#but i have always felt this way and i just saw someone say it in a tweet and i was like wow im not the onlh one

[dyingswanpavlova]

"Your girl" - Part 10 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: A fight turns into something beautiful. Turns into what could be your last day on earth.

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse and other traumatic events in the past, numbness, helplessness, violence, threatening, mentions of blood, mentions of murder/rape/death, hinting at suicidal thoughts (only briefly and not really serious, but I'll put it here nonetheless), body issues, trauma talk, stockholm syndrome, forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, depression, manipulation and low self-esteem, mentions of sexual activities and desires, smut, (rough) sex, oral sex, switch, degradation kink, dom/sub dynamics, daddy, not beta-read, if I've missed any please tell me! mdni 18+!

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

The tight smile.

It was all you needed to see to know you were in great, big trouble. It was really disappointing though, considering how good the day had started.

When you woke up, right after having a short, restless sleep, you saw him lying beside you. And for once, ever since you had gotten here, he wasn’t awake. No, he was deep asleep. His beautiful  eyes shut tightly and his expression one of peaceful relaxation. You hadn’t ever seen him this perfect before.

It was nearly ridiculous. Just a few hours earlier, he had ravaged you in a way that left you feeling sore and used, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but somehow you had a feeling last night was different. It wasn’t the sex per say. It was the way he got angry and you felt you couldn’t get through to him, even if you truly wanted to. And what was far worse than all of it, was the threat.

The threat.

What did it even mean?

I would never kill you. At least not unless you gave me a reason to.

It wasn’t even a subtle threat. He didn’t try to hide that he was twisted and dangerous. Dangerous for you, if you pushed the right buttons. You had done so quite some times by now, but luckily you were still around. But how much was too much?

What would make his mind go blank and cause him to swing an axe at you?

Shoot you right in the face?

Gut you in the middle of the-

You shuddered and took a long, deep breath to calm yourself. This wasn’t going to happen. You wouldn’t anger him to that degree. And yet, you couldn’t keep yourself from thinking about it.

What could possibly piss him off enough, to trigger such an extreme reaction?

If you went out and fucked someone else?

Or if you spilled milk on the coffee table?

You took another slow breath and looked back at his peaceful, sleeping form. It was hard not to love him, when he was like this. Sweet. Peaceful.

Vulnerable.

You hadn’t even seen vulnerable, regarding him. Not really. You didn’t know his name, his family, his backstory or anything else that truly mattered. All you knew was which buttons to push and it would make him slap you. You had his age. And his sexual preferences. You knew he had some kind of dangerous job, but you had no idea what it was about. And you knew he was twisted.

Utterly and entirely twisted.

But you saw none of that as you watched him sleep. All you saw was a handsome man, the most handsome man you had ever seen, even with the faint trace of a scar on his cheek. You still hated the sight of it. Not because it would have done anything to his attractiveness. No, he was very obviously still perfect. It was the fact that he got hurt.

Someone hurt him.

You were surprised just by how angry the thought made you. He was always so confident. It was his choice to either be angry and take it out on you or to be gentle and spoil you with affection and gifts. But it was his choice. He was the man. He was in charge. He was the epitome of strength.

And someone hurt him.

Him.

A part of you was almost tempted to think yours.

Someone hurt your man.

But you pushed the thought away just as quick as it came. He was hardly your man.

Your bane, your curse, your horror. Yes.

But not your man.

When he stirred slightly, you were pulled out of your thoughts. It didn’t take longer than a few seconds for him to blink his eyes open. When he finally looked up at you and met your gaze, a hint of surprise flashed over his features. But he schooled his expression into a soft smile effortlessly.

“Good morning, my little owl.” He purred. “You’re up early.” He raised a brow and smirked slowly. “Were you watching me sleep?”

Your face flushed, but you didn’t feel the need to deny it. It was pretty obvious anyway.

“I did.” You said quietly. “I couldn’t help it. You looked so…peaceful.”

He hummed softly and propped himself up on his elbows, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear with two fingers. “Peaceful? Doesn’t sound like me at all.”

He didn’t seem angry or even irritated that you watched him. If anything, he seemed amused or maybe even strangely flattered.

You shrugged.

“Have you been up for long?”

You shook your head.

He frowned slightly and held your chin in his hand, brushing his thumb over your skin in a gentle way. “You didn’t sleep well. You look like you didn’t sleep at all.”

You averted your gaze. What could you possibly tell him? That you spent all night, asking yourself not if, but when he would finally snap and snap your neck the same?

“Look at me.”

You hesitated, but eventually you met his gaze again. His expression was one of thoughtfulness and curiosity and you knew you had to give him something. He wouldn’t stop pestering you otherwise. You thought for a moment, before you finally gave up. You didn’t trust your ability to lie to him. He would see right through it and punish you for trying to deceive him.

“It’s about last night.” You murmured quietly.

His eyes narrowed slightly, but eventually he relaxed his expression and let go of your chin. With a soft sigh, he murmured back: “Was it too much for you? Too rough?”

You thought about the best possible way to answer this. Eventually you came up with something you would have hoped would be the perfect solution. “I’m still ashamed.”

“Ashamed?” He frowned.

“Because a part of me enjoys it.”

He hummed softly. “We talked about this, sweet girl, but I’ll say it again and again. You have nothing to be ashamed about. First of all, it’s not your fault you turned out like this.”

“That’s kind of the problem.” It wasn’t a lie. Not entirely. It did bother you. Just that the life threatening thing was worse. “I feel like you enjoy what we do, because you simply enjoy it. And I think I enjoy it, because I feel the constant need to get hurt and degraded, because of…because of what happened to me.”

He regarded you with a long, thoughtful look. His eyes softened somewhat and he was back. The man who supposedly cared about you came back, after a long, rough night. He sighed and rolled over so that he was on his back and staring at the ceiling. All the while he stretched out his arm and pulled you along, curling you into his side. He didn’t look at you as he spoke and his tone of voice was almost emotionless.

You couldn’t tell if you preferred this over the anger. Probably not.

“Did I ever tell you about my father?”

You froze. What? No. He hadn’t ever told you anything about himself that mattered. Let alone his family. As far as you were concerned, he didn’t even have a father.

But all you managed was a small, breathless shake of your head.

He hummed softly and played with your hair as he spoke, still keeping his voice cool and measured. He never met your gaze. Almost like he couldn’t. You couldn’t tell if he was trying to appear nonchalant or if he truly didn’t care. You hoped for the first one.

“My father had some creative ways of punishment.” He hummed. Oh, God. “Similar to your mother, I might think. Just more blood. And a few…other things.”

You held your breath as he spoke, feeling utterly sick. The fact that he had so subtly and smoothly threatened your life last night was suddenly the last thing on your mind.

“Don’t get me wrong, sweetness. I was always a little different from other boys my age. I wasn’t interested in the things the others were. I liked different things. Darker things. But I’m pretty sure, had it not been for my father…” He hummed. “He did some nasty things. Really nasty. And not only to me. To my mother as well.” He turned to face you fully, while you still lay frozen and staring at him with bated breath. All the while he caressed your face and spoke in this soft voice, like he was reading from a children’s book. It was eerie. “That might be one of the reasons why I am always in control.” He smiled briefly. “Especially sexually.”

You just kept staring at him. He hadn’t said it outright and he probably never would, but you could tell there was something. Something dark and terrible, something that still haunted him, even after all these years. And it made you sick to the core. The fact that his father, his own father, had hurt him, it made you feel nauseous. And especially, angry.

“So, I should probably be grateful to him, don’t you think?”

You knew you weren’t supposed to say anything to that, anything about that at all. No matter how terrible you felt, no matter how badly you wished to comfort him. He would get angry, because he would think of it as pity. You were sure. But you still had to say it.

“Your father is a sick man.” You said quietly. “And you didn’t deserve whatever he did to you.”

“Oh, I’m aware, my sweet, darling girl.” His face lit up in a soft smile. “I was just a boy. A twisted one, maybe. But still a boy.”

It made you feel as uneasy, as you felt relieved about it. At least he acknowledged it. He had no fault in his father’s cruelty. At least not back then.

And at least there was something. A tiny reminder that he was human, that he was real, that there was something akin to flesh and blood that made him similar to you. Not the fact that it had happened. Oh no, you would have changed it, were you in the power to. You would have bled and suffered, if only it meant to free him from the burden of his past.

No, but the thought that he told you about it. He had a father. A mother. A family. He had a childhood. A life. He was real.

You lay in silence for a long while. Of course you wanted to say more, to comfort him and hug him. To kiss away the fear he had probably felt as a little boy. You wanted to take him in your arms and make him whole again, puzzle him together until he got reunited with the love he was so desperately missing all his life. What about his mother? You asked yourself. But you thought now wasn’t the best time to ask. You didn’t want to risk making him angry, when he wasn’t so far. He hadn’t ever shared as much of himself. You didn’t want to say anything. And, you suddenly realized, you were afraid to pressure him.

So you said the next best thing. In the silent hope, that one day he’d trust you enough to let you in.

“I’m sorry that happened to you.” You said very softly. His head perked up and his expression softened. No anger in sight.

“My sweet, caring girl. The ghosts of my past are no more than that. And don’t you worry. I got my revenge.”

You bit your lip and rolled onto your side, facing him properly. The thoughtfulness in your eyes turned into something else the longer you looked at him, a mixture of concern and gentleness. He didn’t seem to mind. He let you stare without interrupting your thoughts. It was a peaceful, comfortable silence.

“How did you get your revenge?” You asked quietly, before you could stop yourself.

He smirked and stretched out his arms behind his head.

“I killed him.”

A part of you had suspected as much. But another part of you, the naïve little girl that you somehow still were, felt horrified. He killed his own father. And yet, that other part of you whispered softly in the back of your mind.

Did you expect anything else?

You thought back to your mother. Had you ever had a gun in the wrong moment-

No. Never. You couldn’t kill anyone. Not even a fucking fly. You were the type of person to chase them out of the window, instead of crushing them.

It wasn’t enough to calm you down and he seemed to notice.

“Are you alright, sweet girl?”

You were going to die anyway. Why not speak freely at least?

Forget his father. He’s dead. But you’re not. Not yet at least.

“You scared me last night.”

His brows furrowed. “When we-“

“No.” You said in a soft tone and slowly sat up, wrapping the sheets around your body. “I mean, yes. Kind of. But that’s not the problem. You scared me when you said…when you said you would kill me if I gave you a reason to.” Your expression and your tone of voice were almost child-like. Innocent and curious, not at all trying to guilt-trip him. Just a girl, scared for her life. Her sanity.

Herself.

“Oh, sweet girl.” He said softly as he sat up as well. He reached out to pull you on his lap, but you pulled back. He frowned, but he didn’t protest.

“I was simply-“

“What could get me killed?”

It was so sharp, so matter-of-fact, that it made him pause for a moment. He looked genuinely caught off-guard, like he never expected him to ask him such a question. And like he wasn’t sure how to answer it.

“What?”

“What could I say or do that would make you kill me?” You asked in a soft voice. Your heart was pounding wildly in your chest, but you tried to stay strong. You needed to get a point across. You needed to know.

He thought for a moment, before he leaned back and narrowed his eyes in a thoughtful frown.

“Another man.”

Cheating. As if you really were anything to each other, right?

Such a normal thing. People got killed over cheating all the time, didn’t they?

Or did they really?

“Another man.” You whispered. “Okay. What else?”

He hummed softly. “If you left me.”

“If I left you?” You meant it in a way as if saying; how would I be supposed to leave you? There aren’t even fucking windows here.

He nodded. “When you leave me, you’re no longer my girl. And I don’t have a reason to keep you alive, if you’re not.”

You swallowed thickly. How very refreshing. He was being honest at least. Wasn’t that what you wanted? And you didn’t know if this was better or worse. You had expected as much.

“Anything else?” You whispered hoarsely.

“No.”

Your brows shot up in surprise. “No? If I don’t cheat on you or leave you, you won’t-“

“No.” He said again, in that infuriating, calm tone.

“And if I insulted you?” You couldn’t stop yourself from asking. “If I hurt you? If I-“

“Don’t get me wrong.” The menacing bastard was back. “You don’t get to trample on me, sweet girl. In fact, you know what happens, if you do all that. You’ll get punished. And that didn’t change.” He narrowed his eyes further.

He took a long breath to calm himself and finally said: “I just didn’t want you to be terrified for no reason. I’m sure there are a few more things you can do that will definitely get you killed. So, try not to push my buttons too much. Don’t experiment. Don’t think you get any kind of power. All you are is my girl. Mine. Mine to use. Mine to torment as I please. You’re my plaything. My toy.” He got angrier with every word and you were sure, more than sure, you had done something terribly wrong.

“Mine to use however I see fit.” He gritted out. “Because that’s all you are to me.”

Every word stabbed a wound deeper and deeper into your soul. He didn’t love you. You weren’t an idiot. But a part of you had hoped, hoped so desperately, that you were anything more to him. Anything of meaning. Anything he cared about. Anything he thought about and smiled, when he went off to his mysterious workplace. Anything at all.

But you weren’t. You were his plaything. His fucktoy. His doll.

His girl.

Your face burned in shame and your guts churned painfully. You slowly looked down at your hands and folded them in your lap, while you kept the blanket pulled up to your chin.

“I wasn’t-“

“Yes, you were.” He hissed and roughly pulled your chin up, to make you look at him. “Did you hear me? You’re nothing more than a thing for me to use, a doll, something to dress up in a pretty dress and take my anger out on. Did you get that through your goddamn, thick skull? You’re nothing. Nothing at all.” He spat out.

At this point, you felt indeed like he had stabbed you. The knife was still there on the carpet by the bed. How very reckless. You could have stabbed him last night, didn’t he think about that? No, he was tired or maybe he just trusted himself to have broken you enough not to ever hurt him.

It was true. You wouldn’t ever hurt him. Not like that. That one punch was as far as it could go.

And now, as you sat there and listened to his cruel words, a small part of you suddenly wished he hadn’t bluffed, hadn’t used the knife as a way to find relief in his twisted mind. A part of you wished you weren’t there, to listen to his cruel reminders. The reminder that you were nothing.

Nothing at all.

You felt your hands shake, just the same second your lip quivered.

He was so angry, so furious, he hardly even recognized your presence. He wanted to make some point known.

You understood it now.

He would never love you.

But you? It was too late for you. You already loved him. And he was breaking your heart.

All your life you thought that couldn’t happen to you. You always assumed you were far too numb for these things.

A tear rolled down your cheek and you stared firmly down at your lap. Your hands were shaking furiously and your body shook with the sobs you choked back.

By the time he looked up again and saw the state you were in, his anger immediately disappeared. Something akin to horror took its place instead. He rushed forward without even thinking about it and held your arms tightly, tilting his head down below and staring up at you, to make you look at him.

“Wait.” He said quickly. “Wait. I didn’t mean it.”

You were stuck between pushing him away and letting him console you. But you knew there was probably nothing that could ever bring you back. Your heart, already broken and bruised, had just somehow been pieced back together by him, only for him to crush it again under the palm of his hand, under the cruelty of his words, under the weight of his actions.

You decided to push him back instead. At least for once, you tried to keep a semblance of dignity. It was a lost cause, but it meant something to you.

He let out a surprised exhale, but quickly rushed forward again, trying to get ahold of you, but this time, you struggled.

“Get off of me!”

“No, you need to listen to me!”

“No! No, get the hell off!”

“You need to listen!”

You struggled even harder and pushed him back, clawed at his skin and within seconds you found yourself in the middle of a physical fight. So far, he hadn’t tried to slap you or bring you to your senses anyhow, he just tried to make you focus. And when you hit against his chest or pushed him back by his shoulders, when you scratched his arms and pulled on his hair, he let you. Without retaliating. He let you.

You were just waiting for him to snap. A part of you might even have been hoping to get some kind of reaction out of him, because he had just hurt you so terribly. But he didn’t.

And when you pushed him back against the mattress, he let you.

And when you straddled his lap, he let you.

He even let you intertwine your fingers and press his hands against the bed.

He just let you.

You stopped struggling. Stopped fighting him and stopped trying to provoke anything.

You were on top him, your hair falling over your shoulders and framing your face like a waterfall. Everything else was suddenly gone. All that there was left were him and you. He stared up at you, his eyes wide and his expression one of quiet fascination. Of course he allowed you to take control. After all, all it needed was a tiny bit of strength from him and he’d have you pinned to the floor. But this time, he didn’t. He didn’t protest, didn’t fight back, didn’t even flinch. He allowed you to take the lead. He allowed you to take control of him.

When the thought hit you, you nearly choked on the air you breathed. And you breathed, heavily and quickly, until your breaths mingled into one. You leaned further down, so close that the tip of your nose almost touched his. His chest rose and fell quickly. You could tell, even though you kept your focus on his face.

“You meant it.” You whispered breathlessly.

He stared at you with his mouth slightly agape and then he slowly shook his head. “You’re more.” He whispered back.

More than a toy?

More than a doll?

More than just his girl?

You didn’t want to believe it. You didn’t allow yourself to hope, because if you did, the next time he crushed it, it would be ever harder for you to find back to yourself. And did you really want to risk that?

You shook your head, ready to come up with the next bitter, biting response, when his words caught you off-guard.

“You’re not only mine”, he said quietly. “I’m also yours.”

God, this was confusing. And slowly you felt yourself get as dizzy and nauseous as you would have on a rollercoaster. You hated rollercoasters, because you were afraid of them. You hated them, because you never went on one.

“You’re two people at once.” You whispered breathlessly. “How do I know, when your evil twin will be back?”

He smiled slowly. Even now, even when you felt heartbroken and furious, his smile meant so much to you. It made everything seem beautiful. Everything was easier. Nothing hurt.

Until it did.

“I know.” He whispered. “Maybe you could try and put him in his place, every once in a while.”

You stared at him with wide eyes. Did he really allow you to take control? Just like that? Was it a trick? Was it a game? A joke? Something even more evil he’d come up with?

Whatever it was, you were dying to find out. Because you were sure, you’d get punished anyway. So, why not make use of it?

You took a shaky breath and leaned further down, so close, until your lips almost touched.

“You really didn’t mean it?” You asked in the ghost of a whisper.

His gaze briefly wandered down to your lips, before he looked into your eyes again.

“No.” He whispered back. “Not even I am that dense.”

That nearly made you smile.

But just nearly.

Instead you did something else. You leaned further down, until your lips finally touched his. The kiss was feather-light and hesitant. The touch was so gentle, that you caught yourself asking yourself in your head, if it really was the same man.

He was letting you kiss him. He didn’t try anything. Didn’t try to part your lips or pull you closer. Didn’t try to push your legs apart. His hands were still motionless under yours, all that he did was slowly caress the back of your hands with his fingers.

He participated in the kiss. He kissed you back, obviously. But all he did was mirror your touch.

You were in control.

You gasped against his lips. You had no idea what to do. It felt odd. Maybe even wrong. The only things you had ever fantasized about were to get controlled by someone else.

Controlled by him.

And for you to control him, it sounded like an impossible endeavor. It felt like one, even more. But there you were. On his lap. Slowly guiding the pace.

You swallowed thickly.

“I don’t know what to do.” You whispered into the kiss.

He hummed very quietly. “Imagine I’m the good twin.” He whispered back and pulled back just enough to look at your face. “There is no right or wrong. Just do whatever feels good.”

You bit your lip as you watched him closely. It could still be a trick. But in the back of your mind, you knew it wasn’t. It was an attempt to heal you. Heal him as well, maybe. You were both damaged. Both two fragments, incomplete and alone. Was it possible that you could heal each other?

It sounded strange in your head. You wanted to be controlled. And he survived off the feeling of being in control. But maybe, just maybe, this was what you both needed. A role reverse. A chance to grow. A chance to connote. Just this once.

To become one, whole thing.

You took a deep, shaky breath and brushed your lips over his. You were still nervous. But you tried to do what he said. Just do whatever feels good.

And maybe it would.

You hesitantly, almost shyly, ran the tip of your tongue along his lower lip. His reaction surprised you. He moaned. You really expected him to get off on nothing but cruelty and violence. But somehow the feeling of you, of being with you, in any way, seemed to be enough.

You needed to try it. The shift. The control. Even just this once.

You slowly parted his lips with your tongue and yours met his in a timid, careful movement. He was still the one guiding you. But the biggest reason was, that you had no idea what you were doing. But he was holding himself back. You were on top, pressed against him.

He was yours.

Your man. Your psychopath. Maybe even your lover.

The kiss went on and your movements became more and more confident. You didn’t actually care what you were doing, as long as you heard the soft moans he tried to suppress. And every time he did, you couldn’t help but moan, too. Your tongues tangled in a sinful dance and you slowly slid your fingertips over his wrists and up his arms. Until you eventually reached his shoulders. His neck. His hair. His cheek. His chin.

You hadn’t realized how quickly you were breathing. All the time you expected him to push you away, to reject you, to stop you. But he never did.

Your hand stilled against his face and you pulled your head back to look at him. To see if he was going to stop you. Mock you. Hurt you some more.

But his expression was more earnest than you had ever seen before. You could see the way his throat bobbed slightly as he swallowed and the small, tiny frown of focus on his face. He looked much more mature in that moment than he usually did. When he wore that twisted smile, he looked younger. Carefree. But in that moment, he looked like a man who had seen life.

And death.

And taken a part in it.

He slowly parted his lips, when your fingers stilled against them, inviting you. Your mouth fell open and you inhaled sharply as you felt his tongue dart out.

“God, what are you-“ You stopped yourself and instead released the softest moan, when he ran his tongue along your index finger. His hand gently circled your wrist and he pressed his lips against the back of your hand. Your knuckles. And eventually each finger.

You watched him in awe, realizing you were only ever falling deeper for him.

What was it with that man that you loved him so much, despite all the pain he put you through?

Eventually, you couldn’t take it anymore. The watching, the silence. You squeezed his hand and your head dipped forward. Your lips found his neck and you made a point of kissing each and every spot of skin you found on the way. His eyes fell shut and he took a shaky breath.

“No.” He whispered. “Wait.”

You immediately froze, expecting the inevitable rejection. But instead, he bit his lip and slowly slid his hands under your nightdress. The calloused skin of his palms ran up your back and he gently slid the material up, until he finally managed to pull it over your head and onto the ground. His gaze wandered from your face, down to your neck, where it lingered and eventually further down to your breasts and your stomach.

“God.” He whispered breathlessly. “God, you’re perfect.” He bit his lip again and met your gaze. “Let me worship you.”

A shiver ran down your spine and you tilted your head to the side, only to feel his lips brush along your earlobe and eventually over your neck. You closed your eyes and sighed softly. It was the best feeling in the world.

His lips caressed your neck and his tongue occasionally darted out, drawing a moan from your lips. He moved with devilish slowness, a torturous pace, slow enough to make you melt into a puddle of desire on top of him. A part of you almost wanted to beg him. Beg him to go faster, to touch you harder, to take you. But you didn’t. Because another part of you wanted to savor every second of this.

When you felt the wet heat of his mouth move lower and embrace the sensitive skin of your breast, you felt your eyes roll back in your head. The sigh that came over your lips was more of a moan. You gently buried your fingers in his hair and played with it. Every time his tongue slipped out to run over the curve of your breast, you felt your hips press down against his own on pure instinct. You felt how hard he was, painfully so. But he didn’t press his hips up against you, he didn’t even try once. He was skilled at ignoring his own need, when he wanted to. He made you feel like a princess. Like all that mattered in the world were you.

You squirmed and shuddered when he moved underneath you, brushing his tongue down a wet path on your stomach.

His hands encircled the back of your thighs and he held you firmly, his fingers gently digging into your skin. And he moved. Lower and lower. Until you felt his hot breath kiss the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. A soft whimper left you and you bit your lip to keep yourself from begging. He was going to give you whatever you wanted. Today, there was no need to beg.

He slowly but firmly pushed your legs apart, and settled in-between them, still lying on his back and ignoring his own ache. He shot you a pointed look, before he finally stuck out his tongue and rolled it over the warm wetness of your need.

“Oh, God.”

He hit every right spot at the first try and you could no longer stay silent. His grip on your thighs tightened and he silently encouraged you to move. Move. Take what you want.

You swallowed a shaky moan and began to tentatively move your hips. It didn’t take long for you to figure out how it worked, how you had to move. It was so easy and the pleasure rolled over you like a warm bath.

“Oh, God.” You whispered again, tightening your hand in his hair.

He did the most sinful things, sliding his tongue inside you and pulling it back out, running it along every spot, embracing your center of pleasure with his warm lips and it felt like Heaven. He knew where to kiss, where to lick, where to suck and where to flick his tongue. He knew everything. And in that moment, you didn’t care one bit about where he gained that knowledge.

Because he used it on you.

And he’d be using it on your for as long as you were his girl.

And you wanted to be his girl for the rest of your life.

“Yes. There. Right there.” You gasped out, moving your hips again and silently begging him to continue, to give you what you wanted, to give you him.

And he did nothing less than that. He kissed you like he’d kiss your lips, he tightened his grip, he didn’t let you back away. His mouth was firmly attached to your body, eager to give you everything you wanted. Letting you ride yourself to bliss.

Which was exactly what you did. You didn’t even realize it, by how suddenly it happened, but your release rolled over you like a flash of lightning. It felt more intense than ever. You felt everything deeply and he didn’t stop, until he was sure, you were entirely spent and satisfied.

You were still gasping for air, when he finally released his grip on you and looked up at you with a soft expression.

You stared at him, trying to catch your breath. All you wanted was to say something, anything, but no words came over your lips. All you managed was the gentle touch of your palm against his cheek. He smiled slowly and covered your hand with his own. Then he slowly moved back up, so that you’d straddle his lap again.

“How was that?” He whispered.

“Fuck.” Was all that you managed.

A low laugh rumbled in his chest, but no trace of mockery. Just satisfaction and a tad bit of pride. You forgave him. You would have forgiven him anything.

“Can I?” You finally whispered. You needed to know, if you were still in control.

He smirked. He looked so confident. Just like you always knew him. Confident and strong. In control. And yet…

“I’m all yours, baby. Ride me.”

You bit your lip. Your face flushed the tiniest bit, but you nodded. Now, this was making you really nervous. You had seen videos, but were you able to do it yourself?

Why not? You thought. Why not?

You leaned down and captured his lips in a kiss. Still slow and sensual, but you poured all the passion you felt for him in that kiss. And he responded in kind. He didn’t try to take control of your mouth. Instead he moaned against your lips, every time your tongue brushed against his. He ran a hand down your back and squeezed your behind firmly in his hand.

“Fuck, I need you to ride me or I’m going to die.” He groaned as he bit your lip. You responded with another moan. You still felt his hardness press against you, hard and ready and needy.

God, the thought alone. The thought that he wanted you that much. It drove you insane.

You swallowed thickly and carefully ran a hand down his chest, down his stomach, down his waist, until-

You smiled. You missed his throbbing, aching need and brushed your fingers gently along his thigh instead.

He glared up at you, a hint of desperation behind the repressed anger.

“I should have known this would come.” He hissed.

Your smile widened into a grin, as you teasingly caressed his side instead.

“What? I’m just doing what you do.”

He released a frustrated growl.

“You-“

“Come on.” You whispered. “Let me have this. Just this once.”

He was still frustrated, but the look in his eyes softened the tiniest bit.

“But I want you.” He murmured and you swallowed.

“How much?” You whispered. God, this was fun.

“How much?” He asked incredulously. “Can’t you feel how much?”

You hummed in the same way he normally would. So innocent. So devilish.

“Paint a picture with your words.”

He exhaled sharply. But eventually he calmed down and wrapped his arms around you gently.

“I need to be inside of you or I’m going to die. I’m going to die, I mean it.”

“Keep going.” You whispered. “Talk to me.” While you spoke, you shifted slightly on his lap, gently grinding down on him and letting him feel you. Just enough to make you gasp, not enough for him to enter you yet.

He bit his lip, almost hard enough to draw blood.

“I want to feel you.” He murmured. “I want to fuck you. I want to be one with you. And I fucking want to cum inside you.”

A shiver ran down your spine and you sighed.

“Keep going.” You responded in a breathless whisper, as you ground down against him again. The friction was enough for your both to snap your eyes shut.

“I want you to cum.” He whispered back. “I want you to cum so hard, that it’ll make you cry.”

“Fuck.” You whispered breathlessly and buried your face in his neck. “Fuck, yes.”

You swallowed again and pulled your head back up, enough to rest your forehead against his.

“Let me move then?” You whispered. “Please?”

He bit the inside of his cheek and nodded. “But fucking get to it.”

You released a shaky sigh. You kept your forehead pressed against his and stared into his eyes, intense and deep, while you slowly spread your legs further. You shifted again, your movements a little awkward and insecure, but eventually you felt him press up against you and you felt his tip press against your entrance. And then you slowly lowered yourself down onto his lap. You felt him fill you, but it happened so slowly that you felt every bit of it. And all the time you kept your gaze fixed on his eyes. His reaction. Every moan, every sigh, every twitch. All of it was enough to make you moan in return. You slowly lowered yourself further down, until you felt him all the way. And when you did…You didn’t move. You stayed like that. Just feeling. Just feeling all of him.

And the look in his eyes was worth it.

You had never seen him this soft, this vulnerable before. Not even when he told you about his father. His eyes were softer than ever before and you suddenly realized; you had never seen him this needy. This desperate to feel you. You were sure, just a second more and he would either take control or beg you. But you couldn’t let that happen.

It was his first time to let someone else take control after all.

And you couldn’t have him begging. You couldn’t have him do anything that would make him feel ashamed, when he was so unabashedly doing everything in order to make you happy.

So finally you moved. Slowly and carefully, very unsure still. But you moved. And he moaned. And he moved. And you moaned.

You had never felt him this deep before, this hard, this raw.

“Ride me.” He whispered breathlessly. “Ride daddy’s cock, baby.”

Your face flushed even more, but all you could focus on were his words. You movements became more forceful, more frantic, more desperate. And as hard as he tried not to move at all, it was simply impossible. He pressed his hips up against you, letting you feel him, so hard and God, so desperate.

“Yes. Yes, babygirl, just like that. Let daddy fill you up.” He groaned out.

With every thrust, every move, you felt yourself get closer yet again. It felt like a fantasy.

“Yes. Yes, my sweet girl, my baby, my darling, my love-“

His eyes widened frantically. He panicked. You could tell. So did you. On the inside. But on the outside, you pretended. You pretended all you could, that you hadn’t heard it.

The L-word.

The word that nearly broke you.

No, you hadn’t heard it. He had never said it. It was just a slip-up. A simple mistake. Nothing to get hot and bothered about.

When he realized you didn’t react, he slowly calmed down again and tightened his grip on your hips. His own movements became more and more desperate, until he was pounding into you from underneath.

“Fuck, yes. Cum for me, my babygirl. Cum for me, my darling. Take every drop of my cum.”

His words were enough to drive you over the edge. With a sharp inhale, a breathless moan, you felt your own orgasm hit you again. And he went over the edge right with you.

Your lips just an inch apart and your eyes fixed on each other.

Deep.

And raw.

“Yes.” He growled. “Oh God, yes. Fuck, yes. My girl. My girl, my...” His voice cracked and he came with a roar. He pushed his hips against you with a fervor that nearly left you bruised from the inside and it made your release drag on and on, until you felt you were about to take off to the sky.

It took you a few seconds, but when you both finally came back down from your high, you realized you were still staring into each other’s eyes. You mouth slightly agape and gasping for air, your brows furrowed and your bodies still connected in the most intimate way. You didn’t want him to withdraw yet. You wanted to feel his release run along your thighs. You wanted to feel dirty like that and at the same time you wanted something else entirely.

Stay close.

Stay together.

My love.

The word kept echoing through your mind like a poem, like a curse.

Like a death warrant.

My love.

He buried his hand in your hair and gently tugged on it.

“That…was…”

You had never seen him speechless before. The sight stirred so much in you.

You idiot girl. He hurt you, he hurt you so terribly and all you wanted right now was him beside you, at all times, maybe with a ring on your finger and a baby in your belly.

God, you were just as insane as he was. Probably even more so.

He was a psychopath. What was your excuse?

You tried to distract yourself from your thoughts and so you decided to take control a last time. Your head dipped forward and you kissed him. With a tenderness that made your heart ache. And he responded. With a softness that left you breathless.

My love.

Half an hour later, you finally managed to get your hands off of each other. After you finished your bathroom routine, he invited you to the shower with him. You’d join him in a minute, you decided, while you were on your way to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. Your mouth felt dry, your whole body did actually.

You felt sore as hell, but God. God.

The memory of it made you smile. You had never felt more loved in your life. Never felt more special, more desired, more…

A sound made you snap out of your thoughts and you looked up from the ground. What you saw made your heart stop.

The door.

The fucking door.

You mind went blank and your heart stopped beating.

The fucking door was open.

You swallowed thickly. Was it a test? Probably. Did you consider leaving?

You took a deep breath and slowly stepped into the hallway. The front door was open and there was that visitor’s terrace with a glass door attached to it, which led to the great staircase of the apartment complex.

It was a test. Or something equally cruel.

But what if it wasn’t?

What if he truly made a mistake? He was only human after all.

You stared at the glass door like you would have stared at an alien.

This was probably your only ever chance. To flee. Escape.

Get back to…

To what?

To normality, you told yourself.

To safety.

A lump formed in your throat. Did you want that? Did you even want to leave?

Even if it wasn’t a test, did you truly want to leave him?

The thought left a bitter taste in your mouth. It almost felt like acid and it weighed like a heavy stone on your heart. The thought of sleeping alone again, of never seeing his silly smile again. Even the twisted one, you’d miss.

The thought of never feeling his lips on yours again.

His hands in your hair, his voice in your ear.

His everything.

Him.

You were his girl.

You couldn’t just up and leave. What was there in the world for you?

Maybe this was exactly your destiny. Him. Him. Him.

He was all you needed, right? He took care of you. He provided for you.

He loved you. In his own, twisted way.

My love.

You couldn’t, you decided. You couldn’t leave. You wouldn’t. You wouldn’t ever-

The sound of someone’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts, but to your horror, it wasn’t him. Your eyes widened impossibly when you saw the form of a man approaching.

He looked like a janitor or something like that. A man far past his prime with greying hair and a kind smile.

God, you had missed kindness.

But no, no, you were his girl. You were his girl. You wouldn’t ever leave.

You took a step back like a cornered animal as the man approached and said something to you in Korean. When you backed away even more, he stopped and his eyes widened in surprise.

He kept talking to you, kept speaking in that reassuring tone of voice.

“I…don’t…understand.” You breathed out.

You didn’t even realize how you must have looked, terrified and broken. A faint mark on your cheek. Your clothes crumpled. Bite marks, love bites, more marks on your throat.

He frowned slightly and tilted his head to the side.

“Miss-“ He said in a thick, Korean accent. “Miss- The man that’s live here- The man- Is he-“

In that moment, you felt it. His presence was so prominent, you didn’t need to hear him call out to you. You just felt it. He came in, a towel wrapped around his waist and his hair wet from the shower. He most likely came to look why you hadn’t come yet.

You quickly spun around and met his gaze, your expression horrified. Your eyes were so expressive.

The door was open. He came by himself. It wasn’t my fault. Please! It wasn’t my fault!

Something hard flashed through his eyes, but it was only visible to you and it was only there for the blink of an eye. And then it was gone and it got replaced by the tight smile.

A tight, polite smile, directed at the janitor in the doorway. He spoke to him in Korean and stepped closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You stared at the ground, completely horrified.

Oh no, you thought.

Oh no. This is it.

_____________________________

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@hayakamis-blog Thank you for your lovely request, I loved the idea and I hope it turned out the way you hoped!

Author's note: I'll be honest with you, guys, this chapter cost me YEARS of my life, omg. I wrote 5000 words yesterday and then realized I didn't like what I was writing, so I deleted everything and did this today instead. I hope it was the right decision! On a super exhausted note, I'll try to answer all of your sweet, lovely messages in time!!! I'm not even exaggerating, a few of them really made me cry. Not almost, but for real. I don't know what I did to deserve all this kindness and love, but I really, really love you all! SO much!

[aimfor-theheart]

write the ex gf vi mini skirt fanfic request and my life is YOURS

ANON YOUR LIFE IS MINE!!

wc: 1.9k bro what the hell

tags: i imagine this as a grad school au or a modern/non fantasy au. reader is femme/wears a skirt and is called 'princess'.

cw: suggestive. ex-girlfriend!vi but you're both still really into each other lol.

***

the night is young and blue. you feel good—buzzing with a little excitement and confidence. the top you’re wearing clings to you in all the ways you love, fits right where you like it to, and your skirt is cropped all short with a little ruffled edge.

its sweet. coy. flirty.

you’re out with friends at some late night joint where the food is fried and the drinks are cold. the group is rather big—over spilling from one booth into the other where people come and go, flitting from one group to the other to chat and joke around. you're all around the pool table, where you and mel have started a game of pool against jayce and viktor.

you’re having a good night despite the fact that your ex-girlfriend is here.

vi is nursing a beer, lingering beside her sister—who keeps flitting around to socialize—and ekko. they're vaguely watching your game of pool.

unfortunately, the disadvantage of dating someone in your close group of friends, is that when you split up, she’s still at every event and night out.

you both said you’d play nice tonight.

and you have been. you haven’t snipped at each other. you haven’t ignored each other, either, but tonight—

you're feeling a little bold. looking for a little trouble (much to the frustration of all of your collective friends. ekko had promised he'd keep vi on a tight leash tonight but, well, that's no fun.

you're testing your luck.)

and maybe your skirt is getting a little short.

a peek of lacy panties never hurt anyone.

(maybe except for jayce, who regards you with sibling-like affection, and whose mortified when you bend over the edge of the pool table to line up the shot. your panties, dark beneath your skirt, peak out. his eyes go skyward. viktor snickers and mel pats his arm.)

you and mel are beating jayce and viktor in your game of pool. occasionally, ekko is ribbing the guys for losing. you watch as the balls clink together, rolling around, before coming to a gradual stop. it's your turn again.

"tough luck." vi says, "winning streak may be over, princess."

ekko elbows her for the petname.

it is a tough shot. it's a bad angle.

you give her this little sneer, but it's toothless—doesn't actually have a lot bite. "you forgetting i always kicked your ass in pool?"

"and who taught you how to play?" she says, quick and easy with it. she's grinning a little, too, and you're careful not to look at her too much. your heart still stutters a little despite it.

you huff and roll your eyes and respond with a bratty little, "jinx taught me better than you."

and then you take position at the end of the table, setting your hips against the wood and leaning forward on top of it, pool stick in hand as you line up the shot. and leaned over the table like this, your top low—cleavage spilling out against the felt green, you glance up at vi.

she's eyeing you dark and hungry, watching you through the thick bend of her lashes.

you swallow, focus back on the game.

you aim, pull back, and—

the white ball cracks against the wall and then against the midnight blue one, sending it careening into a nearby pocket.

you bounce up as everyone audibly reacts around you—mel cheering, jayce and viktor in awe. ekko laughing. jinx shouts in surprise. and vi curses a little.

“you see that?” you ask her, smile curling at your lips.

she takes a sip of her beer, “i saw it, hotshot. let’s see if you can do it again.”

“just makin’ sure your eyes were on the game.” you quip back and ekko coughs a little into his drink. you turn away from vi, before you can see the look on her face, but you can feel her eyes on you. burning.

you bite back a grin.

you set yourself up to take the next shot; there's only one ball left until you and mel can sink the eight ball. you press your hips into the pool table again and slowly lower yourself onto it.

behind you, you can almost feel vi's gaze, dark and heavy. your skirt rides up, revealing a peek of your panties—

black and surprisingly delicate, the lacy pattern intricate. and vi should know there's a little bow on the front of them.

she knows because she got them for you.

(something yawns open inside of vi, cavernous and wanting; a little wild and hungry. she thinks about coming up behind you, thinks about pulling your skirt down a little so no one else gets a peek, or plastering herself all over your back.

she thinks about bending you over the pool table and—)

you sink this ball into the pocket, too, on fire.

you bounce up, cheering, as the guys start to groan. ekko says, "that's a wrap, guys."

you miss the eight ball shot, but mel, on her next turn, easily ends the game. jayce and viktor owe you both another round of drinks.

and soon after, you're sipping on a mixed drink, too sweet and too strong. cloying. it sits on the back of your tongue.

you excuse yourself to the bathroom at some point when the liquor is hitting you a little more and you're flushed with warmth, giggly from your friends. and as you're drying your hands in the bathroom, alone, giving yourself a cursory check in the mirror, you hear the door open.

you pick your gaze up and in the mirror, you catch vi's eyes.

your stomach flips, a butterfly of nerves taking off inside you.

as she approaches, her form dark and broad—shrouding yours in the glass reflection as she nears, you turn over your shoulder to say, "what are you doing, vi?"

she cages you in against the sink, thick arms on either side of you. you feel the hard press of her belt, cold and metal, against the soft give of your body. your back is almost pressed to her chest. in the mirror, you watch her tongue swipe across her teeth. you trace the shape of her around your form—your own face, lips a little parted in surprise. hair tousled. the dark look in her eyes as she takes you in, too, takes in your reflection.

she smells familiar; soft, worn leather and amber. she feels familiar, too, having her around you again.

in the mirror, you catch her eyes.

your breath hitches a little and you force yourself to turn in her arms, to face her. you tip your chin up in that haughty little way that she used to love or hate. her eyes are hooded when you say, "vi—you can't be cornering me like this. we're not together anymore."

(it's a little coy around the edges. you play innocent well.)

you feel her knuckles against your thigh before you realize she's taken the edge of your skirt between finger and thumb. she rubs at the fabric a little, admiring it. her fingers are just underneath your skirt, just barely against your skin there. your head swims—you blame it on the drinks you had.

"then why are you wearing the underwear i bought you? that little, lacy black pair?"

you feel warmth hit your face, despite it all. you try to bite back, "and how would you know?

"think i wouldn't notice?" she asks, soft and husky, eyes clashing with yours, "hard to believe—the way you're acting in this little skirt, bending over in front of me, letting it ride up." you feel the back of her hand brush against your thigh. testing. trying.

"i don't know what you're talking about." you try to turn your nose up at her, looking away, but her other hand suddenly grabs your face. a little rough. a gasp is torn from you, even as she squeezes your lips into a little pout. you shudder as she presses into you harder. a little meaner. you fuss and squirm, trying to twist away, but she squeezes a little tighter.

bares down on you like a bad dog with a little bird in her mouth. pins you in place.

(vi rarely uses her strength on you, so much so that sometimes you forget—sometimes you're a little startled with the sudden flex of her muscles.

is the room spinning? heat swarms your face, your neck—down to your chest, hiccuping a little with breath. desire is a sharp, bright flicker inside you.)

"you know, if we were still dating, i wouldn't have let you prance around like this all night." vi says lowly and she's—she's got some sort of smile lurking in the corner of her mouth.

(a sort of wild amusement, watching you. watching your eyes blow wide and dark with lust, despite the way you try to fight her.)

"we're not—" you try to get out.

"i know," she says and it's almost just a hiss, a growl around the edges, her head dipping to your jaw, the corner of your throat. she angles your head away to give her room, to hold you in place. her lips don't connect with your neck, but your pulse jumps like she does, jumps like you want her to. "and ain't that a shame? i would've taken care of you already—pushed aside the panties i gave you and—"

the door to the bathroom suddenly shoves open.

in an instant, vi is gone, almost like she was never there in the first place. your chest heaves a little, warmth sitting high in your face as you grip the sink still, leaning against it. vi is a casual distance away now, leaning against the wall near the sinks, like she's waiting for you. like you were just talking. you have to take her in—the slight flush in her face, the fever-bright burst of her blue eyes, to know that she was affected at all.

someone else walks in, none the wiser. they head into a stall.

"you comin' home with me tonight?" vi asks, gaze searing, despite the way she keeps her voice casual. to anyone else, it might sound like a friend asking.

"vi—" you warn, as you finally gather your bearings enough to head towards the door. out of the bathroom. she's on your heels.

as you exit, and walk back towards your friends, she drops her hand to the back of your skirt. she tugs it down a little, so it sits lower on your thighs. you try to swat her away, but she catches your wrist, twists it a little to press it to your lower back. it doesn't really hurt—but you hiss and whine about it.

"let me go." you bite out.

her hand, wrapped tight around your wrist, falls away and you almost miss it. for a moment, she lingers near the edges of your skirt, around the curve of your thigh, before slipping away entirely.

she grins, slow and lopsided—sharp at the edges. and you'd know that smile anywhere on her; know how it tastes, how it feels against your thighs, or along the bend of your shoulder.

know it means trouble.

all you'd been looking for all night—in the bend of her smile.

"yeah, you're comin' home with me tonight, princess."

[air3d3lalm3na]

Okay, but coming at it from this angle refuses to address the elephant in the room. -- And I'm saying this as someone who saw it develop online for years and rejected the major trend of it around 10 yrs ago and got massive flack for it, so I clearly don't think this is healthy behavior. Just getting that out there.

But it's not based on individuals' personal urges. For the past good few years, young people with generally good intentions have been exposed to concerning online circles which literally utilized cult tactics (directly using the BITE model here and not exaggerating) to mentally manipulate us into complying with really sick ways of interacting/being interacted with and looking at the world.

I was initially one and felt the massive pressure of it for a time before rejecting it. And I'm a very stubbornly independent individual at that, and still went through that.... Most people in general aren't, and they crave and feel a deep need to "fit in" and "be normal + accepted" in a group and these tactics worked precisely on that factor.

This particularly targeted young LGBT people and anyone in a similar situation, ie seeking community with members of some minority group you're part of, online.

We know disinformation targeted minority groups (here; here).

A few (though not enough) people have thoroughly criticized the cultlike nature of specifically this site. But in the end it always went back to posts like this one -- expressing judgment in some supposed personal moral failing. Which, considering that that sort of peer judgment was always the cudgel being used in the above interactions, heavily shaping these perspectives... It's ironic to see the same social tool being used to criticize those mired in this worldview.

Missing the forest for the trees, here. Fingerpointing won't get people out of this/deradicalize; and, if that isn't a goal, well -- it isn't even a particularly accurate or realistic way to discuss what's happened here, period, even while "just venting"/personal blogging.

We tend to feel comfortable addressing the way that this has gradually happened to the MAGA/QAnon crowd, and the open fact that it's clearly not grassroots/organic and is a top-down influence with right-wing think tanks and money involved. But people seem to be much less comfortable acknowledging that the same has fully been done on the left/generally-left-leaning crowd.

Getting ahead of the black-and-white-minded accusation of conspiratorial thinking that naturally comes when trying to have this discussion: Obviously, there have been tons, realistically much higher numbers actually, of genuine people who have been exposed to this rhetoric, involved in it personally, repeating it, and generally being its "useful idiots" -- which was always the point. The point was to plant specific deeply harmful ways of engaging socially with others in such a widespread way as to make the actual left/left-leaning movement(s) ineffective. Many (most?) people having at least centrist-conservative psychological behaviors in their family/community upbringings just increased the effectiveness of this (i.e. the desire to follow a leader, hero worship, clique/groupthink -- on a larger scale as well as small, again the black-and-white thinking, "us or them", needing the comfort of simple ideas, etc).

Until any of this is properly addressed, we won't get anywhere, or even have the dignity of knowing we're having this conversation honestly.

I think my patience for people who wanna say radical things that have no hope of ever accomplishing anything and don't serve to do anything but signal they are the maddest angriest has done dried up

[aventurineswife]

Since a certain someone ahem @sundaysconsort ahem, made me sad... You guys shall suffer with me 🫶💙

The dim glow of the Astral Express cast soft shadows on the walls, the gentle hum of its engines the only sound breaking the silence. You sat near the windows, gazing out at the stars that blurred into streaks of light, each one carrying the memory of a distant world.

Sunday stood at the other end of the room, his ethereal figure framed by the soft glow of the halo behind him. His wings flickered slightly, betraying the turbulence within, but his face remained composed, as it always did—distant, yet not unkind.

He hadn’t said much since you’d boarded the train together. His usual perceptiveness was there, but today, it felt like he was watching you more than speaking to you. It made the air feel thick with unspoken words, and you found yourself longing for him to speak, to break the silence.

“Are you… alright?” you asked quietly, breaking the stillness.

Sunday turned, his eyes soft, distant. For a moment, it seemed like he might say something else—something more guarded, as he often did. But instead, he took a few slow steps toward you, his back wings folding gently at his back.

He gazed at you for a long time, and for the first time, you saw the subtle weariness behind his eyes. It wasn’t the guilt or the burden of his past, but something more intimate—like a longing, a quiet, almost imperceptible need.

“What happens when we let our hearts heal,” he murmured, almost to himself, as his voice barely rose above the hum of the train. “When we let our souls breathe?”

You tilted your head, unsure whether he was speaking to you or to some deeper part of himself. There was a sadness there, like he had been contemplating it for far too long, but never quite finding the answer.

His gaze met yours, and it was like he was searching for something—reassurance, perhaps, or even a hint of the answer. There was a moment of stillness, and then he stepped closer, his presence drawing you in, though there was no physical force behind it. Just the pull of his quiet, vulnerable self.

“It’s… difficult,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “To imagine a world where wounds don’t define us. To believe that we might find peace, when everything around us tells us that it’s out of reach.”

Your heart tightened, unsure of how to respond. You could see the conflict in him—the same conflict that had always been there, hidden beneath his calm demeanor.

His wings shifted, an almost imperceptible flutter, as he looked away for a moment, clearly struggling with his own thoughts. "I have spent my life trying to save others from pain, from suffering. Yet, in doing so, I’ve never once allowed myself the same kindness.”

You could feel the weight of those words, heavy with the years of internal battles he had fought, the ideals he had tried to uphold, only to face the harsh reality that even the most noble of dreams could come at a cost.

His voice, soft and distant again, slipped out. “What happens when we stop hiding from ourselves? When we let go of all the ways we’ve been conditioned to believe we must be?”

A silence hung in the air, filled with the tension between his idealism and the reality of his struggles. His eyes met yours once more, this time not with the distance you were used to, but with an openness that felt as if he were letting you see the parts of him he so carefully shielded from the world.

“Would you stay with me?” he asked, the question raw, vulnerable in a way that felt foreign to him.

It was a question laden with all the fears he never let himself speak of—the fear of loss, of failure, of not being enough. But there was also something else, something quieter. Hope.

In that moment, as you looked at him, you realized that perhaps he had never truly asked for help, never truly let anyone in. But now, in the delicate balance between his ideals and his heart, he was opening up to the possibility of healing. A possibility that, for the first time, seemed just within reach.

“What happens when we let our hearts heal, when we let our souls breathe?” he repeated, his voice fragile, as though the answer rested between the two of you.

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his question settle into your chest. With a quiet resolve, you stepped forward, closing the distance between you. “I think we learn how to live again,” you whispered.

And for the first time in a long time, you saw the faintest flicker of hope in his eyes.

[janaelalfysloml]

you’re gonna go far - pazzi x reader

a/n: okay this is based off a thing that @starlighttsv posted ! this story is gonna have things abt suicide , mental health and all of that stuff so if your not comfortable please dont read ! ilysm and if anybody needs anything im here or you can text or call 988 !

warnings: maybe typos? , suicide , death , mental health , grief , antidepressants

November 18th, 2024

you’ve always had mental health issues, but never like this. you’re psychiatrist prescribed you lexapro to help with your depression & anxiety , but they haven’t helped. you’ve talked to paige and azzi about you mental health , and they’ve helped but they haven’t thoughts are still there. just recently you’ve been getting suicidal thoughts. you spent all of your nights studying & wondering about what life would be like if you were no longer here. schools been torturing you and you dont feel happy anymore. you wanted to reach out to someone, but you didn’t want to feel like a burden. you decided to take a nap to clear your mind for a couple of hours.

November 21st, 2024

you decided that tomorrow was the day. you’ve dealt with everything for way to long and you couldn’t take it. you spent the whole day talking with paige and azzi , trying to make the most out of your time with them. they wouldn’t have known that you were choosing to make a decision that you could never take back. “we should go out and do something fun! your always in the house” azzi told you, as you went to your room to get ready. you put on some jeans with a brown shirt and your uggs.

you guys drove to the apple orchard, something you haven’t dont since you were little. you tried your best to make the most out of the day and tried to be happy with them. paige put her arm around you while you guys walked. it made you feel good and you started to regret what you were going to do tonight. “i love you so much, yknow?” paige said as she kissed your hand. “we should go to target, the apartment is missing some things.” azzi said as she skipped ahead of you guys.

paige and azzi were out , they had a late practice today. you finished cleaning and restocking the apartment , when your thoughts came back. you went and laid in your bed as you wrote your final notes to everyone you loved. you were set on this , eventually you texted and left some voicemails for paige and azzi. you felt so empty, so alone . you didn’t want to die, you just wanted your thoughts and feelings to stop. you walked into the walk in closet of your room that you shared with paige and azzi . you grabbed the chair , tied the knot , and hung yourself.

after paige & azzis practice

“why’d y/n call us so many times?” paige asked as she walked to her car. “i have like 80 voicemails from her, it’s weird.” azzi said as her and paige drove off.

“hey y/n?” paige shouted as she walked into the apartment, unaware of what she was about to see. she eventually made her way into the walk in closet and saw you. “shit,” paige said as she tried to get you down. “azzi call someone, she’s not breathing.” paige said as she laid you on the floor, trying everything & praying that somehow you’d wake up, knowing deep down that you never would.

eventually, help came. paige and azzi wrote the handwritten notes that you had left for them, and the rest of your loved ones. in your note, you apologized that they found you this way and that you were sorry for being selfish because you took your life. “she was so happy, and full of life, what happened? what did we do?” azzi said, her eyes were red and puffy from how much she cried. they would always be scarred for life, because of how they had found you. “did we say something, or do something? we were always with her when we could be.” paige said, she was numb, inside and out. “i can’t do the game tomorrow without her. i dont want to.” paige added on.

a/n: okay yall i physically cannot finish this im litterally sobbing what. this is the most thought I’ve ever put into a story and im proud. @starlighttsv i hope this is what you were asking for !! also my dms are always open to anyone! i love u so much y’all!!

[daveth-isnt-dead]

To Feel Vicariously

Summary:

No matter how hard she tries to dream about him, to moan his name in the night with her hand buried between her thighs. The truth always returns like a thunderclap, the knowledge that if she were to touch him, to kiss him, to fuck him. He wouldn’t feel a thing. “I may have a solution to this quandary.” The Herald says softly, his thumb tracing her lower lip with something more akin to scientific curiosity than any sort of affection, “If you would be willing to indulge in some experimentation.”

Contains: she/her pronouns, explicit sexual content, bittersweet ending.

Word Count: 9,072

Read on AO3

It’s early the the evening, and the light of the setting sun creeps in through the multicolored windows of the greenhouse, casting shadows in the shapes of various plants across the floor. Usually, she would be home with her mother for dinner by now, but she can be stubborn and until she finishes her work she isn’t going to be able to get any sleep. So she ignores the setting sun as best she can. Most of the commune members milling about outside don’t pay her any mind, they know not to interrupt while she is busy. 

She huffs a breath, as she continues working to repair one of the sprinklers before anyone else notices that it’s broken. She has already checked all the connections on this end of the pipe and found no issues, so all she can do is re-tighten the bolts she undid earlier and hope that she can locate the problem before sundown. It’s just as she struggles with the last turn of the wrench that she notices the Herald is standing outside. 

He’s speaking to someone, gesticulating lightly and she follows the movement of his hands with probably too much rapt attention. The light of the sun turns his hair orange and casts a vibrant light across his reflective form that leaves him awash in summer-gold brilliance. There is work she should be doing, but the Herald is less intimidating from a distance and she likes to look when she can. Suddenly, his eyes meet hers through the glass walls and she freezes, still crouched on the ground with a wrench in hand. Her throat suddenly dries with reckless anticipation. 

The Herald does start heading towards her and that makes her hands start shaking. She drops the wrench with a clang, cursing under her breath as she picks it back up and tries to calm her racing heart. 

“Are you alright?” He asks, looming in the open doorway, casting a shadow in his shape across the floor that stops just before her toes, “The irrigation hasn’t been causing you trouble, has it?”

She knows the Herald. Knows him by a name that remains just out of reach, trapped somewhere in the corners of her mind, knows him by a smile that she can barely remember, knows him by golden eyes that no longer exist. The face she thinks used to be his ripples and shifts, incomprehensible the moment she tries to grasp for it. It’s been a long time. Eight years, at least. Long enough that she shouldn't even remember as much as she does. 

It's the moments of specificity that shock her. Send her reeling. She remembers that his left canine was slightly longer than the right, so it was always the first thing she saw when he smiled. Remembers exactly the way he took his coffee, is unsure if he could even drink it now if she made him a cup. His name though, his face, all she has is figments, a memory of how it felt to pronounce each individual letter, an approximation of cheekbones and eyebrows (one mole beneath his eye, she remembers that) and nothing but a blur in-between. 

Looking at the Herald doesn’t help, no matter how much she tries. His face is just as much an approximation as the one in her mind. Thinner, sharper. The hollows of his cheeks an unfamiliar, iridescent whorl. A mole rests above his lip, but the one under his eye is gone and that’s the one she remembers. She hasn't told her mother, it would be pointless to tell her that she has a vague memory of the Herald from almost a decade ago, that she used to call him by name every morning, though the name now slips through the gaps in her teeth anytime she tries to feel the sound of it in her mouth again.

Tongue touching her bottom teeth, a sharp uptick and then a lilting, rolling sound at the end. Her brow furrows, chasing the movements, hoping to connect them back to the letters they mimic. Failing as always. 

So it doesn't matter, because she doesn't really know the Herald at all.

She blinks, feeling her palms sweat, “No, no it’s fine. Low water pressure, I think there might be a pinch in the line.”

He crosses the room to her, his bare feet don’t make a single sound on the ground beneath and the orange light of dusk is like a misty halo eclipsed by the back of his head. His movements exude divinity, even as he debases himself by dropping to a crouch at her side. She scurries back a little, knocking over a nearby watering can with a clatter. The Herald continues looking at her, much closer now that they are for once, on the same level. She swallows, hating the way her eyes betray her by dropping to the gentle arch of his lips. 

“Might I offer some assistance?” He asks quietly. 

His eyes are a shifting, opalescent rainbow and his gaze is pointed, intense. She knows from her mother, that the Herald does more than just heal with his touch, she mentions hearing his voice in her head whenever she might need him. It occurs to her that his accustomation to being inside the minds of so many commune members all at once may have affected his understanding of personal space. The Herald leans in closer again, their noses are almost touching, and she has to catch herself on her hands when she almost topples backwards. 

“Aren’t you busy?” She squeaks, trying to keep her face as far from his as she can. “Not presently.” The Herald replies, resting his hands on his knees, “Especially not, if assistance is required. You’ve made great contributions to this commune, it would not do for me to leave you to your own devices when help can be provided.”

Her brow furrows. Unsure how to respond to the Herald offering his assistance with irrigation repairs of all things, “Wouldn’t it be…I don't know, beneath you?” 

His expression shifts minutely, a minuscule tension in his jaw, a pinch in his brow. Enough that she can only assume she’s offended him.

“Sorry!” She says quickly, “I-I didn’t mean that you couldn’t do it, just that I’m sure you have much more important things to do, I’m sorry.”

“Anything that you are willing to offer the commune, I am willing to offer in equal measure.” He responds evenly, the metallic thrumming undertone of his voice sending shivers up her spine, “Evolution is not so singular that only my actions will bring forth change. Our coalescence, our joined contributions, are necessary for our pilgrimage along that fated path. So please, allow me to help.”

She swallows thickly, eyes helplessly drawn to the sharp golden tendrils climbing up either side of his throat, “Um, Sure.” She averts her eyes, staring down at the ground instead, “We have multiple lines connecting into the sprinkler system, I’m not sure which one the pinch is in so…” she braves another look at him, only to feel her cheeks flushing when she realises that he’s leaned in close again. Close enough that she notices some of his eyelashes are blonde like the mismatched strands of hair that hang around his neck, “You could check the pipes east of the commune while I check the ones to the north?”

“Consider it done, then.” The Herald says, returning to his feet without even needing to use his hands for balance. It looks like his body is all metal, at least when the light catches on it, but he moves like it weighs nothing at all, “I will meet you back here.”

“Oh, yes, no worries.” She stammers, discombobulated at the sight of him peering down at her, “See you then, I guess.” The Herald inclines his head in her direction once, and her heart stutters when she realises that it is a bow. Then he turns and leaves back out the way he came. She had stopped breathing at some point, she can't remember when and it takes her a minute to catch her breath again. Interactions with him always leave her in pieces. Something to do with the immensity of him, the way it feels like he takes up so much space in a room, sucks up all the oxygen just by being there. Though that isn’t all it is. She still can’t escape her blurred memories of him, unable to be wrenched from the depths of her subconscious no matter how hard she tries. 

She’s been living here for a few months now, and he hasn’t done anything to jog her memory. While she recalled his accent in a desperate rush when he first welcomed her and her mother to the commune, the intonation was all wrong, flat, lifeless. She remembers it being different, but different how she isn’t sure. Luckily she doesn’t see all that much of him, at least not anymore. He was very attentive the first few days after they arrived, especially to her. Probably because she was the first to decline his gift, but still ask to stay. 

Her mother had been gravely injured in one of the skirmishes between the Chem Barons and Enforcers, arm wrenched from her shoulder, lungs full of Gray. She had heard vague notions of a healer somewhere in the Undercity, near the site of the long collapsed cannery and hoisted her mother’s remaining arm over her shoulders and carried her there as best she could. 

The commune was a lot smaller than it is now, with only a few domed buildings and a small patch of flowers just beginning to grow. The Herald met them both at the gate as if he knew they were coming and she watched with a mixture of awe and trepidation as his mere touch regrew her mother’s arm and cleaned her lungs of the gas. Then, the Herald turned to her.

“N-No, thank you.” She’d replied in a panic when he inclined his hand towards her expectantly, “I’m fine, I don't, um-” He’d blinked at her slowly, rolling her words around in his head. Then, silently, his hand lowered back to his side. Though she caught a near imperceptible flex of his fingers like he was dispelling an ache. 

“I’m just here for my mother.” She’d clarified, shying away from him, “I’d like to stay with her, if that’s…” She took a glimpse around the small commune, at all the people in matching white robes, each with his fingerprints already marked on each of their foreheads, “...allowed.”

The Herald had clasped his hands together, eyes staring directly into her own for a moment, before answering, “I do not turn people away, you are no exception.”

So she moved in with her mother, earning her keep by maintaining the water filtration and irrigation systems. It took almost a month for her to cart as much of their old belongings over from the other side of the Undercity as she could, but their odd domed house has started to feel like home. Her mother is a little different, there’s a lightness to her that shouldn’t be concerning, but still is. Even at her best, her mother loved to complain, about dirty dishes, about the weather, about the kind of music she liked listening to. Now though, she is always content, unsettlingly content. 

Sighing, she pulls herself from the ground, eager to go check her side of the pipes before the sun starts setting properly. While she still feels strange walking around outside as the only non-official member of the commune, everyone else is still very polite. Offering waves and smiles whenever they see her. She tries her best to return the sentiment as she starts following the pipes north, but unlike them, she still maintains all her faults and she isn’t all that good at small talk. She used to be when it was her job. Back when she woke up before dawn to trudge her way across the bridge to Piltover and tried her hardest not to fall asleep on the trolley ride to the academy. It’s been a long time since then, and mechanical repair work never necessitated a friendly face, so one day, years ago, she hung it up at the door and didn’t put it on again.

The sun casts an orange glow across the commune, catching on the petals of yellow flowers and sending beams of coloured light across the landscape as it passes through the multicoloured glass that makes up most of the windows. There’s an eerie quiet when the commune settles in for the evening, she’s so used to the raucous sounds of the Zaun nightlife, loud drunken voices, and the occasional fistfight. The silence should be peaceful, but it only makes her feel like she’s being watched. Her feet carry her the rest of the distance, following the length of the pipes back to the nearest riverbank where the filtration tanks wheeze and groan. As far as she can tell, this set of pipes was in working order the entire way down, and while the tanks require some oiling and tightening, the water is still filtering correctly. Whatever issue the sprinkler is having must be on the other length of pipe. The Herald will be handling it, then. She briefly wonders how. 

Did he have a background in engineering? She can’t remember. Her jaw tightens as she begins following the pipes back to the greenhouse, trying to remember if that was something he told her, or something she overheard. It may also have been something she made up, her memories from that time are always slipping through her fingers and sometimes she can’t resist the urge to fill the spaces with an approximation. The year after she lost her job in Piltover was stressful, she and her mother were barely able to rub two coins together. That year must account for her lapse in memory, she was on her feet every day, trying to find work anywhere, selling everything they could part with and it didn’t make any logical sense for her to reminisce. Thoughts about that old job, that old paycheck, that old customer, were pointless. She discarded them, picked up mechanics, taught herself how to repair broken pipes, heating and cooling units. Crammed every last bit of new information in her head and abandoned whatever she deemed unnecessary. 

The cool breeze feels nice on the back of her neck where her hair is pulled up in a ponytail. She gives a polite wave to one of the commune members who is taking down some dry laundry from the washing line outside their house but otherwise continues singlemindedly on her trip back down the length of pipes. Thinking too much about the Herald is always dangerous, she ends up tangled in fragmented memories and complex emotions. She huffs, blowing some hair out of her face as the greenhouse comes into view in the distance. 

Another of the things she remembers about the Herald, one of the things she remembers most vividly. Is that she was in love with him. Only a little bit, just enough that her heart would race when that face she can no longer remember came through the door. Enough that she would spend nights staring up at the ceiling and imagining what it would feel like if she had been bold enough to kiss him. How he would sound if her name escaped his lips in something teetering towards a moan. It’s the root cause of her discontent, the growth behind her ribs that she cannot untangle. The Herald’s face is unfamiliar, his voice is all wrong, but something in her heart remembers better than her mind does. Because the love has transferred. 

Nights she used to spend desperately trying to recall the face she’s lost, are instead spent thinking about the one she has found in its place. Sometimes she doesn’t even bother moving her lips in the shape of familiar, but misplaced syllables, because it is easier to moan Herald instead. But, no matter how hard she tries to dream about him, to moan his name in the night with her hand buried between her thighs. The truth always returns like a thunderclap, the knowledge that if she were to touch him, to kiss him, to fuck him. He wouldn’t feel a thing. Some nights the reality is so disquieting that she can’t even bear to finish, but others, she squeezes her eyes shut, grits her teeth and pushes through anyway with tears beading in her eyes. The shame sinks in after.

The sun has almost made its way down behind the horizon when she makes it back to the greenhouse, the vivid orange glints off the glass and directly into her eyes. She has to shield her face with the back of her arm as she walks in through the open door and freezes in the middle of the room at the sight of the Herald crouched on the ground, holding her wrench and tightening one of the bolts on the sprinkler system. 

He doesn’t look up when she comes in, just says, “The pinch was on my end of the pipes, which I am sure you have already surmised.” “I uh-” she swallows, trying to draw her eyes away from his tight grip on the wrench, “Yes, I figured that was the case.” “You've done great work maintaining the irrigation thus far.” He replies, giving the bolt one last turn that has the criss-cross of imitation tendons in his arms shifting just a little, “you caught that issue very early.” He stands from the floor, once again the picture of elegance and grace. Just being around him makes her feel like she is all knees and elbows, imperfect, fragile, “I'm thankful that you decided to remain in the commune, we gain a lot from your perspective.”

“Thank you, uh-” he steps in towards her, close enough now that she has to peer up to meet his eyes, “It's no problem, really.”

The Herald hums, eyes narrowing the slightest bit as he leans in even closer. His eyes are turquoise now and then very quickly pink, dancing towards orange when his lips part and he breathed, “I am concerned about you.” 

Her heart races, her palms begin to sweat, “What…why? Have I done something wrong?”

“Wrong is not the word I would use. You have seemed restless, preoccupied. I was wondering if there was something I could do.” The thoughts re-enter her mind, unbidden. Her lips tracing the length of his collarbone, leaning up to kiss the mark above his lips, hand digging tightly into his hair as her other hand slides up under his robe to find what lays beneath. Then the next thought follows, as always, his face expressionless, her touching and kissing and pleading, but him never taking any pleasure from the action. 

“No, there isn’t.” She says, picking at her cuticles. 

“But there is something you want, is there not?” He intuits, easier than she would have liked. 

“I-” She sighs, peering up at his achingly familiar face, trying to find any inclination towards an expression on any of his features. The ache only grows deeper when his countenance remains completely neutral. She swallows dryly, “Do you, remember me, Herald?”

He hums quietly, though his expression remains unchanged, “I did think you seemed familiar.” his head cocks to the side in what she has taken to interpreting as curiosity, “Have we crossed paths before?” His brows pinch the slightest bit, in thought, she assumes, “Did you study at the academy, perhaps?” “No, I didn’t, I couldn’t, I’m from Zaun, I-” she bites her lower lip, trying to calm herself down and just get to the point, “I worked there for a few years, in the-” “The campus cafe.” The herald finishes before she can. Her heart stammers in her chest, a warmth like sunlight dancing out from her chest all the way to the tips of her fingers. Her next breath is shaky, thick with disbelief. For some time it feels like she might not even be able to speak, but she eventually manages a simple: “Yes.” 

“You disappeared one day.” He elaborates, brows tugging together enough that she notices it, “I asked where you went, but the new barista said they didn’t know.” “I-I was let go. That explosion, the apartment. All the Zaunite employees at the Academy lost their jobs that day. Effective immediately.” All the words are coming out in a desperate rush, and her breath is hiccuping with every aching gulp, “I thought about coming back, to say goodbye. To leave a note or something, but if they caught me on campus I would have been arrested. I-” she laughs breathlessly, aware that it sounds more like a sob, “You were my favourite, you know? Not that it matters now, none of it matters now, not really I just-” she looks down at the ground and shrugs a shoulder, “I think I wanted you to know anyway.”

She hopes for something she can't have. For him to admit that he missed her as much as she missed him back then, that maybe he never stopped missing her. The Herald isn’t the person he once was, though and for a long time, all he does is stare at her, unsettlingly still. She can hear the sound of the soft breeze outside the greenhouse, see the light of the sun shifting from a bright orange to a dusky purple as it slowly dips below the horizon. In the deafening silence, she realises that the Herald’s body makes a sound, a quiet thrumming, a gentle lull beneath his skin. How has she never noticed before?

“Herald?” she stammers, desperate to break the silence.

“Yes?” He replies, once again leaning in close enough that she can count his eyelashes. This time she doesn’t feel the urge to move away from him.

“What’s your name? I don’t- I can’t-”

His brow tightens, and his head tilts to the side the tiniest bit. Her breath catches in her lungs, worried that this was a question she should never have asked. Then, he exhales a steady breath and answers, “It’s Viktor.”

Viktor. 

That name, those two syllables collide with her like a punch to the gut. She is suddenly awash in memories of all the times she called out to him, the way his head would spin around, a smile, a perfect smile. Despite them never sharing more than a few words each morning, he still took care to remember her name, never rushed her, and smiled when he came to collect his cup from the counter. She knew he was the dean’s assistant, knew he took far too much sugar in his coffee and heard through the ever-churning rumour mill that he was from the Undercity like she was. He had honey-gold eyes that shone whenever they caught the sun and his name was- “Viktor.” She repeats quietly, languishing in the feeling of his name dancing across her tongue. 

The Herald nods, still leaning in close, peering down at her with his expressionless, opalescent eyes. She wonders, then, how much of her old memories are even applicable anymore. How much of the Herald is Viktor and vice versa? If she lifted her hand and pressed it to his cheek, would it be warm as she’d always imagined? Would the side of his throat still taste like sweat if she dragged her tongue against it?

“That was not all you wanted, was it?” The Herald asks softly, sending her plummeting back to painful reality.

“No it’s-” She turns from him, ashamed to even look him in the eye, “It’s not something you would be able to give.” she starts making to leave, muttering a quick, “I’m sorry.” as she heads to the door. 

“Wait.” The Herald says, halting her at the precipice of the doorway. She clenches and unclenches her hands, awash in vibrating, nervous energy. It feels as if she will shatter into a million pieces the moment it reaches the right frequency.

“We do not have a direct connection, as I do with the rest of the commune, but I can still sense the ache tugging at you.” She can hear him draw closer, the shift of fabric around his ankles, “Allow me to help.” and then, softer, “please.”

It’s the please that does her in, that has her turning back around despite her decision to leave. She must be imagining it, but his voice sounds as if it wavered on that last word, that the metallic undertone vibrated a nervous discordance. He holds out his hand to her and she so craves the feeling of his palm against her own that she doesn’t think about what she is offering until her skin makes contact, stammering out a desperate, “N-No, wait don’t!” It’s too late. He knows. He knows instantly. 

The Herald’s brows lift slightly, his mouth pinched in a straight line. She thinks he might be assessing her, silently and it makes her heart start to race. He releases her hand the moment she tugs it away, gently flexing his own fingers. As if to remember the feeling.

“I-I’m so sorry. I can leave, if you need me to, please, just-” she exclaims, clutching her hand to her chest like it will someone force the feelings he had taken back where they belong, “Just let my mother stay, please.” His next expression seems almost bewildered, though at this point she is beginning to believe that she has taken to ascribing whatever emotion best pleases her to the minute shifts of his eyes and mouth, “You think I would exile you from the commune?” He asks slowly, brows pulling together the slightest bit, “Over this?”

“You would have every right to.” She replies quickly, taking a step backward, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-” “Have what?” He asks evenly, slowly, “Have been human?” he takes a careful step back towards her, wary of her desire to flee, “Had human thoughts?” his hand reaches out to press against her cheek without even an inclination of shyness or trepidation, “Did you think that I would deny you your humanity?” He whispers.

Now that he's touched her once, she can't resist letting him do it again and again, practically melting into the thrumming metal of his palm against her cheek. It isn't quite warm or cold, there's a fluctuation, a pulse, unfamiliar but far from unpleasant. She should stop him, her body is already growing so warm from just a chaste touch of his hand. He can certainly tell and she doesn't want him to do something just because he knows she wants it. Even though she does want it, immensely. 

“No.” She breathes, “You have been kind, very kind, I just- I don’t want to take advantage of that kindness.” her breath catches as she says this, leaning into him further despite her words claiming she doesn’t want to do so.

“I may have a solution to this quandary.” The Herald says softly, his thumb tracing her lower lip with something more akin to scientific curiosity than any sort of affection, “If you would be willing to indulge in some experimentation.” “Experimentation?” She replies breathlessly. Her hands won't stop shaking, her body awash in a complex tangle of both nerves and excitement. 

“Yes.” He responds evenly, “It is not something I have tried before, I haven’t had the need to.” his head tilts in closer to hers, the colour of his eyes swirling and shifting faster than usual, “Has this piqued your curiosity?” he asks and she must be imagining it but his tone sounds almost mischievous. 

She swallows thickly, wringing her hands together, “It has.” a shaky breath, “Very much so.”

His eyebrows lift slightly, mouth settling into a shape that she interprets as satisfaction, “Would you follow me, then?”

She does. Nearly mindlessly. He leads her out the door of the greenhouse and up the sloped pathway to the central building where he usually resides. She has been inside once or twice, on the few occasions that she has needed something from him and not already found him outside. It��s not homey the way the space she shares with her mother is. Glass circles on the high walls of the domed ceiling do let in a good deal of light and she can only imagine the view of the stars through them under the cover of night, but it’s devoid of furniture or belongings and it makes her feel instantly guilty, even though he doesn’t seem bothered by the lack of comforts. 

As she follows the Herald in through the round opening and into the central chamber, she idly wonders how difficult it might be to locate a large circular rug for the space. Wonders further if he would even still feel the soft fibres between his toes if he walked across it. She files the notion away for later, regardless. It would be nice to get him a gift, something tangible for once, something more than acts of service. 

He waits silently for her in the middle of the chamber, standing beneath a shaft of pale purple light that reaches in through one of the windows. It catches on his edges delicately, like a caress and he looks like the picture of divinity bathed in it. She suddenly feels her throat turn dry, remembering why exactly, she is here with him right now. 

“You will have to come closer.” He says, holding a hand out to her. 

She sucks an anxious breath in through her nose and takes several shaky steps towards him. His hand fits wonderfully in her own and it is nice to let him touch her without the fear of him pushing her away. The Herald continues staring at her in his usual fashion, likely sifting through her mind so long as they maintain skin-to-skin contact. She bites her lower lip and turns away from him, “W-Well, I’m here now…so…” The Herald steps in closer, leaning his face down towards hers, “Like this, the connection will be most potent.” He says quietly, forehead pressed firmly against hers, “Though if either one of us feels possessed to move,” he leans back and takes her hand, resting it on the top of his head, the meat of her palm pressed against his brow, and her fingers in his hair, “This will suffice.”

“O-Okay…” She swallows thickly, “What, um, what exactly will we be doing?” She thinks that he is smiling, though it is little more than a twitch at the corners of his mouth, “What you feel, the arcane will allow me to feel through you. Complete synchronicity, acute and exact.”

“Then…you will also enjoy it?” She ventures.

“So long as you do, yes.”

A rush surges through her veins at that, coalescing into a devious warmth between her thighs. Suddenly filled with images of his mouth hanging half open in a cry of ecstasy, his spine curling into a perfect exhilarating arch. 

“Yes.” The Herald clarifies, “Like that.”

She feels her cheeks flush and she pulls back from him in a panic, “I-I’m sorry, I forgot that you could see-”

“There is no need to dissimulate.” He says, before she can begin to spiral. His hand takes hers once again, this time pressing it against his cheek, “You will have to let me inside you.” (another bolt of arousal at his choice of wording) “Or it will not work.” Her next breath exits her lungs in a delicate shiver, her voice feels thick in her throat, but she manages to whisper, “Okay.” then, with her eyes closed, “Go ahead.”

His forehead presses to hers again, and suddenly the metallic rush of the arcane fills her mouth and trickles down the back of her throat, for a moment it feels like she is drowning, that she will be unable to breathe. There's a flash of swirling nebula behind her eyes, an otherwise inky blackness continuing on for all infinity and it’s like she is rising, rising, rising. The Herald clutches to her, one arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders and the feeling of his breath on her face is what pulls her back down, allowing her to sink back into the comforting weight of her body. 

The connection is established, and the Herald lets out a breathless moan immediately. 

He laughs, (laughs!) and then whispers, “You are so aroused, I haven’t even touched you yet.”

How cavalier his acknowledgement is only makes her more aroused, but she instinctively rushes to deny it anyway, “No I-”

“There is little point in arguing.” He interrupts, “I can feel it.” “O-Oh…” she replies, relishing in the delectable zip that runs down her spine at the way his voice wraps lazily around his words. Their positioning is a little strange, she can’t quite see him with their foreheads pressed together, but she can feel his breath is more laboured than usual. Curiosity gets the better of her, “You still need to breathe?” she asks quickly. He hums, “Not in the same way you do. I can survive without oxygen, but the air circulation prevents me from overheating.” “You-You’re breathing quite quickly now.” “I am.” Her stomach is in knots, her heart has worked its way up to the base of her throat, “Does that mean that you’re…um…” “Hot?” He finishes for her, “It does.” Tentatively, she reaches a hand out, sliding up the length of his bare arm and sucking in a shaky breath at the feeling of pulsating warmth beneath his metallic exterior. The closer her hand moves to his chest, the hotter it becomes and when she grows bold enough to slip her hand under his robe and press her palm against where his heart would be, she can feel the incessant fluctuating thrum beneath her hand. It’s only when the Herald lets out another shaky moan that she realises how intensely she feels this intimacy between her thighs. 

He follows her lead, the arm he had wound around her shoulders shifts as he slides his hand across her shoulder blades and up the side of her neck. She whimpers softly when his thumb runs up the length of her trachea, exerting enough pressure that her breath catches with the motion. A shaky exhale escapes the Herald’s mouth as he brings that hand down, dipping just beneath the low collar of her shirt to trace the line of her collarbone and that breath becomes a whine when his second hand joins the first and begins undoing her buttons. He must feel the enormity, the shivering desperation as he slowly pushes her unbuttoned shirt from her shoulders, slipping down until it catches in the crook of her elbows. 

His hands are large and pulsing with incredible warmth as they reach out to wrap around the base of her ribcage, trapping her between them. Her breath stutters in her throat, her second hand jumping up to tangle in the hair on the back of his head, locking his forehead against hers. One of his hands slides up and over her brassiere and both their mouths open in a shaky moan at the feeling of him squeezing. 

“You are very sensitive.” The Herald whispers, his thumb reaching up to rub a single circle around her nipple through the fabric. His following moan breaks halfway through, catching somewhere in the back of his throat. Her own moan is more shivery, breathless. Chest arching out towards him, desperate for more. The Herald slips his hand up under her brassiere and the feeling of his metal fingers pressing firmly into her soft flesh has her gritting her teeth and squeezing her eyes shut. A whine escapes the Herald’s throat, “It is…overwhelming.”

“What can I say? You overwhelm me.” She murmurs, breath catching as his second hand joins his first, dancing tantalising circles around both her nipples. The Herald doesn't respond, almost like he can’t. He pinches her nipples hard enough that she lets out a yelp and she feels his hips stutter forward when the sensation reverberates through him. It’s a curious and very human reaction. She’s addicted to it. Her hand slides down, fingers tucking under the array of straps at his side and gripping tightly to his thin waist, thumb rubbing along one of the raised, golden lines decorating his skin. 

“Can you feel that?” She asks quietly. He gulps a breath and she feels him shake his head, “I cannot.” a whimper escapes from behind his teeth and he clarifies, “But I can feel how it feels for you when you touch me and that feels…very good.” 

Her hand shakes when she lifts it up to grab one of his own, sliding it down from her chest to her stomach, “More, please.” she begs, her hand returning to its place on his waist. 

He lets out a shivery sort of moan as the tips of his fingers trace just above the waistband of her pants, his breath hitches just as hers does, right when his digits disappear beneath the fabric. Her hand on his waist clings tightly and the one on the back of his head fists into his hair. Her knees feel weak like she might lose balance any minute as his fingers descend into her underwear. His next moan is guttural, all in the back of his throat when the pads of his finger bump against her clit. She lets out a punched-out sort of sound, hips stuttering out of her control at the feeling. It’s been a very long time since someone else has touched her, she’s so unbelievably wet and sensitive that another small circle of his fingers has her wanting to double over in ecstasy. 

The Herald mutters something under his breath, all sharp constants, in a language she doesn't understand. His fingers continue tracing small, gentle circles around her swollen clit, his entire body shuddering with each featherlight touch and she isn’t faring much better. Her hands fumble in an attempt to get the straps at his waist undone, cursing out loud as her hands fall short of the task. 

Understanding what she wants, the Herald removes his second hand from her breast, hissing out a moan as the flat of his palm brushes her nipple on the way down. The hand between her legs continues its ministrations as the other moves to the elaborate set of buckles at his waist and starts quickly unfastening them. She’s quickly distracted by one of his fingers sliding down between her folds and lightly brushing her entrance. She grits a moan out from between her teeth and the Herald makes a choked sort of sound that is quickly followed by the satisfying rustle of his robe coming undone. 

Her hand slides down to his hip, momentarily shocked at the alien curve of it, its sharp protrusion from the rest of his narrow body. Her curious fingers quickly find that there is a dip underneath, an inch or two of empty space before her fingertips meet the joint where his leg connects. It should likely be more disquieting than it is, but the only realisation that comes to mind is how easy it will be to hook her fingers under his hip and grab. 

So she does, grabbing tightly with both hands, in a grip so tight it might be painful if he could actually feel it. The Herald stutters a moan, more of those unfamiliar constants leaving his mouth in a rush as the tip of his finger finally presses inside of her. The sound she makes is nearly a sob, gripping white-knuckled to the unyielding solidity of his hips. Her cunt accepts his finger more than willingly when it slips the rest of the way in, curling up in a way that nearly has her seeing stars behind her eyes, that has the Herald whining and quivering under her grip. 

“W-Wait, please.” She manages to stammer, resisting the urge to grind down on his finger. The Herald stills, though she still hears the frantic inhale of his breath. One of her hands moves from his hips and up to his face. At first, cupping his cheek and then slowly sliding up to the position he taught her. Fingers on the top of his head, base of her palm against his brow. The Herald slowly leans his head back, his eyes meeting hers for the first time in a while. The swirling rainbow of his irises has quietly settled somewhere in the direction of orange, but with his next blink, the colours begin shifting again. His lips are beautifully well-bitten, and while there is no flush on his high cheekbones, the lax expression on his face makes him look utterly wrecked. Her lip curls just a little, at the thought of her own human feelings so thoroughly debasing him, forcing him back into the imperfect box of humanity for just a moment. 

It’s tentative, nervous, when she tilts her head up in his direction. Despite his hand down her pants and one of his fingers still buried in her cunt, this, a kiss. It feels too far, too fragile and dangerous at the same time. The Herald doesn’t move, but he must feel her own racing heart because his breath quickens again as she slowly leans in, feeling that desperate breath across her lips. He doesn’t kiss back at first, her lips meet his just once, testing the waters. When she pulls back his tongue darts out to wet his lower lip. 

She’s shaking, gulps down a nervous breath that does nothing to calm her nerves, “Herald?” “Yes?” 

“Can- Can I call you-” His free hand reaches up and cups her cheek, he leans in close, in that way that used to unsettle her and whispers, gently, “You may.” 

“Viktor,” A weight lifts from her, something inadvisable settling syrupy and warm within her veins. Her lips meet his again, though this time he kisses back and against the softness of his lips she breathes, “Please keep touching me.” The finger inside her curls up once again, sliding in and out of her at a tortuous pace that has the both of them gasping and moaning into each other’s mouths. She spreads her legs a little, to make it easier for him, mouth opening beneath his and keening loudly at the feeling of his tongue meeting hers. It must be strange for him to match her movements when he doesn’t feel his own end of the exchange, so when his tongue traces her upper row of teeth and licks at her own just the way she likes it, she can only assume that it’s muscle memory. A second finger joins the first inside her and the Herald exclaims her name in a broken moan, which has a bolt of arousal zipping down between her thighs that he then also feels. It’s a feedback loop, a circuitous tangle, his pleasure is her pleasure and vice versa. She can tell that he is having some trouble maneuvering his hand from within her pants, the crook of his fingers is still utterly delectable, but his movements are stiff. Being careful to keep her hand pressed firm against his brow, lest their connection sever, she brings her other hand down to the buttons on her pants, struggling to get them undone. 

The Herald pushes her hand out of the way, “Permit me.” He breathes into her open mouth. 

She lets out a whine of disappointment when the fingers inside her retreat for just a moment, joining his other hand on the front of her pants, undoing her buttons and slowly inching the fabric down her thighs. The Herald presses a wet kiss to the side of her throat and then surprises her by dropping to his knees to help tug both her pants and underwear the rest of the way down her legs. She feels an odd sense of satisfaction, seeing him knelt beneath her with her hand atop the crown of his head. It’s as if she is curing him of an ailment he didn’t know he could possess anymore, something of the body, something wet and writhing and so imperfectly human. 

“Viktor…” She whispers, just to feel the taste of those letters on her tongue again. 

He hums beneath her, swirling, half-lidded eyes peering up from between her legs. One of his hands slides up from her knee to her hip and his mouth drops open in a whine at the resounding shiver that sends up her spine. Then, the moment she imagines that mouth of his on her cunt, he leans forward to do exactly that. The hand she has on his head tightens, yanking hard at his hair when the warm curl of his tongue meets her oversensitive clit. Her whole body shudders and she feels his hand on her hip grip tight, him moaning desperately against her, shaking just as much as she is. 

His second hand lifts, gliding up the inside of her opposite thigh and she watches in utter bewitchment as the disheveled fabric of his robe slips off his shoulder and pools around his kneeling form. He’s a vision in the pale light, an intricate interlace of purple and gold that shines under her delicate observation. With his face still buried in her thighs, she can see the full length of his spine, the sharp jut of his shoulders and the mess her grasping fingers have turned his hair into. She feels, more than she hears, him moan against her again and her cheeks warm when she realises the way she feels even observing him, is enough to make him moan.  

The next brush of his tongue has her hips stuttering out towards him, her breath catching in her throat. Her other hand joins the first on his head, gripping tightly to the base of his skull for purchase. His mouth opens in a guttural moan, fingers continuing their journey up and gently brushing against her entrance, teasing her with the promise of resumed penetration. She feels him shiver beneath her when two fingers easily slip in, though only to the first knuckle, and again when his tongue brushes around her clit in a light circle. The sounds he is making beneath her are evangelical, the combined vibration of his human tone and the mechanical rumbling underneath. Her breath comes fast, hips gyrating, desperate for more of his tongue, his fingers, his noises. 

“More, please.” She stammers out, sweat beading on the back of her neck, jaw tensed as her body inches closer and closer to its peak, “Please, Viktor.” He grunts against her, mouth still working against her clit, licking and sucking as he finally slips both of those long long fingers all the way inside her. Their moans intermingle when those fingers crook up, she tosses her head backward and he buries his head somehow deeper between her thighs. The hand he has gripped to her hip holds her so tight that she can imagine there will be bruises and even that thought has them both moaning again. She’s getting close, her knees are struggling to hold her weight and she can feel the amalgam of his saliva and her own slick coating her inner thighs. Her head lolls forward, body too loose and shaky to keep it upright anymore, whimpering and panting as his tongue continues circling circling. 

“Wait.” She croaks, throat aching from all the moaning she has been doing. 

The Herald stops, pulling back from between her thighs and peering up at her, the opalescent swirl of his irises has been completely swallowed by his pupils, eyes blown wide. His mouth drops open in a quiet moan, the response to her own arousal at seeing him so utterly debauched beneath her. 

She swallows, forcing her shaky legs to obey as she brings herself down to the floor, sitting up on her knees so she doesn't obstruct his hand where it still rests between her legs. Her breath comes quickly, her mouth dry and she leans in towards him, “I want you to feel it completely.” she whispers, pressing her forehead to his again, hands sliding down from his head and gripping his bare shoulders, “Please.” A shaky breath leaves him, hitching when his fingers move within her the smallest bit, “Do not concern yourself with that.” he breathes, “I feel everything. Every quiver, every shake.” his fingers crook upward and she cries out, his moan is more subdued and he continues, “I feel that vividly, a pleasure so precise that it nearly aches.” his thumb moves upwards, circling her clit, the both of them release a drawn out whine, “This is different, twitching, frantic. It feels like too much and not enough at the same time. Addictive and maddening.” “Please, Viktor, please.” He lets out a grunt, fingers returning to their previous pace, a rhythmic in and out, curling up exactly where she needs it, “And when you say my name, I feel that too. A more complex feeling, incomparable.” 

She hates to ponder what feeling that is, but she feels it too. A growing warmth, a softness. She ignores it for now, losing herself in the raising pleasure between her thighs, the tightening, aching build. The Herald’s free hand grabs the back of her head and she mirrors him, locking their foreheads together, her hips writhing and grinding into his fingers, but desperate not to lose their connection. She needs it, for him to finish with her, whatever that might mean for him. Now though, with her eyes squeezed shut and nothing but the sound of their mingling moans, she can’t help but imagine his eyes are gold. 

“M’close.” She whines, gritting her teeth, crying out as she feels the intrusion of a third finger. He can feel what she does and knows what she needs before she asks for it. The moment she needs him to speed up he already has, when she is about to ask for more focus on her clit, he is already doing it. Every single one of her moans is followed by one of his, she can feel him shaking, and hear his rapid breath. The tension grows nearly painful, she’s desperate, hungry and then suddenly, all at once, the tension snaps, she sees white behind her eyes and then she sees black. 

She tumbles for a moment, her body weightless, spinning and twirling in a sea of darkness. It’s like she’s been winded, no matter how much she breathes it just doesn’t take and then for just a moment she can see him. A face she had forgotten, a smile she had tried so hard to recall in her dreams, crooked teeth, a mole on his upper cheek. 

“Viktor?” She has time to whisper, reaching out to him, scrambling to find purchase somewhere in the void. 

He whispers her name back and his voice holds so much emotion that she nearly wants to start crying. 

His eyes are so beautiful, so golden and-

Her breath returns. Her knees ache on the hard floor and she winces as the feeling of three fingers sliding out of her. There are tears stinging in her eyes and the Herald’s hand lifts gently to wipe them away. She peers up at him, despite the tangled mess of his hair and his heavy breath, she still can’t make any true sense of his expression. The sun has completely set outside now, the only light is the pale shine of the moon casting a beam in through the ceiling. It’s cold. She feels cold.

“Are you alright?” He asks evenly, head tilted to the side the way it so often is. 

She presses the heels of her palms into her eyes to stop the tears, “Yes, I’m sorry, I don’t-” she laughs weakly, removing her hands, “Did you um-” “Yes.” He’s giving her one of those almost smiles again, and it’s better than nothing, “When you did.” It’s a little uncouth, but she can't resist peering down between his legs. 

“I do not have genitalia, if that is what you are looking for.” He clarifies, hardly scandalized by her leering,  “I experienced your orgasm as you did, even if my body could not fully react to it.”

She lowers from her knees and tucks her legs under herself. Just as she starts feeling self-conscious, the Herald drapes his robe around her shoulders and she lets out a tired little laugh, “Thank you.” she wraps the fabric around herself to keep warm, and the Herald sits crosslegged in front of her. She chews her lower lip, “It felt…good, for you, right?” “Very.” He replies nonchalantly. Sitting up completely straight with his usual poise and grace, “Thank you for permitting my experimentation.”

“No um, thank you for indulging me. I suppose.” She turns from him, looking down at where her fingers toy with the fabric of his robe, “Herald, um I-” her breath shakes, she wishes it didn’t, “I saw something, when I…” “The arcane, a byproduct of our connection, I believe.” “You were there.” She says weakly. “I always am.” The Herald confirms, “I exist both here and within the arcane in all instances, it is not so much a severance as it is a confluence. My perception is doubled, not halved.”

It’s strange to have an answer. To know that Viktor’s golden eyes are always watching her from behind the Herald’s opalescent ones. She isn't certain whether that knowledge makes her feel better or worse about the everpresent ache in her chest. It’s late now, though and her body slumps with post-orgasm lethargy, she needs rest. 

“I will accompany you home.” The Herald says, the moment she decides to leave. 

“Thank you.” She replies, rising up on her knees, “But before I go I-” she reaches her hand out, resting her palm against his brow, “I want you to feel this.” she whispers, and then presses her lips to his, clutching to him tightly, hoping that somewhere trapped in the endless expanse of the arcane, Viktor is watching. 

The Herald wraps his arms around her shoulders, and when his breath catches, it sounds suspiciously like a sob. 

[swordlux]

Xiao's Longing - Xiao x Reader

A short headcanon featuring our lovely adeptus. Originally posted on AO3

~~~

“Missed me…? Huh…” His thoughtful gaze explores the grass before returning back to you. “This feeling. Tell me more about it.” ~~~ Xiao's Longing

Xiao looked out at the rolling hills of Teyvat with a strange feeling in his chest. It was a feeling that had persisted ever since the day he’d met you. Xiao was used to battling intense, and often dark feelings, but something about this was different. It was as if his chest would burn up and devour him if he didn’t see you within a certain time frame. The more he tried to fight it, the more it seemed to grow.

He began to see your face everywhere he looked. In the blue waters of Liyue Harbor, in the valleys of Qingce Village, in the sweet fog of Qingyun Peak. Currently, it was projected in the sky like a second sun. He wondered what you were doing at the moment, if you were out getting yourself into trouble, or making new acquaintances as you so easily do. Part of him—a small part—hoped that the former was the case, because it meant he would have a reason to see you and to ease this unbearable ache in his chest.

It had been a few weeks since you’d last met, but those weeks had felt like months to the Vigilant Yaksha. The days between your meetings stretched longer and longer, and every day Xiao would try to think up an excuse to see you. He was never one to indulge in something just because it pleased him. Spending time with someone for the sake of spending time with them was something he couldn’t justify. And yet…

“Why do I still think about you every day?” He said. He sighed, letting the wave of emotions pass out and with the wind.

He stood up from the cliffside, deciding to take out his feelings at the nearest slime hotspot—and that was when he heard it.

It was the call he had been waiting for.

In reality, the sound was the gentlest of whispers, no more than that of the wind passing through the petals of a Qingxin flower. But to Xiao, it resonated across the land like thunder.

It was you. You were calling his name.

***

“Xiao.” The name falls out of your lips as natural as sap out of a tree. You can’t remember what made you say it, but you know you must’ve been thinking about him. You know because your chest hums with the same warmth as it always does when the great Adeptus comes to your mind.

The truth is, Xiao has never left your mind. Not since the moment you first saw those kind amber eyes.

Every day you spend apart feels like an eternity. And every day you wonder about throwing yourself into dangerous situations, just so you'll have a reason to call his name.

Today however, is different. Today you aren’t even thinking up ways to get the Adeptus to come. Today it just happens.

“Xiao.”

He is there not a second after the name leaves your lips. His strong form stands tense, his amber eyes glow with concern.

You blink in shock, and then you remember the promise he made to you—every time you call his name, he would appear.

The embarrassment you would normally feel in this moment is quickly overcome by the intense joy of seeing his face. No matter the reason, he’s here. Just as you’d been wishing for.

“Xiao,” you say, as if speaking to an apparition from a dream, “You’re here.”

His brow lowers at your obvious statement. “I promised I would come any time you called my name.” He sighs, letting the hidden tones of desperation slip out of his voice. “So, what is it? You don’t seem to be in any trouble.”

“Oh, right…” Just hearing the smooth tones of his voice has your head in a daze. It takes a moment for you to fully process his question, and then another to realize you don’t have an answer for it. “Uhm, it’s nothing really. I’m fine.”

He sighs deeper. The sound washes over your body like a sweet remedy for your heart.

Your moment of bliss only lasts a moment before you remember his tendency to disappear as quickly as he had come once he finds himself of no further use.

“Wait!” you cry, hoping to catch him before he has a chance to do that. “Don’t go yet!”

He seems to pause; the very particles of his body slowing. This subtle change in energy confirms your suspicions—he was preparing to make a quick dash before you stopped him.

Xiao studies your face for a moment and then sighs again. “If you have no urgent need of me, then I have other matters to—”

“This is urgent!”

Shock. It’s an expression you’d never imagine to see on Xiao’s face, but you get it now. His amber eyes open wide, and for a second you catch a bit of light behind those dark curtains. But it disappears in a flash, the curtains closing once more.

“Well, what is it then?” he says. Though still serious, his voice has softened a bit. It’s just enough to allow you to speak your thoughts honestly.

“Err– well…the truth is… I missed you.”

The moment the words are out you regret them. You’re sure you’ve done it now—you’ve found a way to send him off and ensure he never comes back again.

You prepare for the backlash comment, but instead of snapping, he just looks wistfully off to the side. “Missed me…? Huh…” His thoughtful gaze explores the grass before returning back to you. “This feeling. Tell me more about it.”

“What?“ For a second you’re sure he must be joking. But the look in his eye is simply inquisitive. “Oh…” you continue, “Well it’s like… like this feeling in my chest. This urge to see you that keeps getting stronger and stronger the more time we spend apart. And if I don’t, if I don’t see you it’s like my heart is going to explode. “

The explanation is mediocre at best, but he stirs over your words as if you just presented him with a complicated thesis.

You wonder if it was the explanation he was looking for, or if you just went and made a complete fool of yourself.

After considering your words for what seems like forever, he finally seems to come to terms with something. “This feeling,” he says, “I think I know it.”

“You… do?” Now it’s your turn to be shocked.

“Yes,” he sighs. “It’s quite frustrating, actually. No matter what I do, I can’t seem to shake it. But now I see that you are the cause.” He closes the distance faster than you can follow.

You see the bright jade glimmer of his spear as it swoops down behind you, hooking you behind the ankle and sending your feet out from under you.

You fall back onto the grass, but not before Xiao catches you, placing you down the rest of the way gently.

His strong arm is still wrapped around your waist as he looks into your eyes. “Am I correct to assume that you are the remedy?

“Xiao…” Desire overcomes you. Without thinking you reach for his neck, pull yourself up, and press your lips to his.

He startles at first, the last bit of wall still holding strong. But then finally, at last, it crumbles before you.

Xiao melts into you, leaning into the kiss with new hunger.

You feel a world open up. The world of Xiao. And it is bright and pink and wonderful.

You pull him closer, exploring this new, beautiful world with increasing curiosity.

“Why?” Xiao huffs into your lips. “Why do I… feel like this?”

You shut up his questions with more kisses.

He seems to gather the answer from your lips. He kisses you with such a passion that your head nearly spins off its axis.

The ache in your chest only seems to get stronger.

You grab him and pull him closer, desperate to have as much of him as you can.

You roll around in the grass—two undistinguishable forms, each attempting to fulfill their increasing desire.

Eventually, Xiao pulls back, placing his forehead against yours so he can look into your eyes once more.

“In all my years of existence,” he says, “Never has a human perplexed me the way you do.” He looks at you with tenderness as he strokes your cheek. “What can I do to make sure this feeling of ‘missing you’ never returns?”

“Stay,” you say, catching his hand. “Stay by my side, always.”

He sighs and looks at you once more with that sweetness. “Alright,” he says. He kisses you again and you surrender to eachother. Though Xiao has promised to stay, you say his name all night. ~~~

More Readings: Xiao's Lust | Xiao x Reader Smut, The Balladeer | Scaramouche x Reader Xiao is my favourite person to write <3

[jungwnies]

F1 GRID | it was never meant to be (2/2) continued...

୨ৎ : featuring : carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri ୨ৎ : synopsis : your ex f1 boyfriend regrets letting you go so easily.

୨ৎ : genre : reconcilation, heartbreak, angst, sad themes, moving-on ୨ৎ : tws : moving onto someone else, unforgiveness ୨ৎ : word count : 1491

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

୨ৎ find part one here ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 : buy me a ko-fi ☕️

ʚ・carlos sainz

you were just finishing up at the checkout when the cashier smiled and said, “that man behind you paid for your things.”

you froze, confused. “what? i didn’t ask anyone to—”

“i did,” carlos said, stepping up behind you.

you turned quickly, instantly feeling your frustration rise. “carlos? what are you doing here?”

“i saw you walk in,” he said. “i didn’t mean to surprise you. i just… wanted to talk.”

you shook your head, annoyed. “why would you pay for my stuff? i didn’t ask for your help.”

“i know,” he said quietly. “i didn’t ask, but i wanted to. i’ve been wanting to talk to you. to apologize.”

you felt the anger well up in you again. “you already apologized, carlos. and i’m not interested in hearing it again.”

“i’m not just apologizing,” he said, his voice softer now. “i was wrong. i let myself get caught up in things that weren’t real. i thought i was doing the right thing, but i hurt you. and i’ve regretted it every day since.”

you crossed your arms, holding your bag tightly. “you hurt me, carlos. you chose her. and now it’s too late.”

“i know it’s late,” he said, stepping closer. “but i love you. i never stopped loving you. and i’ll do anything to show you i’m serious. i’ll do whatever it takes to make it right.”

you looked away, trying to keep your cool. “it’s not that easy. you don’t just get to mess things up and then expect everything to be fine.”

“i don’t expect it to be easy,” he said quickly. “but i want to try. i’ll prove it to you, every day if i have to. please, just let me try.”

you felt a tug in your chest, but you held firm. “fine,” you said finally. “we can try. but i’m not promising anything.”

carlos nodded, relief flooding his face. “thank you. i’ll do whatever it takes.”

as you turned to walk out, you felt a small weight lift off your shoulders. maybe this could work. maybe he could prove he was serious. time would tell.

ʚ・charles leclerc

you hadn’t expected to see charles here, not today. but there he was, standing in front of you, looking like he hadn’t slept in days. the second his eyes met yours, his whole expression changed.

“can we talk?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, full of hope and regret.

you crossed your arms, fighting the urge to walk away. “what’s there to talk about? you made your choice.”

he shook his head, his face filled with guilt. “i know i messed up. i’ve thought about this so much. i should’ve chosen you. i’m sorry, i never wanted to hurt you. i never stopped loving you.”

the words felt familiar, like you’d heard them before, but this time, his eyes looked different—genuine. still, you couldn’t ignore what he had done.

“you chose everything else, charles,” you said quietly. “your career, the pressure, the public… and i was just left behind.”

he stepped a little closer, his voice tight with emotion. “i was wrong. i was stupid, and i’ll never forgive myself for it. but i swear, i love you. only you.”

you didn’t say anything at first. his words lingered, and you could feel the weight of everything between you. slowly, the walls around your heart began to crumble. could he really be sorry? could he really change?

weeks passed, and slowly, charles did everything he could to prove that he was serious. he didn’t just talk about how sorry he was—he showed it. he kept reaching out, always there when you needed him, even in the small ways. and bit by bit, you started to let him back in.

one night, after all the time that had passed, you looked at him and realized something. he wasn’t the same. he’d grown. and maybe, just maybe, he deserved a second chance.

“i was an idiot,” he said, his voice raw. “i didn’t know what i had until i lost it. i’ll spend the rest of my life trying to show you i’m the man you deserve.”

you smiled a little, your hand finding his. “maybe you’ve earned it,” you said quietly.

he smiled back, relief flooding his face. for the first time in so long, you both felt like maybe, just maybe, you could start over.

ʚ・lando norris

lando sat alone in his apartment, his gaze fixed on the window as he stared out at the city. the silence around him was suffocating, a constant reminder of everything he had lost. the photos, the headlines, and the moments with her that had slowly become real. he had let it happen, let the illusion become something more. and now, all he had left was regret.

he ran a hand through his hair, the weight of it all pressing down on him. he had promised you it was just for the cameras, a quick pr stunt to keep his image clean. he never meant for it to go this far. but now he knew he had made a mistake—one he couldn’t fix.

it had all slipped away from him so easily. you had been there, always. but he had pushed you aside for something superficial, something he thought was more important. the career, the spotlight, the endless demands from the outside world. he had taken you for granted. and now, he didn’t know how to fix it.

he let out a deep breath, his mind replaying every moment when he had hurt you, when he had chosen her over you. the look in your eyes when you walked away, when you told him that it was too late. he had never wanted to hurt you. but he did. and now, he didn’t know how to make it right.

a part of him knew he didn’t deserve forgiveness. he had failed you in every way possible. and now, he was left with the bitter taste of realizing just how much he had messed up. he had chosen everything else over you, and now, there was nothing left to choose from.

he sank into the couch, his head in his hands. there was no turning back. he had made his choice, and now, he had to live with it. but the thought of never having you again, of losing you for good—it was a pain he couldn’t escape.

it was too late. he had let you go, and now he had to suffer the consequences.

ʚ・oscar piastri

oscar sat in the corner of the driver’s lounge, his eyes fixed on the floor, hands running through his hair in frustration. lando noticed immediately and walked over, plopping down in the chair across from him. “what’s going on, mate? you look like you’ve been run over.”

oscar scoffed, shaking his head. “i screwed up, lando. i lost her… and i don’t even know how.”

lando raised an eyebrow. “what do you mean? what happened?”

oscar’s voice was heavy with regret. “i thought i could handle everything—media, sponsors, the pr stuff. but i got too caught up in it, and now… she’s gone. and i don’t think she’s coming back.”

lando’s face hardened. “so you went for the pr stunt, huh? you really thought you could juggle it all and not hurt her?”

oscar’s hands tightened into fists. “i didn’t mean for it to happen like that. i thought it was just for the cameras. but i started caring about her—more than i should’ve. and now i’m stuck with this mess.”

lando leaned forward, shaking his head. “you’re an idiot, oscar.”

oscar looked up in shock. “what?”

“you heard me,” lando said, voice firm. “you let the world tell you who you were supposed to be. you let her go thinking you could keep playing the game. and now? you’re alone. because you didn’t fight for her.”

oscar’s throat tightened. “i didn’t want it to go this far, lando. i tried to make it work, but… i messed up.”

lando crossed his arms, glaring at him. “yeah, you messed up. you had the chance, but you blew it. you could’ve stopped it, but you didn’t. you let it slip away.”

oscar’s chest tightened, the weight of it hitting him. “what do i do now?”

lando sighed. “nothing you can do now, mate. you made your choice, and now you have to live with it.”

oscar sank back in his chair, the realization settling in. “i don’t deserve another chance, do i?”

lando shook his head. “no, you don’t. but maybe you’ll learn something from this. just don’t make the same mistake again.”

oscar stared at the floor, the guilt gnawing at him. he had taken it all for granted. and now, there was no going back. the silence stretched between them, and he knew lando was right—he couldn’t fix this. he had lost you, and the consequences were his to bear.

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[vanilladollette]

Hey girl wassup, can you write about sweet female reader, with (all the characters if that's okay for u, if no, then jae Joon)

Female reader who is friends with Dong Eun and she had no idea that burns were from the bullies, and didn't know that jae Joon was apart of the incident, and when Dong exposes jae Joon, female reader goes from sweet to cold towards Jae Joon and breaks up with him, and lends him to be yandere.

(ALSO GIRL I WANNA SAY THAT I LOVE YOUR THE GLORY X READER ON, WATTPAD ♡ )

The Sweetest Poison

Pairing: Yandere Jeon Jae-Joon x Fem! Sweet Reader

Word count: 1.75k

Summary:After learning you left him upon discovering his past as your best friend's bully, Jae-Joon's heartbreak twists into a dangerous obsession.

Warnings: Bullying, Burns, toxic, violent behavior, cursing

A/n: I'm glad that you like Beneath The Surface!!! This took me awhile to write but thank you for being patient with me. Anyways, I hope you like this!

You couldn’t believe it, even as you replayed her words in your head. The signs were all there, and yet somehow, you’d missed them. How could you have missed something like that?

When Moon Dong-eun, your friend from high school, had contacted you, you were thrilled. It had been years since you’d last seen her. Her message had been brief, almost cryptic, saying she needed to talk about something important in person. Curious and eager, you’d agreed to meet her at a quiet café downtown.

As you approached the agreed-upon spot, you saw her sitting alone at a corner table. Dong-eun looked different but not unrecognizable. Her posture was composed, her expression serene yet distant, like someone who had seen too much and learned to mask it well. You felt a pang of nostalgia as memories of the once cheerful, soft-spoken girl from high school resurfaced.

“Dong-eun!” you greeted warmly, sliding into the seat across from her. “It’s been so long. How are you?”

Her smile was faint but sincere. “Hello, y/n. It’s good to see you.” Her voice had a weight to it, as though each word carried unspoken emotions.

The two of you exchanged pleasantries. You told her how you’d thought about her over the years, wondering where she’d gone and what had happened after she left school. You mentioned how devastated you were when you found her house empty, with no way to contact her.

“I’ve been well,” she said, her tone polite but guarded. “After leaving school, I went to college to study education. I’m a teacher now.”

“Wow, that’s wonderful!” you exclaimed, genuinely impressed. “I wouldn’t have guessed you wanted to be a teacher back then.”

“What about you?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. “How have you been?”

You gave a small laugh. “Oh, nothing as exciting as becoming a teacher, that’s for sure. Just working and… you know, living life.”

As the conversation lingered, you couldn’t help but feel there was something unsaid, something heavier lurking beneath her calm demeanor. Finally, you decided to ask.

“Anyway,” you began, leaning forward slightly, “what was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

Dong-eun hesitated, her fingers curling around the edge of her cup. Her gaze flickered downward for a moment, and when she spoke, her voice was soft but deliberate.

“You know,” she said, almost wistfully, “I always wondered how someone as kind as you could be so close to him.”

Her words caught you off guard. Him? You blinked, your head tilting in confusion. “Who are you talking about?”

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, her eyes met yours, searching your face as though gauging your reaction. Finally, she asked, “Do you know why I dropped out of high school?”

You nodded slowly. “You were being bullied. I assumed that was the reason… that you didn’t want to deal with it anymore.”

“Yes,” she confirmed, her voice steady. “But I never told you who my bullies were.”

A chill ran down your spine. Something in her tone made your stomach knot. You stayed silent, waiting for her to continue.

She took a deep breath, her fingers now toying with the hem of her sleeve. “One of them was Jae-joon,” she said finally, her words landing like a thunderclap. “He was one of them.”

Your breath caught. Jae-joon? You stared at her, your mind racing. Jae-joon, the same person you’d been close to all these years? The same person you’d trusted, laughed with, maybe even defended? The shock on your face must have been evident, because Dong-eun gave a sad, knowing smile.

“I’m guessing he never told you,” she said, her voice tinged with resignation. “I didn’t think he would. Why would he admit something like that to you?”

You were at a loss for words. Memories of Jae-joon flooded your mind—his easy smile, his charm, the way he always seemed so confident. You couldn’t reconcile the image of him with what Dong-eun was telling you. But then you thought about her, about how she’d suddenly vanished from your life, leaving no trace. And you realized… maybe you’d never really known Jae-joon as well as you thought.

“I’m sorry you had to find out from me,” Dong-eun said, breaking the silence. Her voice was soft but firm, her gaze unwavering.

You shook your head quickly, trying to process everything. “No… I—I needed to know.” Your voice trembled, and you suddenly felt a lump in your throat. “I’m sorry, but I… I have to go.”

Without waiting for her response, you grabbed your bag and stood. Your legs felt unsteady as you walked out of the café, the weight of her revelation pressing down on you like a heavy fog. As you stepped into the cold air, one question echoed in your mind: How had you missed it?

“Y/n, I’m home!” Jae-Joon called out from the entrance of your shared home, his voice echoing through the quiet space. The late hour clung to him like a shadow, exhaustion evident in the way he shrugged off his coat and draped it over the back of a chair.

“Y/n?” he called again, his tone softening slightly when no response came.

He moved through the house, his footsteps muffled on the carpet as he checked the usual places you might be. The kitchen was empty, the living room undisturbed. A flicker of unease settled in his chest as he made his way toward the bedroom.

Pushing the door open slowly, Jae-Joon’s eyes landed on your still figure lying on the bed, your back facing him. Relief warred with apprehension as he stepped closer, his voice low and uncertain.

“Y/n?”

When you didn’t stir, he perched cautiously on the edge of the bed beside you, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. His hand found your hip, a gesture meant to bridge the growing distance he felt between you. For a moment, he said nothing, unsure how to break the silence that had thickened between you lately.

“How was your day?” he finally asked, his voice tentative.

“Fine,” you replied curtly, your tone as cold as the wall you stared at.

Jae-Joon’s shoulders sagged under the weight of your indifference. The silence returned, heavier than before. Sighing, he rose and left the room to prepare for bed, the unspoken words hanging in the air like ghosts.

The next morning, Jae-Joon woke to find the bed empty. He blinked at the sunlight filtering through the curtains, assuming you were already up. The faint clink of dishes guided him to the kitchen, where he found you seated at the table with a bowl of untouched cereal in front of you. Your gaze was fixed on some indiscernible point ahead, your posture rigid.

“Morning,” he greeted, though the lightness in his tone faltered when you didn’t respond. Shrugging it off, he began rummaging through the cabinets for something to eat.

“When were you going to tell me that you gave Dong-eun those burns?”

Your voice cut through the stillness. Jae-Joon froze, his hand hovering over the coffee pot. Slowly, he turned to face you, his expression a mixture of confusion and unease.

“What?” he managed, his voice strained.

“Or were you just hoping I’d never find out?” Your voice trembled, though your eyes remained fixed ahead.

Jae-Joon’s throat tightened. “Who told you? Did Dong-eun tell you?” He approached the table, his movements deliberate.

“Answer my question,” you snapped, finally meeting his gaze. Your red-rimmed eyes and tear-streaked cheeks were like a punch to his gut. “Were you ever planning to tell me, Jae-Joon? Or did you think you could hide the fact that you were my best friend’s bully?”

His jaw clenched as anger flared in his eyes, a defense mechanism against the guilt clawing at him. “What did she tell you?” he demanded, his voice rising.

“Why are you so worried about what she said? Is it because it’s true?” you shot back, standing up abruptly.

The two of you locked eyes, the tension crackling between you like a live wire. You didn’t wait for his response. Turning on your heel, you strode toward the bedroom.

Jae-Joon followed close behind, his stomach twisting as he watched you yank a suitcase from the closet and toss it onto the bed. His heart sank further with every article of clothing you packed.

“Wait, what are you doing?” His voice cracked, the panic unmistakable.

“I’m done, Jae-Joon,” you said, your voice rising. “We’re over.” You zipped the suitcase with trembling hands, refusing to look at him.

“Y/n, wait!” He grabbed your wrist as you made for the door, his grip firm but not forceful. “Let’s talk about this. Please.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” You wrenched your arm free, your voice breaking.

Jae-Joon stood frozen as you walked out the door, the sound of your suitcase wheels scraping against the floor a bitter reminder of your departure. The silence that followed was deafening.

“FUCK!” The scream tore from his throat as he hurled a lamp across the room, the crash doing little to ease the storm raging inside him.

Grabbing his phone, he scrolled furiously through his messages until he found Dong-eun’s number. His hands shook as he hit the call button, the phone pressed tightly to his ear.

After several rings, her voice came through, calm and composed. “Hello?”

“WHAT DID YOU TELL HER?” he roared, his voice laced with fury.

“Simply the truth,” Dong-eun replied coldly.

“Because of you, Y/n left me!” His voice cracked, the admission spilling out like a wound reopening.

“Did you really think she wouldn’t find out, Jae-Joon?” Dong-eun’s voice was unyielding. “She deserved to know.”

He ended the call abruptly, hurling his phone across the room. Chest heaving, he sank onto the bed, his head in his hands.

Jae-Joon sat on the edge of the bed, his breathing ragged as the room fell silent. His hands shook. You were his—his light, his purpose, his everything.

You leaving wasn’t the end. It couldn’t be. He’d make you see that. He’d make you come back to him, no matter what it took.

A smile—a chilling, empty smile—spread across his face. You weren’t responding now, but that was fine. He didn’t need words. He knew where you were. He’d find you.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice soft, almost tender. “You’ll understand soon, Y/n. We’re meant to be.”

His heart pounded with renewed determination as he got up, his mind racing with plans. You belonged to him, and nothing would change that.

Nothing.

Taglist: @petersasteria

[callmemonster68]

SUNGHOON - Jealous ( slight smut )

Sunghoon getting jealous

Pairing: Sunghoon X FemReader

Genre: Obscenity

Warning: Contains explicit content, unprotected sex, suggestive, penetration, explicit language, climax, sex, swearing, loss of virginity, hickeys, messy make-out sessions, dirty talk, compliments, rough sex, touching bruises, handcuffs, chains, sadomasochism , masochism, brands, public sex, oral

The atmosphere was tense in Y/N's apartment. The soft music played in the background, but the sound seemed to not reach the two of them. Sunghoon was leaning against the table, arms crossed, eyes sparkling with anger as he watched Y/N fiddling with their phone.

Sunghoon: (in a cold voice) Who was that guy?

Y/N looked up, clearly confused.

Y/N: Which guy? What face? What are you talking about, Sunghoon?

Sunghoon: (narrowing his eyes) The guy you were laughing and talking with today. I saw you two at the café before you met me.

Y/N: (sighing) Ah, Minho? He just came to ask about a project. It's work-related, it has nothing to do with it.

Sunghoon let out a dry laugh, shaking his head.

Sunghoon: Ah, of course. And did you really need to laugh like that? That didn't seem like 'work stuff.'

Y/N: (raising their voice) Are you hearing what you're saying? I was being polite! I'm not going to treat people badly just because you're insecure!

The tension in the air increased, and Sunghoon's face became even more closed off. He took a few steps towards her, his eyes burning with jealousy.

Sunghoon: (low and intense) Insecure? I know you, Y/N. I know the way you smile... and that smile wasn't for him.

Y/N: (staring at him) Oh, so now you even know the meaning of my smiles? Congratulations, you are a fortune teller!

He took her by the wrist, but gently, enough to capture her attention. Their faces were close, their breaths mingled.

Sunghoon: (hoarse voice) Don't test my patience, Y/N. You know I hate this feeling... Of someone looking at you as if they had the right.

Y/N: (challenging) And you think that gives you the right to act like a crazy possessive person? You don't control me, Sunghoon.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. The music played, increasing the tension between the two. Sunghoon let out a bitter laugh and ran his hand through his hair, clearly struggling against his own feelings.

Sunghoon: (almost whispering) I just... hate the idea of losing you, you know? It consumes me.

Y/N felt her heart race. Despite everything, she knew that Sunghoon's words were genuine. He was lost in a whirlwind of emotions. She approached, gently touching his face.

Y/N: Sunghoon... you won't lose me. But you need to trust me.

He held her hand to his face, his eyes fixed on hers. Then, without warning, he pulled her into an intense kiss, filled with all the repressed feelings.

Y/N: (whispering between his lips) This doesn't solve anything...

Sunghoon: (with a crooked smile) No, but it's a start.

He picked her up, his strong hands gripping her thighs as he carried her towards the bedroom. His eyes were fixed on hers, Sunghoon's gaze was intense, almost fierce.

Sunghoon pushed the bedroom door with his foot, his expression revealing something between desire and desperation. He placed her on the bed carefully, but his movements were urgent, as if he feared she might escape.

Sunghoon: (softly, close to her ear) You are mine, Y/N. It always will be... I'll do anything to have you all to myself.

The grave tone of his voice sent a shiver down Y/N's spine. The weight of his words was palpable, laden with an obsession that both attracted and made her hesitate. He ran his fingers along the line of her face, as if he were etching every detail into his memory, before bringing his lips back to hers.

The kisses started intense, full of repressed passion, but soon became slower, deeper. Sunghoon explored every inch of her mouth, as if he wanted to claim every part of it. His hands traced paths along her waist, slowly climbing up her back, as he pulled her even closer.

Y/N closed her eyes, feeling the way he held her body, as if she were something precious, something he feared losing at any moment. But there was something more: an almost desperate need to prove how important she was.

Sunghoon: (with a hoarse voice, as his eyes slid over her) You don't understand, Y/N. Just the thought of someone near you, looking at you... I lose control. You are everything to me.

Sunghoon: (hoarse voice, as he ran his fingers along her jawline) I need you, Y/N... more than anything else.

She felt her heart race with his words, the serious and sincere tone leaving her speechless. Before she could respond, he leaned in and kissed her again, but this time the kiss was different. It was deep, intense, as if he were trying to convey everything he felt — the love, the fear, the obsession.

Sunghoon began to slide his hands over her body, his agile fingers reaching the hem of her blouse. He lifted it slightly, his movements careful yet determined, as he removed the piece of clothing. His eyes fixed on her, admiring her as if she were a work of art.

Sunghoon: (softly, almost like a whisper to himself) You are so beautiful...

Y/N felt her cheeks burn with the intensity of his gaze, but she didn't have much time to process it because he was soon leaning in again, kissing the space between her neck and shoulder, leaving a warm trail wherever his lips passed.

Meanwhile, she brought her hands to his chest, sliding her fingers over the shirt he was wearing. With a hesitant movement, she began to unbutton it, feeling the warmth of his skin under her fingers. He helped her, pulling the shirt off her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor without ceremony.

The skin-to-skin contact made them both sigh. Sunghoon's hands traced every curve of her body, as if he wanted to know every detail, every inch. He slid his fingers along her waist, stopping only to unbutton her pants and slowly remove them, his eyes never leaving hers.

Sunghoon: (in a low voice, while watching her) I need you to know... how much you are mine, how much I want you.

She felt a shiver run down her spine as he spoke, the sincerity and intensity in each word being almost palpable. Sunghoon was not just in love; he was completely consumed by her.

With care, he removed the rest of her clothes, his fingers brushing against her skin in an almost reverent manner. He was taking his time, as if each piece removed was a moment for him to appreciate even more what was before him.

When she tried to pull him closer, her lips searching for his, he stopped her, holding her wrists gently.

Sunghoon: (looking deeply into her eyes) No, Y/N. Today, I'm going to show you how much you mean to me. I don't want to rush... I want you to feel everything.

His words made her swallow hard. There was something in his voice, something in his expression, that made her realize how vulnerable he was at that moment. This was not just desire; it was something deeper, almost desperate.

He kissed her again, but now his lips explored every part of her — the neck, the shoulders, the breasts. He lingered in each area, as if he wanted to leave his mark, as if he wanted her to remember that she was his.

When it was his turn to remove the rest of his own clothes, he did so calmly, his eyes fixed on hers, as if he wanted her to see everything he was willing to offer. As soon as the last pieces were discarded, he approached again, the heat of their bodies now without barriers.

He leaned over her, their fingers intertwining as he looked at her with a mixture of adoration and intensity.

Sunghoon: (whispering) You are everything I need, Y/N. Everything I will always need.

He trailed his lips down Y/N's neck, leaving a path of slow, hot kisses while his hands explored her body with reverence. Each touch seemed to carry a silent message: "You are mine." Only mine."

Sunghoon: (whispering against her skin) You are so perfect... I have no idea what I did to deserve you..

When their bodies finally united, there was a moment of pure stillness. Sunghoon closed his eyes, as if he were completely absorbing the sensation, while Y/N arched their body under his, a sigh escaping their lips.

Sunghoon: (with a hoarse voice, looking into her eyes) You have no idea what you do to me, Y/N. How much I love you... how much I want you.

Each of his movements was deliberate, full of care, but at the same time intense. He held her hands above her head, intertwining his fingers with hers, as if he wanted to keep her even closer. His eyes never left hers for a second, as if he wanted to make sure she felt everything he was feeling at that moment.

Y/N: (whispering between sighs) Sunghoon... I am yours. Always have been.

Her words seemed to ignite something in him. He leaned in to kiss her again, the kiss deep and full of passion. Each touch, each movement seemed like a declaration — he wanted to show her, without a shadow of a doubt, how important she was.

The rhythm between them gradually increased, both of them getting lost in the connection they shared. Sunghoon whispered fragmented words against her lips, praising her, saying how much he loved her, how beautiful she was, and how much he needed her.

When the final moment approached, they could both feel the climax building like a wave that could not be contained. Their gazes met again, and they held on even tighter, as if the world could collapse around them and it wouldn't matter.

Sunghoon: (almost out of breath) Stay with me, Y/N. Always...

And then, together, they reached the climax, their bodies trembling with the intensity of the moment. The room filled with a heavy silence, broken only by their irregular breathing. Sunghoon collapsed beside her, immediately pulling her into his arms, holding her as if she were his anchor.

He ran his fingers through her hair, still trying to catch his breath, while gently kissing her forehead.

Sunghoon: (softly, with a tired smile) I love you so much... You are everything to me.

Y/N nestled against him, feeling the warmth of his body and the weight of his words.

Y/N: (whispering) I love you too, Sunghoon. I will always be yours.

They remained like that, intertwined, allowing the comfortable silence to speak for them. In that moment, all insecurities, fears, and doubts seemed to have vanished, leaving only the certainty that they belonged to each other.

✿ If you don't reblog and comment, you can be sure I'll be showing up in your dreams tonight... and I won’t be as sweet as in the story ✿

[mcrdvcks]

—what is this feeling? part 2

summary: You and Peter have known each other since you were kids—only because you were friends with his distant cousin Olivia. While you have harbored a crush on him for years, you're sure he doesn't feel the same.

word count: 15.3k+ (31.6k+ total)

pairing: Peter Lyman x fem!reader

notes: this is the second part to this (long) oneshot since tumblr has a word limit. the summary and warning/tags are the same

warnings/tags: loosely follows event of scoop (2006) but not canon, miscommunication, shy!reader, slow burn, jealousy, angst, mention of murder/death, toxic peter lyman, but also sweet peter lyman (the duality of man), happy ending, not proofread

⁠♡ part 1 ♡

You had taken off work for a few days, ruminating in what felt like heartbreak. Luckily you were someone who almost never took off work, so you had more than enough hours piled up to use.

The TV played reruns of Doctor Who while you ate out of a tub of ice cream, staring blankly at the screen. You weren’t even sure which episode you were watching; it all blurred together in the haze of your thoughts. The sound of the doorbell broke through, and you froze, the spoon halfway to your mouth.

You sighed, setting the ice cream down and dragging yourself to the door. Peeking through the peephole, you felt your breath hitch. It was Peter.

He stood there, impossibly calm, dressed casually but still somehow looking polished. His hand rested lightly against the doorframe, and for a moment, he seemed to glance around the hallway as if debating whether to knock again.

Your heart thumped heavily in your chest, but you didn’t open the door. You didn’t even say anything, staying completely still as you stared through the peephole.

Peter shifted slightly, running a hand through his hair before leaning closer to the door. “Y/N, I know you’re in there,” he said, his voice soft but steady. “I saw the light on.”

You stayed silent, leaning against the door for balance.

He sighed, a faint edge of frustration creeping into his tone. “Please, just let me talk to you. Five minutes, that’s all I’m asking.”

You bit your lip, your fingers twitching against the lock, but you didn’t move.

“I know I’ve made a mess of things,” Peter continued, his voice quieter now. “But I can’t fix it if you won’t talk to me.”

You leaned your forehead against the door, closing your eyes. The ice cream was melting on the coffee table, the TV droning on in the background, but none of it mattered in this moment.

Peter exhaled sharply, the sound muffled through the door. “Alright,” he said finally, his tone resigned. “If you don’t want to see me, I’ll go. But, Y/N, I need you to know something.”

You tensed, waiting.

“I meant what I said at the garden party,” he said, his voice carrying a rare vulnerability that caught you off guard. “You don’t have to stay with him. You deserve better than Joshua—or anyone else who makes you feel like you’re just… settling.”

Your heart clenched, but you didn’t move.

“And Jade…” Peter hesitated, his voice faltering for the first time. “That’s nothing. It’s always been nothing. I don’t… I didn’t handle it the right way. But I thought—” He stopped, taking a breath. “It doesn’t matter. None of it does if you don’t believe me.”

Silence fell between you, thick and heavy. Peter waited for a beat longer before stepping back. “I’ll leave you alone,” he said quietly. “But if you change your mind… you know where to find me.”

You heard his footsteps retreating down the hall, but you stayed frozen in place, your forehead still pressed against the door. Your chest ached with the weight of his words, but no matter how much you wanted to, you couldn’t bring yourself to open the door.

Not yet.

---

Joshua, over the course of the next week, brought you flowers and takeout, even going as far as cleaning your living room and kitchen while you were at work.

"Y/N," Olivia said on the phone one evening while you sat on the couch surrounded by fresh blooms, the faint smell of lemon cleaner still hanging in the air. "He cleaned your apartment? Like, voluntarily?"

"Yes," you replied, sinking deeper into the cushions. "He said it was no trouble and that he just wanted to help while I was busy with work."

Olivia let out a low whistle. "Wow. That’s… effort. Are you sure he’s not angling for sainthood?"

You rolled your eyes, though a small smile tugged at your lips. "He’s just thoughtful, Liv. It’s nice."

"Nice," she echoed, her tone skeptical. "You’ve been using that word a lot lately. You sure you’re not just convincing yourself?"

You frowned, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. "I don’t know. He’s been really sweet, and he’s easy to talk to. It’s just… I feel like something’s missing."

"Uh, yeah," Olivia said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "That ‘something’ is probably tall, charming, and currently sulking somewhere because you won’t talk to him."

"Don’t," you warned, closing your eyes.

"Y/N," Olivia pressed. "You can’t avoid Peter forever. He’s not the type to let things go."

"I’m not avoiding him," you said weakly.

"You are, and honestly? I get it. He was a complete ass," Olivia admitted. "But I also know you. You’re still into him, aren’t you?"

You stayed quiet, the weight of her question pressing down on your chest.

"That’s what I thought," Olivia said softly. "Look, I’m not saying you should forgive him or whatever. But maybe you should at least hear him out. If he really feels bad, he’ll make it right."

"Maybe," you murmured, but the doubt still lingered.

"Just think about it," Olivia said before changing the subject to the latest gossip about her coworkers.

---

Two days later, the inevitable happened. You were leaving work, your bag slung over your shoulder as you stepped into the cool evening air. And there he was.

Peter leaned against the side of his car, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. His hair was slightly tousled, like he’d been running his fingers through it, and his gaze was fixed on you with an intensity that made your steps falter.

"Y/N," he said, straightening as you approached.

You stopped a few feet away, your heart hammering in your chest. "What are you doing here?"

"I was hoping to talk to you," he said, his voice softer than you expected. "Just for a minute. Please."

You hesitated, glancing around as if searching for an escape, but you knew there wasn’t one. With a sigh, you nodded. "Fine. One minute."

Peter’s shoulders relaxed slightly, and he took a step closer. "I owe you an apology," he began, his tone earnest. "For everything. For what I said, for what I did… for all of it."

You looked down, gripping the strap of your bag tightly. "You hurt me, Peter. You can’t just… say things like that and then do the opposite. It’s not fair."

"I know," he said quickly. "And you’re right. I was out of line. I thought I could—" He stopped, running a hand through his hair. "I thought I could make you see how much I cared by… I don’t even know what I was thinking. But it was stupid, and I’m sorry."

You glanced up at him, your chest tightening at the genuine regret in his eyes. "Why did you do it?"

Peter hesitated, his gaze searching yours. "Because I didn’t know how else to get your attention. I didn’t want to just tell you how I felt and risk losing you altogether."

"Felt?" you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Feel," he corrected softly, stepping closer. "Y/N, I’ve cared about you for longer than I want to admit. And seeing you with Joshua… it drove me mad. But that doesn’t excuse what I did."

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling over you. "Peter…"

"I don’t expect you to forgive me right away," he said, his voice low. "But I couldn’t let things end the way they did. You mean too much to me."

Your eyes stung with unshed tears, but you blinked them away, nodding slowly. "I don’t know if I can trust you, Peter. Not yet."

"I’ll earn it," he said firmly, his gaze unwavering. "Whatever it takes."

For the first time in weeks, you felt a glimmer of hope. It didn’t erase the hurt, but it was enough to let him back in—just a little.

"Okay," you said softly. "But don’t make me regret it."

Peter’s lips curved into a faint smile, and he nodded. "I won’t."

---

Over the next week, Peter kept his word. He didn’t overwhelm you with grand gestures, but he was present in small, meaningful ways. He texted to check in, brought you your favorite tea during your lunch break, and even helped Olivia fix her leaky faucet when he visited her apartment.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough to remind you of why you’d fallen for him in the first place.

But you still weren’t completely over what he did, which is why when Joshua invited you to his father’s Bonfire Night party you hesitated, before ultimately saying yes.

Olivia stood by you, her gold dress shimmering in the setting sun. “I can’t believe you almost ditched me.”

You adjusted the strap of your dress, avoiding her pointed look. “I wasn’t ditching you. I just… wasn’t sure I wanted to come.”

“Because Peter’s here,” Olivia said flatly, crossing her arms. “And because you’re here with Joshua.”

You winced. “It’s not that simple.”

“Sure it is,” she shot back, her voice light but sharp. “You like Peter. You’re dating Joshua. And you’re stuck in the world’s most uncomfortable love triangle.”

“Olivia,” you groaned, rubbing your temples. “Can we not do this right now?”

She raised an eyebrow, her tone softening slightly. “I’m just saying, Y/N. You’re not going to magically figure this out by avoiding the problem.”

“I’m not avoiding anything,” you muttered, though even you didn’t believe it.

Olivia sighed dramatically. “Fine. Let’s focus on surviving the party. Smile, mingle, and try not to look like you’re walking on eggshells the whole night.”

“Thanks for the pep talk,” you said dryly.

“You’re welcome,” she quipped, looping her arm through yours. “Now come on. Joshua’s looking for you.”

You spotted Joshua near one of the fire pits, his easy smile and polished demeanor perfectly suited for the crowd. He waved when he saw you, and you managed a small wave back.

“I’ll catch you later,” Olivia said, giving you a knowing look before slipping into the crowd.

Joshua greeted you with a kiss on the cheek and handed you a glass of champagne. “You look stunning,” he said warmly.

“Thanks,” you replied, feeling a little stiff. “This party’s… something.”

“Father does enjoy going all out,” Joshua said with a chuckle, his hand resting lightly on your back. “Shall we?”

You nodded, letting him guide you toward a group of guests.

---

It wasn’t long before you saw him. Peter stood near the bar, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit that made him look effortlessly sophisticated. He was talking to a small group, his charm on full display, but his eyes flicked to you the moment you entered his line of sight.

You quickly looked away, focusing on the champagne flute in your hand.

“Everything alright?” Joshua asked, his voice low.

“Yeah,” you said quickly, forcing a smile. “Just a little overwhelmed.”

“I’ll get us some air later,” he promised, brushing his fingers against yours.

You nodded, grateful for his thoughtfulness, even as your heart raced for entirely different reasons.

---

As the night wore on, you found yourself standing near one of the smaller fire pits, Joshua engaged in a conversation with Lord Westford. You sipped your champagne quietly, your gaze drifting to the crowd.

“Enjoying yourself?” Peter’s voice came from behind you, smooth and calm.

You turned, finding him closer than you expected. “Peter,” you said, your voice slightly breathless. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s a party,” he said with a faint smirk. “What are you doing here?”

You frowned. “I was invited.”

“Ah,” he said, his gaze flicking briefly toward Joshua before settling back on you. “Of course.”

“Is there something you need?” you asked, your tone more defensive than you intended.

Peter’s smirk faded, replaced by something softer. “I wanted to check on you. You aren’t exactly the biggest fan of fireworks.”

Your eyes momentarily widened. Through all your mixed feelings, you had forgotten what today really was. Bonfire Night.

"I…" you started, gripping the edge of your champagne flute. "I’m fine. It’s just a little loud, that’s all."

Peter’s gaze softened, his hands resting casually in his pockets. "You’ve never liked fireworks."

You shrugged, trying to brush it off. "I’ve gotten better about it."

"Have you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Because if memory serves, you’d always end up inside with a book before the first rocket went off."

You glanced away, heat rising to your cheeks. "That was years ago."

"Not that many years," Peter said lightly, tilting his head toward the nearby house. "Come on. Let’s go inside."

"I’m fine," you protested quickly, though your voice wavered. "I don’t need to hide from a few fireworks anymore."

Peter didn’t move, his expression calm but insistent. "It’s not hiding, Y/N. It’s taking care of yourself. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone."

You hesitated, glancing toward the sky where a few bursts of color lit up the night. The sound wasn’t deafening yet, but you could feel the familiar knot forming in your chest.

Peter waited, watching you carefully. "We don’t have to stay inside the whole night," he added softly. "Just long enough to avoid the worst of it. Like old times."

The way he said it—gentle, without judgment—made you waver. He wasn’t pushing, just… offering. And you knew he had your best interests in mind, as he always had when it came to this.

"Okay," you said finally, your voice barely audible.

Peter smiled, his relief barely noticeable but there. He held out his hand, not in an exaggerated gesture, but simple and natural, like he’d done a hundred times before.

You didn’t hesitate long before slipping your hand into his.

---

Inside the house, the noise from outside was muffled, the steady hum of distant conversations replacing the sharp pops and whistles of the fireworks. Peter led you to a quiet sitting room with a plush sofa and an unlit fireplace.

“Better?” he asked, glancing back at you.

You nodded, taking a seat on the sofa. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Peter settled into the armchair across from you, his posture relaxed but his gaze attentive. “You always hated the noise,” he said, his tone casual. “Even when Olivia and I tried to drag you outside to watch.”

“You didn’t try that hard,” you pointed out, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “You usually gave up after five minutes and left me alone.”

Peter chuckled. “Fair. Olivia’s the persistent one.”

You shook your head, leaning back against the cushions. “She still is. She made me come tonight, even though I wasn’t sure…” You trailed off, catching yourself.

Peter’s expression softened, but he didn’t press. “I’m glad you did,” he said after a moment. “It’s nice to see you outside of work or… tense situations.”

You glanced at him, your cheeks warming. “Yeah. It’s… nice.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The quiet was comfortable, the kind of silence that didn’t demand to be filled.

Peter broke it first, his voice low. “Do you remember that time Olivia dared me to set off fireworks in her backyard? You were so mad at me.”

“I wasn’t mad,” you said quickly, though you couldn’t stop the smile spreading across your face. “I was terrified. You nearly burned down her dad’s shed.”

“Nearly,” Peter emphasized, his grin widening. “And I apologized. Multiple times.”

“You should’ve apologized to her dad,” you teased. “I’m pretty sure he still doesn’t trust you near anything flammable.”

Peter laughed, the sound warm and familiar. “Probably not. But it was worth it to see Olivia’s face when the rocket tipped over.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” he said lightly, his gaze steady on yours. “But you’re smiling. That’s progress.”

You hesitated, your heart skipping a beat under his watchful eyes. “Thanks for… this,” you said softly, gesturing to the quiet room around you. “I didn’t realize how much I needed it.”

Peter leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “Anytime, Y/N. You know that.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, and you looked away, suddenly shy. “We should probably head back soon,” you said, though you made no move to leave.

“Not yet,” Peter said gently. “Let’s give it a few more minutes. You deserve a break.”

You glanced at him, his expression calm and unhurried, and nodded. “Alright. A few more minutes.”

As the muffled sound of fireworks continued outside, you let yourself relax, grateful for the quiet—and for Peter.

---

“No, to the right. Now a little to the left… and, stop! Right there.” Olivia looked over at you, “ah, don’t you just love Christmas?”

You took a sip of your eggnog. “You mean the one time every year where your parents let you decorate for the Christmas party and you get to be your true, controlling self?”

Olivia smirked, adjusting the garland draped over the banister. “Exactly. They’re too busy hosting to care, and I get to make this place look perfect. It’s a win-win.”

You laughed softly, watching as she repositioned an ornament for the third time. “It’s a little terrifying how seriously you take this.”

“Hey, you’re drinking my eggnog, so I don’t want to hear it,” Olivia retorted, sticking her tongue out at you.

“Fair point,” you admitted, raising your glass in mock salute.

Just then, the front door opened, and the familiar sound of Peter’s voice carried through the entryway. “I’m not late, am I?”

“Peter!” Olivia called, her tone sharp but playful. “You’re always late. You’re just lucky the party hasn’t officially started yet.”

Peter stepped into the living room, shrugging out of his coat. He wore a dark sweater that hugged his frame just right, and the effortless confidence in his stride made your chest tighten. “Fashionably late,” he corrected, hanging his coat on the rack. His eyes found you almost immediately. “Y/N. I didn’t realize you’d be here so early.”

You held up your eggnog as if it were an explanation. “Olivia bribed me with holiday cheer.”

“And she’s been an excellent assistant,” Olivia added, grinning. “Even if she’s a bit snarky.”

Peter chuckled, leaning casually against the doorframe. “I’d expect nothing less.”

You glanced down at your glass, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his gaze. “Are you staying for the party?” you asked, your voice quieter than intended.

“Of course,” Peter replied, his tone warm. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good,” Olivia interjected, hands on her hips. “Because you’re helping me hang the lights. Y/N’s been slacking.”

“Hey!” you protested, but Olivia just winked at you.

Peter’s smirk widened. “I’m happy to help.” He crossed the room, grabbing the box of lights from the corner. “Where do you want them?”

“Up by the fireplace,” Olivia instructed, already moving to supervise. “And try not to break anything. My dad still hasn’t forgiven you for the Great Vase Incident of ’98.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “That was your fault, as I recall.”

“Details,” Olivia said breezily, waving him off.

You watched the two of them banter, a familiar pang tugging at your chest. They’d always been so comfortable with each other, their dynamic effortless and easy. And while Olivia never made you feel like an outsider, you couldn’t help but feel a little out of place when Peter was around.

“Y/N,” Peter said, pulling you out of your thoughts. He was holding up a strand of lights, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Care to lend a hand? Or are you too busy with your eggnog?”

You hesitated, your cheeks warming. “I—uh—sure.”

“Great,” he said, motioning for you to join him by the fireplace. “I’ll hold these up, and you can tell me if they’re straight.”

“Why do I feel like I’m being set up?” you asked, setting your glass down and walking over.

Peter grinned. “Because you are.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto your face.

---

As the three of you worked, the doorbell rang, and Olivia hurried to answer it. Joshua stepped inside, his polished appearance contrasting with the slightly chaotic energy of the room. “Y/N,” he said warmly, spotting you immediately. “You look lovely.”

“Thanks,” you said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You made it just in time.”

“Perfect timing, as always,” Joshua replied, stepping closer. He glanced at Peter, who was adjusting the lights. “Peter.”

“Joshua,” Peter said evenly, not looking away from his task. His tone was polite, but there was an edge to it that you couldn’t ignore.

Joshua slid an arm lightly around your waist, and you tensed, feeling Peter’s gaze flick toward you. “This place looks great,” Joshua said, addressing Olivia as she returned. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

“Thank you,” Olivia said, her eyes darting between him and Peter. “It’s a team effort, though. Y/N’s been helping.”

“She always has good taste,” Joshua said, giving you a small squeeze.

Peter straightened, stepping down from the stool and dusting off his hands. “Well, the lights are up. Anything else, Liv?”

“Not for now,” Olivia said, her tone tight as she glanced at you. “Why don’t we all grab a drink and relax before the guests arrive?”

“Excellent idea,” Joshua said, steering you toward the kitchen. “Come on, Y/N.”

You followed him, feeling Peter’s eyes on you the entire way.

---

The party was in full swing now, the hum of conversation and soft clinking of glasses filling Olivia’s house. You and Joshua had been mingling for a while, though he seemed perfectly at ease, charming the small groups you joined. You, on the other hand, felt slightly out of place, your smile starting to feel a little forced as the evening dragged on.

“Having a good time?” Joshua asked, leaning closer so you could hear him over the noise.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding. “It’s nice.”

His lips quirked into a small smile. “Nice? That’s all?”

Before you could reply, a familiar voice interrupted.

“Y/N,” Peter said, stepping up beside you. His tone was polite, but his eyes were focused entirely on you. “Could I borrow you for a moment?”

Joshua’s brow furrowed slightly, though his expression remained composed. “Is it urgent?”

Peter smiled faintly. “I won’t keep her long.”

You hesitated, glancing at Joshua, who gave a small nod. “Go ahead. I’ll be here.”

“Thanks,” you said softly before turning to Peter. “Alright.”

Peter led you out of the crowded room and down the hall to a quieter corner near the library. The muffled sounds of the party faded as he closed the door behind you.

“Is everything okay?” you asked, your voice hesitant.

“Everything’s fine,” Peter said, his tone gentler now. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box, tied with a neat bow. “I just wanted to give you this.”

Your eyebrows shot up as you took the box from his hand. “What is it?”

“Open it and see,” he said, leaning casually against the wall, though his gaze never left your face.

You carefully untied the bow and lifted the lid. Inside was a delicate necklace with a simple arrow pendant, the silver catching the soft light of the room.

“Peter,” you breathed, your fingers brushing over the pendant. “It’s beautiful.”

“I’m glad you think so,” he said, his voice low. “It reminded me of you.”

“Of me?” you asked, looking up at him.

He smiled, a small, genuine curve of his lips. “Of the time Olivia convinced you to take archery lessons with her. You were better than all of us, even though you swore you’d be terrible.”

You laughed softly, a faint blush rising to your cheeks. “I forgot about that.”

“I didn’t,” he said simply, his eyes warm.

You hesitated, your thumb grazing the pendant again. “Thank you. It’s… really thoughtful.”

“Turn around,” he said gently, holding out his hand for the box. You passed it to him, feeling your heart race as you turned.

Peter stepped closer, his presence warm behind you. You held your breath as his fingers brushed your neck, clasping the necklace with a practiced ease. He lingered for a moment, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders before stepping back.

You turned to face him, your hand instinctively reaching for the pendant. “It’s perfect,” you said quietly, meeting his gaze.

Peter’s expression softened, but there was something unreadable in his eyes. “It suits you.”

You hesitated, your voice wavering as you asked, “Where’s Jade?”

He didn’t flinch, but his smile faded slightly. “She’s gone.”

“Gone?” you repeated, your brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

Peter shrugged, his tone calm but final. “She left. That’s all there is to it.”

The way he said it left no room for further questions, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to press him anyway. Instead, you nodded slowly, your fingers still lightly gripping the pendant.

“Thank you, Peter,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled again, a faint curve of his lips as he stepped closer. “You’re welcome, Y/N. Always.”

Before you could respond, the faint sound of someone calling your name reached the hallway. Peter glanced toward the door, his smile tightening.

“You should get back,” he said, his tone polite but distant.

“Right,” you said quickly, stepping toward the door. “Thanks again.”

Peter didn’t follow, leaning against the wall as you left. His eyes lingered on the empty doorway for a moment before he let out a slow breath, his expression unreadable.

---

Back in the main room, Joshua found you almost immediately. “There you are,” he said, his voice warm. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” you said quickly, offering a small smile. “Peter just… wanted to talk.”

Joshua studied you for a moment, his gaze flicking briefly to the necklace around your neck. “It’s nice,” he said evenly.

“Thanks,” you replied, your hand instinctively touching the pendant. “It was a gift.”

Joshua’s smile didn’t falter, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. “Shall we?” he asked, offering his arm.

You nodded, looping your arm through his and letting him guide you back into the crowd. But as the night went on, you couldn’t shake the weight of the pendant resting against your collarbone—or the memory of Peter’s words.

---

Joshua walked you to your apartment door, his demeanor as composed as ever, though there was a subtle tension in his posture. He stood just inside the threshold, his hands in his coat pockets, glancing around the small entryway.

“You’re quiet,” you said softly, breaking the silence as you set your purse on the side table.

He gave you a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just thinking.”

You hesitated, unsure of what to say. “About what?”

Joshua took a slow breath, stepping closer. “About us.” He paused, his gaze steady. “Y/N, I know we’ve never… officially defined what we are, but I care about you. I need you to know that.”

Your chest tightened, and you glanced down, unable to meet his eyes. “I care about you too, Joshua.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying you. “I believe that. But I also think… you’re conflicted. And you have been for a while.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he held up a hand, his tone gentle. “I’m not angry, Y/N. And I’m not trying to make this harder for you. I just think it’s time to acknowledge what’s been hanging between us.”

You bit your lip, your fingers curling against the edge of the table. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t apologize,” he said quickly, stepping closer. “You haven’t done anything wrong. You’ve been honest with me, and I appreciate that. But I can see it, Y/N. You’re trying to force yourself to feel something you’re not sure about.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them away. “You’re a wonderful person, Joshua. I don’t want to hurt you.”

He smiled softly, the sadness in his eyes making your chest ache. “I know you don’t. And that’s why I’m telling you this now—so you have time to figure out what you really want.”

You frowned, your voice barely audible. “What do you mean?”

Joshua straightened slightly, his tone calm but resolute. “I’m leaving for a business trip tomorrow. I’ll be gone for a week. While I’m away, I want you to think about this—about us. And about him.”

Your breath hitched, and you looked up at him sharply. “Him?”

Joshua’s expression remained steady. “You don’t have to say it, Y/N. I know Peter’s a part of this, whether you realize it or not. I’ve seen the way you look at him, the way he looks at you. It’s not something you can ignore.”

You felt a lump forming in your throat, but you couldn’t find the words to respond.

“I’m not saying this to make you feel guilty,” Joshua continued gently. “I just… I need you to be honest with yourself. And with me.”

“Joshua…” you started, your voice breaking.

He gave you a reassuring smile, reaching out to lightly touch your arm. “It’s okay, Y/N. Whatever happens, I want you to be happy. That’s all that matters.”

Tears blurred your vision as you nodded, your voice trembling. “Thank you.”

He stepped back, his hand falling to his side. “Take care of yourself, alright? I’ll call you when I get back.”

You managed a small nod, watching as he turned and walked down the hall. The door clicked softly shut behind him, leaving you standing alone in the silence.

Your gaze dropped to the pendant around your neck, your fingers brushing against it lightly. The weight of his words settled over you, leaving you torn between guilt and relief. And as much as you tried to push it away, one thought lingered in the back of your mind:

You needed to figure out what you wanted. And it wasn’t just about Joshua. It was about Peter, too.

---

A few days later, you and Olivia stumbled into her apartment after a night at the club, a place you notoriously hate because of the crowds and loud noise. But you thought it couldn’t hurt to get out of your head a little bit, especially with what Joshua said before he left on his business trip.

Olivia reached for the coat hook by her front door, trying to place her coat on the rack as it fell to the ground. “Ah, fuck it. ‘M not gonna pick that up.”

You giggled, stumbling toward the couch. “You’re such a mess, Liv.”

“I’m a masterpiece, actually,” Olivia countered, pointing a finger in your direction before tripping slightly on the edge of the rug. “Oops. See? Flawless recovery.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, flopping onto the couch and kicking off your heels. Your feet ached, and your head was already buzzing from the drinks, but for the first time in days, you didn’t feel like crying.

Olivia flopped down next to you, grabbing a throw pillow and hugging it to her chest. “I’m not ridiculous. I’m living my best life. You’re the one who never lets loose.”

“Excuse me?” you said, raising an eyebrow. “Who just spent the entire night dancing, even though they hate crowds?”

“That’s fair,” she admitted, waving the pillow at you. “I’m proud of you for actually showing up. I thought I’d have to drag you there kicking and screaming.”

“You practically did,” you pointed out, leaning your head back against the couch. “But it wasn’t… the worst thing ever.”

Olivia gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. “Did Y/N just admit she had fun? Someone call the press!”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help smiling. “Don’t push it.”

She smirked, tossing the pillow aside and grabbing the remote. “So, what’s the plan? Sleep? Food? Another drink?”

“I can’t even think about drinking right now,” you said, groaning. “I need water and something greasy, or I’m going to regret this in the morning.”

“Got it,” Olivia said, standing unsteadily and heading toward the kitchen. “I think I’ve got leftover pizza in the fridge. Want me to heat it up, or are we going full savage mode?”

“Savage mode,” you said, laughing. “I’m too tired to wait.”

Olivia returned with a box of cold pizza and two bottles of water, dropping onto the couch with a triumphant grin. “Bon appétit.”

You grabbed a slice, taking a bite and sighing contentedly. “This is exactly what I needed.”

“See? Clubbing isn’t so bad,” Olivia said, grabbing a slice for herself. “You just need the right ending.”

“Clubbing is still bad,” you replied between bites. “But this? This is good.”

She laughed, nudging your shoulder. “I’ll take it. Baby steps, Y/N.”

You both sat in comfortable silence for a while, the sound of the TV filling the room as you worked through the pizza.

Eventually, Olivia broke the quiet. “So… how’re you feeling about everything? With Joshua, I mean.”

You paused, your fingers playing with the edge of the pizza box. “I don’t know. He’s been amazing. Thoughtful, sweet, everything you’d want, right?”

“But?” Olivia prompted, tilting her head.

You sighed, leaning back against the couch. “But I keep second-guessing everything. Like, is it fair to him if I’m not… all in? Am I being honest with myself? I just feel so—”

“Conflicted?” Olivia finished gently.

“Yeah,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

She reached over, squeezing your hand. “Hey, it’s okay to feel that way. You’re not a robot. And you’re not a villain for trying to figure out what you want.”

You nodded, but the guilt still gnawed at you. “I just don’t want to hurt him. He doesn’t deserve that.”

“No one does,” Olivia said softly. “But being with someone when you’re not sure? That’s not fair to either of you.”

You stayed quiet, her words sinking in.

“And let’s be real,” she added with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood. “You’ve been hung up on Peter since forever. That’s not going to just disappear because someone else comes along.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Don’t remind me.”

“I’m just saying,” Olivia said, nudging your knee with hers. “If you don’t deal with that, it’s always going to be there. No matter how great Joshua is.”

You peeked at her through your fingers, your voice muffled. “Why are you always right?”

“It’s a curse,” she said dramatically, throwing her arm over her eyes. “But seriously, Y/N. Take your time. Figure it out. And whatever you decide, I’ll be here to back you up.”

You smiled weakly, lowering your hands. “Thanks, Liv.”

“Anytime,” she said, grabbing another slice of pizza. “Now, shut up and eat. We’re not leaving any leftovers.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you reached for another slice. For the first time in weeks, you felt like maybe, just maybe, you’d find your way through this mess.

---

“Hey, Joshua. I know you said you were gonna call when you got back, but… if I’m being honest I’m really drunk right now since Olivia dragged me out to a club. But in hindsight, I still feel a bit more confident than usual so I thought I might… say what I needed to say, ‘cause I’d probably chicken out when I see you.”

“You were right. My feelings are complicated toward Peter, but I do really like you. But you were right… I need to be honest with myself. I like Peter—hell, I think I’ve loved him since we were, uh… little people? Point is, I really like you, and I never wanted to hurt you. Call me back when you’re free?”

There was a soft beep as the voicemail ended and then… silence.

The line went dead.

---

Two weeks later you were jittery and nervous. Joshua said he would be back in a week and had never returned, let alone call you back.

Olivia placed her tray on the table across from you, your work calendar underneath it, and flopped into the seat with a dramatic sigh. “Alright, spill. Why do you look like you haven’t slept in a week?”

You pushed the lettuce around on your sandwich, your appetite completely gone. “I haven’t heard from Joshua.”

Olivia blinked, clearly caught off guard. “What do you mean? He hasn’t called you since he left?”

You shook your head, setting the sandwich down. “Nothing. No calls, no texts. It’s like he disappeared.”

She frowned, her brow furrowing. “That’s weird, even for him. Did you try calling him again?”

You hesitated, fiddling with the edge of your napkin. “I left a voicemail. After we went out that night.”

“Oh, God.” Olivia’s eyes widened slightly. “You didn’t confess on a drunk voicemail, did you?”

You winced, nodding. “I did.”

Olivia groaned, dropping her head into her hands. “Y/N. Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

“Because I feel like an idiot,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I was honest with him, but now I’m worried I said too much. Or scared him off.”

Olivia sat up, her expression softening. “Hey, you were just being real with him. If he can’t handle that, then maybe it’s better you know now.”

“I just…” You sighed, resting your chin in your hand. “I didn’t want things to end like this. He deserves better than that.”

“And so do you,” Olivia pointed out. She reached across the table, squeezing your hand. “Look, maybe he’s just busy. You said he’s on a work trip, right? He could still call when he gets back.”

“It’s been two weeks,” you said, your voice breaking slightly. “I think that’s long enough for a call.”

Olivia hesitated, clearly unsure of what to say. “Alright, then maybe it’s time to move on. You’ve done what you can, Y/N. If he’s not responding, you can’t put your life on hold for him.”

“I know,” you murmured, though the words felt hollow. “It just… sucks.”

“Yeah,” Olivia agreed, leaning back in her chair. “It does. But hey, at least you’ve got me to keep you sane.”

You managed a weak smile. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

She grinned, grabbing a fry from her tray. “Probably starve. Speaking of which, eat your sandwich. You’re no good to anyone if you’re hangry.”

You rolled your eyes but picked up the sandwich again, taking a small bite. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

---

Later that day after taking a relaxing bath, you walked into the kitchen to debate whether you wanted to cook something or order takeout. You didn’t get far before Olivia called you. You flipped open your phone. “Hey. I was just deciding what I wanted for dinner. Does Thai or Indian sound bett—”

“Have you checked the news?”

The phone nearly slipped from your fingers. “What? No, I haven’t. Why?”

Olivia’s voice was tense, clipped with urgency. “Turn on the TV. It’s on every channel.”

Your chest tightened as you moved quickly to the living room. You fumbled with the remote, flipping through channels until a familiar news anchor appeared on the screen. The banner running across the bottom made your stomach drop.

MISSING: LORD BECKETT’S SON, JOSHUA BECKETT

The screen displayed an image of Joshua smiling at some event, dressed in one of his tailored suits, looking perfectly at ease. The anchor’s voice filled the room:

“…last seen departing for a business trip nearly two weeks ago. Despite extensive efforts to contact him, friends and family have received no communication. Authorities are investigating his disappearance. More details are expected to follow—”

You muted the TV, your hand trembling as you pressed the button.

“Y/N?” Olivia’s voice came through the phone, softer now. “Are you seeing this?”

You sank onto the couch, your heart racing. “I… Yeah. I’m seeing it.”

“What the hell is going on?” she asked, her voice tinged with unease.

“I don’t know,” you whispered. “He didn’t say anything before he left—just that he’d call when he got back. I thought… I thought he was just busy.”

“Two weeks is more than busy,” Olivia said flatly. “This is serious.”

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing. “Do you think something happened to him?”

“I don’t know,” Olivia admitted. “But if he hasn’t been in touch with anyone, it’s not a good sign.”

Your chest tightened, a sick feeling settling in your stomach. “This doesn’t make any sense. He was fine before he left. He didn’t seem… worried about anything.”

“Do you think he—” Olivia hesitated, lowering her voice. “Do you think he left on purpose? Like, to get space or something?”

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head even though she couldn’t see you. “Joshua wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t just… disappear without telling anyone.”

“Alright,” Olivia said, though she still sounded uncertain. “Then we have to assume something’s happened. Have the police contacted you?”

“No,” you said, glancing at your phone. “Why would they?”

“You were dating him,” Olivia pointed out. “If they’re investigating, they might reach out to people close to him.”

Your stomach churned. “I don’t know anything, Liv. If they ask me, what am I supposed to say?”

“Just tell them the truth,” Olivia said gently. “That’s all you can do.”

You nodded weakly, your eyes flicking back to the muted TV. The image of Joshua remained on the screen, a stark reminder of how little you understood what was happening.

---

The knock on your apartment door startled you. You froze on the couch, your mind spinning with thoughts of Joshua, the news reports, and the uneasy ache that had settled in your chest over the past few days. Slowly, you got up, wiping your hands on your sweatpants as you approached the door.

You peeked through the peephole, your breath catching when you saw Peter. His expression was calm but tinged with something you couldn’t quite place.

“Y/N?” His voice was soft, just loud enough to carry through the door. “Can I come in?”

You hesitated for a moment before unlocking the door and opening it. “Peter,” you said quietly, stepping aside to let him in.

He offered a faint smile, his eyes scanning your face as if trying to gauge your mood. “Hey. I heard about the news… I wanted to check on you.”

You nodded, shutting the door behind him. “Thanks. I’m… I don’t even know what I am, honestly.”

Peter’s gaze softened, and he reached out, his hand brushing lightly against your arm. “Come sit down. You shouldn’t be standing here like this.”

You let him guide you back to the couch, sinking into the cushions as he sat beside you. The air felt heavy, the unspoken weight of everything pressing down on both of you.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “He just… vanished. And no one knows anything. It doesn’t make sense.”

Peter nodded, his expression steady but unreadable. “It’s unsettling. And it’s not something anyone should have to go through.”

You looked down at your hands, twisting your fingers together nervously. “I keep going over every conversation we had before he left. Wondering if I missed something—if he was trying to tell me something, and I didn’t pick up on it.”

“Y/N,” Peter said gently, his hand resting on your knee. “Don’t do that to yourself. You couldn’t have known. This isn’t your fault.”

“But what if—” you started, but he shook his head.

“There are no ‘what ifs,’” he said firmly, his hand warm and steady against your leg. “You cared about him. You were there for him. That’s what matters.”

You blinked back the sting of tears, nodding weakly. “It just… it doesn’t feel real. He was here, and now he’s not. It’s like the ground’s been pulled out from under me.”

Peter’s arm slid around your shoulders, pulling you gently against him. “I know,” he murmured. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry.”

You let yourself lean into him, your cheek resting against his chest. The steady rhythm of his breathing was oddly soothing, grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected. His other hand came up, brushing lightly over your hair as he held you close.

“It’s not fair,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “He didn’t deserve this.”

“No, he didn’t,” Peter agreed, his voice low. “But you don’t deserve to carry this on your own, either.”

You closed your eyes, the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the warmth of his embrace. For a moment, the weight on your chest eased, replaced by a strange sense of comfort you hadn’t felt in weeks.

“You don’t have to stay,” you said quietly, though you didn’t move away. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Peter said firmly. “Not until you’re okay.”

You didn’t respond, too lost in the haze of your emotions to argue. Instead, you stayed where you were, letting the steady beat of his heart and the warmth of his arms lull you into a fragile sense of calm.

---

When you and Olivia walked into your apartment after going out to dinner together, the first thing you noticed was the large vase of hydrangeas on your coffee table, along with a small box of expensive caramels.

Olivia’s eyebrows shot up as she shrugged off her coat. “Well, well, what’s this? Did you pick up a secret admirer while I wasn’t looking?”

You blinked, setting your bag down and approaching the table. A small card sat propped against the vase. “I… have no idea,” you murmured, picking up the card.

Olivia leaned over your shoulder, her curiosity on full display. “Read it! What does it say?”

You opened the card, your fingers brushing over the neat handwriting. “To brighten your day. -Peter.”

Olivia let out a low whistle. “Peter, huh? He’s pulling out all the stops, isn’t he?”

You felt your cheeks warm as you set the card back down. “He’s just… being thoughtful.”

Olivia flopped onto the couch, crossing her legs. “Thoughtful, sure. But come on, Y/N, hydrangeas and fancy caramels? That’s not just thoughtful—that’s calculated. The man knows what he’s doing.”

You sighed, sitting down beside her and fiddling with the edge of the coffee table. “He’s been really sweet lately. Ever since… you know.”

“Since Joshua?” Olivia supplied, raising an eyebrow.

You nodded, biting your lip. “I don’t know how to feel about it. I mean, Peter’s been there for me through everything, but I can’t shake this feeling like he’s… I don’t know. Trying to prove something.”

Olivia tilted her head, studying you. “Maybe he is. But is that a bad thing? You’ve had a thing for him forever, and now he’s finally making an effort. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“It’s not that simple,” you muttered, leaning back against the couch. “I don’t want him to feel like he has to… compete or something. Especially after what happened with Joshua.”

Olivia snorted, grabbing one of the caramels and unwrapping it. “Y/N, Peter’s not the kind of guy who does anything he doesn’t want to do. If he’s stepping up now, it’s because he wants to. Not because he feels obligated.”

You frowned, her words sinking in. “But what if it’s too late? What if everything with Joshua just… ruined it?”

Olivia rolled her eyes, popping the caramel into her mouth. “Ruined what? You and Peter were always circling each other, even when you were with Joshua. This isn’t about timing—it’s about you deciding what you actually want.”

You stayed quiet, your fingers brushing over the edge of the card again. “What if I don’t know what I want?”

Olivia nudged your shoulder, her voice softer now. “Then maybe it’s time to figure it out. Peter’s not going anywhere, Y/N. But you owe it to yourself to stop holding back.”

You glanced at her, her words settling in your chest like a weight. “Do you think he really…?”

“Likes you?” Olivia finished, smirking. “Y/N, that man’s been pining after you for years. He’s just too proud—or too stubborn—to admit it outright.”

Your cheeks burned, and you quickly looked away. “You don’t know that.”

“Don’t I?” Olivia said, grinning. “He sent you hydrangeas, Y/N. Your favorite kind of flower that you probably mentioned one time to him when you were younger, and he remembered.”

You rolled your eyes, even as your cheeks flushed. “He’s just being nice.”

“Nice?” Olivia scoffed, popping another caramel into her mouth. “Y/N, this isn’t nice. This is strategic. He’s playing the long game, and you’re falling for it.”

“I’m not falling for anything,” you muttered, fidgeting with the card in your hand.

Olivia raised an eyebrow. “Oh, please. He’s practically wrapped around your finger, and you’re still pretending like he’s not into you. Wake up, Y/N.”

You sighed, setting the card back on the table. “It’s complicated, Liv.”

“Only because you’re making it complicated,” she shot back. “You’ve been into him since we were kids. He’s finally giving you his full attention, and you’re sitting here overthinking it.”

You hesitated, your fingers brushing over the edge of the vase. “It’s just… everything with Joshua. It feels wrong to move on so fast.”

“Joshua wouldn’t want you to sit around moping,” Olivia said firmly. “And let’s be real, you weren’t head-over-heels for him. You liked him, sure, but not like this.”

You looked at her, surprised. “Not like what?”

“Not like the way you look at Peter,” Olivia said simply, crossing her arms. “Or the way you get all flustered when he so much as breathes near you.”

“I do not,” you protested weakly, but Olivia just smirked.

“Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that,” she said, standing and stretching. “Anyway, I’m thirsty. Wine, good?”

You managed a weak laugh, grateful for her ability to lighten the mood. “Wine’s good.”

“And while we wait, you can tell me how you’re going to handle Peter. Because ignoring him isn’t an option anymore.”

You sighed, leaning back against the couch. “I don’t know, Liv. I really don’t.”

“Well, figure it out,” she said, closing your cupboard’s door. “Because knowing Peter, he’s not going to let you avoid him for long.”

---

A knock on your apartment door the next evening made your heart skip a beat. You weren’t expecting anyone, and Olivia had her own plans tonight. Setting down the tea you’d been sipping, you walked cautiously to the door and peeked through the peephole.

Peter stood on the other side, dressed casually in a gray sweater and dark jeans, holding a small bag in one hand. He caught sight of the peephole and gave a faint smile, as if sensing you were there.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice just loud enough to carry through the door. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

You hesitated, your hand resting on the doorknob before finally unlocking it and opening the door. “Peter. What are you doing here?”

He held up the bag with a sheepish grin. “I brought takeout. Thought you might be hungry.”

Your eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You brought me dinner?”

He shrugged, stepping inside as you moved aside to let him in. “It’s not exactly gourmet, but I figured it’s better than you eating instant noodles.”

“Bold of you to assume I had instant noodles planned,” you said, closing the door.

Peter smirked, setting the bag on the kitchen counter. “It’s a hunch.”

You crossed your arms, leaning against the counter as he unpacked the food. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to,” he said simply, glancing at you. “I know things have been… a lot lately. I thought a quiet dinner might help.”

Your chest tightened, and you looked away, fiddling with the hem of your sweater. “You’ve been doing a lot for me lately.”

Peter’s expression softened. “I care about you, Y/N. I’m just trying to be here for you.”

You glanced up at him, his words settling over you like a warm blanket. “Thank you. Really.”

He smiled faintly, pushing one of the takeout containers toward you. “Come on. Let’s eat before it gets cold.”

---

Dinner with Peter was easy, the conversation flowing effortlessly as you talked about everything and nothing. He had a way of making you laugh, his wit sharp but never cutting. For the first time in weeks, the weight on your chest felt lighter.

As the evening wore on, Peter leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on you. “You seem more like yourself tonight.”

You smiled softly, swirling your drink in its glass. “I think I’m starting to feel… okay again. It’s still weird not hearing from Joshua, but I’m not as upset as I thought I’d be.”

Peter nodded, his expression unreadable. “That’s good. You deserve to feel at peace.”

You hesitated, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “Do you think he’s okay? Wherever he is?”

Peter’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but his tone was calm when he replied. “I think he’d want you to be happy, no matter what.”

Something about the way he said it made you pause, your gaze lingering on his face. “You really think that?”

“I do,” he said firmly, his eyes meeting yours. “And I’ll do whatever it takes to help you get there.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of you. You swallowed hard, looking down at your drink. “You’ve already done so much, Peter. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

He leaned forward slightly, his voice low and steady. “You don’t owe me anything, Y/N. Just let me be here for you. That’s all I want.”

You glanced up, your breath catching at the intensity in his gaze. The warmth of his presence, the sincerity in his words—it was all too much and not enough at the same time.

“Okay,” you said softly, your voice barely audible. “Thank you.”

Peter’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile. “Anytime.”

---

“How was your date last night?” you asked as the nail tech painted a soft coral onto your nails.

Olivia grinned, glancing at you over her magazine. “It was… interesting. He showed up in a leather jacket, which I thought was bold for a guy who works in finance, but then he ordered a piña colada at dinner.”

You laughed softly. “That’s a choice.”

“Right?” Olivia said, shaking her head. “I mean, I’m all for a guy who knows what he likes, but it just didn’t vibe with the whole Wall Street aesthetic he was going for.”

“Did you tell him that?”

She smirked. “Of course not. I’m not a monster. But the date kind of fizzled after that. Turns out, he’s one of those people who think working for a magazine is ‘cute.’”

You winced. “Ouch.”

“Exactly,” Olivia said, leaning back in her chair. “So, no second date for Mr. Leather-and-piña-colada.”

“You’re ruthless,” you teased, shaking your head.

“I have standards,” she replied, flipping the page of her magazine. “How’s work been? Any new scandals in the accounting world?”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s been fine. Mostly just year-end audits and tax prep.”

“Sounds thrilling,” Olivia said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Hey, it pays the bills,” you replied with a shrug. “And it’s not all spreadsheets. Sometimes there’s… client drama.”

“Oh, client drama,” Olivia said, perking up. “Now we’re talking. Spill.”

You hesitated, glancing at the nail tech, who was focused on your hand. Lowering your voice slightly, you said, “we had this one client who tried to write off their yacht as a business expense. They even had fake invoices to back it up.”

Olivia gasped, clearly delighted. “No! Did they get away with it?”

“Not a chance,” you said, smirking. “My boss caught it immediately. The guy was not happy when we told him he couldn’t claim it.”

“Let me guess,” Olivia said, narrowing her eyes. “He tried to threaten you with his ‘connections.’”

“Something like that,” you replied, laughing. “But we stood our ground. It was kind of satisfying watching him squirm.”

“You’re secretly a savage,” Olivia said, grinning. “I love it.”

You shook your head, smiling. “Not really. I just don’t like people thinking they can get away with stuff like that.”

“Well, remind me never to try and cheat my taxes,” Olivia said, raising her hands in mock surrender.

“Smart choice,” you replied, your tone teasing.

The nail tech finished your last finger, carefully blowing on the polish to help it dry. Olivia glanced at your hands and nodded approvingly. “That color’s perfect on you.”

“Thanks,” you said, admiring the soft, summery shade. “Ready to head out?”

“Absolutely,” Olivia said, standing and grabbing her purse. “But first, we’re getting coffee. I need something to recover from the mental image of a guy sipping a piña colada in a suit.”

You laughed, following her to the counter to settle the bill. “You really know how to pick them, Liv.”

“I live to entertain,” she said with a wink.

---

“Hey there, Dotty.”

You let out a slight gasp as you turned around to come face to face with Olivia’s twin brother, Oscar. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, how do ya think Ollie got the tickets? I’ve got connections you know.”

Olivia walked over holding her clutch and a glass of wine. “Oscar,” she hissed.

He turned to look at her, “what? I’m just speakin’ the truth.”

“Five years in America and you’ve turned into more of a pretentious arsehole.” Olivia muttered.

“I heard that. And I resent it.” Oscar replied, reaching over to ruffle her hair, which she dodged.

Peter walked over, placing a hand on your waist and gently moving you aside as Olivia and Oscar continued their bickering. His touch was warm, firm, and effortlessly reassuring, making your breath hitch for a split second.

“Let’s not get caught in the crossfire,” Peter murmured close to your ear, his tone laced with amusement.

“Good idea,” you replied softly, letting him guide you a few steps away. Your heart gave an annoyingly noticeable thump as his hand lingered for a moment longer than necessary before he let it drop.

The theatre lobby was bustling, everyone dressed to the nines for the evening performance of The Phantom of the Opera. Olivia’s enthusiasm for the musical had been borderline infectious, but Peter’s presence was what had truly made you agree to come tonight. You wouldn’t admit it out loud, but you were looking forward to sitting next to him in the darkened theatre.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Peter said, studying your face. His gaze was steady, calm, yet probing in a way that always made you feel like he saw more than you were ready to show.

“Just taking everything in,” you said, gesturing to the opulent decor around you. “This place is beautiful.”

Peter smiled, his expression softening. “It is. But I meant you. Something on your mind?”

You hesitated, glancing toward Olivia and Oscar, who had moved on to teasing each other about their wine preferences. “I guess I’m just… nervous. I haven’t been to something like this in a long time.”

“There’s nothing to be nervous about,” Peter assured you. His voice dipped slightly, and you swore his eyes darkened just a fraction. “You look incredible, by the way.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you glanced down at the neckline of your dress. “Thank you. You clean up pretty well yourself.”

Peter chuckled, the sound low and warm. “I try.”

Before the conversation could deepen, Olivia swooped in, dragging Oscar behind her. “Alright, let’s get to our seats before the ushers start giving us dirty looks.”

Oscar rolled his eyes but followed, grinning as Olivia nudged him toward the row. “You’re bossy, you know that?”

“You love it,” Olivia shot back, sliding into her seat.

Peter motioned for you to go ahead of him, and as you slid past him to take your seat, his hand brushed lightly against your back again. The touch was fleeting but intentional, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

You tried to focus on the grandeur of the theatre as the lights dimmed, the murmurs of the crowd fading into anticipation. But Peter, seated just to your right, made it impossible to ignore the steady hum of awareness that had been building between you.

---

The performance was breathtaking. You’d been completely captivated by the haunting music and the tension between the Phantom and Christine, though the parallels to your own tangled emotions didn’t escape you. Peter, seated so close, made every small movement—every shift, every glance—feel magnified.

As the final notes of Music of the Night faded into the silence of the audience, you turned slightly toward him, your expression unguarded. “That was… incredible.”

Peter was already watching you, his eyes unreadable in the dim light. “It’s one of my favorites,” he said softly. “I knew you’d like it.”

“You did?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, leaning slightly closer. “You’ve always been drawn to stories like this. Beautiful, bittersweet, with just a hint of danger.”

Your breath hitched, his words hitting closer to home than he probably realized. Or maybe he did realize—it was Peter, after all.

Before you could respond, Olivia leaned across Oscar from her seat on the other side. “Is it just me, or does this whole ‘Phantom versus Raoul’ thing feel unnecessarily stressful?”

Oscar smirked. “It’s just you. You’re always Team Raoul.”

“And you’re always wrong,” Olivia retorted, sticking her tongue out at him.

Peter chuckled, leaning back slightly but not breaking his gaze from yours. “I’d say the drama is what makes it worthwhile.”

“Exactly,” you said, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “What’s the point without a little tension?”

Peter’s lips quirked into a knowing smile. “My thoughts exactly.”

---

After the show, the four of you stepped into the cool night air, the buzz of the performance still lingering in the air. Olivia and Oscar were ahead, debating the musical’s ending, leaving you and Peter a few steps behind.

“You’re quiet again,” Peter noted, glancing at you. “Second thoughts about the story?”

You shook your head, pulling your coat tighter around you. “No, it was perfect. Just… a lot to process.”

“I get that,” he said softly, his hands tucked into his pockets. “It has a way of sticking with you.”

You hesitated, your gaze flicking to him. “Which side were you on? The Phantom or Raoul?”

Peter tilted his head, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “The Phantom, of course.”

“Of course?” you asked, arching an eyebrow.

He nodded, his tone teasing but layered with something deeper. “The Phantom’s not perfect, but he’s passionate. Compelling. He knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to take risks to get it.”

“And Raoul?” you pressed, though your voice was softer now.

Peter shrugged, his gaze steady on yours. “Raoul’s safe. Predictable. But sometimes, safe isn’t what we need.”

Your breath caught, his words hanging in the space between you like a challenge. You opened your mouth to respond, but Olivia’s voice called back to you, breaking the moment.

“Y/N, come on! Oscar wants to hit a diner before heading back.”

You turned toward her, grateful for the distraction. “Coming!”

Peter’s hand brushed lightly against your arm, stopping you for just a moment longer. “Think about it, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “What’s worth the risk?”

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest, but he didn’t wait for an answer. With a faint smile, he followed Olivia and Oscar down the street, leaving you to catch up and wonder if the Phantom’s shadow was closer than you’d realized.

---

Peter’s father was having another party, celebrating something in the aristocratic circle you were sure you wouldn’t understand.

The Lyman estate was as grand as ever, with its sprawling grounds and towering facade lit up against the evening sky. You adjusted the strap of your dress, feeling slightly out of place despite the polished look Olivia had helped you put together.

“It’s just a party,” Olivia had said as she zipped up your dress. “The same champagne, the same tiny hors d'oeuvres, and the same people trying to one-up each other with stories about their vacations. You’ll survive.”

Easy for her to say—this was her family. For you, it felt like stepping into a world you’d never quite belong to, even if you’d been tagging along to events like this since you were kids.

“Y/N,” Peter’s familiar voice drew your attention as you lingered near the garden entrance, trying to avoid the bustle of the main hall. He approached, his navy suit tailored to perfection and his tie slightly loosened, as if to project effortless ease.

“You’re hiding,” he teased, stopping a few paces away.

“Not hiding,” you countered softly, fiddling with your clutch. “Just… taking a moment.”

Peter smiled faintly, his gaze flicking over you. “You look stunning tonight.”

Your cheeks warmed, and you glanced away. “Thanks. Olivia helped.”

“She has good taste,” Peter said, stepping closer. “Though, I’m sure you’d look stunning regardless.”

The compliment hung in the air, and you struggled to find a response. Before you could, Peter gestured toward the garden path. “Walk with me?”

You hesitated but nodded, falling into step beside him. The air outside was cooler, the faint hum of the party muffled by the hedges and tall trees.

“You’ve been avoiding the main hall,” Peter said after a moment, his tone casual.

You shrugged. “It’s… a lot. These parties always feel a little overwhelming.”

“I get that,” he replied, his hands tucked into his pockets. “It’s all so… polished. A show, really.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the hint of disdain in his tone. “You don’t like them?”

Peter chuckled softly. “I tolerate them. But if I had a choice? I’d skip the champagne and small talk for something a bit more… real.”

“Real?” you echoed, curious.

He tilted his head, his gaze meeting yours. “Something like this. A quiet walk. No pretense, no expectations.”

Your heart skipped a beat, the sincerity in his voice catching you off guard. “That does sound nice.”

Peter’s smile softened, and for a moment, the air between you felt charged with something unspoken. But before either of you could say more, the sound of laughter and clinking glasses drifted toward you, pulling you back to reality.

“Shall we head back?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

“Not yet,” Peter said, his tone light but firm. “You’ve spent enough time worrying about everyone else tonight. Let me distract you a bit longer.”

You hesitated, your fingers brushing against the pendant around your neck—a small habit you’d picked up since he gave it to you. Finally, you nodded. “Alright. Distract me.”

Peter’s lips quirked into a small smile, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Gladly.”

You followed him down the garden path, the faint glow of lanterns lining the way. The chill in the air nipped at your skin, and you hugged your arms to yourself, regretting not bringing a shawl. Peter noticed almost instantly.

“You’re cold,” he said, his tone leaving no room for denial.

“I’m fine,” you replied quickly, though your shiver betrayed you.

Peter stopped walking, shrugging off his blazer in one fluid motion. Before you could protest, he draped it over your shoulders, his hands lingering for a moment as he adjusted it. The warmth of the fabric and the faint scent of his cologne made your heart skip a beat.

“Better?” he asked, stepping back.

You nodded, your voice soft. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said, starting down the path again. “I can’t have you freezing out here. It’d ruin my distraction plan.”

You laughed lightly, shaking your head. “Your plan’s working, by the way. I don’t think I’ve thought about anything else tonight.”

“Good,” Peter said, his gaze flicking to you briefly. “That’s the goal.”

The two of you walked in comfortable silence for a while, the sound of gravel crunching underfoot the only thing breaking the stillness. The garden was peaceful, the faint hum of the party fading into the background. It felt like you were in your own little world, away from the chaos and expectations.

“You’ve always been good at this,” you said suddenly, glancing at him.

Peter raised an eyebrow. “At what?”

“Making people feel like they’re the only one in the room,” you replied, your cheeks warming slightly. “It’s… a talent.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “I think you give me too much credit.”

“I don’t think I do,” you said softly, your gaze dropping to the path. “You’re good at making people feel seen. Heard.”

Peter stopped walking, turning to face you. “What about you, Y/N?” he asked, his voice quiet but pointed. “Do you feel seen?”

Your breath hitched, and you looked up at him, his expression open but intense. “Sometimes,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “When it’s you.”

The faintest smile touched his lips, and he took a small step closer. “Good.”

The air between you felt charged, the unspoken tension that had been building for weeks finally coming to a head. Peter’s eyes searched yours, his gaze dropping briefly to your lips before meeting your eyes again. He leaned in slightly, as if testing the waters, and your heart raced.

But before either of you could close the gap, a distant voice called out. “Peter? Are you out here?”

The spell broke, and you stepped back, your cheeks burning. Peter exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening as he glanced toward the direction of the voice.

“We should get back,” you said quickly, your voice unsteady. “They’ll be looking for us.”

Peter turned back to you, his eyes unreadable. “Y/N—”

You shook your head, stepping past him. “It’s fine. Let’s go.”

You barely made it a few steps before his hand caught your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. “Wait,” he said, his tone low but insistent.

You turned back, your heart pounding as he stepped closer. Before you could say anything, his hand moved to your cheek, and he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed or hesitant. It was steady, purposeful, and everything you hadn’t let yourself imagine. His lips were warm against yours, his touch grounding, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded away.

When he pulled back, just enough to look at you, his hand still rested gently against your cheek. His voice was quiet, almost a whisper. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your fingers brushing the fabric of his jacket draped over your shoulders. “Peter…”

He searched your face, his expression open but cautious. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

You didn’t say anything right away, your mind racing. The kiss had sent a thrill through you, a warmth that settled in your chest, but there was also a lingering uncertainty. You had spent so long trying to untangle your feelings—toward him, toward Joshua, toward everything. But in this moment, none of it seemed to matter.

“I don’t want you to stop,” you said softly, the words tumbling out before you could overthink them.

Peter exhaled, relief flashing across his face before his hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you into another kiss. This one was deeper, hungrier, like he’d been holding back for years and couldn’t any longer.

When you finally broke apart, your heart was racing, and you could barely catch your breath. Peter rested his forehead against yours, his voice low. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you to say that.”

You managed a small laugh, though your voice shook. “Probably not as long as I’ve waited for you.”

He tilted his head, his smile soft but teasing. “Is that so?”

You nodded, looking down at the ground. “Since we were kids. Maybe not this exact thing, but… yeah.”

Peter’s hand moved to your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His expression was unreadable, but his voice was steady. “I wish I’d known sooner. Maybe I wouldn’t have been so much of an idiot.”

“You’re still an idiot,” you said, though there was no heat in your tone.

He laughed, a sound that made your chest tighten in the best way. “Fair enough. But I’m trying, Y/N. I need you to know that.”

You nodded, your fingers brushing the edge of his sleeve. “I know. And I see it. I do.”

Peter looked at you like he wanted to say more, but the distant sound of footsteps on gravel interrupted the moment. He straightened slightly, his hand falling away from your cheek. “We should get back before they start sending a search party.”

“Right,” you said quickly, adjusting his jacket around your shoulders. “We don’t want to draw any more attention.”

He smirked, offering you his arm. “Shall we?”

You hesitated, then slid your hand into the crook of his elbow. As you walked back toward the main house, his closeness felt like a shield against the noise and expectations waiting for you inside.

Neither of you spoke as you reentered the party, but Peter’s hand brushed against yours, a silent promise that left your heart fluttering.

---

You opened your apartment door to see Peter in his usual outfit. He looked you up and down, a slight frown on his face. “It’s cold outside, why don’t you have a jacket?”

You gave him a slight pout, “it’ll ruin my outfit.”

Peter’s lips twitched into a small smirk, though the concern in his eyes didn’t waver. “Though that dress looks incredible on you,” he said, his voice soft but insistent, “I don’t want you to get sick again. Humor me?”

You sighed dramatically, rolling your eyes. “Fine. You’re impossible, you know that?”

Peter grinned, stepping back to lean casually against the doorframe. “I’ve been told. But I’m also right, aren’t I?”

You gave him a quick, light kiss, feeling his smile against your lips. “Don’t let it go to your head,” you murmured, turning toward your bedroom. “I’ll grab a jacket.”

As you disappeared down the hall, Peter watched you with a faint smile, his hands tucked into his pockets. When you returned, shrugging into a light jacket that didn’t clash with your dress, he straightened, his expression smug.

“There,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “Happy now?”

“Delighted,” he replied smoothly, reaching for the door. “Shall we?”

You locked up and stepped into the crisp evening air, Peter’s hand resting lightly on the small of your back as he guided you toward the car.

“Where are we going, anyway?” you asked, glancing at him.

Peter’s eyes glinted with amusement. “It’s a surprise.”

You huffed playfully. “You know I hate surprises.”

“Which is exactly why I planned one,” he countered, his tone teasing but gentle.

The drive was filled with soft music and comfortable silence, Peter occasionally stealing glances at you. It had been like this for weeks now—easy, familiar, and strangely comforting. He’d become your rock in the chaos, grounding you without ever pushing too hard.

“Alright, we’re here,” Peter said, pulling into a quiet parking lot.

You looked out the window, your brow furrowing. “An art gallery?”

Peter stepped out of the car and came around to open your door, offering his hand as you stepped out. “Not just any art gallery,” he said, his voice dropping slightly, as if sharing a secret.

Inside, the gallery was quiet, the faint hum of soft lighting illuminating the pieces on display. It wasn’t crowded—just a handful of other people scattered throughout the space, their voices hushed.

“You brought me to a gallery at night?” you asked, glancing at him as he led you toward a small alcove.

“You said you wanted to get out of your head,” Peter replied easily. “Art has a way of doing that. Besides, I thought you’d like this exhibit.”

He stopped in front of a painting, his hand still lightly on your arm as you took it in. It was abstract but vibrant, the colors swirling together in a way that felt both chaotic and intentional.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Peter didn’t respond right away, his gaze fixed on you rather than the painting. “It reminded me of you,” he said softly.

You turned to him, your heart skipping a beat. “Why?”

“The way it draws you in,” he said, his voice steady but quiet. “It’s complex, layered… but there’s a warmth to it. Something you can’t look away from.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you looked back at the painting, your fingers brushing lightly over the pendant around your neck. “Peter…”

He stepped closer, his voice low but firm. “I mean it, Y/N. You’re… something else entirely.”

You turned to face him, your heart pounding in your chest. “I don’t know what to say to that.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he replied, his lips twitching into a small smile. “Just… let me be here. With you.”

You hesitated, the vulnerability in his eyes stealing the breath from your lungs. “You’re already here,” you said softly.

“And I’m not going anywhere,” Peter said, his hand brushing against yours. “Not unless you tell me to.”

You looked up at him, your voice barely audible. “I don’t want you to.”

Peter’s smile deepened, his hand slipping fully into yours as he gave it a gentle squeeze. “Good.”

For the rest of the evening, you wandered the gallery together, his presence grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected. You didn’t think about the past or the uncertainty of the future. For now, it was just the two of you, lost in the quiet beauty of the moment.

---

“I feel bad leaving you at your apartment on Valentine’s, Liv. You sure you don’t want to come to the party with us?” You gave her your best puppy eyes, leaning against the kitchen counter.

Olivia laughed, shaking her head as she finished tying her hair into a loose bun. “Y/N, you’ve got a date. You’re not ditching me. Besides, I’ve got plans.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Plans? You didn’t mention that earlier. What plans?”

She smirked, grabbing a glass of wine from the counter. “Plans to spend the night in my pajamas, eating chocolate, and watching Colin Firth movies. It’s a solid tradition.”

“That sounds better than a Valentine’s party,” you admitted with a small laugh.

Olivia grinned. “See? No need to feel guilty. I’m perfectly content.” She pointed at you with her glass. “You, on the other hand, need to stop hovering and finish getting ready. Peter’s going to be here soon.”

Your stomach fluttered at the mention of his name, and you glanced at the clock. “I guess you’re right. Thanks, Liv.”

“Always,” she said, raising her glass in a mock toast. “Now go knock his socks off.”

---

When Peter arrived, he was dressed impeccably, as usual, in a charcoal suit that fit him perfectly. He looked you up and down, his expression softening into a smile. “You look stunning,” he said, his voice warm.

“Thanks,” you said, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “You clean up well too.”

“Ready to go?” he asked, offering his arm.

You nodded, slipping your hand through his. “Let’s do this.”

---

The Valentine’s party was in full swing by the time you arrived, the venue decorated with twinkling lights and an abundance of red and pink. Couples mingled, champagne flutes in hand, while a live band played soft jazz in the background.

Peter stayed close to you, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back as you navigated the crowd. “Not too overwhelming, I hope?” he asked, leaning closer so you could hear him over the music.

“It’s nice,” you said, glancing around. “More elegant than I expected.”

He chuckled. “They like to go all out for these things.”

You sipped the champagne he’d handed you earlier, your nerves settling slightly. Peter had a way of making you feel at ease, even in the most crowded rooms.

---

At one point, Peter led you to the edge of the dance floor, his expression unreadable. “Dance with me?” he asked, his voice soft.

You hesitated, glancing at the couples swaying gracefully to the music. “You know I’m not very good… And there are so many people watching…”

Peter’s smile softened, and he tilted his head, his tone gentle but teasing. “They’re not watching you. Trust me, they’re too busy worrying about how they look.” He held out his hand, his eyes steady on yours. “Come on. I’ll make it easy for you.”

You bit your lip, still unsure, but the warmth in his gaze eased some of your nerves. “Fine. Just… don’t let me trip.”

Peter chuckled as you placed your hand in his. “I wouldn’t dare.” He led you to the edge of the dance floor, his movements fluid and confident. He turned to face you, slipping one hand around your waist while the other held yours. “See? Easy.”

You glanced around, your heart racing. “For you, maybe.”

Peter leaned closer, his voice low. “For us.” His confidence was contagious, and you found yourself relaxing slightly. As he guided you in a gentle rhythm, you tried to focus on him instead of the crowd.

“You’re doing great,” he murmured, his breath warm against your cheek.

“I’m barely moving,” you replied, though you couldn’t keep the smile off your face.

“And yet, you’re perfect,” Peter countered, his lips twitching into a small smirk. He stepped back slightly, spinning you gently in a twirl.

A surprised laugh escaped you as you spun, your dress flowing lightly around you. “Peter!”

He caught you effortlessly, pulling you back into his arms. “What? I had to show you off a little.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you couldn’t help laughing. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” he teased, his hand tightening slightly on your waist as he brought you closer.

The music slowed, and Peter’s steps matched the gentle tempo, keeping you steady even as your nerves started to fade. You glanced up at him, your voice quieter now. “This isn’t so bad.”

“Told you,” he said, his tone soft but smug. “You just needed the right partner.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. “You always have to get the last word, don’t you?”

Peter tilted his head, considering. “Not always. But I’ll make an exception for you.”

The song ended, and the crowd clapped politely, but Peter didn’t release you right away. His gaze lingered on yours, and for a moment, it felt like the rest of the room disappeared.

“Thank you,” you said softly, your fingers brushing against his.

“For what?” he asked, his voice low.

“For making me forget how much I hate dancing,” you teased lightly, though the gratitude in your tone was real.

Peter smiled, his hand brushing against your cheek. “I’d say you’ve officially conquered it.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but someone bumped lightly into Peter’s shoulder, pulling you both back to reality. He sighed, stepping aside to let the couple pass. “Looks like the dance floor’s getting crowded. Want to find somewhere quieter?”

You nodded, your chest still fluttering from the moment. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

Peter led you away from the crowd, his hand resting lightly on your back as he guided you toward a quieter corner of the venue. As the hum of the party faded into the background, you glanced at him, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

“I’m glad I came tonight,” you said quietly.

Peter looked at you, his expression warm. “So am I.”

---

The chicken and potatoes were placed in the oven. You took off your oven mitt and walked into the living room, where Peter sat on your couch, his long legs stretched out in front of him as he fiddled with your radio. The TV played on mute, casting a soft glow across the room.

“How’s it going?” you asked, leaning against the doorway with a small smile.

Peter glanced up, a screwdriver in one hand and a look of concentration on his face. “Almost there. I think one of the wires was loose.”

You crossed the room, sitting on the armrest of the couch. “You didn’t have to fix it, you know. I could’ve just bought a new one.”

Peter smirked, glancing at you before returning his attention to the radio. “And let you replace a perfectly good radio just because of a loose wire? Absolutely not. Besides, I like a challenge.”

“Is that what this is? A challenge?” you teased, nudging his arm lightly.

“With this ancient thing? Definitely,” Peter said, chuckling. “But I’m winning.”

You laughed softly, the sound easing the cozy quiet between you. “You’re impossible.”

“So I’ve been told,” he replied, grinning as he twisted the screwdriver one last time. “Alright, moment of truth. Ready?”

“Do I have a choice?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Peter flicked the switch, and a burst of static filled the room before it smoothed into the soft strains of a classical piano piece. He leaned back, a triumphant look on his face. “There we go.”

You clapped your hands lightly, impressed despite yourself. “Okay, I’m officially convinced. You’re a genius.”

Peter grinned, setting the screwdriver aside. “I’ll try not to let it go to my head.”

“Too late,” you teased, sliding off the armrest and sitting next to him. The warmth of his shoulder brushing against yours made your stomach flip, though you tried not to show it.

Peter’s gaze flicked to you, the teasing glint in his eyes softening. “You’re in a good mood tonight.”

“I wonder why,” you said lightly, gesturing toward the now-working radio. “I mean, how could I not be? I’ve got dinner in the oven and free tech support on my couch.”

Peter chuckled, leaning back against the cushions. “I’ll take the credit for at least half of that.”

You shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips. “Seriously, though. Thanks for fixing it. I know it’s just a radio, but it means a lot.”

He tilted his head, studying you for a moment. “You don’t have to thank me, Y/N. I like doing things for you.”

Your cheeks warmed at his words, and you glanced down at your hands. “You’re just… really good at being here, you know? I don’t think I’ve said that enough.”

Peter reached over, his fingers brushing lightly against yours. “You don’t have to say it. I can see it.”

You looked up at him, his steady gaze making your heart race. “Still… it’s nice to hear sometimes.”

He smiled, his hand lingering on yours. “Then I’ll say it, too. I like being here. With you.”

The room fell quiet, the soft hum of the radio filling the space between you. Finally, Peter stood up, his hand holding yours. “What would you say to a dance?”

You let out a muffled chuckle, “what’s up with you and dancing?”

Peter smirked, tugging lightly at your hand until you stood. “It’s not about the dancing. It’s about the company.”

You rolled your eyes but let him pull you close. His hands rested lightly on your waist, and yours instinctively found their way to his shoulders. “I don’t think this qualifies as dancing,” you teased.

Peter grinned, swaying gently with you to the soft piano music coming from the radio. “It’s our version of dancing. Much better than all that formal nonsense.”

You relaxed into his hold, letting your body move with his. “I think you just like an excuse to pull me into your orbit.”

“Caught me,” he said lightly, though the warmth in his gaze gave his words a deeper meaning.

The two of you swayed in comfortable silence, your head eventually resting against his chest. His hand shifted, brushing lightly against your back as he pressed a kiss to your temple. You tilted your face up to look at him, and the look in his eyes made your heart skip.

Without a word, Peter leaned in and kissed you, his lips soft and deliberate against yours. The music faded into the background, the world narrowing to just the two of you. His hand slid to your jaw, tilting your face to deepen the kiss as he guided you in a slow turn.

Unbeknownst to you, the muted TV caught his attention as the breaking news banner flashed across the screen. The headline read: "Body of Joshua Beckett Found; Foul Play Suspected." A reporter’s voice narrated the grim discovery as images of Joshua’s smiling face and the scene of the investigation played.

Peter’s eyes darkened briefly, but his movements didn’t falter. He smoothly shifted you so your back was to the screen, blocking your view entirely as he deepened the kiss.

“Peter,” you murmured against his lips, your hands gripping his shirt lightly.

“Hmm?” he responded, his voice low, his lips brushing yours with each syllable.

“Nothing,” you whispered, the thought slipping away as he kissed you again.

He swayed you both a few more steps before finally slowing to a stop, pressing one last lingering kiss to your lips. His forehead rested against yours as you caught your breath, your hands still resting on his shoulders.

Peter’s arms tightened slightly around you, guiding your head to rest gently against his chest as the two of you continued to sway. His hand traced light, soothing circles over your back, and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat was calming, almost hypnotic. You let out a soft sigh, closing your eyes and leaning into him.

“Comfortable?” Peter murmured, his voice low and warm, close to your ear.

You nodded, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Very.”

“Good.” His hand lingered on your lower back as he slowed the swaying to a near standstill. He tilted his head slightly, keeping an eye on the TV just beyond your line of sight. The news anchor’s voice faded, and the screen switched to a cheerful weather update.

Peter exhaled subtly, his grip on you shifting as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. Then, gently, he eased back just enough to look at you. “Fixing that radio was definitely worth it,” he said, his lips quirking into a small, playful smile.

You tilted your head, catching the faint amusement in his tone. “Just the radio?”

Peter chuckled, leaning down to press another soft kiss to your lips. “And maybe the dancing,” he admitted. His hand slid to your jaw, holding you steady as he kissed you again, slower this time, as if savoring the moment.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his voice quiet but steady. “You’re impossible to resist, you know that?”

Your cheeks flushed, and you gave a small laugh, your fingers toying with the fabric of his shirt. “Takes one to know one.”

He grinned, his hand slipping to your waist. “Touché.” His gaze softened, and he tilted his head slightly, brushing his nose against yours. “Should we check on dinner before we get too distracted?”

You nodded, though you made no effort to move just yet. “Probably.”

Peter’s smile deepened, and he kissed you one more time before stepping back and reaching for your hand. “Come on, then. Let’s not burn the place down.”

The two of you moved toward the kitchen, his fingers lacing with yours as he walked beside you. It was easy, natural—like the rhythm you’d fallen into with him over the past few months. You didn’t think about anything else, just the warmth of his hand in yours and the simple comfort of his presence.

And if Peter’s grip on your hand tightened slightly as you passed by the muted TV, you didn’t notice.

so in my head (even though when peter murdered betty it was completely justified, she was blackmailing him!) reader is actually the 'affair.' you're telling me that he would willingly have a relationship with a prostitute when he got upset that reader goes on a date, or even ignores him?? yeah, no. he's too obsessed. which is why i switched it and had him kill joshua.

this was going to be a short oneshot, and after the first two dates with joshua peter was going to reveal his feelings for reader and it was going to be a happy ever after, but then i thought "wait, he could just kill joshua" to keep it somewhat canon to the character of peter. and i know that all of this could've been done quicker if they just talked to each other and confessed their feelings, but as i wrote it, i made it so peter wanted you to confess to him first (which is what he heard when you left that voicemail for joshua, even though you don't know that peter heard it). he may be obsessed with you, but he still wants to know that you actually want him.

anyways, thanks for reading! and i hope it was up to y'all's standards <33

[ambiguous-avery]

Dean Birthday Prompt

Dean Winchester x fem!Reader/You | WC: 1029

Summary: Saw this prompt by @jollyhunter, and I just fell in love with it. It's a day late, but better late than never.

Tags/Warnings: No use of Y/N, fluff, no beta we die like men

“Hey, sleepyhead, wake up. Looks like we need to huddle up for the night.” You stirred, slowly coaxed back into the waking world by the feeling of a warm hand on your knee. When had you fallen back asleep? You swore that just a few moments ago you had been belting it out with Dean after he had said that you singing with him would be his ‘birthday wish.’ All traces of sleep had been wiped from your system by those words. Dean’s birthday. His birthday. He got one of those because he was back. He was alive. So you couldn’t have denied him his birthday wish even if it had been asking you to dance stark naked in the rain. 

You sat upright in your spot, wiping sleep from your eyes as you looked around.

“We close to a motel?” you asked.

“They were full,” Sam said, folding the map he had in his hand. It always appalled you how much research stuff the man had on him at all times. Even with the entire internet accessible in his pocket, he still had a small library with him wherever he went.

“Hence the ‘huddle up for the night’ comment,” Dean added. You nodded, your lips forming a small ‘oh’ in understanding. It wouldn’t be the first night you had slept in the Impala with the boys, and it likely wouldn’t be the last. But why did it have to be this night? Dean seemed completely unbothered by it, but you knew him better than that. 

If you only ever took Dean at his word, then the man was a stone, impassive and unaffected by anything around him. But you could see it in the way he frowned. See it in the way he held every failure in his shoulders. See it in the way his jaw would clench when he thought he could do better. And ever since he had returned, you could see it in the way his eyes would glass over. You didn’t have any doubt that in those moments, he was back in the worst moments of his existence. And you felt powerless to help him. How were you supposed to help someone who wouldn’t ever tell you what was wrong? Dean pulled off onto a side road that you were sure wasn’t actually a road if the sudden bumps and jolts of the car were anything to go by. It was another couple of minutes before he finally parked the car next to a tree line. When you looked out the window, it was pitch black outside, not even the hint of a streetlight off in the distance.

The engine turned off, leaving the thudding of the rain as the sound in the car before Dean pushed his door open and moved to join you in the back seat.

“Scoot over, sweetheart,” he said, only to half climb over you before you had a chance to shift around for him. Sam stretched out on the front bench, slipping his jacket off and tucking it beneath his neck for support as he rested his head on the door’s armrest. It was an unspoken rule between the three of you. Sam was the tallest, so it went without saying that he got a bench to himself. And you couldn’t say you hated ‘having’ to find a way to squeeze into a small space with Dean, even if it meant you’d wake up with a crick in your neck the next day. The last time the three of you had slept in the Impala, you had slept on top of Dean, and as much fun as that had been, he hadn’t let you live down the fact that you had drooled all over his shirt in your sleep. And you weren’t looking for a repeat. Switching positions was a no-go too since he would likely suffocate you with his weight crushing you into the leather bench. 

So instead, you kicked off your shoes and sat yourself in the corner of the back seat, one leg stretched across the bench, and the other settled in the footwell. Dean, picking up on your thoughts, sprawled out on the bench parallel with your one leg and rested his head against your thigh. You adjusted slightly, and he moved with you until you were both situated as comfortably as you were going to be. Instinctively, your fingers carded through his hair, and you could feel him relax into your touch. His jaw slackened, and you felt the tension he held in his shoulders fall away, if only just. 

“Sorry this is how you have to spend your birthday...” you mumbled, looking down at him. For once, he looked peaceful. Dean chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest.

“Sweetheart, you say that like this is a bad thing.”

“Well it’s certainly not ideal.”

Dean’s green eyes were suddenly open and staring up at you, his gaze intense and serious.

“I’d take a birthday like this over anything else in the world.” And for the first time since he had been back, you saw him. There, in the back of the Impala with Sam already snoring in the front seat, you saw Dean without any of his defenses up. You saw the pieces of him that he worked so hard to put back together on his own. You saw the gratitude he held for the present moment. You saw the momentary peace he felt. “Just being here. Alive. With you and Sammy? The people I care about most in this world? That’s the only birthday present I could ever want. Everything else would just be a bonus.”

And you believed him. Dean wasn’t going to be okay in a day. Hell, he might not ever be okay in a lifetime. But you could be with him every step of the way. No matter where it led you.

“Happy birthday, Dean.” You gently scratched at his scalp, and he hummed in content. It might have been another birthday on the road. But you realized that the day didn’t matter. Moments like these were timeless. And even the pounding rain outside couldn’t wash them away.

---

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[sukirichi]

PLEASE STOP COPYING FICS ‼️

I am by no means gatekeeping concepts or tropes. We all know that it’s normal to see the same tropes or AUs be used differently, and that is not plagiarism. However, I recently found a fic that was oddly similar to my old (and discontinued) Gojo x Reader series, Reckless. The CEO! Gojo is nothing new, and neither is an accidental pregnancy trope. The only reason I am concerned is because this Gojo series I found has the exact same themes as Reckless that consists of: a playboy CEO Gojo with a very notorious reputation, a poor reader who is an employee and asset to the company (someone who works closely with Gojo), reader getting knocked up from a one night stand with Gojo, reader with a seemingly dead/absent mother yet still in contact with her father, Gojo with a very traditional family who does not like reader, and Gojo with an ex he struggles to let go of - which are all elements of Reckless.

The first chapter of that Gojo fic is also eerily similar to my first chapter with the same flow of: YN finding out she’s pregnant and her friend being there for her, Gojo saying he’ll take responsibility because ‘they both made the baby’, YN having to move in with Gojo to take care of the baby, and both of them coming to a mutual agreement that their ‘relationship’ will be purely for the baby’s benefit. The flow of events and specific details about the characters’ backgrounds are too similar to mine.

Again, I am not gatekeeping concepts, just as how I’ve had other writers ask me if they could write their own stories or takes based off of the NAOYA’S TROPHY WIFE COLLECTION or the BONTEN HUSBANDS EXCLUSIVE, and I’m fine with that. I’m even happy people are inspired by what I write. But being inspired is completely different from taking someone’s story and posting it as yours. Please trust your own creativity and skills in writing. You can write amazing stories and have people love them without having to steal from others.

It’s sad to say this is not the first time I, and other writers, have been plagiarized. It’s even more upsetting to know that a friend of mine who has also written a Gojo series (that I’m sure you all know and dearly love) experiences the same issues with the same person. The fact that this is happening to many writers out there is disheartening. We work hard and pour a lot of love in the stories we create. None of us are getting paid for this, and we simply want to share our passions with others. So please, let us be kinder with one another and show love and support the right way. If you love a fic, you give feedback and rb/comment + show support to the writer. You don’t steal their ideas and play it off as your own because you liked it.

[sendme-2hell]

Alicent Hightower/ Rhaenrya Targaryen, alternate universe-1950’s naples italy, friends to enemies to almost-lovers, communism, angst, internalized homophobia

Language: Italian + translations

Words: 750,000+

Link here

[lususnatura]

🎤 🎤 🎤

a song that i associate with my muse meme!

AHH, hey, ramone!! thank you for sending in this prompt :D since you sent in three of the mic's, i shall now be treating you to three songs that make me think of blamore when i hear them / that i associate with it. an explanation of why i chose them will be in the tags <3

hozier - who we are.

icehouse - crazy.

depeche mode - personal jesus.

[mainfaggot]

the last time i felt emotionally fulfilled in a friendship was when i was 15, and before that when i was 13. im turning 21 next month