yelps into the taller mans mouth when he was pulled in a sloppy kiss. God, it felt so satisfying, Serizawa almost drools at the way Reigens face deliciously contorts. And it’s all because of him . 

“Please, don’t stop,” Reigen whimpers.

“Never, darling.” Despite his sweet words, Serizawa continues his impossibly fast pace inside Reigen’s tight ass. 

Reigen’s pretty cock was rock fucking solid, and it gave Serizawa the perfect idea. He wraps his big hand around Reigen’s shaft and begins to stroke it languidly.

Reigen’s eyes practically bulged; the sensation was so delirious that he couldn’t speak. He tries to hold the same contact with Serizawa, but the stimulation causes his eyelids to flutter each time.

He unintentionally jerks his hips anywhere near Serizawa, and his teeth are gritting together. His weak hands grab into the hands that grip his ass, pulsing his hold the way his asshole puckered. 

“That feels so good, and please don't stop. Please don’t stop.” The constant whimpering from Reigen now turns into moans, until moans become begging that Serizawa keep going, over and over and over again, until Reigen is an uncontrollable, overstimulated mess. Serizawa keeps a relentless pace of pumps on his cock, as well as in his ass. It’s all so much that Reigen’s overbearing core is starting to bubble over. 

In between Reigen’s range of noises, he squeezes out, “Seri, I’m gonna, I’m gonna cum for you.” He rasps. 

“Please, Reigen. Let everyone know how I make you feel.” Serizawa grunts. He relinquished his grip on Reigen’s hips before latching onto his trim waist. Reigen’s delicate waist could perfectly fit inside Serizawa's large hands, practically made to fit like puzzle pieces. Serizawa hunches over and starts to thrust into Reigen like never before. The thick girth that Reigen was once nervous about now makes his frame convulse in pleasure.

Reigen screamed out, tightening his asshole so much that Serizawa’s cock completely halted inside of him. The tightness clamps down on Serizawa, and he can only watch Reigen orgasm, spouting white, warm cum all over Serizawa’s suit and his skin. His dick just bobbed up and down, his pretty pink cockhead looking so inviting to Serizawa. 

What Serizawa needed to do now was so clear to him. Before Reigen could finish his ecstasy, Serizawa hungrily took his twitching cock in his lips, sucking out the rest of the cum from his head. The warm, salty, thick cum massages down his throat while Reigen’s finger clamored to Serizawa's soft brown hair, practically drumming his hands all over his head and shoulders, seizing any sort of bodily function. 

Serizawa’s desperate mouth milks out any more seed he possibly could out of Reigen until his writhing ceases. He only needed to thrust in Reigen’s sodden hole a little bit more before he released himself in Reigen’s ass, pulling out to reveal a mouthwatering cream pie. 

Reigen’s face relaxed from his orgasm, relaxing his spread legs, giving a generous view of his chest, nipples still hard and face still red. 

“Jesus, Serizawa, I didn’t know you were packing a fucking snake in your pants,” Reigen said, throwing his head back. “If I had known this would happen, I would’ve stretched myself better. You… liked that, right?”

“Reigen, that was wonderful. I didn’t know that something would feel that good,” Serizawa’s blush was the cutest thing, but what Seri said was more concerning. 

“Hold on, was that…?” Reigen couldn’t believe it when Serizawa confirmed his suspicions, internally freaking out, but calmly sighed. “Well, I'm glad you feel that way.”

Serizawa couldn’t keep his love in any longer; he grabbed the face he always thought was beautiful, one that he saw every day as his boss, and now one that he could call…

“Reigen, would you do me the honor of calling me yours?”

“You think you need to ask that at this point? Jeez…” Reigen could barely contain his excitement, grabbing his hand and kissing it gently. “Of course I will.”

The two men embraced in a way they never thought would be possible. If this wasn’t the best outcome of a set of pushups, they didn’t know what would be.

--------

ao3 | tiktok | kofi | masterlist

[siriusblackslefttoenail]

Okay… so this is my first fic and idk how to feel about it. I just kept writing so feedback is welcome, just don't hate on me lol. I tried really hard but I didn't completely proofread it so I'm so sorry if it's messed up in some spots. Also, my first time writing smut so idk I'm sorry if it's horrible. I'm also not super experienced with Tumblr so I don't have fancy dividers or anything :( If someone actually likes what I write I'll figure it out and make it look pretty!!

WC: 7,290

Warnings: SMUT, fast burn there's like no wait time tbh, kinda mentions family death (very briefly), shitty parents mentioned, female character, Bluna mentioned as well as Draco x Pansy, head (female receives), if I forgot any please tell me!!

Summary: Mattheo Riddle meets a girl who captivates him the moment he sees her. She doesn't recognize him until he tells her who he is. The tension breaks and they finally get together!

MUSE

Mattheo knew he was fucked from the moment he knew who and what his father was. Well, he was even more fucked when he had an older brother who was his dad’s right-hand man.

Don’t think that Tom and Uncle Lucius left Mattheo alone because of his lack of respect towards his father. It honestly made his life harder. Always had to sneak out for a smoke instead of just walking through the front door.

Currently, Mattheo is sneaking out through his window from the third floor of Malfoy Manor. He hasn’t yet decided if he wants to go to the roof or leave the grounds completely. The roof would be a safer bet.

Hoisting himself up to the roof he silently thanks his younger self for deciding to join quidditch. He wouldn’t have been able to make it anywhere if he didn’t have muscles.

Finally finding his regular spot he sits and lays his legs out. Takes the pack of cigarettes he’s got from his pocket and lights one with the lighter Theo gave him for his birthday a year ago.

He knew the lighter would soon run out of fuel and he’d need to get a new one. Being in 6th year Mattheo isn’t able to use his wand to light the cigarette so he resorts to the muggle lighters. He has to find a way to get muggle cash though.

While Mattheo’s smoking he hears a door slam. That can’t be good, usually, he’s the one slamming doors. He scoots to the edge of the roof and sees Tom standing on the front lawn. He’s probably looking for Mattheo.

While Mattheo quickly moves back to his spot he hears a girl's voice.

“Dad, I’ll be fine. As I said I know a boy here. He won’t do anything, just figure out your business deal and we can leave.”

Moving back to his previous spot to peer over the roof he sees you. Some girl getting out of a car he doesn’t know the brand of, in this black leather skirt and black long-sleeve top. The top of your boobs spill over lightly showing how tight the shirt is.

Fucking hell, who the fuck is this? Mattheo is questioning whether he should get down or not, that is until he sees Tom walk over to you and shake your hand.

“Tom, it’s good to see you again.” You’re talking to his brother, and you know him? Why doesn’t Mattheo know you? Are you in the same year as Tom?

“It’s good to see you too,” Tom responds and Mattheo watches as the two of you walk inside with your father.

****

Walking into Malfoy Manor I try to remember what Pansy told me about it. It’s old, practically prehistoric as Pansy said. Looking over to my right I see Tom, the same boy who helped me with Advanced Potions last year.

“Thanks for keeping me company while my dad works things out with Mr Malfoy.” I smile at him and he looks at me with the same stoic expression as always. Better than a grimace or a frown I suppose.

Both Tom and I hear footsteps coming down the staircase that’s to our left and turn to see a handsomely built curly-haired boy walk down in black Converse and an all-black outfit.

“That’s my younger brother, Mattheo,” Tom explains, sensing my confusion. Younger brother? How much younger? He’s fucking hot.

“Hi, I’m y/n” I introduce myself as he walks closer. He doesn’t look like Tom at all. Tom is very tall and skinny meanwhile Mattheo is thick and more short, he actually has muscle on him.

“Y/n that’s a pretty name.” He responds shaking my outstretched hand. I smile and give him a small thanks.

“I didn’t know you had a brother Tom.”

“I thought everyone did.” Tom just shrugs and keeps walking to the living room. We follow behind him and sit down on a big black leather couch that’s settled in front of a marble fireplace.

“I’m going into my sixth year,” Mattheo tells me and I smile.

“Why don’t I know you? I’m going into sixth too!”

“How do you know Tom then?”

“Oh, he helped me in Advanced Potions last year.”

“You were in 6th year advanced potions?” While he asks me with wide eyes I just nod and give Tom a smile. He’s not looking at me he’s looking straight at Mattheo. I’m guessing from the tension between them, that they’re not close.

“I play quidditch, I’m on the Slytherin team, I play as a beater.”

“Ah! You’re friends with Draco!” I finally recognize him. He just nods and looks away from me.

“I was partnered with Draco last year in Transfiguration. As well as Nott in Defense Against The Dark Arts!” I don’t know how I never noticed how handsome he was until I was right in front of him.

“Oh yeah, Theo’s my best friend.” Mattheo smiles and scratches his neck.

“Yes, he talked about you a lot. I just didn’t know you were related to Tom or what you looked like exactly. That’s why I didn’t recognize you.” All Mattheo does is nod and I hear Tom chuckle.

“Mattheo is too busy listening to his music and drawing in that silly book of his to even lift his head. I don’t blame you for not knowing who he was, he’s hardly there.” I look at Tom and then back at Mattheo who looks upset.

“What music do you listen to?” I ask moving closer to Mattheo. He releases a wide smile and we start talking about The Smiths and Queen, as well as The Cure. He seems sweet.

“I can’t believe I met a girl who listens to the same music as me.” Mattheo laughs incredulously.

I laugh with him and we notice how Tom got up and left the room. I look at Mattheo and he just shrugs.

“He’s moody. Maybe he’s jealous you’re paying more attention to me.” Mattheo says smirking at me.

“Why would he be jealous? What’s special about me?” I ask, confused

“Because you’re the only girl who talks to him. Well, that and you’re also attractive so it hurts his ego more.” Mattheo chuckles when he’s done talking and I look at him like he’s insane.

“Tom riddle thinking I’m attractive? What has the world come to?” I seriously ask but Mattheo laughs

“Well, it’s very rare to see a girl with Tom so he’ll try to flirt with you but you wouldn’t even know because he’s so bad at it. It must've stung him when you preferred his younger brother over him.” Mattheo is still laughing and I give an awkward chuckle.

“Well, there’s always other people out there for him. Just not me.” I say chuckling along with Mattheo

“Oh, you’re not? Who are you for, y/n?” Mattheo moves his face closer to mine laughing, I get nervous and look away.

“Well, I’m not sure yet but I know it’s not him.”

“Why not Tom?”

“He’s too... uptight and studious. I’m more laid back and I care about my grades but not as much as him. He also doesn’t like muggle things and I plan on living in the muggle world when I graduate.”

“You do? Why?”

“I’m not sure, I think they have brilliant ideas and inventions and I believe the muggle world has more to offer than the wizarding world.”

“I guess you’re right, where in the muggle world would you live?”

“Hmm, probably a big city like New York or Chicago.”

“Oh so in America?”

“Yes, America. I want to go around the States, they have so many beautiful things there.” Mattheo just nods and looks at the dancing fire in the dug-out marble fireplace.

“Y/n let’s go, I’ve finished.” I hear my dad behind me and both Mattheo and I turn to see him.

“Okay, Dad,” I say, rising from the couch and going to stand next to him.

“Nice to meet you, Tom.” My father says to Mattheo.

“Oh no, Dad that’s his younger brother Mattheo.” I laugh slightly

“Oh. Well, tell your brother it was nice meeting him.”

“Yes sir,” Mattheo responds getting up from the couch and walking to the front door to lead us out.

“Thanks, Mattheo, I’ll see you at school,” I say touching his arm lightly before walking out of the house. I swear I see his face blush and I feel heat pool in my stomach. Definitely need to get closer to him.

****

Boarding the train from summer break is always the worst. The station is always too stuffy and cramped. Then you get on the train and it’s even hotter. I’m waving my hand in front of my face in my compartment when the door opens and reveals Daphne Greengrass and Pansy Parkinson, my closest friends.

“It’s so hot in this god-forsaken train. You’d think with magic you could cool down a train.” Pansy complains sitting down and wiping her hairline.

I laugh and try to open the train window. Thank god this compartment has a working window. Both Daphne and I sigh as the window opens.

“Oh thank Merlin!” Daphne says moving closer to the window. We always get closer to the front of the train so we don’t have to see students and their families. It’s always too much noise.

The cabin door opening surprises us all.

“Hey, ladies!” Theodore Nott says placing himself right next to my thigh.

“Oh no no no. No way, it’s too hot in the train for the six of you to sit in here with us!” Pansy says pulling Theo up from his spot and pushing him back towards the door.

Draco laughs and puts Theo back next to me and sits next to Pansy.

“You’ll be alright love,” Draco smirks and places his arm around Pansy. She just groans and rolls her eyes knowing it’s no use trying to tell them to leave. I look back towards the door and Blaise has taken his spot next to Daphne and the wall.

Mattheo stands awkwardly with Tom, both of them looking at me. Lorenzo finds the spot next to Theo and both Tom and Mattheo roll their eyes.

They have to sit next to each other and not even by the window. All of our legs rub against each other as the two of them squeeze in.

“Holy shit, can you move over?” Mattheo asks Enzo and Theo.

“Not really no,” Lorenzo responds laughing. Mattheo groans and sits in between Daphne and Pansy.

“Oh!” Daphne says as Mattheo slightly shoves her into Blaise.

“Sorry.” He mumbles and looks out the window.

“So, how were everyone’s summers?” I ask lightly trying to diffuse the tension in the small compartment.

Blaise and Theo start to speak at the same time and eventually agree Theo can speak first.

“Mine was surprisingly very exciting, I went back to Italy by myself to visit my mother's side of the family for the first time since she passed, and my dad was gone almost the whole summer so I was able to do whatever I wanted without being berated!” I could tell in Theo’s voice he was hurting, he was being sarcastic to cover up his sadness about being alone and his mother passing.

When I was partnered with him last year he had opened up a bit and we would talk. I told him about my dad and he told me about his, he also told me about how his mother passed and it truly was a horrible death. I can’t even imagine how 10-year-old Theo coped with that.

Blaise speaks up next and explains how he had to go to his mom’s wedding for his 4th stepfather. He seems pretty over the whole stepdad thing, I mean if I had 4 I would be too. Blaise tells us how he got to go on a muggle cruise in the Caribbean. They stopped in the Bahamas and Cuba. He at least seemed very pleased with the trip his stepfather provided.

“That sounds nice Blaise,” I say smiling, my summer was pretty shitty but I don’t think anyone will ask if everyone says theirs first.

“How about yours?” Theo asks, everyone turning to me.

“Oh-ha it was good. Nothing special.” I try really hard not to sound like I’m lying but I think they all see through it.

“No seriously y/n, how was your summer?” Pansy asks her leg nudging mine lightly.

“I don’t wanna talk about it Pans.”

“Oh okay, no problem.” I look away when she says this so I don’t have to make eye contact with any of them. I don’t want to talk about the fight I had with my dad or the situationship I had with my neighbor.

I look out the window for the beginning of the train ride. I look around the cabin and everyone is either entertaining themselves or talking with someone. Mattheo is drawing with headphones on.

I lift my foot and nudge his shin. He looks up and I nod my head toward the cabin door, hinting at him for us to go somewhere else. He nods at me and puts his headphones away. I nudge his shin again and hint at him to bring the headphones.

“I’m going to the bathroom; I’ll be back,” I say, standing up and slightly running my hand over Mattheo’s shoulder on my way out. I walk away from the cabin door to be out of sight. I watch as Mattheo gets up without saying anything, sketchbook and headphones in hand.

“What’s up?” He asks following me as I move through the aisle.

“I wanted to be with you one on one, you have a problem with that Riddle?”

“No ma’am,” I smirk when he says that, he’s so sassy. I find an empty compartment (surprisingly) and sit down on the bench to the left of the door, Mattheo sits across from me on the other.

“What were you listening to?” I ask laying my legs out on the bench, sitting sideways.

“Just a mix of mine.”

“I’m asking what song, Riddle,” I smirk at him as he adjusts his position, putting his sketchbook beside him.

“Oh, Bigmouth Strikes Again by The Smiths.” I nod at him and reach to grab his Walkman and headphones.

He lets go of them and lets me put the headphones on, I hit the play button and hear the music through the speakers. The volume is at the highest it could be set to.

“Why do you keep the volume so high?” I ask taking the Walkman off and giving it back to him.

“I don’t know, don’t like hearing anything else. I guess.” He shrugs and puts the Walkman beside him as well. I nod and look at his Converse, there are black drawings on the soles of them.

“What do you draw?” I ask looking back up at him, nodding to his shoes and the sketchbook.

“Not much, just people and landscapes, sometimes random objects.” He shrugs again and looks away from me to his shoes. I can’t tell if it’s out of embarrassment or something else.

“Can I see?”

“What?”

“Could I see your drawings?” I ask again

“Uh sure, I guess, if you want.” He grabs his sketchbook and hands it to me. I open a random page and rest the book on my lap. The page I opened has a bird on it, a raven or maybe a crow. I skip to the next page and see a detailed snake wrapped around an old-looking book. He’s very talented.

“You’re good at drawing.” I look up at him and see the apples of his cheeks turn rosy.

“Thanks.”

“I gotta give credit where it’s due.” I chuckle and move to another page. This one has a girl on it, I haven’t seen her before but I guess it could be anyone since it’s a side profile.

“Do you draw anyone specific?”

“Not really, it’s usually just people I think of in my head. I’ve drawn Blaise and Theo before though.”

“Could you draw me?”

“What?” He stutters in awe

“I asked if you could draw me, if not I get it. I’m not much of a muse but your drawings are beautiful and I’d like to see how you view me. I’ve always wanted to be good at drawing.” I smile at him and hand his book back.

“Um, I’d love to draw you. I could teach you some small things too if you’d like.” I see him get nervous slightly and it makes me laugh lightly.

“You don’t have to be nervous around me Mattheo, I’m not going to bite unless you ask me to.” I joke and give him a playful wink before looking out at the mountains through the window.

“I’m not nervous!” He defends himself quickly and clears his throat. I just give a small laugh and get up to sit next to him.

“I’m not gonna judge you Mattheo.” I move his Walkman and sketchbook before sitting down.

“I know, I never thought you would.”

“I like you. You’re cute.”

“What?”

“You’re sweet, I think you’re cool.” I worded it differently this time realizing that it sounded like I fancied him.

“Oh.” He almost seems disappointed when I clarify myself. I look him in the eyes and this is the closest we’ve been since the beginning of summer. He’s pretty to look at.

He has a scar running across the bridge of his nose and a scar through his eyebrow. I wonder if they have something to do with his dad. I don’t ask because we’re not that close yet and if he wants to tell me he will. I find his scars attractive.

“I like your scars,” I say running my finger over the one on his nose.

“Really?”

“Yeah, they make you look badass.” We both laugh and I trace the other small scars with my finger. There’s one on his cheek and one by his eye. I hope they don’t have anything to do with his dad.

“You’re not gonna ask where I got them?”

“No, because if you want to tell me you will. I won’t push.” He just smiles at me and his big brown eyes almost shine as he looks at me. Our faces are so close his nose is almost touching mine. I clear my throat and move back towards the window.

“We should probably head back.” I hear him say and grab his things.

“Yeah.” I get up and follow him through the train to get back to the compartment. When we get there we see Pansy asleep on Draco’s shoulder and Daphne talking with Theo and Enzo. Blaise and Tom are doing their thing. They all look up beside Pansy when we walk in.

“Where were you guys?” Theo asks moving towards Tom to give me my spot back.

“We took a walk,” I respond, sitting down and smiling at Enzo and Theo.

“Oh okay. Tom told us you listen to the same music as Mattheo.” Draco tells me

“I do, we talked about it when I saw him and Tom over the summer.”

“When were you over during the summer?” Draco asks since they also live in Malfoy Manor.

“It was at the beginning of the summer, my dad had a business deal with your dad so I accompanied him.”

“Oh, I must’ve been with Pansy.” As Draco says that Mattheo confirms and says Draco was with Pansy that day.

“Well, that’s a good thing that someone likes the same things as mattheo,” Enzo says smiling at me

“Whys that?” Mattheo lets out, nudging Enzo with his Converse.

“You get lonely sometimes when we hang out with other people. Like Blaise and Luna, Draco and Pansy.” Enzo responds

“So you’re saying a girlfriend,” I ask Enzo

“Kind of? But you don’t have to date for you guys to be friends. It’s just having someone that’s not us, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it,” I respond smiling at Mattheo. He doesn't meet my gaze.

“We’ll be at Hogwarts soon,” Blaise says looking out the window. I nod and grab my bag from under the seat to put it in my lap.

****

Sitting in the great hall was always lonely because I’m a Ravenclaw and many Ravenclaws don’t like me because of my father’s reputation. I usually sit by myself since other house students can’t sit with each other. It’s a stupid rule, they want us to connect but we can’t sit together? Make it make sense.

I look up from my spot and look for Daphne and Pansy at their table but instead of seeing them, I see Mattheo looking at me. I give a small wave and a smile. He smiles back and it's the first time I've seen him smile. Seeing it now makes me want to see it all the time, I want him to smile constantly especially if it's at me.

I've always thought most Slytherin Quidditch players were attractive. I guess I never noticed Mattheo’s name and more of him physically. He was always attractive I just didn't know who he was directly other than the second Slytherin Quidditch beater.

I rest my head on my palm and wait for Dumbledore to stop talking and start the feast. The first year sorting always takes about half an hour so we sit here for a while before we even get to eat.

It's really annoying, I just want to eat my favorite meal; pasta with vodka sauce, meatballs, and garlic bread.

I feel a tap on my shoulder and it’s a little girl.

“Hello,” I say giving her a confused smile.

“Do you mind if I sit with you? I get it if you don't want a first-year sitting next to you.” This little 11-year-old girl is asking to sit with me and expects me to say no, she's the sweetest-looking kid ever.

“Of course, you can sit next to me,” I reply, and her face lights up and she sits to my left. “I'm y/n,” I say smiling

“I'm Charlotte.” She gives me a bright smile as Dumbledore finishes his speech and the food appears on the tables. She's so cute.

I scoop myself some pasta and meatballs and put it on my plate, offering some to Charlotte. She agrees and tells me it's her favorite.

“It's my favorite too!” I say grabbing two pieces of garlic bread

“Can I have garlic bread- Thank you!” She asks right as I give her the second piece I picked up.

We eat and chat and she tells me about her younger brothers and how she's a half-blood. I nod along and talk when I should.

While talking about the school and classes, I offer to help her around the castle the first couple of days since it's such a big school.

After dinner, we get up and I show her to the Ravenclaw common room, telling her the classrooms and bathrooms as we pass them. I tell her you have to solve a riddle to open the door to the common room and she seemed nervous about it.

That was until we got to the door and she got the riddle before I did. She laughed at me and I laughed back telling her how smart she is.

Look, I know she's 11 and she's almost a teenager but I don't think treating someone so young like they're already grown up is right. I don't want her childhood to end because people expect so much from her.

I grew up in a household where if you didn't understand what was going on it wasn't going to be baby-fied. You had to figure it out on your own. Now, I don't know how to ask for help or admit that I'm not doing well to other people.

So if I can help this one girl know that it's okay to be childish sometimes I'll be happy. As long as she knows school isn't about just learning, it's about finding out who you are and the people who deserve to be around you. It took me too long to figure that out.

I show Charlotte the dorms and we find hers so I can drop her off and let her unpack, I tell her I'll see her in the common room in the morning before breakfast.

Walking out of the common room I go all the way down to the dungeons, it's a regular thing that Pansy, Daphne, and I celebrate the new school year with each other. They're probably bringing their boyfriends so I guess I could ask mattheo if he isn't going already.

I say the password to the Slytherin common room and walk up to the girl's dormitories. Finding Pansy and Daphne’s I knock and wait for one of them to open the door. Daphne opens it and gives me a hug.

“How was dinner?” she asks me while going back to sit on her bed.

“It was good, I made friends with this little first year in Ravenclaw.”

“Awe is she cute?”

“She is actually. She seems very smart.”

“Wow, shocker,” Pansy says laughing while coming out of the bathroom with wet hair.

“We've been over this Pans, being in Ravenclaw doesn't automatically make you smart.” I roll my eyes and sit on Daphne’s bed.

Pansy just laughs and takes black nail polish out of her bedside table.

“Is Draco and Theo coming to the hangout tonight?” I ask leaning on Daphne’s shoulder.

“Yeah, you gonna ask Riddle to come?” Pansy asks wiggling her eyebrows at me.

“I might, he's cute.”

“And super strong!” Daphne says giggling

“He is strong but he's cuter, drawing and listening to music is so sweet. Boys don't do that anymore.” I say smiling at the ceiling thinking about Mattheo.

“Well you should probably go and tell him now if you want him to come.” Pansy says now applying the nail polish to her fingers and toes. I get up and nod.

“Alright, I'll be back.”

Leaving their dorm and walking to the boys’ dorms feels weird. I never go to boys’ dorms. I've never hooked up with any of the boys at Hogwarts so I don't go to the boys’ side ever.

I look at all the metal nameplates on the front of the wooden doors to each dormitory trying to find Riddle.

“You lost pretty girl?” I hear someone ask behind me. I turn quickly and see Marcus Flint.

“Not particularly, thanks, Flint,” I say turning forwards and returning to look for Mattheo’s name.

I finally find it and knock on the door. I hear shuffling behind the wood and then a muffled “fuck”.

Mattheo opens the door slightly peeking his head out and sees me.

“Oh, y/n, do you need something?”

“I just had a question but if you're busy I could come back.” I say pointing back to where I came from.

“No no, I'm not busy. Give me two seconds I have to put pants on.” I nod and he closes the door. Wait, put pants on? Was he pantless while he opened the door? I feel my face flush and I just look at my shoes until I hear the door open again.

I look up and mattheo is in grey sweatpants and shirtless. My mouth salivates just looking at him, holy shit.

“Alright, sorry about that. Come in.” he opens the door wider and kicks something into the closet beside the door.

“Don't be sorry.” I reply looking around his room. He has a triangular Slytherin flag above his bed and a The Smiths poster next to his desk. I smile as I look at it and then turn towards him and the door. The whole wall is covered in sketches that must be from an old sketchbook of his.

“Oh wow. I love this wall.” I say walking closer to it and looking at all the sketches.

“Thanks, they're old though, from last year and even before then.” I nod to his words and remember what I came here to ask him.

“Oh, right, I was wondering if you wanted to come to Pansy and Daphne’s dorm to hang out for the new school year with us, Draco, and Theo?” I feel my cheeks heat up as I ask him.

“Oh, like as your date?” he scratches his neck and I feel regret seep into my bones.

“Um, not necessarily! Just to hang out if you'd like to. I mean you could consider yourself my date or not it doesn't matter.” My face gets redder with every word I speak. I'm embarrassing myself.

“I would love to be your date for a hang out.” he chuckles and I smile at him

“Oh really? Thank god I was so scared you were gonna make fun of me or something.” I say laughing my anxieties off.

“No, I would never turn down a pretty girl's invite to hang out with her.” I blush as he says this and his smile broadens. I love his smile.

“I adore your smile,” I say slightly tilting my head at him.

“Oh, you do?” he asks, self-consciously.

“I do.” I smile

“Thank you.” his cheeks turn red as well as his neck. I rake my eyes across his body and notice the slight bulge in his pants. Fucking hell. He notices me staring and smirks.

“What's wrong y/l/n?” he taunts, moving closer to me. My face warms and I try not to look back down at his pants.

“Nothing’s wrong Riddle,” I respond, I can feel my thighs rubbing together.

“You sure? Looks like you're a bit… flustered.”

I let out a choked laugh and moved backward into his desk. I grip the edge of the table and make eye contact with him. His already dark eyes have deepened and I could've sworn lust was swirling through his pupils.

“Nope, I'm all good Riddle.” I say, standing up straighter. I'm not going to back out and cower that's not who I am.

“Alright, whatever you say y/l/n,” he responds chuckling, hands in mock surrender.

“Are you doing alright?” I ask back to see if I can give him the same effect.

“As good as new, thanks for asking,” he smirks

“You're sure?” I press

“I mean, I'm a bit warm but that's about it.” his smirk deepens now

“Warm how?”

“I'm warm as in overheating, darling.”

“Ahh, see I'm not hot and I'm in a jumper, you're shirtless, what's making you so warm Mattheo?”

“Well, I have a very sexy woman in front of me and she's not taking a hint so I'm getting a bit impatient.” my eyes widen and my cheeks flush even darker.

“What hint?” I ask

“The hint that I want to bend her over and fuck her right on the desk she's leaning on,” Mattheo says with such confidence that I feel my legs weaken.

“You what?” I whisper, completely stunned

“You need me to repeat myself? Or can I show you what I'm hinting at?”

“You can show me.” I look up at him as he stalks closer to me. His large hand grips my waist and I feel his body heat making me flush even warmer.

“You okay with this?” he asks before going any further. I nod and he shakes his head at me.

“Words darling, I need words.”

“Yes, I'm okay with this.” He smiles and lowers himself to his knees. My eyes widen and my legs unconsciously part for him. He continues to look up at me while he pulls my skirt down as well as my underwear.

While I step out of my skirt and underwear I watch him look down at my vagina as well as my arousal dripping down my thighs. His tongue wipes against his lips and he smiles up at me.

“Can I?” he asks

“Yes, please Mattheo.” I practically whine to him. He immediately moves his face in between my legs and licks a stripe on my folds. I lean my head back and whine out loud.

“Ohh gods Mattheo” I feel my legs buckle and his strong arm wraps around my waist to keep me up.

His tongue splits my folds and goes to my clit, while he smears my arousal around his fingers inch up my thigh, and pokes at my anticipating hole. I look down at him and he's already looking at me.

While he laps at my clit his pointer finger pushes through my hole and straight to as far as his finger could go. I moan and rock my hips against his face, needing the friction. He adds his middle finger and my head indistinctly rolls back against my shoulder.

I feel the knot in my stomach tighten and I know I'm close. I beg Mattheo to go faster and he complies. His fingers squelch while pushing in and out of me. This is the most pleasure I've ever felt, what will it feel like when he's in me?

I'm a whining mess until Mattheo pulls his face back and kisses my thighs.

“Noo, go back!!” I beg and try to push my hips back against his face.

“Patience sweet girl. I'll make you feel good I promise.” I whine and wiggle my hips to make his fingers move in me again.

“Please Mattheo!” I beg him and I feel my eyes well up with tears.

He looks up at me with a frown and stands, pulling his fingers out of me causing me to cry out. He kisses me and I can taste myself on his lips. He grasps my waist and picks me up, setting me on his bed.

I look at him and he's untying his sweatpants. Oh, thank god. I tug at his arms and start to wrap them around me. After he's completely bare other than his boxers I lift my blouse up and drop it to the floor.

He moves closer to me and gives me a passionate kiss. While he distracts me he easily unclips my bra and takes it off my arms. Reaching down to put it on the floor he comes back up, hands resting on my breasts. His forefinger and thumb rubbing my nipples between them.

My head leans back while I groan. His mouth comes to my neck and leaves sloppy kisses against it. He starts to suck on my collar bone and I know it's going to leave a mark. To be honest I'm not that upset about that fact.

“Fuck Matt I need you,” I whine grabbing one of his hands off my breast and in between my thighs, trying to relieve the pain of my lust.

“Alright, princess I got you.” his boxers drop, and my hands immediately reach for his cock. While he kisses me again I rub my thumb over his tip to gather his pre cum to lube up his dick. He groans into my mouth and bucks into my hand.

“Fuck, can't take it.” he takes my hands off him and lays me back against his plush duvet. He grips my legs and rests them on each of his shoulders. I see him look around the room and I get confused.

“What are looking for?” I groan, wiggling my hips to his.

“A pillow.” he drops my legs softly and grabs one of his pillows from the top of his bed. He walks back over and puts it underneath my back.

“There.” he says picking my legs back up onto his shoulders and kisses my thighs. I whine again when his tip teases against my clit. I'm getting impatient.

“Mattheo please-” right as I say that he thrusts into me and I feel like I've been split in half. We both let out groans and he leans his head against my thigh.

“Fucking hell,” he moans, sucking onto my thigh

Meanwhile, I'm adjusting to the size of his dick inside of me. I'm panting and watching him suck and nibble on my thighs.

“Move, please” I beg, out of breath, he complies and slowly leaves me before thrusting back into me before I could even register he left me in the first place.

Mattheo sets a quick pace while watching my tits move up and down on my chest. He's mumbling to himself and biting into my thigh until he leans down and takes my left nipple into his mouth. While I'm groaning he takes his left hand and reaches between us to lightly tease my clit.

“Ohhh Mattheo I'm so close!” I whine gripping onto his hair that's in my face. He moves away from my chest and gives me a hasty and wet kiss against my lips.

“Wait baby, can you do that for me?” he asks taking his free hand and pressing down on my lower tummy. His cock bruising my cervix. The action makes me throw my head back and cry out.

“Shhh pretty girl I know I know” he eases upon my clit focusing on his pace and how much aggression he puts into each thrust.

“Can you wait for me, baby?” he asks again, and I nod breathlessly

“Y-es I can, I can,” I whine and reach for him and he picks his hand up from my abdomen and interlaces our hands together.

“Baby, I'm close, where do you want me to cum?” he asks slowing his pace a bit

“I don't care! Anywhere!” I'm so close and him slowing is leaving me on the edge.

“Sweetheart this is your decision.” he's also breathless as he speaks to me

“In me! In me please!” I beg with wide eyes, I feel warm tears run down my cheeks

“Okay, sweet girl.” he fastens his pace and I'm moaning so loudly I already know his dorm neighbors can hear me.

I'm so close, the knot in my stomach quickly coming undone and I squeeze his hand as I cum over his cock. My pussy clenched and it makes him lay his forehead on mine and shoot his load inside of me, painting my walls with a sticky white.

He stays inside of me as we both pant and catch our breath. He's lying on my chest and I can feel his cum dripping down and onto his pillow.

He lifts his head and smiles at me.

“Stay like this,” he demands quietly and pulls out of me, causing me to whine out and he presses a fast kiss on my lips before quickly walking to his desk and grabbing his sketchbook and pencil.

“What are you doing?” I ask sitting up

“No no! I said stay like this!” he pushed me bsck down lightly and sat beside me. He opens his sketchbook and quickly starts to draw.

“Are you drawing me?” I ask incredulously

“Mhm, you're my muse.” he responds without even looking up at me. I feel myself flush at his words and then I feel his cum dripping out and making me sticky and uncomfortable.

“Matty,” I whisper making him look up at me

“Can we clean up first? I feel sticky.”

“Oh shit yeah, I'm sorry.” he drops his sketchbook beside me and rushes to the bathroom connected to his dorm to get a warm washcloth to clean my legs up.

I whine softly at the touch, still sensitive. He shushes me quietly and kisses the bite marks he left on my thighs. They're already turning a dark shade of red.

He fixes himself up and then grabs my underwear and puts them back on me slowly. He walks to his closet and takes out a green Slytherin shirt and asks me to sit up so he can put it on me. I lift my arms and he lets it fall on me. He steps back and mumbles something to himself.

“Hm?” I ask laying back down

“What?” he asks

“What did you say to yourself just now?”

He flushes before saying,

“Oh, I said you looked beautiful in my shirt. You're perfect to be my muse.” I smile and open my arms for him to lie with me. He welcomes my embrace and kisses my neck softly.

“Well, I can pose for you now, if you'd like.”

“Yes,” he says with enthusiasm and moves back to his position from before

We sit there for about 15 minutes in a comfortable silence before he tells me he's finished. He flips the sketchbook for me to see and its probably the most beautiful drawing I've ever seen.

“That's how you see me?” I ask, in disbelief

“Yes, absolutely stunning.” I blush and give him a big kiss on the cheek

“Such a gentleman Mattheo Riddle.” I smile and lean back to lie down on his bed.

“What time do we need to go to Daphne and Pansy’s?” he asks putting his sketchbook away. I sit up quickly with a gasp.

“Oh my god!! I totally forgot!” I say getting up and rushing to put my skirt on.

“Hey hey, it's okay, it's only 10.” I look at him with wide eyes

“We need to go right now,” I say grabbing his hand.

“Aren't you forgetting something?” he asks grabbing my shirt and my bra. I roll my eyes and wave him off

“Why are you acting like I won't be back after the hangout? You don't want me here?” I joke with him but he takes it seriously, eyes going wide and stumbling over his words

“Of course not! I didn't know you'd want to come back!” I look at him and laugh.

“Why wouldn't I want to come back??” I ask in disbelief

He just shrugs and looks away. I pull his arm lightly and remind him we have to go. He nods and we quickly walk to their dorm. We knock on the door and Theo opens it.

“Well well well, look who decided to arrive!” he says opening the door more to show the rest of the group. Daphne looks at the hickey on my neck with wide eyes and gets up to inspect it.

“Umm Mr. Riddle care to explain yourself?” she asks, jokingly

“She's my muse.”

“Your muse?” Draco asks

“Yes my muse, she's the most perfect thing for me to draw.” he smiles holding me close to him while we walk into the dorm.

“I didn't know THE Mattheo riddle had feelings other than anger and boredom!” Pansy laughs at her own joke as well as the others. Mattheo just glares at them and I smile up at him.

“Well, don't let us ruin your fun night! Go have fun, wear protection though!” pansy says getting up and pushing us out of their dorm. She closes the door on our faces and we just look at each other. Mattheo shrugs and picks me up bridal style. I squeal and laugh lightly.

He walks us to his dorm and lies me back down onto his bed against his pillows. He takes the pillow we fucked on and puts it in his hamper. He lies down next to me and pulls me into his chest. I breathe in his cologne and I immediately feel like I'm home.

“Do you feel like you've known me for years or is it just me?” I ask looking up at him.

“No, I feel it too.” he responds kissing my forehead. I feel my eyes get droopy and Mattheo starts to play with the ends of my hair.

“Rest, sweet girl, I'll be here when you wake up” he kisses my forehead again and I feel myself drift off, happy for the first time in a while.

[auspicioustidings]

Ae Fond Kiss - Part 8 (Final)

A Red, Red Rose

Summary: A bombshell is dropped and you look to the future. Words: 2k TWs: mention of miscarriage

So I've lost interest in this fic hence why we have a rushed wrap up because I didn't just want to abandon it :') All parts - 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

“We gonna do this forever then Johnny?”

It was a form of torture Simon was sure, them having lunch together once a week every week and making small talk. He missed his best friend. He missed being able to say something outrageous and knowing Johnny would call him a sick bastard and then immediately try to outdo him.

“Eat lunch?” Johnny replied a little miserably, shuffling pasta about his plate.

“Johnny…”

“What dae ye want me tae say LT?”

“Not your LT anymore, retired remember? And Price told me about your promotion.”

Captain John MacTavish did have a nice ring to it, and Soap had more than earned the stripes. In another world he’d have grinned at Ghost, smug as anything and making some comment about being able to order him around now. But instead he frowned and Simon hated it. 

“Talk to me for Christ sake!”

“I cannae! Ye want me tae tell ye how much I miss your wife? How it kills me that she’ll never forgive me and that she’s right about it?”

“Johnny…”

“Or were ye hoping tae hear that I dinnae even regret Las Almas? It’s ruined everything, but I’ve loved you since I broke my fingers on that stupid bloody mask and I didnae even realise until we nearly fucking died! Ignored it even when I did, had 9 years tae think about how either way I was breaking my own heart because it decided it loved two different people!”

Fuck. He was crying. Johnny was crying. And Simon was caught between wanting to kiss him or kill him. He had never expected to be loved back was the thing. He did something unbearably selfish on the understanding it was all one sided, that the fuck was just the adrenaline from thinking they were going to die and they’d forget it ever happened. And then everything had went to shit and he had fallen in love with Johnny’s widow. He’d already lost one person he loved because he was too scared to admit it, he just couldn’t do it again,  selfish asshole that he was. 

“You should regret it. You… we hurt her. Hurt her so bad that we might lose her.”

“Aye. I deserve tae lose her though, never deserved tae have her in the first place anyway. I just caught you in the crossfire of my sins.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Simon said with full derision.

This has gone on long enough. So what? Everyone was just supposed to be miserable forever? They were supposed to just lay down and take it? Johnny looked at him, hurt and confused. 

“I watched you fight every break up. You fought tooth and fucking nail to make it work. When you fucked up you made it up to her. When she fucked up you forgave her. And what? Now that Johnny is dead? Either you still love her and are willing to fight to get her back, or any part of the man I loved died in Russia.”

“You’ve lost yer fucking mind Si, she’s your wife!”

Simon stood, determined.

“And our wife needs to remember who she belongs to and who belongs to her.”

As he started marching off Johnny near choked and scrambled to follow.

“Ye cannae be serious! Leave her be Si! Ye cannae just barge in and-and-”

“And tell her she’ll try forgive us because we’ll spend the rest of our lives making it up to her? That we can start right now by showing her how well you can follow orders and how well I can give them for her benefit? I bloody well can and I’m bloody well going to. Either you’re with me or you can stay and mope.”

“...aye sir.”

–

Once upon a time Joey being at a sleepover was exciting, it meant some much needed alone time with your husband. Now though? The house felt cold, empty. You considered asking Gaz and Price’s partner if they’d come round to hang out, but it felt so messy when they were just as much Simon’s friend as they were yours. It would somehow make you miss him more. 

Everytime he was at the house briefly and you made polite conversation you wanted to cry. You had a few times, only after he was gone of course. That big fucking lummox. You wanted to strangle him, but then again that wasn’t exactly new. And you wanted rhubarb and sugar. Oh you could murder some rhubarb dipped in sugar like your parents used to give you as a kid. 

The door went just as you finished pouring a large glass of wine. Simon stood looking like he sometimes did when you were about to get absolutely ruined in bed and you swore your heart nearly stopped. Johnny was by his side, pupils blown with a blush crawling up his neck as if he somehow knew exactly what images just popped into your mind. Oh. Oh you suddenly wanted them so badly it hurt. 

And damn them for knowing you so well, for being able to fucking tell. Simon’s lips were on yours as he walked into the house, you being led backwards. You were clawing at his shirt as he squeezed your ass until you bumped into the kitchen island and realised how insane this was, pulling away to try find Johnny. He had followed, was swallowing thickly as Simon started to kiss and nip a path down your neck. This was insane. This was certifiably mental. You could not… have a threesome? Have a threesome with your husband and your husband who had fucked each other ten years ago on a mission before one faked his damn death. 

“W-what are you doing? We can’t…” you mumbled, trying to get your head on straight since currently your brain seemed to reside between your legs.

“Tell me what you need princess. Want me on my knees begging against your pussy? Want Johnny to fly you to Hawaii and keep you in the lap of luxury for a month? Want us to be here every single day in the garden announcing to the neighbours that we deserve a fucking whipping for how badly we fucked everything up with the gorgeous mother of our child?”

Christ almighty. So much for Simon being the unemotional and ineloquent one. You couldn’t handle this. You couldn’t handle how much you wanted to just give in. He made it sound so easy, like you could have them both, like they would give you whatever you wanted just to stay by your side despite what they’d done. He was going to his knees in front of you.

“Rhubarb!”

The room froze for a moment as Simon hit the ground with his knees and just stared at you.

“...is that, uh, a safeword?” Johnny asked, seemingly surprised out of the slack jawed, dazed state he seemed to have been in. 

“No. I mean I… rhubarb. You asked what I needed. Rhubarb and sugar, but we have sugar in the cupboard so… just the rhubarb.”

“...ok, rhubarb. We can do rhubarb” Simon said after a moment, taking it in his stride as he snuck a peck to your stomach where his head currently was and then stood. 

If they just left and went to the shops maybe you could… you didn’t know. Maybe you could hurriedly touch yourself to get rid of the ache between your legs and then neck your wine to get rid of the one in your chest. Simon turned and nodded to Johnny and took a few steps, so you picked up the glass of wine to calm yourself down only for Johnny to pluck it out of your hands.

“Unless you’ve suddenly developed a taste for red wine I’d appreciate that back” you snapped at him.

“And since you’ve suddenly developed a taste for rhubarb I’m naw giving it tae ye.”

“MacTavish” Simon scolded, sure Johnny was about to ruin what he was hoping was some reconciliation here.

“That’s not…” you started before you went pale. 

“How ye been feeling recently hen?”

Oh no. Not now. You just assumed you felt sick because of the stress. But then the take away food had seemed so off despite you usually loving it. You kept having to throw up. You were lethargic. And now you needed rhubarb and sugar, something you had only craved twice in your adult life, the most recent being over a decade ago. The last time you were pregnant. 

“What’s going on?” Simon asked, not liking at all how your face just fell as he strode back to you. “What did you do Johnny? It’s ok sweetheart, I’m sorry we just showed up, seemed like a good idea at the time. Just missed you so much.”

The universe had a sick sense of humour. Over a year of trying for a baby with this man. 18 fucking months. And you get pregnant right before your other husband comes back from the dead, the one it turns out your current husband has slept with behind your back? This could not be happening, but all the signs were there. When had you last had a period? You hadn’t even noticed that you were late with everything going on. 

You tried to do the maths in your head. It had been a few months since Johnny had come back, so you were at the very least that far along. 8 weeks. You had miscarried at 10. Maybe you were further along, maybe you were past the worst of the danger. God you prayed you were past the worst of the danger. 

“Si, gie her some room would ye? We’re right here, if ye want us tae be. It’s up to you, you dinnae have tae…” Johnny said, struggling to get out the words.

There was no thought in your mind that you would get rid of this baby, but the fact that he was putting that option out there when he himself had always been so desperate for a big family was something you appreciated more than you could say. Goddamnit, he still loved you. 9 years away and he still bloody loved you. Would still do whatever it took for you to be happy. Even if in that case this meant not having another baby.

How strange that you thought of this baby as his. How strange that you just as strongly thought of it as Simon’s. If the past few months had shown you anything it was that you could look after a child between the three of you, so it wasn’t like they had to be with you to do it. Even if you’d like them to be. Despite it all, you’d really fucking like them to be.

“Princess?”

You took a deep breath and smiled softly at Simon who was looking increasingly alarmed. You caressed his face and it felt like relief to touch him. 

“Maybe we can go a trip to the doctor on the way for the rhubarb Casper. Think we might be pregnant.”

–

A very healthy baby girl with an incredibly healthy set of lungs. You sang to her, love like A Red, Red Rose for your little Rose. You bawled your eyes out when Joey refused to turn down his hearing aids even when she was screaming at the top of her lungs because that was his baby sister and he would never not want to hear her. It was a good thing you could all sign with the way she drowned you all out, even Johnny as clumsy as his hands were with it had dedicated himself to learning since he had got home. 

You were fairly certain your little Rose was making Price broody with Gaz and their partner finding their grumpy old man losing his mind over a chubby baby adorable. Although there was a good chance Price wasn’t making any babies with how you had planted your foot in his groin when he finally came out of hiding. 

You were still figuring things out, but right now? Right now you were happy. You had two perfect children by two imperfect husbands. It was up in the air what your family was going to look like in the future. Did you want to forgive them? Even if you did, would you be friends and co-parents or something more?

That you hadn’t quite decided yet. But you were determined that whatever the future held for you, it was going to be a future full of love and laughter.

[zentraex]

Could u do an arrange/forced marriage of aizawa fic please ❤️ (Maybe mafia AU?)

Thank you so much for this request! This is my first one and it made me so happy! I hope I didn't disappointed you or something like that.

Like always, English is not my first language and German grammar is a lot different than English grammar. So, sorry for any mistakes.

Trigger Warnings: forced marriage, slightly yandere, mentioning of a gun

Also, I got an inspiration for the last few sentences from a picture in Pinterest. So, it wasn't really my idea, but fitted really well.

I hate you

The detailed planning should make you feel like you're floating above clouds.  The closer the day gets, the wilder the butterflies should fly in your stomach.

It should be the most beautiful day of your life: your wedding day.

A nightmare. This is a nightmare.

But why is it exactly the opposite for you? 

Locked up in your room, the only retreat you had left until now, the day scratched squeaking at your door. 

You dreaded this day, so much that the nausea in you grew bigger and bigger.

It is the worst day of your life: your wedding day.

Clack

Clack 

Clack

The shackles around your hands are straining at your wrists. Just...what shackles? The ones you imagine?

How could you end up like this?

Your gaze wanders to the empty seats which are reserved for your parents. 

True, they are to blame... Or rather yourself? 

When did it all start?

Your family was a normal baker's family, nothing special. You were happy to follow their footsteps and take over the shop later.

You would have had regular customers, 70% of them would have been old seniors, and you would have chatted happily with them. Who knows, maybe that's how you would have found the love of your life? 

Your future partner wouldn't have wanted anything big, just a few rolls, but he wouldn't have known which ones. You would have advised him and your way of talking and smiling would have charmed him. He would have come again and then more regularly, and slowly, the two of you would be something more.

You've always raved about it. Who would have thought that this dream turned out to be a nightmare? 

Shota Aizawa or Eraser Head as he is called in his mafia group, was actually the one customer, “your true love".

Your parents wanted to have an evening to themselves, so you had to take over the shop. 

"Welcome," you smiled. The man in front of you was tall. His black hair was disheveled and hung down to his shoulders. His red eyes were only half open. He looked like he had been through several sleepless nights. 

"A few bread rolls."

For a moment, there was silence between you as you waited for him to give a more precise order.

"Which ones and how many?"

His tired eyes wandered through the variety of bread rolls your bakery had to offer. 

"Which ones are good?"

A proud grin formed on your lips. 

"I'd say they are all of the best quality, but if you ask me what my favorites are, it's definitely the milk bread rolls."

"Yes, then I'll take those."

You almost sighed out loud.  What was with that guy?

"And how many?"

His eyes glanced briefly at your smile. 

"All of them."

Your eyes widened when you heard this almost absurd order. Unsure, you analyzed the stranger in front of you, only to get a completely serious look in response. 

"Okay... do you want another coffee? You look very tired."

"No, the work just gives me a lot of headaches. That's all."

"Oh, I know that only too well! I always catch my parents feeling exhausted after a day full of work."

The man in front of you raised an eyebrow.  "Your parents?"

"Yes, they own the store. Normally I just help out, but every now and then I get to take over.

The stranger just nodded.

"So, that would be then..."

Your neighborhood was known for having a dangerous mafia group. There were many reasons why, despite all this, so many lived here. One of the reasons was because the rents weren't too high. Aside from that, it was rather on the edge of the town and therefore there was not really anything going on. The neighborhood was peaceful, if the mafia was left out. Most people were always nice to you and only a few were bullies. But the smiling faces could never hide the fear in the eyes of the people. Many shops had to close out of nowhere and many people disappeared suddenly. You could never be sure if someone was a member of the mafia, as no one dared to reveal their identity. 

That's why you didn't recognize him, just like all the other times: the man everyone feared the most. 

How could you? Not even the members of the mafia gang themselves knew what their boss looked like. 

That's why you always greeted him with the widest smile you've had. First week after week and then day after day. A friendly smile quickly turned into a loving one...

"It's funny how long we've known each other and yet I never got your name."

"It's also the first time you've brought it up, Reader. Do you want to know?"

But there is one thing everyone knew about the boss of the mafia... 

"Don't ask if you already know the answer," you answer with a wink.

The name.

„Shota Aizawa.“

Your eyes widened and your breath stuck in your throat. 

"W-What? I don't think I got your name right."

Casual as always, he rested his head on his palm and looked at you with a smirk.

„Shota Aizawa.“

Your profuse sweating lasted until he left. Did he mean it as a joke? How could you talk so peacefully with a criminal for so long  ?

Even worse, how could you fall in love with someone like that?

Since that day, you had avoided working in the bakery and spent a while in a friend's apartment. Maybe that was the most decisive mistake you made. 

"500,000 Dollar or our store closes? What have we done to make it happen to us?"

Nothing. Your parents had absolutely nothing to do with it. It had been your fault that you had bewitched him and then disappeared. 

"How are we supposed to get so much money together in three days?"

You had ridden your parents into misfortune.

The three days passed slowly. Your family came to terms with the fact that you can't get the money together and so you all just waited for your end. Shota didn't show up during that time either. 

Too your surprise, The boss himself was present at the day of reckoning. This time, Shota was  wearing a suit and his hair was styled back. He was bent forward, his arms resting on his knees, and his hands are intervened. Typical for him are his half-open eyes and the corners of his mouth pulled down. Usually it made you smile, at that time it sent shivers down your spine.

"The money?" he asked. During all this, he hadn't even given you a quick glance.

"Unfortunately, we don't have it. You know-", your father couldn't even finish talking, Shota immediately interrupted him with a shot of his gun. Your breath trembled, and your sweat ran down your face continuously. 

"I don't want to hear excuses," Shota muttered and sighed. "You know what that means?"

None of you cried or pleaded. You have already finished with your lives three days ago.

"Normally, you have to pay with your life..."

That was true. In the best case, one was allowed to die, otherwise most women became prostitutes and men became slaves. It hit you very badly when one were given the title of a pet. You only heard rumors of how one had to eat dog food.

"But I'm generous today." 

 A wide grin suddenly spread across Shota's lips.

"Either the two of you," he said, pointing to your parents, "die or you give me your daughter as a bride. You can even help with the planning."

You didn't even have the right of codecision. It was also the last time you saw your parents. As far as you know, they had packed their things and moved…wherever. 

While Shota was bursting with satisfaction, your world collapsed. 

And this is still the case today.

Why me?

The wedding march in the background, which made you dream of your future in the past, sounds distorted to you, like the music in a horror movie. Even though the walls of the church are colorful, you see them only with a black and white filter.

Why do you progress so fast when you walk as slowly as you can?

Stay away from me, I hate you.

Worst of all, however, is his mangy grin. Everything in you is screaming out to rip it out of his face.

I hate you!

Except for the 4 closest confidants of Shota, there are no other guests. Your parents have received an invitation, but why should they come? 

When you arrive at Shota's side, the first tears roll down your face.

"We have gathered today because Shota Aizawa and Reader want to enter into the covenant of marriage. Love..."

Love? What love?

"... endures everything, believes everything, hopes everything, withstands everything. Love never ends."

No, I hate you. I don't want any of this. 

"And so, we hope that it will succor you."

Your grip on your bouquet crushes the poor plants. 

"So, I ask you, Shota Aizawa, will you honor and love your wife in good and in bad times? So answer with: yes, I do."

I don't want to be honored by you. 

"Yes, I do."

No! I hate you! 

"And so I ask you, reader, will you honor and love your husband in good and in bad times? So answer with: Yes, I do."

No, I don't want to!

No!

No!

No!

There is silence in the room for a moment. The lump in your throat is too big to get it down all by once. Your silence meets the warning gaze of Shota. 

"Yes, I do."

"So now, by virtue of my office, I declare you husband and wife.  You are now allowed to kiss the bride."

You assh*le, wretched b*st*rd. Don't touch me with your disgusting lips!

As soon as his lips touch yours, it feels like a plague is spreading throughout your body.

The ring he puts on you weighs tons, at least that's how it feels. Your skin burns underneath.

"Look, now you're officially mine. You can't imagine how long I've been waiting for this moment."

"A cageed animal is not immediately yours. I'll get away from you."

"We'll see."

[covetyou]

fools just wanna have fun

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pairing: Dieter Bravo x fat contortionist f!reader rating: Mature (18+ only!) warnings: no smut, Dieter's cock and balls, arguing as foreplay, references to past and hoped for sexual encounters (fingering, squirting, oral), clown!Dieter is a menace (but not explicitly clowny at all in this, for those with coulrophobia), drug use, reader is referred to as Sparkles and has a briefly mentioned latex allergy. word count: 1k summary: A quiet night is all he wanted. It's what he deserved after sweating his balls off out there in the ring all night. But, you have different plans - plans, he's certain, involve riding him until the sun comes up.

A/N: this is a follow on to for one night only (Frankie x Reader), but can be read totally independently of that fic. if you'd like more of this pairing, check out jester little bit more.

follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future work

when the workin' day is done, oh fools, they wanna have fun, oh fools just wanna have fun...

Bravo the Clown's balls were sweating. They had been all fucking day. It's simply what you get when you're in the asshole of Florida dressed head to toe in colored polyester.

But he was free now. Free for the night, free from another fucking show and, most importantly, his balls were free.

He'd just pulled them out actually, yanking his waistband below them, letting them bunch up under his flaccid cock as he rolled another joint. The one he had just before the last show didn't quite hit the spot, but this one was sure to do the job. Especially now that his balls were finally cooling down.

Not that the peace and quiet lasts too long. It never does.

Before he can so much as find a lighter to light the joint resting between his lips, you slam your way into his trailer with a bang.

"What the fuck?!" He shouts, flinging the nearest thing to him - which just so happened to be his fucking lighter - at you as you stand there panting.

"Don't you dare light that," you say, pointing to him as you catch your breath. "Condoms. I need condoms."

This isn't the first time you've stormed in here, demanding sex of him wearing nothing much at all. It is the first time you seem to have ran here though. You're never usually this desperate for it, but he supposes there has been a lot of tension between the two of you lately. Not exactly sexual tension, more extreme general frustration directed at him rather than anything particularly mutual. Still, it was there, he'd sensed it, and now here you were, demanding a fuck from your favourite clown, already looking positively fucked out -

Wait.

"What the fuck," he says again, pointing right back at you. "I am not giving you my condoms. What about me?! I know that look, you're not leaving me high and dry, Sparkles."

You're practically snarling at him now, and fuck does he love you like this. Feisty. Definitely wet too, even if it's not because of him. Don't ask him how he knows, but there's something about the way your sweat smells that changes when you're get horny that never fails to make him hard.

"What about you? You are not cock blocking me again, Bravo."

Dieter scoffs. You always brought this up. It wasn't exactly his fault you were fucking a civilian out in the open like that. He was well within his rights to walk over and take one of the blankets you had under your head that day. They didn't belong to you, they didn't belong to anyone. They were communal. "That was one time, and he was a nerd anyway."

"A nerd with a massive dick and button mashing fingers. He was about to make me squirt and you came stumbling over. And you're forgetting the girl with the nipple piercings!"

With each angry flap of your arms, he can see your panties as your t-shirt rides up on your thighs. They look wet and fuck if he isn't jealous of whichever asshole is getting a turn between your legs tonight. It should be him, with his condoms. It's not fair.

"That doesn't count," he answers, crossing his arms over his bare chest with a pout.

"It does!"

"If there was no cock involved, I didn't cock block shit."

His dick is at full mast now, and he's surprised you haven't noticed. If you have, you haven't said anything, and usually you were very good about shouting at him when he had his dick out.

Instead, you just sigh. You give in. To him.

"I don't have time for this shit. The condoms, Dieter. Please."

And, quite frankly, it's no fun fighting with you if you're not going to fight back. That doesn't mean he's going to put his dick away, of course. There's no point. He's only going to play with it when you leave.

What he does do is point you to his condom stash kept in a tin under his trailer bench. He didn't exactly use them often. He didn't like them. But he did use them with you, or if he was taking a little knock at someone's backdoor, or even if someone looked a little less sanitary than he'd like. He did have standards.

He also could've got them out for you. But if he did that he wouldn't have been treated with the view of your ass he's currently getting. You always wear the tiniest little thongs for shows. They're the only things that won't show up around the edges of your glitzy costumes. It gets him going just thinking about them wedged up your ass as he watches you perform some nights - an activity that has made him late to his own performances more than once.

Right now, that tiny little thong is nestled right between your ass cheeks, your t-shirt hiding none of your modesty now that you're bending over in front of him. The gusset of your panties peeks out from between your plush thighs too, and it is absolutely fucking drenched. If he knew you'd be amenable to it, he'd be on his knees eating you from the back already, but he knew you. Only the lucky asshole waiting for you would be getting that privilege tonight.

"Gold packet," Bravo grumbles as you rifle through the tin, picking out a small handful of condoms like you plan on having a very eventful night.

"I know what ones are latex free, Bravo."

Because that is why you came here, to him, and not to anyone else. He's probably the only person in this whole place that carried the condoms you could use - the latex free ones that didn't smell like balloons.

You finally stand just as Dieter idly wraps a hand around his balls, giving them a gentle little squeeze, and with nothing more than a middle finger and the poke of your tongue, you go to leave his trailer.

"Oh, and Dieter?" you say, stopping in your tracks halfway out the door. "Max was looking for you."

"Shit."

His wank would have to wait.

tagging previous lovers of clown!Dieter: @beefrobeefcal @sp00kymulderr @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @clawdee @chronically-ghosted @dieterbravobrainrotclub @for-a-longlongtime

[earl-grey-teacake]

so how are we feeling after that news.

I am not sure how I feel about everything since I just keep finding out more stuff and it makes me feel worse and worse. I’m sad, and upset, and it feels like a tinge of grief. Not for my own dreams or aspirations but for Logan’s. That being said, I will continues writing my Baby!Loscar AU and I will continue/ start my other Loscar fics. I feel like it is a tough time and I hope to make it a little bit lighter.

I think my biggest feeling is overall disdain and disgust for how Williams went about this. My biggest issue is the whole situation being portrayed as “Williams is a business, this was a business decision. No emotion here” Businesses are not faceless entities, they are teams of people. It’s why teams put a lot of effort in PR and companies invest so much in HR. They are comprised of people and we as spectators and fans also play a role in the business that is Williams. Fandoms are profitable, fan content keeps people engaged, and those who are engaged spend money. This decision has shot William’s PR and whatever goodwill they managed to achieve last year. Logan is a martyr in the eyes of fans and James Vowles has come off as a deranged man. For the past month, any comments to the media are either of him passive-aggressively calling Logan a failure or thirsting after Carlos in a way that makes me want to call HR.

This decision isn’t even a money decision either. They talk about the upgrades, and need for points but are putting their faith in a driver that is clearly being brought up from F2 too early. They are taking risks that genuinely make no sense to me and I am afraid it may damage this new rookie’s confidence on top of it.

I cannot tell if James Vowles is doing this because he wants to live a bit wild before Carlos comes, has a vendetta against Logan, or he is just off his rockers.

I am happy Logan is out of there though and wherever he goes, I go. I hope he goes to Indycar. This is not me seeing Indycar as so lesser sport where unsuccessful F1 drivers should go it. I have great admiration for Indycar and genuinely enjoy watching it more than F1. My wish for Logan to go to Indycar is for the general vibe and how friendly everyone is and for the fact that I live 3 hours away from a track and will absolutely take PTO to see Logan race.

Personal feelings are below if anyone wants to read them.

I got into F1 last year around September but really dove into it around the beginning of November. Logan was someone who never really stood out to me in the beginning but I began to notice him more and more around October and November and I couldn’t help but sympathize for him. I remember how anxious I was waiting for him to be re-signed and the relief I felt when it happened.

I wanted him to do well and succeed so desperately and as it became more and more apparent that James and Williams, were doing, I became a bigger and bigger fan of him. I know I’ve mentioned it briefly on here before but near the end of last year and the first half of this year, I was dealing with a toxic workplace and an abusive supervisor. As the months went on, the treatment towards me got worse and worse and so did Williams’s treatment of Logan. Our workplace started to mirror each other.

The remarks, the veiled threats, the passive-aggressive comments that points to the same message “you’re under-performing, you’re not good enough”. Most of all, the expectation to practically perform miracles with tools and equipment that was vastly behind the rest of the field. I know very well how heavy and oppressive the work environment must have been. I can’t imagine how awful it must have been to have to be doing it everyday, to have to perform for the public like everything is fine, and take the abuse from James, from journalists and commentators, and social media. I was already breaking under my supervisors treatment of me, I definitely would have snapped in Logan’s shoes. However, while my supervisor got kicked out of their position, Logan was the one who got kicked off the team. I do hope he takes the summer to enjoy himself and heal.

I feel so bad for him and I’m so upset at how I didn’t know this was his last race. I had Abu Dhabi planned out thinking that was going to be Logan’s last and now I’m just a bit crushed.