#don’t worry they got back together but who proposed?

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

a friend of mine is a drawer and she remaiginated trein in like, his late 20s-early 30s..that man is stunning. at any age im sorry, im a lana del rey fan, i can't control simping for older men

so, for the trein asks (if it isn't too late): the staff room is in chaos because, well, LUCIUS. cat stuff... anyway, miss raven offers to help trein and crewel (the only ones who do their job) to organise. a couple of students, i leave it up to you, get into trouble and as punishment trein puts them to help with the cleaning and such. in that, miss raven finds some photos from about 20 years ago of the staff at that time at a meeting or something. this all comes up because, trein being ✨majestic✨ as he is, i can imagine ace mumbling: "i can't believe this old man had any type of game that wasn't bingo" (he's bickering because trein looked cool and that confuses him).

it us just so funny to me, aghsksijj. please, i'm sorry if it's a little random, and thank you. take care!

I’ve seen some 20ish to 30ish year old Trein fan arts and edits floating around! ^^ I’m sure he was a handsome and dapper guy in his youth just as much as he is as an older gentleman.

Decided to go with Ace (since he was mentioned in the ask) and Sebek (since they canonically have Magic Analysis/Enigmics together and don’t get along).

I mention Trein's late wife in this; if you know The Great Ace Attorney, I based Mrs. Trein's outfit off of Jezail Brett's look.

A Storied Past.

Lucius’s moods were always made clear and broadcasted to the school. They started with a CRASH and a BANG from the teacher’s lounge, followed by a cacophony of hissing and claws upon any hard surface he could find. A chalkboard, loose fabrics, wooden desks and chairs. Glass smashing, important documents shredded.

Today was another one of those days.

Trein had managed to pry his familiar from the curtains. (Crewel bent, inspecting the remains of them—mere tatters—and tutting.) The foul feline was tucked under his master’s arm like a plump, grumpy pillow, limbs flailing in a futile attempt to escape.

“I do apologize for Lucius’s disorderly conduct. He is not normally like this.”

Crewel pursed his lips (no doubt restraining himself from making a snide comment like, “This is precisely why dogs are preferable to cats.”). Miraculously, the well-dressed man refrained, instead tapping his pointer in an open palm. His smile was tight. “Who do you take me for Professor Trein? It’s nothing a little of Crewel-sama’s mending magic can’t fix.”

The older instructor sniffed. “Hmph, silly me. I shouldn’t underestimate the abilities of my own students. I leave it to you to handle the curtain repairs. In the meantime, I shall soothe Lucius.”

“And just who do you propose will clean up this mess of an office space? Surely you’re not thinking of putting the task on my shoulders when it was your familiar responsible for causing this catastrophe in the first place.”

“Worry not. I will send some students to take care of it."

“… What are you doing here?” Raven asked warily. It was the default when interacting with any NRC student--but especially when there was more than one of them, and both were glaring at the other. "When Professor Trein asked for volunteers, I didn't expect you two to show up."

“HE STARTED IT!!” Ace and Sebek declared, pointing at the other accusingly.

"I got put into the same group as loudmouth over here--" Ace jabbed a thumb at his peer, "--for an in-class assignment, and he started chewing me out for breathing the wrong way--"

"INSOLENCE!!" Sebek shot back, nostrils flaring like that of an enraged bull. "This human had snuck a magazine in his textbook and was reading that rather than the class materials! He had no intention on pulling his weight for the assignment, and so I rightfully chastised him for it."

"Dude, you said that if I was going to 'waste your precious time', then I should at least 'not be in your presence' while I do it?!" Ace straightened and puffed his chest out, adopting a smug expression and a haughty voice. "I'm offended to be sharing the same space and air as someone who clearly has no appreciation for his own education. I am fully capable of completing this assignment on my own. Your assistance will not be needed!!"

"I was offering sound advice! You should be grateful that I spared you any at all, human!"

"Yeah, well, you suck at giving advice!"

Raven massaged her pounding temples.

I knew it. No way would Ace willingly volunteer to help poor Professor Trein, and no way would Sebek want to stay after class instead of immediately rushing to Malleus-senpai's side.

"So what I'm hearing is that you become far too noisy and Trein berated you both and sentenced you to clean up the teacher's lounge."

"This human was going to skip his punishment, had I not chased him down and dragged him here!"

"Tch." Ace hastily glanced away, not bothering to deny the accusation.

"... Never mind that. We should get started." Raven pointed to the far ends of the room. Better position them as far away from each other as possible, or things could get explosive. "Ace, take the right, where Professor Crewel's desk begins. Sebek, the left, where the bookshelves and filing cabinets are, is yours. I'll take the middle."

"Fine by me."

"HMPH!!"

The duo split off in opposite directions.

Raven sighed. Let's get down to business.

At the center of the teacher's lounge was an ornate oak desk, items strewn about. She started to collect them: stray papers, books, quills and inks, a tea set that had spilled, and... two framed photographs. Their glasses faces were slightly cracked, but the images inside were perfectly preserved.

A pair of little girls were posed in one frame. One sported fiery crimson ringlets and wore a pink dress, the other was in a gown of green and had a big turquoise bow tucked in her short brown curls. Both had toothy grins.

In the other frame was a group of men in suits at a long crystalline table. At one end was the headmaster goofily holding up two peace signs. Raven surveyed the faces of the other adults in the picture, stopping when she came upon a handsome man in maroon robes, his dark hair slicked back--not a strand out of place--and a cat nestled in his arms. His expression was austere yet aloof, as if he was displeased with the camera pointed his way but deigned to allow it to capture his visage anyway.

On his arm was an elegant woman, her svelte figure wrapped in a gown a similar color as his robes. A wide-brimmed hat adorned with flowers obscured most of her face, save for her mouth, which was painted a deep red.

"Oh, this is..."

Suddenly, a gloved hand snatched the photograph from her. The culprit, one smug Ace Trappola, held the frame out of her reach.

"H-Hey…! You're supposed to be cleaning!" Raven hissed.

"You're supposed to be cleaning!" Ace squeaked in a mocking mimic of her. "What'cha lookin' at that's so interesting anyway, huh?" He turned his head to get an eyeful of the image--and his jaw instantly dropped. "Hold up, is this TREIN?! And who's the smokin' lady next to him?!"

"Um, Mrs. Trein. Was that not obvious...?" Raven folded her arms and tapped a foot impatiently. "And that aside, it's quite rude of you to call Professor Trein's wife simply a 'smokin' lady'. Refer to her by her proper name!"

He didn't seem to hear Raven. Ace grimaced and waved the picture around as if handling a floppy pancake. "I can't believe that geezer looked this good when he was young--and he managed to bag this babe? He had game that wasn't Bingo?! Life's not fair, I tell ya!"

"CEASE YOUR INCESSANT SHOUTING!!" Sebek hollered from the other side of the room. He shoved the binders he had been rearranging back into their shelf and marched over, planting himself squarely in front of Ace. "You've already committed a number of transgressions--and now you seek to invade the privacy of your instructors?! KNOW YOUR PLACE!!"

"You're shouting ten times more than I am!!" Ace sneered. Then, wagging a finger, he slipped into a teasing tone. "You wanna see too, don't 'cha? I get it, I get it. Us teenage boys get curious about these kinds of things~"

"Hah! You would be incorrect. I have no interest in such lascivious materials. DO NOT PRESUME THAT I AM A DEGENERATE LIKE YOURSELF!!"

"That's wild comin' from a guy whose ears are turning bright red," Ace snickered.

"... I think the both of you are wildly off track now," Raven muttered. She held out her hand to Ace, palm up. "Give it back. It belongs on Professor Trein's desk--and you owe him a formal apology later for your comments."

Ace pouted. "What, about his wife and his looks? What's wrong with saying hot people are hot?"

"You also called Professor Trein a geezer," she pointed out, "implying that he has someone lost worth due to aging. I think you fail to respect your elders."

"The bird is correct!! There is far more to a man's worth than his looks." Sebek smirked. "For example, Lilia-sama is not only conventionally cute, but he is also very wise, considerate, compassionate... the complete package, nothing like you!! There is much insight we can glean from those who have come before us. Age is something to be praised, not rebuked!"

Ace frowned deeply. "... Are you seriously incapable of speaking a single sentence without brown nosing to Diasomnia or insulting literally everyone else?"

"What is going on here?"

Raven, Ace, and Sebek froze. The door to the teacher's lounge was wide open--and there, standing disapprovingly, was Professor Trein with his brows pinched together, frowning.

"There had better be a good explanation as to why the three of you are rifling through my belongings."

Her stomach lurched.

Like clockwork, Ace and Sebek pointed at each other. They parroted the same phrase that had started it all. "HE STARTED IT!"

[leileitts]

These my fav

[lieslab]

And at last I see the light

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Minho X gn reader

Summary: Half-delirious and sick, you randomly tell Minho about your dream proposal and he takes notes.

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 2.5K

A/N: I'm sappy and emotional. This was definitely inspired by Tangled. What can I say? I'm just a girl who cries easily and thinks about love a lot. Can a girl not ponder? Anyway, if you get choked up at proposals, grab a tissue or two.

_ _ _

The simple conversation was so long ago that you forgot about it. It was a brief moment in passing, just another random conversation, but Minho didn’t forget it. In fact, he’d been planning since then. 

“If I were to propose to you, where would you want it and how would you want it done?” 

The two of you were on opposite ends of the couch. Your body was heavy with the weight of a random stomach bug. Through the stomach aches and nausea, you were fading in and out of consciousness. Minho wanted to take you to your shared bed, but you refused. Too worried about making him sick, you opted to stay on the couch. 

Every time he came close to you, you stubbornly held your breath and threatened to make yourself pass out. It was dramatic, but it wasn’t unusual for you, you always were. Too afraid of giving him the same bug, you did your best to keep your distance. 

You didn’t get the exact wish you were hoping and praying for. At some point, you fell asleep and he covered you in a thick fleece blue blanket. A kiss was planted to the top of your sleeping temple before he strolled back over to the couch. He curled up on the other side and kept an eye on you. 

The television was already on, but he twitched the show to something silly with cartoon characters. You needed your rest and he didn’t want you to wake up and stress out your brain by trying to follow along with a half-over plot. He picked out the most childish show and let it play. 

When you woke up, you awoke to dancing shadows and the gentle vibrations of the leather couch. Across the way, Minho couldn’t help, but laugh at something that a character said. He grinned and kept his eyes on the flickering screen. 

You caught his attention when you sleepily uttered his name. He quickly lowered the volume, got up, and rushed to get you water. You still refused to let him be too close, so all he could do was keep his distance and observe your stubborn self. 

The conversations didn’t have a steady theme. He talked about one thing and then another. You jumped from topic-to-topic with him. You were about ready to fall asleep again when he asked you that question. 

“Tangled,” you mumbled. 

His eyebrows pinched together and he studied your face. Your sleepy eyes were half-lidded and a yawn tugged your mouth into a small o-shape. A smile grew on half of his face and he asked for clarification. 

“The scene where Rapunzel and Flynn are in the gondola with the flying lanterns.” 

“What about it?” 

“Maybe not the gondola, but with the flying lanterns.” You nuzzled your head back against the cool leather. “I’ve always thought they were beautiful. It’d be the perfect memory.” 

“You think so?” 

“I know so, but you can’t propose to me when I’m sick. I don’t feel good and I think I’d throw up on your shoes. I think the lights would somehow make me nauseous.” 

“You poor, poor thing,” he teased you. 

“Mmhm. Poor me.” Your eyes slipped shut and you let out a sigh. He watched you slowly drift back to sleep with the cartoons long forgotten about. His brain went into overdrive that night. 

Loving Minho was the easiest choice you ever made. From his quick wit to his loudness, it was the best choice. Not a single soul could compare and it was something you tried not to take for granted. 

Whether it was arguing about who deserved the last pudding, or sitting in silence while Minho laid on your lap, your love was so simple. Life went on and the conversation erased from your brain, but it didn’t stop you from having moments when you watched him with a soft fondness. 

Your body relaxed and inside your chest, your heart stuttered as your brain tried to capture those little moments. Sometimes, it was as simple as him leaning over the stove and stirring whatever dish he was trying to make. Other times, it was when he was bare faced and stretched out on the couch with one of his cats upon his lap. 

His messy hair poked out in every direction from running his hand through it. After dance practice, his muscles ached and he just wanted to sit down and take a bit of time to relax. You usually joined him and crept over, snuggling beneath his arm to keep him warm. He’d whine and complain of your sudden presence, but he never pulled away. 

He liked when you wrapped your arms around his torso and pressed a soft kiss against the side of his neck. Just as you grew fond of him, he grew smitten with you. He joked that his love for you was like a pesky bunion that just wouldn’t go away. 

Meanwhile, you compared it to wild mushrooms. You could try to stop loving him, but the love would keep sprouting up. Just when you thought there was nothing more to love, you’d turn your back for a brief moment and glance back to find another thing to love; another mushroom sprouted through damp soil. 

Everything was warm and bright. In your eyes, everything was right and as the days turned into weeks, when those weeks burrowed into months, and began to roll into years, Minho knew he had you forever. He was going to take advantage of your sleepy-sick state and put his plans into action one day, but it never seemed like the right time. The two of you were always busy and time kept going, your love was an endless sea, but he wanted to make it truly official. 

That wish came true when spring unveiled itself. With the chirping birds and baby bunnies, there was finally going to be a lantern festival. Rejuvenation, rebirth, and earth’s restoration; the perfect time to take the next step in your relationship. 

“Wear something nice.”

“I always wear something nice.” 

“Your constant state of sweatpants and hoodies says otherwise.” 

“Fuck off!” 

He just wanted you to look back at the video and be content with what you were wearing. The lantern festival was a rarity and you already had your best outfit picked out. You went through the entire routine of making yourself look good and then put it on. 

It was a miracle that you didn’t notice the bouncing of his non-driving leg. He shifted in the seat a few times, but your nose was pressed against the passenger’s seat glass. You were going on and on about how excited you were for the festival, you always wanted to attend one. 

You were unaware that the fate of your relationship sat in a small square box in Minho’s pocket. The weight of it in his pocket wasn’t much, but tonight, it felt like the ring he picked out was a thousand pounds. He kept glancing over at you and imagining what your face would look like. If it was ugly, he would be sure to tease you about it. 

The two of you arrived twenty minutes before the lanterns were set to be released. Finding a parking space was difficult, but by some miracle, he managed to find an empty space to squeeze his car into. He grabbed your hand and headed to the area to grab a lantern. 

“Are you getting one too?” You asked, practically bouncing on the balls of your feet. 

“No, I just want to watch you light and release yours. You’ve been wanting this, right? It’s your night to shine.” 

“Well, yeah, but I thought you were going to do it with me.” You frowned and couldn’t hide the disappointment from your voice. 

“Just don’t worry about it, have your fun.” 

After grabbing the paper lantern with a tea light white candle tucked inside, Minho handed it to you. “Remember that you only get one wish, so use it well.” You playfully slapped his shoulder and took the lantern. 

“Maybe I should wish for you to stop being a pain in my ass.” 

“In your dreams.” 

With one hand on the lantern and one hand in Minho’s, you began to lead him through the thicket of people. It seemed like everyone wanted to light and release a lantern too. Maybe it was the same reason as you, people wanted to make a wish. For others, it was a way to remember specific people and other loved ones. 

No matter what the reason was, it made your heart swell with happiness. How human was it to long for peace? People had done this since the beginning of time and tonight wasn’t anything new. 

Little did you know, Minho’s friend was tracking his location. The location sharing app had the exact path they were taking. A few people away, he silently followed with quiet footsteps. In his hand, the phone that’d be used to catch the proposal. 

You wiggled through laughter and tears full of a yearning for loved ones. Tonight, no matter who was here, there was a sense of unity. You could feel the tethered string of your heart plucking at all the sights and sounds. 

When you finally found a spot on a slight grassy hill, the two of you were only near a handful of people. Minho glanced over his shoulder and found his friend’s face in the reflection of a phone light. His friend quickly clicked off his phone, so he could stay hidden in the dark blanket of night.

“How do you feel?” Minho asked. 

“I’m so excited!” You grinned. “I’ve always wanted to do something like this. Ever since I watched Tangled for the first time, the floating lantern scene on the water has always been my favorite scene.” 

“I’m sorry that we’re not on water.” 

“Are you kidding me?” You scoffed. “Look at where we are! This is going to be so beautiful. It’s like we’re holding the stars tonight. For once, they won’t be in the sky, we’ll be capturing them and sending them back home.” 

He pressed his lips together, trying not to get sappy over how excited you were. You were like a little kid as you rambled. Even in the dark, a nearby street light lit up the excitement in your eyes. He’d seen you excited before, but this was something entirely different. 

His hand went into his pant’s pocket to make sure the ring was still there. His hand found the square leather box and his shoulders relaxed. He knew exactly how he’d do this, he was just hoping you’d say yes. 

After a few minutes of talking, your arm shot out and you pointed across the way. “Look! It’s starting! We can light our lantern!”

Our lantern. 

Minho said he wasn’t getting a floating lantern and instead of ignoring his words, you just assumed that the two of you could share the lantern instead. His heart ached with a love for you that he couldn’t understand sometimes. It was little things like that, it made him think he could love you until his heart gave out. 

He reached into his other pocket, held out a lighter, and handed it to you. You held up the lantern and he hesitated. It was only after you nodded that he flicked the flame to life. He placed it back in his pocket and behind him, his friend came closer to record the moment. 

“Come on, grab the lantern and make a wish.” 

“But it’s your lantern.” 

“Lee Minho, so help me, if you don’t grab on and make a wish with me...” 

Across the way, flickering yellows and oranges began to fly higher in the sky. He grabbed the other side of the lantern and together, the two of you raised it higher and higher. After your arms couldn’t stretch anymore, your fingers let go. 

You smiled as you watched it go further and further away. Above the people’s heads, above the buildings, and further and further into the night sky. Your eyes didn’t leave, even when it blended into a crowd of other lights. 

Awe and endearment flooded the area. Shouts of joy and flickers of laughter. No matter what people wished tonight, for once, it felt like it’d be okay. Whatever hurt and whatever harm had touched people’s lives, tonight was the start of something different. 

Every light had a story and each one was a flicker of hope. Into the air, into the sky, and over buildings. Tonight, you weren’t sure where your lantern would land, it’d be up to the universe to decide. 

“So what’d you wish for?” 

You began to spin around at the sound of Minho’s voice. “I wished for-” You gasped and a hand slammed over your mouth. A few feet away, Minho was down on one knee with a box holding a ring. 

“Are you joking?” Your voice wobbled as you spoke. An emotional lump was forming in your throat. Tears blurred your eyes. 

“Will you marry me?” 

“Seriously?” 

“Seriously.” 

“Yes. Yes. Yes!” You vigorously nodded as tears streamed down your cheeks. “A thousand times yes!” 

Before he could get up, you collapsed down beside him. He didn’t get a chance to speak because you threw your arms around his shoulders. You pressed your head into the side of his neck as a choked out sob fell from your lips. 

“Hey, hey, hey.” He wrapped his arms around you tightly. “Why are you crying?” 

“Because,” you weakly squeaked as you pulled away from his body. “This was my wish. I wanted our relationship to last forever.” 

“I guess we both got our wishes tonight. My wish was that you’d say yes.” He chuckled and wiped your tears away with his thumbs. “Can we get up now? I’d like to make it official and put a ring on it.” 

“You’re an idiot,” you mumbled as you pulled your arms away. You allowed him to help pull you up. Your hand stuck out and he began to stick a ring on your finger. 

“That might be true, but I’m your idiot.” He gently grabbed your ring finger and slid on the ring. “Now I’m your idiot forever. Come on, stop crying.” He wiped away more of your tears. 

“I can’t help it, I’ve always dreamed of this. How’d you know this is what I wanted? The floating lights and everything?” Your eyes searched his, but all he offered with a soft hum and a shrug. 

“Love is a mystery like that sometimes.” He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “Come on,” he slowly turned you around. “Let's watch the lanterns, shall we?” An arm wrapped around your shoulders. 

With a final sniffle, you let your head lean against his shoulder. Everything was just as perfect as you’d imagine it to be. Nothing anyone could do would ever be able to top this moment.

Minho glanced over his shoulder and his friend gave him a thumbs up. He stopped the recording and disappeared back into the crowd of people. Tomorrow, Minho would make you watch the video and he’d tease you for your dramatic reaction. 

Tonight, you were just two people whose wishes came true beneath floating lanterns and that was enough for him. 

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @straykidsstanforeverandever @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman

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Ko-fi

[byproducts-of-my-imagination]

Everyone Hates Todo Except You

The best part about Todo is that you don’t have to put yandere in front of him because his normal behavior already screams delusional and obsessive.   You cannot convince me that he doesn’t sniff all your things as soon as you’re not looking.  He’s just so intense.  I love this man, need to catch up on jjk.

~1k words. Thank you to whoever requested this and I hope you enjoy!

At the Kyoto branch, nobody really bothers sticking their nose in Todo’s business.  But when there’s an enormous mound of trash bags outside his room that just keeps getting bigger, concerning glances and eyebrow raises no longer cut it.  Normally his antics earn a side eye or two, but lately it’s been a little much, even for him.  At the breakfast table the next day, the girls decide to draw straws to see who has to tell him to move his shit.

“It’s not fair!  Why do I have to do it?”  Miwa groans, cursing her bad luck for the thousandth time.  

“It is fair, you just happened to draw the short straw now go deal with it!  We'll back you up.”  Mai grins, knowing full well she rigged it.

Kasumi Miwa would rather be doing literally anything else at this moment.  She timidly knocks on the door, and says, “Todo?  Could you move all this stuff please?  You’re starting to block the hallway.”

“Yeah I’ll get to it whenever I get the rest of this junk cleaned up.  Don’t worry there’s no food waste so there shouldn’t be any smell.”

“B-but Todo…. It's been almost a week now…”  The only response was the muted sound of shuffling.

Miwa looks back in defeat at her so-called “back up” as they peek from behind the corner.  Their best bet now is to get one of the boys to convince him.  And if they fail it’s straight to Utahime-sensei.  

Todo looks at his room, emptier than it’s ever been.  He knew this was the likeliest outcome.  Takada-chan was a beloved idol, and even if she liked him back (which he thought she might have at some point) there was no way she could be with him.  He knew, but it doesn't mean it hurt any less.  There were years of carefully collected merch, thousands of dollars being stuffed into trash bags to be thrown away.  But instead of the despair he carefully denied for years, he didn’t feel any loss throwing away all the autographed posters and pictures.  No, he had something much better now, someone who could actually be with him in this wretched, boring world.  He had his wonderful, gorgeous, beautiful, perfect in every way girlfriend.  And while you weren’t aware that you were destined to be with him yet, he would make sure you’d know soon.  As soon as he finished purging his space of Takada-chan (it wouldn’t do to have pictures of an old flame) he’d confess.  

A few days later he was tying up the last trash bag, ready to enact his plan.  He asked you to meet him under the largest tree in the forest on the edge of the training field.  Several hypothetical scenarios floated through his mind, and he focused on the one where you’d enthusiastically said you loved him back and then he married you and had many children.  As he neared the confession site, Todo felt yet another arrow go through his heart as you came into view.  I’ll never get tired of seeing her.

“Todo, is everything okay?  What’s up?”  A shiver ran down Todo’s spine, goosebumps rising.  God, even your voice was perfect.

“I love you.  Promise me, y/n.  That we’ll spend the rest of our lives together.”  He got down on one knee like a proposal, looking up at you like a devout follower.

“Todo… I don’t know about the rest of our lives but why don’t we start with a date?  I like you too.”  While you were a bit taken aback by his forwardness, you brush it off as Todo being Todo.  You never disliked his honesty and unabashedness.

“My girlfriend!! I knew you felt the same!”  A single tear ran down Todo’s face.   

Back to the dorms, it wasn’t long before everyone found out and congregated at your room to badger you with questions.  

“Ugh that gorilla?  You guys are dating now?”  Nishimiya asked, firmly believing Todo to be an improper and inadequate boyfriend.  

“I thought he only had eyes for that idol Takado or whatever,” Miwa chimes.

“It’s Takada,” Mai corrects, not able to make eye contact with Nishimiya’s suspicious glance in her direction. 

“We’re dating now!  He just asked me out, and he’s really good to me.” you reply, thinking of how Todo insisted on carrying you back to the dorms, gently setting you down before running off saying he needed to ‘prepare’.  

“You can do way better than Todo, trust us.” The girls all nod in agreement.  However, Todo is outside your room balancing a tray of perfectly cooked lunch and a cold pitcher of water.  

“What are you guys talking about?”  he knows already, but wants to hear them say it to his face.  

“How y/n is too good for the likes of you.”  Mai minces no words for Todo.  With the uncomfortable tension rising, the Kyoto girls hastily make an exit.  

“My love, I made lunch for us.  I know I am not handsome, or come from wealth and a good sorcerer family like some of our classmates.  But I will be devoted.  I will never stray from you, I’d die if you asked me to.”  he says, as he sets the meal on your small desk, pulling out utensils and napkins.  His normal confidence seems to waver a bit, and it seems that not even Todo is immune to worrying about what other people think of him.  

“Todo, don’t worry about what they say and please don’t say you’ll die for me.  I like you a lot, I wouldn’t have accepted your confession if I didn’t.  I also think you’re quite handsome.”  

“You love me back?”  he whispers, kneeling at the edge of your bed, looking up at you.  While it’s a bit too early to tell, Todo’s hopeful, reverent look has you obliging him. 

“I do love you back.”  He embraces you, and you can hear his heartbeat in his bare chest.  It feels good to be loved so wholeheartedly, and you’ll give him all the love you have to repay him.  

[thelostconsultant]

You got me worried

pairing: Max Verstappen x reader

summary: You get into a car accident when you're on the phone with Max, who immediately leaves to see you. Charles finds out what's wrong and offers to go with him. Those few days in the hospital change a few of his personal relationships.

warning: accident, serious injuries. (no death.)

note: My Lestappen heart wanted me to write this.

word count: almost 5.3k

“You’re stalling,” you said on the other end of the line, and Max could tell you had that adorable smirk on your face that he loved so much.

But he wasn’t stalling, at least not intentionally. He wanted to answer your question, but he honestly didn’t know what to say, so he decided to take his time to figure out what to tell you. Your mother wasn’t very fond of him, she believed that you made a mistake by dating someone whose job was so dangerous, and she always had this bad feeling about him. When he asked you what it meant, you just shrugged as said not to look for logic in this. So he put his own bad feelings aside and played nice every time they were together somewhere. 

And now? Now you wanted to take her on a trip to New Zealand and asked him to tag along if he didn’t have anything else to do. Well, it was clearly a trap. One, he had no official obligations around New Year’s Eve which you knew perfectly well, and two, he wanted to enter the new year on your side, he wanted to kiss you at midnight, so he had no choice but to follow wherever you were heading. 

Letting out a sigh as he leaned back on his bed in the driver’s room, Max decided to yield, something he was only willing to do because of you. “Fine, I’ll go with you,” he told you, trying to keep his annoyance out of his voice. “But why don’t we invite a friend of hers? This way she would be entertained while we spend some time alone. Come on, you owe me this much.”

It was your turn to remain silent, but it only lasted for a few seconds. “I mean, she’s dating this guy now–”

“Someone’s willing to date her?” Shit, this sentence wasn’t meant to slip out. Clearing his throat, he pinched the bridge of his nose and went, “Sorry, I mean, she didn’t seem like she was ready to date just yet.”

“I get what you mean. I don’t know much about him, maybe this could be the perfect chance to get to know him a little better. And you’re right, he could keep her company while we’re having fun on our own,” you said with a laugh. 

Despite the idea being presented for the first time a few minutes ago, Max was already thinking about this trip as the perfect chance to put his plan into motion. Because he’d been planning to take your relationship to the next level, to start a family with you. And what would be better than a proposal in another country and maybe his not so secret attempt to get you pregnant? It would be great, he knew you would be happy. 

But before he could say anything, he heard scream and a loud noise, one that sounded eerily like cars crashing and glass breaking. “What happened?” There was no answer, and he couldn’t help but sit up with his heart ready to jump out of his ribcage. “Baby, please, say something,” he begged, but there was still no response. 

Then he heard people buzzing in the background, talking loudly, screaming for help, telling someone to call the emergency number. One person who was probably close to your car told someone you weren’t moving, but they also said they couldn’t tell if you were dead. Dead. He wanted to shout, he wanted to cry, he felt like throwing up, but somehow he managed to keep his cool. Panicking wouldn’t solve anything, he had to listen for now. But your car’s multimedia system gave in and ended the call, leaving him there with his fears and thoughts. 

Max tried to call you, but no one answered, so he quickly made a few calls to ensure his jet was available the moment he got to the airport. Because the race was over, he only had one or two interviews left, but he couldn’t care less about those. After throwing his things into his backpack, he hurriedly left his room and looked for the press officer to tell her he was leaving right now. She tried to ask him what was wrong, but he just shook his head and waved goodbye, his eyes fixed on the screen as he typed in the address where your phone was at this moment. 

He found a few posts about a crash there, and one of them had a photo as well. It was your car, he knew that right away, but the sight made his heart clench. The other car t-boned yours on the left side, right where you were sitting, which made him afraid there was no way you could survive that crash. But then he found a post about the drivers being taken to the hospital, so maybe it wasn’t so bad, maybe it was just looking bad. 

Suddenly he bumped into someone, which finally made him look up from the screen of his phone. “Sorry,” he said automatically. 

Charles gave him an unimpressed look, motioning towards his phone. “What’s so interesting?”

“An accident,” he replied, having no idea why he answered the question instead of just leaving him there. This caught the other driver’s interest, because he quickly said goodbye to the person he’d been talking to and moved to his side to look at the screen of the device. “That’s my girlfriend’s car on the right.”

“This looks bad. How is she?” he asked, sounding genuinely worried despite only meeting you once. 

Max gulped and shrugged. “I don’t know. I–I was on the phone with her, then I heard a loud crash and a scream. The call ended and no one’s picking up her phone. I don’t know what’s going on, so I’ll just pack my suitcases and head to the airport to get home as soon as possible,” he said without stopping to take a breath. 

Yes, he was panicking, he was losing his cool, but that was the least of his problems right now. All he could think about was the worst case scenario, the possibility of the doctor not being able to save your life. What would he do then? How could he move on from losing you? How could he live his life without hearing your scream all the time? It was all too much, especially after a frustrating race like the one today.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when Charles put a hand on his shoulder and looked into his eyes with a serious expression on his face. “Okay, take a deep breath. Are you sure you can drive like this?” For the very first time, he actually considered what he was planning to do, and after a few seconds of thinking, he came to the conclusion that he was definitely not in the right state of mind to drive, so he shook his head. “All right,” the Monegasque began slowly, looking over his shoulder for a moment, “we’ll find someone who can take care of your car, then I’ll give you a ride to the airport. How does that sound?”

It was a long day, Charles had to fight his own battles during the race, mostly with his own team, but there he was, offering to chauffeur him around so he would stay safe. A small, thankful smile crept on his lips as he nodded eventually. Maybe this was for the best, the last thing he wanted was doing something stupid because he was distracted by his fears. 

“Okay. You should get someone to pick you up when you get to Monaco, you shouldn’t drive there either,” Charles told him as they headed back to the Red Bull motorhome.

A desperate laugh left him at this. “Well, she wasn’t there, she was visiting her family, so she’s in a country where the only ones I know are her relatives, and they’re in the hospital with her. But I’ll call a taxi, it’s not a problem,” he explained with a sigh. 

A thoughtful hum from Charles caught his attention as he looked over at him. “Well, in this case I’ll have to drive you around there too,” the other man declared with a kind smile. When Max opened his mouth to tell him it was unnecessary, he just raised his hand to stop him. “I don’t take no for an answer. She’s nice. Hell, it’s easy to tell she has a good influence on you. Now I want to make sure she’s okay too.”

Max could hardly wrap his head around why he offered to help. He surely had better things to do than traveling to a country other than his home, meeting strangers who were the closest to someone he only met once, and providing emotional support to someone he’d been battling with since they were kids. This was beyond him, but he was too afraid to ask for the reason. A little voice in the back of his mind said he was planning something, but then he looked into Charles’s bright eyes and realized he was just being nice. 

They were sitting in the car on the way to the airport when his phone began to ring, and the screen lit up with the name of your mother. Gulping, he swiped his finger and raised the device to his ear. “Hi, Laura, do you know anything about her? Ho–how is she?” he asked, eagerly waiting for the older woman’s reply. 

“I guess you know about the accident then. I’m at the hospital with her. She’s still in surgery and they said it will take a few more hours before they can take her to the ICU. Do you want to come here?”

Did she really ask him if he wanted to be there? After all that time they spent together, after everything they had gone through, she dared to ask him if he wanted to be by her side? Outrageous. “I’m already on my way to the airport, I just need to know which hospital she’s in,” he replied, forcing himself to stay relatively calm. He didn’t want a fight with her, not when they were both in a very fragile state of mind. 

The woman on the other end of the line remained silent for a few seconds, then he heard muffled voices, which was followed by the sound of her clearing her throat. “I’ll send you everything you need to know.”

“Thank you. And if you hear anything, call me. Please.”

“Of course. See you later, Max.”

Once the call ended, he glanced down at his phone and waited until it buzzed again, the notification of a new message showing up. He had a location, although funnily enough, it was sent by your cousin, not your mother. It was a smaller miracle that she called him herself, a part of him expected her to make someone else do this. But at least her dislike for him became obvious once again. 

Charles glanced over at him with a questioning look on his face. “How is she?” he asked, the tone of his voice making it clear that he was walking on eggshells around him.

Max leaned his head against the seat and looked out the window. “Still in surgery, and she will probably be in there for another few hours. Even though she's probably in good hands, I'm not… It's hard to stay positive,” he admitted with a gulp.

“Maybe it will take a while, but she's gonna get better. You need to believe this, otherwise you'll go insane,” the other driver tried, his voice quiet, but confident. 

He was trying to help, and he was right, but his mind was full of thoughts about the worst case scenarios. What if you end up in a coma you don't wake up from? What if there's serious brain damage? What if you can't live the same active life you used to? He knew you would be devastated, and it's not like he would leave you for that, he just didn't know how he could handle it emotionally.

So yeah, he was already going insane. 

“Why are you doing this?” Max asked, voicing the question that had been in the back of his mind for a while now. 

Charles responded with a questioning hum, and despite the pair of sunglasses he wore, it was easy to tell he was watching him with a raised eyebrow. “Why wouldn't I? Look, maybe we're not friends outside the track, but I can imagine how hard this situation must be for you. Just accept the help for once, okay?”

After taking a deep breath, Max nodded. “Thank you.” 

The Monegasque had a smirk on his face when he returned his attention to the road. According to the sat nav, the airport was only five minutes away, so Max unlocked his phone and saw a message from Lando that told him to check X’s trending topics. When he opened the app, he saw his name at the front, and the posts were about some anonymous source leaking information about you being in the hospital. 

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath as he scrolled through the flood of posts. 

“What?”

Looking over at him, Max let out an annoyed groan. “Her accident made it to social media. From what I’ve seen so far was based on a post from someone who either works at the hospital or is a first responder. And someone kept digging until they put the pieces together, so now there’s a photo of the car wreck circling around,” he explained. 

“It’s not that bad. Unless they’re celebrating. Please, tell me they’re not celebrating.”

Max shook his head. “No, it’s not that, but whoever wrote the original post made it clear her life is hanging on a thread. So people are now getting ready for the worst case scenario.”

“Her not surviving this?” Charles guessed as he glanced over at him. When there was a quiet nod in response, he gulped and looked back at the road. “She won’t die. Don’t even think about it. She’s young and strong, and I’m sure she’s a fighter. Okay, we’re here.”

For the first time in a while Max looked up and noticed they had indeed arrived. After getting their suitcases, they got on the jet and sat down to wait for the takeoff. During the flight Charles tried to avert his thoughts by talking about the race and bringing up old memories from their carting days, and Max realized that he had absolutely no idea how he would say thank you for his help. 

For years he assumed their long history of rivalry meant they could never be friends, and their conversations would be nothing but casual chats based on mutual respect. But now he was here, providing the kind of emotional support he so desperately needed. 

Two hours later they entered the hospital building through a big crowd of paparazzi, reporters and fans, trying to navigate through the maze to find where your family was waiting. It took some time, but eventually they found them. Your cousin was the only one who jumped up and ran over to him, her arms sneaking around his body to pull him into a hug as she cried. The poor girl was only sixteen, and despite the age difference you two were the closest, as if you were siblings. His eyes fell on your mother, but she was simply staring ahead with a neutral look in her eyes. 

Charles decided to sit down not far from them, sending a message to his girlfriend so she would know where he was, but Max knew he was paying attention. “Any news?” he asked Sophie, your cousin.

“Yeah, she’s in the ICU, just until they know she’s really stable. She has a badly broken leg, a few broken ribs, one even punctured her lung, and… Yeah, severe concussion, and I think there’s a fracture in her cheek.”

Max gulped as his fingers ran through his hair. “That’s a lot,” he noted, earning a nod. “But she’s relatively okay, right?”

“You can say that,” your mother suddenly spoke up, finally acknowledging him. 

For a few moments they were just staring at each other, and Max was beginning to think she would start blaming him for the accident. Even if she didn’t know about the call they were in at the time, she would sure as hell find a reason to put the blame on him. She always did, whenever you had a bad day, it was surely his fault, even when you weren’t even in the same country.

But to his surprise, that’s not what happened, because she suddenly walked over to him and pulled him into a tight hug. He didn’t even know what to do at first, his eyes were moving back and forth between Sophie and Charles, but they both shrugged to tell him they had no clue what he should do. So he wrapped his arms around her too, soon hearing her crying into his shoulder. 

“I’m glad you’re here, Max,” she said when she took a step back and looked up at him. “I had my doubts, but… Knowing you rushed here after finding out what happened means a lot to me.”

With a sad smile, he nodded. “Where else would I be? I–I don’t know if you knew, but I was on the phone with her when the accident happened. She told me about the trip to New Zealand you’re planning, she was trying to convince me to go with you, and… Would you mind if I tagged along?” he asked, as if he needed her permission. 

But maybe he did. Maybe this hug was the olive branch he’d been hoping to receive one day, the least he could do was make sure she was okay with the plan. And maybe him going with you wasn’t the only thing he should talk to her about, maybe he should mention the most obvious decision he had made during that call. When she said she wouldn’t mind if she joined them, Max took a deep breath, then cleared his throat. 

“There’s something else. I’m planning to propose on New Year’s Eve. A few hours ago I thought your opinion was irrelevant and it’s her decision, but… now I’d like to hear what you have to say. Would you be okay with it?” he asked hesitantly, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to another.

Your mother’s lips curled into a smile all of a sudden, then he reached out to take his hand in hers. “I’m sure that would make her really happy. And if she’s happy, I’m happy. You know what? My idiotic ex-husband used our family heirloom, a beautiful engagement ring, to propose. How about giving that to her?”

“Are you sure?” She nodded without hesitation. “Thank you, that would be great.”

Since the doctor said they would tell them when they could go and see you, Max sat down next to Charles and waited there in silence. The other driver glanced up from his phone every now and then, but eventually he had enough of the silence and decided to pay full attention to him. 

“You okay?” 

He honestly didn’t know the answer to this simple question. You were alive, your mother gave him her blessing, what else would he need? Still, he couldn’t get himself to say yes. “I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. 

Charles nodded as he supportively patted his back. “I’m sure you’ll be better once you see her,” he noted with a small smile. “You heard her mother, the worst part is over, now all she needs is time to recover.”

And that was a problem he had to solve. He knew your mother would be more than happy to help you, he could hire a live-in nurse to take care of you, he could send you to the best rehabilitation facility in Europe, but nothing would make him feel good enough if he couldn’t be there by your side. Because he still had half a season left, he was expected to travel around the world, away from you, and the thought was killing him. 

“Without me,” he eventually said, so quietly that he hoped Charles didn’t catch it.

But he did, and he clearly understood what was bothering him. “I know it’s hard, but she will understand that you can’t be by her side all the time. Once the season’s over, she won’t get rid of you,” he said with a laugh, nudging his side with his elbow. “Come on, let’s get some coffee. We could all use it.”

Max nodded, and as Charles took the orders, he asked Sophie if she would like to come help them. He knew she was a traitor who supported his rival, but she was young and nice, so he chalked it up to teenage stupidity for now. While they waited for the coffees, Charles and Sophie got lost in a conversation that was conveniently in French “so she could practice.” They seemed to get along, and he was glad your cousin had a reason to smile for a while.

This is why he spent this time checking his phone and found a bunch of messages from friends and family, all telling him that they were there if he needed help. Knowing so many people cared about them warmed his heart. It was mostly you, he knew that, your charming personality had everyone wrapped around your finger. This gave him the idea to send a message to his mother and sister, telling them he would propose the moment you were feeling well enough to make a decision. 

A few hours later Charles said goodbye and promised to be back the next day, and soon your family left as well. Your mother wanted to stay, but Max promised to call her if there was anything to know. So he slept on the couch in the waiting room, ignoring the weird look some people gave him the whole evening. A nurse was nice enough to bring him a pillow that made it a bit more bearable, but he wished you could be transferred to a regular room where he could ask for a bed to sleep in next to you. 

In the morning a doctor gently squeezed his shoulder to wake him up, and he groggily rubbed his eyes as he sat up. “Morning, Doctor,” he said, trying hard to fight back a yawn. “Did something happen?”

The man sat down next to him and turned to him with a small smile. “She’s ready to be taken to a normal hospital room. You mentioned to our staff yesterday that you want her to be placed in the VIP section, preferably with an extra bed for you, so we took care of everything. I can walk you there if you’d like,” he offered. 

“Sure, sure, thank you. How is she?”

“A little better. She’s strong, she’s breathing on her own, so I’m confident she’ll pull through. Just be patient,” the doctor replied. 

Once he was in the new room you were being taken to, he sent a text to everyone about your new location, then impatiently waited for your bed to be wheeled in. His foot was tapping fast on the linoleum floor, not stopping until the door opened and a young man stood there with a shocked look on his face. Max raised his hand to say hi, to which the poor man only reacted by going out to continue his work to get you inside. 

A nurse walked in behind him with a kind smile on her lips, then moved her attention back to you as she got you settled in the room. He wanted to go there and take your hand, but he knew he had to wait. He would have time, there was no need to rush, they had to do their job first. You were hooked on machines, your body bandaged all over, and the sight brought tears to his eyes. If he didn’t know you were through the worst part, he would assume you were still between life and death. 

Soon everybody left and he sat on a chair next to your bed, gently taking your hand in his. He had no idea if you could hear him, but he talked to you nonetheless, telling you about him making peace with your mother, about Charles being here with him, about your whole family being here, and about how much he loved you. He even begged you to wake up, to come back to him. 

“Good morning,” came Charles’ voice about an hour later as he walked inside with two cups of coffee, from which he handed one over. “Here, I guess you could use it.”

With a thankful smile, Max took it, then leaned back in the chair and watched as the other man looked down at you with a sigh. “The doctor said she’ll pull through, she just needs to rest,” he told him.

The fellow driver looked up with a smile. “See? I told you.” He sat down on the edge of the other bed and took a sip of his coffee. “Your suitcase is in the back of the car. I didn’t know which hotel you wanted to stay in,” he added.

“Neither. I’m staying with her,” Max was quick to clarify. 

“Yeah, but you need to take a shower, you need to sleep.”

“There’s a bathroom and you’re sitting on my bed. I’ll be fine.”

Charles followed his gaze and let out a tired groan. “She wouldn’t mind if you left for a few hours. Look, why don’t you talk to her mother to take shifts by her side? I’m sure she would understand that you need proper sleep,” he explained, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. 

Silence followed his words, mostly because Max didn’t feel like arguing about this. He was here to stay, by your side, right until he had no choice but to leave for the next race. “If it was Alex, would you leave her side?” he eventually asked. 

“No,” came the response right away. “I probably wouldn’t.” After sipping their drinks in silence, the Monegasque stood up at one point and threw his now empty cup into the trash can, and turned to him. “Okay, I’ll go get your suitcase so you can freshen up before her family arrives. And Laura is bringing us breakfast, so you’d better look presentable by the time she gets here.”

“Laura? Since when are you on first name terms with her?”

The other man laughed and shrugged. “Since I took the time to have a chat with her yesterday. All right, let’s get you cleaned up.”

For the next few days, this is how things went. Charles was always the first to arrive, then he left to get lunch, and stayed until four or five in the afternoon. Max had told him to go home, that he would be fine now, but he didn’t care about this. He said he wanted to be there, at least until you finally woke up so he could tell you that almost dying just to get an emotional reaction out of your boyfriend was an overkill. And maybe he mentioned one day that Alex would stop talking to him for a few days if he left him alone, so he decided to be a good boy. 

One night he was woken by a strange sound coming from you, as if you were trying to speak up. Ever since you were brought in, he became a light sleeper, so he immediately picked up on the change in the atmosphere of the room. He turned on the light above his bed and moved over to you, his hand falling on your face right away, thumb gently brushing your cheek.

“Hey, baby,” he said as he leaned down to kiss your forehead. “I’m here. What do you need?”

Your eyes turned to him, immediately locking with his blue ones, as you registered that it was truly him. Your fingers squeezed his hand, the feeling of you being awake making him smile. “Can I… get some… water?” you asked hoarsely. 

He immediately reached out for the glass and filled it from the bottle next to it. He helped to put the end of the straw in your mouth and held the glass for you. “I’m so glad you’re finally awake. You almost got me worried,” he explained. 

“How long…?”

“Five days. How are you? Does anything hurt? Should I get a doctor? I should get a doctor, right? Yeah, you just–” 

He only stopped talking because you gave him a tired look and laced your fingers with his. “Max, relax... It’s fine,” you said weakly. “I need a minute… before you call them.”

You didn’t want to talk, you just wanted to be there with him, holding hands while your brain caught up. But eventually he apologized and left to find a nurse, because he was too afraid that something would go wrong if he waited too long. He needed confirmation that you were okay, that it was safe to let you talk, to touch you, to kiss you. He wanted to know when and what you could eat, when he could bring you your favorite coffee. His brain was in overdrive, but he didn’t mind. 

Not when he finally had you back. 

The next morning he was sitting by your side, having a conversation with you about something trivial. Speaking went well now, the soreness in your throat quickly faded with practice. Sure, you still weren’t a hundred percent, but it was much better than what he heard in the middle of the night. He told you what happened, he told you everything he had mentioned while you were unconscious, and your conversation went so well that he didn’t even notice Charles coming in. 

“You’re awake!” the Monegasque said with a bright smile as he handed the usual cup to Max. “How are you feeling?”

You returned his smile, but when you tried to take a deep breath, you couldn’t help but wince. “My ribs hurt like hell when I breathe or talk too much,” you replied. “Thank you for staying with him.”

Charles looked over at Max, then his eyes returned to you. “I’m staying by his side because I don’t want my girlfriend to kick me out.”

After all those days it was hard to tell if he was serious, or if he was just saying this to hide the fact their relationship did change lately. Max surprised himself, because he wanted to believe it was the latter. His gaze returned to you, choosing to stay out of your conversation for now. 

“Still,” you began, but fell silent when you looked over at your boyfriend. “Why can’t you be like Charles?” He gave you a confused look, and out of the corner of his eye he noticed the other driver’s evergrowing smile. “He gets proper sleep. He shaves. He doesn’t live in a hospital room,” you added with a stern look. 

Shaking his head, Max placed a kiss on your temple. “I’m not leaving you. Don’t even think about it.”

“But she’s right,” Charles told him with a shit-eating grin. 

“Go to hell,” Max told him with a roll of his eyes.

[comatosebunny09]

— cw: adult content, cheating, shitty fiancé, self-indulgent madness, mdni — notes: i can’t sleep, and @alfredosaws got the gears turning in my head. sorry if this isn’t your jam. i was horny and needed to torture myself. — now playing: see through - amelia moore

Imagine Sylus as your real estate agent, showing you and your fiancé around a potential home.

Your fiancé doesn’t seem too interested, busy typing away on his phone or occasionally stepping out to answer phone calls. You titter nervously, explaining to Sylus with a wry smile that your fiancé is a very busy man.

Still, Sylus continues showing you the rest of the house, pointing out parts that would appeal primarily to you.

“You see here? The master bedroom contains an en-suite bathroom with enough counter space to house all your skincare products. ”

“The bathtub has jets. Perfect for when you want to unwind after a long day on your feet. You look like you shoulder the world. You deserve to take a load off with a warm, soothing bath.”

“The sunroom would be great for your plants. You look like you have quite a green thumb. You strike me as a cultivator. A nurturer. Someone who should learn to sit down from time to time.”

“The counter space in the kitchen is immaculate. Perfect for when the love of your life wants to cook breakfast or have you for dessert.”

He’s so very flattering and handsome, and you find yourself falling prey to his charms. You rein yourself in when your fiancé returns, still as detached about the house as ever. You ask him for his opinion, to which he shrugs you off and remarks that he’s happy if you’re happy. Conveniently, his phone rings again, and he walks outside to take the call.

Sylus gives you a pitying look as if he knows there’s trouble in paradise. You smile awkwardly to dispel his worries.

Sure, your fiancé isn’t always present in your relationship. And maybe you agreed to his proposal out of fear, thinking you would lose out on your white picket fence if you refused him. But, who are you kidding? You haven’t felt like yourself in years. Haven’t genuinely smiled in a very long time, and your fiancé hasn’t helped improve your self-esteem, nitpicking when you’re a little bloated or leave the house without makeup.

You’ve recently caught him entertaining other women on his socials, and he would quickly gaslight you, exclaiming that you were looking for reasons to be upset. Deep down, you know he isn’t good for you, and you deserve better, but a sick part of you believes he is your punishment for some crimes you might’ve committed in a past life.

Sylus has read you like a book, and you’ve only worked with him for two months. You feel more comfortable in his presence than the man you’re about to marry, having known him much longer.

“Come with me, sweetheart,” says Sylus, his voice a sweet, sticky dolce as he takes your hand into his larger one.

He guides you up the spiraling staircase towards the main bedroom and lures you into the massive walk-in closet. And when you’re swathed in the darkness after he shuts the door behind you, he backs you up against a wall, your breaths intermingling whilst his mouth hovers over yours.

“You poor thing,” he whispers next to your ear, the hairs scattered across your body standing on end, pleasant tingles ricocheting through your extremities. He takes your hand in his, pressing it against the cool, textured wall overhead, tenderly twining your fingers together. “That Narcissist doesn’t deserve you, now does he?” His lips graze yours, the sensation making your legs tremble like a fawn.

“I can see it in your eyes.” A weighted palm smooths over your side, a devastatingly powerful knee sliding between the fat of your thighs, pilfering the breath from your lungs. He touches you with a reverence you’ve never known. “You don’t love him, do you? Not when I can touch you like this.”

He takes possession of your jaw, breathing hot and open-mouthed against your lips, nuzzling your noses together. And you’re dizzy, the closet suddenly feeling so cramped, and the warmth of his body permeating through the layers of your clothes. “You’re so beautiful. You deserve so much more. I can give you so much more. May I kiss you, sweetling?”

Despite the voice screaming somewhere far off in your mind that this is very much wrong, you find yourself nodding sluggishly in the darkness as if he can see you slowly turning to putty in his palms. He chuckles, the vibrations of it making your tummy flutter like you’re cresting down a hill.

Wordlessly, he pans in, startling you with a gentle kiss at first. Something deft and ghostly, so soft you wouldn’t believe it happened. When you make a gentle keen of protest after he pulls way, he takes that as his cue to kiss you again, this time more firm and full-bodied, the rigid pane of his body slowly anchoring you to the wall. 

Your unoccupied hand slides over his spine, concluding its excursion at the small of his back, and he’s strong here. Sturdy as if he could lift you one-handed if he so pleases. The idea makes you whimper, and he swallows the pretty little noises he invokes, his sweltering tongue pushing into your mouth to map out every ridge and crevice. 

He slips a warm, weighted palm into the crook of your knee, drawing your thigh up to rest on his hip. And, with this new angle, he presses fully against you, the stitching of his slacks scraping pleasantly over the inner cut of your thigh. He releases your hand once moored to the wall to hoist you into his arms, one of your heels clattering to the floor. Ten shaky fingers bury themselves in his hair, sifting through tufts of soft white to draw him ever closer to deepen your lip-lock. 

Despite the spacious closet, it’s growing uncomfortably warm. Too many clothes are in the way, so you tug his shirt from his slacks. Your fingers blindly scramble over his shirt buttons, eager to feel the smooth, supple glide of his skin beneath them. He chuckles something throaty and enrapturing, kissing you velvet-soft as his desire awakens to press against your thigh.

“So eager, aren’t you?” he husks, breaking away from your lips with a sticky click to blister your jaw and carotid with languorous kisses. “Has he ever touched you like this? Kissed you like this?” 

You crane your head back, your skull lightly thudding against the wall behind you. Your lashes shutter. The feeling of his mouth dragging over your skin and his weighted body nestled between your thighs is too much and yet not enough. You cling to his back, your grip white-knuckled, mouth parted slightly with wanton pleas for more more more.

But before he can grant your request, your fiancé’s voice beckons to you through the empty, sturdy walls of the house. The spell that befell you disperses, reality careening in. You push against Sylus’ lean chest with the heel of your palm, panting and gasping, squirming to be let down. Sylus reluctantly heeds you, gently setting you onto your feet. 

He helps you slide back into your discarded heel, kissing your ankle on his way back up, and you try to ignore how your body burns like an inferno at the attention. It takes all of you not to snatch him towards you once more, to kiss him and demand he take you, right then and there, with your fiancé calling for you downstairs. But, as much as it pains you, you feel remorse for how far you already let things go. 

Fixing your clothes and hair to some semblance of neatness in the darkness, the pair of you exit the closet. You don a rehearsed smile, answering your fiancé that you’ll be right down. Searing, slender fingers encircle your wrist before you can descend the stairs. You acknowledge Sylus with a look over your shoulder. He fixes you with a feverish stare that burns like a flame, revealing a deep desire for you. And the realization shoots straight to your center as his mouth draws into an unflinching line. 

Something in your chest pinches and pulls. And for a moment, you consider what your life would be like if you’d given yourself more credit and granted yourself a little more grace. But you brush away your thoughts, fixing Sylus with an unconvincing smile before pulling away from him to descend the stairs into the arms of your loving, soon-to-be husband.  

[freedomfireflies]

Outlawed*

Summary: The fifth and final part to Knockout*

The one where Harry just wants to fight, and you just want to love him.

Word Count: 10k (folks...we made it!)

Content Warning: 18+, smut, blood, violence, brief use of a knife, pain kink, size kink

“Cherry?”

Instantly, your head lifts. The familiarly warm nickname sewing up the frayed seams of your heart and sending it into a tizzy.

However, instead of the handsome stranger you’ve come to miss, you find Owen. Eyebrow raised and expression curious.

With a quick clear of your throat, you pull your attention back. “What?”

“Cherry,” he repeats, nodding now toward the pastry in front of you. “Is it cherry tonight?”

You look down as well. “Oh, uh, yeah. Yup.”

“Hm.” His lips press together in thought. “I like the cherry. The way you make it, it’s…it’s sweet. But just a bit sour.”

“Yup...”

“It’s very good.”

“Thanks.”

His hands disappear into his pockets with a short nod of his head. “I know the customers really like it, too. Get comments about it all the time.”

“That’s good.”

“You could probably make it every night. If you wanted.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

There’s a bit of a tense lull now as you continue rolling the dough, and you notice Owen begin to shift just out of your peripheral. He doesn’t normally hover when you’re working, not unless he’s got something he’d like to talk about, and his lingering glances make your insides begin to itch.

So, you raise a brow, and look over. “Is something…wrong?”

“Hm? Oh, no. No, not at all,” he stammers. “I just…wanted to check in. See how you’re feeling.”

Curious, you straighten up.“Oh…why?”

“Well, I’ve just noticed how quiet you’ve been,” he explains. “And I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“Uh…yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. Just…trying to get my work done.”

He steps closer. “I noticed your friend hasn’t been coming around as much. The sullen one, with the dark clothes and broody temper?”

And despite everything else, you can’t help but smile at the memories. “Oh, yeah, well…I don’t think he’ll be coming by anymore. Don’t worry.”

“Ah.” A brief pause. “Is it because of Jesse?”

Instantly, you lean back, pulling the rolling pin away from the counter in surprise. “What?”

“Jesse. The other boy who was in here,” he says. “The tall, snobby one in the fancy clothes? Kind of annoying?”

“I…yeah.” Your lashes flutter. “I guess, I mean. They don’t really…get along. But…it’s probably my fault, too.”

He hums to himself almost contemplatively. “You’re not back with him, are you? The Jesse one?”

“Uh…no. Why?”

“I just…I don’t like him,” he sighs, arms crossing over his apron. “I think he’s trouble, and truth be told, you don’t always look that happy when he’s around.”

And you know he’s right, although you are a little surprised that he noticed. “Oh…well, no. No, not at all.”

“Good. Good.” He nods again. “Honestly, you can do a lot better than him, darling. Especially considering everything else he’s involved in.”

Now slightly more startled, your head tilts. “What do you mean?”

“Well…you know,” he begins, moving even closer before lowering his voice. “I don’t want to talk out of turn, and I certainly don’t want to scare you, but…I imagine you already know a little of what he really does, yeah?”

And even though you should know better than to answer, and even though you have Harry’s stern voice ringing in your ear not to trust him…you nod.

“Right, well…I know how much trouble that might put you in,” he continues. “And I know that with the fighting, and the betting, and the outsourcing…I’d hate to see you get dragged down with him—”

“Wait, what? What outsourcing?”

After a quick glance around the rather empty kitchen, Owen sighs, and murmurs, “Look, I don’t know everything, but a few months ago, he approached me with a proposal. He explained about the fights, and about the betting, and said that I’d be making easy money. That it was a guaranteed win because his fighter never lost.”

And suddenly, the image of Harry in that ring – night after night, hit after hit – paints itself across the forefront of your mind. You lose your breath, chest constricting with the thought of all the pain he endures at Jesse’s hand.

“And from what I could tell, he was taking the betting outside of the fights,” he explains. “I don’t know where or to how many other people, but he was pretty confident. And truth be told, I started to wonder if he’d maybe rigged it.”

“Rigged it? How?”

He shrugs. “I’m not really sure. Maybe he was paying the other fighter to lose or maybe he was paying his fighter extra to make sure he always won. Either way, I said no, and he took his business elsewhere. I think he was afraid of getting caught.”

And it makes sense. Every little detail clicking into place as you recall that night at the match. Jesse’s threat and his insistence on Harry’s win. Harry’s refusal not to play his game.

You straighten up. “Right.”

“Look, I just…I don’t want to see you get dragged down with him,” Owen finishes softly. “You’re a good kid, and he’s…you can do better. You can do a lot better than him, and I hope you know that.”

And you do now.

“Thanks,” you murmur before placing the rolling pin down. “I know this is a bit last minute, but is there any way I might be able to leave early today? I think I need to go find him.”

“Yeah. No problem.” He checks his watch. “Joshua’s supposed to be coming in soon. I could have him cover for you if you’d like to leave now.”

“Really? Would that be all right?”

“Sure. The pies probably won’t be as good as when you make ‘em, but…” He throws you a smile and you laugh. “Do what you need to do. And if you need any help, just give me a call, okay, darling?”

Nodding quickly, you wipe your hands down the front of your apron before ripping it off. “Of course. Thank you so much, I really appreciate it.”

“Anytime.”

You’re out the diner door in under two minutes, nearly sprinting to your car as you work out a plan.

You’re almost positive that outside betting goes against the league’s rules (although you wonder if an illegal, underground fighting society even has any rules at all). But especially if it means Jesse ends up making more money on each fight than anyone else actually involved. The fighters included.

And if Jesse truly doesn’t want anyone else to know, you might have just found your loophole. A way to get him out of the picture and still keep Harry safe. 

You aren���t sure where to start. Truth be told, you aren’t sure what you’ll even say. But perhaps you don’t have to say much. Perhaps you only need Jesse to know that you know, and he’ll take care of the rest.

You head for the one place you know he might be. Your heart aches to call Harry, but without an address, a last name, or a phone number, you don’t really have very many options. You can only hope that he’ll find you once this is all over.

When you finally make it into the darker part of town, your pulse begins to pound. Slamming against the sides of your ribcage as you pull up to the familiar building and park. Right beside the only other car in the lot.

It’s not until you step out that you realize who it is.

“Well, well, well,” Jesse calls with a devious smirk, exiting his vehicle as well. “What a surprise, sugarplum. Come to watch tonight’s big fight?”

You take in a brave breath and begin toward him. “No. I’m here to talk to you.”

His brow raises, but he seems relaxed. In fact, far too relaxed for your liking. “I see. And can I assume this has something to do with your little boytoy?”

“Not quite. But it does have to do with you.”

“Ah.” He grins to himself before dramatically gesturing toward the warehouse. “Then, by all means.” 

So, with a shallow exhale, you oblige, trailing after him and toward the front door just as you did the other night. It’s an eerie deja-vu.  

And perhaps you should feel a bit more nervous than you do, but deep down, you know him. You know that he’s lacking any real emotion or regret, and maybe, that might just give you an edge.

After typing in the passcode, he leads you inside. The once glorious space now dark and empty. Sporting nothing but the large boxing ring and the stunning chandelier.

“I’ve gotta be honest, sugarplum, I don’t know what you said to him…but it worked,” he begins as you both walk further into the room. “I’ve never seen him fight like that before.”

You purse your lips together in an effort to resist screaming at him. “Well, that’s what you wanted, right?”

“It is.” He stops near the ring and turns around, leaning on it as he studies you. “And I knew you’d come through.”

“Great. So, you’ll leave him alone now, right?”

“As long as he wins, sure.”

“You mean, as long as he makes you money.”

His arms cross now, and that smug expression makes you want to slug him. “As long as he does what he gets paid to do, then there won’t be a problem.”

“Right. And as long as you can keep outsourcing the bets.”

For the first time, he hesitates, that arrogant grin slipping ever-so-slightly as he raises his chin. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I stutter?” You step closer, and you notice him tense. “The money that you outsource to other bettors. The money that you make – that Harry makes you – on these fights every time he wins.”

His jaw ticks. “You don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“No? You wanna bet on that?”

And you don't think you've ever seen him so livid. Not even on his worst night when you were together, and your insides begin to wrench.

But before he can reply – before he can really do anything – a door opens. Allowing a rather bright stream of light into the warehouse as you and Jesse both reach up to shield your eyes.

And then...you see him.

Harry.

It takes him a moment to understand what he’s really looking at, but you catch the exact second he realizes. The way his face contorts and his fingers curl into his fist.

And you want to explain, want to take back everything you said and tell him the truth, but he’s already speaking up before you can.

“What the fuck is this?” he calls, and it’s so very angry. But he’s not talking to you.

He’s talking to Jesse.

Jesse merely rolls his shoulders back, attempting to settle back into his condescending façade. “Nothing that concerns you.”

“No?” He scoffs. It’s bitter and full of disdain. “Because anything you fucking say to her concerns me.”

Your heart skips.

Jesse, however, merely snorts to himself before glancing at you. “It’s a wonder you manage to get anything done on your own.”

Harry instantly strides closer, and you suddenly feel safer. Relieved to be near him again and desperate to feel him. To wrap yourself in his arms and never let go. To make things right. 

But not once does he look in your direction. Instead keeping his focus on the man near the mat as he approaches. “Don’t fucking speak to her that way,” he nearly growls. “In fact, don’t speak to her at all.”

“Or what, hm?” The haughty cadence is back. “Do you really think you have any power outside of this ring?”

“I think I can knock your fucking teeth down your throat anywhere I goddamn please.”

“How incredibly barbaric.” Jesse’s brow cocks upwards. “Is he like this when he fucks, too?”

This question is directed at you, and no sooner has it left his mouth does Harry suddenly surge forward, grab him by the collar, and slam him back into the ring.

You gasp – or maybe you scream – before Harry removes one hand in order to send it flying straight into Jesse’s nose.

Blood is everywhere. Dripping from Jesse’s mouth, smeared across Harry’s knuckles, splattered along the concrete floor.  

And you want to intervene. Want to do anything that might make you feel a little less useless, but Harry is delivering the second blow before you can decide.

“You fucking—” Punch. “—piece—” Punch. “—of shit.” Each comment is swimming in vile contempt, his expression livid and incensed. 

You’ve never seen him this outraged. Didn’t even know a person could hold this much resentment, but it sends chills down your spine.

“Harry,” you murmur, taking a tentative step closer. “Harry, wait—”

“After everything you’ve fucking taken from me,” he sneers in Jesse’s face, “you wanna take her, too?”

Jesse’s only response is to suck in a large gasp for air that becomes gargled by the blood in his throat, and you feel sick. 

“Harry,” you try again, grasping onto his other arm in an effort to tug him back. “Harry, wait, there’s another way—"

He brushes you off almost too easily. “And now—” Another hit, this time to Jesse’s stomach. “—you think she can save you? You think you can use her to get what you fucking want?”

He sends his busted knuckles straight into Jesse’s teeth, and your insides twist.

“Harry, stop,” you plead, yanking on him a bit harder. “I found another way, okay, please—”

“You fucking think…I’m gonna let you use her?” he seethes before pulling his arm back for the next hit. “You’re out of your goddamn mind—”

Without much thought, you suddenly rush around him, and place your hands on his chest. Wedging yourself between the two just before he can land the next strike to Jesse’s jaw.

It’s stupid and it’s impulsive and it’s rash, but it works. And it’s the only thing that seems to pull him back from that treacherous edge as his eyes find yours and his arm instantly drops. 

It’s the first time he’s looked at you in days, and you want to cry. Because he’s staring at you like he’s never seen you before. Void of any emotion or understanding except for the realization that he doesn’t want to hurt you.

“Harry,” you whisper, and his name cracks from your throat. “Harry, please, I…I found another way. Okay? He…you don’t have to do this—”

“I know. I want to,” he replies, still rather hostile.

“But I don’t want you to,” you argue. “Okay, I think we can get out of this. There’s a way to get him out—”

“I don’t want a way. I want to fucking kill him.”

“Harry, you…” You suck in a quick breath and move closer, nearly gluing yourself to his tense frame. “He’s outsourcing the bets. He’s stealing money from the fights, okay, and we can get him out.”

He looks surprised for all of a minute before the look suddenly vanishes and he attempts to brush you away. “I don’t care. He deserves this.”

“Harry,” you nearly gasp, “if you do this, they’ll kill you. Okay, and I can’t lose you. I won’t lose you—”

His features soften, although he still begins to push past you. “You’ll be all right—”

“Stop, just listen—"

“Cherry,” he warns now, “get out of the way.”

“Harry, please, don’t do this. You can’t do this—"

“I don’t care. Move—”

“Harry—”

“Cherry, move—”

“I love you.”

He stops. Seems to freeze right where he stands, but you barrel on. Clutching onto his dark, familiar hoodie as though trying to grab at his heart.

“I love you,” you repeat in a strained whisper. “I love you, and I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry I lied, I…I thought I was protecting you. I thought I was helping, or…or doing what was best, but it wasn’t – I wasn’t. I wasn’t, and I’m sorry.”

He says nothing. Blinks. Doesn’t move.

“And I love you.” You suck in a shaky breath as the tears fight their way to your waterline. “I love you so much it makes my chest hurt, and I can’t lose you, and…and please. Please don’t do this.”

And you’ve never felt so vulnerable or afraid. And not because of his silence, but because you’ve never loved anybody the way you love him. And you’ll understand if he no longer feels the same or if he’s changed his mind. If he wants to punish you for your lie or for your attempt to say it now.

Instead…he moves to rest his hands over yours. Keeping them over his heart before dipping down…and kissing you.

And it fixes everything. Absolutely everything. Because it’s perfect and familiar and so incredibly Harry.

And you’ve missed him.

You feel an arm slowly snaking around your lower stomach, and you begin to smirk against his lips before you realize who the arm really belongs to.

It yanks you back, ripping you away from the man you love until you’re cemented against Jesse’s chest.

Something cold and sharp is settled against your throat, and you take in a quick gasp for air. 

Harry attempts to remain calm as he’s forced to watch, but you can see the edges of his sanity coming loose. Jaw clenching, teeth gritting, brows furrowing. His shoulders are tense beneath his sweatshirt, his hands are balling into fists, and his head is cocking to the side like he’s debating whether or not to lunge.

Jesse merely laughs in your ear. “This is so fucking pathetic. And so goddamn cliché, sugarplum. Is this really what you want? Him?”

You squirm a bit in his hold, and Harry takes a brave step forward. But almost instantly, the blade of the knife begins to press further into the soft skin of your throat, immediately forcing Harry back with a dark scowl.

“Easy,” Jesse warns as you both go still. “Come on, now, I think you both know better than that.”

“Jess,” you pant, reaching for his wrist. “Jesse, please—”

“It’s so simple,” he continues, ignoring your attempt. “So fucking simple. Just win the match. Win the goddamn match and you get to go home."

“I don’t fucking care. Let her go,” Harry seethes. “This isn’t about her—”

“Except that it is.” Jesse’s smirk widens. “Of course it is. You wanted to leave to protect her, so you will stay to protect her. You made it about her, dear Harold. I’m only following your lead.”

Something shifts now in Harry’s expression, and it nearly ruins you. He looks…lost. So very lost and helpless. Like he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do without you.

Jesse presses his nose to the side of your cheek, and you feel the warm blood smear across your skin. “So, if you wanna take this away from me, then I have no problem returning the favor.”

The knife is pulled taut to the curve of your throat, and you hiss, making Harry’s face pale.

And when his eyes finally flitter to yours, you realize what you have to do.

“Harry,” you whisper, nodding once. Subtle enough to go unnoticed by the man behind you before you smile gently. “It’s okay.”

You’re not sure he truly understands, but you suppose it doesn’t matter. He will soon.

So, you slowly lift your arm until you can bend your elbow, only to send it flying straight back into Jesse’s stomach.

It’s not enough to really harm him. In fact, it’s hardly enough to even surprise him, but it does distract him just enough to loosen his grip on the knife. Giving you the room you need to spin around in his hold and deliver your fist to his face.

The shock of the blow seems to do more than the strike itself. But he goes stumbling back, nevertheless, and the moment his arm has dropped from your waist, Harry steps forward and rips the knife from his hand. 

Once it’s in his possession, he grabs onto your wrist, and wrangles you behind him.

“Don’t ever…” he begins, stepping closer until the tip of the sharp blade can rest just beneath Jesse’s jaw, “…put your fucking hands on her…again.”

Jesse says nothing. He merely stares through his swollen eyelids and bloodstained lashes. 

“You’re no longer Harry’s sponsor,” you add. “And you’re no longer a part of the league. Do whatever you have to do to get out. Or we’ll do it for you.”

Harry smirks, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so smug.

When Jesse doesn’t answer, the weapon is nudged further into his bruised skin, forcing him to suck in a sharp breath as he finally grits, “Fine.”

Satisfied with his response, Harry lowers the knife, and steps back just far enough to let Jesse slip by. And the two of you watch as he stumbles toward the door without a single glance before disappearing into the parking lot.

Leaving you both behind.

The moment he’s gone, Harry turns to you, wraps his arms around your waist, and hoists you into the air. Keeping you snug in his embrace while you squeal and fling your arms around his neck for stability.

“Oh, that’s my fucking girl,” he nearly groans, and you laugh. “M’so goddamn proud of you, baby. Never seen something so fucking hot.”

You dip down until you can nuzzle your nose with his. “Well, I learned from the best.”

“Yeah? Good.” His grin nearly splits his face. “Can I please take you home now?”

And you nod so quickly, you’re nearly dizzy.

“Yes, please.”

“Okay, easy. Easy, sweet girl, deep breath. I’ve got you, yeah? Know it hurts, but it’ll be over soon.”

With a sharp exhale, you motion your head up and down, allowing Harry to pull your hand closer in order to continue dabbing the alcohol swab over the torn skin of your knuckles.

His tiny bathroom falls quiet as you sit on the edge of the sink. Him between your legs, attention trained on your bruise. And while the sensation is rather uncomfortable, you don’t think you’ve ever felt so cared for. So…fulfilled and secure.

And you realize, this is how you were always meant to feel. 

With him.

“It’s gonna sting for a bit, but I’m almost done,” he promises, eyes softening when he sees your pained wince. “You’re being so good for me, Cherry, I’m so proud of you.”

You pout and it makes him chuckle. “You made it look so easy.”

“S’cause it wasn’t my first time.” He reaches for the gauze. “And we already know how I feel about pain.”

With a smirk of your own, you jut your chin toward him. “Yeah? And how are you feeling now?”

“Now?” His expression is wicked as he now leans just close enough to ghost his lips over yours. “Now…I feel fucking insatiable.”

You waste no time kissing him. In succumbing to his games and his endless teasing. You kiss him, and you don’t care if that means he wins, because you’ve never needed anyone or anything more.

And he’s so entertained by your desperation. His own bandaged hand finding your cheek as you sigh against his tongue and settle into this moment of adoration. 

When he pulls back, you’re winded.

He goes back to work dressing your knuckles, wrapping the white gauze around and around until your torn skin is thoroughly protected.

And you watch him as he does this. As he sweeps his thumb gently along the ridges of your hand before bringing it to his mouth in order to leave yet another kiss.

“There,” he murmurs, trailing his lips across the fibers. “All better.”

It’s the most beautiful and romantic thing you think anyone has ever done for you, and your heart lodges in your throat. “Harry?”

“Hm?”

“…do you hate me?”

Surprised, he instantly straightens up and leans back. “What?”

“Do you…do you hate me? Because of what I did? What I said?” You attempt to ward off the influx of impending tears, but you can already feel the first one slipping free. “Do you think I’m a horrible person?”

His expression immediately drops as he reaches up to grasp onto your face once more. Thumbs brushing quickly along your warm skin as you sniffle. “Cherry…I could never hate you. Ever.”

“But maybe you should,” you whisper. “I hurt you, and I lied to you, and…and I don’t deserve you—”

“Baby,” he breathes, surging forward to press his forehead to yours in an effort to silence you. “Don’t ever fucking say that again, do you hear me? I know exactly why you did it, and I could never be mad at you for that. I was only hurt because I didn’t want to lose you. But you were only trying to protect me. I know that.”

“I said I didn’t love you,” you nearly croak. “I said I loved him. After everything you’ve done for me—”

“You had to,” he interrupts, and his understanding only hurts more. “Cherry, you had to. It was the only way, and I know that. I knew it then, too. You’ve only ever tried to protect me, and I wasn’t letting you.”

You grab onto his wrists and vow to never let go.

“And it’s not fair that you were put in that position,” he continues. “It’s not fair that you were forced to make that call, and it’s not fair that I dragged you into this. You were expected to choose between somebody you’ve known your entire life and somebody you just met. That’s not fair, and I never should have made you—”

“It wasn’t a choice,” you hiccup. “It was never a choice. It was always you.”

Those pretty pink lips pull back into the softest grin you’ve ever seen. “You were trying to save me, sweet girl. I know that, and I will never, ever hate you. I love you.”

I love you. The three best words you could ever hear, and your first sob wracks from your chest as you fling your arms around his neck to kiss him.

He kisses you back, but it’s soft. And sweet. And meant to convey exactly how he truly feels. 

And it works because this is all you’ve ever wanted. Just him, and this moment, and those three words.

“Easy,” he warns through a strained breath. “Baby, careful—”

“Please,” is all you pant. “Harry, please, I can’t…I can’t wait any longer, please.”

And he nearly coos with amusement as he nuzzles his nose under your jaw in order to paint more kisses along your throat. “Can’t wait, hm? But what if I want to make this special?”

“It is. Is special—”

“Cherry,” he chuckles, “it’s all right. M’not going anywhere. We don’t have to rush, all right? S’been a long day and I don’t expect anything—”

“But I do,” you huff. “I’m ready, I want to. You’ve made me wait long enough.”

He laughs a little louder now, leaning back in order to see you. “I’m just trying to take care of you, sweet girl. We didn’t wait this long to throw it away because of him. I want this to be good for you. I want you to be sure that this is really what you want.”

And you appreciate the sentiment more than you’ll ever be able to explain. But right now, there is only one true way you want to spend the rest of this horrid day.

So, you lift your leg and hook it around his hip, pulling him back between your thighs with a pleading look.

In turn, he smirks, fingers returning to your chin with a playful squeeze. “Thought I was the insatiable one.”

“We’ll take turns,” you exhale before surging forward to kiss him again. Capturing his lips between your own and savoring the feeling you never thought you’d feel again.

And you can see his resolve crumble. Can see the way his eyes fall shut, the way his chest rises and falls beneath his dark shirt, the way his hands grasp onto your waist to keep you close.

He’s hungry. Ravenous. Losing the fight before it even begins, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Because now – now – he can have you. He can give you exactly what you want, can be exactly who he wants to be for you.

“Where do you wanna be, baby?” he asks through teasing nips to your neck. “The bed? The couch? D’you wanna go back to your apartment? Might feel more comfortable for you—”

“No, I don’t care,” you interrupt anxiously. “I don’t care, I just want you.”

He grins against your throat. “My greedy girl,” he murmurs, and your stomach flips. “Let’s go to the bed, yeah? Wanna lay you out and see you.”

And you want nothing more than to let him.

Regretfully, he pulls his lips from your skin and steps away, and you feel like you might die without him. But he’s quick to remedy this by taking your hand in order to help you hop down from the sink. Leading you out of the bathroom and through his apartment toward the bedroom.

His apartment isn’t what you expected. Although, truth be told, you didn’t know what to expect. It’s a bit bigger than yours, but there’s something…empty about it. Hollow, almost. The furniture is scarce, the colors and décor are few and far between. It doesn’t even look like anybody lives here, something he pointed out the moment you entered.

“Hardly spend any time here,” he’d said as you glanced around. “S’just a place to sleep, really. It’s never really felt like a home…until you walked through the door.”

And it was wildly cheesy, and perhaps a bit lame, but it was everything. 

His bedroom doesn’t seem to be any different as he leads you inside. The walls are a dark grey, and his bedding is a similarly dark shade. He’s got one chair and one dresser. It’s quite clean, all things considered. No clothes lying on the floor or towels slung over the closet door. 

It’s so very…Harry.

“Sorry,” he mumbles as your eyes flicker about the room. “Know it’s not very romantic.”

But you merely grin as you shake your head and grasp onto his hand. “Are you kidding? It’s perfect.”

His brow cocks up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You drag him toward the mattress before plopping down rather contently. “It’s so you. And I love that.”

And he only smiles before chasing after you and wrangling you into his arms.

It’s a faster dance from there. His hands and lips are everywhere they can reach. Slipping up the backs of your legs, ghosting over the curve of your hips, pulling at the zipper on your dress.

You merely settle in his embrace and allow him to take whatever he’d like. To touch and kiss each lingering thought away until all you know is him.

He’s careful but practiced. Treating you with the same adoration and gentle precision as he always has. And you’re so very thankful to feel so safe in his arms. A kind of security you weren’t sure you’d ever find in a partner the way you have him.

With anyone else you’ve ever been with, sex has always been transactional. A means to an end. This thing that you do to get off and nothing more. And despite your submissive preferences, there have been times when you truly felt powerless to your partner. Simply…there. Until they decided they no longer needed you.

But Harry…

He looks at you like your body is sacred. Like he’s undeserving of being so close to you. Of getting to touch you, hold you, feel you. Completely in-tune to every noise you make and every flutter of your lashes. Constantly on guard for your enjoyment and consent so he never goes any further than you want him to.

But you know, undoubtedly, that no matter how far he goes…it’ll never be enough.

You want his everything. His all. Anything he’s willing to offer, and you imagine you feel about as grateful as he looks to be here with him like this. To witness this kind of tender reverence.

He settles onto his back and pulls you on top. Placing you in a straddle over his waist until he can gaze up at you. “You okay, Cherry?”

You nod quickly – breathlessly – before resting your hands on his chest to brace yourself. “Just excited.”

His smile is boyish and charming, showcasing that familiar dimple that makes your cheeks warm. “Good. Want you to be.” He rubs soft circles into your hip before his brows furrow. “Y’know what I just realized?”

“Hm?”

“I still don’t know your name.”

And despite it all…you laugh. “I’ll tell you on one condition.”

“Yeah? And what’s that?”

You smirk. “I still want to be your Cherry.”

He chuckles as he squeezes your sides and drags you closer. “Oh, baby,” he murmurs as you dip down to kiss him. “Always.”

With a soft smile, you trail your lips from his cheek to his ear, whispering the forbidden name almost timidly.

And to your surprise, he only grins wider. “That’s beautiful, sweet girl. S’perfect, too. Pretty name for a pretty girl.”

You feel the blood rush to your face as you bury your lips against his throat and gently tug at his skin. “Okay, all right.”

“I mean it,” he insists, palm slipping around the back of your neck to tug you back out. “Cherry, you’re beautiful. I don’t say it to say it. I look at you…and I feel like I can’t breathe.”

And maybe they are just words. Maybe they’re meant to make your insides twist and make your heart swoon. To be romantic and suave.

But you believe him. Because you can see in his eye just how much he means it. Can feel it in your stomach that he’s never been as honest as he is right now.

Further proving that everything in your life…has led you to him. Every decision, every regret, every mistake. It brought you right here, to this moment, in his arms. 

You don’t waste any time on replies or longing looks. You kiss him, and you resume this frantic dance, and you beg him to make things better. To ease this ache in your stomach as well as your heart.

So, he does.

Nimble fingers pull at the zipper along your side, loosening your uniform until he can guide it up and over your head. Only stopping once to whisper, “S’this okay, baby? Can I see you?”

You nod almost impatiently. “Yes, yeah. Whatever you want, promise.”

“Hm. Careful what you wish for, sweet girl,” he hums warningly. “Or I might just take you up on that.”

The moment your frame is revealed to him, he nearly groans. Allowing his hands to smooth up and down your shivering silhouette as you anxiously wait for more.

However, instead of allowing him the time to indulge in your body, you begin to tug at his sweatshirt. Silently requesting he reveal himself to you, too.

He smirks. “All right, hold on.”

He barely has a chance to sit up before you’re reaching for his hem in a desperate attempt to remove it. Making him chuckle as he grabs onto his collar before swiftly pulling it over his head. 

And you nearly sigh. Because he’s so ethereal to look at. Every ridge, and tattoo, and scar. The way he breathes, the way he flexes. You can’t help but reach for him, skimming your fingers down the dips and curves of his toned chest and stomach almost reverently as a breath catches in your throat.

And he lets you. Studying you closely while you study your hand. A moment of silence passing before he mumbles, “Baby?”

“Hm?”

He reaches up to tuck a bit of hair behind your ear. “M’gonna have to stretch you a bit before we start, okay? Don’t want to hurt you.”

“Okay,” you answer almost too quickly. “That’s fine. I’m not worried.”

He seems amused. “I know you’re not, but I am. You know I’d never want to hurt you. And I just want to make sure we go at a pace you’re comfortable with.”

There’s an odd sort of fluttering in your chest as you scoot closer and slip your fingers into the curls on his neck. Stroking his roots in an attempt to soothe him. “I’m okay with any pace as long as it’s you.”

“Promise?”

You nudge your nose against his. “Promise.”

Finally, he seems satisfied. “Okay, sweet girl. Then can you lay down for me?”

You’re on your back before he can even finish the question, attempting to intertwine your fingers with his and drag him along with you.

“Cherry,” he laughs again, and the sound is like music. An orchestra of joy and infatuation that you can feel all the way down in your toes. “Can’t be that greedy, can you?”

“I can,” you pant, hips bucking up as he reaches for the silk around your waist. “Just please…”

“Please,” he repeats thoughtfully, pulling his focus to the material he’s slipping down your legs. “You really are my sweet girl, hm?”

Another nod. “Mhm.”

“Guess I have made you wait, yeah?” He discards of the delicate panties before smoothing his palm up the inside of your thigh. “Made you sit and be good?”

“Harry…”

“And you have been,” he muses, ignoring your mewling. “Been so good for me. Think I need to show you how proud I am. And apologize for being so mean to you. For making you go so long without.”

He moves to settle between your parted legs, one hand beside your head to brace himself while the other travels down the expanse of your stomach. Calming the trembling skin and leaving goosebumps behind until he reaches what he’s looking for.

He looks at your face first. Examines your expression and the flutter of your lashes. Stilling just long enough to listen to you breathe. “It’s okay, Cher. I’ve got you.”

You run your fingers through his hair and smile. “I know.”

His thumb is the first thing that finds you. Ghosting gently over your clit and down in order to prepare you. Ease you into the sensation.

You take in a satisfied inhale that melts into a whimper and he grins.

Pushing through your folds, he slows when he finds your arousal. Glancing down to see it for himself. “So warm, baby. Missed this.”

“Missed you,” you nearly whine, and he seems pleased.

The tip of his digit pushes in just far enough to tease you but not enough to satiate you. Leaving a rather hollow feeling in your stomach the moment he pulls back out.

You just about slump into the mattress. “Harry…”

“M’just trying to be gentle,” he says. “And I wanna take my time. Wanna really feel you. Remember this moment.”

Your heart swells. “How oddly sentimental of you.”

He shrugs before pushing the finger back inside. “Maybe you just bring it out of me.”

Your back instantly arches from the bed when he reaches his knuckle. And the gratified look he wears seems to worsen this untamable ache.

“There you go,” he coos. “See? One’s not so bad.”

His pace is slow to begin. Torturous in a sense, but he knows that. He wants to work you up, make you squirm. Have your pleas falling from your tongue like water from the sky.

And of course it works, it always does. You weren’t sure what else you expected, but as he continues this steady rhythm, you feel your sanity slowly begin to come undone until you only have one choice.

“Harry…Harry, please, can’t…can’t—”

“What, sweet girl? Need more?”

Your head quickly motions up and down. “Please…”

“All right.” He pulls back before going again, this time with a stretch a bit more prominent. “Know you can handle two, yeah?”

And he’s right, you can, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t nearly ruin you to do so. Because while two is decidedly much better than one, it’s still not nearly enough. And more importantly, it’s not the one thing you really need.

You pull harder on his hair while you writhe beneath him. Eyelids growing heavy as the sound of his fingers driving into your pussy grows louder. “Harry, please—”

“Shh.” He dips down and trails his lips along your cheek. “Gotta let me do this, baby. Just a bit longer, yeah?”

“Can’t…can’t wait—”

“Yes, you can.” His tone is firm but kind. Encouraging. “Know you can. Let me make you feel good.”

He begins to go faster. Thrusting into your cunt until your pulse is racing at about the same speed. 

And he’s beautiful. He’s so goddamn beautiful, it makes you dizzy. Hovered over you on the bed, muscles flexing with each roll of his arm. There’s a soft glow behind his head from the light of his window, illuminating his curls like a halo.

It’s rather fitting, you realize. After all, he is your guardian angel.

“Breathe,” he instructs, kissing down the curve of your throat before finding your chest. “Almost done, yeah? Doing so good for me, look so pretty taking my fingers. Know you’re gonna be so beautiful taking my cock, hm?”

Again, he dangles the image right in front of you, only to take it away before it can fully render. “Har—”

“Shh,” he says again, mouthing at the swell of your breast that’s being pushed up out of your bra. “Gonna give you another. Want you to be still for me, okay?”

With a rather disappointed huff, you oblige, watching as he scoots back just far enough to get a better visual.

Three fingers brings you to the gates of heaven. As does that look in his eye when he sees the way your pussy stretches around the larger digits. 

You can quite literally see the groan leave his body as he stares at you, lips parting in mesmerized bliss.

“You okay?” he manages to ask through a strained exhale.

“Yes,” you pant. “Can take more, I promise.”

“More, hm?”

“Yes…yes, please…”

He only hums.

Seconds go by before you’re gasping for air. Nails scraping down his scalp in desperation as he works you open. He’s incredibly focused, proud of the work he’s doing, and of the way your body bends to his will.

“There we go,” he praises softly. “Just like that. So fucking wet, sweet girl. Know it must ache.”

“It does…it does, Harry, please—”

“Got an itch you can’t scratch, yeah? Need me to reach it for you. Need me to fix it.”

“Please…”

“Almost, baby, almost.” 

You feel the fourth begin to push in and you suck in a sharp breath.

He stops. “It’s okay,” he murmurs soothingly. “Gonna take me like a good girl. Already doing so good, just a little more. Relax for me.”

You do your best to obey, allowing your limbs to fall limp beside you, despite the tightening of the coil in your stomach.

Even still, it works just enough to allow him more room. Slipping in the added digit until you see stars.

The pumping is loud and driven. Truly an exercise in restraint – for both of you – as the pace begins to quicken and the noises begin to increase.

Then, he brings his other hand into play, and brushes his thumb over your clit.

And you don’t mean to – you didn’t even realize you were so close – but you cum suddenly and with a rather lewd moan that makes his eyelids flutter.

“There,” he whispers, as though entranced. “There we go, good fucking girl.”

You can’t seem to get enough air in your lungs as you come down. And Harry chooses not to help as he finally removes both hands…and begins to pull you apart.

He exposes your clit to the colder air in order to dip down and ghost his mouth across the top. Releasing a warmer breath that sends chills straight down to your toes, making you squirm rather violently.

“Har…Har—” you gasp, fisting the blanket below. “Please, can’t…can’t—”

“Just wanna look at it,” he says simply. “S’so pretty—”

“Harry,” you whimper, writhing beneath his hold. “Harry, this is mean.”

“Mean, hm?” He smirks now and you want to die. “Well, I don’t wanna be mean, baby. Wanna be good for you, just like you are for me.”

You choose to take this as a sign to continue, sitting up just enough to reach for his belt and begin to tug it undone.

He laughs now, glancing down at your frantic fumbling with a knowing grin. “Cherry—”

“No,” you huff. “No, it’s my turn.”

To your surprise, he only hums. “Go ahead, then.”

You do, yanking the belt through each loop before tossing it aside and moving for his zipper. You don’t imagine you’ve ever worked so fast or so hard for something (specifically a cock) in your life.

The moment he’s able to wrangle his dark jeans down his legs, you’re dragging him back down. Ignoring his protests and his reminder that he still has one article of clothing left.

Instead, you work on ridding yourself of your own, unhooking your bra and tossing it into the same pile as his boxers.

And now, as you both settle into your nakedness together, every imperfection on display, you realize you’ve never been more content. Because baring your heart to him was far more vulnerable than baring your skin.

And because this is where you were always meant to be.

“Okay, baby, m’gonna start slow,” he repeats yet again, and you nod. “Just tell me if you want me to stop or slow down, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nearly whine. “I will, I swear.”

“Good. And…shit, a condom, do you…do you have a preference—”

“Pill,” you pant. “I’m on the pill, just go.”

“Are you su—”

“Yes, please. I need to feel you, Harry, please…please.”

“Okay, all right.” He takes hold of your hips and positions you where he wants you before settling between your thighs. “Deep breath, okay? Just keep your eyes on me, I’ve got you.”

Another nod – quicker, more frenzied.

He takes hold of his cock and your eyes nearly roll back. It looks so beautiful in his hand. Just as stunning as you remember, and even though you never imagined you’d find one so appealing, your mouth seems to water.

Your leg hooks around his hip, subtly urging him closer, and he obliges. Giving himself a tug or two before gently trailing the tip down your aching cunt.

He moves up and down to collect a bit of your arousal before he finds your hole and slowly begins to push inside. Sinking in about half an inch before checking with you.

You nearly scream. “It’s okay. It’s okay, keep going.”

“Are you su—”

“Yes.”

His mouth curls up into a knowing grin as he continues. Allowing his cock to slip even further into your waiting pussy while your walls slowly stretch open to accommodate him.

And you’re hardly afforded the chance to enjoy this newer sensation before he suddenly dips down to kiss you. Perhaps an attempt at distraction, although it’s hardly needed. Because now you aren’t sure what to focus on, what feeling to indulge in. From his lips, to his cock, to the way your stomach nearly caves in on itself. 

“Fucking shit, baby,” he groans against your tongue. “Shit, you’re so tight…feels so good—”

“I know,” you agree. “God, please don’t stop—”

“No. Never.” He sinks in a bit further and you dig your teeth into his bottom lip. “M’almost there, you still all right?”

“Yes…yeah, I’m perfect. Perfect, promise—”

“That’s my girl,” he nearly seethes before he suddenly drives forward, sheathing himself all the way.

You both still the moment he’s fully inside, his face now disappearing into your shoulder as though to brace himself.

And you wrap your arms around his shoulders in a desperate attempt not to let go. Allowing your body the time it needs to understand this new intrusion and find pleasure with it.

When it finally happens, the stars align.

“Okay,” you pant, gently scratching at his back to garner his attention. “Okay, go.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. Need more, Har, please.”

He pulls his hips back and the whimper you release is almost feral. But it seems to do wonders for him, because his expression twists into something desperate, and you feel your chest implode.

He settles into a soft, slow pace. In and out, in and out, in synchronicity with your eager pants for more.

And there’s too much happening all at once. Too much to watch, too much to take pleasure in. 

The curls that drip down his forehead, the way his body looks as it connects with yours, the feel of his mouth going down your chest.

He’s everywhere all at once and somehow, it’s still not enough.

“Taste so fucking good,” he mumbles, seemingly to himself. “Could taste you forever.”

He takes your tit into his mouth, tongue flicking at the pebbled skin before nipping at it gently.

You keen, arching from the bed until you nearly knock into him. “Har—”

He hums around your nipple, and you almost cry with frustration and pleasure.

Everything feels slow. Almost too slow but there’s something tender there. He’s not trying to fuck you, he’s trying to feel you. To mold your body to his and it’s rather effective. Because the way you crave him feels like heaven and hell all in the same second. 

“Harry,” you whisper, practically deranged as you drag your hands down his chest. Nails tracing patterns down the tattoos across his abdomen. “Please…”

The noise he makes in response to your scratching is almost animalistic in nature, and you nearly flinch as you quickly lower your arms. Upset to have caused him any pain.

“No,” he groans, lifting up to nudge his nose under your jaw. “No, don’t stop. Keep going.”

“What?”

“Keep…shit—” His rhythm falters and you can almost feel the way his dick seems to twitch. “Keep going, s’okay. Want you to scratch me. Want you to hurt me, baby.”

And somehow, this reminder of his pain kink feels almost like a blessing. “Yeah?”

He nods faintly before attempting to resume his pace, and you happily take the lead.

Your fingers hesitantly return to his broad torso. Delicately tracing the muscles as they roll beneath your touch until you gingerly begin to press in. The sharp edge of your nails dancing across the expanse of his already torn skin.

In turn, he releases a strained noise that becomes lost beneath the grateful kisses to your collarbone. And you realize how much he truly enjoys it.

He gives you complete control of his body, of his pleasure. Because the harder you scratch at his scars, the more urgent his thrusts become. Until the sounds echoing around the room begin to echo between your ears. And the slapping of his hips into yours is inescapable.

“Feels so good, Har,” you nearly cry, lifting up just enough to kiss him quickly. “You’re so good to me. Always.”

“Shit.” His eyes about roll back before there’s a sharp snap of his cock into your eager cunt. “Always gonna take care of you. Promise—”

“I know,” you sigh. “I know, I love you.”

You say it now, and suddenly, everything changes.

It doesn’t matter if he’s heard you say it before or if he already knows because the look in his eye nearly guts you. 

He’s so…happy. So incredibly happy and endlessly enchanted that he begins to grin. “You love me,” he repeats. Not a question.

You smile as well, and the sentiment seems to explode out of you. “I love you.”

And it’s perfect, this moment. This connection of two bodies and two souls into one. The way you stumbled through the dark until you found each other, and it makes sense. Everything makes sense now with him. Clarity in the truest form.

“I love you,” he echoes, and he means it. You can feel it in every thrust, every syllable, every brush of his lips against yours. “I fucking love you, Cherry—”

“Please,” you gasp, leg dropping to the bed while your arms follow suit. “Har, please—”

“Gonna cum for me again?” He begins to go faster, chasing after your orgasm. “Let me feel you around my cock, sweet girl, come on. Already feel so good—”

“Can’t…can’t—”

“Can’t what, hm? Can’t hold it?” It’s almost sadistic the way he speaks, but you know he’s merely enamored. “I know. I know, it’s okay. You can cum for me, don’t have to wait. Promise I won’t be mad.”

You aren’t sure what you’re about to do, all you know is that you never want this feeling to end. This moment, this security. You just want to touch him, and look at him, and taste him for the rest of your life. 

He interrupts your silence as a request for something more, and he offers it in the form of his dominance.

He takes hold of your wrist and hoists it above your head, pinning it to the mattress before settling his weight atop your chest. Trapping you beneath him until you have no other choice but to indulge in everything he has to give.

And you do.

“Sweet little cunt is all mine, isn’t it?” he purrs, teeth nipping below your ear as his fingers intertwine with yours. Holding your hand as he keeps it caged to the bed. “Spent all this time just waiting for me, didn’t you?”

“Yes…yes, fuck, Harry—”

“You were so patient. So good.” He’s growing more determined – sloppy – and your head begins to spin. “God, but you just needed me, yeah? Needed me to make it better—”

“Better,” you repeat almost mindlessly.

“Needed me to erase him—”

“Please—”

“Leave my mark. My fucking mark—”

“Harry—”

“You were never his,” he grits, and you aren’t sure who he’s really trying to convince. “You were never fucking his, you were always mine. And he knew it—”

“Shit, I can’t…can’t—"

His other thumb moves for your clit and you feel tears fill your eyes. “Yes, you can. Know you can, baby, and you will. Always do so good for me, gonna take my cum, aren’t you—”

There’s a strain on your muscles from the way they’re being stretched above your head, but you realize there’s something satisfying about the subtle pull. And when it’s coupled with a firm pinch of the sensitive nerves between the rough pads of his fingers, you start to lose it.

“There – shit – there you go,” he inhales, glancing over your face before watching the way his cock slips in and out of your pussy. Dripping in your arousal and smearing across your thighs. “Take me, just like that. Feels so fucking good, sweet girl, keep going…keep—”

You cry out and writhe helplessly beneath him. Pulling your arms from out of his hold in order to sling them around his neck and cement yourself to his chest.

And you have no choice but to succumb to the pleasure before you feel him follow.

“Fuck—” He surges forward, burying himself in you completely, moans melting into your feverish skin as you cling to each other. “Shit…I love you. I really fucking love you, Cherry.”

You smile lazily before bringing his mouth to yours. “I love you, too.”

He kisses you. All through the moment and then some. Until the sun has disappeared and the moon has been hung between the stars.

And you know that you have never been happier than you are in this moment, right now.

Just you, and him, and a pussy full of cum.

“Darling, we've got some at table six, could you go check on ‘em?”

With a quick nod of your head, you readjust your apron, and grab the notepad Owen is sliding toward you before slipping from the kitchen. 

You find the eager customers waiting just beside the counter and take their order with a charming grin and a promise to slip them some leftover pie.

The diner isn’t too busy tonight, and you’re grateful. Now that you’re on dessert duty, you spend a majority of your shifts working on new recipes and finalizing the specials for the coming week.

Truth be told, you rather enjoy this new task. It keeps your mind occupied and your thoughts from drifting.

And baking is your happy place. Your sense of calm amidst a sea of uncertainty, almost rivaling your own true source of serenity.

Harry.

Once you’ve returned to the kitchen, you sneak a glance at the clock. 12:06 A.M. He should be here soon. Probably tired. Perhaps a bit stressed. Hopefully no worse for wear than usual.

Fight nights always tend to leave you on edge. You know he’s more than capable of taking care of himself, but you can’t help but worry. It’s what you do best.

Still, you’re happy for him. Because while pies are your happy place, the boxing ring is his. He’s only ever wanted to fight – to make money, channel his anger into something good. And perhaps it’s not a sustainable lifestyle, but for right now, it’s what he wants to do.

And you respect his choice. You’ll respect any choice he makes, as long as he’s the one making it. Instead of it being made for him.

Besides, without Jesse there, you find that Harry tends to have a lot more fun. He leaves the fights with a busted lip but a bright smile, and it makes your heart swell until it feels as though there’s no more room in your chest.

Last you heard, Jesse left town. Harry refused to tell you what really went down at the club once the other members found out, but you decided that was probably for the best. No matter what fond memories you still have of your childhood friend, he’s not who he used to be. And you won’t ever be able to change that.

But for the first time in a long time…you’re okay with that.

The clock continues to tick the seconds away, and with each passing one, you grow a tad more anxious. Your guardian angel is late. At least by a few minutes, and you scurry about the diner as your thoughts race about a mile a moment.

And then, just as you’re readjusting the cake stands and tidying up the dessert display, you see it.

Your not-so-strange stranger is here.

He’s sitting in his favorite booth, fifth one down from the first row, directly next to the window.

He’s got his usual hoodie pulled over his head, obscuring any view of his face. His clothes are dark and seem to cover nearly every inch of his skin. His knuckles are wrapped in that familiar, white gauze, and are stained with streaks of red.

But he’s looking down. Staring at the menu on the table as though he doesn’t order the exact same thing every time.

And you grin wider than you have all day.

“Hi, Cherry,” he calls the moment his head lifts, allowing you a better look at his stunningly damaged face as you scurry closer. “Missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” you nearly giggle, slipping off your apron before sliding into the seat across from him. “How was it?”

“Easy,” he snorts, but there’s a sparkle in his eye. “And I have good news.”

“Oh?”

“M’off for the next few days. Thought you could come over…and not leave.”

You laugh as you reach across the table to take his hand in yours. “I like the sound of that.”

“Yeah? Good.” He glances down at your interlocked fingers almost fondly. “Hey, you know what I just realized?”

“What?”

Now, a mischievous expression begins to form. “I never introduced myself.”

And for some reason…you can’t help but laugh.

“So,” he begins, rather charmingly as he raises your hand in order to shake it formally, “hi.”

And you really fucking love him.

“I’m Harry Styles.”

I CAN'T BELIEVE WE'RE AT THE END!! This has been such a fun story, and SUCH a wild ride that I feel very lucky to have gotten to take with so many incredibly wonderful people!!

Thank you so much to everyone who's followed along and left the nicest comments or notes!! I cannot tell you what it means to me!!

Harry and Cherry will def be back for extras soon, but until then...I love you 🥹♥️ Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Previous Part:

~ Uppercut*

~ Full Knockout Masterlist

~ Main Masterlist

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[queenofterrasen418]

Cruel Fates (Part 3)

Pairing: Azriel x f!Reader, little Eris x f!Reader

Summary: Azriel is your mate but only you know it. You are very aware that he has eyes for someone else and thus you decide not to hide it forever. After all, what could go wrong right?

Warnings: Angst, again.

3.1K words

A/N: Thank you @vanserrasimp for your ideas!!!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

“Do you want some more water?” Feyre asked softly, her brows knitted with concern. You shook your head slowly, your gaze lost in the shadows of Rhys’s study, overwhelmed by the storm of thoughts in your mind.

“What happened, Y/N?” Rhys’s voice was gentle, but his eyes were intense, probing. They sat across from you like worried parents, and you sighed, lifting your eyes to meet theirs. Slowly, you recounted the meeting with Eris.

“Beron and a human queen?” Feyre repeated, her voice tinged with disbelief.

“He spoke true. I saw their correspondences with my own eyes,” you replied, the memory still fresh and unsettling.

“So he wants to join forces with us so he can rule,” Rhys mused, the wheels already turning in his mind.

 “And he proposed a marriage alliance between us.” You finished his sentence.

Their eyes widened, and Rhys gestured for you to continue.

“He said our powers together would be formidable and the alliance would be very convenient. I told him I’d consider it.”

“Are you insane?” Feyre frowned, disbelief colouring her tone. “Why would you even think about it?”

“Because he had a point,” you answered, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “It would benefit both courts, and before you question his sincerity, let me assure you, he was.”

You turned to Rhys, searching for his reaction. He simply asked, “What did Azriel say?”

“That’s where things got messy,” you admitted, recounting Azriel’s outburst and Eris’s proposal. When Azriel brought up the mating bond, it made you snap.

Rhys’s brow furrowed as you spoke, a knowing look passing between you.

Feyre noticed his reaction and asked, “What am I missing?”

He shrugged in an ‘ask her’ manner.

“Azriel is my mate.”

“WHAT!?” Feyre’s eyes widened in shock.

“I’ve known for a few months. I didn’t want to tell him, considering everything with his love life.”

“And now she downright denied that she has a mate,” Rhys concluded, shaking his head slightly.

Feyre buried her head in her palms for a few moments before looking back at you with a mix of disbelief and sympathy. “You lied to him.”

“I didn’t plan to,” you said, frustration lacing your words. “I’m not sure what came over me.” Even as you tried to defend your actions, you knew you had messed up.

Rhys, who had been silent, suddenly perked up. “He knows!”

“Huh?” Blood drained from your face.

“He brought up the mating bond and was against even the idea of a marriage with Eris. He knows you're his mate.”

“He said he cares because I’m important to you, and he hates Eris on a normal day, let alone when he asked for my hand.”

“Fine, but how will you argue with him bringing up the bond point?” Rhys pressed.

“I don’t know. Maybe he assumed I’d have a mate too, considering the rest of my sisters do?”

Rhys thought about it for a while and shook his head. “I still feel like he’s aware of his mating bond, too. He probably didn’t tell you yet.”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “I have legitimate reasons for not telling him. What does he have?”

“And what are those reasons exactly?” Feyre inquired curiously.

“One, he is in love with Elain, and she is also in love with him. Everyone knows that. Second, the mating bond is forever. It is permanent and painful. I have seen people fall in love easily and fall out just as easily. If ‘love’ can’t get through a mortal lifespan, how can it withstand an immortal one? Accepting the mating bond will only lead to pain, one way or the other.”

Feyre’s eyes narrowed while Rhys’s were filled with pity. You knew your views on love were not popular. You weren’t a pessimist, just someone who saw the world as it was. You wanted to believe in love so badly, but your past had taught you better. Rejecting the mating bond was far less painful than getting rejected.

After a few beats of silence, Feyre spoke in a haunted whisper, “I truly am sorry for you, sister. Whatever pain you’re trying to avoid will come no matter what. But when it does, don’t blame the bond. Blame yourself.”

Azriel

To say Azriel was confused was an understatement. He had never really understood Y/N, not that he'd ever made much of an effort to, but now he desperately wished he had. He had always thought of her as smart and careful, but not reckless. A child would know Eris was bad news. What was she thinking when she said she’d consider his proposal? Azriel was not a male to lose his temper, but she made him go feral. Ever since Y/N winnowed out of that room, her words constantly echoed in his mind. She asked him why he cared, and he did not know. He simply did, right? And what did she mean by “I don’t have a mate”? Did she just assume she didn’t, or did her mate die? Why was Y/N so furious at him?

He needed answers, and he knew who had them: Rhys. Which is exactly why he stood in front of his high lord on the balcony of the River House.

“Ask her, Az,” was the only response he got from him.

“Uh, why didn’t I think of that? Maybe because she asked me to stay out of her life?” Azriel said in a dry tone.

Rhys sighed. “It’s not my story to tell, assuming there is a story.”

“There is.”

“Then ask Y/N.” Rhys shrugged. “Or don’t.”

The spymaster could not remember when was the last time he was this crazed out. He was well aware of how unreasonable his reaction to this whole show was, but he couldn’t help himself when he asked, “How could you let her marry Eris?”

Rhys gave him a pointed look, his eyebrows raised. “One, she hasn’t decided yet, and two, no one lets Y/N do anything, let alone me.”

Azriel shook his head, at himself for his poor wording and at Y/N for her poor decision-making.

“She’s new to all this. Maybe she doesn’t know how Eris is.”

“She says Eris spoke true, and I believe her. Even a mind reader can be fooled when you practice enough, but you can’t fool her powers. Nothing escapes her, Az.”

True, very, very, very true. Azriel knew it, and yet he couldn’t accept it.

It was when his brother asked, “Why are you so bothered by it?” that he realized he didn’t fucking know. 

Why was he bothered by it? Why did he care? Why?

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I don’t.”

“Hmm.”

“What does that mean?” His eyes narrowed at his high lord.

“Nothing. Just speak with her? Maybe you’ll know.” Cauldron, he wished it was that easy. Y/N was a mystery to him, a stranger. It didn’t feel right to ask her. He wished he knew her well like Rhys and Cass do. The only thing he knew was that she was powerful and dangerous.

“She might kill me.”

Rhys laughed at that. “Then give her some time.”

A whisper of a shadow brushed his ear. But you also know she is loved, how your family cherishes her.

Y/N

You walked through the corridors of the River House, your mind a whirlwind of confusion after your conversation with Rhys and Feyre. Your decision to keep your bond with Azriel a secret weighed heavily on you, but the thought of facing him—and the inevitable pain it would bring—was even more daunting. And then there was Eris. He occupied your thoughts equally, but you welcomed it; he was a very pleasant distraction, but the thought of Azriel interfered there too. Why was he so against Eris? Was Rhys right? Did he know about the bond? As your head swarmed with even more questions, you decided you needed some quiet, some space, a moment to breathe and process everything, away from bonds, decisions, and the pressure of court politics.

As you turned a corner, you heard soft voices coming from the garden. Curiosity got the better of you, and you slowed your pace, your footsteps quiet on the stone floor like a wraith. Peering through the open archway, you saw Azriel and Elain standing amidst the blooming roses, their figures bathed in the golden glow of the afternoon sun. 

Wonderful, you thought to yourself, this is exactly what I needed right now.

You knew you had to get out of there; witnessing whatever was going on between them was a terrible idea, but you found your feet stubbornly rooted to the ground.

Azriel's back was to you, his wings slightly drooped as he spoke to Elain. You couldn't make out their words at first, but the tender expression on Elain's face and the way she gently touched his arm spoke volumes. A pang of something sharp and bitter twisted in your chest, a feeling you couldn't quite name or rather refused to, but you recognized it all the same.

Azriel looked at Elain like she was the sun, the light to his shadows, his eyes filled with an emotion that you deep down wished was directed at you, to feel the warmth and certainty of it. But another part of you recoiled, reminding yourself of the pain that love could bring, the scars it could leave behind.

Thanks to your fae ears, Elain's voice carried over the breeze, soft and melodic. "Azriel, you deserve to be happy. To find someone who truly sees you."

Azriel nodded, a faint, wistful smile touching his lips. "I thought...maybe I could be that person for you, Elain. Maybe we could be right for each other."

Your heart clenched at his admission. Leave, Y/N, leave, your brain urged, but you didn’t. Despite everything, it was clear that Azriel's heart leaned toward Elain, and he was still chasing the idea of love he believed they could have. Yet, as you watched, you noticed something in Elain's eyes—sympathy. She seemed to understand Azriel's confusion.

Elain gave him a gentle smile, her eyes kind yet firm. "Azriel, you've been a wonderful friend. But you need to be honest with yourself about what you truly want."

He nodded, though his expression remained troubled. "I just want to do what's right. I pined for Mor, but that was just a wishful dream, and then you came. All signs pointed to you. I just want to be with someone who fits."

Apparently, that was enough pain for your heart, so finally, you took a step back, your heart heavy with the realization of Azriel’s struggle to find where he belonged, to understand the love he craved. But the sight of him seeking comfort in Elain's presence confirmed your doubts. It was enough to solidify your resolve. He was searching for something in Elain that he yearned for, and it looked like he found it, and it hurt you more than you wanted to admit.

You had to protect yourself. You couldn't risk exposing the bond, not when Azriel's heart was clearly elsewhere. The risk of rejection, of enduring the inevitable heartbreak, was too great. It was certain; it was no longer just a possibility.

You retreated down the corridor, determination settling in your chest like a cold, hard stone. You would accept Eris's proposal. It was the logical choice—the safe choice. An alliance with Eris would protect your heart and the Night Court. And if it meant denying the bond you felt with Azriel, so be it. This was not the first time the bond was denied, and it wouldn’t be the last. At least this way, you would be spared the pain of seeing Azriel look at Elain with love that wasn't meant for you.

Your footsteps echoed in the quiet halls as you made your way to your chambers. Each step felt heavier than the last, burdened with the weight of your decision. You had a choice to finalize and preparations to make. The path ahead was clear. It was time you started to face destiny on your terms.

Reaching your chambers, you closed the door behind you, leaning against it for a moment. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself against the emotions threatening to overwhelm you. You had always been strong and always made the difficult choices. This was no different. You would marry Eris, forge the alliance that would protect Prythian, and bury the bond deep within yourself, where it could no longer hurt you.

As you stood there, alone in the dim light of your room, you allowed yourself one moment of vulnerability. A single tear slipped down your cheek, which you quickly wiped away as you squared your shoulders. Determined, you sat at your desk and reached for a parchment and quill.

Dear Prince Eris,

I hope this letter finds you well. After giving it a lot of thought, I’ve come to a decision about your proposal. Let’s discuss it further at the Midnight Solstice Ball in the Hewn City. It’ll be a good chance for us to talk privately and to discuss more about our deal. I’ll give you my answer then, but I think you’ll find it worth the wait. Until that time, I trust you’ll keep this between us.

Looking forward to seeing you,

Y/N

Azriel

The conversation with Rhys replayed in Azriel's mind as he made his way through the corridors of the River House, the sound of his footsteps a dull echo. Why are you so bothered by it? Rhys's question had struck a chord within him, and Azriel found himself restless and searching for answers he couldn't quite grasp. He needed clarity—needed to understand what was happening between him and Y/N.

As he reached the garden, he saw Elain among the blooming roses, her presence as serene as the morning sun. Azriel hesitated at the threshold, a familiar mix of comfort and uncertainty settling in his chest. Elain was his friend, someone he could confide in without fear of judgment, and yet a part of him wondered if she could help him understand Y/N's behaviour.

"Azriel?" Elain's voice was gentle as she turned to him, a welcoming smile on her lips. "What brings you here?"

He approached her slowly, the scent of roses mingling with the crisp morning air. "I needed someone to talk to," he admitted, his voice rough with the weight of unspoken thoughts. "I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not," she replied, gesturing for him to sit beside her on the garden bench. "What's on your mind?"

Azriel sat down, his wings folding neatly behind him as he stared at the vibrant flowers. He struggled to find the right words, unsure of how much to reveal. "It's about Y/N," he finally said, glancing at Elain to gauge her reaction.

Elain's expression softened with understanding. "I heard there's been some tension," she said. "Is everything alright between you two?"

He shook his head, frustration creeping into his voice. "I wish I knew. She... she makes it difficult to understand her. I thought I knew her, but now I'm not so sure." He paused for a moment, trying to organize his thoughts, “I...I don’t understand her,” his voice strained. “She told me she doesn’t have a mate, but that’s not true, i gathered that much from Rhys. And then there’s Eris. She’s considering marrying him, and I don’t know why it bothers me so much.”

Elain’s gaze softened, and she reached out, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Azriel, Y/N is a complicated person. She’s been through a lot. Maybe she’s scared.”

“Scared of what?” he asked, his frustration evident. “I just want to understand her, to know why she’s doing this.”

Elain sighed, looking thoughtful. “Sometimes, people lie about things because they think it’s the only way to protect themselves. Maybe she’s afraid of the bond, of what it means.”

Azriel clenched his fists, trying to suppress the anger and confusion roiling inside him. “But why would she lie to me? Why not just tell me the truth?”

Elain shook her head. “It’s not always that simple, Azriel. Bonds are...intense. They can be overwhelming. Maybe she’s trying to herself from getting hurt.”

“I feel like I’m missing something, like an important piece in a puzzle.”, he confessed.

Elain turned to him and offered one of those healing smiles, “Time will tell, Az. You shouldn't worry yourself too much.”

He nodded, right now he just needed to wait.

A few minutes passed as they both sat in silence, taking in the beautiful garden.

He turned to her, taking in her gentle presence. There was a time when he had believed she might be the one to fill the void in his heart, but now he questioned everything he had assumed. "Elain, I've been thinking," he began, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

Elain gave him an encouraging smile, her eyes filled with understanding. "What is it, Azriel?"

“I have been searching for love for a very long time but I never felt like I deserved it.” He admitted to her. 

Elain’s eyes furrowed as she placed a comforting hand on his arm,  "Azriel, you deserve to be happy. To find someone who truly sees you."

Azriel nodded, and a sorrowful smile graced his lips. "I thought...maybe I could be that person for you, Elain. Maybe we could be right for each other."

Elain sighed softly as she spoke, "Azriel, you've been a wonderful friend. But you need to be honest with yourself about what you truly want."

He nodded, as he searched for words, "I just want to do what's right. I pined for Mor, but that was just a wishful dream, and then you came. All signs pointed to you. I just want to be with someone who fits."

Elain remained silent as she listened to him, “But I think I made you seem like something you are not, you are one of my closest confidantes but I thought or rather hoped we’d be more. I was desperate to have something that my brothers had, so much so that, I was sure you were my answer.” he paused, "I wanted to be the person for you, Elain. I thought that the cauldron was mistaken, but now I see that I've been chasing something that isn't meant to be." 

"But I've realized," Azriel continued, "that while we share something special, it's not the kind of love I thought I was looking for. We're better as friends, aren't we?"

Elain nodded, her smile warm and understanding. "I think so too. We have a bond, Azriel, but it's different from what you have with Y/N."

He let out a soft chuckle, the sound tinged with relief. "I suppose I've been chasing shadows, hoping to find the light in the wrong places."

Elain nodded, understanding in her eyes. "It's okay to want love, Azriel. But maybe you need to look beyond the obvious, beyond what's easy."

Next Part

Taglist: @sidthedollface2, @a-courtof-azriel, @whyonearthisyourusernamethi-blog, @acourtofsmutandstarlight, @katherinejess , @landofpetrichor , @isa1b2h3 , @anuttellaa , @cherryinsalemverse , @i-am-infinite , @myromanempiree , @sheblogs , @impossibelle , @fuckthatfeeling , @lilah-asteria , @rinpoststhings , @rcarbo1 , @t0uch-starved-h0e , @olive-main , @crossfandomslut , @melmo567 , @crazylokonugget , @sinfully-yoursss , @oucereeng , @annedub , @evangeline-xo , @sspookz , @thecraziestcrayon , @tele86 , @mal-adaptive-dreams , @mybestfriendmademe , @hannzoaks , @x1305 , @whyshouldihaveanam3 , @smutslut05, @theravenphoenix26 , @moonlwghts , @noisyinfluencerstrawberry , @saltedcoffeescotch , @laughterafter, @lazypostfandomer , @weekendlusting , @feiwelinchen

Let me know if you want to get added to the list or if I missed someone!

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

More Loser!Chrollo since yall seem to love him

MDNI - obsessed nerd!Chrollo - modern AU

Loser!Chrollo, who is much more smug and adorably dramatic than you’d have ever thought he would be. If he were to kneel down to tie your shoelaces for you, he would make such a big deal out of it and started saying some corny shit about proposing and getting married.

Loser!Chrollo, who loves studying with you. Well, not really studying. He doesn’t need to study, he’s smart enough already. But he loves that focused look on your face when you’re reading about science or history to get a good grade on the test. He may have snapped a few pictures of you too—not that he would ever tell you, of course.

Loser!Chrollo, whose pain is indescribable when graduation hits and you both have to go your separate ways. He swears when walking you to your house after the graduation party that he’ll glow up, become successful, find you again, and marry you so that you would never have to feel ashamed about dating such a weirdo—you don’t think he realizes that you’re not embarrassed in the least.

Loser!Chrollo, who knew that he technically did break up with you, but since you’re going to meet up again one day and get together again, it doesn’t count…right? Well, he hopes that it doesn’t count as breaking up.

Loser!Chrollo, who thinks about you every moment of the day, even when you’re gone. His camera roll is filled with nothing but pictures of you just so he could make sure that he never forgets how you look like no matter how long the two of you are apart.

Loser!Chrollo, who worries that you might’ve moved on and found another guy in your college. After all, you’ve changed your number (he doesn’t actually know if you did, he’s just going to the best conclusion…and he’s right, right? Yep, he’s right. Yep, you’re totally not ignoring him. Not. Ignoring. Him.)

Loser!Chrollo, who is pretty damn close to dying on spot when he’s offered a role for a new movie. Sure, he doesn’t have much experience, but he’s a hell of a good actor and also quite good looking if he just fixes a few appearance flaws here and there. He’s so excited to tell you about getting a role—that is until he remembers you basically stopped texting him back.

Loser!Chrollo, who is now 23 and raising his eyebrows at the random phone call he just got from a random number. It sounds like a high school classmate’s voice, but the moment he hears your name, “drunk”, and “needs to be picked up”, he knows exactly what’s going on and instantly begins driving to said location that the person on the other side of the line said. Oh how he can’t wait to see you again.

Loser!Chrollo, who can’t help but laugh when your drunken form—red faced and warm—runs over to hug him, mumbling about how you thought he “found some hot and busty other woman and forgot about me”. Chrollo thinks it’s ridiculous, really. There was literally no one in the world other than you who was hot or even good looking.

Loser!Chrollo, who isn’t so much of a loser anymore. You’re carried into his damn large mansion, and in the blink of an eye—you’re married, living a stable life as a working wife and a working husband, you have 3 kids, and Chrollo’s trying to convince you to adopt a cat.

this was so rushed lmao…i might make a loser!choso one soon because goddamn i love black haired emo boys who are way too responsible for their own good—but i also love megumi too, so maybe i just like emo boys.

[sinsolstice]

𝓢even 𝓓ays 𝓪 𝓦eek − 𝓒hapter 𝟎𝟏

𝓹airing : ( situationship ) miguel o'hara x fem reader

𝓼ynopsis : on the first day of the week, it started with a crazy idea from miguel proposing to start the day of the week with a bang.

𝓬ontent : sexual explicit content including unprotected intercourse, mutual masturbation, missionary and mating press.

𝔀ord 𝓬ount : 2,100

MASTERLIST . NEXT CHAPTER

Miguel: Could you meet me in the living room when you return for a few minutes? There’s something I want to talk to you about.

That was the text message you received from Miguel in the car park whilst you were loading groceries in your car. 

He doesn’t elaborate anything further and it makes you curious all the way driving back, wondering what Miguel possibly wants to talk to you about. The two of you are housemates, sharing the same house for a good two years and a half. When you agree to occupy the empty he advertised for renting and sign a lease agreement, you sort of know what you’re getting yourself into. 

Miguel O’Hara is an attractive man and there are times when the attraction builds into temptation of lust. The side glances across the room, the proximity of skin brushing onto one another leaves a heated message. It was difficult to ignore the elephant in the room—the attraction and urge to have your hands exploring the contours of his body. And then it happened; hands hurriedly tried to strip and tear clothes to explore skin and warmth beneath it, as you and Miguel fumble the way into his bedroom for a long, pleasurable night. 

It doesn’t take long to figure out that you’re addicted to the way Miguel fucks you. But gods, no one does it like he does. You would feel empty unless he fills you up again to the brim. Your body has adjusted to him and only him, addicted to the way he knows how to make you scream and shake, leaving you breathless and alive. In the end, you and Miguel come to a mutual agreement together; stay housemates with benefits. Friends with benefits. It’s both your dirty little secret. 

When you drive up to the residential car park, you unload your things from the car into the shared house. As you suspected, you don’t expect Miguel to be in the house when you walk in, greeted by the quietness and sight of the open-floor living room and kitchen. You organise your groceries in the kitchen, putting them in places where they're supposed to be. Seeing that you have spare time until Miguel gets back, you take a shower in your en-suite bathroom to freshen up. 

You walk downstairs thirty minutes later and think of settling in the living room and putting on the TV when you hear the front door unlock. “Welcome, home.” 

Miguel looks at the staircase and sees you, a look of relief and weariness from work makes his shoulders slump a little. “Hey, hermosa.” 

“How was work?” You ask, following him into the kitchen. He unpacks his lunch box, cleans it up and immediately puts it on the drying rack. You’ve seen what he does many times but it never fails to make you feel domesticated by the routine. A man who tidies after himself is quite sexy. 

“It was a pretty good day, surprisingly,” Miguel responds. 

“I got your message,” you begin. “You said that there’s something you want to talk to me about?” 

He turns to look at you and you can see Miguel’s lips curve into a smirk. “Si, hermosa,” he replies. “It’s about our arrangement. Come, let’s talk in the living room.” 

His tone is serious and it makes you worry a little. A part of you fears that he wants to stop the housemates with benefits. The fear that he might have found someone else—someone better. Or a possible scenario that he’s planning to settle in a committed relationship and wants to end the housemates with benefits agreement. Your heart drums in your chest uncomfortably, feeling a sense of dread and you’re not ready to hear the news of spending less time with him. “What about our arrangement?” 

“It’s nothing bad, I promise,” Miguel says. When his eyes meet yours, he chuckles softly. “It’s a good discussion, depending on how you see it.” 

You feel your shoulders relax as they slump down in relief, but his words puzzle you. The relief is short-lived as soon as you hear his next words.  

“What do you think of us having sex together for a whole week?” 

It takes you a whole minute of silence to process his words. And when you do, there’s a look of disbelief on your face. “You want us to do it for seven days straight?” You repeat in disbelief. “Are you out of your mind, Miguel?” 

“No,” Miguel smirks. He repeats his words with every pronunciation. “For seven days straight.” 

A contemptuous laugh escapes out of you and you shake your head. “In what world do you think that’s a good idea?” You ask. “Do we even have time to do that?” 

The coy smirk on Miguel’s face grows bigger because you know what he’s thinking; the two of you can figure out a way. You both always do. “We’ll make time, chica,” Miguel responds. “Come on, it’ll be a lot of fun.” 

You shake your head, still in disbelief. “Not so sure about that.” 

Miguel moves closer, his hand propped on the cushion behind you. His tone is cocky and sly. “You don’t think I can pull it off?”

“I think you’re insane,”  

His chest rumbles when he laughs. “It would only be just for a week,” Miguel says, then raises a brow. “You think that you wouldn’t enjoy having sex with me for a week?” 

You looked straight into his eyes, and a glint of challenge flashed as you both stared at each other. The words come out of your mouth faster than you can process. “Bet.” 

Miguel smirks and he doesn’t hesitate, pulling you by the waist with one hand, and another on the back of your head. His lips crash onto yours in a passionate kiss, a little rushed and rough. Miguel’s mouth moves in a slow yet deep and capturing tug whilst his hands roam your body, pulling and grabbing. It takes one kiss— a taste of his lips— and your head is spinning in a whirlwind. 

You lean back and lay down on the couch with Miguel on top of you. He deepens the kiss for a brief moment, his tongue tracing your parted lips when he pulls away, and you find yourself chasing after him as Miguel hovers right in front of you. “I’ll go easy on you, hermosa,” he whispers. 

“Easy on me?” You chuckle. “I doubt that.” 

He only smirks in response and looks at you. “It’s Monday today,” he begins. “So let’s start with something easy first.” 

When he purses his lips in a pretence pondering, you know that it’s a lot to get a lot more interesting. “Masturbation rhymes with Monday, hm?” Miguel brushes his nose on yours. “Then, missionary and mating…” 

“You’re unbelievable,” you shake your head but it doesn’t stop you from smiling. 

“Is that a yes?” Miguel asks. He drags his hands from your sides down to your hips, moving his hand across your lower belly down between your legs. It makes your breath hitch when his hand touches over your shorts. His fingers tracing your clothed cunt. “To our first challenge?” 

You couldn’t help but chuckle, pulling him into a needy kiss. Miguel takes this as a yes and his fingers curl onto the band of your shorts, while your hand does the same to his pants. You return the favour by groping him gently, rubbing your palm on his semi-hard bulge, and you hear Miguel groan against your lips. Both your shorts and his pants are taken off and left discarded somewhere in the room, followed by the rest of your attire of shirts, undies and briefs. 

“Dios mío, would you look at that?” Miguel says with a smirk on his face. 

“Shut up.” You mumble. You don’t need to look at yourself to know what he’s talking about—you know that you’re already wet. When Miguel glides his fingers between your folds—all aroused and slippery–you groan softly at the feeling. One of your hands goes to his cock, thumb toying with the tip of its head as you begin to jerk him off. The other begins to start stroking his girth. 

“Fuck.” Miguel nips on your neck at the area below your ear. With his fingers rubbing your cunt and you stroking his cock, you’re both in a mess. Pleasuring each other in sync. The more Miguel rubs down your clit, the more you moan and the faster you move your hand up and down his length. The neediness grows in the room and every touch feels so good. Your body responds to his touch, making your toes curl and thighs tremble. 

“Mierda, that’s it, baby. Shit.” Miguel groans. He rubs your cunt faster as you get wetter that it squelches. You try to keep up with the pace and give as much pleasure with every stroke as he touches your clit and labia. The build-up pleasure creeps him out when you clutch one of your hands on his forearms. 

It becomes too much, both of you moaning and gasping against each other’s lips. The neediness shows when you feel close to orgasm and Miguel’s cock throbbing in your hand. You feel your lips brush against his lips in a heated kiss, his hand which was playing with your cunt, is pulled away and now holding your hips. He pulls away and stares at you before grabbing his cock and rubbing it against your slit, letting you feel the tip that sends the urge of needing him inside of you. 

“Don’t move,” Miguel tells you. He holds onto your legs by your calves, opening yourself up to him a bit more. Miguel almost loses his composure when he feels you engulf him with your warm heat because of how wet you’re already from the masturbation. All wet and perfect for him, making him groan when he bottoms out, and gasp from you. 

The two of you are still for a moment before Miguel starts thrusting. His cock fills you up so nicely and it hits your G-spot and rubs your clit with every stroke. You always clench around him with each thrust and Miguel loves it, seeing you writhing and moaning because of him. You’re clutching your nails on his back as his hips move continuously. Moaning and whining his name at how deep he thrusts into you. The way Miguel raises your hips and settles your lower body on his thighs angles him to fuck deeper into you. Making your back arch in pleasure and your body writhe. 

“Fuck, fuck, nena,” Miguel moans above you. Gripping onto the sofa cushion he feels himself over to the edge of orgasm. “Doing this with you for a whole week is going to be the best thing in my life.” 

“Miguel,” you whine. His stamina is greater than yours so you’re not surprised that he can keep up thrusting into you. You tighten with each movement, the room grows hotter as both you and Miguel move in a pleasant, constant wave. 

Both your legs are propped up in the air and placed on his shoulders. Miguel angles you a little higher as he holds onto your legs by your thighs. Feeling your ass cheeks on his hips. Your body tenses and back arches when Miguel doesn’t slow down his thrusts. Grunting as he speeds up and repeatedly hits your sweet spot. “You’re going to come so much like this,” Miguel pants. 

And he’s right. Because your body twitches the moment you feel a strong wave of orgasm coursing through you. Miguel doesn’t slow down when you release and his thrusts feel urgent. Slapping himself onto you and ramming in your cunt until his cock twitches, soon spilling his come inside you with a loud moan. 

The two of you are out of breath. Miguel gently puts down your legs onto the sofa though his cock is still nestled inside you. You’re both looking at each other, still feeling the effects of the climaxes. “Same time again for tomorrow?” He asks. 

You sigh and lean back against the armrest, feeling out of breath. Even then, you still manage to make a joke regarding the situation. “Same position tomorrow?” 

“A different one every day.” Miguel chuckles. “You’ll find out soon enough.” 

He smiles and leans forward to plant a kiss on your forehead and it sends a rush of warmth to your core. It’s not meant to be a tender display of affection, but it doesn’t help that it still makes your heart skip a beat. “Now, are you hungry for dinner tonight?”

dividers credited to cafekitsune. thank you for reading until the end!

[yamujiburo]

Jessie and Delia Proposal #1

It’s been a bit over a year or so into Jessie and Delia’s relationship. They’ve lived together for a while, Jessie’s still studying to be a nurse, they’ve gone on a journey together and are very much in love. Jessie is a massive romantic. However, I don’t think she’s ever seen a healthy or realistic marriage in real life and most of what she knows is from TV or movies. People fall in love hard and fast and if their love is strong enough, surely they should just get married as soon as possible! In “A Fork in the Road! A Parting of the Ways!” Jessie falls in love with a doctor and within a day is convinced that they’ll get married right after she confesses her love to him. So in this situation with Delia, where they’ve actively been dating for quite some time, Delia has no other love interests and Jessie’s been getting along well with Ash, getting married to Delia is a no brainer. A proposal is in order! How could Delia say no?

Jessie doesn’t quite have the funds yet so she buys a humble ring, vowing to get a proper one someday once she’s a full fledged Pokémon nurse. She decorates the back yard, gets just… SO MANY flowers, leaving petals leading to the yard for when Delia gets back from work. Delia loves the romantic gestures and copious amounts of flowers but is caught completely off guard when Jessie gets down on one knee. At first, all she can muster is a “no”. Jessie gets horribly embarrassed and runs back into the house. Delia, who is now also distressed, chases after her, worried that she might’ve just pushed Jessie away for good.

Delia is able to stop her girlfriend and sit her down to talk in their bedroom. Jessie is worried that Delia doesn’t love her. When two people love each other, they’re supposed to get married right? Delia reassures Jessie that she loves her deeply, but also lets her know marriage is a huge step (and something that should be discussed before a proposal). She tells Jessie about she and Ash’s father started dating, got married and had Ash all within a year. They moved too quickly and things didn’t work out. She conveys to Jessie that she’s not ready to be married again, but would be one day. She needs more time and is excited for the both of them to learn a little more about one another each day. Jessie understands and promises to be someone Delia’s proud to marry. Delia appreciates the sentiment and also says that she loves the ring. She tells Jessie to save it for the right moment.

There’s a little awkwardness for a bit afterwards but they get through it. Jessie’s ego is still damaged after this and the cringe experience gets randomly beamed into her brain for a long time. She’s just happy she didn’t tell anyone else (other than Wobbuffet) that she was going to propose before she did.

[nathaslosthershit]

A Little White Chapel Wedding (LS18)

(Part 3 of the Blind Item Series) Summary: Lance and his now wife had their reasons for eloping, he just hopes his dad will understand.

Lance and his girlfriend, now wife, had always wanted to keep their relationship out of the spotlight. Given how much hate and controversy surrounded Lance due to his father’s ownership of the team, he had already taken a major step back from social media. He knew that dating another heir apparent would piss many fans off, even if it was solely for love that they were together. Both of their families knew and greatly approved of the relationship but once Lance had proposed it seemed their families wanted to take over fully. Wedding preparations had been started without any input from the groom and bride-to-be. Seeing all these decisions made without the two’s consent had put a ton of stress on them. This was supposed to be the happiest day of their lives and they had absolutely no say in the matter. Guest lists full of investors and other business partners took away from the intimacy of the event. No detail was left unscrutinized and it was going to be far too extravagant, as this was going to be the first time they announced their relationship and the families joining together.

When Lance and his fiancee had gotten to Vegas, they had no plans of getting married that weekend. The thought only crossed Lance’s mind after the race.

“P5 Lance! Oh honey I couldn’t be more proud.” She said as she ran up and hugged him. She had been waiting what felt like forever to congratulate him, as he had been so surrounded the minute the race ended. 

Pulling away from the hug, Lance put his hands on her cheeks as he said “let's get married”

“We are, Lance.” She responded, perplexed. 

“Tonight. Let's elope and have an actual wedding about the two of us. No one else.”

“Honey, our families would kill us if we did that.” While the idea sounded wonderfully romantic and gave her butterflies just thinking about it, it just couldn’t work with the way things were.

“Who cares? We don’t have to tell them right away. We get married now, take an extra long honeymoon over break and then tell them once the season starts.”

“I don’t know Lance.”

“Please? It is unfair we don’t get to have the wedding we want. Who gives a shit about the guestlist with a million business partners we’ve never met. If they still need a wedding then we will do it their way but let's have our way first.” 

She took a minute to respond, thinking the idea over before she finally gave her answer. “Okay, Lance. Let's get married.”

Lance had never envisioned his wedding going the way it did, but he also never saw it the way his family planned it to be.

Although as happy as he was, he felt so guilty when he thought of how his family would feel knowing that he got married without them there to see it. As important as business was to Lawrence Stroll, he knew his dad valued and loved his family above all else. 

Over break, the newlyweds had gone on a bit of a delayed honeymoon, posed as just a really nice vacation.

They only got the honeymoon suit because they really wanted to go all out. No other reason…

They thought they had made it out unscathed, planning on telling their family in a week when they had gotten back from their vacation. Too bad they didn’t get to.

Lance’s wife saw the post first. He barely checked socials anymore. When the photos of them confirmed that the Blind Items post was about them, she felt a chill run through her body. Their families had to have known already, public image was important to both of them so they definitely had PR teams constantly checking what was going on. And she was correct.

“Honey, I just got a call from my Dad. He sounded pretty upset, and said we had to come home quickly and meet with him.” Lance said, confused and worried. His dad rarely sounded as serious as he did on the phone. 

Wordlesy, she passed her phone to Lance with the tweet pulled up. She could see the color drain from his face as he read through replies. Fuck this wasn’t good.

What was probably the most stressful plane ride of Lance’s life was also painstakingly long. He couldn’t swallow the guilt building in his throat at how upset his father must be.

The once welcoming and happy house was now cold and silent as the couple walked inside. His father didn’t greet them, just told the two of them to follow him into his office. Lance just held his wife’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly as they made their way up there. 

Lawrence still remained silent as he sat in his chair, looking at his married son and new daughter-in-law for the first time.

Lance was the one to break the silence.

“Dad, I know this is a lot but please-” He was cut off by the simple raise of his father’s hand to silence him.

“Why, Lance? We spend all this time planning the two of you a beautiful wedding just for you both to throw it away? For what?”

“Dad, you dont under-”

“No, Lance, I don’t. I mean how could you be so stupid?”

“Please if you just listen, Dad-”

“I have never been more disrespected by yo-”

 “Stop!” Lance’s wife spoke up. She finally had to butt in. “You tell Lance you don’t understand and when he tries to explain you cut him off! How are we supposed to have a conversation when you won’t let anyone else speak?”

Silence spread across the room as no one dared to respond. She could practically feel the smoke coming out of her ears.

“Dad. We eloped because we wanted something that was for us. The wedding you were planning wasn’t ours. We didn’t have a say in anything. From guest list to menu, you all controlled that. We wanted to get married on our own terms. While I will forever be sorry you weren’t with us, I am not sorry for getting married the way I did, to the girl I love.” Lance grabbed your hand once again to squeeze, to remind him why he did what he did. 

His father didn’t say anything for a few moments. The newlyweds waited patiently, praying Lawrence wouldn’t fly off the handle again. 

Finally he said, “Then I owe you both an apology. I understand that you both had expectations for your wedding and not having any say in the matter didn’t feel good. I wish you both said something. At the end of the day though, this is still a big deal for our families business-wise. You are my only son though, Lance, I wish I could have seen you get married.”

“We can still have the wedding, Mr.Stoll. Our plan was just to have something for ourselves, then have the main event be for everyone else.”

Lawrence smiled at that. Happy he would still get to see his son get married, even if it is the second time.

This time luckily, the couple got a bit more of a say in wedding preparations. With no comment from either family, the Vegas elopement was quickly forgotten once more pressing gossip reached the public. 

While it still wasn’t what Lance and his wife had envisioned, having their families there this time was all they could ask for. 

lance_stroll

Liked by astonmartinf1, and 452,374 others

lance_stroll One for us and one for them

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[biancadoes1]

I have a very long theory about the timeline and also L’s friends and family and what they know/knew while it was happening, and why things may have played out they way they did. (Not anything that violates their privacy, just some speculation about how things could have gone down that I think explains some things.)

I have been thinking most of this for a while, but that anon you had a while back claiming to work with a member of L’s family and what they were saying about N&L got me thinking. They may have just been a random person trolling, but I went back and read their previous post, and it seemed to imply the following:

L was in love with N, and wanted to date post filming, but N didn’t want to

L then got with A instead, and she became integrated into his friends and family group and they all liked her

All of this actually lines up with some fandom theories about what happened post-season 3, that they caught feelings and lines were blurred (L’s worlds about the blurring of lines, plus we’ve all seen the bts) and N wanted to take some time to separate from characters and make sure things were real. We’ve also speculated that L was hurt by whatever happened with N post-filming, and if that is the case could have caused his friends and family to be upset with N for the pain that he was experiencing. (My theory is that he was a fucking wreck if this is what happened because his feelings for N are anything but casual, and his friends and family had to deal with that/put him back together.) Don’t forget that L was also dealing with the end of a long term relationship almost simultaneously to “losing” Nic who I also think he had feelings for from day one, and I think everyone probably knew that his feelings for N had likely impacted/ended his relationship with J, and now N was stepping back from a relationship with him at that time, leaving him a mess.

So let’s say all of this has happened, and L went off the rails and swore off N, had his HBS and jumped into something with A (maybe with R’s help) and she made him feel better/boosted his confidence and he integrated her quickly into his life and his friends and family were all happy that he seemed happy and stable, and then… reshoots/press/tour happened.

I think N&L realized very quickly after reuniting that they still had feelings for each other and decided to move forward with a serious relationship because they knew they were it for each other, but they kept it a big secret even from people very close to them, and especially from anyone L knew wouldn’t be supportive or would try to talk him out of it after all that had gone on. He didn’t bring them into the circle, so they didn’t know what was going on. All they saw was what we saw, which is the interviews and press they were doing, which could be played off as PR, but they were also probably concerned about how close they were getting again. This could be why his sister/family seemed to be involved with A coming to the premiere to interfere what seemed to be happening, because everyone was concerned about him getting personally involved with N again and the impact that could have on him. The interaction with N was orchestrated to remind her that A was still there and mark her territory/intimidate her. L was reportedly upset/had an altercation with A at that event, and I think that after party N&L hug was her comforting him. However was also see him being very territorial about N at the same event, maybe because was worried about losing her again/it felt precarious/he is a person who needs a lot of reassurance, especially after the last time, and I think because N might have withdrawn from him or acted different because A was there and that made him feel insecure.

By this point I think N&L had already decided to get married and L had proposed (Australia Truther/down on the knee part one.) Ring was ordered and a backstory created for it to hide the truth until they were ready to share. They were engaged when N jokingly proposed in Italy. She starts posting the “boyfriend” pics. Press tour continues and so does the charade. In Ireland, L meets/asks permission from N’s family and the offical proposal happens (Down on the knee part two). Everyone’s emotional when L meets her mom but N’s bro in law is still a little skeptical/protective about the situation and the fact they L still had this situationship on the side/his family doesn’t know yet. They are both emotional about the tour ending and L tears up when N mentions that they (C&P??) will be married when they return to set.

They plan to separate for the summer so that L can handle business on his end. By the London radio interviews, N is starting to get emotional and withdraw a bit because the tour is ending and she knows what’s coming. He tried to comfort/reassure her but the situation sucks all around. Since their relationship is a secret, their communication will be limited, but as long as she is wearing the ring, he know she is still in and waiting for him (song lyrics), which he needs after what happened last time. She plans to hint at a relationship with JD to help conceal the truth, a friend but someone L will not feel worried/jealous about but will help provide some cover.

By the London premiere, everyone on L’s side is super concerned at where this is going, and someone or maybe multiple people close to L conspire for the pap walk to occur. I think some members of L’s professional team might have been in the group if people who were not supportive of a N&L relationship and/or didn’t know about it and participated thinking it would be a good move for his image to be seen as dating A or separate professionally from N.

L still has professional/personal commitments with A and his friend group, which he carried out, but he was anxious and miserable the whole time. I think the Spain trip was part of this/before Sorrento. I hope at some point he told A and his friends the truth, but an NDA may have needed to be involved to keep her and the friend group from going scorched earth and spilling all of the tea. At some point, maybe Italy, L susses out who has been violating his privacy and severs some ties/comes clean/runs home to Nic.

I assume at some point he told his family but that it is still very under wraps and only a small circle knows the truth. Going back to that anon, some people (extended family) may still not know the truth and be very confused and judgemental about what they are seeing in the media (N&JD relationship speculation, N appearing to run around with a younger man after rejecting L).

August: Chaos week, bless the telephone, Drink Your Milk pic. I think they reunited and L was staying with N while A found other housing arrangements (she was either living with L previously or staying there was he was on tour and he had to deal with that.

Talk Talk while flashing the ring…

Sometime this fall, I believe they got married and it was very small and intimate. Rings changed hands, she put one on his finger too, and they’ve been quietly staying out of the public eye. He’s been supporting her from behind the scenes and being her Ken while deciding what is next for him professionally (musical theatre?). They’ve started filming for season 3 as Polin and are emotional about all that has transpired since the end of S3 filming (tears in their eyes in the S4 Polin pic) or perhaps about what they are filming or what is next for them and taking some time to enjoy their marriage privately before sharing it with the rest of the world.

That’s my version of this friends to lovers story based on the crumbs we’ve received, and as Luke would say “it seems appropriate.”

No notes.

What do you guys think?

Edit: after re-reading this anon really has me 👀

Edit after the edit: there is mention of family in this post - I don’t want to see anything negative about them in the discussion. Negative comments will be deleted and I will not accept asks speaking specifically about them.

Their families are not part of this ship.

[asapjens]

Gifts & Blessings

PJO: perseus jackson x reader

SYNOPSIS: gods, gifts, and unexpected blessings

CATEGORY: fluffffffff

WORD COUNT: 493

After the chaos of the battle against Kronos, Percy and his friends found themselves standing before the gods, who were bestowing gifts upon them.

The atmosphere was tense, and the gods were not exactly known for their gentleness.

Zeus cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention. "Percy Jackson, son of Poseidon, I offer you the gift of immortality. Join us on Mount Olympus as a god."

Percy hesitated for a moment, and the other gods exchanged glances, some muttering under their breath.

You, being the daughter of Hermes, couldn't hold back as you stepped forward.

"Whoa, hold on there," you interjected, trying to diffuse the tension. "Percy doesn't need to be a god to show how much he cares about his people. He's doing just fine as a demigod.”

The gods turned their attention to you, surprised by your boldness. Even Poseidon and Zeus looked taken aback, not used to being questioned or challenged by mere half-bloods.

Poseidon, noticing the commotion, stepped forward with a small smile. "Now, now, let's not get ahead of ourselves. Percy's got a good head on his shoulders, and I'm sure he knows what he wants."

You nodded at his words. "Percy's dad is right and-" You felt a pang of embarrassment as you realized your slip-up. "I mean, Poseidon, sir of the sea, I mean God! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."

Poseidon chuckled, waving off your apology. "No need to worry, my dear. I appreciate your support for my son. He's lucky to have someone like you by his side."

The tension in the air eased as Poseidon's words calmed the other gods. Percy shot you a grateful look, and you smiled back, feeling a little less flustered.

As you and Percy prepared to leave, hand in hand, Poseidon approached the two of you. Percy expected his father to address him, but instead, Poseidon turned to you.

Confused, you nodded as he asked you if he could have a word in private with you. You dropped Percy’s hand, not before kissing his knuckles.

"Ah, my dear, it's not every day that someone stands up for my son the way you did. It takes a lot of bravery or stupidity to reference the Gods like that," said Poseidon.

“Umh, thanks,” you replied.

“You have my blessing to marry my son,” Poseidon said. You blinked in surprise, feeling your cheeks flush. "Oh, um, thanks, but we're not really... I mean, we haven't really thought about..."

Poseidon winked at you. "Mark my words, my dear. You and Percy have something special." You chuckled and nodded. Then you went back to Percy.

“What was all that about?” said your boyfriend. “Oh, come on, don’t be embarrassed. I’m sure having the god of the sea as a father-in-law is not that bad," you chuckled at Percy’s words and pressed your lips against his.

When you guys made it to camp, Percy took your hand and led you to a quieter spot. The beach. He looked at you with a twinkle in his eye, and before you knew it, he was pledging his commitment to you.

Not in a marriage proposal way, it was better than that, a promise to always be together, no matter what. A promise that you both would always keep.

The two of you shared a moment, knowing that you didn't need the approval of the gods to solidify your bond. With Poseidon's unexpected blessing and Percy's heartfelt vow, you felt ready to face whatever the future held, together.

[the-californicationist]

I don't know if you're taking requests (You can ignore this if you're not)

I remember reading something (it was either on facebook or a twitter thread) about a guy who made a tinder account of his girlfriend to see how many likes/swipes she'd get

And boy he didn't realise how many men swiped right on her. I think within an hour she got like over 1000 (he was ready to buy his girlfriend a cow, a camel, diamond ring. Basically anything she wanted because he realised how lucky he actually was that she wanted him)

ANYWAY

I can't stop thinking about the cod men doing it. Like what would their reaction be??

I feel like Kyle would just shower you with gifts. Oh you glanced at that designer handbag, he's in that shop with his card out. He don't care about the price

lol this is such a funny premise! i wish i had seen the video!! here's my take, otherwise known as how to tease Gaz within an inch of his life.

Get Ratio'd

“What do you mean switch? I don’t wanna be on that bloody app in the first place, babe,” Kyle scrunched up his nose at your proposal, but you pressed him.

“C’mon! It’ll be a laugh. Just for fun, Gaz. Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

You had seen a viral video, and now you had an idea. There was a couple who had switched phones for the night to swipe through each other’s dating apps, just to see how many hits they’d get. The woman in the video seemed defeated after trying her best to dress up her man’s profile and not finding any matches, but the man looked like he was shell-shocked, and he told her they were deleting these apps right away. Experiment over. So, you were curious. You knew Gaz was a handsome man, so you were eager to see how you’d do. 

He peered down at you over his nose and sighed, handing you his phone. You sat on the couch together, downloading the apps, picking out pictures, making sure to set the settings to casual dates only. No need to trick people into thinking you were actually on the market. 

“I just don’t want you to get jealous, love,” he smiled, genuinely concerned, "I've been told I'm a handsome chap." You smiled back,

“No worries, babe.  I can take it.”

Finally, after everything was set up, you switched phones. The boys would be over in just a few minutes, and you were eager for all of the likes to start rolling in. 

“We should make ourselves a little wager, yeah?” You suggested, knowing Kyle wasn’t one to shy away from competition.

“Aye, alright. Most likes wins?”

“Nah, most messages. ‘Cause that takes guts. And we’ll stop after the football game.”

“You’re on,” he smiled, giving your butt a playful slap as you went to buzz the boys in from your front door. 

The match was on for a good twenty minutes before you even got your first notification. Your heart sank a little when it looked like a bot, some garbage about “You look lonely. I can fix that. Click here!” It wasn’t a real girl. You showed Kyle and he shrugged, 

“It counts. It’s a DM, innit?”

“Alright,” you said, trying to get a peek at his app.

He swiped the phone away from you,

“Ah-ah! No peekin’.”

“Oh, c’mon, babe. No one wants to do me?” You whined, pouting at him.

He snaked his arm around you, palming your arse in his wide hand, 

“I wanna do you, babe.”

“I know,” you giggled, raising your hips to give him more access, earning yourself a hard squeeze, “I just thought I still had it.”

“You definitely do, babe. This is just a toxic app. Don’t think about it.”

So, you put it out of your mind. You got exactly three more messages for the rest of the night. One girl sent a friendly “Hey!” with a smiley emoji, another sent a photo of herself doing a sort of duck lips thing in a low-cut top. Finally, you got one that said, “Is that your real name? Just want to make sure I’ll be screaming the right one later.”

You cackled, showing the boys. Soap laughed with you, his eyes wide at her sexy message, and Price gave you a good-natured eyeroll. The only thing Ghost said was,

“Has he showed you yours yet?”

You looked over at Gaz who was burning a hole through Ghost with his glare, and he shut off your phone screen and put it in his pocket. 

“No… why?” You asked.

“No reason,” Ghost retreated, drinking his beer and fixing his eyes back on the match. 

A few minutes later, you excused yourself to go to the bathroom, and then you lingered in the hallway, listening to the conversation happening between Gaz and his friends in your den. 

“Oh, mate,” Soap whispered none too quietly, “You are in fuckin’ trouble, ain’tcha?” 

“Shove off, Johnny. Help me figure out how to fuckin’ delete this,” Gaz hissed.

“Well, son,” Price didn’t even bother to lower his tone, sipping on his whiskey with a smile on his face, “You bloody well won your bet.”

“I knew it would be bad, but I didn’t think it would be this bad,” Gaz handed your phone over to Ghost who was gesturing for him to give it. 

Ghost read the message aloud,

“I could call you beautiful, but since beauty comes from within, I’ll just have to check for myself… Fuckin’ hell. That’s rank.”

Soap was looking over his shoulder, scrolling furiously, reading as he did,

“Your eyes are stunnin’. You’ve got beautiful eyes. Wow, your eyes are beautiful… like, c’mon mate, a little creativity?”

“You don’t want to read the creative ones,” Price warned, taking the phone from Ghost, reading his favorite, “Jus’ wonderin’ if I should respect the fuck outta you or fuck the respect out of you.” 

Gaz leaned back on the couch, exasperated,

“What am I gonna do? I gotta buy her one of those fuckin’ bags that cost as much as a goddamn Aston. She said she wanted to do Bora Bora, or was it Fiji? Maybe I can take her for her birthday? How much are tickets?”

“Mate, you’re cooked,” Soap muttered, then gasped, “Oh, Christ. Look at the size of this one's fuckin’ knob!”

“Help me book her a bloody spa day. Do you think she wants jewelry? Holy shite, this bloke just sent a screenshot of his bank account. What the fuck?”

“She’s already with you, mate,” Ghost shrugged, “What’s the bother?”

“He’s bothered ‘cause now he knows that,” Price grumbled, checking his watch, “...in under an hour, she could have a quarter of the population of London bangin’ down her door just to smell the inside of her bloody shoe. And he’d have…”

“A bot and two birds,” Gaz frowned, crossing his arms.

“A bot and two birds,” Price nodded, sipping his drink and turning back to the game. 

You wandered back into the room, plopping down beside Gaz, pretending you hadn’t heard the discussion that had just transpired. Gaz put an arm around you almost protectively, kissing your forehead,

“Hey, babes. What was the name of that spa you wanted to book? Thought we could go together this weekend.”

“Kyle,” you turned to him decisively, “Show me the texts.”

“No,” he shook his head, turning back to the game.

“Kyle,” you squeezed his thigh.

“No! You don’t need to see all that.”

“All what?”

“The one hundred eighty-seven messages that he —” Soap interrupted, but Gaz cut him off.

“Oy! Mate! Shut up.”

“Just show her,” Ghost rolled his eyes. 

“One hundred…” You were in shock, and as Gaz handed you your phone back, you scrolled through the mess that he had been hiding from you, “Oh, God…”

“Yeah…” Gaz sighed, “So, if you want that purse that the Kardashian whats-her-name had, just add it to the cart, alright? Jesus.”

You were shocked by the level of attention you had received, but when you saw the content, you had to stop yourself from dying with laughter,

“Not sure if I’m just hungry or if you truly are a snack. Either way I’ll eat you. Oh, no. Look at this one: My cock’s a rescue, wanna give it a good home? Wow… these are rough! How many dick pics did you get?”

“Too many,” Gaz shook his head. 

“Aww, baby,” you hugged his neck, teasing him, “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere. None of these blokes is half as fit as you.” 

“Dinnae you see the fuckin’ knob on Fabio over here? He's askin' for your Venmo. I say you should send it.” Soap chuckled, shocked, flipping back to one of the profiles.

Gaz fought him back, snatching the phone, and you laughed with the others, shaking your head, 

“So… what was that you were saying about a handbag?”

After the laughter eventually died down and the boys had gone home, you helped Gaz clean up the kitchen. Then, you both deleted the app and returned your phones, glad to be done with your little experiment. You decided to tease your man just a little further, 

“Well, you won the wager. What’s your prize, love?”

You expected him to take the bait, to bend you over the counter and claim you possessively, using you to let out his frustration. But, he turned serious, his expression almost somber, and he kissed you softly, disarming you.

“You are my prize,” he purred, “And I’ll do anything to show you how lucky I am to have you.”

“Hmm… anything?” You smirked, tucking your hand into the waistband of his jeans and pulling him closer. 

Finally, that rakish grin you loved so dearly was back, spreading across his face, 

“Name your price, love.”

You pretended to think for a moment, letting your hands wander down into the warmth of his pants, palming his growing cock, playing with it and feeling it throb for you, then you winked at him, 

“I hear Tahiti is nice this time of year.”

He raked his hand down his face, but he was hiding a smile, groaning,

"Tahiti..." Then, after a breath, he snatched you, holding you in his arms, carrying you kicking and giggling to your bedroom, "C'mere, you. Tahiti can wait."

AO3 Link

[not-magdi]

-acapulco all white / Ben Shelton

Warnings: none

Words: 1180

Reading Time: 5min

Request: can u write a ben shelton x reader where he gets jealous or smth like that ? lovee a jealous ben shelton !!! thanks girlie

Thank you for requesting! My inbox is empty again so please request!

MASTERLIST

The warm night air of Acapulco buzzed with conversation and the clinking of champagne glasses as the ATP players and their guests gathered for the prestigious all-white opening party. The terrace overlooked the ocean, the moon casting a soft glow over the elegant crowd dressed in crisp white attire.

Y/N adjusted the silky fabric of her dress, smoothing it over her hips as she scanned the party. The dress was stunning—Ben had told her at least five times already how good she looked in it. His eyes had practically lit up when he saw her, his hand lingering on her waist longer than necessary, a smirk playing on his lips when he leaned down to whisper, “You do realize every guy here is going to be staring at you, right?”

She had laughed it off, brushing a kiss against his cheek before they entered the party together.

Now, as she stood near one of the tall cocktail tables, waiting for Ben to return with their drinks, she took a slow breath, enjoying the ambiance. That was, until a voice interrupted her peace.

“Can I just say—you look absolutely breathtaking tonight.”

Y/N turned, her polite smile already in place as she faced the man who had approached her. He was tall, well-dressed, and clearly confident in his approach. His smile was charming, but there was something about the way he looked at her that made her stomach turn slightly.

“Thank you,” she said, keeping her tone even as she glanced subtly toward the bar, hoping Ben would hurry up.

The man, undeterred, stepped closer. “I don’t think I’ve seen you at one of these before. Are you here with someone, or is this my lucky night?”

Y/N fought the urge to roll her eyes. “I’m actually here with my boyfriend,” she said lightly, shifting her weight just enough to subtly create space between them.

The man chuckled. “Boyfriend, huh? Lucky guy. But he must not be too worried if he left you all alone.”

Y/N stiffened slightly, her patience wearing thin. “He just went to grab us drinks,” she said, her voice still polite but firmer this time. “And trust me, he has nothing to worry about.”

The man’s smirk didn’t falter, but before he could reply, a familiar presence appeared at Y/N’s side.

Ben.

His hand found the small of her back, his grip firm, possessive—but not forceful. His expression was unreadable, but the tension in his jaw told her everything she needed to know.

“Hey, babe,” Ben said smoothly, handing her a glass of champagne before turning his full attention to the man in front of them. “Something going on here?”

The man hesitated, suddenly less confident now that Ben was standing between him and Y/N. “Oh, we were just talking,” he said, his tone noticeably more cautious now.

Ben didn’t smile. “Yeah? Funny, because from over there, it looked a lot like you were bothering my fiancée.”

Y/N blinked. Fiancée?

The man’s expression faltered slightly. “I—uh, didn’t realize,” he muttered. “No offense, man.”

Ben didn’t move, his gaze unwavering. “None taken. But if I were you, I’d make sure I realize next time before approaching someone else’s girl.”

The man nodded quickly before muttering something under his breath and walking away.

As soon as he was gone, Y/N turned to Ben, biting back a smirk.

“Fiancée?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow.

Ben exhaled through his nose, taking a sip of his drink. “What?” he asked, acting innocent.

Y/N folded her arms, looking up at him with amusement. “I didn’t realize we got engaged.” She tilted her head. “Unless I missed the whole proposal part.”

Ben finally let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. “It got the guy to back off, didn’t it?”

Y/N hummed, tapping a finger against her chin. “Mhm, or maybe someone got just a little jealous.”

Ben scoffed. “Jealous? Me?”

Y/N grinned. “Oh, definitely jealous. The way you came marching over here with that whole ‘I’m big and scary’ act?” She leaned in slightly, dropping her voice to a teasing whisper. “You were fuming.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “I was not.”

“You so were.”

“Was not.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “You basically growled at him, Ben.”

Ben huffed. “Well, can you blame me? The guy was practically drooling over you.”

“Well, I am very drool-worthy,” Y/N teased, flipping her hair dramatically.

Ben groaned, but there was amusement in his eyes as he slid his arm around her waist, pulling her against him. “You think you’re so funny, don’t you?”

Y/N grinned up at him. “I know I am.”

Ben stared at her for a moment before leaning down, brushing his lips against the shell of her ear. His voice dropped lower, playful but undeniably smug.

“You didn’t deny the fiancée thing, though.”

Y/N’s breath hitched slightly before she pulled back, narrowing her eyes at him. “You’re impossible.”

Ben just smirked. “And yet, you love me for it.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at her lips as she took his hand, leading him back toward the party.

Ben may have been jealous, but she had to admit—she kind of liked it.

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Hope you enjoyed it ❤️