#doesn’t even remember (except in his dreams) and the man he knows as his husband that he’s been helping bring about these horrors for a year

[quietwingsinthesky]

hey. hi. yeah you. you should right now think about the ending of human nature/family of blood where the fobwatched doctor demands to know why he should die for the doctor as he was to exist, why he isn’t allowed to hold onto love, why he has to give up everything he knows he is and become someone else just to save people. and you should be imagining that, but instead of some nurse he met, the person he loves is the master, who, even knowing that it’s his fault that he exists like this in the first place, he can’t stop loving, and worse, knows he still won’t once he takes his memories back but that’ll it’ll be so much more complicated, so much more painful. and why does it have to be him.

[misstycloud]

Yandere arranged fiancé x reader

You’re the sole daughter of the famous (l/n) family; big corporations, monopolisation and seemingly endless wealth are all words associated with your family. You have lived well your entire life and will for the rest of it, too. You have never been denied of anything, whether it be new clothes, makeup or whatever new hobby had caught your interest at the moment- except for the chance to take over the business after your father.

Unfortunately, despite how loving your family could be, they still held on to old traditions and ideas. One of which was that the large portion of the inheritance should go to the son. No matter how hard you try or how much you plead, you will never inherit the companies.

Your family doesn’t understand. They believe you should be content with your position- of course you know you’re incredibly privileged, but you hoped do be able to contribute to something instead of just sitting around forever. It made things meaningless. Did you only exist to become someone’s wife?

You barely remembered the first time you met him. You were around seven and he was ten. Despite your foggy recollection of what you two did that day, you did recall the expression on his face; emptiness and indifference. It was the day before that you heard the word fiancé for the first time. You didn’t know what it really meant, but thanks to your parents guidance, you understood it meant you two are going to be together for the rest of your lives.

Your parents had a couple whom they’ve been close friends for a long time, and it just so happened they had a son a little over your age. They were rich, just like you. So why not marry you two when you got older?

The first impression you had of him was of the oddnes he carried with him. He never smiled, never cried and barely spoke. He only lest he’d you with that blank look on his face. At least he played with you. Well, it depends on if it could be called playing, considering it was you dragging him around and demanding he humour you. Looking back at it, you feel bad for him having to endure the torture of a child’s endless energy. However, he didn’t complain at all and kept passing the ball after you continued sending it his way.

Whatever ‘I’m happy so I’m gonna make you happy with my happiness’- magic you had in your youth did eventually rub off on him. The change was evident in more ways in one. He started smiling- albeit they were small- and even gave the occasional chuckle. After that you became friends for real and it wasn’t forced as it’d felt in the beginning. This positive shift served as a strong motivator for both your parents’ willingness to have you wed. You supposed you would be rather devastated as well if your one and only child had come out with the emotional constipation your fiancé had, so you understood their encouragement. They treated you like some miracle cure.

You were content with your life and arrangement for years. That was until you got older and began actually thinking about your situation in detail. Your ambitions and needs also grew and you found yourself wishing to work to make your family greater; to put down the sweat and blood your ancestors had to give you the life you had now. But it was simply a dream, one that wouldn’t come true. You would never forget the confused- almost mocking-disbelief your mother and father showed you when you asked to inherit the company.

“Sweetie, why’d you ever be interested in such things?” Your mother asked. “Simply relax and enjoy the life you have now- the life your husband will continue to provide for you.”

You looked towards your father, hoping he would support you in any shape or form but he nodded in agreement with your mother.

“She’s right, dear.”

He was never a man of many words, however you a single sentence you knew the topic was done with.

While you had no doubt they loved you, they certainly didn’t understand you either. They couldn’t fathom why you weren’t content with your life and didn’t wish for your partner to take care of everything.

You spiraled afterwards. You could have everything and nothing at once. It was a strange feeling and it left you feeling angry. And that anger had to be directed at something: your fiancé. You began thinking he was the source of your misfortune. Because of him you would lose your freedom and have to live by his restrictions and rules for the rest of your life. Once you turn (y/o) you’ll have to marry him no matter your opinion. You would solely be his.

There was still time before your wedding and you’d be damned if you couldn’t live how you wanted until then. In an attempt of rebellion you moved out of your family’s estate and into an apartment of your own. (They agreed because they thought you desired to spend some alone time with your fiancé without them being near) You also stopped responding to his calls; he’d been calling every week to get updates on how things were going. You simply put your phone on silent mode whenever his name popped up. After the fifth time of calling, you blocked his number in great annoyance. Why couldn’t he just leave you be? You’re not ten anymore, you don’t have to talk every second of the day, ugh.

After a couple weeks with your new living conditions, another thought hit you. If you were going to be tied down to one man forever, why not meet as many as you can right now? And so you started going out more, inviting your friends to go clubbing and perhaps find someone interesting. More weeks followed, with a new guy in your apartment every month. Some stayed for the night only, while some preferred to stay a little longer. However, they all left as quickly as they’d come when you’d mention your engagement. Either they didn’t want to get tangled up in some lovers drama or they’d cuss you out for being a cheater. Were you one? Whatever, you thought, it doesn’t count if you don’t love each other- which you didn’t.

But one day, completely unforeseen by you, he swung by your new apartment. He’d been worried about you. Almost three months had gone by without a single word from you. He believed you might’ve gotten in an accident. Suddenly, you felt ashamed. It was strange, you hadn’t felt anything like it earlier. But now you did. You realised that your sweet, innocent fiancé wasn’t the root of your problems. You need to stop directing your anger at the wrong person. You explained everything, about how you felt and why you ignored him for so long.

You profusely apologised to him a million times when he found out about the others you’d been spending time with. You would never forget the look on his face that day when he found out. It was cold- colder than you’d ever seen him. Of course, he was like that to most, but never to you. In the end, he chose to forgive you. He told you that he understood and that it was fine; you weren’t wed yet and it was natural that you wanted to explore. You swore that you’d stop and make it up to him, while he said it wasn’t necessary, you hadn’t actually done anything wrong. You also swore that you’d be loyal to him and that you’d never do anything behind his back when you’re legally married. Thankfully, he appeared to believe you.

However, you wished you could’ve foreseen what would happen next. Nowhere in your mind, did you think you’d find yourself in your luxurious bathroom, staring at the two red lines of a pregnancy test. Eapecially when your fiancé didn’t have a part in it.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

[imaginaryf1shots]

My Girls (XI) | Max Verstappen

WC: 7.6K

Driver!OC x Max Verstappen

Summery: Cecilia Hansson daughter of a Swedish billionaire, a race car driver, with a dream of making it big in Formula 1. However she has a few secrets that may hurt her as women are disliked in the sport.

Series Warnings: google translated french, dutch, cursing, child abandonment, absent father, drinking, car accidents, Jos Verstappen, misogyny, Christian horner (tell me if i missed anything)

AN: The next chapter will be the last one 🙂

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Max Masterlist

Previous | Next

He Who Must Not Be Named

It was a normal day in MonacoIt was a normal day in Monaco. Adeline was home alone for the day. Her husband was in Sweden for work with Laurent. Cecilia was off racing with Nathalie and Max. Adeline was relaxing a bit before heading out to meet her friends for lunch. Adeline is a graceful, soft-spoken woman. Her early life was hard, but when she married Börje, she married up and now lives a life of luxury. Her husband likes to pamper her and give her everything she ever dreamed of.

When the doorbell rang Adeline was confused, she wasn't expecting anyone or anything, her mind went to how sometimes Cecilia orders stuff to their house if she doesn't want Max to see it or they weren't there and didn't want anyone to get in their apartment.

Opening the door she was rendered speechless, here stood the man that she once welcomed into her own, the man she treated like family, a man that she treated like a son something he never experience, the man her family showed so much love to, here stood the man that caused her daughter so much anguish and hurt but gave her the best thing in her life. 

“It’s good to see you Adeline.” The man had a smirk on his face, his hands in his pockets and his voice cocky. Adeline had to blink a couple of times and swallow before she was able to get her voice back.

”Mathew, what are you doing here?” Last she saw him was in 2015 and it wasn’t on good terms.

”I came to see Nathalie.” Mathew said and stuck his head inside looking around, where all this attitude came from, she had no idea. He wasn’t like this when he was with Cecilia, the nerve of him turning up at her doorsteps 7 years after his daughter was born and asking for her. “Won’t you invite me in?”

”No.” Adeline said and held the door tighter, she was blocking his way in, the usually nice and polite woman doesn’t really hate anyone, she holds no hate in her heart, but, Mathew, he’s the exception. She holds so much hate and resentment towards him, all those feelings that she gained seeing how heartbroken her daughter was when he broke up with her and chose not to be a part of Nathalie’s life, before she was even born. all those feelings that went away with years came back once she saw his face. “And you can’t see Nathalie as well.”

”Why not? She’s my daughter.” The audacity of this man, Adeline frowns and scoffs.

”I’m surprised you’ve remembered, but she’s not your daughter and she’s not here.” Adeline told him. “Good day to you, but please don’t come back.”

Adeline closed the door in his face and even locked it for good measure, she had to take a few deep breaths to calm her heart, seeing him unsettled her. Why is he back? Why is he asking about Nathalie? What game is he playing?

Adeline plops down on her sofa, and opens her phone and presses for her contacts before she stops, who does she call? Her husband, who is on a business trip and will take his plane home? Her daughter, who is busy with the last couple races of the season? Both are working and will get affected by this, it takes her a surprisingly long time to decide who to call. She calls neither of them, instead she calls Laurent first.

”Bonjour, maman.” Laurent answers as he always does, he’s always the fastest person to pick up her calls.

”Laurent.” Was all it took for her son to know that there’s something going on, his mother doesn’t call him by his name a lot, it’s always a nickname or amour, never Laurent.

”What’s wrong? Did something happen? Are you hurt?” She hears movement in the background as Laurent panics.

“No, no I’m fine.” She reassures him before she sighs. “Is your dad around?”

”He’s in a meeting, if you want I can go get him though.” 

“No, I wanted to talk to you first.”

”What’s going on, maman? You’re scaring me.” Laurent sounded beyond worried.

”Mathew came asking for Nathalie.” The line went silent after Adeline managed to get those words out, both needed a moment to come to terms with what Adeline said, even to herself it sounded out of this world.

”Mathew? as in…” Laurent had no idea what to call him, he’s not Nathalie’s dad, but he’s not just Cecilia’s ex as well.

”Oui.” Adeline felt a headache coming, her day is ruined and her family’s day is about to be as well. 

“Did you tell Cece?” Laurent asked, he wanted to assess the situation first before he said or did anything.

”No, I called you first and I was thinking of telling Max, he’s going to be the calmer one out of the two.” Adeline said walking her son through her thought process. “I thought it’s the best thing to do, and you can tell your father, he’ll be very angry about it especially since I’m here alone, I don’t even know how they allowed him to come up without calling me first.”

”Yeah, he’s going to have a word with the security, rightfully so.” Laurent isn’t amused with the security, their family has lived in that house since before he can remember, and his father takes their safety and security very seriously. “I think calling Max is the best thing, but wait until after the race today, I’ll tell papa.”

”Okay, but do tell him I’m alright, and that nothing happened.”

”I will, but I’m sure he’ll call you straight after anyways.” 

“That’s true, bye mon amour.”

”Bye, maman.”

Adeline waits until the race is over and she's sure that they finished debrief and all their duties before she calls Max. Max doesn’t pick up the first time, making Adeline nervous, her leg bouncing up and down. The second time he declines but he calls her back not even 5 minutes later.

”Hello.” Max’s voice greets her.

”Hello, Max, is this a good time for us to talk?” Adeline asked, aware that just because he picked up doesn’t mean he’s not busy.

”Yeah, yeah, it’s fine, but Cecilia isn’t with me.” Max was in the car being driven back to the hotel, Nathalie and Cecilia already left, since she finished earlier than he did.

”No, I wanted to talk to you.” Adeline’s voice was a dead giveaway that something happened, she didn’t sound like her usual self at all.

”Did something happen?” Max asked frowning, Adeline took a moment to answer him, saying it the second time hasn’t made it easier for her.

”I’m sorry to be telling you this now, especially after you won today-“

”Look, whatever you need to tell me, you can say it, it’s not my first win.” Max wasn’t cocky, but this had to be big for her to call him twice and want to talk to him and not Cecilia, his mind filled with ideas about what could possibly be wrong.

“I didn’t know if to call you and tell you or call Cecilia, but I think you’ll be calmer than her and then you can judge how she is before you tell him, but Mathew came today and he wanted to see Nathalie.” Once more the line went silent but only for a moment.

”Mathew? Who's Math-“ Max stopped himself once he realised who Adeline was talking about. “Cecilia’s ex? That Mathew?”

“I’m afraid so.” Adeline sighed and closed her eyes.

“And he asked to see Nathalie?” Max asked, sounding deathly calm.

“Yes.”

”Did he ask about Cecilia?”

”No.”

”Did he say why?”

”No, just that she’s his daughter and he wants to see her.” Max scoffed at the words.

”Like hell he is.” Max muttered, his jaw clenching. “Are you okay? I know you were alone today.”

”I’m fine, don't worry, Börje will come by today or tomorrow morning, I think.” Adeline assured him. 

“That’s good, I’ll tell Cecilia, don’t worry about that.” Max was battling so many emotions inside himself right now, but he had to be calm and he had to tell his girlfriend first before they could do anything. It won’t be pretty and it won’t be nice but he has to be the one to tell her. He says his goodbyes to Adeline and spends the rest of the ride debating and thinking about how he’ll tell Cecilia. He tried to keep his thoughts from wandering and going to dark spots as much as he can, It won’t do him or anyone else any good. 

By the time he reached the hotel, he had everything planned out, what to say and what their next steps should be. However the moment he walked in it all went out the window.

“Daddy!” The arms of his beautiful 7 year old wrapped around his middle, head buried in his stomach. “What took you so long?”

Max as always pulled her up, it doesn't matter to him that she's gotten too old and heavy to be carried. He works out, he's strong and as long as he's capable he'll carry her. “Sorry liefje, the debrief took longer than we expected.”

“Its alright daddy, mommie already showered and everything.” Nathalie said and started telling him everything that's been done since she last saw him. Her every move. Cecilia’s every move.

“You little snitch, are you going to tell him how many times I've been to the bathroom.” Cecilia teased her daughter, kissing her head and Max's lips as she passed them.

“Three times.” Nathalie said proudly, making Cecilia laugh, Max managed to only give her a smile.

“We have to talk about privacy and secrets and what to tell and what not to tell.” Cecilia said from the living room part of the hotel suite, Max made it to the bedroom. He already showered at the track, he placed Nathalie on the bed and went to his suitcase to get his clothes before he went to the bathroom to change.

“But we don't keep secrets from daddy!” Nathalie exclaimed, flabbergasted that her mum would think to not tell her dad something.

“I guess not.” Cecilia said and came back with a water bottle, she kissed her daughter’s cheek, and plopped down beside her on the bed. “When do you have the call with your friend again?” Nathalie scrambled off the bed almost tripping as she rushed to the living room where her iPad is. Her friend and her scheduled a zoom call, something that she started to do when she's with her parents for a week or two. Max came out of the bathroom in a pair of shorts and shirt. He said nothing to Cecilia but sat on the bed with his back to her. Cecilia sat up and crawled towards him, she gave him a back hug, her front pressed to his back, her arms wrapping around him.

“You're quiet.” Cecilia says and presses small kisses to his neck and the parts of his jaw she could reach, Max closed his eyes enjoying the feeling of her lips feathering up and down on his skin, making him shiver. “What's wrong?”

“Cecilia.” She instantly stops and pushes herself away from her boyfriend. Max turned to look at her, she looked like he electrocuted her.

“Are you angry at me or something?” She asks him, in his eyes she looked small and confused. 

“What? No, why would you think that?” Max was now confused, why did she think he's angry with her.

“You called me Cecilia, we're alone and you never call me Cecilia.” Realisation dawned on Max, and despite what he's about to tell her, he smiles.

“No, schatje, I'm not mad, not at you at least.” Max explained and took her hand in his, he gave her a squeeze. 

“Amor, What happened.?”

“Mathew went to your parents house today.” Max decided to drop the bomb on her, Cecilia recoiled from him and was off the bed in a second.

“What? Why?” All colour drained out of her.

“Cilia, calm down.” Max followed her off the bed and around it, Cecilia was already shaking. He glanced out the door and saw Nattie occupied with her friend talking animatedly. “Just listen to me.” Cecilia gave a hesitant nod and took a deep shaky breath. “Your mum called me, he went to your family house and asked for Thalia.”

“That fucker, why the hell is he asking about her?” Cecilia’s anger is very evident, she's always been known for being calm, collected and patient. The Ice Queen of Motorsport, and a soft hearted woman behind the scenes. 

“I don't know, but we're finishing the season next week, your dad is back with your mum and he signed away his rights. He has no grounds to stand on, if he wants to do anything.” Max said and Cecilia shook her head no, she’s not satisfied, this affects her and Nathalie and even Max. It’ll cause so much trouble if he shows his face again.

”No, no Max, it’s not okay, he agreed to not show up again, he agreed to never see her and to not be a part of her life, what if he wants to be a part of her life? What if he wants to take her from me? I can’t-I can’t-“

”Cilia, Schatje, please calm down.” Max cups her face and her eyes settle on his and fill with tears. “Don’t jump to conclusions, we have no idea why he wants to see her, and he has no right to see her, so he won’t, we’re not letting him, okay?”

”Okay, yeah, you’re right.” Max pulls Cecilia in for a hug and kisses her head, as she always does when she needs comfort Cecilia tries to hide herself in Max. 

“We’re a team, you’re not going through this alone and Nathalie is mine.” Max whispers and holds her tighter. “I’d be dead before he takes her from me.”

”Thank you amour.”

”No need to thank me, we’re in this together.”

Max goes on to win the last race of the season with Cecilia coming P3, Max won the world championship a few races back, a race that saw him as 3rd time World Champion.

The couple hadn’t been in Monaco since they heard about Mathew and he hadn’t turned up to the Hannsson household. Börje had a word with the security team at the apartment building and there has been a change in the staff. 

The family calmed down when it was two weeks after the final race and there was no trace of the British man. It seemed like he’s not in Monaco and that maybe he just winded them up for the fun of it and that he doesn’t actually want to see Nathalie.

It was a random Tuesday when Max, Charles and Lando(who was here for the week before he’ll start his winter activities) met up for some reason or the other, the trio’s relationship is ever closer because of their connections to the female driver. Something that the fans love, especially the Lestappen shippers.

”Max Verstappen!” A male voice called for the RedBull driver while they were walking around looking for the shop Cecilia told them about, before they were going to head back for a late lunch at the Hansson-Verstappen household. The trio instinctively turned around to look at the man, expecting a fan but he didn’t look like it.

”Yes.” Max answers confused, it took Charles a moment to realise who he is but the moment he did you could see it on his face.

“Mathew?” Charles was the one to say, and Max looked at him frowning before he looked back at the man who he now knows is Mathew, his eyes take in the British man, the man that caused so much trouble in Cecilia’s life, the man that donated his sperm to bring his daughter in this world, the man he wants to punch so bad for coming and asking about Nathalie.

”I’ve been hoping to run into you.” Mathew said and walked closer so he was standing in front of Max, his face in a smug grin, hands in his pockets looking like he has no care in the world. 

“And here I was hoping you’d died in a ditch or something.” Max replied smoothly, Lando choked on his breath, he has no idea who Mathew is and why Charles and Max have this reaction to him, Mathew chuckles looking amused.

“Nice one.” Mathew runs his eyes over to the other two drivers, before they settle on Charles. “It’s been a while, Charles.”

”Not long enough.” Charles muttered, Charles is a nice person by nature, he’s never not nice but here he is Lando seeing him angry at a person for no reason that he knows of.

”Looks like getting into Formula 1 changed you.” Mathew gave them a condescending look and rolled his eyes.

“What do you want? Get on with it.” Charles said wanting this interaction to be over already, he doesn't know about Mathew turning up to the Hansson household and asking for his goddaughter.

”Same thing I asked for when I met Adeline, I want my daughter.” Mathew shrugged as if that’s the easiest most simplest thing ever, and he’s not asking for a daughter he left and knows nothing about.

”First, she’s not your daughter, second, it’s Mrs. Hansson to you, third, you better piss off and get out of our faces and our lives.” Max said and took a step closer, his tone was not to be taken lightly, Mad Max may be something of the past but when he’s pushed he’s right there. Lando then realised what’s going on, he realised who Mathew is. Charles also realises that Mathew went and asked for Nathalie, another reason for him to not be nice or kind to Mathew.

“Huh, no can do I’m afraid.” Mathew’s grin was gone, and the dark side of him came to the surface. “Look, just because you’re fucking her mother, doesnt make you her father, she’s mine, her DNA is half off mine.”

”And just because you donated your sperm doesnt make her yours.” They’re face to face now, both waiting for something small to put their hands on the other. “Where have you been the last 7 years? Before that when Cecilia was pregnant, where were you? I bet you were drunk off your ass sleeping with women, getting them pregnant before leaving them for someone else, how many children do you have running out there without a father? huh? A lot I bet, listen here Mathew, Nathalie is mine, and you better not ask for her or even think about her, because you’re never seeing her.”

“We’ll see when Cecilia sees me what she says about it, I bet she’ll just spread her-“ Max didn’t let him finish before he was swinging his fest and punching Mathew with all he got, in a second he was holding his shirt and swinging for another punch, Mathew took a moment to swing his fest. The other two drivers didn't have enough time to separate the two before they both landed a few punches in.

By the time they were pulled off each, Max's fist was bloody, his face bruised with a split lip. Both men were heaving, Charles pushed Mathew away making stumble and fall, but he didn't care, he helped Lando push and move Max away from the annoying Brit. 

“Come on, mate.” Lando stresses, Max is not cooperating with the two drivers, they have to use their full strength to pull him away from the sight of Mathew. Max is boiling with anger, Lando who came in with Max drives the dutchman's car while Charles follows in his Ferrari. 

When they reach the apartment Max opens the door and storms inside, he ignores Cecilia’s calls and everyone else and heads to the bedroom. Lando comes in followed by Charles, Cecilia’s standing there looking at them confused, Alex also looks confused but she stayed with Nattie on the living room floor playing with her barbies and their sports cars.

“What happened?” Cecilia asked her friends worried.

“Uh, we saw Mathew.” Charles says softly and her heart drops, she crosses her arms and shuffles her legs.

“They got in a fight.” Lando adds after a beat of silence.

“Fuck.” Cecilia mutters and pushes her hair back, stressing.

“Look, Cece, we can take Nattie for the day and you and Max can talk about it.” Charles offers and she turns to look at Nathalie before looking back at her friends, Lando gives her a nod and she sighs.

“If it's not too much trouble.” Cecilia place a hand on Charles arm in gratitude.

“Hey, she's my goddaughter.” Charles offers her a smile and pulls her in for a quick hug before he heads to the living room with an enthusiastic. “Who wants to have a sleepover at Charlie's house?”

“Mathew really said some stuff to piss Max off.” Lando told her and she wants to strangle Mathew, he came into their lives and is messing it up. “Max was angrier than I've ever seen him before… And that's saying a lot.”

“Thank you Lando.” Cecilia say and also gives him a hug. Charles is already helping Nattie pack an overnight bag. Cecilia says goodbye to your friends and daughter, Alex gives her a long hug before they head out.

Opening the door to their shared bedroom, the only source of light is from the windows, Max is sitting on the bed with his head in his hands, his knuckles in his right hand are bruised and busted.

“Max.” Cecilia says and goes to sit by his side, her hand lands on his back, moving up and down. “Amour, please look at me.”

Max turned his head to look at her still leaning forwards, Cecilia grimaced when she saw his face, it’s already bruised. Cecilia went to the kitchen and got some ice before she rushed back, Max was sitting in the exact position he was when she left him, placing the ice on his cheek, the only reaction he gave her was closing his eyes.

”Mon amour, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Cecilia whispers her eyes filled with tears, her ex taunted Max, he hit him, Mathew is causing Max anguish and she feels guilty for it all.

”No, no, it’s not your fault, you don’t say sorry okay?” Max was out of his mind, he’s still so pissed off and the last thing he wants is for Cecilia to feel guilty in any way shape or form. “This is his fault, and his fault only. That asshole knew what he was doing.”

Tears gather in her eyes and she bites her bottom lip, her eyes focusing on the ice she's holding to Max’s face. Max takes a deep breath and sighs, they sit in silence for a few long minutes, there's so much emotion, the tension is high.

“Did Nattie go with them?” Max asked breaking the silence, Cecilia nods her head and Max removes the ice towel From his face gently taking her hands in his. “Come on.” He says so very softly, Max is always soft with her and Nattie but this is a different kind of soft. This is a scared man that's trying to be strong, this is a man that has so much on his shoulders and doesn't want to show it, that is a man has so much to lose. Max is vulnerable and he's trying not to show it, it is rare for him to be so vulnerable. Max leads Cecilia to the bathroom, once they're in their ensuite he turns the tab on in the huge tub they have facing the window. They're silent, Cecilia watches Max with intensity, her heart is beating fast in her chest, and Max still won't meet her eyes. So when he comes to stand in front of her Cecilia raises his chin with the tip of her fingers, and his eyes move up her figure until they meet her eyes. Their eyes meet and every thought, everything that Cecilia wanted to say is gone, she can't remember what she wanted to say. Max's blue eyes trap her, people always say that eyes are windows to the soul and she couldn't help but agree at this moment.

Max moves his hands down to the hem of her shirt and lefts it up, Cecilia says nothing just follows his lead and lefts her hands up to help him slip it off. He drops it to the floor, his eyes not leaving hers, his hands move to her jeans and unbutton them, he push them over her hips and they fall to the floor, Cecilia steps out of them, and stands there in her undwear and still Max doesn't look away from her face. Before he moves to her bra or panties he starts on his own clothes, he takes off his shirt in one fluid move and moves to his pants, Cecilia isn't as strong as Max her eyes drop to his chest for a moment before they go back to his face.

Max smiles a little and a blush covers Cecilia's face, Max's hands cup her face his thump rubbing her cheek softly. Max's hands run over her neck, shoulders and back until they reach the clasps of her bra which he undoes expertly, her bra falls on the floor between them, and Max's hands continue on their mission and move to her hips where they hock onto the tops of her panties and move down taking them with him. Cecilia once again steps out of them and Max takes off his boxers.

Max takes her hand softly and walks them to the bath he steps in and sits down, still holding her hand he helps her in. Cecilia settles in front of him and Max pulls her back, he leans back against the tub with Cecilia pressed into him. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath relaxing. 

Max is looking out the big window at the view the sun is sitting and the sea is right in front of them and he's reminded why he chose this house and why he pays a lot of money for it. For moments like this, where he's with the person he loves the most and they spend their times together.

They sit in the hot water in silence for a long time, but it doesn't feel awkward and it's not as intense as it was before, both have a lot on their minds, so many things could happen and they have to think about all the possibilities and what they'll do in each case. The silence is something that they needed, they just needed to be together in each other's presence, the comfort of having someone just sit there and hold you, and you don't have to say anything for them to understand what you're feeling.

A sudden thought popped in Cecilia's mind, and before she second guessed herself or give it much thought the words spilled from her mouth. "Do you believe in soulmates?"

"Soulmates? That's random." Max hummed his hands moving to her waist under the water, his thump rubbing softly at the skin. "No, I don't think they're real."

Maybe it was because he's a child of divorce, or maybe it's because he didn't realise right away that Cecilia is the one for him, but either way, he doesn't believe in them.

"I don't think they're real, at least not fully... but I feel like if there's ever soulmates, that you're mine."

Max moved his head to her shoulder and pulled her closer if that was even possible. Max presses his lips to her sweet spot, Cecilia closes her eyes once more, leaning her head back and to the side. Her hands move to his hair and she pulls slightly, Max whines, his lips find their way to her neck, kissing and sucking leaving his mark on her body, he’s everywhere, his hands are moving all over her, her breath catches in her throat, before she breathes his name like a mantra. “Max.”

After their time in the bathtub and the water has long since gone cold they get out, dry themselves and get dressed. Cecilia goes to the kitchen where she and Alex had ingredients out to make lunch, Cecilia puts everything back where it belongs, deciding to order something for her and Max.

”Schatje!” Max calls coming out of the bedroom.

”In the kitchen.” She calls back and Max comes in phone in hand.

"My team just called me, a video of what happened today was posted online.” Cecilia moved to his side and looks at his phone, a shaky video is playing but there’s no mistaken that it’s the three F1 drivers and her ex, she sees Max throwing the first punch and the fight that happens after that, Mathew’s face is clear and it’ll take no time before it’s public knowledge who he is and how they once dated.

”Our PR teams will not like what’s about to happen.” Cecilia mutters.

”They’ll have to deal with it.” Max knows they’re in trouble but there’s not much they can do. What’s done is done and there’s nothing you can do about it. 

“Love the I don’t give a fuck mindset.” Cecilia says and squeezes his cheeks with one hand. “What are we having for dinner?”

”Can we have tomato soup and whatever you want?” 

“Sure thing.” Cecilia said kissed his cheek and picked her phone to order, they were planning to have a chill night just the two of them and the leaked video isn’t about to change that.

The next two days, things were crazy online, but their day to day life was quite everything was going smoothly, until it wasn’t.

Fans(also known as detectives) find out who Mathew was, they also find pictures of a young Cecilia with Mathew and have deducted that they were dating once upon a time, and it wasn’t long before rumours of him being Nathalie’s dad were all over social media, conspiracy theories, comparison pictures and everything in between. It all came to a head when Mathew released a statement, Cecilia’s world turned upside down.

“Ceceilia and I used to date when she was still in F3 and before that, we were the young couple with the world ahead of us, and for a small mistake I've made she's refused me my daughter and named another man her father, I wasn't given the chance to know my girl to see her grow up or to hear her call me daddy, in fact now I'm subjected to hearing her call another man daddy. I personally find it unfair and unjust.”

“What the actual fuck is wrong with him.” Laurent was pissed off, he didn't care about the look his mother gave him for cursing, the family was gathered for a get together during the winter break and Mathew just decided to ruin it like he's been doing lately. “I want to punch him so bad.”

“You're not the only one.” Max muttered, the kids were playing in the game room Cecilia's mum had made for her grandkids, so the adults were speaking freely.

“Börje what about his father, you said you could talk to him.” Adeline asked her husband, worried sick for her daughter and granddaughter.

“I've left a massage with his secretary, but they haven't heard from them.” Börje was not happy, he wasn't happy at all. He usually left his daughter to do as she pleases deal with everything the way she liked but this is a step too far.

“And his family, are you sure they'll help?” Max asked, he's the only one who never met them, and he only knows the little that came up while talking with Ceceilia.

“If they care about their company.” The threat was clear in Börje's voice.

“I'm afraid he won't though.” Cecilia mutters and they all turn to look at her. “I mean, I think I know how Mathew is, and I have a feeling that he's not on good terms with his family, he's not the kind of person to make news like that knowing it'll get back to his family and they wouldn't be pleased with him.”

Cecilia looks at Max by her side, he doesn't know anything about her relationship with Mathew or how their dynamic worked , he didn’t know how close she and Mathew were, she planned her life with him and then she got pregnant and all those dreams flew out the window. Max takes her hand and squeezes it.

”We’ll figure it out.” Börje said and took out his phone to try and contact his family again the Walkers were very famous and very big in the UK but they need the Hanssons to function, for their businesses to not fail.

It was only over an hour later that Börje got a call back. Cecilia and Max were on the blconey talking, Laurent and his wife were checking on the kids so he was with Adeline. A lengthy phone call between Börje and Mathew’s dad, Börje was told the inner workings of the family recently, the problems Mathew has been causing. David, Mathew’s dad, had no idea about Nattie, he had no idea he had a granddaughter out there and he did say that if he knew that he would’ve made Mathew stay and take accountability. Börje told him that this is why he didn’t inform him, his daughter and granddaughter didn’t need a father that’s forced to be there.

”Go get Cecilia and Max.” Adeline went and got the couple.

”What did they say papa?” Cecilia asked taking a seat across from her father, her hands rubbing her thighs trying to self comfort herself.

”You were right, Mathew is in trouble with his dad, he made a big mess at a board meeting and has been on the sidelines for a few months, and as a way to get back at his dad he’s been causing a lot of trouble.” Börje told them. “They’ll try to talk to him but there’s no guarantee it’ll work.”

”So we’re on our own then.” Cecilia stated she leaned back and sighed.

”Don’t lose hope yet, mon ange.” Adeline said and took Cecilia’s other side she pulled her in for a hug, kissing her forehead.

”Either way he can’t take her from us.” Max said, putting his hand on Cecilia’s knee.

”Max is right, the lawyers said there’s no way, unless you’re the worst mother there is, there’s no way for a court to give Mathew any rights.” Börje said.

Nathalie went to a friend’s house for a play date, and when Cecilia and Max went to pick her up to go out for dinner she looked upset.

”Thalia, what’s wrong liefje?” Max asked looking at Nathalie in the rare review mirror.

”Can we go home?” The frown on her face didn’t move, her lips pouting. 

“You don’t want to eat out?” Cecilia asked concerned, Nattie shakes her head no. “Of course, mon amour, we’ll go home.”

Max and Cecilia share worried looks but say nothing. The ride home is much tenser than it was on the way to drop her off earlier in the day.

Nattie ignores her parents from the car to the apartment, and was planning to just head to her room, but her mum wasn’t about to let her.

”Nattie, please come, we have to talk.” Cecilia calls for her daughter before she could escape. Nattie looks at her mum before her eyes go to Max. “Do you want to talk just you and me? Or you can talk to daddy-“

Before Cecilia could finish, Nathalie was already in tears. Sobs leaving her body shaking, she was practically wailing. It surprised both her parents and they both sprung into action, heading to their girl. Cecilia had her in her arms first, and Nattie clutched her shirt tightly in her hands, hiding her face in Cecilia’s shirt.

”What’s wrong, liefje?” Max whispers trying to see Nattie’s face but she just hid more into Cecilia. “Do you want me to go?”

”NO!” She shouts and turns from Cecilia to look at him stomping her leg, this took both the drivers by surprise, Nathalie is rarely difficult, she’s never thrown a tantrum without any reason, whether they agreed with the reason or not is a different subject.

”Nathalie!” Cecilia scolded her daughter but it only brought more tears. “What’s wrong mon amour? Please just tell us, so we can help you.”

”I-I- I don’t want to have another daddy.” Nathalie said looking up at you, her hands were back to clutching Cecilia’s shirt, she was begging her now.

”What?” Cecilia whispered. “Okay, let’s sit down and talk, okay?” They moved to the sofa, Max squeezed Cecilia’s hand in comfort before they sat down with Nathalie in between them.

”What are you talking about, mon ange? Max is your daddy.” Cecilia pushed Nathalie’s hair out of her face, looking at her red face wet from all the tears.

”Laura said that I’m going to have another daddy, but I don’t want him, I only want Maxie, he’s my daddy, Laura said that you’re going to make another man my daddy, and I don’t want it, I just want daddy, I just want him.” Max couldn’t help but pull Nathalie softly away from Cecilia and into his arms, the girl instantly hugged him, her hands wrapping around his neck and clutching his shirt, and the tears continued to flow.

”You’re my baby girl, and that’s never going to change, yeah?” Max said softly patting her back, Cecilia was fighting tears herself, she felt so bad for not talking to Nathalie about it but she just never thought she’d find out through her friend, they’ve all been so good at keeping her away from all the drama. “You’re my liefje, you’re my daughter, the one I love the most and there’s no changing that, as long as you want me, I’ll always be your dad.”

”Please don’t leave me.” Nathalie whispered her sobs have calmed, but she was still tearing up.

”I won’t, I promise.” 

Nathalie hadn’t let go of Max until she fell asleep, Cecilia debated walking her up for dinner but seeing how exhausted Nathalie looked she just let her sleep. Max placed her in her bed, while Cecilia waited for him in their bedroom. They seem to mean there a lot lately to just talk about everything Mathew related.

Max sits next to Cecilia, their shoulders brushing.

”She looked so heartbroken.” Cecilia whispered, there’s a lump in her throat and it seemed to be choking her slowly.

”Yeah… we need to solve this as fast as possible.” Max sighed and closed his eyes to think, there has to be a way to get rid of Mathew for good. He’s doing all this for attention from the public, to get back at his parents, and to just ruin their lives. Mathew must’ve known that there’s no way he’d get Nathalie, he’s the one that signed the papers. He’s the one that disappeared, he’s the one that’s been seen hanging around women in Monaco since he’s been back in the country. “Do you have a copy of the papers?”

”What papers?” 

“The ones he signed his rights away.”

”Yeah, papa, has the original ones, but I have a copy, why?”

”I’m going to need them.”

It took a week before Mathew released another statement.

”My family has come in contact with me after they shunned me months ago, and I was happy, maybe they wanted to come in contact with me again, but they just wanted to keep their pockets filled with Hansson money and asked me leave my girl, to not care about her and to move on.

Well, to that I say fuck you, fuck you all, I’m taking this to court, I’m going to have my daughter back, I want part of the custody, I want her to know who her father is, I have the rights, and I’m not backing down.”

Not even 15 minutes later team Max Verstappen released a statement.

”It’s sad for Max and Cecilia, to have intimate parts of their private life so out to the public, not for them but for Nathalie. They want to inform everyone that Mathew has no rights to Nathalie, as he signed his rights away in the early stages of Cecilia’s pregnancy and has never tried to come in contact with her since. He’s not on the birth certificate or any other document. Thus, he will not be able to take Cecilia to court. We’ve included a picture of the documents he signed to give his parental rights away, furthermore we’ve done our own research and discovered that Mathew has many children out there in the world that he’s never seen or come in contact with. That’s all the couple is willing to say, thank you for understanding and please give the family time to deal with what has happened. See you on track!”

“This is why you wanted the papers?” Cecilia asked coming into the sim room, with her phone in her hands, she’s amused, she’s happy and she’s relieved.

”He had it coming.” Max said not looking away from his sim.

”How did you find out about other women?” Cecilia asked confused, Max shrugged.

”Hired a private investigator.”

”Wow, remind me not to get on your bad side.” Cecilia joked and giggled.

”Couldn’t do that even if you tried.” Max said simply and the smile on her face grew.

”Really?” She raised an eyebrow and Max hummed. “Even if I do this?”

Cecilia dropped on his lap ending his perfect lap, Max’s hands instinctively left the wheel to land on her hips to steady her.

”Even if you do this.”

”What about if I do this?” She asked and leaned close so her face was millimetre away from his.

”Even then.”

”What about this?” She presses her lips to his, Max pulls her closer. She’s driving him crazy, his hand is at the back of her head holding her head just how he likes it, making her moan into the kiss.

”Especially this.” Max manages to get out between kisses, his voice already sounding out of breath.

Later that day with the couple getting ready to head to bed, Max comes up behind Cecilia who sat at her vanity doing her skincare routine. His arms find their place on her shoulders before they move down her arms to her elbows and then to her waist, he pulls her up just enough for him to slip under her and she’s sitting on his lap. All the while she’s just continuing with what she was doing, Max places his head on her shoulder and looks at her through the mirror.

”You’re so touchy today.” Cecilia teased Max lightheartedly.

”Says the one that came in and kissed me and then lured me into sex.” Max smirks enjoying the blush that covered her cheeks, he loves how he still gets her to blush like that.

”Well, I don’t remember you not liking it.” Cecilia manages to say.

”No I certainly liked it.” Max mumbles and kisses her shoulder, before he’s back at looking at her.

”What’s up?”

”Nothing, I’m just happy, we’re together.” Max said softly and Cecilia smiles at him through the mirror.

”Me too, more than anything.” Cecilia replied just as softly. “Did I mention how much I find it sexy when you fight for me and Nattie?”

“You can’t love someone and not fight for them, being with you and loving you, makes me want to fight everyone and everything that bothers you.” Max’s tone is serious, an opposite to Cecilia’s teasing one. 

“And I’d do the same… but somehow everyone is already scared of you.” Cecilia giggles at the unamused look Max gives her, at the sound of her giggles, her hugs her closer and smiles.

”Come on, I’m done.”

Mathew drops off the face of the earth after the statement from Max, a few women came online and posted videos of their own experience with Mathew, all having his children. The one good thing that came out of him going public, is that his family is now sending money to those women who have Mathew’s children and are struggling financially. They of course disowned him and released a statement saying they had no knowledge of his doings and they’re no longer associated with him.

But the biggest fuck you came on Cecilia’s instagram…

ceciliahansson15 

Tagged, maxverstappen1

liked by lewishamilton, charles_leclerc, sebastianvettel, and 4,345,356 others

ceciliahansson15 Guess I’m the only non-Verstappen in the house from now on 🤷‍♀️

view all 902,234 comments

username1 the plot twist

username2 I can’t ☠️

username3 say what again????

username4 honestly you go max claming your daughter as you should 👏

username78 as he should 🙇‍♀️

username98 max winning on and off the track

username09 next step, we’ll have 2 verstappens on track 👀 

username26 pop the question and dont be a pussy max 💍

username37 i think he’s droves he’s not a pussy, bro claimed her daughter and gave her his last name before he even proposed 

lewishamilton gongrats sending you all love 💐

ceciliahansson15 thank you lew 🫶

charles_leclerc you know i’m still her favourite right?

maxverstappen1 don’t know about that mate

charles-leclerc want me to call 😏 

maxverstappen1 NO!

charles_leclerc I rest my case

ceciliahansson15 🙄

Usename48 I love how they like to use Insta to just say f you to everyone

Username229 seriously instagram should give them money over all the interactions it's getting them

Taglist:

@luciaexcorvus . @vellicora . @tpwkstiles . @belennasif . @eugene-emt-roe . @fanboyluvr . @fangirl125reader . @christianpulisic10 . @belennasif . @itsjustkhaos . @crashingwavesofeuphoria . @mynameisangeloflife . @mirrorball-6 . @skynel09 . @barcelonaloverf1life . @lilipiggytails . @rebelatbay . @christianpulisic10 . @ironmaiden1313 . @dark-night-sky-99 . @amalialeclerc . @bborra . @allsouls-emma . @buckybarns4life . @distancedss . @xoscar03 . @aquangxl . @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy . @theseerbetweenus .

[profoundbondfanfic]

Hello! I love the recommendations you've done so far.

I was hoping if you could provide me with some recommendations for AU Destiel Detective fics?

Thank you so much. Keep up the good work!

hey! Thank you, here are a few:

A Beginner's Guide to Communing with the Dead by suspiciousflashlight [Mature, 77k words]

Maybe it's the little girl whose disappearance turned into a murder, and whose murder turned into a cold case, and who has now apparently decided to move in with him. Maybe it's the unacceptable hole left in his life when his dumb best friend and partner in (the prevention of) crime decided to go and get himself killed. Maybe it's his brother, whose high-profile career and fantastic girlfriend and first-child-on-the-way are steadily leaving Dean in the dust. Pick one. Pick all of them. The why doesn't matter so much as the what, and the what is this: Dean is pretty sure he's going completely, certifiably insane. Sure, he hasn't started wearing all his clothes inside out, and he still showers on a regular basis (anyways, that's not crazy, just a little eccentric); but there's no getting around the fact that he just threw away his life, his career, and his reputation by dragging out his mom's old necromancy book and summoning a Class A Forbidden Entity to his attic. A cranky one, too. With horrendous bed-head.

As The Sparrow by hubrisandwax [Explicit, 18k words]

It’s 1947. Dean is an ex-marine fighting crime and a very different sort of war to the one he faced in the Pacific as a detective on the streets of LA. This city isn’t all the glitz and glamor it’s made out to be, however, and Dean finds himself tugged in to a world of life-threatening unknowns when Daphne Novak’s body is discovered. Castiel Novak, her husband, was one of Dean’s battalion mates in the war, and he's just as deadly and dangerous as he was two years ago when he saved Dean’s life during the Battle of Okinawa. Except now he’s wanted for his wife’s murder, and Dean just doesn’t believe Cas is capable of that. Is Cas really who he says he is, though? And what will Dean have to sacrifice in order to repay the debt he feels he owes?

Casicorn by everandanon [Explicit, 56k words]

When Detective Dean Winchester suddenly finds himself with a new roommate, a mysterious man who doesn’t speak but seems to somehow be connected to the department’s recent vigilante problem, he has no idea what he’s in for. The guy doesn’t know how to work a TV, brush his teeth, or even take a shower, and he stares at Dean all the goddamn time. Not to mention he insists on sleeping in Dean’s bed. While Dean is in it! Weird, right? Except the longer Cas sticks around, the less Dean starts to mind; the more he kind of dreads Cas leaving for good, actually, even though nobody really knows who Cas is or where he came from. And then, one night, Dean happens to witness their vigilante firsthand and realizes he knows Cas even less than he thought . . . (Loosely inspired by The Little Mermaid)

Chronicles Of A Serial Killer by Duckyboos [Explicit, 52k words]

Dean Winchester has the perfect apple pie life with his shy-but-sweet boyfriend in the suburbs. He has a steady, well-paid job with the LAPD and he’s charming and attractive. Really, he’s living the American Dream. It’s his extra-curricular activities that some may disagree with, as he’s also an accomplished serial killer. To date, his kills amount to around 36 and he’s never been caught. He’s employed by the law, remember? He knows how these things work.

Grounds for Murder by cinderellasleftshoe, sarcasticbones [Explicit, 199k words]

"The weirdos in that coffee shop are always dancing, or playing 'strip Clue,' whatever that is. Once there were sock puppets, and, I'm not kidding, a cookie trebuchet." "Eyeliner?" "Really, Dean? That's all you got out of all of that. That there's maybe a bangable emo guy over there?" Dean shrugged and took another too-large bite of his sandwich. He'd been a detective with the Phoenix PD Violent Crimes bureau for three years, and he'd see a lot stranger things than sock puppets, old ladies, and strip Clue.

like a thief in the night by kingdumbass [Mature, 28k words]

Plagued by nightmares since the death of his mother as a small child, Dean Winchester is no stranger to grief. After the sudden death of his brother and the unexplainable disappearance of Sam’s fiancee Jessica leave Dean reeling, the former detective turns towards alcohol to cope with the loss, but when the news of another missing peron’s case all the way out in Pontiac, Illinois jogs Dean’s memory of an old unsolved case with possible connections to the mysterious note his brother left behind, he feels compelled to pick up where he left off. Though once he rolls into town, he encounters more questions than answers. Namely: what’s real and what’s delusion? And how is the creature from his nightmares tormenting the residents of this small, suburban town?

The Trouble With Blue Eyes by FriendofCarlotta [Explicit, 14k words]

For years now, Dean Winchester has had a mutually beneficial arrangement with Castiel Novak, a fellow private eye. It’s good, it’s easy, and there’s nothing wrong with it. Well, except for one thing: Dean’s caught himself a bad case of feelings, and Cas doesn’t feel the same way.

What Once Was Sacred by saltandbyrne [Explicit, 55k words]

Los Angeles detective Dean Winchester works tirelessly to atone for the sins of his father one case at a time. When his best friend Charlie drags him to visit Sam at his new job, Dean stumbles onto a bizarre string of deaths that brings him uncomfortably close to his past. Dean can't stop thinking about Castiel, an enigmatic DJ who plays the sexiest music Dean's ever heard. A chance encounter at Castiel's house reveals that Castiel is an incubus, and Dean must face the lies and the reality of his childhood as a hunter. Dean comes to see that he and Castiel have more in common than he thought, and that guilt can be the hardest thing to cast aside.

You can also check our law enforcement!castiel and law enforcement!dean for more. Also worth mentioning the DestielNoirBang as a future source.

[gabessquishytum]

Regency Dream is pregnant out of wedlock, and refuses to name the father, so in order to preserve the family’s reputation Lord Time quickly arranges a marriage for him with a business associate of his, Mr. Gadling.

Hob won’t lie and say he doesn’t appreciate the bribe money offered as a dowry, nor that he wasn’t immediately and intensely attracted to his new husband upon meeting him. But the biggest reason Hob agreed to marry Dream and claim his unborn child was because he felt sorry for his situation. The poor thing must have been seduced and abandoned — or worse, he might have been forced — if he isn’t naming the father and marrying him instead. And now he’s married to a complete stranger, with a baby on the way! Clearly he needs support and kindness, and Hob intends to give that to him, treating him gently and restraining his own desires until his new husband feels more safe and comfortable with him.

Except not long into the marriage, Dream decides to reveal the truth: it’s not that he wouldn’t name the father, it’s that he couldn’t. He’s had quite a few lovers, been eagerly liberal with his favors, and honestly couldn’t begin to guess which one of them had gotten him pregnant, and frankly didn’t really care to know.

Now, Hob seems like a truly good man, and has been a good husband so far. And Dream had been willing to give this whole “honoring his marriage vows” thing a try for his sake and the sake of the child. But to be perfectly honest, Dream doesn’t remember the last time he’s gone this long without being fucked, and he’s getting impatient. So if Hob doesn’t start providing him with orgasms sooner rather than later, he’s thinking about reaching out to some of those old lovers and seeing if any of them are interested instead.

Hob didn’t expect to find the idea that his seemingly innocent and delicate husband is in fact a greedy little slut so unbelievably arousing, but here we are. He’s got his work cut out for him keeping him satisfied, but he’s willing to put in the effort.

-🪽anon

Hooooly fuck this is deeply and incredibly hot. I'm just imagining Hob suddenly discovering a major kink as he stands there and creams in his breaches. Hearing Dream effortlessly talking about cucking him is... fantastically hot.

But Hob is not about to make his husband go through all the bother of taking a lover, even if he finds the idea titillating. So it's time for him to step up his game.

Dream is pleased to find that he now wakes each morning with Hob’s head already buried between his legs. He can enjoy dozing and catching up on some rest while Hob diligently eats him out. Sometimes Dream even enjoys his breakfast in bed with Hob still buried under the covers, lavishing attention on his cunt. It is an excellent way to begin the day, especially when one is very pregnant and not particularly inclined towards getting out of bed.

Dream has also been fucked by his husband in each of the rooms in the nice country house which Hob purchased on the event of their marriage. They even ventured outside and did it in the garden, although Dream found it a little uncomfortable in his condition - something to revisit after the baby arrives. He's really feeling quite sated. Being married is a great improvement on being single, because before he had to arrange clandestine meetings with his lovers. Now he can just climb onto his husband's cock and demand to be fucked.

When they're getting frisky Dream does occasionally indulge Hob’s obvious interest in the fantasy of Dream taking other lovers. But he's pretty sure that they will remain only fantasies. Hob has proved himself quite capable. Dream wouldn't say that he's all fucked out by any means but... he can't complain. Especially when Hob proves himself all over again by being the most wonderful father to the baby.

Dream discovers quite a kink of his own as he watches Hob with the little one. Maybe it would be fun to have a couple (dozen) more...

[quotergirl19]

The episode 4 cliffhanger for season 3 in my head at the moment:

Penelope knows Lord Debling is going to propose to her because she heard he has plans to call on her mother to ask for her hand the next day. So she is bracing herself to accept a good and kind man who she likes but does not love, even though it was her intention to find a husband this season.

Before Penelope can bring herself to promise before god and her family, to love this man and vow to be only his forever, she wants to tell Colin the truth, that she has always loved him but she’s going to except Lord Debling because he wants her and has chosen her.

Colin is shocked but moved by Penelope’s confession and takes her in his arms and for a moment they’re blissfully happy and completely swept away but just before their lips can touch Penelope stops him because they cannot kiss. She doesn’t wanna do anything that would force his hand and she knows that Colin is a gentleman who would feel obligated to marry her if he compromised her. Colin is surprised and disappointed because she just said she loved him, but then she reminds him that he said he never wanted her. Then she wishes him every happiness and leaves.

Neither Colin nor Penelope can sleep that night. She sits at the window of her bedroom catatonic til the sun rises. He was home drinking and unable to think of anything else. Both of them are reliving that moment where they almost kissed but did not, Penelope with regret, because she could’ve known what it was like to kiss the man she loves just once before promising herself to someone else, who she wasn’t sure she could ever love, but to whom she would be loyal and faithful.

Colin, however, is reliving their past, remembering years of interactions between him and Penelope, realizing all the times, she was good to him. How she respected him enough to think of his happiness over her own, to accept that he did not want her, even though it hurt her. And suddenly all he could think of was how he would never find anyone who made him feel the way she did. He would never know another woman who understood him, and cared for him with such devotion or who he trusted so completely. Penelope wanted Colin to be happy but he was finding himself terrified that if she married another man, he might never be happy again.

Later that morning, when Penelope was told she had a caller and her mother summoned her to their drawing room, she put on a brave face, and prepared herself to accept Lord Debling’s offer and to let go of the dream of Colin Bridgerton once and for all. But when she entered the drawing room, it was not Lord Debling who stood to greet her, it was Colin and he was there to ask for her hand. Stunned and silent, Penelope looks between her shocked mother and a sincerely hopeful Colin but before she could respond, Lord Debling’s arrival was announced, and it was more than Penelope could handle and she faints just as the screen goes black.

[spotsandsocks]

Title for you:

From Here Til Never

Ok this was tricky… I’ve been thinking and I’m going with amnesia fic. I’ve never done one of those!

Also adding a bit to the title I’ll remember you from here to never

Eddie is missing presumed dead, I think he’s away from LA when it happens, maybe visiting Texas. Buck gets the news and is obviously distraught, already looking after Chris so he just stays at Eddie’s, regretting lost opportunities etc.

Meanwhile Eddie is somewhere else, random small town type place. Don’t ask me how he actually got there. He can’t remember his own name but some things keep catching his attention it make him feel things.

We can have a lightning storm that upsets him, makes him feel like he’s lost something important

Conveniently for me there’s a church in town called St Christopher’s that he just goes and sits outside

He catches the end of an interview of a red headed reporter on a talk show talking about her book… and loathing her on sight

On a checkup at the hospital a girl with crutches walks past and he starts crying

There’s a picture of Scottish highlands with a stag on the wall in the house he’s staying at he and he can’t stop looking at it.

He picks up a carved stag in a thrift store and has to buy it. Keeps it by his bed. Likewise he sees a st Christopher medal and buys it, puts in on straight away.

Finds out he can draw/paint but his art keeps ending up in shades of blue for some reason.

He gets taken hunting by the people who took him in and stops someone shooting a young stag when asked why he can’t explain it

He’s also strangely competent with the guns but can hardly bear to touch them.

Anyways…l time goes in then one day someone comments on his obsession with stags (which has ended up with several pictures, ornaments of stags. Except they say

“That’s a lot of Buck’s ya got there.”

Buck?

Sure male deer, stag or a buck.

Buck?

The word makes him feel strange. A sense of loss and longing.

That night he dreams of blue eyes and blood on a face he doesn’t recognise

The night after he dreams of a boy who should be wearing glasses but isn’t. He looks for those glasses in his dream until a hand covered with blood gives him a small red pair

Then sitting in front of the church again the name and the boy without glasses become one and he knows his son’s name.

He has a son. And after that another name; Buck. Buckley. Blue eyes and a red mark over one eye. A smile and a feeling. The man from his dreams. His name is Buck. The two names are accompanied by the most desperate urge to get back to them. Chris and Buck. He wants to go home. He has a home, a family. Chris and Buck.

Some investing and discussions… brother? No not a brother, definitely not a brother. Husband? That word makes him ache and he knows that he’s not a husband. They look but nothing.

Then another name comes back his own and after that more and more until he has a destination and he leaves to find it.

Probably finds Bobby first so not to give Buck and Chris a fright! Then reunion and we get Eddie explaining his collection of stags to Buck (brought them with him, putting them on shelf carefully Buck asks why and Eddie explains.

I wanted to be close to something that reminded me of what I’d lost, who I’d loved. I expect you know stags can be called bucks too.

Even when I didn’t know my name I knew yours, knew you, because I love you. I knew that even when I didn’t know anything else.

And what’s Buck going to do after that than hold onto the second chance he’s been given and kiss the man that came back to him

🤷🏻‍♀️ that’s what I’ve got … hope you like the idea 💡 and thanks for the ask 💜💜💜

[jaskierx]

hi gay people in my phone who wants to hear about the Day i’ve Had

so like many of us i have a close friend from school who i was Weirdly Close with at the time and i was in love with her and i didn’t tell her and a few times we got drunk and made out and then one time we both got Really Drunk and had sex and i thought we’d go somewhere but in the morning she said she didn’t really remember it. and then later (by which point i had got together with my now husband) i told her i loved her in school and she told me she had been in love with me too but never told me and we were both kind of like ‘huh! well isn’t that something!!’

anyway i stayed with my partner and she dated a few people and eventually she started seeing this guy who is a dick and has moved her to a really remote area where his family live and she doesn’t know anybody there, she doesn’t have a job, she can’t drive, she’s relapsed with her ed, etc. and she’s marrying him next year and she desperately wants me to come to the wedding bc i’m all she has and he has vetoed it (understandably) bc he knows i don’t like him. and every time she’s drunk she messages me like ‘i wish you could come to the wedding. i’m really lonely here’ and i’ve made it so clear that if she ever wants out, i’ll make it happen, i’ll get her travel sorted, i’ll give her a place to stay, she is welcome to turn up on my doorstep unannounced in the middle of the night

and it’s been years now and i don’t see her much (like. once every couple of years) especially since she moved away. and we don’t talk very often anymore. so i kinda don’t think about it. it’s not something i’m actively worrying about. in my head i’d made my peace with it.

EXCEPT i had a really vivid dream last night (like the most vivid dream i’ve had in years) that she asked me to pick her up bc she wanted to leave him. and i did and he came home as we were leaving and had this big argument and we left anyway and went to my house. and she told me she loved me and had sex with me and my husband but in the dream it was like. entirely focused on her and then i woke up and my brain has felt like scrambled egg ever since bc it felt so fuckin real and i do not like it

bc it’s like. i don’t want to be with her. i love her and she will always be important to me but i don’t want to be her partner and i don’t want to sleep with her and i haven’t wanted that for years and years and i never want to be with anyone but my husband ever again. but i also don’t want her to marry that guy and be stuck there forever! i want better for her! he’s going to end up making her have a bunch of kids she doesn’t want and being his housewife forever and i just want to like. rescue her. which i don’t have the right to do. bc she can make her own choices and doesn’t need saving and even if she did i am not the person to do that

but i’ve spent the whole day sitting like 🫥🫥🫥 bc wtf is my brain doing man i don’t need this i had to go to work and have Meetings today. and instead i’m constantly turning the whole situation over in my head and also worrying that i’m a terrible person for essentially having a sex dream involving someone i know and have previously fucked while i’m asleep next to my partner yk. anyway!!!!!!

[grecoisms]

title: rumpelstiltskin

pairing: kim wexler x lalo salamanca

rating: E

summary:  "She looks up de Guzman, Jorge in Jimmy’s files, puts on her sharpest suit and her calmest face and lies herself through the jail entrance to meet Lalo Salamanca."

When she was thirteen, Kim would count the minutes between said and done. And if her mother would say five o’clock, and arrive at six ten; then at least Kim would have something to measure in the meantime, and that time, well, was no time lost. Exercise and experience, all in one. And if her mother would arrive even later, smelling of booze and sometimes sex, then it would still be worth it. The wait. The dark. The walk.

-

Jimmy goes out to the wide, wild desert, despite the warning signs and despite her pleas. Were it a court, Kim would eat him alive. But it’s the bedroom, their bedroom, and the light seeps in so tenderly. It’s a day when anything is possible and a seven million dollar bail is but a walk in the park. He says Lalo wants him, trusts him to do it, and all will be well. So instead of cursing some more, she bits her tongue and empties her mind and lies on their bed, trying to forget the fear and the doubts. And the name Lalo.

Kim doesn’t know it yet, but she will never forget that name. Ever.   

The day after, Kim dreams of herself walking in the desert with her husband. Husband, she thinks, tastes it with care -  such a foreign word, even in this dreamworld. Funny on her tongue and on her mind. In the dream, her childhood cello is on her back, and her heart is in her chest: so, so heavy. But because she is Kim Wexler, and not one of the damsels from the black and whites, and she wakes up drenched in sweat at four am, she doesn’t gasp or scream.

Her mind is clear, clean. Alert.

Decides to go back to sleep, as if it were a cure. No dreams this time – only the present to haunt and grasp.

When she wakes up in the morning, there are no calls.

No Jimmy.  

-

„They suit you.”

Her mother’s voice is loud - the windows are rolled all the way down as they rush home, the car ride silent, except for the sound of Kim’s hands flying at her new earrings, fiddling, testing. Simple triangles, pointing down. Modern, some would call it. Kim just wonders where they are pointing exactly.

„Here” says her mom, right arm reaching for the sun visor mirror, flipping it. „Aren’t you a sight?”

There is a smile in her voice, all white. Shark-sharp.

Kim doesn’t smile. Stealing came too easy. But the fact that there is no shame, that’s worse. That’s vile. At least it should be, and that’s not a laughing matter.

The face in the mirror is pale and the eyes of her reflection are shrewd and serious.

A stranger.

„Oh, chin up, would you?” chides her mom, and lights up a cigarette.

Around them, the sky glows grey in the late afternoon. Kim closes the mirror, looks out the window, up at the sky. Pretends the tears in her throat are from the smoke.

-

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, as they say.

There was a time when Kim played safe, and then a time when she still wanted to play safe but started to risk more and more, but now she grudgingly sheds this wish, this mask, and puts on another. Looks up de Guzman, Jorge in Jimmy’s files, puts on her sharpest suit and her calmest face and lies herself through the jail entrance to meet Lalo Salamanca.

Lalo’s mask is better than hers, and his eyes are very, very dark.

Fleetingly, as if an instinct, Kim feels like a child again - walking alone, her mother passing her by, the silence deafening. She remembers the fright she felt, but also the thrill, because the road ahead of her was dark and unseeable and all she had was herself.

Lalo Salamanca’s eyes are the dark of that road – a strange shadowless color, and his silence is that of that endless road, leading nowhere. A lesser man would run, she’s certain.

But because Kim is not a man, and far from a lesser one, she steels her voice and names him.

„Mr. Salamanca –”

When you name something, you take away some of its power, read the prologue of her Grimm’s book she foolishly read till she was fifteen. What was the story again? The one with the name-game? Spin that straw into gold, or else…

The name makes the mask of indifference slip, and Kim sees Lalo get angry. Wonders if Jimmy ever saw him like this – and then the thought of him makes her mask slip completely, the pretend-coolness gone; replaced by desperation crawling in, a snare on her soul.

„Who the hell are you that he tells you my business?” he bites on the consonants, hard. And even though he is the one in prison, Kim is the one who feels in a cage, cornered.

Marriage, Kim explains, sensibly, calmly. And trust and confidentiality. She is careful to push the name Saul forward, hide the reality away, even though Lalo’s eyes are like a great well: swallowing up everything.

You’re his wife, he smiles when he realizes, and his smile is like that of a wolf’s. Whatever glee is in them, is only there for the blood.

Then he mentions love like it’s a move in a chess game. Even though this love made Kim break her mask.

Even though it made her come in here. To him.

„Calm down, Mrs. Goodman – your husband” he says, he laughs away, incredulous at the revelation that Saul Goodman has a wife. „He is like the cucaracha. Born survivor.”

„Just tell me” Kim’s voice is still strong, but there is that all-too-familiar feeling of losing. „Tell me where you sent him. That’s all I need to know.”

Lalo’s mask is mercury: all-lines when he laughs in her face, at her.

-

If you want to learn how to swim, the coach says after her third attempt, just jump into the water.

Kim is fifteen and wants to disappear.

She reckons the water will help, but the real problem is that she cannot see how deep it is, not from above. The whole class is watching now. Kim hasn’t bothered to learn their names yet, she isn’t sure how long they will last in this neighbourhood.

Still, this doesn’t change the fact that everyone else knows how to swim and she does not.

Come on, kid, says the coach. Big breath. It’s just a leap.

The water in the pool is a crystal kind of blue, unreal. She can see till the porcelain tiles at the bottom, but cannot tell how far down they are and whether she will sink or stay up. Being a laughing stock is not the worst thing that can happen, but Kim is not sure what she’s afraid of exactly.

She takes a big breath, but doesn’t take the leap for a long-long time. 

-

„He called me Mrs. Goodman” Kim says when they are under the covers at last.

Jimmy is tanner by two shades at least, and his skin smells too much of the sun and the sand, but he is wonderfully alive, even in his aching. And even with the bag of money, and even what is hidden underneath the money, Kim finds herself full of stupid, aimless joy. Foreign feeling.

There is an itch to touch him every two minutes, but since Kim has known control as a sister her whole bright life, she scratches the sensitive skin next to her thumb until it breaks open instead, drawing blood. It’s a rare and bad habit, and she bandages it before going to bed.

„Yeah?” asks Jimmy, his grin loopsided and mangled in the half-light from behind. It’s not clear whether it’s honest or not. It has stopped being the point for some time now.

„It was a bit odd.” A confession.

„Bad odd or good odd?” Jimmy asks, slow.

There is another question behind this question.

Coffee-mug with a hole in it.

It’s not bad or good, she wants to say. It was a conjecture on Salamanca’s part, a good guess. A challenge, even, if Kim focuses back on the memory a bit more – the whimsy in his  eyes, the smugness that comes with holding the knowledge like a knife.

Lalo didn’t need to say it out loud, but his stare and the choice of her name was clear as a bell.

I know you, the dead stare said. You can hide all you want, I'll still know.

Kim thinks of straws and golds and how a name can change everything.

„Just odd” she says at last, turning to turn off the lamp - the dark comes as a comfort.

-

Lalo is robust and large: that was obvious already at the counsel table, despite the chains.

In here, their home, he is positively towering. He makes them the guest and he, the host. Strong shoulders and sturdy hips, standing taller than both of them. Kim knows he could kill them without the gun, almost like taking a breath and a leap - effortless. When he bends to knock on the fish tank, she spots a faint birthmark on his neck. Should make him more human. But it doesn’t.

When he turns to Jimmy, his eyes are blacker than black and his face is all hard lines.

„I found your car” he says, the warning imminent between the words said and unsaid. „In a ditch.”

Kim is still dressed for work, ready for court, ready to fight. She’d be more than content to stay silent, because all she feels is a fear so primal that her ears are ringing with it, blood pounding. But then Jimmy mentions the duffel bag and the money – and Kim wants to scream, because her husband seems to have forgotten that there is a coffee mug with a bullet hole in it. And that the distance between said and done in Lalo’s case would merge very quickly into each other once he sees the evidence of the lie.

When she stands, she catches her reflection in the tank, strangely twisted, pale, desperate again. There is a faint glow around her face: she like to think it’s her mother’s earrings.

All in.

All rise.

There is some shaking on her part and there is a surprise on his. Can see it in the way his eyes widen and darken. He tries to mask his anger, and does a good enough job, but then the facade melts, and there is something else underneath, peeking out, ugly. Doubt.

And Kim latches onto that, and pulls him down, down, down. Prepares for the final blow.

Knowledge like a knife.

 „You need to get your house in order” she sticks it in, bold, bold, bold.

„Oh really?” there is some fake bravado on Lalo’s part, trying to cover all the doubt with a laugh. But it’s Kim’s turn to see, to know. The way his skin jumps near his eyes, she can see Lalo’s anger changing direction, thoughts turning, his doubts overflowing.

And though she has lost last time, she knows that she is winning this round now.

Stop torturing the one man who went through hell to save your ass, she says.

Lalo stares, an endless tunnel. He stares at Kim then to Jimmy Saul.

There is a pause that seems to lasts a lifetime.

Nothing said, nothing done.

He leaves, his absence, too, is alike a bullet hole.

-

"Oh!" answered the girl, "I have got to spin gold out of straw, and I don't understand the business." Then the little man said: "What will you give me if I spin it for you?" - "My necklace," said the girl. The little man took the necklace, seated himself before the wheel, and whirr, whirr, whirr! three times round and the bobbin was full; then he took up another, and whirr, whirr, whirr! three times round, and that was full; and so he went on till the morning, when all the straw had been spun, and all the bobbins were full of gold.

-

„He died in a massive firefight at his compound. Over a half dozen people were killed.”

These violent delights – Kim thinks, but she cannot picture Eduardo Salamanca dead. The very thought is absurd, a paradox. Even in these two pictures laid out before her, unmoving, he looks violently alive, ready to step out the picture.

Still. Fire is a fitting death for him.

Flames, then ashes.

Nothing to grasp at.

-

Nothing is a coincidence or makeshift when it comes to his mind.

They are a bit similar in this sense, Kim thinks, trying to push the thrill out of the thought.

She looks up the meaning of his pseudonym after she finds out he is actually alive, no flames and ashes, oh no. How fitting. And she is running in circles in her mind now, because she cannot tell Jimmy, she cannot, not when he finally calmed down, and not when he agreed to the hoax and they are so close to the finish line. Kim doesn’t like to think of that too much. Because then what?

Her index finger flies to her thumb, scratching as she types in the name, Guzman.

There is a habitational explanation: the name derives from a village in Spain. It’s a fairly common family name.

The other explanation makes her finger bleed. Guzman or good man – and it goes on about nobilities, but Kim’s heart is already in her throat, dry and tight. Good man is enough.

She thinks of that dark-dark road, her mother disappearing suddenly, and herself, alone.

The lines between fear and fascination.

-

Kim is fifteen and a half.

When she jumps into the pool, she squeezes her eyes shut lest she sees the bottom of the pool and loses courage again. The water is thick and cool – there is a static here like nowhere else on earth. Her body becomes unimportant; secondary.

When she jumps again, it’s already with eyes open, ready to fall.

-

Titusville is already hot in April, the cruellest month. The sun glares down at her like a father too strict, the one Kim never had, but perhaps needed.

She doesn’t have too much so it’s easy to move in.

Settling in is a different question. It’s hard to admit, but she has trouble sleeping in the first months – it’s everything and nothing at the same time. But she has no right to complain anymore and no reason to replay the scene again and again. What’s done is done. Her cross to bear, she thinks sometimes, and bites down on her lips, till they turn white. She takes great care of not reading about the happenings in Albuquerque.

Sometimes, not often, but mostly on Fridays, she takes a different road home from work. A foreign one. Sometimes, she goes to the pools down at Wirz Park, puts her bare feet in, enjoying the coolness. Sometimes, she watches corny movies with friends, but never black and whites, those would be too much. And her life has only black and whites nowadays, it’s not like she needs that genre anymore. She doesn’t need much. Doesn’t want –

And sometimes, she sees flashes of the past, unbound and unravelling.

There is a businessman whose side profile looks exactly like Chuck’s across the street from the seven-eleven she visits twice a month. The first time she sees him in the sun, she almost leaves without paying. She runs into Ernie and his fiancée by accident around the fifth month, and there is a woman called Fanny whose eyes are soft like Paige’s were when they were younger.

The past lets go, she thinks. It’s her conscience that doesn’t. The first time she visits the public library, they have fifteen used copies of Howards End, and Kim would laugh if she wasn’t feeling so damn sick, no courage anymore, just a shell of a woman, running a place called home, the meaning thrown into the trash.

There is no one like Jimmy though.

And no one like Lalo, for that matter.

She dreams only of one, and this time, she doesn’t have to pretend.

She can scream all she wants.

-

„Send her” says Jimmy, charismatic as ever. All those unsaid emotion turning to deed. All that love streaming out the wrong way, because there is no better way here. Not anymore. „I mean, you would open the door for her, would you?”

Although Howard died instantly, his blood haloes everywhere, as if all that life would want out-out-out. Proof of a crime. Kim watches as the redness reaches the leg of the table, and thinks of the bottom of the pool back in Nevada. How the body is but secondary.

Soulless.  

She cannot stop shaking. She cannot focus, the words around her a haze, excerpts she should hear. Lalo is there, the black of his eyes bright in the candlelight, his face evermoving. Kim tries to focus on his grinning mouth, forming syllables.

„She is too clever.” he puts his index to his temples, knocking. „Won’t stick to the plan.”

„She will” Jimmy is good, but the desperation is there, like it was when she saw Lalo for the first time. She wonders if it all went south there, but the thought escapes her, it rushes out of her mind like her sanity. „She should go.”

„Jimmy” her voice sounds faraway, underwater, sluggish. „What’re you doing?”

No, that can’t be right.

„I don’t think she can stick to the plan.”

„No, I can’t –”

„You know she can. She will!”

„Please, Jimmy, Jim-”

„She has to be the-”

„Enough” it’s not a bellow, but close to a shout. „Joder, you’re a headache, Goodman. Get up.”

There is a thud when Lalo kicks Howard’s foot away, and comes closer. Points the gun at Jimmy.

When he speaks, his voice is low again.

„You go. Be a man for the lovely Mrs. Goodman here. I’ll keep her good company.” He looks down at the floor, mock-pondering. „If you hurry up, she won’t get an drop of blood on her, I pinky promise.”

„Lalo” Jimmy says in a small voice, pleading. Makes Kim want nothing more than to smoke a cigarette. Makes her want to crawl out of her own skin.

But it’s past negotiations and pleadings. Kim can see it from his gaze: something has cracked in Lalo’s eyes and the million broken pieces have let out something vicious and unhinged. Even more than before.

„Chop-chop” Lalo whispers. „Time’s ticking.”

Very slowly, as if gravity held him back, Jimmy stands up and takes the keys from the table. There is a flash of a second as they lock eyes, - her shaking her head ever slightly and him blinking, so slow as if to memorize - before he opens the door and walks out.

There is only Lalo now, and Kim across him.

Between them: a thing unsaid, a deed undone, and a dead body.  

-

It’s not a fight, it never was, Kim realizes as Lalo is coming nearer. Even if it had been, she has lost it several rounds ago. And worse, she thinks, with her mind racing and her nerves like threads disintegrating: Howard is dead. And his death was a group project. Theirs. The man across him pulled the trigger, but it was them. Jimmy and her.

Mrs. Goodman.

Almost nothing is certain in this hour, not Jimmy coming back alive, not Lalo keeping his word, not them leaving here unchanged. But there is one thing. She looks at the blood on the floor near her socks. Kim doesn’t want to die like this. Even though there is no more strength in her for a mask, she has to try. And Lalo is already near her, sitting down on the couch as if he was invited. He puts the gun on the far left side of the table and very slowly, almost gently he reaches for her.

His hands touching her are akin to an alarm going off.

Instinct makes her keep the distance so she bends away. It’s difficult. Not much space left on the couch.

Lalo shushes her when she moves again.

“Don’t” says Kim, and cannot bear to look at him. She twists herself, hoping he will leave her lying on the couch. “I’m going to be sick.”

It’s no use, she knows. Knew it from the very beginning. He is very strong, after all. And his palms are dry and heavy when he pulls her closer, breath heavy and whatever skin showing, hot. Like always, he seems to be everywhere.

“Vamos, no seas tan testaruda, belleza” he murmurs, squeezing her arm with one hand and reaching for the back of her neck with the other. “You were so tough before, no? Don’t get shy now.”

And Kim doesn’t want to look at him at all, doesn’t want to do anything, but his hands are already guiding her neck and now she is looking straight into his smiling face.

“I just want to know.” he says, mimicking their second talk, the one where she felt winning. And he is smiling again, but Kim knows his act by now – he is a Venus flytrap. Always some poison inside, ready to devour. His eyes are dead still, black like the drying blood seeping in the carpet.

“What do you want to know?”

“Your husband, he, uh, had the decency to look surprised at least. But you didn’t even bat an eye.” he pulls his mouth down, comical, but Kim wants to cry. Deep down, she knows what is unravelling here, set in stone from the beginning. From the moment she set foot in the cell and named him. “How did you know?”

“Know what?” Old Kim is still there somewhere, under her soulless shell, bold, and looking into his eyes, both the lie and the refusal blatant.

Lalo’s mouth twitch as he slides his hands under her sweatshirt. His hand is like a torch on her skin. Old Kim would kick and scratch, but she is tired today and does not want to die. She chooses to wait. Her stomach turns – there are no games to play anymore.

“Qué mujer tan inteligente…tan frío” Lalo whistles low. “You know how to burn a man, don’t you?” he spreads his palm, his thumb reaching for a nipple. Kim bites down on her tongue. Thinks of the road and the dark.

You never listen, Kim.

Lalo continues.

“How did you know I was alive?”

It’s no use closing her eyes, she can still see his outline, harsh and black behind her eyelids. Like a man burning up, he radiates heat on his own as brings his face closer to hers. If she wanted, she could count his eyelashes, count his birthmarks. Should make him more human.

“I didn’t even know you were dead.” she answers. Just to prove her lie, looks him dead in the eye. Lalo is looking at her with eyes half-open, the shadows deepening the folds and lines on his mercury-face, so sharp, and his hair streaked with grey, strange-silvery in the yellow light. There is no telling how large his pupils are or whether the smile that melts off his face was ever there at all.

“Well” he rasps, grasping her neck from under, pushing her down into the soft material of the couch. Pats her down, half-caressing, testing. “When all is said and done, sometimes living people walk around like the dead. Usted sabe lo que quiero decir?”

“I don’t understand.”

Softly, he pulls of her clothes one by one, as if they were lovers, but she knows it’s a game with the highest stakes. Still, knowledge means nothing. Instinct overrides all, and her heart jumps in her throat when he reaches down to touch her, shamefully wet, fear and fascination one. She wants to spit on him, but she fears he’d like it.

But he just stares the wetness on his fingers and slowly, succinctly licks them dry. If it’s possible, his eye darken even more, and then he pushes himself on her hips, so heavy and sudden that the air escapes her.

“Sweet little nothings in Spanish, Mrs. Goodman.” he reaches to undo his shirt, his belt, his jeans, and all, one by one, meticulously, down to the ground, onto the blood. He is left-handed. “To help you feel at ease. Like nothing is happening.”

He is strong and big and full of dark hair that curl strangely between his thighs.

Kim makes one last attempt at rationality. Old Kim, she’d approve. She eyes the gun, but it’s too far and he is too heavy. When she wiggles, Lalo puts his legs on top of hers: a warning.

“This can go two ways, hermosa.”

Desperately, she makes one attempt to read the clock on the wall, but then his towering figure comes into vision, dominating and blocking the view. All he is wearing is a necklace with a pendant, golden in the light, hanging onto her face as he positions himself at her entrance and takes his cock in his hand.

“Please, – ”

She is cut off by the sheer force of the penetration and his groan, low in her left ear as he bends down to her face, his closeness, suffocating. There is some softness on his belly, she can feel it, as he thrusts himself up and down on her, contrasting the hardness sheathed in her, splitting her open.

No gasp, no scream.

The gentleness disappears quickly – falls away like a body in the water. When she tries to force his head away, he bites her on the neck, a rabid thing. She scratches his face, near his temple, and grabs at his neck, near his birthmark, sinking in her nails that are too short to do hurt. It’s their third fight, and even if she cannot win –

She loses her train of thought as he unfolds her leg wider and sinks deeper in. When he does, his nose bumps into hers, and he grins. Kim cannot see it, but imagines the blood in his mouth, foaming. His hair falls onto her face, tickling, soft.  

“Be nice” he is quite breathless as he holds her down by the hips – she’s started wiggling again some time ago. “Estabas tan mojada. You don’t have to pretend.”

To be honest: it’s no use pretending. She tried shutting her eyes close and turning her mind off, but Lalo is too big, too wide, to tall, too warm and too invasive and too…everything. So Kim raises her legs a bit and squeezes.

Lalo’s breath hitches.  

“Cristo –” he grabs her face between his hands, and for a moment, Kim imagines him just crushing her skull. The mental scene makes her spine arch. He is looking straight down at her, eyes crazed and wild, mouth just slightly open. And when she squeezes again, it is involuntary. “I knew what you were the moment you sat down at that table – all sharp and cool; just like – Dios -”

He comes suddenly, hot seeds seeping all inside, sticking in the heat between their bodies. For a moment, Lalo is at his most vulnerable, his body like a corpse, heaving on hers, undone, taking deep breaths. Kim doesn’t have to look at all to know he has made many marks on her.

-

Mike tells them he is dead, the day after. The light seeps in, so tender, but Kim feels like this flat has dimmed in an irreparable way. Something’s off.

He is dead.

He is dead.

He is dead.

But then again.

Kim has already heard that version.

[lgclili]

XU LI YIFEI LILI, PERFORMER. ENCHANTED WAVES SANCTUM

she is a girl, just like the rest. her father sees her as such. no different than the others, just like the others, one more daughter to add to the his master plan. her father lacks nothing: daughters, wealth, nor ambition. she was just another one to be used for their father’s egostistic power play. her father, the founder of a well-known informant guild, had married into her mother’s noble family. the li family were well suited to his claims for power: they had both wealth and influence, built from years of triumph and trust; desirable attributes that only aided in her father’s ambitions.

pretty and quiet, this is your cross to bear. one of seven daughters, she is not the eldest, not the youngest, she is just a daughter — pretty and quiet, taught the bare minimum, ready to be sold off like cattle to the highest bidder. she’s seen it happen four times already in her twenty-three years. does she yearn for more? perhaps — there’s no other life she’s known except the one she’s seen within the walls of the li estate. outside was unheard of — a life she could only revere in her dreams. and in her dreams, the outside world is beyond the chains that hold her in this hell she calls home.  ( it is why, when she gets her first taste of freedom; stowing away in the servants' cart had been deplorable but thrilling, all the same, she wonders why had she waited so long to take a step out )

death becomes you. tw: sibling death, death by childbirth. her second eldest sister dies in childbirth. it’s an awful affair — the man was thirty years her senior and had left his wife to die as he held his newborn in his hands. to his dismay, the babe is also a daughter. promised a son, despite the self-evident reality that the li family found their luck in their daughters, he comes to her father with an ire to burn and an even more appalling offer. from this blasphemy comes yifei’s worst nightmare come to life. 

she is just a girl, just like the rest, part two. she’s known since she was five who she was to marry. it had been engrained into her memory with each waking moment and with every trivial interaction. her marriage had been decided for her and whether it be by the grace of god or not, at least, yifei didn’t dislike him. it is only when her sister dies does lili finally see the monster in her father. he is not only calculating, he is also heartless. her sister’s husband wished to replace her — with yifei. a payment for the defective wife he had lost. the night lili learns of this truth, is the night that changes everything.

death becomes you, part two. tw: murder, death by arson. she hadn’t meant for it to happen. at least — not in the way it did. she was to leave the estate in a fortnight, to depart for her new husband’s home and be his wife, bear his children and maybe, live the life her poor sister should have breathed. this is what should have happened. but suddenly the main hall is engulfed in flames and only yifei is there to watch it fall, ashes to ashes. ( she doesn’t remember how she gets out, had someone helped her? had she run off on her own? all she knows is by the time the pocket realm opens up, she’s on the run and suddenly her face is plastered all over posts within the district )

on the run: she is just a girl, unlike the rest, reprise. she changes her name. relinquishes claim of her sisters — prays that they had made it out alive, unlike her bastard of a father — but it’s too late, her new life had begun. a performer in the enchanted waves sanctum was not what she had always dreamed of but surprisingly it was better than what she had always known, if one could believe it. at least it was until one day she chances her face, its distinctive features all dressed up in charcoal, nailed to the post and a fear strikes her. the pocket realm hadn’t been her first choice but it had been the best one at the time. if she was on the run, there was no way they could find her from within, right? she could only hope.

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

So as I said, I literally dreamed up an AU for Genealogy last night.

Starting at the point when Julius receives the tome of Loptous, it possesses him, and he immediately tries to kill his sister. In my dream, Deirdre not only managed to spirit Julia away and save her, but Deirdre managed to get herself away alive, too.

Of course, the two of them, both injured, Julia completely traumatized, on the outskirts of Belhalla, wouldn’t get very far…but of course, Lewyn is fortunately in the area.

He immediately recognizes Deirdre, but she has only a few very vague sensations for her memories of the time before she arrived in Belhalla. Once Lewyn gathers that she doesn’t recognize him, he simply does not actually elaborate on how he knew her name. And she just lets that drop because the more important matter at this moment is the fact that he’s willing to help her and Julia.

Once Deirdre and Julia have recovered from the attack (though Julia still has trauma amnesia), they end up sticking with Lewyn for safety. Deirdre is worried about Arvis and what Julius might do, but her first priority is protecting Julia, and she’s sure that it wouldn’t be safe to return to Belhalla.

Also I considered what if maybe Deirdre is at least a little Naga-possessed but I didn’t get anywhere else with that.

-

The above is everything my dream gave me but I’ve been turning this concept over in my head all day and I think I love it.

I imagine that Deirdre’s life as Princess/Empress of Grannvale was relatively sheltered; Arvis, being particularly paranoid, would want to keep her close both for her safety and his own peace of mind. And because she doesn’t remember her life before, the world beyond Belhalla is particularly foreign to her.

Julia, of course, is traumatized and amnesiac. She knows her name. She’s told that the woman with her is her mother, and she can see the physical resemblance. She knows the man with them helped them. Everything else is new again.

And Lewyn is possessed. How much of him is even Lewyn?

Consider the comedy potential of the three of them trying to make their way in the world together.

Lewyn is getting by on bard skills and charisma. Soft-spoken Deirdre and shy Julia are drifting along in his wake. Do they pretend that Lewyn is Julia’s father and that they’re just a normal family trying to survive? Does Lewyn spin a cover story that’s uncomfortably real, instead: that Deirdre’s dead husband was a knight of Grannvale and now Lewyn is trying to take care of his family in his stead?

Deirdre doesn’t tell Julia what happened to them. It might be better to forget the monster that took over her brother’s body and tried to kill her. Deirdre almost wishes she could forget when Manfroy arrived with the time and suddenly her sweet boy, her son, became something else. Deirdre doesn’t tell Julia that she’s the imperial princess. It’s easier to hide when one of them doesn’t have to lie.

Deirdre tells Lewyn, though, what happened. He recognized her from the very beginning. He knows she’s the Empress of Grannvale. He knows she’s trying to hide and so she tells him what she’s hiding from, and all that she tells of what happens to Julius fits all that Forseti knows of Loptous.

Obviously the funniest part that this all circles back around to is when they travel to Isaach together, Lewyn having gotten word that a liberation army is rising there. He has his plans to go see the situation in Thracia, but first he finds Seliph's army and says "Hey, while I'm off seeing the situation in Leonster, could I leave these two lovely ladies in care of your army? This is Deirdre, and that's Julia."

And Seliph is like "...The Empress of Grannvale was named Deirdre... and she was my mother..."

And Deirdre, who has static noises where her memories used to be, is like "Well, it's possible... I'm afraid I don't know the full extent of my own past..."

And they both look over to Lewyn to ask what he knows, except Lewyn can't answer because he's being strangled by Oifey, who's furious that Lewyn kept news of Deirdre hidden from him all these years.

[mesillusionssousecstasy]

Emily in Paris - Season 3: Quotes

- “You’ll be hearing from our lawyers. (Emily) - So you’re suing me for not calling you?” (Alfie) (Episode 2)

- “I didn’t realize what I had until I lost it.” (Emily - Episode 2)

- “Yeah, well, the American dream turned into the French nightmare.” (Episode 2)

- “You know, I’ll give it to Paris. Even when you’re having a bad day, the city is looking great.” (Episode 2)

- “It’s funny how you become the things you hate.” (Episode 3)

- “Well, I guess all those endless selfies are finally paying off.” (Sylvie - Episode 5) 

- “Plus he sent over some champagne. (Emily) - “Finally, someone who understands my needs.” (Mindy - Episode 5)

- “I thought you were gonna be a professional polo player. You know we used to call you Nacho?” (Mindy - Episode 5 - GG reference too)

- “Sexy. Why am I never around when anything good happens?” (Episode 5)

- “What Am I supposed to do? An affair? (Emily) - You saw two girls kissing at a party. You need to get out more. Okay, Emily Jane Cooper, occupe-toi de tes oignons.” (Mindy - Episode 5)

- “Just because I was raised rich doesn’t mean I don’t love a free sample.” (Mindy - Episode 5)

- “Yeah, well, you’re American, she’s Australian, you colluded.” (Sylvie - Episode 5) 

- “Are you serious? I... I am so tired of apologizing for who I am. I can’t change my past. If you’ll always resent me for it, maybe we don’t have a future.” (Mindy - Episode 5)

- “It’s not “either or”, Camille. Are we really here to just love one person?” (The artist - Episode 6) 

- “I don’t understand. You’re married to him and having an affaire with me or you’re in a relationship with me having an affair with your husband.” (Erik - Episode 6)

- “I mean, is this really necessary? (Alfie) - Luxury is a necessity that begins when necessity ends. (Antoine) - Mmm. Coco Chanel.” (Emily - Episode 6)

- “Why don’t guys tell you what they’re thinking? - And save us the mystery?” (Episode 7)

- “What do you think of the quality? (Pierre) - Honestly? - Brutally.” (Pierre - Episode 7)

- “They’ve turned me into a clown trapped in a funhouse mirror.” (Pierre - Episode 7)

- “Wow, this is so surreal. I feel like we’re walking into heaven on acid.” (Emily - Episode 7)

- “Come on, seriously? In this? (Mindy) - You look incredible tonight. Every man there was checking you out. (Nicolas) - Yeah, except for you. (Mindy) - Believe me, I noticed. It took every ounce of willpower not to make a spectacle of myself.” (Nicolas - Episode 7)  

- “The only time I’ve heard Sylvie say “Merveilleux” was about a Chablis.” (Luc or Julien - Episode 7)

- “The men may be gone, but the brands persist.” (Episode 7) - “More times than I care to remember.” (Episode 7)

- “You can feel as guilty as you want, but not everything happens because you make it happen. - Well, except for this. This was definitively you.” (Episode 8) 

- “Well, he did sustain some injuries, Gregory, so we need to treat this with the sensitivity it deserves.” (Episode 8)

- “I love you both. - And I’m going to end up with nothing.” (Episode 8)

- “Who do you want to go to bed with” (Julien - Episode 8)

- “In love? I can’t believe he said that. (Mindy) - He was drunk.” (Emily) - Sure, but alcohol doesn’t make people lie. Kind of the opposite.” (Mindy - Episode 8)

- “True elegance is found in simplicity.” (Episode 8)

- “It died the moment I sold my soul to JVMA.” (Pierre - Episode 8)

- “Pierre is a respected talent any you only bought his company to toss him out like the trash. - If you can do that to him, you can do that to me. You can do that to anyone.” (Episode 8)

- “Do you have any idea what you just lost? (Louis de Leon) - Something I never wanted. A relationship with you.” (Sylvie - Episode 8)

- “I just made an enemy of the most powerful family in fashion.” (Sylvie - Episode 8)

- “Let’s not become one of those couples that spend more time analyzing their relationship than being in one.” (Alfie - Episode 9)

- “Do you know why this works so well? We get to be together and still do everything we want. We should be enjoying ourselves every second we can. Life is short.” (Episode 9)

- “Hell of a “welcome home”, mate.” (Alfie - Episode 9)

- “Yeah, well, every couple hits that point. It’s either time to break it off or commit to each other. You’re either in or you’re out.” (Alfie - Episode 9)

- “Only the two people involved know what they are to each other. You knew everything about every single piece. - No, you just didn’t know anything.” (Episode 9)

- “Can I get the recipe for that? (Emily) - Recipe? There are no recipes. It’s not a list of things. It’s a feeling. You just know when something is right and when something is wrong.” (Gabriel’s grandmother - Episode 10)

- “His ex-girlfriend, Marianne.” (Julien) - Oh, which Marianne? (Sylvie) - I can neither confirm nor deny. (Luc) - Marianne number one. (Julien) - How did you know that?” (Luc - Episode 10)

- “It was not what she said, it’s what she did.” (Luc - Episode 10)

- “I hope you take as good care of her as I did. She deserves a good man. (Timothée) - I’ll certainly do my best.” (Alfie - Episode 10) 

- “Emily. Our secrets are what will keep us close. (Camille - Episode 10)

[sunlitmcgee]

:]

-

Tubbo and Techno never fully became friends, even after he had housed him temporarily when Dream broke out of prison. Tubbo had to play the game right, had to be perfect and forgiving and a little saint, just to ensure that Techno wouldn’t hurt him again. The truce didn’t last, because the moment Tubbo had discovered that Techno’s actions led to Ranboo’s death, he had stormed out of the Arctic, taking Michael with him, choosing instead to live in Eret’s castle for a while. Techno’s protection was not worth his own ignorance. Not to mention that because of him, both his and Tommy’s lives were in even more danger. 

During Tubbo’s time with Eret, the two bonded more, reminiscing over L’manburg and Eret had cried when remembering their betrayal. Tubbo had shrugged and said it didn’t matter in the end because L’manburg was always doomed.

“No,” Eret said, “don’t ever say that. That was your home, Tubbo. You grew up there. You loved it and worked so hard to protect it. Even after Wilbur died, you still kept going when you shouldn’t have had to. You’re one of the toughest people on this server, and that’s extremely honorable. You’re braver than I ever was.”

After Dream was finally killed, Tubbo confronted Techno. Because if there was a hill that Tubbo was going to die on, it would be that Techno would not get the final word on the things he did. It took a few weeks of gaining his courage and swallowing his anxiety, but he finally did it.

Tubbo gave him an icy glare. “You can have your home, your dogs, your friends. You can laugh about anarchy and tearing down governments, but god forbid that I, or anyone I care about, create a government at all. No one asked you to stay in L’manburg, Techno. No one would’ve complained if you had enough of it and wanted to run off to make your little commune in the snowy woods. But no, of course not. You can’t claim ignorance about our plans on November 16th, because you were right there, you heard us. But you still got enraged over something that we were going to do anyways. And in your petty anger, you set off Withers! You shot fireworks! Do you even know how much shit I’ve gone through because of those fireworks? Can you imagine how many times I see them in my nightmares, because of you? Ah yes Technoblade, the man who bows to no one except a tyrannical dictator. I am forever half-blind and half-deaf because of you. This scar on my face is because of you. And then after we tried to make you pay consequences for your actions, you decide to team up with Dream! And you decide to take your dogs and attack us at night, before the twenty-four hours were fully up. Who cares about fairness when it’s you behind the crossbow, with your finger on the trigger? And so you and Dream ripped away mine and Tommy’s home. That was our home! We grew up there! That was the last remnant any of us had of Wilbur at the time! All of our documents, all of our homes and pets were fucking burned to ash because of you! We lost everything that night! Imagine if I took one of my nukes and blasted it straight at your home and killed your entire hound army, I don’t think you’d appreciate it that much. But see that’s the thing about you; you receive a slap on the wrist and I receive hell at my doorstep. I am not allowed to have anything, because all you’ll do is take it from me. You will walk to Snowchester with the Syndicate, and search me like I committed a literal crime instead of just trying to live in a home that I made, and then after you’ll get yourself into prison and help break Dream out because fuck morality, right? Fuck Tommy and Ranboo for ever believing in you, and fuck me for hoping you wouldn’t ever go so low as to team up with him again! All the apologies in the world will never, ever undo all the shit you did. My husband fucking died because of you, and even though he is back now, that doesn’t change that. Both me and Tommy were almost killed by Dream because of you. So you can live comfortably without a scratch on you, but I have to live with a million scars, several of which you can’t see. And the shit you did will never, ever be okay. And I can’t forgive you for it.”

-

YYAYAYYAAYAYYAYAYAYYAYAAYAYAYAYAYAYA MYYYYGYA BBBBAABYOOOOO MY SOSOONNNNNNNN YEAAAHHHHHH

[mackenzielovee]

Hi, I loved crazy love. Literally I become obsessed, so I was wondering if you could write something about them when they are moving to their new apartment near to college and both of their families are helping them to have everything in order, but Rafe only want them to leave to be all alone with you in their new home. Maybe a little bit of smut?

a/n: this idea had my heart bc i'd really been wanting to write something like this ;) i hope you enjoy! thanks so much for the request!

Warnings: swearing, smut, mentions of planned pregnancy, discussion of sex

crazy love masterlist

my writing

our home: crazy love blurb - rafe cameron

"No, no a little to the left. Ward, are you listening to me?"

You sigh as you set the very last box down on the kitchen counter, stealing a glance at Rafe, who is sitting on your new couch. His head is in his hands as he listens to his parents bicker back and forth, trying to hang up the painting they had bought the two of you. Rose had gushed over it when she bought it, telling you it would match the rest of your decor perfectly.

"Of course, darling. You're talking loud enough," Ward gripes, shifting the painting to the left as Rose demands.

"Oh, come on, now. Back over to the right-"

"It's straight!" Rafe raises his voice, standing up from the couch.

You inhale sharply and step into the living room of your new apartment, wrapping an arm around him to try and calm him down. Ever since his parents and Wheezie arrived with the moving truck to help you both, he's been on edge. When your parents showed up with Macy, you thought he was about to go into cardiac arrest.

"Actually, I think it might just be straight," Rose nods, "Good eye, Rafe."

"Thanks so much," he remarks sarcastically.

"Hey," you whisper to him, trying to tell him to quit being mean to his step-mom, "They're here to help, remember?"

Rafe rolls his eyes, "I could do this shit myself."

"Because you're such a handy man?" you snort.

Rafe clenches his jaw as he looks down at you, but can't help the smirk on his face. He pulls you closer to him, leaving a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"Where did Macy and Wheezie go? They should start on those kitchen boxes," Rose tells Ward, stepping away from her husband to look for them.

"We can handle the kitchen boxes," Rafe tells her.

"Y/N?" Rose looks to you for a final answer.

You glance up at Rafe only for a second, noting the look on his face, then nod your head in agreement.

"I like the kitchen organized a certain way, anyway," you tell her with a smile.

She nods her head, "All right. Ward and I can start on your sheets-"

"Y/N's parents are taking care of that," Rafe informs her.

Wheezie and Macy come tumbling into the front door, running past all of you and into your bedroom with your parents.

"What the hell are those two up to?" Ward questions.

Wheezie and Macy have become as thick as thieves, the best of friends, over the summer. One day, you'd shown up at Rafe's only to find your sister in her kitchen with Wheezie, baking away. Ever since then, you and Rafe have had to be extra quiet upstairs.

Rose and Ward step toward your bedroom as well, which is down a small hallway just off the kitchen. Rafe grabs your hand and yanks you with him, following the crowd of people.

"Can everyone get out of our bedroom, please?" Rafe grumbles, standing behind his father and watching your parents finish up making your bed.

Your parents had not been crazy about you and Rafe living together right as you both make the transition to college. You had cried, begged, threatened to not go to school, and even dragged Rafe over for a family dinner so all of you could talk the situation out. You'd never seen Rafe's face so red as the night he had to sit at a dinner table and discuss with your father how the two of you would be sleeping in the same bed.

When your parents found out that the Camerons would be financing your rent bill, however, the living situation had changed. Your parents hadn't realized how expensive dorm living is, and the thought of not having to pay for housing on top of tuition sounded like a dream come true.

Which is how you land in your new, empty kitchen, trying to hold Rafe back from killing every family member the two of you currently have within arms reach.

"It's quarter to three," your dad tells your mother over your bed.

"Macy," your mom speaks, "Get your stuff, honey. We have to get going."

"Yeah," Rafe perks up, earning the attention of his parents, "You guys should get moving, too. Y'know, lots of traffic, and Wheezie's got that thing early in the morning."

Wheezie opens her mouth to speak, but stops suddenly when Rafe gives her the death stare. She looks to you, to which you just shrug, and then turns back to her parents.

"What thing?" Rose asks her. Ward's phone buzzes in his pocket, earning his attention.

"Uh," Wheezie hesitates, looking to Rafe once more.

"Girl scout meeting," Rafe blurts.

You cover your face with your free hand to try and prevent Rose from seeing your laughter. You truly have no idea where Rafe gets this idea that Wheezie is old enough to be in girl scouts. Wheezie narrows her eyes at him, shaking her head slightly.

"Girl scout?" Rose questions to herself, still trying to figure it out when Ward speaks up, eyes still glued to his phone.

"Wheezie, get your stuff. You won't want to be tired in the morning at your meeting."

Wheezie rolls her eyes but does as she's told, making her way out of your bedroom and down the hall to collect her things in the living room.

"Seriously, Rafe?" she hisses, "Girl scouts? I'm fourteen-"

"Shut up, Wheeze," Rafe says back to her through gritted teeth.

Wheezie turns to you, "He's your problem, now."

"Oh, boy, do I know it," you tease Rafe, smiling with Wheezie. She laughs, but it's short lived when Rafe shoves her away.

"Get your shit," he mutters.

"Stop it," you demand, stepping in front of him and holding onto his forearms as they are wrapped around your waist.

The one thing you love about Rafe more than anything is how he always shows affection to you, even if your parents or his parents are around. He just doesn't seem to care about anyone except you.

"I want them to go," he defends himself, keeping his voice quiet, "I just want to be alone with you. In our home. I didn't realize that was such a difficult request."

You smile up at your fussy boy, dragging one hand up to his face to stroke his cheek. You can faintly hear your families moving around the two of you, but you're too lost in your own little world to think too much about it.

"Be patient," you whisper to him.

He smirks, "Will you make it worth my while?"

You give him back the same look, loving the way he smirks at you and allows his eyes to rake over every inch of your face and torso. It takes everything in him not to just grab you by the throat and kiss the hell out of you, only controlling himself because your dad is ten feet away.

"Don't I always?"

Rafe groans, trying his best to keep his composure. He has to close his eyes as he continues to whine, knowing that if he keeps looking at you, he'll be hard in no time.

"All right," Rafe says loudly, tugging himself away from you, "Thanks for coming, everyone, but we have a lot to unpack here. Dad, Rose, Wheezie, I'll show you to the door."

You snicker as you watch him attempt to lead his confused family out the door. You turn to your own family, giving hugs and promising to call whenever you can. Rose refuses to leave without giving you a hug, which pisses Rafe off, as he's gotten Ward and Wheezie out successfully and only needs one more.

Rose promises to send flowers, one that match the color scheme of course, and tells you she'll call you to check on Rafe, since he doesn't bother to return her calls. You give Wheezie a hug and give Ward a polite smile and wave from the doorway.

The second they're all out the door, Rafe slams the door shut and locks it before any of them can decide they forgot something.

"Ah, free at last," you joke.

Rafe turns around, licking his lips as he thinks about how you two finally have an empty house and he has you all to himself. No distractions, no parents, no little sisters listening intently at the door for secrets and drama. He eyes you up and down once, and when he brings his blue orbs to meet yours again, you know what he's thinking.

"Come here," he demands, but he can't help himself.

That boy rushes over to you, pushing you up against the wall in the entryway of your new apartment, kissing you as if his life depends on it. You accept his kiss without a second thought, allowing your hands to wrap themselves around his neck.

"Up," he mutters against your lips, hands guiding themselves to your waist as you jump up and let him position himself in between your legs, wrapping them around his torso.

He moves his kisses to your cheek, then your jawline, then your neck, while his hands relentlessly roam your ass.

"Rafe," you say, tilting your neck to give him more space.

"Hmm," he hums against your skin, not stopping or slowing down for anything.

"I really do have to unpack the kitchen if you want to eat dinner tonight," you tell him, although you're fully aware he would never set you down for anything right now.

"Not hungry."

"Rafe-"

"I think," he stops you, wet kisses trailing your collarbone, "We should fuck everywhere. Y'know, break the place in."

Even though you two have been together for a while, him saying things like that to you always seems to send tingles through your whole body. He always knew what to say, what to do, to get you riled up in all the right ways.

"That would take us all night," you whisper, smirking because you already know what he's going to say.

"Fine with me, baby."

You smile, then reach down and grab ahold of his cheek with your hand. You lead his lips back to yours, kissing him harder than you had been before. He moans into your mouth and you know you have him right where you want him now.

"Kitchen first?" he questions, breathless, "Or should we mess up that pretty little bed your parents just made up?"

The raspiness in his voice gets you going, enough for him to notice you squirming in his grip. He grins, knowing exactly what it is you need.

"Kitchen," you tell him, watching as he barely nods before he kisses you again, carrying you over and setting you on the counter.

With ease, he removes your shorts and underwear, dropping his own shorts to the floor beneath him. He kicks all of the clothes away, knowing the two of you won't be needing them for a very long time.

"I can't wait, baby," he mumbles, excusing his lack of foreplay.

You shake your head, and he already knows you don't mind based on the way you're dripping onto the granite, "Please, Rafe."

He smirks and then grunts as he enters you, breathing out a sigh of relief that you two are finally home.

By the time you and Rafe even make it to your bedroom, he has to carry you because your legs can't physically function anymore. Rafe's proud of his work, but pretended to pout when he finished you off on the couch and you told him you needed a break.

He lays you down on your new, freshly made bed, moving the pillows out of your way and tucking you underneath the duvet. He climbs in beside you and molds you into his body almost instantly, inhaling your shampoo scent and perfume, thinking about how perfect this moment truly is.

"I can't believe it," he whispers.

"I know."

"Our home."

"Yes, it is."

You two lay there for a while, staring out at the tens of boxes that have each of your names written on them, just begging to be unpacked. You're sure Rafe's boxes will still be sitting there in two weeks, as he had packed a separate duffle bag of his 'essential' belongings.

"You know," he starts after a while, a devious smirk finding it's way to his cheeks, "The next big step is having a mini you. Or a mini me. But, I'd rather have a mini you."

"We just moved into our college apartment and you're talking about impregnating me," you laugh, as if to ask him if he's serious.

"She'll be so cute," he goes on, "A little girl that looks just like you. And she'd have your smarts, thank God, because she'd be screwed with mine. But she'd have my humor, of course."

"Of course?" you tease him.

"And then we'll have a boy."

"Wow, Rafe Cameron, you really just have this all figured out," you move your head up to look at him, noting the small, cheesy smile plastered across his face.

"I do, baby. He'll be a hellion, though. Never listening, always running away, but a total momma's boy. Never wants you to leave his side-"

"So, just like his dad, then?" you grin, watching Rafe clench his jaw and shake his head.

"Break's over," he grunts, rolling you on your back and climbing on top of you, "We're trying, now."

"No, we're not," you say forcefully.

Rafe rolls his eyes, "I'm joking. We'll wait until, like, junior year or something."

"Rafe."

"Fine. But the second you walk across that stage with your diploma, I'm putting a baby in you."

"Deal."

Tags:

@hollandsour @flowerkidlxrry @kookkyra @pogueslandia @sarahwasfound @fuzzyhumanpersontrash @rafecameronn @rafeswh0ree @outerbankies @morganwilliams

*if you would like to be added/removed from my taglist at any time, please send me an ask!

[erodasfishtacos]

mlb!harry or ceo!harry mrs coming home from a night out with the girls, drunk af and wanting her man would be super cool.

When I Come Home (mini blurb)

I’ll do both (no sex though cause H isn’t a creep. Remember if someone is under the influence they can’t consent!)

—

CEO!H (married but pre-Ivy)

—

It’s just so funny because H is so no nonsense all the time except with YN.

She went out with her friends from college, it was a Thursday night, and Harry was stuck in their home office working on a contract.

He hears the front door open with a muttered, “Fuck.”

That’s all it takes for him to know she’s smashed.

Before he can even finish his sentence he’s typing, YN appears in front of him, heels kicked off, and eyeliner starting smudge.

“Hi H,” She smiles widely from the door before sauntering in - trying to be sexy despite her clumsy feet.

“Hi, m’heart,” Harry responds with a humorous smile, letting a puff of air when she plops heavily on his lap like dead weight.

It only takes a moment before she’s starting to swivel her hips down onto his, she was always a horny drunk.

“C’mon pet,” Harry chastises, strong hands coming pause the motions, “Y’been drinkin’.”

“Please,” Her words whiny, “Get me off, baby.”

“I said no,” Harry says firmly, kissing her shoulder to ease his harsh words.

YN let’s out another spoiled whine of displeasure when she can’t move her hips even an inch, can feel him naturally responding to her.

“Don’t be a brat,” He reminds her, tapping his finger against her lips.

She can also be a crabby drunk.

“Wha’s a husband for if you’re not gonna get me off?” YN bites, slipping off his lap and muttering, “Do it myself.”

Harry grit his teeth at the jab of his husbandly duties but grunts, turning back to his computer screen, “Cheers.”

“Dick,” YN whispers to herself, not quietly at all, as she leaves the office without another glance his way.

Harry goes about his own business but it’s mere minutes later when he hears his wife call for him impatiently.

When he steps into their bedroom, YN is sat on the bed with a furrowed brow and pouty lips as she glares at him.

“I can’t get my dress off.”

“Y’just called me a dick. Now you want my help, hmm?” Harry hums with a teasing smirks, widening when his wife glares.

“Help me,” She simply demands, no manners whatsoever.

But Harry’s in love with the pouty, spoiled woman in front of him and he really can’t say no to her when she needs help.

He stands her up, hands brushing the caps of her shoulders before slowly taking the zipper down on the back of her dress.

Harry helps her step out of it, just in a soft cotton thong and he unclasps her bra to let it fall limply to the floor.

She turns around, leaning in to kiss his lips softly, and her hands come to the hem of his tee and lifting it up until the hard muscles of his stomach are revealed.

“Sweetheart,” He says with a disapproving frown but she’s hushing him quiet until she’s pulling it over his head and slipping it over her own.

It makes him soften, “M’so gone for you.”

YN just snorts and says, “Good thing I agreed to marry you then.”

-

MLB!YN.

The three boys were already fast asleep for the night.

Harry was waiting up for his wife in the living room, spread out of the further couch.

The couple had an app where they could track each other’s location and he was making sure that YN was okay constantly.

He must have dozed off because he is a bit disoriented when the front door closes a bit loudly and the sound of shoes being kicked off echos.

Then he sees his missus, looking absolutely gorgeous in a pair of tight high waisted jeans and a lacy bodysuit tucked into it.

“Hi mama, y’look so good,” Harry mumbles, rubbing his eyes and sitting up a bit more to drink in the sight of his wife.

By the bright twinkle in her eye, he could tell she had a nice buzz going still from most likely the blackberry margaritas she loves.

He couldn’t lie, he quite enjoyed when his wife was a bit tipsy. She was already cuddly and sweet without alcohol but it just intensified it.

Harry’s mouth went a bit dry when she shucked off both her tight jeans and body suit. It left her in a strapless bra and nude thong.

YN is quickly making her way to her husband and complaining, “Make room f’me.”

Harry does, wriggling onto his side and moving until his back is against the cushions.

She waste no time in laying down next time him on her side, facing him and nuzzling happily into the curve of his neck.

His hands can’t help but roam her now bare skin, tickling up her sides, squeezing at the plush of her hips, rubbing circles on her tummy.

“Missed you,” YN murmurs against his skin, sleepiness already coating her tone as she hums as he gives her back a few scratches.

“I missed you too. I thought about y’all night, mama,” Harry tells her truthfully, ducking down to kiss her nose.

YN sighs loudly, hands coming behind her to release the tight bra and tossing it to the ground, smushing her breasts up against Harry’s bare chest - it was sexual but it was still intimate.

“Why the sigh, darling?” He asks against her hair, it stills smelled like his shampoo, sandalwood and cinnamons.

“The girls were…talking about how they can’t believe how loyal you are to me because we’ve been together since college and you have all these other girls who are so gorgeous who want you,” YN usually doesn’t struggle with insecurity but every once in awhile a comment would make her unsure.

Harry pulls back and pulls her gaze to his, “The reason I’ve been so loyal t’you since college is because I’m fuckin’ bloody obsessed with you.”

“H..”

“Let me finish, don’t even have time to think about any other woman. I’m too busy thinkin’ about the next time I get t’fuck you, cuddle you, love on you.”

“I love you,” She smiles softly, letting the nasty quell of feelings dissipate.

“Plus, put three babies in you. Gonna put more in you. Best mama, best wife, nobody compares t’you. You’re m’soulmate,” Harry whispers against her lips before lightly brushing them together.

“Speaking about fucking me,” YN giggles coyly, taking her husband’s hands and moving them to her arse.

Harry groans, graciously squeezing the firm muscle in his palms, “Don’t tease me, know we can’t when y’tipsy.”

“Tomorrow?” YN asks hopefully, whimpering at the harsh grip he has on her bum.

Her husband lets out a honking laugh, “Y’act like i don’t try to get your cunt whenever I can.”

“Filthy mouth,” She chastises sleepily, thumb coming to drag along his full lips, dragging down a bit.

“Let’s get you up to bed, darling,” Harry nips at her finger, “Don’t want one of the boys getting an eye full.”

—

The next morning, it’s barely even dawn when Harry’s waking his wife up with suckling, wet kisses along the expanse of her tummy.

“H, fuck,” She groans, luckily not feeling hungover from the night before instead arousal pooling in the pit of her stomach.

“Mornin’ mama,” He rasps, voice scratchy - telling her he just woke up too.

“Did you just wake up and automatically start making a move?” She giggles quietly, running her fingers through his messy curls.

“Mmm,” He agrees without an ounce of shame, “Fuckin’ dream about you, can’t help I wake up wanting y’on my tongue.”

“Okay, go on then. Remind me why I married you,” YN teases but it gets cut off with a moan when he pushes her panties to the side and laps at her clit.

“Remember why you did now?” Harry replies cockily against her folds before dragging his teeth against the sensitive bud.

—

[seijorhi]

Fracture

i apologise in advance.

Miya Osamu x female reader

TW non-con, dub-con, psuedo-infidelity, referenced character death, angst, drunk reader, gaslighting, age gap, the slightest hint of nsfw

‘Yer still coming home for summer, right?’

How many weeks had your sister spent lovingly bullying you into coming down? How many hours had you spent listening to her gush over the phone about how excited she was?

And until about three months ago, you’d been excited too. 

Despite the ten or so years between the two of you, there was nobody on earth you loved more than your sister. When you were sixteen years old and your parents passed away in a car accident, she was the one who stepped up to take care of you, putting a roof over your head, making sure you ate, slept and kept up your grades, balancing two jobs to do it. 

And she grumbled and you fought, but she’s the only reason you managed to keep it all together enough to graduate high school, and when it came time for you to leave home for university, she was the one blinking back tears and loudly complaining about you ‘abandoning your poor older sister in her time of need’.

As if she hadn’t sat with you for hours, pouring over your options and gently nudging you in the direction of Tokyo. 

“It’s just a few hours away,” you’d told her. “I’ll come back and visit you all the time.”

There was truth to that. The first six months of uni, you came home every other weekend arms full of expensive textbooks and mountains of assignments to write, but then she met Osamu.

You’ve never seen anybody fall so hopelessly in love as quickly as she had. Miya Osamu may as well have hung the damn moon in the sky for how your sister looked at him. And you suppose you can’t really blame her; he was stupidly tall, broad shouldered and handsome. Even back then his restaurant was a wild success, the man was talented and clearly knew how to cook. Nice was the wrong word to describe him, but Miya Osamu was good, and so long as he made your sister happy, that was enough for you.

And it wasn’t like he was the one to drive you away. 

Osamu liked you – he let you camp out in his restaurant and work on your assignments when you desperately needed a change of scenery, stopping to humour you with conversation if it was quiet. He made you laugh, he was interesting, and the more your sister brought him around, the more you realised that you actually kinda liked the guy. 

Things were just easy between the two of you, you never had to pretend to be anything but what you were.

You were the one who started putting space between you and her. It wasn’t intentional, at least not on their part, but somewhere along the way you’d started to realise that Osamu wasn’t the odd one out anymore; you were. She was building a life with him, and fortnightly visits turned into monthly ones, and then eventually it became once every few months and after that only on holidays and special occasions – their wedding being one of them.

At Christmas, cheeks flushed with alcohol, she’d pulled you into a one armed hug, pouting into your sweater. “You never come visit us anymore,” she’d sniffled dramatically, “I miss you.”

But it was Osamu – fingers laced with your sister’s, a hint of a smile curling at his lips – who’d voiced it. “Come spend yer summer break with us.”

Three months later you’d awoken to a call telling you that there’d been an accident. Your sister was dead.

Weeks pass by in a blur. Your classes are a haze of droning voices and mindless typing, you submit papers you don’t remember writing and you get good marks anyway. Your friends don’t know how to act around you, everything feels surreal, like you’re moving around in a dream, nothing touches you anymore. It hurts, but you’ve wrapped up that pain and put it someplace safe, seeking it out only when you’re alone and you just can’t bear the numbness a second longer.

The trip you’d promised to take back home to Osaka is the furthest thing from your mind, at least until Osamu calls you in the early hours of the morning, a week or so before the semester ends.

“Yer still coming home for summer, right?”

The word ‘no’ lingers on the tip of your tongue. The last time you’d seen each other was at the funeral, his face blank and hollow, eyes rimmed in red. He’d barely spoken more than a few sentences to you, but he’d stayed by your side the entire time, calmly thanking those who came up to express their condolences. 

You’d lost your sister, but he’d lost his wife. 

“Do you still want me to?” you ask him quietly instead. If you were in his shoes, you’re not so sure that you would. 

Yet Osamu sighs heavily, and you catch a faint clinking sound on the other end of the line, like a bottle being set back against the marble countertop. “I just–” but he breaks off and something inside of your chest tugs. “I want ya here. The house is empty… she’s gone and I… I want ya here. Please.” 

How could you possibly say no after that? Maybe you’ve been selfish, so wrapped up in your own grief and misery. You’d assumed that because Osamu had Atsumu he’d be okay. Not right away, of course, but he’d have that support around him – a support system that you were without.

It didn’t enter your mind that perhaps he was struggling too. That he was spending night after night alone in a house etched with memories of her. And just as you’d thought that Tsumu was the one keeping his head above water, maybe he was offering a hand to do the same for you. 

—

He’s waiting for you on the porch when your taxi pulls up on the kerb. The driver’s nice enough to help you with your bags, but Osamu is quick to intercept, waving off the help with an impatient huff that almost makes you laugh.

“Yer here,” he says once he sets them down on the porch, grinning as he tugs you into a warm embrace.

It’s then that you get a good look at him, a proper look – and for a moment, you’re taken aback. You haven’t seen him since the funeral a few months back, granted, but Osamu doesn’t look the way you imagined him to – especially after your call the other night. There’s no hint of pallid skin, no bloodshot eyes with heavy bags underneath or a 5 o’clock shadow on his face. No, even with his dark hair still a mess, dressed in jeans and his Onigiri Miya tee, Osamu looks good. Healthy even, if the way the sleeves of his shirt cling to his biceps is any indication. 

It takes you a second to realise that you’re staring, because Samu chuckles, brushing past you to bring your stuff inside.

“Y’know, most people start with a hello,” he calls over his shoulder. 

Your cheeks heat, a hint of shame curling inside of you. Were you expecting him to be an inconsolable wreck? You know better than most that grief messes with people differently, and it’s not fair of you to judge him, however unintentionally, for not fitting that image of the grieving husband.

It’s a good sign. 

“Hi, Samu,” you reply somewhat sheepishly, following him inside.

He’s already walking towards your old bedroom, the ‘guest room’ now (though you and he both know it’s always been yours), leaving you to trail behind the older man. Your intention is to stop him from going to too much effort, but as you walk past the living room, something catches your eye.

Or rather, the absence of something. Faltering in your step, it takes you a second to realise what’s missing, but as you glance around, brows furrowing in confusion, it hits you. 

The pictures of you and your sister, the cute ones with her and Samu, the old family snaps that used to line the walls and sit on the TV unit, they’re gone. And it’s not just the pictures. The artwork your sister had painted that used to hang by the wall next to the kitchen, the little pot plants she’d doted on like children, hell, the throw that she’d knitted one winter that was always lying on the couch; they’re all gone.

The room feels almost alien without them, unfamiliar and cold. He’d hung up some cool photography stuff to fill in some of the spaces, but instead of homey it just felt… modern. Like the pictures you see in magazines of staged houses that nobody actually lives in. 

And you must have been standing there for a while, because you don’t notice it when Samu comes back to find you still holding your purse, gazing around like a lost child.

“I didn’t get rid of ‘em, if that’s what yer thinking.”

You turn to face him, except Osamu isn’t looking at you. He’s gazing at the walls around you both, his face strangely impassive – except for his eyes. It’s impossible for you to miss the hurt that swims there, the faint sheen they didn’t hold only moments ago. “I packed them away – they’re in yer room if ya want to look through any of it, it’s just…” he trails off, finally glancing back to look at you. And once again, you feel that flicker of guilt slowly eating away at you. “It was painful, seeing her face everywhere.”

Before you left your apartment that morning, you swore to yourself that you wouldn’t cry today – but the tears come unbidden, and one moment you’re standing there staring at him and the next you’re choking on a sob, hand coming to your lips to try and stifle it.

Osamu’s there in a second, solid arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. He doesn’t say a word (what’s there to say anymore?) he just hums softly, stroking your back with a gentle hand as you fall apart once more.

—

It’s surprisingly easy for the two of you to fall into a rhythm. There’d been some part of you that was hesitant about this whole thing – despite having a relatively good relationship with your brother in law, you knew that the only real connection between the two of you was your sister.

Without her, living in the same space and trying to navigate around the holes that she’d left, you’d expected it to be at least a little awkward between the two of you. But with Osamu working full time, it was kind of a non-issue. Aside from the first day when he’d taken the morning off to help you get settled, he was usually gone before you woke up, and most nights he wasn’t home until nine or ten. How he worked such long hours six days a week without collapsing out of sheer exhaustion was beyond you, but you tried to make things easier for him, cooking dinner for the two of you.

“Y’know ya don’t have to do this every night, right?” he asks you one night, sticking the leftover chicken into the microwave. “I have a restaurant, I can sort out my own dinner.”

You don’t tell him that despite being a rather terrible cook, it was one of the things your sister made sure to do every night in the weeks following your parents’ death. You’d spend most of your day holed up in your room if you weren’t at school, but dinner was the one time you’d sit and talk with her. It became a ritual; something sacred and special between the two of you.

You’re a better cook than she was by far, no comparison for Osamu, of course, but it’s the only way you really know how to help with… whatever this is. 

Instead, you just offer him a wry look from your position on the couch, “And yet, you never do.”

He scoffs at that, a hint of a smirk curling at his lips, “Why would I eat there when I know yer cookin’ for me?”

—

Of course, as easy as it is to slip into living with Osamu, you can’t escape what happened there forever. 

It doesn’t slip your notice the first night you spend there; the spare toothbrush in your bathroom, the decidedly masculine body wash in the shower, or how one of the shelves in the vanity was stocked with shaving cream and cologne and a few odd skin care products. You’d assumed that they were Atsumu’s, spares stashed away for the odd nights he crashed here. There’s another bathroom off the master bedroom, so you know it can’t be Samu’s stuff.

Except you find yourself proven wrong one night, when fresh from your shower and clad only in a fluffy white towel, you open the door to find a shirtless Osamu filling the space, one arm propped up on the doorframe. 

“Anyone ever tell ya yer a bit of a bathroom hog?” he asks, smirking down at you.

And you’re so taken aback, utterly confused as to why he’s standing there half dressed, why it matters how long you take in the bathroom – never mind that the only thing covering you from complete nakedness is your towel – that you can only stand there, gaping like a fish as he laughs, takes you by the shoulders and physically shifts you out of the way as he slides on past.

It takes you until the following morning – Osamu’s sole day off – to ask him about it, clutching nervously at your cup of coffee while he busies himself making breakfast for the two of you. 

“Samu, um, about last night…” you timidly begin. 

He glances up at you from the stove, a single eyebrow raised. “What about it?”

Your cheeks are already burning, eyes darting between his face and the mug in your hands as you struggle to find the right words to bring it up without making things weird. “Well, I-I was just wondering… um, why you were using my bathroom?”

You’re not sure what kind of reaction that you’re expecting, but the dark look that flashes across his face isn’t it. For a split second, your insides clench, terrified that you’ve said the wrong thing–

But as quickly as it appeared, Osamu’s expression smooths over. He exhales heavily, setting down the spoon in his hand as he turns to face you properly, and when your eyes flicker up once more, you realise with a start that it’s pity that’s taken its place. 

And a second too late, the pieces inside your head fall into place.

“Oh.”

Osamu nods only once. “I can’t go in without seeing her lyin’ there… I thought ya knew.”

And it’s like all the air’s been sucked out of the room. She’d died in their bathroom – slipped on the wet tiles and cracked her head open on the edge of their bath, and Samu had been the one to find her. 

Weakly your eyes flutter shut, bitter nausea churning in your gut. How could he stay here, sleep in the next room when–

“Hey, hey, calm down, I gotcha,” Samu’s voice is at your ear, and your head’s spinning, pounding, and you can’t breathe. The mug in your hand tumbles to the floor, your coffee spilling across the wooden floorboards as weak fingers clutch at empty air, and then those arms are around you once more and Osamu’s trying to soothe you.

Breakfast is forgotten as he tugs you towards the couch to sit. And as he holds you, speaks to you in that calm, unwavering voice you try to focus on the scent of him (masculine and earthy, a hint of spice and cedar), the fabric of his shirt under your cheek and the gentle, almost lazy circles he rubs into your side and not the mental image of your sister, lying broken and bleeding on the bathroom floor.

—

It doesn’t take much effort to find the stash of your sister’s things that Samu set aside in your room. You lose hours flicking through pictures of her, smiling through your tears as they dredge up old, happy memories of the two of you.

Even the ones of her and Samu, his arms looped around her waist, resting his chin on the top of her head; she’s always wearing that bright grin that makes your heart ache.

There are a few of the three of you – one from the last time they’d come to visit you in Tokyo and you’d dragged them off to Disneyland. You’re standing between the two of them, beaming at the camera while Samu’s arm hangs off your shoulder and your sister, grinning widely and wearing the minnie mouse ears she’d bought at the first opportunity, tosses up a peace sign. 

Softly wiping away your tears, you set it aside. You’ll have to ask Samu if you can take that one home with you.

—

“What’re ya doin’ tomorrow?”

It’s late, and the two of you are sprawled out on the couch, watching TV with a bowl of snacks between you like the old days when he asks.

“Not much,” you reply. “I was going to go to the markets at some point in the morning and maybe head to the beach after that, why?”

Grey-ish brown eyes flicker across to you, “A few of my old teammates are in town, we’re meetin’ up for some drinks. I want ya to come with me.”

“Oh,” the word slips out before you can stop yourself. “Um, yeah… if you want?”

It ends up sounding more like a question, a fact that doesn’t slip past Osamu if the amused little snort he gives in response is any indication. And it’s not that you don’t want to give up your plans in favour of going with him; you get along pretty well with Atsumu and you’ve met most of his old teammates at least once or twice, it’s just that you’re a little confused as to why he’d want you there to begin with.

They’re all at least twelve years older than you, and while it occurs to you that maybe he’s just inviting you along to be polite (not that that’s ever been his style before) the last thing you want is to be stuck feeling like an afterthought, all but ignored as he and his friends catch up.

“I said I wanted ya there, didn’t I?” He doesn’t wait for a response, “‘sides, Tsumu already asked if you were comin’.”

Which is how you find yourself dressed up for the first time in months, fingers smoothing out the hem of your dress as Samu tosses you a lazy grin from the driver’s seat. “Relax, wouldja? They ain’t gonna bite.”

You know that. They’re good guys, but no matter how much rationalising you try to do, you can’t seem to quell the anxiety eating you up, and the frustrating thing is that you don’t know why you’re feeling it.

He’d neglected to tell you that they weren’t meeting at some bar or restaurant, but at Atsumu’s condo in the city (‘Showy fuckin’ bastard’ Samu’d huffed as he’d pulled up in front of the building), but you suppose it really doesn’t make much of a difference.

“Ya look good,” he compliments, eyeing you for a moment while the two of you wait for the elevator. 

Cheeks warming, you drop your gaze and stutter out a quiet thank you. Apparently unsatisfied, he leans closer, reaching one large hand up to gently ruffle your hair – grinning in satisfaction when you shriek and try to pry it away. “Relax,” he whispers again, the warmth of his breath tickling the bare skin of your neck. “Yer too wound up.”

Distracted by the arrival of the elevator, you fail to notice that instead of returning back to his side, his hand drops to your shoulder.

And it should be easier to do just that once you have a drink in hand. Atsumu greets you with a one armed hug, the only hint of anything out of the ordinary being the way his gaze lingers a beat too long as he studies your face, his eyes sharp and missing nothing. But whatever he sees (or doesn’t see) his expression softens into a smile, “Glad ya came.”

But even as you’re greeted by the others, falling into an easy conversation with Kita and Aran you can’t seem to shift the uneasiness in your stomach. There’s something in the air, a tension nobody really wants to admit to.

And you can’t quite tell if the others are surprised that Samu brought you at all, or if it’s just because you’re a living reminder of a tragedy that’s still fresh and raw, and everyone’s trying to pretend that it’s not. You don’t blame them for it, of course, they only mean the best. But you can see it in the way Suna side eyes you every now and then, how skilfully Akagi skirts anything that could touch a nerve when he comes up to chat.

It’s like they’re all walking on eggshells – though whether it’s for your benefit or Osamu’s, you’re not entirely sure. For his part, Samu sticks close, keeping your drink topped up, an arm slung over your shoulders as the afternoon wears into the evening. 

Yet despite that, the alcohol you’re drinking far too quickly starts to work its magic, filling your body with a warm, pleasant little buzz, and you actually start to enjoy yourself. You laugh easier, giggling when the twins start to bicker, gasping in wicked delight when Suna offers to show you certain embarrassing photos of both of them on his phone (he has quite the collection), even letting Gin and Tsumu drag you into taking shots with them.

And all the while, Samu watches you, a soft smirk playing at his lips.

—

By the time he unlocks the front door and you stumble back inside, you’re absolutely plastered, giggling at nothing and tripping over your own feet.

As always, Samu’s there to catch you, strong, muscular arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against him. “Careful there, princess,” he laughs.

You grin up at him, carefree and heartbreakingly beautiful. For the first time in months you feel light, you feel amazing and you don’t want this to end. Kicking your heels off, you skip inside, leading him by the hand. “Samu,” you call back over your shoulder. “I wanna dance.”

“Nobody’s stopping ya.”

“But there’s no music,” you pout, and once again he chuckles, letting you go to settle back into the leather couch as he pulls out his phone. A moment later a familiar, lively melody floods the living room, and you let yourself become lost to it. It doesn’t matter that you’re drunk and dancing alone, Samu’s dark eyes following your every move, you’ve never felt so free.

Arms raised in the air, hips swaying hypnotically to the beat, you lose track of time. It could’ve been minutes or seconds or a whole hour, but suddenly you’re not alone anymore – Samu’s there with you. His cologne invades your senses, why does he always smell so good? His body’s warm, almost hot as he slots himself behind you, caging you against him. 

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, his voice sending shivers running down your spine. “Yer a little tease, ya know that?”

And there’s something wrong with that, you know there is, but you can’t seem to think of what it is – not when the weight of his hold’s impeding your movement. A pout adorns your face, a soft, almost petulant whine escaping your lips as you try in vain to untangle yourself, “Samu, lemme go. I wanna dance.”

He huffs out a laugh, but that doesn’t sound right either. “Don’t wanna dance with you, pretty girl.”

There’s something hard pressing against your lower back, and his hot breath ghosts over your neck a moment before lips descend to suck on the sensitive flesh.

In a split second, all that blissful, warm, drunken happiness evaporates. Samu groans lowly, his chest rumbling at your back, but there’s a pit of something cold and urgent that’s seeping through your veins, distant, foggy alarm bells tolling inside of your head and you don’t understand what’s happening, but you know that you don’t like it.

You want it to stop.

“S-Samu,” you whine, shifting uncomfortably against his hold. 

This time he listens, drawing back just enough that he can turn you around to face him. And those familiar eyes are hooded and dark, burning with an intensity that makes you want to recoil even as he stares down at you, taking your cheek in hand.

You don’t even realise that you’re crying until his thumb’s brushing away your tears. There’s nothing comforting or pleasant (nothing of the Samu you know) on his face as he studies your fearful expression, but eventually he lets out a heavy sigh.

“She was positive I was cheatin’ on her,” he admits. “Did she ever tell ya that?” He pauses for a beat waiting for a reply, but when it’s clear that you don’t have one for him, he just scoffs, “No, ‘course not. That’d be admitting that not everything about our life was picture perfect, and heaven fuckin’ forbid we do that. Y’know, that's why she wanted ya back here so bad. She needed a buffer.”

Bitterness clings to every word like poison and you flinch, renewing your struggles to get away. Not that he lets you – the moment you start to squirm the arm around your waist tugs you closer, anchoring you against him. The tears come faster, followed by soft, hiccuping sobs, but Samu seems beyond caring at that point.

“Stupid bitch never could see what was right in front of her face. That’s what we were fightin’ about that night; she said she was gonna leave me.”

Your heart clenches, fear pooling in your gut, but Samu just smiles at you, a mockery of sweet tenderness, reaching back to tuck a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. “But you know I’d never hurt my pretty girl, don’t ya, baby?” he asks. “Just want a taste tonight.”

You don’t even have time to suck in a breath before he’s kissing you, cradling the back of your head as his mouth moves hungrily against yours.

And all you can taste is the whiskey on his tongue.

—

You can’t tear your eyes away from your reflection in the mirror, the faint, reddish blemish colouring your neck.

A hickey.

Tentatively, as if trying to prove that it’s real and not a figment of your imagination, you prod at the mark, only to wince at the tenderness. Definitely real.

You’d woken up to an empty house – unsurprising considering it was well past ten and you knew Osamu had work today – with your head pounding and your mouth uncomfortably dry. Wracking your brain, you can’t seem to conjure up a rational explanation for the bruise. Granted, you can’t really remember much of last night, only fragments of being at Atsumu’s place, and certainly nothing after you’d started taking those shots.

Which doesn’t make the uneasiness sitting heavy in your stomach any easier to take, because you know that you hadn’t been cosying up to anybody before you’d lost track of the night, and if it had happened after, then surely Samu or one of the others would have stepped in and put a stop to it.

And that should’ve been more of a comforting thought than it was, because if it didn’t happen at Atsumu’s then that meant it happened afterwards, when you were here with Samu.

Your heart thumps unevenly against your ribs.

Osamu. Your dead sister’s husband, your brother in law. 

A hickey on your neck isn’t just a kiss. It’s not a simple, drunken peck against your lips, it meant that somebody had sucked on the skin, bitten at it, kissed until blood vessels broke – it’s not the kind of thing that happens accidentally. 

A wave of nausea threatens to overtake you, and you barely manage to make it to the bathroom before you’re violently emptying the contents of your stomach into the porcelain bowl. And you know as you collapse onto the cool tiled floor, shaking just a little, that this time at least, the alcohol isn’t to blame.

You know Samu; you trust him implicitly. Whatever happened, it must have been a mistake or something. You’d both been drinking, and he’s still grieving and–

There’s no point jumping to conclusions or working yourself up any more than you already have. You’ll just bring it up with him when he gets home, you decide. 

Yet anxiety and guilt gnaw at you as the hours crawl by, you’re half tempted to pick up your phone and just call him to ask point blank. The clock feels like it’s mocking you every time you glance up, and while you try your best to distract yourself with household chores and then busying yourself with dinner, none of it works for long.

By the time he does stride through the door, a little before ten, you’re an anxious wreck, all but wringing your fingers as you sit rigid and tense at the table. Most nights you eat before he gets home, hunger getting the better of you, but tonight you don’t seem to have much of an appetite. 

“Smells good,” he comments with an easy grin, toeing off his shoes and dropping his wallet and keys by the door.

You open your mouth, but the words seem to get stuck in your throat as he drops a kiss down on the top of your head and walks on past to grab a bowl from the kitchen.

“I’m starving.”

Instead, you just swallow nervously as he pulls out the seat next to you and sits, not wasting another second before digging in. Your eyes quickly dart over to study him, but you don’t see any hint of guilt or unease on his face. He just looks like the same old Samu, a little tired maybe, but otherwise totally normal, and so you force yourself to pick up your spoon and follow suit. 

And he’s never been one to fill silences with meaningless chatter, but tonight the quiet between the two of you feels oppressive, every clink of metal against ceramic echoing too loudly, every chew, every swallow setting you on edge. You can’t even taste the food, your stomach too twisted in knots for you to feel anything but nauseous after a few bites. 

“… Is everything okay?” he asks after a few minutes, and it’s so sudden amongst the tense silence that you visibly jerk, almost dropping the spoon you’d been toying with. 

You glance up to find him staring, brows furrowed in concern, and once again your stomach flips. It’s now or never.

“Um… did anything happen last night?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Osamu’s frown deepens fractionally, and he tilts his head as your fingers twist in your lap, “What d’ya mean?”

Did we kiss? The words dangle on the tip of your tongue, but as you nervously meet his eyes, you find nothing but confusion and concern there. And for a moment, you almost speak them, but then Samu’s reaching across the table to take your hand in his, and as his warm palm swallows up yours, you lose your nerve.

“You sure yer okay?”

Whatever happened, he doesn’t remember it and neither do you. 

Smiling tightly, you nod. “Yeah, it’s nothing. Nevermind.”

There’s no reason for you to drag him through the mud for this, you’re already feeling enough guilt and shame for the both of you.

—

You try to put it out of your mind, but it’s not that easy.

Lying awake in bed at night, your brain unwittingly turns over possibilities of what else could’ve caused the mark if not Osamu. Guilt gnaws at you every second that you’re around him and all the while he’s painfully oblivious to it all.

He’s always been affectionate with you, but all those stray, unthinking touches now carry a different weight with them. You find yourself ducking away from them more often than not, pretending that you don’t see the almost wounded look in those greyish-brown eyes when you do. You start to avoid him, finding other places to be whenever he’s home.

And you hate yourself for it, because Osamu’s been nothing but faithful to your sister for as long as you’ve known him. You’re the one acting like there’s something wrong between the two of you, like he’s treating you any differently than he always has when you know that’s not the case.

You know that, but when you catch sight of the fading bruise in the mirror, your stomach twists into knots all the same. 

There are excuses and justifications aplenty, but none of them make you feel any better. You still find yourself sniffling into your pillow, swallowed up by your guilt when you imagine how devastated your sister would be if she knew.

You’d let her husband kiss you. Being drunk and miserable and grieving didn’t change that. Whether he knew it was you or mistook you for her; it doesn’t matter. Maybe it was a mistake, letting him talk you into coming.

Things were still too raw, too fresh. You’d thought that coming here would help, but so far it’s only made everything worse, and unintentionally or not, you can’t kid yourself that your presence is doing anything to help Osamu anymore.

You need to go back to Tokyo.

Somewhat selfishly, you’re tempted to put it off until the weekend, because you know that Onigiri Miya has a stall for the beginning of the summer festival and he’ll be too preoccupied with that to think about anything else – but you just can’t bring yourself to do that to him. 

No, it’s better to rip it off like a bandaid; nice and quick. 

You’d planned on breaking the news over dinner, but as you pick your way through your noodles, you notice that Samu’s quieter than he usually is. Every time you risk a glance up he’s staring at the table, looking entirely lost in thought, and it just doesn’t feel like the right time to bring it up.

Tomorrow, you decide, you’ll cook his favourite for dinner and tell him then.

—

The knocking startles you from your sleep with a jolt. It’s quiet, hesitant almost, but you’ve always been a light sleeper.

“Samu?” you croak out, fumbling blindly for the phone at your bedside to see what time it is. 

The door opens, a crack of light from the hallway spilling into your room as Osamu looks in. “Sorry,” he murmurs, “I know it’s late, but I need to talk to ya ‘bout somethin’.”

He’s shirtless, clad only in a pair of cotton pyjama pants, but he doesn’t look to be in any immediate kind of trouble. Still, he wouldn’t have disturbed you in the middle of the night if it wasn’t something important, so you blearily wipe the sleep from your eyes and force yourself to sit up as he slips into your room and shuts the door behind him.

“What’s wrong?”

He hasn’t bothered to turn on the light, and even with the moonlight streaming in through your window, his face is cast in shadow as he takes a seat on the edge of your bed. And it’s silly, especially considering he’s the one who’s shirtless right now but it’s hard not to flush at the realisation that you’re only wearing a thin, satiny slip. You feel almost naked – he’s seen you in bikinis before, but it feels different here, when he’s the one in your bedroom.

“You asked me the other day about what happened the night we went to Tsumu’s,” he begins, his voice quiet and soft in the early hours of the morning, and suddenly your state of dress is the last thing on your mind. 

Swallowing tightly, your pulse quickens and you still, waiting for him to continue.

And you feel, rather than see, the way he stares at you, inching a fraction closer when you don’t immediately answer. “And I lied. Or I didn’t exactly tell ya the full truth.”

“Which is?” you force out.

Samu’s shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep, slow breath in and exhales heavily. “You were drunk and ya came onto me, tried to kiss me.” You flinch, a choked sound escaping your throat at the blunt admission, but he’s quick to reach for you, his hand coming to rest on your knee, squeezing it reassuringly. “And in the heat of the moment, I let ya.”

Hot tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but the moment you try to turn away from him, biting your lip and trying to blink back the tears, he stops you. 

“Osamu–”

“‘Cause I’ve spent years waiting to kiss those lips, an’ I’m tired of pretending we both don’t want this.”

And he’s kissing you; soft and sweet and gentle, his lips molding to yours as he cups the back of your neck. You wonder if he can feel your pulse racing under his fingertips as he draws himself closer, groaning into your mouth.

It doesn’t matter that your hands are on his bare chest, pushing at him, hitting him – those muscles aren’t just for show; he’s immovable. The more you squirm, trying to extricate yourself so that you can plead with him to stop–

This is a mistake. A horrible, awful misunderstanding. He’s upset and grieving and not thinking clearly and you have to stop this.

He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

– the more his grip tightens until it starts to hurt and you’re whimpering into the kiss. Your tears are wetting his cheeks, but he doesn’t care, won’t stop and there’s a panic that rises within you every second that you’re entangled with him.

“Don’t do this,” he mutters, breaking the kiss as a sob rips its way free from your throat, “Don’t pretend ya don’t want this, baby. I know ya do. Stop being a little fuckin’ tease.”

He leans back in, intent on capturing your lips again, and in an act of desperation you reach for his face, cradling his cheek in your hand. “Samu, please,” you beg, wide, imploring eyes searching his face for any hint of a reprieve. “You’re scaring me. Stop, please, j-just for a second.”

Just a second, that’s all you need to try and snap him out of whatever the hell this is. One second. 

Osamu stills, his face mere inches from your own, his body hovering atop yours. His breath, ragged and uneven, ghosts over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake, but you don’t dare move as he leans into the touch, grey eyes fluttering shut.

He sighs, the sound almost like a shiver. “Ya don’t need to be scared, ‘m gonna take good care of my girl.”

He doesn’t give you the chance to say anything else, not as he forces himself onto you once more. You used to marvel a little at Osamu. Tall, handsome and strong, even in his mid thirties; Samu was fit. Now, straddling your waist, pinning your wrists to the wall with one hand, the other palming at your tits, he dwarfs you entirely. He isn’t impatient, not as he kisses you languidly, not as he slides the soft, satin up your thigh, revealing your underwear.

Your hiccuping sniffles aren’t enough to move him, you’re not strong enough to physically fight him off. He doesn’t pay the tearful, breathless pleas sobbed out between kisses any mind. 

Osamu grabs you by the waist and flips you onto your front, lips brushing at the nape of your neck as he smooths your hair back, and you’re utterly helpless to stop him. 

And as his hand runs down your side and he coaxes your hips up into the air, you almost wish that he was rough. Because this pretense of gentleness, glinting steel masquerading as silk – it’s too intimate, and you feel complicit.

Like you’re willing.

Like you want this with him.

An act of love as he tugs your panties down to your knees and hums in quiet satisfaction at the sight of your bare cunt, glistening just for him.

There’s a voice in your head telling you you should be screaming and kicking and snarling like a wild, feral thing, but Osamu’s grabbing at your ass, spreading it to get a better look, his thumb gliding along your slit and all you can think about is the picture he’d packed away, the one of the three of you at Disneyland. 

Samu’s arm slung over your shoulder, and your sister’s bright smile.

He spits; a warm, fat glob of saliva hitting your pussy, and as it slowly dribbles down the only sound that leaves your lips is a soft, broken whine. You don’t fight him when he takes his cock in hand and guides the flushed head, pre-cum already oozing at the tip, along your cunt, you just lie there, a toy for him to move and manipulate however he wants.

“You’ll forgive me for this, I know ya will,” he murmurs, softly squeezing your hip just once as something thick and blunt presses at your entrance. 

But it doesn’t matter, not as his cock sheaths itself inside of you with one hard, brutal thrust, because you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to forgive yourself.