#guess who is now working on the next part?

[dissociativewriter]

Knelt At Her Altar

based off this idea by @leighsartworks216 <3 (i sat down tonight like oh ill work on the next part of unnatural affinity and some of the requests in my inbox but then i saw this post and it was like alright. i guess im writing this now). not too sure if i like this, but its too late for me to care at this point tbh (im posting this right after i finished writing it)

fem reader (you can probably guess which greek goddess shes based on) & written from sylus’s pov (except for the very last bit)

not proofread (its late yall, i usually reread these once but damn its 3 am); 2.8k words

Not many wandered near the mountain home to the last dragon.

His cave was high, hidden in the rocky terrain, surrounding trees and grass marking the territory. Still, the mortals liked to keep their distance.

A welcome distance, the dragon supposed.

That was why the noise had grabbed his attention so suddenly.

It was faint, far away from his shining hoard, but noticeable nonetheless. The dragon took off immediately, wondering if the mortals had finally had enough his presence so close to their civilization.

He descended quietly, watching as the men laid the stone foundation into the side of the mountain. They worked for months, unaware of their silent observer, until finally the structure was complete. The sun had nearly set by the time the final stone was laid and the unlit candles were arranged, the light on the mountainside almost completely dimmed.

The dragon landed before the structure once all the men had retreated back to their villages. He sat outside the structure for a while, scanning over the intricate carvings in the stone.

It was beautiful, the dragon noted, the artistry rivaling anything he’d seen before. However, that only made its location all the more confusing.

The structure was at least a day’s journey from any of the neighboring villages, too far for any frequent use, he thought. So why waste such an elegant structure for a herd of deer?

A warm flash of yellow came from the structure’s interior, and the dragon departed without a second thought.

Weeks pass before the dragon returns.

He’s hesitant, careful, as he approaches.

The sun is high when he first descends, flocks of men, women, children pour into the structure, bearing fruits and meats and jewels. They kneel before an altar within, prayers falling from their lips like their very utterance would wash away the blood staining their hands.

The dragon had never been one to subscribe to a faith.

Any creator that would make one such as himself only to leave him alone earned no reverence from the dragon.

Perhaps that lack of faith was what caused the dragon to hide in waiting in front of what he now knew was a temple, waiting until dusk to collect the offerings.

He may not have been one for gods, but he was never one to let such offerings go to waste.

The dragon waited for the shadows to overtake the mountainside valley, for the mortals to return to their homes with lightened loads and hearts. An hour passed with only the shuffling of birds in their nests before the dragon ascended the steps of the temple.

Scents of incense vaguely lingered and the stone held the warmth of the dying candles beneath his feet. At the very end of the temple, upon its altar where dozens of people had knelt just hours ago, were piles of fish, apples, gems, and so much more, just for the taking.

And the dragon intended to take.

His heavy steps were halted, however, by a soft jingling.

The dragon moved quickly, hiding behind a nearby column. The temple was empty before he entered, he made sure of it, so who was this being? He risked a peek from behind the pillar.

Met with the view of a young woman, the dragon was taken aback. This young woman, full and smiling, was clad in clothing the likes of which he’d never seen before. Fabric draped over her shoulders, hung from her neck to connect down to her wrists, another scrap tied around her waist.

Jewels decorated her, hung from her neck, wrists, ankles, jingling every time she moved. She sparkled against the shining stone, giving her an almost ethereal glow.

A song spilled from her lips, as full and jovial as the rest of her, and though the foreign words were lost on him, the effects were not. The dragon felt himself growing weary as he watched her gather fruits into her basket, his unease growing with it.

The temple seemed warmed, protected, as the woman moved around it, her movements resembling something of a dance.

The dragon may not know how to dance, but he knew beauty when he saw it.

“Are you hungry?” the woman asked, voice soft and full and holding a reprieve from the cold the dragon had known all his life.

He stilled against the stone tiles. Scales rising and wings flaring, he forced himself to remain hidden behind the pillars. It wasn’t worth risking a confrontation with this being, he figured, if they had evaded his observation so easily. The dragon was silent, a skill of his, impossible to find unless he willed it.

So how had this woman seen him, made him feel as if he were laid bare on the altar before her?

A pomegranate rolls along the floor, hitting his foot with a soft thud.

The voice spoke again. “Let my temple be a sanctuary to you as it is to others. I will not force you out if you do not wish it so. I am not one to force things. I will leave you food, and offer my temple as a hiding place.” Quieter now. “You will not be turned away, never by me.”

The dragon’s heart beats rapidly in his chest, a rhythm as unknown to him as the song the woman had hummed. The jingling stopped abruptly, but the dragon waited several minutes before moving.

The temple was empty now, the stone cold and the comforting feelings of secrecy in hiding were fading away. All the was left were burned candles, the pomegranate at his foot, and the basket still on the altar.

The basket was worn, stray straw poking out in certain places. It was filled with meats and fruits, nearly a quarter of the entirety of the offerings. The basket itself looked as if it were taken out of a common home, lovingly crafted and holding life in its weavings.

The dragon took the pomegranate before his departure.

The dragon did not return to the temple for weeks.

He busies himself with his hoard, with hunting, with dealing with those few who think it’s a good idea to challenge the last dragon.

He perches out in front of the temple early in the morning, before the sun rose. The rays of light took longer to reach this small valley, the mountain range hiding the sunrise itself, keeping the temple plunged in shadow for an hour longer.

Followers entered the temple in a steady stream, and the dragon observes each of them carefully, bright vermillion eyes glittering in the light.

None match the being he had seen that night.

The dragon is confident as he stands before the temple doors that it is empty, and yet the familiar jingling and song fill his ears.

He does not shy away this time, entering the temple with wings folded behind him. He thinks he sees a small smile warm her cheeks from afar, but the woman says nothing.

In her hands are two baskets, one more obviously weighed down with fish and fruit alike. His eyes snap to the very thing the woman examines. A ruby necklace, the delicate silver chain slipping between her fingers.

“Beautiful, isn’t it? It suits you, I think. I’ll leave it for you.” She grins as she carefully lays it into the overflowing basket.

“Why?” the dragon growls. His body is tense, distrusting of such a strange being before him. His voice is hoarse, as if it had been unused for decades.

It had.

No one wants to speak to a dragon.

The woman’s smile never fades despite his hostility. “It matches your eyes, don’t you think?”

The dragon finds himself stiffening again, this woman always catching him off guard. She has never had the opportunity to see his eyes, he knows.

None had.

She drops the heavy basket on the altar, leaving through the side of the temple with the lighter hanging in the crook of her elbow. The dragon chases after her, though there is no one to be seen, no jingling to be heard.

The woman is not lying in ambush, waiting to strike against the dragon as so many had before. Even her scent, the epitome of a comforting home that was foreign to the dragon like the songs she sang, had escaped him.

Cursing himself for missing her warmth, the dragon left the temple.

This time, he took the basket.

The ice of winter made its way through the mountain range and its surrounding villages in a matter of days. It overtook everything, animals retreating to their dens and villagers hiding in the warmth of their cottages.

The dragon himself settled within his own lair, hibernating through the season in a state of daze. Barely conscious, much like the other predators of the mountain.

Hibernation season ended before the snow had left the land, however, and the dragon set out to observe his territory. He caught sight of the villagers, only counting three, as they entered the temple bearing just a handful of offerings.

As the stars rise in the sky, the dragon descends.

The woman is there in the temple, as he expected, though she is not the same as he remembers.

Her fingers tremble as she reaches for the clumsily woven shawls on the altar. She wraps them around her frail figure, the natural warmth of her not enough to overpower the cruel ice.

The temple seems empty without her song.

The dragon enters the temple freely, for the first time.

This being cannot hurt him, after all, not in this state.

She smiles when she notices him there. It’s later than she usually does, but the dragon thinks he’s just imagining things. “Long winter, hm? Harsher than even I’d expected.”

The woman drops onto the floor, pulling her body into herself. Most of her bracelets are missing. “You can have the food,” she whispers, eyes fluttering shut.

The dragon looks at the altar. Only a handful of fruits, a couple of scarves. No jewelry.

“Too meager,” he sneers.

The woman chuckles, though the dragon struggles to find any humor in it. “Winter is tough for everyone,” she explains simply. “People give what they can. I cannot hold such a thing against them.”

The dragon is silent. He turns away from the woman, feeling something akin to shame as her eyes close again. “I can get better,” he finally mutters.

She hums in response.

If she realizes it was an offer, she says nothing.

Instead her breathing evens out and her shoulders relax. The dragon watches her sleeping form, reveling in the warmth that spreads from her despite the chill.

He leaves her like that, clutching a ruby necklace around his hand.

The dragon returns after a week of spring ceremonies. He’d watch the villagers bring new offerings, watched as more of them came.

The woman was fuller now, much to his relief. She grinned upon seeing that he did not hide away this time.

“You are the goddess this temple is devoted to,” he said gruffly. It was a statement, not a question.

She clasped her hands, beaming with pride at him. “Yes! Goddess of the hearth, at your service!” She gives a small, mock curtsy. “What is your name, if I may ask, brave dragon?”

He stiffens again. It comes out rough, underused. A nearly broken, “Stayrus” escapes his lips.

“It’s nice to meet you, Stayrus.” She smiles, taking a few small steps towards him.

“What is a goddess of the hearth?” he asks abruptly.

“Well, I’m a goddess of the home. I make sure people can feel safe and comforted, even in new places with new people.” she explains softly.

“I’ve never been good at adapting to new places and new people,” Stayrus mutters.

“Well,” the goddess smiled. “Consider this my blessing to you. May you always be able to find a home.” She handed him a pomegranate.

Stayrus took it with the reverence of a vow.

He remained with her for much after that. Some centuries passed, the dragon visiting his goddess as the stars twinkled in the night.

Stayrus always kept an eye on the villagers. He watched as they prayed to her, fixed the cracks in her temple’s stone, lit the candles at her altar. She was kind to them. Benevolent. She was how the gods should be, Stayrus thought, instead of how they are.

Perhaps that was why it was such a shock when the visitors began to dwindle.

“It’s been a few centuries,” the goddess told him. “They’ve placed their faith in me for a while. It’s just that they’ve found someone else now.”

“You will always have my faith, goddess,” Stayrus said quickly.

She only nodded, hands trebling against her fraying cloths.

That night, he brought a deer to her altar. “An offering.” he said stiffly.

She laughed, frail and pained. “It doesn’t work like that,” she murmured. “You’re not a mortal.”

Stayrus watched in silence as the goddess grew weaker and weaker before him. She no longer jingled when she walked, no bracelets or necklaces to adorn her. She didn’t sing anymore, the strength of the song lost as the followers left.

When her temple was empty for weeks and the cracks were begin to set in, Stayru grew desperate. “Is there nothing I can do?” he asked.

The goddess shook, looking more sickly than divine. “I shall return to the beyond soon. Nothing but stardust with no mortals to put their faith in me.” She turned to Stayrus again, eyes lightening with the fire of the hearth as she found the crimson. “Stayrus,” she whispered. “I’ve never seen the sunrise…”

Stayrus nodded, and without a word, lifted her into his arms. She melted into him, as if this was where she had belonged all along. Stayrus flew, with her safely tucked away, to the other side of the mountain range.

He sat with her still cradled against him as pinks and oranges painted the sky.

“It’s beautiful…” she breathed. The goddess turned to Stayrus, putting a trembling hand against his face. “You’re beautiful, too, Stayrus. I hope you know that. No matter what they say.”

Light littered over her body, little flecks of star covering her skin.

“No, goddess, you cannot leave me!” Stayrus cried. His voice shook and broke. “You cannot deprive me of the only home I’ve ever had.”

“You will find another,” the goddess replied softly. A weak smile grew as tears tinged her eyes. “I promise it. You will find another home.”

In the heart of the N109 Zone, Sylus was a king.

He had all the riches he could desire, all the power he could ask for, and yet something was missing.

His base, modern and sleek and luxurious, was so cold.

He had never found that warmth that he had as a dragon with his goddess.

Sylus had cursed the woman for her broken promises, but he only ever ended up begging for her forgiveness as tears streaked down his face.

He wished she was here with him, to wipe the tears away from his cheeks or to punish him for his insolence. He would take either, he thought, just to feel her warmth against his skin again, just one more time.

But Sylus didn’t have that warmth, only the responsibility of his territory.

As he sifted through the rubble far within the reaches of the N109 Zone, he stiffened as he came across a familiar face.

A bust of his goddess, fully intact despite the carnage surrounding him, and still as beautiful as ever.

Sylus took out a delicate ruby necklace, aged and almost crumbling, if not for the extreme care it had been handled with. Clasping it around the neck of the goddess, Sylus muttered a quiet thank you.

“Perhaps I should take you into my home,” he whispered. “Since you so willingly took me into yours.”

A quiet jingling reached his ears, and Sylus found himself hiding before he could even think of what he was doing.

“Why do you insist on going through all this rubble?” you asked, laughing with your friend as you stumbled through the broken stone.

“Because you never know what treasures you’ll find!” your friend replied. They stopped in the tracks. “Hey, come look at this. Doesn’t this statue look just like you?”

You gasped. “It really does!”

“That’s crazy,” your friend mumbled as they walked away. “How come I can never find my historical doppelgänger?”

You stood before the bust, unable to tear yourself away. “Such a beautiful necklace,” you breathed. “Familiar, somehow…” Your eyes snapped to a nearby pillar, but you didn’t see anything.

A smile grew on Sylus’s face. “Just as you promised,” he said. “I’ve found you again, goddess. I’ve found home.”

i cried writing this. i never do that. so i had to give it a happier ending.

comments and reblogs appreciated and asks open!

masterlist

taglist (8/50): @dolledbunnytail @sleepykittyenergy @orbitraiden @coffeedragonhobbyist @plzdonutpercieveme @sylusgworl @angelkazusstuff @lamogliedizayne

[tsuemi]

If Things Were Different

notes: part two ! no trigger warnings i guess just mild angst n here's the p1 p3 🍥

four years.

it didn’t feel real sometimes — that so much time had passed. that your son, your son, was nearly four now. you named him takahiro. he ran around your tiny tokyo apartment like it was a racetrack, all wild energy and too-big emotions. he had his father’s brown eyes. his smile. even his stupid little dramatic flair.

you told yourself you were used to it. that it didn’t sting anymore.

that was a lie.

you tucked a blanket over him as he dozed on the couch, his soft brown hair falling messily over his forehead — just like tooru’s. his stuffed dinosaur was half off the floor, and his chubby hand was still clutching it like it was a lifeline.

you stared a little too long. sometimes you wondered if you loved your son too much, just to fill the void you weren’t brave enough to face.

you worked nights now.

being a nurse meant being exhausted, constantly. you lived off instant coffee, your back hurt more than it should, and the only messages on your phone were appointment reminders or messages from your landlord.

but you were doing it. alone. for him.

you caught glimpses of tooru sometimes — on the tv in the hospital lounge. in magazines. on the muted screens in sports bars. you never watched the interviews with sound. you didn’t need to.

he always smiled the same.

confident. a little smug. eyes too bright for someone who used to cry in your arms when no one else was looking.

once, you saw him with her — the international model. some article headline about “japanese volleyball star and argentina’s top runway model” she was beautiful, of course. elegant. tall. everything you weren’t.

you didn’t cry that night.

you just sat at the kitchen table, staring at your phone screen while your son slept in the next room. and you whispered, “i’m happy for you.” but it came out sounding like, “i miss you.”

and maybe that was the truth.

your coworkers didn’t know much. they assumed you were a young single mom by choice. you never corrected them. it was easier that way.

but sometimes, on quieter nights, you’d find yourself in the breakroom, clutching a lukewarm cup of coffee, eyes lingering on the tv just a little too long. and someone would say, “hey, isn’t that guy the best setter in the world now?”

you’d nod. “yeah. he is.”

and they’d keep talking, but you’d already be gone — lost somewhere in the past, where his voice still echoed in your chest.

it happened on a rainy thursday.

you were late picking up your son from daycare. the trains were delayed, your shift had gone over, and all you wanted was to get home, warm up leftovers, and crash.

you rushed through the doors of the center, breathless, apologizing.

“i'm so sorry—”

but your voice cut off.

because he was already there.

tooru was there.

in the tiny daycare lobby, crouched in front of your son with a look you’d only ever seen in your dreams. like the whole world had just collapsed under his feet.

your son was holding his hand, talking excitedly about dinosaurs. he had no idea. no clue who the man in front of him really was.

tooru looked up the second he felt you there.

you froze.

and time — the cruel, relentless thing — bent in half.

his eyes locked on yours. wide. dazed. disbelieving.

he stood slowly. “y/n?”

you didn’t answer.

couldn’t.

there was so much you wanted to say. so many apologies and explanations and things you’d buried just to survive.

but your son tugged at your coat, unaware of the storm swirling around him.

“mommy,” he said, voice bright. “this man knows volleyball. just like me!”

🍣 hey! ik its a cliffhanger but i rly dont know what to write next lol its my first time writing angst and such 🥹 lmk what u think and maybe ill decide for part 3 🫶🏻.

💌 taglists : @xoxojisu @ilovemymomscooking @leilakaro

[darknight3904]

Sunday Dinner

Joel Miller x Fem! Reader, Previous Tommy Miller x Fem! Reader

Summary: Out on a rebound date, you discover your new man is actually your ex's brother, or Joel Miller shows a girl and her ex-boyfriend how she ought to be treated.

Warnings: Language. Age Gap (26 to whatever age you want to imagine Joel as) Smut, 18+ Pwp, Threesome adjacent, Tommy is getting cucked (oops sorry) oral f rec. face sitting, rough sex, creampie, Joel being a boob man, they're all freaky in this one oopsie, mood board is for aesthetics only, reader has no physical descriptions beyond being afab.

This was supposed to be short and somehow turned into 6k words...

Read Part One here / TLOU Masterlist

Austin, Texas

You squirm, and the old barstool under you creaks as you take a deep breath. Both Miller brothers are staring at you, waiting for you to speak. The other loud whoops from patrons of the bar you’re at deftly fill your ears. You think they’re cheering at some guy who's just chugged his fifteenth beer. 

“So uh, you’re the brother Tommy was always talkin’ about.” You nervously laugh, looking at Joel. 

They do look alike, now that they’re standing next to each other, gruff faces both staring down at you as your face heats up in embarrassment. You were so stupid, going out with your ex's brother. Who even does that? It was worse that Tommy had caught you not even knowing who Joel was. 

“Yeah, I am.” Joel hums, taking a sip of his beer, “You’re the girl he was bitchin’ about the past few weeks, then, I take it.” 

“That’s me.” You say, “Wait, what was he saying about me?” 

Joel sucks in a breath, “Ah, ain’t my place to say, darlin’.” 

Your head whips to Tommy, pointing an accusing finger in his face as you glare at him, “You’re a real piece of work, ghosting me and then running off crying to your big brother like I was the problem.” 

“I wasn’t cryin to Joel about anything. Besides, you’re acting like you weren’t the most boring thing on Earth. Goin’ out with you was like watchin’ paint dry.” Tommy rolls his eyes. 

The nerve of this fucking guy. Oh you were going to rip him a fucking new one. 

“Alright, that’s enough.” Joel cuts in before you can remind Tommy about the time he came in like 3 minutes that time you rode him in the back of that stupid truck of his, “Thought I told you to quit speakin’ to girls like that.” 

Tommy just grunts and avoids his older brother's gaze, taking a sip of the rum and coke he held in his hand, “Whatever man, actin’ like you haven’t done the same damn thing.” 

“Yeah, well, I’m not a dumb kid anymore. Y’know you’re not 25 anymore, brother. You go around acting like that, you’ll chase every lady away that’s in a fifty-mile radius of you.” 

You snicker at the way Joel scolds Tommy. Guess the older sibling duties never end for Joel here. 

“Whatever, man.” Tommy scoffs 

“Yeah, whatever.” Joel mockingly parrots, “Why don’t you go back over to the other side of the bar, flirt with whatever dumb college girl is giving you puppy dog eyes, and leave us to our date.” 

You watch Tommy stomp off through the crowd, Joel calling after him, saying something about seeing him again on Sunday at 4. 

“For the record, he said you were some boring uptight girl next door type.” Joel says, Regaining your full attention 

“We were only going out for like two months.” You roll your eyes, “He’s acting like he’s some famous actor.” 

“Yeah, my baby brother’s always had a bit of an ego on him. Thought it’d go away once he got older, but here I am.” Joel sighs 

“Still parenting.” You tease 

“Still fuckin’ parenting.” Joel chuckles, motioning to his curly head of hair “He’s probably half the reason I got all these damn grays.”

A loud shout erupts from the crowded bar. You’re not interested in what’s going on over there though, your full focus is on the man infront of you and how his big hand is dwarfing the fucking beer bottle he’s nursing. Christ, imagine those hands around your- 

“You alright? You’re looking a little out of it.” Joel asks, his eyes on you 

“Hmm? Oh, I’m fine.” You smile, “For what it’s worth, I think the gray’s are pretty sexy.” 

“Sure you do,” Joel laughs, “And I'm secretly that guy.” 

He motions to the overhead TV where a clip plays of some movie’s red carpet flashes. A man poses with a dark black ensemble. Black tank top and flowy black pants, his tanned skin looks nice as his biceps flex when he waves. He’s got nice glasses on and his hair is perfectly styled out of his face. At one point he protects his co-star from a bee that flies in her face as the cameras flash around them. 

Your eyes flick back to Joel who is already looking at you, “Dunno. Maybe you are. You could secretly be a ninja turtle for all I know.”

“Which one?” Joel grins 

“Hmm…maybe Leonardo.” You say, “You got that stoic, I’m the boss vibe.” 

“Noted.” He nods

You and Joel remain cuddled up on your respective bar stools for another hour, laughing over movies, music, and everything in between as your drinks slowly become abandoned and forgotten as the conversation becomes more and more interesting. At some point, your friends bid you goodbye, you wave them off, eager to get back to Joel as they kiss your cheek and whisper about getting the “D” tonight. 

“So, let me get this straight,” You giggle, “You broke your arm as a kid because you jumped off your roof on a dare from your crush that was at your house to work on a book report with you?” 

“Yup. In my defense, she was the most popular girl at school and I was…well, me.” Joel hums 

“Did she declare you her boyfriend at least?” You ask, “You went through all that trouble for her.” 

“Nah, boyfriend privileges went to this guy named Travis.” Joel shakes his head, “You can break an arm for a girl, but it all comes down to who wins the big playground race. Travis was one fast fucker.” 

You roll your eyes and pick up your glass, watered-down drink sloshing as you hold it up to Joel for a toast, “Screw Travis.” 

“Screw Travis.” Joel nods in agreement, clinking his beer bottle to your cup

An overly loud cheer has you both turning your heads, you wonder who would dare interrupt your paradise tucked away in the corner of the bar. Of course, it’s none other than the other Miller brother who has just climbed onto the little stage they use for karaoke, an equally drunk blonde hangs off his arm, her little hands roam his chest as he scans the screen for a song to sing. 

You roll your eyes and pick at the lace of the skirt you’re wearing. The fabric suddenly is way more interesting than it was a few seconds ago. 

“You wanna go get some ice cream? I’m not interested in finding out whether or not that idiot got the singing gene in our family.” Joel suggests 

You look up, a smile on your face, happy that he’s given you an out, “Do you like rainbow sprinkles, Joel Miller?” 

Joel leads you out to his truck, hand slung comfortably on your waist. He opens the door for you and offers you a hand to help you climb in. You thank him and pretend you don’t feel his eyes on your ass as you take the hand. 

You and Joel patronize an ice cream parlor called Scoops and he wrinkles his nose when you ask for extra sprinkles to be put on yours, claiming it ruined the whole flavor profile of the ice cream. You tell him he sounds like Gordon Ramsey and he just brushes you off, ordering a medium chocolate cone from the employee who has his eyes trained on the chest hair that pokes out of Joel’s shirt. Sorry Tim, this middle aged man is all yours, he’d have to find his own dilf for the evening.

The sun has set by the time you’re back in the truck. You sit criss cross and eat quickly, the Texas summer heat is killing your sweet treat. Joel manages to finish before you, inhaling his portion like some mystical creature. You’re focused on making sure the ice cream doesn’t drip onto his truck seat, the last thing you needed was him whining about the upholstery the way Tommy did that one time. 

A big hand finds its way onto your upper thigh, rubbing warm circles as you try to ignore the tingles it sends to your belly. Joel chuckles when a soft squeak leaves your lips when he slips higher, teasing your inner thigh with deadly precision. This fucker knows exactly what he’s going. 

You’re on your last bite when it happens. A forgotten chunk of ice cream falls from the cone, right between your legs and onto the tan seat of the truck. You feel the blood drain from your face as you shove the last bite into your mouth, instantly reaching for the napkins you’d tossed on the dashboard, cursing yourself as you do. 

Joel’s hand falls from your legs as you spring up, frantically wiping at the already forming stain as your mind races. Fuck now he was going to yell about how you ruined his seat and that he’d have to pay to get it detailed. Men and their fucking vehicles, if he was anything like Tommy the scolding was bound to begin right now. 

“What’re you doin?” Joel asks when you huff in frustration and pull your purse out, shoving a twenty dollar bill in his face 

“For the seat. I don't know how much it is but I can get you more.” You say, eyes fixed on your empty wallet, you should’ve brought more cash. 

“Why would I need to detail my truck? You sayin’ it’s dirty in here?” Joel asks, his voice lowering a bit 

“What? No, I spilled my ice cream.” You gesture to the seat below you as you point to the stain that seems to glare at you 

Joel’s eyes follow your hand to the evil stain that’s about to ruin your whole evening and before you can apologize he does something so unexpected you nearly pass out. 

“That’s the size of my damn pinky nail, girl.” He chuckles, “I wouldn’t have even seen it if you hadn’t said anything.” 

“Yeah, well. I did so, you can just take me home, no need to yell about it.” You grumble, scooting towards the passenger door as you angle your legs away from him. Your eyes looked out the window, hoping he couldn’t see your tears, you were so stupid, ruining a good date with a stain. God you were going to die alone at this rate. The alcohol in your stomach wasn’t doing you any favors, it was making you more sensitive if anything. 

A hand grasps your chin, turning your head back to him and you let out a sound of surprise as Joel stares back at you.

“What’s the water works for hm? A stain that small doesn’t matter to me.” He says quietly, thumb brushing a tear from your face, “This truck is damn near 10 years old, probably has been through everything with me driving it.” 

You sniff and nod, “Sorry.” 

Joel chuckles again, letting you go, “Don’t be.” 

His eyes scan you as you wipe your snotty nose on a cheap ice cream parlor napkin. 

“My brother yelled at you I’m presuming.” Joel gathers 

“Is it that obvious?” You say 

“He treats his ride like it’s a damn luxury sports car. Y’know his truck used to be mine. He bought it off me back when he was too broke to buy anything else.” Joel says, “I’ll let you in on a secret, as long as you promise not to tell him.” 

You nod, of course you’ll keep Joel’s secrets for him. He slides your cash back into your hand before speaking again, 

“The day I sold it to him, I didn’t tell him bout’ my vomit stain in the back seat. Told him it was freshly cleaned and when he discovered it a day later at some concert he was at, I convinced him some idiot must’ve climbed in and puked in it.” Joel says, “He spent a whole day in my driveway cleaning up my mess that I made after having a few too many on New Years Eve.” 

You giggle, imagining Tommy frantically scrubbing his older brother’s mess probably cursing the made up stranger that had puked in his new truck. 

“Wait.” You place a hand on Joel’s forearm, leaning forward into him, “There’s a faint stain on Tommy’s floor in the back…that was you?” 

“Guilty.” Joel laughs 

Joel’s eyes swim with amusement as he stares back at you. You scoot closer to him, letting your nose brush his as your eyes flick down to his lips. Joel leans forward, his lips brush yours before you inch backwards. 

“Isn’t this going to screw things up with you and Tommy?” You carefully ask 

“Screw Tommy.” Joel declares 

You don’t get to focus on the way his deep voice is sending a tingle down your spine because he’s surging forward, lips pressed hard against yours as he groans into the kiss. Your hands weave into his hair as he pulls you closer to him, hands fisted in your shirt as he squeezes you. 

Your brain is overcome with thoughts of Joel as you breathe him in. His hands tickle the skin of your waist, they sneak upward and Joel gives your chest a squeeze as he groans into you. 

“Boob guy?” You chuckle 

“What gave it away?” Joel murmurs, he sounds wrecked and all you’ve done is kiss 

“Saw you staring at them when we were at the bar. You’re not as covert as you think, Joel.” You hum 

“Well you’re wearing this,” He says, hands pulling the spaghetti strap of your flimsy shirt back onto your shoulder, “Can’t blame me when they’re right in my damn face.” 

You laugh and press a kiss to the tip of his nose, “I did it on purpose.” 

“Naughty girl.” Joel hums, he’s leaning in again and your eyes have fluttered shut when a loud knock on the driver's side window has you both jumping. 

Tim the ice cream scooper is standing there, an embarrassed look on his face, “My manager says if I don’t tell you guys to leave he’s calling the cops.” 

Joel rolls the window and apologizes to the guy, his deep southern tone filling the truck as you try to fix your appearance. 

“Here, since I didn’t tip when I was in there.” Joel says, handing a ten dollar bill to Tim who instantly thanks Joel, a blush on his cheeks clear as day as he walks back to the ice cream parlor, a loud thank you on his lips

Joel turns back to you and he’s about to speak but you cut him off. 

“You’re blind.” You say 

“Excuse me?” Joel counters 

“That guy has a major crush on you and you just tipped him 75% on our ice cream. He’s gonna think you’re into him.” You laugh at his clueless face

“What? No, he wasn’t, he was just bein’ nice.” Joel fumbles 

“He gave you an extra scoop of chocolate.” You point out, “He gave me three scoops and you four. The count for the mediums here is 3, you had 4.”

“Well, maybe he just had to get rid of it.” Joel counters, “Expiration dates are no joke. Dairy goes bad faster in hotter climate-”

“Oh yeah, expiration dates…I wouldn’t be surprised if he thinks you’re coming back tonight for some whipped cream, too.” You tease, “I bet the men’s bathroom here is pretty roomy.”

Joel’s ears are turning pink now as he rolls his window back up. He puts the truck in gear and grumbles while you laugh at his embarrassed face, “Uptight girl next door, my ass, gonna be the fucking death of me.” 

That makes you laugh harder as you click your seat belt. You lean over and press a kiss to Joel’s cheek. 

“Where to, troublemaker?” He asks, running a hand through his hair that you’d messed up a few seconds ago 

“Hmm.” You say, pretending to think, “What’s your place like? I bet you have a really nice couch.” 

“It’s not bad.” Joel says, “Kinda lumpy on the right cushion.” 

“You ever fuck anyone on it?” You say boldly 

Joel looks over at you, a smirk on his lips and a devilish glint in his eyes, “You’d be the first.” 

The moment Joel’s front door slams shut, he’s on you. His hands roam everywhere as his lips messily meet yours. Your back meets the couch, it is in fact quite nice and you sink into it as he settles next to you. You suck in air as he beckons to you, pulling you into his lap as you straddle him. 

Joel hums as you get comfortable, and you pretend like he’s not fucking harder than a rock below you. He presses little kisses to your collarbones and gropes your chest over your skimpy shirt. 

“Joel…” You softly whisper, squirming. You need more stimulation than this, and he’s holding you practically still in his lap. 

“Shhh. Wanna talk to you for a second, then we can keep goin’ if you want to.” Joel says 

You frown in disappointment but nod and rest your hands on his shoulders. You admire his face that’s illuminated by the lamp that sits on the end table to your left. 

“Dunno what you’ve experienced so far but it’s probably different from what you’re used to.” Joel hums, thumbs running circles into your thighs, “I ain’t my brother, y’know.” 

Your brow furrs, “How’s you know that Tommy and I-” 

“My brother kisses and tells.” Joel hums, “I don’t do that.” 

You curse Tommy out for the hundredth time today. Of course he told his brother about your bedroom life. 

“I presume he told you about his shitty stamina then.” You scoff 

Joel looks at you expectantly. Of course he didn’t say anything about that. 

“Your brother is one of those minute men, Joel.” You laugh, “He came like three minutes into me riding him once.” 

Joel laughs softly, “He left that one out. But,” Joel looks at you again, his heavy gaze on you as you look at him with lust blown pupils, “Once again I’m not him.” 

“Good.” You say softly 

“Baby, gonna tell you now, you can leave, no questions asked.” Joel says, “I like to be in charge when I’m with a girl. I’m also not…gentle with the women I’m with.” 

“That’s okay.” You softly say, scooting forward, “I don’t mind.” 

Joel hums, “You got a safeword?” 

You shake your head, you’ve never really needed one. 

“How about strawberries? Y’say that and I stop.” Joel suggests 

“Strawberries it is.” You giggle, “Now, can we keep going?” 

“Inpatient.” Joel chuckles as you slowly rock you in his lap, “We can keep going. Seems like my brother set the bar pretty low for me.” 

You press a chaste kiss to his lips, “The bar is in fucking hell Joel.” 

“Well, let me clear my family name for ya, darlin.” Joel says, “Stand up.” 

You stand up, limbs buzzing with excitement as you shiver when his eyes rake across your body. Joel’s hands bring you between his legs and he squeezes your thighs. 

“Soft.” He comments, “Strip. Slow.” 

You nod, slowly wiggling your hips as you step backward and push your skirt down. Your fingers hook into your panties and he speaks again. 

“Leave those.” Joel says, “Shirt next.” 

You slowly pull your flowy tank off your body and unhook your bra, sighing as the underwire finally stops digging into your body. Goosebumps worm their way across your skin as you shiver. You’re basically naked in front of this man you’d just met. Not to mention he’s still clothed and staring at you like he’s starving and you’re a ribeye steak fresh off the grill. 

“C’mere.” Joel pulls you back into his lap, his jeans are rough as you fall into him, straddling him as you go, “You’re worrying about nothin’, baby. Prettiest thing I’ve seen in a long time.” 

You nod and try to stop shaking. When did that happen? Your nerves must be getting to you. Joel is right, this isn’t what you’re used to. Normally most guys are spilling into a condom by now, leaving you disappointed and reaching for the vibrator you keep in your nightstand for when they leave you alone. 

“So soft…” Joel hums as he thumbs your nipple, gently twisting as you squirm and say his name. 

His eyes fall down to your soaked panties, shifting his hips so the zipper of his jeans scrapes against the soft fabric covered flesh that is screaming at you. 

“Joel….” You mumble 

“What’s wrong sweetheart?” He cockily asks 

��Y-Your jeans are…” You stumble as he shifts again, zipper sending a shoot of pleasure through your belly 

He presses a kiss to your tits and leaves a trail of spit as he kisses up to your lips, “Want me to take em’ off?” 

“Yes.” You desperately say 

Joel’s pushing you off him and you stand again, his hands pull your panties down and you step out of the wet fabric. He’s guiding you to lay on your back on the couch, towering over you as he begins to kiss down your body. 

“My brother ever go down on you?” Joel asks as he kisses your thighs 

“Once. No twice.” You say 

“How was it?” Joel asks 

“Joel.” You say, “I’m not telling you how your brother’s oral sex skills are.” 

“Why?” The man between your legs asks, “He told me how yours are.” 

Your face burns. Joel knows that you went down on Tommy down the block from your parents house before he dropped you off after a movie date. Was there anything he didn’t tell his brother?

“He’s alright. A little too…” 

“Too what?” Joel asks as his lips ghost over your center, he smirks when you squirm towards him

“Gentle. Like he’s scared it’ll bite him.” You admit 

Joel scoffs, “Fuckin’ useless. I swear he’s even dumber than he looks.”

You giggle at his rough comment and Joel laughs too, “Yeah he is.” 

“Gotta make it up to you.” Joel declares 

You’re going to agree with him but he’s already drowning in you. Burying his face in your cunt as your chest heaves a wheeze of his name. He licks a fat stripe up your slit before sucking at your senstive clit. He repeats this action a few times before shifting to fuck you with his tounge, thumb running slow movements across your clit, settling on figure eights that make your hips jump. 

Joel’s other arm slings across your belly and keeps you still while you gasp for him to keep going. Your eyes flutter shut as he devours you, you moan his name loudly as your brain feels clouded and empty at the same time. You’re nearly there when a rough hand lands on your cunt. You yelp and your head shoots up. 

“Eyes on me,” Joel demands 

You’re about to whine and tell him it’s not fair and that he’s edging you but a loud knock at the front door as you both pausing. 

“Joel, you home?” 

Before either of you can answer, the door swings open and shuts again. You’re immediately scrambling, trying to push Joel away as you hear Tommy calling for his brother. 

“Don’t fuckin’ move.” Joel orders 

You freeze, his voice has you still, you’re still in that submissive headspace he had you in a few seconds ago. 

“In here.” Joel says as he sits up, righting himself as he motions for to stay put 

“Joel.” You say, grabbing the throw blanket that’s tossed over the back of the couch, wrapping your body up 

It’s a good thing you do this because Tommy Miller is entering the living room now, freezing when he sees you and Joel on the couch. 

“Jesus. Joel…I, you, she…Fuck. Lock your front door next time man.” Tommy fumbles, already turning to leave, “I got a text from the concrete guys, they’ll be at the job site tomorrow at nine. See you there.” 

“Stop.” Joel says, his hand rubs your thigh as he gives you a wink, “Sit down, baby brother.” 

Tommy stops and turns back to the two of you. 

“Joel. I know where this is going and it’s not happening again.” Tommy says, “Like you said to me earlier, we’re not 25 anymore.” 

You’re curious to see what he’s talking about. Again? What is Tommy saying? 

“Sit.” Joel says again and this time Tommy sighs and listens, settling into a recliner that faces where you are on the couch 

“Where’s this going man?” Tommy asks 

“I think you know.” Joel says before turning to you, “Remember your safeword baby?” 

You nod quickly. Strawberries. 

Joel pulls the blanket from you and helps you to sit in his lap again. You’re naked as the day you were born, perched on one of Joel’s legs as one of his hands loops around your waist, holding you steady. 

“Seems to me you weren’t appreciating her the way you should’ve been.” Joel says to his brother, “Cummin’ in 3 minutes ain’t a compliment to a lady.” 

Tommy’s face goes red, and you suppress a smile. 

“So now you’re what, revenge fucking my brother?” Tommy asks you 

Joel answers for you, “This is better than revenge. Gonna give this needy cunt what it needs and teach you how to be a better man.” 

“Joel.” You say, “I don’t want Tommy to-” 

“Shhh.” Joel hums, “Only I’m going to touch you, baby. Unless you tell me you want him too.” 

“O-Oh.” You mumble, “Okay.” 

“You can say your safeword. It’s alright.” Joel reminds you gently

You roll it over in your mind. You could say it, but the idea of having sex with Joel in front of your shitty ex, who happens to be his brother, has you admittedly turned on. It's all kind of fucked u,p but you can feel yourself getting wetter at the idea of Tommy sitting in that chair while Joel shows him how it’s done. 

“No. I wanna keep going.” You say 

“Good.” Joel says, kissing the tip of your shoulder, “Now, gonna teach him how to make a perfect thing like you feel good. We’re goin’ to my bedroom now. Need more room now that we’re addin’ a plus one.” 

“Joel. This is fucked up.” Tommy cuts in 

“Grab a kitchen chair. Carry it up and put it in front of the foot of the bed.” Joel says

Tommy hesitates but eventually listens, grabs a chair, and disappears upstairs. Joel turns back to you. 

“Remember, safeword and it all stops. I can kick him out or you can leave and never see us again.” Joel reminds you 

“I wanna keep going.” You cut him off 

Joel smirks, “Course you do, slutty girl.” 

Joel leads you upstairs to where Tommy sits facing the bed, knee bouncing as he picks at his nails. 

“Been what, nearly ten years since we did this?” Tommy asks 

Joel nods, “Yeah, somewhere near that number.” 

“You’ve done this before? Cucked each other?” You ask 

“Well, last time was more than just cucking. More like a threesome, but those were different circumstances with a lot more alcohol and some weed involved.” Joel explains, “Nothing to be worried about.” 

You nod and Joel gestures to his big bed. You expect that he’ll lie you down on it, maybe bend you over or something, but he surprises you when he lies down first, head settled in the pillows as he gestures for you to join him. 

“C’mon. Want you to sit on my face.” Joel gestures, “Make it up to you that I didn’t get you to cum down on the couch.” 

“What if I kill you?” You blurt out, “I don’t wanna go to jail, I’m only 26.” 

“Tommy won’t let you kill me.” Joel laughs, “Sides’ it’d be a good way to go out. Drownin’ in pussy.” 

You blush at his crude mouth. It’s like he was a different person than the one you’d met in the bar. Guess he was right about being different in bed. 

“Fine. But If I smother you, it’s your own fault.” 

“Damn right it is.” Joel hums 

You kneel on the bed, ready to swing a leg over Joel’s face before he stops you. 

“Turn, face him.” He orders 

Excitement zips up your spine and you nod, ignoring the way Tommy is telling Joel he’s a fucking freak. 

You’re barely over Joel for more than a second before he’s pulling you down into his mouth. Your hands scramble for balance as they fist his shirt. You gasp as Joel roughly licks and sucks at you. Your tits jiggle as you rock gently into Joel’s tongue. 

Tommy grunts and you watch as he starts palming his jeans, eyes fixed on your body as you use his brother. 

“J-Joel.” You huff  as he squeezes your ass, moaning into your cunt

Joel’s facial hair scrapes roughly at your inner thighs, adding to the pleasure you feel as you float in your pleasure. Your stomach burns with desire as your eyes flick up and meet Tommy’s who is fixated on you and Joel. You rock back into him and Joel grunts, for a second you think he’s telling you to stop and you ease up, pulling away so you don’t kill him. 

“What’re you doin’?” He asks from behind you 

“I thought you were telling me to stop.” You say 

“I’d never tell you that.” He chuckles, “How’s the show, Tommy?” 

You don’t glance at Tommy as you continue to crane your neck, trying to see Joel under you. Your brow furrows in discontent as you try to pull yourself from his hold. 

“Fuck you, man.” 

“You wanna keep goin’ like this?” Joel asks smoothly 

“Can I lie down on my back? I can’t see you like this.” You ask 

“Course you can.” Joel says, with that his hands release you and he helps lift you off him. 

You lie on your back, watching his face as it glistens in the soft yellow lights of the bedroom. He settles between your legs, staring down at you as he kisses your forehead. 

“Can you fuck me now?” You ask dreamily, you love the way his mouth feels but you’re curious to see what’s below the jeans you’ve been grinding on. 

“You gonna be a good girl and take it?” He asks 

“Yes.” You say, “I’ll be good.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yes, promise.” You nod, your head bobbing as you wiggle your hips, trying to tempt him into pulling his pants off 

Joel leans down lips tickling your ear as he speaks so softly you barely hear him, “Gonna put on a good show for Tommy hmm?” 

“Depends on if you fuck me good enough.” You scoff 

Joel grunts, “Fuckin’ brat.” 

Big hands wrap around you and before you can process it, you’re on your belly and Joel’s heaving your hips up and roughly smacking your ass a few times. 

“Stay right there, like that.” He orders 

The tantalizing sound of Joel’s jean zipper fills the air, and you hear the heavy fabric hit the floor. You sigh in anticipation, and you can see Tommy in your peripheral vision. 

“Gonna be good, take it like this.” Joel mumbles 

Warm sticky wet prods at your bare cunt, and you sigh happily. 

“Got me fuckin’ leaking like a teenager, baby,” Joel observes, his hands running up and down you as he taps his dick on your hole. You hear him spit, extra wetness oozes down you as you hear another zipper pull itself down 

“Someone's finally joining the party.” Joel chuckles 

Tommy must’ve decided to ditch his jeans. You begin to push yourself up off the bed, wanting to see how you’ve affected the guy who claims to think you’re a bore, but Joel moves quicker. Before your head can lift off the mattress, he shoves himself inside, bottoming out as you jerk forward a loud squeal leaving your lips. 

He sets a hard pace, not giving you time to adjust. Your fingers curl into the sheets, knuckles turning white as he roughly fucks you into the mattress. Joel’s hands land right on your hips, pulling you back onto his cock as you moan his name into the warmth of his bedroom. 

The knot in your belly tightens, you’re going to cum soon. You’d been craving it since you were down on the couch, and it was finally within reach. You can feel your legs shake as Joel stretches you to your limit, loud smacks of skin on skin fill the room as his grunts overpower your kittenish moans. 

“Fuck, Joel,” You gasp, “You’re umph…” 

You don’t know what you’re trying to say just that your end is near and he’s driving you fucking insane. 

“See this baby brother. Sweet little things like this aren’t borin’ you just gotta get em’ like this, treat em good and make them sing for ya’.” 

Joel pulls you off the mattress, one hand cups your breast and the other holds chin, keeping your head up as he whispers in your ear. 

“See 'm over there. Fucking his hand to you n’ me. Tried to tell me you weren’t sexy enough for him a few weeks ago.” 

A moan escaped your lips as your answer. You watch Tommy’s fist move quickly over his cock, the head of it is red and angry, he’s as close as you are to the end. 

“His fuckin’ loss, baby, you’re all mine now.” Joel declares 

The hand that cups your chin falls away, and your head lolls back, resting on Joel’s sturdy shoulder as he toys with your clit. Rough figure 8’s combined with his hard thrusts have you practically screaming as you cum. 

Joel fucks you through it, not giving you time to ride it out as he reaches for his own orgasm. Tommy’s loud grunts have your eyes flicking to him. Rich white spills over his fist, landing on the hem of his shirt as he curses loudly. 

“Gonna feel me tomorrow, right here,” Joel’s hand skims your lower belly, “Don’t worry I’ll take care of ya’, bring you breakfast in bed.” 

Joel’s pace is brutal, unforgiving, and unwavering as he fucks you even harder. You focus on the way he consumes you, holding you up as he takes exactly what he wants while you quake below him. 

Suddenly, you feel it, he’s twitching inside you, his hips stutter, and a choked sound leaves his lips,

 “Gonna fuckin’ fill you up. Make you mine,” He mutters, “Ah fuck, take it, take it.” 

Joel’s hips smack into yours once, twice and warmth fills you as he cums in you, a low sound leaving his lips as he finishes. His warmth leaves you as he gently lowers you into the mattress, falling onto his back next to you. You lazily let your eyes rake over him, eyes landing on his softening cock that’s drenched in a mixture of you and him. Your eyes widen you can’t fucking believe that was just inside you. 

The creaking of the floor boards have you and Joel both looking up. Tommy stands over you, his jeans still unbuttoned but his cock is tucked into his boxers now, protecting his modesty as he looks at you both, his expression unreadable. 

“Thanks for the lesson in sex.” He hums to Joel 

Joel chuckles, running a hand down you to squeeze your ass as you lazily lie on the bed, too tired to tell Tommy his brother was some fucking sex god. Your ex boyfriend looks at you now, his eyes narrow for a second before he speaks again, 

“Guess you’re not as boring as I thought.” 

“She’s off the market now, baby brother.” Joel says, “Gonna have to ask you to leave now, can’t have you staring at my ladies' naked ass.” 

Tommy scoffs, straightening up and walking towards the door, “See you at Sunday dinner, you fuckin’ freaks.” 

The sound of the front door slamming has you turning onto your back, you’re still boneless, in fact you might not move for another hundred years. Joel Miller had turned your limbs to jello. Joel gets up, still naked as he disappears into his bathroom before reappearing with a wet washcloth. He gently cleans you as you bask in the silence. When he’s done, he walks off again, soft cock dangling between his legs as you admire the way his ass jiggles when he walks. 

Ice water is served to you, and Joel sets you up, making sure you drink half the glass before setting it down on the nightstand. You cringe as warm cum seeps from your abused cunt when you shift to lie under the blankets. 

“I meant it.” Joel says as he lies down beside you, “Wanna keep you all to myself if that’s alright with you.” 

You scoot closer to him, letting him wrap his big arms around you as your head rests on his soft chest,

 “Does that mean sex like that regularly? You joke

“Sure, just without my dumb brother watching,” Joel says 

“It’s a deal then.” You giggle 

Joel pulls you even closer as he lets out a deep sigh, switching off the nightstand’s lights. It’s quiet as you listen to your breathing and the way the crickets chirp outside in the night. 

“Hey, you wanna go to a Sunday dinner with me? It’s at my grandma’s house.” Joel says

“You want me to meet your grandma and tell her what? We got together after fucking in front of Tommy, who also happens to be my ex-boyfriend.” You laugh 

“Seems like a good conversation to me.” Joel shrugs 

You turn the idea over in your mind for a second, an amused smile playing on your lips as you imagine Tommy’s face if you said all that in front of his elderly grandmother. It’s so funny you can’t help but  agree with Joel,

“Sunday dinner it is.” 

I said part 2 was coming literally over a month ago...whoops. Well here it is. This wasn't even going to be this nasty originally. The orginal plan was Joel and the reader crash Tommy's truck for fun...yeah, idk how we ended up here.

Tags:

@keseqna @maryrhodalouandted @ra1nyd4yzz @arcticversed

@freythecrazyfae

[n0rmal-cat]

Kpop demon hunters x reader- selling your soul for job experience Part 7

[the girls are fighting!! also reader's going through it]

[also i try to write more next time aghhhhh]

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 8

Reader draped a blanket over Abby with a sign, with a satisfying stretch they bent backward, cracking their spine with relief “Who knew lifting a bunch of muscular men would be so hard?”.

They made their way back to the comfort of the couch, they spotted Baby where they once sat, looking up at them from his water. “You’re still here? Don’t you want to get some sleep?” they asked, now sitting next to him.

“I’m fine. Being tired isn’t the worst thing that’s happened to me.” Baby shrugged as he watched the water swirl in the bottle.

“Thanks, by the way…for the yeah..” he didn’t even seem to want to say it, but the anxious tapping of plastic told them everything. “Don’t worry about it, um, do you want me to call you baby?”

He responded with a small laugh, “It really doesn’t matter to me, Baby is just a stupid name.” he paused and looked up at them, "but I don't mind being called 'baby' someone cute," he smirked to himself.

Reader blushed, "I'm going to choose to ignore that comment." They put a hand over their flustered face.

A comfortable silence settled between them, filled only by the soft buzzing of the room. 

"So I gotta ask," reader turned, leaning back against the cushions.

“Hmm?” Baby hummed, taking a slow sip from his bottle, his eyes fixed intently on Reader.

"Why'd you agree to this? You don't seem like the type," they gestured with their hand.

Baby leaned back slightly as well. “Well, it’s either this or rot away right? What would you choose?”

“I was already doing that, wasn’t I? choose the same thing you did” Reader shot back.

He teased, “I guess you're not so far off from us then, huh? Who knows? Maybe when we go back, we’ll be in Gwi-ma’s good graces. The rest of the demons seem to like us.” Baby leaned in a bit closer to them, they could feel the cold radiating from his body.

"right 'we' " their hands were still warm, but for how long would it stay that way?

“Is it really that bad to be a demon? I mean, you’re talking to one, and you’re living with five,” Baby pressed

“It’s not just about being a demon it’s what it represents—agh, shit!” Reader suddenly doubled over, a sharp pain shooting through their head.

Concern flickered in Baby’s eyes, but he made no move to help. Instead, Reader repositioned themselves, rubbing their temples. “Damn, that’s been happening way too often. Maybe I need to sleep more…”

“Maybe…” he echoed, finishing the last drops from his water bottle with a sigh. He set it down on the table, the sound seeming far louder than it should in the quiet room. “You don’t have to stay with me, you know. You can sleep if you want.”

“Nah, I know you’re waiting for Jinu. I don’t want you to be alone here, right?” Reader smiled.

Just then, the elevator doors opened, and footsteps echoed down the corridor. “Well, speak of the devil-er, Jinu!” Reader exclaimed.

Jinu stepped in, glancing between Reader and Baby with a confused frown. “Why are you two here... and together?”

“The better question is where were you?” Baby replied, standing up, his expression shifting to one of annoyance. “You can’t just leave us without telling us where you’re going.”

“It’s not that serious,” Jinu said, trying to downplay the situation. “I’m just doing what Gwi-ma wants.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I wouldn’t be so worked up if you actually talked to us. This whole thing, you never run anything by us,” Baby shot back, his frustration clear.

Jinu stood there in silence, not looking at either of them.

"What do you think? None of us understands what it's like to be you. Don't lie to yourself Jinu. You're not the only one struggling here. we're all pieces of trash. The least we can do is acknowledge it," Baby said, shaking his head as he spoke.

"I had a chat with one of the hunters," Jinu glanced up.

"Wait, what?" reader stood to their feet.

"You had a-what is wrong with you!?" Baby pushed him back with a growl.

Jinu let himself fall to the floor, his back meeting the edge of a shelf with a thud. “That’s what happens when I tell the truth,” he spat, glaring up at them.

“Alright, hold on,” Reader stepped between the two, trying to diffuse the situation. “We’re not going to have a fallout over a stupid argument.”

“Stupid? He went to meet a hunter and didn’t think to warn us? What if she followed you back?” 

"Even if she did, she thinks I'm human, she can't kill you here, now you," they turned to Jinu, “why didn’t you just tell them? That’s the dumb part! Baby was waiting for you the least you could’ve done is call!”

Jinu scoffed, rubbing his arm where Baby had pushed him. “Call? I don’t even have a phone! How would I call any of you?”

"ok, he has a point," reader looked back at baby, "but again, let's not fight."

The two continued to glare at each other as Jinu stood up. "I'm going to bed," Baby muttered, turning away.

Jinu watched him walk away. "Whatever..." he mumbled, pushing past reader and toward his own room.

Left alone, the reader stood still in the dim, empty room, the only sound was the doors clicking shut. "Damn it,” they whispered to themselves.

Suddenly, the stove top flickered to life, drawing their attention. A familiar pink and purple flame appeared in the darkness. "Gwi-ma?..." they asked, stepping cautiously toward the kitchen.

'Did you have fun today?' His voice was warm, almost genuine. “Fun?” they echoed.

'Playing pretend, of course, 'the innocent human' is that right?' he seemed to grow bigger again.

“Look, if you want to talk to Jinu, I can go—” the reader started, but he cut them off 'Did I ask for Jinu? I believe I was speaking to you, no?'

Reader's hand shook over the knob, tempted to turn him off, they knew it wouldn't work. "What is it you want to talk about then?" they managed to ask.

The fire morphed into a smile. I told you I came to ask if you had fun pretending to be 'human'...or maybe it's not pretend and just plain denial?'

Reader turned the knob, like they thought it did nothing. "It's just strategy, they can't go after them if they see me here, can they?" They glared

'Oh, of course,' his tone dripped with sarcasm. 'And you wouldn't want the three of them to get hurt either, would you?' Their grip on the knob tightened, knuckles white as they squeezed harder, until-crack!

The knob snapped clean in half, causing purple marks to scatter across their hand. “What?-” Their breath hitched as they dropped the broken piece in shock, cradling their hand as if it were in pain.

He let out a whistle, it pierced their ears 'oops, looks like you and the purple one finally have something in common now' as quickly as he came, he left, leaving reader panicked staring at their own hand like it was someone else's.

They looked towards the sink and turned it on, shoving the plug in, when it got to about halfway way they put their arm in and put their head down. They didn't know if it would do anything, but it did help them calm down a bit.

They took it out, looking at their hand once more marks finally gone. They let out a sigh of relief, they looked around the dark room again.

They made their way to the light switch, turning on both the kitchen and living room lights. They turned the TV on and put it on half volume, they sat down and started to watch whatever was on.

"Why do you have that on!?" Jinu came in, covering his ears, once his eyes landed on reader however, he quickly went to their side. "What's wrong? Why do you..." he tailed off to reader's wet hand.

"Nothing, just wanted to watch some TV is all" they stared blankly at the TV.

Jinu bounced his leg as he looked around the room. "I'll ah, ill apologize to baby when he wakes up, if you want, I can stay here till you fall asleep?"

"I'd like that," they leaned against his shoulder.

He smiled, "You know we're gonna finish this in the idol awards, you're gonna make us look great then aren't you? i don't know if you can tell, but the others really like what you put together.

"Hm," reader gives a hum in response, "you guys would be nothing without me, huh?"

He gave a laugh, "Get some rest, I'll be here."

the tag list-

@tumblblob @snowy-violet @yumi-does-stuff @d3sperate-enuf @kashasenpai @scara-simp69 @starwormy @luv1ayala @00hellohello00 @julia-loves-cupcakes @twilightknightt

[peachpopfizz]

Idol!Solo-Demon-Hunter!Reader × The Saja Boys

Part 1, What It Means To Meet Your Idols

(Part 0)

blinks like a frog. so uh. WOW, my ass was not expecting so much positivity and, like, actual reads for last chapter. it was literally just 1k of set up oh mein got!!

BUT. I thrive n' survive off of attention and compliments, so despite it being 1 am on a workday here, I hand the next part of this fic to you gently like hamburger. and hey guess what, it ACTUALLY has the saja boys in it this time!!! or. mostly. one of them. lmao

oh, btw, you'll figure out pretty quickly that this fics timeline is very canon divergent. to make a long ass plot point that I'll figure out later short, the saja boys are all alive after the 2025 idol awards and them and huntrix are chill. why? wait and see <3

okay enough yapping go kiss them hot demon guys

WC: ~3.2K

As you and the other members of Grxm Rexper practiced until your arms and legs felt numb, the day of the Solstice Festival slowly turned into dusk, which meant that people slowly started crowding around the large stage at the center of the event. Excited murmurs and the constant shutter of a phone camera filled the air, fans eager to see Grxm Rexper and whatever mystery groups were coming to perform.

The second the clock struck 7:30, the stage lights flickered dramatically, turning into a swathe of moving colors and dramatic spotlights. Cheers, screams, and yelling from the crowd nearly deafened the emcee's voice despite it echoing through massive speakers.

"Ladies and gentlemen, us staff of the Solstice Festival could not be more grateful for you having shown up tonight! We have not one, not two, but THREE incredible performances set up for you! And… they're starting right now!"

The crowd erupted into another wave of screams and cheers, light-sticks waving around with every second being filmed.

"First up, it is with much excitement that I announce our opening act is being delivered by the nation's beloved new upstarts, the ones who so many of you came here just to see..." Pause, for dramatic effect... "...GRXM REXPER!”

All the lights except five spotlights suddenly cut out, deafening screams from fans flooding the air as the track to one of Grxm Rexper's songs began blasting through the speakers. You and the other four members immediately fell into routine with practiced ease, any mistakes rendered invisible to anyone but a knowing eye.

You… didn't have much confidence in your dancing abilities, no matter how many times people tried to compliment you on them. However…

Every time you get to sing, it's as if any fear disappears. Lyrics flow out of your throat like honey, the stress of life seemingly disappearing for every moment you have the audience captivated with your tone. There are many stans who question why you aren't the lead singer instead of just the backup vocalist, but to be honest, the veeery slightly lessened amount of fame you get via being a ‘background character’ really helps with your… other, line of work, y'know?’

As the song carried on, you did get a small solo section. Feeling power, joy, and… something else thrum through your veins, you sang with all your heart, fueling the power and emotion behind every word. Your voice soared through the night sky, reaching every corner of the massive festival grounds, distant speakers barely able to keep up with what you were delivering. The crowd was entranced, phones, lightsticks, and even a lighter held high to capture everything while the other members of Grxm Rexper danced around you, their moves perfectly synchronized.

When you were reaching the end of your solo, something strange happened. You hit a high note, and the stage seemed to vibrate beneath your feet. You felt an unusual energy coursing through your veins, voice reaching new heights.

The strange feeling made your eyes pop open just a bit, tone refusing to falter as you just barely caught a flash of... something. It was bright gold- far away, coating the earth and attraction-walls below the stage in a latticework of light before fading away like ripples in the water. What in the hell was that?!

Despite your confusion, you didn't let the vision get in the way of my performance. A few more dance moves, two more verses, a final chorus, and then suddenly it was over. Every member of Grxm Rexper bowed, mutely panting with sweat dripping down their necks as you all beamed, waving and loving-on the audience.

Even with your head down in your bow, you could clearly envision the crowd's smiling faces. Your performance was amazing- arguably the best Grxm Rexper has had yet, and the audience clearly agreed. You felt a sense of pride and accomplishment wash over you; even as the adrenaline of performing began wearing off, leaving behind exhaustion and dizziness, that warm feeling lodged itself in your heart. Man… being an idol was hell 80% of the time, but… it was those moments that made it all worth it.

Suddenly, you heard a familiar voice booming out from the speakers, cutting the celebration short. It was the festival's emcee, his voice booming over the microphone.

"And that was Grxm Rexper, everyone! What an incredible performance, please, once more, give them some love!" After another minute or so of raucous applause, he spoke again. "Grxm Rexper, you were all amazing! Thank you, thank you so much! But now… are you ready for the real surprises?!”

While the lights dimmed, all of Grxm Rexper quietly exited off stage as the emcee stole the majority of the audience's attention. Immediately, the other members split off into duos, each with two of the five members, which... left you completely and totally alone. You sighed, exhausted, alone, and now sporting headache which was beginning to hit you full force. The energy got sucked out of you like a god damn tube jelly.

You weren't even disappointed anymore, not really. You just…

…Despite being coworkers, you weren't close to the other members of Grxm Rexper. You never hung out, never gossiped... You all came together to rehearse, perform, do publicity stunts, and that's it. It wasn't hard to figure out why- you had a potentially world ending side-job that kinda kept you too busy to maintain any meaningful interpersonal relationships, but still…

Too lost in thought, you let out a soft "oof" as you accidentally rammed into someone's chest, immediately apologizing and stepping back afterwards.

"Oh crap, sorry, you oka-"

The words died in your throat when you looked up. Your jaw dropped, a finger pointing up to point right at the man's chest. Holy shit. What the fuck. Is that-?

“-JINU SAJA?!”

Yes indeedy. You found yourself face-to-face with none other than Jinu, the charismatic leader of Saja Boys. He looked just as surprised to see you, his dark, dark brown eyes widening slightly as your shout caught him off guard. Despite you crumpling his shirt a bit, somehow, it only added to his appearance.

Looking back on it, that was a horrible first impression. One that sometimes had you screaming into your pillows at 3 A.M out of embarrassment. But in the moment, you were just ecstatic to see the guy. He, along with the rest of Saja, were basically the whole country's little poster child of a Boy Group.

Finally recovering, Jinu's face broke out into a charming smile at your enthusiastic reaction, clearly amused by your sudden outburst. He chuckled softly, reaching out to gently grab your pointing finger and lower it back to your side.

"That's me! In the flesh." His thumb brushed against your wrist accidentally, sending a small spark through your body that made you feel like a fangirling teenager. Jinu released your finger slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. His mouth opened, but before he could say anything else, the emcee's voice boomed out again from the stage.

"And now, it is with much excitement that I get to announce the performance from a group we've all been waiting for a comeback from for a long while…”

You blinked rapidly, shaking your head and stepping to the side as it clicked that, oh, he was on his way to the stage. Duh.

"I- wow, okay, damn, actually happy we went first now. If Grxm Rexper had to perform after THE Saja Boys, I might as well have just jumped off the stage.”

Jinu let out a dorky little laugh at your comment, finding your authenticity refreshing. Most idols (and people in general, really) that he meets are either starstruck by him, or so overly professional it's suffocating. But… you seemed comfortably yourself. It was... nice …And, you still gave him a cute reaction, too. Hell yeah, he's still got it!

Jinu slightly leaned into your space, voice softer, a playful grin still on his lips.

"Hey, you shouldn't sell yourself short. Your performance was amazing." His gaze seemed to linger a moment too long on your face. "In fact..."

The emcee's voice interrupted him yet again. You didn't know the guy- he was probably great, really sweet, but damn did, you want to kick him in the balls at that moment.

"...You won't believe what's coming next! Are you ready, Seoul?!”

Despite all the fibers in your being desperately wanting to just talk to the guy, you hurriedly steeled your resolve and waved Jinu off, half-heartedly attempting to fix the rumples you added to his shirt before gesturing for him to get on stage.

"That... Actually, wow, that genuinely means a lot to me coming from someone like you, thank you so much. Now, go have fun, okay? I hope your ears don't die from how loud everyone's gonna scream when they see you all.”

Jinu's reply came in the form of a smile that would bring any girl to her knees, his shoulders shaking in amusement.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

He gave you a small nod and a wink before turning to jog onto the stage. As he did, the crowd's screams reached a deafening pitch, confirming your prediction.

"The moment you've all been waiting for! Making their grand comeback after what feels like an eternity... the SAJA BOYS!”

You happily stood in the wings of the stage. Your legs ached, you were exhausted, had a worsening headache, and sweat clung to every inch of you, but… you hadn't felt so happy and entranced than in that moment for a long, long while.

The first song the Saja Boys ever released, 'Soda Pop' began blasting through the festival grounds, and to say people went nuts as all five members of the group suddenly appeared from a cloud of pink smoke was kinda underselling it. The Saja Boys hit the stage with an explosive energy, their perfectly synchronized dance moves and powerful vocals immediately capturing the audience's attention, sending them into a near frenzy.

As expected, Jinu was front and center, his smooth voice effortlessly blending with the others as they sang their sticky, sweet words. The crowd sang- err.. more like screamed along to every word. As they reached the first chorus, Jinu's gaze briefly flickered offstage, catching sight of you standing in the wings.

And as much as you would have loved to have noticed THE Jinu Saja singling you out as he performed, you were a bit too lost in your own world, performing for no one but yourself as you danced along with the boys backstage. Movements unpolished, but every beat hit. You knew the dance by heart- having watched their music video for Soda Pop a couple... hundred... maybe nearing into the thousand... of times.

Okay, yeah, you were a Saja stan and this surprise maybe perhaps just slightly made your entire last week worth it. So what? Sue you for having eyes and ears with TASTE.

As Soda Pop reached its final chorus, all of the Saja Boys poured every ounce of energy into their performance, all of them smiling like a weight had been lifted off their shoulders. Like they were free from... something. Drinking up the movements of each member, you wondered if anyone else saw it, too.

Jinu was perfectly controlled and flawless, like always. You don't think it's possible for him to look a mess. His face-card is, was, and likely always will be lethal.

Despite your eyes lingering on Jinu for so long- there were, of course, the four other members of the Saja Boys that you also loved dearly. Abby, Romance, Mystery, Baby… Each of them appealed to you in their own unique way- you couldn't really choose a favorite, they were all so damn talented!

Abby was objectively the traditionally-hottest. He gets bonus points for being himbo by nature, too. Come on now- he was ripped with a strong jaw and dangerous smile, all big and beefy… which made him the perfect visual member, for multiple reasons! Abby was talented at both singing and dancing- and, maybe it was just you, but you swear you've seen him act as the de facto second-in-command when Jinu wasn't around.

Sweet, charming Romance had sharp features amplified by his confident charisma. He was tall and slimly-built, a heart tattoo peeking out from the low neckline of his shirt. He excelled at his namesake- always flirting with the audience and enrapturing the hearts of the viewers. There are videos on Twitter of girls literally crying tears of joy because he kissed their knuckles. The fact that he had the voice of a poet blessed by the stars helped out, too.

Mystery was the mood maker, his expression always numb and unreadable, eyes hidden beneath his bangs. He was the tallest of the group, skinny with broad shoulders and a slim waist. His voice was breathy and light, captivating in an almost sinful way, like an old ghost that would lure you into the fog with his dulcet tones… There was also something, like, wrong with him. Like, objectively. You've seen him snarl and bark at people in interviews before. God. What a perfect man.

And of course, there was Baby Saja. He was the maknae, the youngest of the group, with a sweet, childlike face and the smallest body that gave you a form of cuteness aggression you once thought could only be brought out of you via puppies and kittens. Baby's personality matched his looks, but his voice was where people were caught off guard. His voice was deep and masculine- a powerhouse that could control and manipulate a beat with ease. Baby was the main rapper of the Saja Boys, and for damn good reason.

Before you could accidentally get in the way, you gazed longingly at the Saja Boys one last time, then slunk into the shadows backstage, disappearing further and further until the bright, cutesy music of Soda Pop had gone. Alone in your greenroom with nothing but the silence to accompany you, you turn on the in-room T.V just in time to watch as the Saja Boys finished their song.

Jinu walked towards the forefront of the stage, the other members close behind their leader who confidently held a microphone in his hand, the crowd's cheers beginning to slowly pitter out. He flashed that signature charming smile, eyes scanning the sea of faces before him.

"First up, everyone, thank you so much for the incredible welcome back!"

Just like that, the audience erupted into screams and applause again, all five boys taking a deep bow before standing back up. Abby leaned on Jinu's shoulder to speak into the mic, a smirk on his face.

"We missed you all so much, we promise, we have much more in store this time."

The rest of the Saja Boys took their turns thanking the audience, voices genuine. Meanwhile, Jinu paused, his gaze drifting momentarily offstage towards where you had disappeared, but darted back to the crowd not a moment later. The action of Jinu's eyes migrating to where you last stood didn't go unnoticed. In your green-room, you clutched your hands to my chest, cheeks pink and smile soft. He was so… polite. You'd have to find him again later and tell him you loved the performance.

Next thing you knew, Jinu was speaking again, the others clinging to some part of him as he got ready to announce the 3rd and final surprise performance of the night. Jinu wrapped an arm around Baby's neck playfully, making the younger boy laugh. He pulled the mic back to his mouth, voice echoing. He sounded excited.

"Hey... You guys ready for the biggest surprise?"

The crowd went wild again, screams deafening, a girl squealing and fainting when Romance blew her a kiss after she screamed, “WHOEVER THEY ARE, THEY WON'T OUTSHINE YOU!” …Seriously, how do these people not end up in the hospital? Or at least lose their voice…

"After their own long few months of a break, we have a VERY special group making their comeback tonight, too..." He dragged the suspense out, winking. "C'mon, you guys already know who it is, right..?"

Somehow, the crowd screamed louder, trying to guess, buzzing with excitement and shouts of various Idol-groups' names. After a few seconds, Jinu's voice rang out loud and clear over the speakers. He seemed… happy.

"It is my honor to announce the return of someone you've all been waiting for... The world's greatest K-pop trio... HUNTRIX!"

The audience went absolutely insane just as the stage lights dimmed completely. The Saja Boys swiftly ran off stage, patting each other on the back as a bright spotlight hit center stage, where three figures appeared in coordinated green, yellow, and white outfits.

The trio slowly turned around to face the audience, the ladies needing no introduction. No one was there who DIDN'T know who they were. You yourself couldn't stop the excited yell that slipped from your throat as THE Huntrix trio appeared on the same stage that you were on not even ten minutes ago.

Rumi, Mira, and Zoey all soaked up the fans' excitement with joy and ease, their voices and movements masterclass as they began performing one of their highest rated songs- Golden.

You were completely captivated, singing along to every word in your greenroom, dancing and jumping around like you weren't a fellow idol, but another fan in the crowd crying while the three stars absolutely ate up the stage. Huntrix's performance was nothing short of electrifying.

Vocals? Flawless. Dance moves? Perfectly executed and synchronized. Stage presence? Unmatched.

Golden was arguably Huntrix's best song. Rumi belted out her notes flawlessly, her voice powerful and enchanting. Mira both danced and sung smoothly like water, her body and tone fluid and graceful. And Zoey supported her girls effortlessly, her sweet voice dropping into a catchy tamber as she hit every note perfectly.

They were truly the Queens of K-pop, every move they made captivating, every breath and blink planned. They were untouchable.

As the song reached its chorus, the girls changed it up a bit and instead of having Rumi take the lead solo, they all sang in perfect harmony, their voices blending like angels. A quick-change happened, leaving them in outfits similar to the white and gold ones they wore in the aftershow of the Idol Awards, just spruced up for the times.

You felt so happy dancing in your greenroom like this, moments unchoreographed and just... free. Completely and totally free. You braced yourself just before the chorus hit, literally jumping up and down in excitement at the girls' quick-change. For a few seconds, it felt like you were floating, chest lighter than air and voice free from its normal restrictions as you admired the angels before you.

And then, the whole weight of the world suddenly slammed into your chest, the sight of what was on stage hitting you so hard that you choked on your own spit, falling to your knees and staring up at the screen before you in abject horror. No. No. You'd seem them before, in a video, but, back then you didn't know. You couldn't have known- no one could have known!

But now you did.

To the rest of the world, they would have just been seen as strange tattoos. Something that some- especially the older generation- would still frown upon, but you know, nothing to get too worked up about, not when THE lead singer of Huntrix was the one rocking them.

But you knew. You knew what they were.

Rumi had demon markings.

~~~

HAHA get cliff hangered bozos. part 2 coming.. when i finish it!! but hopefully soon. no promises tho lmao, my motivation comes once in a blue moon and i work at my own pace <3

tag list! (woaw tyasm!!1!!):

@moonjellyfishie, @satansdaughter123, @d3sperate-enuf, @empressgetou, @littlemissfix-itfic

[existence-is-a-pain87]

A Moment of Respite

Yandere!Block Tales x Monster?Reader

Warnings: Obsession and other general yandere behaviors

Note: This takes place between Chapter 2 and Chapter 3!! It's like... Chapter 2.5, lol

Also I'm working on the next chapter of the Homicipher Forsaken thingy, it's long so... have this for now!!

Be fed! :D

--☆☆☆--

"You know I'd never leave you, right?"

Liar.

"[NAME]!!! [NAME], WE GOTTA-"

You left me.

"...what are you?"

I'm still me.

"You- monster-"

I'M STILL ME.

"I HOPE THIS HURTS!!!"

GIVE IT BACK.

"I hope I never see you again."

GIVE ME BACK MY ARMS.

"You are the monster."

GIVE ME BACK MY LEGS.

"I hate you."

GIVE ME BACK MY HUMANITY.

"I HATE YOU."

WHY DID YOU TAKE IT FROM ME.

"I HATE YOU!!!"

I WISH I WAS STILL HUMAN.

--☆☆☆--

You snap awake as what you pretend is a heart thunders in your chest. Then you wince, feeling a stabbing pain in different parts of your body. You blink blearily, tears stinging your eyes as you looked down at your arms.

You stared at the scales that replaced skin on your lower arms. The extra arms. The claws. The paw pads. All of it.

The sunlight streaming through the windows of the room you were make your scales glitter, like the mocking eyes of him.

...

You being like this was all his fault. You never asked for this. You didn't do anything to deserve this.

...right?

You took a breath, noticing the bandages that wrap around your arms, neatly tied and tucked in. Lots of them were on your arm, but you saw some on places like your torso and legs.

You knew you got injured in the fight against the Bubonic Plant... but to this extent?

Adrenaline can do a lot, huh..?

You took a breath, trying to bury the memories buzzing in your head. All the pain, all the fear, all the hatred...

...

Is it greedy to wish you were still human? To not want to be trapped in the solitude of your more monsterous state?

To believe there is something wrong with you since so many seem to?

You looked around, processing you were in a medical ward of sorts. And judging from the tapestries on the wall, you were in Blackrock Castle again... somehow.

You remembered summoning the King, but... did he really bring you back here?

You glanced over at what you only could guess were the nurses and doctors as they whispered when they noticed you were awake, before a couple left the room and one, very hesitantly, approached you.

She, very carefully, took your vitals and looked relieved when you said you were stable and very much were fine. She murmured something to you about the King worrying about you.

And, much to your dismay, she looked terrified of you. Even when you tried to hide your extra arms and tail. You even shut your extra pair of eyes. Of course, it didn't change anything.

She went away from you as soon as possible, and less than 30 seconds later the doors fly open and the King rushes to you on sight alone. You notice the ice on his body has grown, and now some spikes of it were jutting out from his shoulders.

"Little bird, are you-?" He takes one of your hands in his, squeezing the pad on your palm. His gaze is soft and gentle, the glow of his eyes dimmed and his shoulders tensed. You think you see tear marks on his cheeks, as if he had been crying. He isn't wearing his cape.

"I'm alright." You tell him, trying to put him at ease. "I promise I'm alright."

Immediately, he pulls you into a tight hug, and you don't mind the chill of his body. You just hug him back, using all four of your arms in a desperate attempt to put him more at ease as he just... shakes.

He holds onto you like a man who's terrified he had nearly lost a precious item and just got it back. You don't resist, you wouldn't dare, as you desperately are terrified to potentially lose someone you could call a friend.

"Next time you are in any danger at all, use the Call Card immediately." He orders you, "It does not matter what I may be busy with. It does not matter what the danger is. I never wish to see you that harmed again."

"...yes, sir..." Your murmur, and you sit there as he listens intently to the doctors about you, keeping a hand on your shoulder at all times. He visibly relaxes upon hearing more confirmation about your safety and health, and asks- no, orders- for you to be moved to your room from your previous stay. The look he gives the doctors makes them agree swiftly.

You see his hesitance as he is told he has to leave your side and resume what he was doing before, but leaves when you encourage him to go. The way the doctors remain nervous, if not more nervous, makes them wonder if it's you they are scared of, or if they are scared of what will happen if anything will happen to you..?

--☆☆☆--

Thankfully, you've managed to reclaim your lost disguise. Next place you gotta go to, you know you're gonna put it on. Or at the very least, the glasses and mask on.

You aren't in your room, currently. You're on a balcony, leaning on the railing as you pick at the bandages on your arms, claws on your feet tapping on the ground with quiet clicks.

You look at your phone seeing, seeing... a lot of text messages from unknown numbers. Especially one.

[Name]? I heard what happened

Are you okay?

What happened?

Thaniyel told me something happened with Brad

Apparently you disappeared after walking out with the Venomshank?

I talked with the King

Are you okay?

Does anything hurt?

Do you need something from me?

Pls tell me you didnt get pwned...

[Name] pls reply when you get the chance

Pls

You hum, curious as to who this is, but by the word 'pwned' being used...

Shedl3taly? 8s ugis ypy?

Yes, it's me!

Hi :)

Hi

Hpw fid uou g3t ny nimfet

I had a friend who helped me

I like how you text btw

Oj

Yhamk uou

Is it hard with the claws?

Y3s

Ah, I see

You're okay though, right??

Om fim3

Really?

Y3ag

Lemme know if you need a pause on the quest

I don't want you to be hurt

Ikl b3 fimr

Ttudt

If you say so

I have a friend who'll come by and check on you

Try not to be too nervous!

He doesn't bite :)

You hum, confused. What does he mean by a 'friend'? Who's coming??

Probably a Roblox admin, you wouldn't be surprised if that was the case. You just lean on the railing, picking at a piece of bandage you loosened. Specifically, one on the arm the Bubonic Plant bit you on, as it... really itches.

"It's not a good idea to pick at bandages." A bemused voice rings out.

You flinch at the sudden voice and look over, and...

...

Oh dear lord it's Telamon-

Staring up at the feared Roblox admin- rumored to quite literally be a god- as you think he stares back..? His upper face is covered by the shadow of his dark robe, but you see a grin plastered on his face. You see four yellow, small and feathered wings poking out slightly from his hood, but they only do more to hide his eyes and most of his upper face.

And its not just the wings on his face. Emerging from his back and cloak are two ginormous feathered wings the same yellow color, with the tips of these wings being brown in color. And god, is this man tall.

You're nearly two meters tall, ignoring the horns. This man is nearly three meters at least.

He chuckles at your stunned expression. "What? Shed mentioned I'd be coming to check on you for him, right?"

"I- I- I mean- h- he just said a fr- friend-!" You stutter out, panicking over the one of, if not the, most feared admin for Roblox. "I- didn't-"

"Expect me?" He finishes for you, before letting out a low chuckle. "What? Have you only heard the rumors about me?"

Well... yes. All those rumors of the things Telamon did... they made you nervous. Especially considering you aren't human per say... you're even more worried to mess up and earn his ire.

"...I'm not going to hurt you." He tells you, noticing how your tail wraps around yourself and how your spikes are flared up. "There's no need to be scared, cutie."

Your face flushes slightly when he calls you 'cutie', and you anxiously giggle. "I- it's just-"

"Please, I'm not half as scary as everyone says." Telamon muses, wings twitching, "Nothing bad will happen to you, especially when I'm around. I promise."

"I- uh..." You smile sheepishly, "Th- thank you..?"

He chuckles slightly. "Well, it appears you're doing fine. Hey, gimme your phone real quick."

You panic and hand it over, and he hums as he does something.

"There, my number." He says, handing you your phone back, "Call me whenever. I'd love to talk with you some more."

"..." You squint at the contact name, "Why is your contact saved as 'Bird Husband'?"

"No reason~" He muses, and you swear he winks at you. You just feel it.

He bids you farewell and takes a step forward, fanning out his wings and taking off, gone in merely a moment.

But... you can't help but notice the slight limp he had when he took a step forward.

--☆☆☆--

You knew of how Telamon was supposedly Shedletsky himself. In fact, Shedletsky was supposedly Telamon's disguise.

However, you didn't quite believe it. For one, the two looked entirely different beyond just skin color. Shedletsky was also just some normal human guy and Telamon was... a freaking whole ass divine being.

And, after talking to them both, all you saw were how they acted very different. And Shedletsky even mentioned Telamon as 'his friend'. Yeah, you weren't necessarily trusting that Telamon rumor anymore...

You tried not to think much of about Telamon, more focused on trying to drown out the voices of both the Ice Dagger and the Venomshank. How the Venomshank wanted you to take and take and take and the Ice Dagger wanted to trust no one and stay alone.

It echoed and bounced around your skill and you kept ignoring it, paying it no mind and knowing in your very heart and soul these voices did not want the best for you. You saw the harm the Ice Dagger had done and what the Venomshank had done to Griefer.

You sighed and scratched at your iching arm, muttering under your breath as you took of the bandages to see what was even itching so much-

...

What you saw made your blood run cold.

On the exact spots where each of the Bubonic Plant's teeth pierced your skin, leaves and flowers poked out of your skin in visible little clusters. They are no where else except where you remember the teeth piercing, but they poke out far enough to be visible, with the white petals and the light green center of the small flowers and the dark green of the leaves standing out vibrantly against the scales and skin of your arms.

With little hesitation, you immediately pluck out all traces of the plant, ignoring the sharp stings of pain as the plants tear out and the blood oozes out slightly from the newly opened wounds. You just wipe off the blood and pull your gloves over it, immediately going and checking any other wounds for any traces of the plants.

Bruises or light scratches have no traces, but any areas where the Bubonic Plant's legs, claws, or teeth pierced your skin had traces of the plants growing.

You ripped out all of it and covered it up as best as you can. Then you threw away each and every plant, hoping that this was a one time thing and the plants wouldn't come back.

...

You knew better than that. They were totally going to come back. All you did was hope and pray that the plants wouldn't spread and they would stay in their small areas.

They will.

They better.

All you did was hope the voices weren't lying to you...

You slide the trash can out of view, practically collapsing onto the couch as you rubbed your temples with one pair of your hands. Your tail swayed slightly, and you decided to take out your phone and check your other text messages.

Hello, this is Thaniyel.

I haven't heard anything from you outside of how you were apparently injured, are you okay?

Please respond as soon as you can.

Hi

Hello.

I'm sorry I didn't notice you were harmed. Otherwise I would've gotten you to a doctor immediately.

Iys ok

Thank you for understanding.

Do you need anything?

Lenm3 kmow if uou n3ef amytging fron m3

I will, I promise.

Don't feel like you need to do anything for me, however.

I owe you so much, dear.

No issu3 *3

**3

**<3

Hm? You make errors when you type quite often.

I hst3 my stuoif clawd

Ah, I see.

I'll see if I can do anything about getting a phone that works for you better than the one you have.

Ty

Of course.

Mayor Thaniyel is... so nice. He's a breath of fresh air from all the fear and hesitation and anger that tends to surround you.

...you wonder what his first name is.

Yo, dude

You alive?

Y3s

Leetspeak isnt that cool bruh

Anyways if you were dead id be pissed

Dont die

Umderstopd

Your typos are stupid

Your stupid

Dw ill make sure you dont die

Dumbass

Uhhh ty Trrry??!

Np

Btw shedletsky needs you at hq soon

Something about you recovering first tho

Idk

Idc

Bye

Lpl by3

Even if Terry killing some guy over a hat and being rude to you, he still wasn't like... the worst person. You think?

Also my brother wants to meet you

So yeah that will happen soon

Ok

Guess you're also meeting his brother? Oh well.

Hopefully, his brother is nice.

######

...

You hope a lot. Maybe it's because it's hard to do things when you aren't human...

####

########

...

Oh well. You're hungry, but you're usually hungry. You can get food soon.

######!!!

...

The voices are annoying.

##

###...

A knock on the door gets your attention out of your thoughts, and you sit up and make sure your gloves are fully on.

"Come in!" You call out, and the King opens the door and strides in, gently closing it behind him as he does.

He smiles warmly at you, and you notice the ice on his shoulders has noticeably shrunk, and the ice on his face has drawn back a bit. You swear it shrinks a little more when he approaches you and sits down beside you on the couch.

"...I'm relieved you are fine." He tells you after a moment of silence, "I... was quite terrified you wouldn't survive when I returned with you to Blackrock Castle."

"Eh, I'm fine!" You tell him, waving a hand, "I'm really durable, and that wasn't even the worst near-death experience I've been in, heh."

Judging from how the ice grows slightly, that was the wrong thing to say...

"B- but it's been awhile since I've been hurt!" You blurt out, "And I promise I'll be okay after all this, alright? And I'll call you the moment danger ever rears it's head!"

Almost instantly, he relaxes, his gaze remaining soft and warm as he stares at you. He smiles slightly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face as he sighs. His hand is ice cold, but not uncomfortable.

"Thank you, little bird..." He tells you, looking surprisingly blissful.

"...if you have a nickname for me, shouldn't I have one for you?" You ask the King, who gives you a curious look. "I mean... you call me 'little bird'. All I know you as is 'the King'. I can't necessarily refer to you as that forever when I get some... cute nickname? So... I wanna make a nickname for you."

He lets out a low chuckle, his baritone voice echoing through the room. How can someone physically be so cold yet emotionally be so warm? "Very well, pick a name to refer to me of your choosing."

"..." You think about it, milling it over.

Pick the corniest nickname you can.

Make him sound like a soft boy!!

The voices read your damn mind...

"...Snowy." You eventually decide.

"Snowy?" He echos, visibly amused, "That is the name you chose?"

"Yes," You say, absolutely certain, "I'll call you 'Snowy'."

He chuckles, "Very well. You may refer to me as such."

You smile at him, and the two of you happily chat for a bit. Though he visibly looks... disappointed, when he hears you needed to leave soon to continue your quest.

And you think you made a mistake when you admitted Telamon seemingly showed up out of nowhere to check on your on Shedletsky's behalf. You figured from his silence, how the ice noticeably grew, and how he excused himself as he left.

You sat awkwardly in the room, ears drooping, then you went and found a few knights who seemed anxious at your appearance, explained how you were leaving, were confused but ultimately ignored how they asked you to stay, and left.

You never even knew of why they were terrified.

Why, since the moment the King stormed into the palace how he practically roared and froze over half of the castle despite no longer having the Ice Dagger. How his rage was like a snowstorm that spared no one in its wake.

How he killed someone with no remorse for implying you should die.

You didn't know the cruelty of the King. All you knew was Snowy.

And he be damned before you saw the Cruel King instead.

[hey-iam-fire-ghost-but-i-write]

tragically earthbounded 004

Lord Morpheus x Fem!OC (Ophelia) 004: absolution -> CHAPTER INDEX

not my gift, credits to the owner.

English is not my first language, sorry for the mistakes but be nice about it!

Summary: maybe it's time you start thinking beyond your own heartache

Warnings: none

Word count: 1.8K

previous: 003

next: 005 (coming soon)

Your neck hurts when you turn as fast as you used to, your hands are useful although weaker than claws but at least your jawline stays as sharp and cutting.

This and more changed with the loss of your wings.

Counting them down comes as a relief for your aching soul when you wander around the Dream Palace. 

The air was cold, you were sure that it was several degrees under the temperature on the outside. The grand gray hallways were a maze to anyone who didn't know their way through them.

It used to be less... gloomy, you suppose. More luminous. A reflection of Morpheus pride put into stone and glass.

Now, you guess, it was reflecting the weather outside.

The rain kept raging on even after Rose Walker woke up from her dream and left the three of you alone once again. 

It was incredibly strange, how a mortal could walk into the throne room just like that. Worryingly threatening.

But Morpheus' approach to her was surprisingly warm, even curious. He was fascinated with vortexes, always had and always will. 

Something in his eyes made you want to crawl out of your skin.

Because they weren’t looking at you like that.

He was welcoming, exuding acceptance and compliance— like he was ready to discover any and every secret she was unconsciously hiding. And still, you knew he didn’t completely trust her.

But then again, who did the Dream Lord truly trust? 

Me, you think hopefully to yourself, and still he hasn’t laid his eyes on you once you were finished providing the results of your studies on the new vortex’s book. Too busy holding this petty grudge against you.

You couldn’t blame him, you were the same.

Centuries of companionship did that, for sure. You were to have disagreements and arguments, even holding resentments— more on your part than his. 

Not against you, never against you.

Remaining in the Dreaming even after denying him what he wanted— your mind, your burden— was proof of that.

Others were casted away for way less.

So, maybe it was time to give into this warm feeling and stop clawing at your own pride.

“What should I do, Philly?” you almost jump when you hear the voice and the ruffle of wings.

You find yourself in the middle of a hallway, looking up at Matthew flying circles around you. 

“For starters, denying my involvement in any of this” you nod, pulling your hair away from your right shoulder so he can perch himself on it “I’m already on his bad side” you nod as the raven falls swiftly on you.

Matthew didn't know you were Dream’s previous raven— he just thought you were the kind lady who would give him the purpose he had in the Dreaming. Even days after, he would ramble about what you said to him nonstop to Lucienne as if it was the gospel truth. 

Especially now that you were his new favorite person at the Dreaming.

He would seek you out after a long day, just to update you on his work in the Waking World.

His secret and a bit risky job was keeping an eye on Rose and reporting back to you or Lucienne.

“That goes without saying” he nods his little head “But, Rose— she’s a magnet of problems” he sounds exasperated “We should tell the boss”

“Morpheus doesn’t even knows you’re still lurking in the Dreaming, sweetheart” you sigh “Look, I’ll make my best to convince him you’re the man for the job—”

“Raven” he corrects you.

“Raven” you chuckle, then “Oh, Matthew, please tell me: have you been able to see a shooting star in the Waking World?” you ask, dreamily and wanting.

Maybe your friend could tell you more about how one of the worlds you’ve lost was moving on without you.

Looking at the rain drenching the garden and overflowing the fountains of the Dream Palace, you lean against one of the columns of the sheltered gallery.  

Sighing and letting the sound surround you completely.

You hated the rain as a raven, it kept you inside for an absurdly long time— flying in it was exhausting and disorienting, something Morpheus made you swear to not do unless strictly necessary for cold would cling to your bones and your feathers would stick together in a way that brought you down with your own soaked through weight.

But, then again, you weren’t a raven anymore.

And that promise had no longer to be kept.

It was strange, how days being away from him felt worse than years: maybe because when he was abducted, it wasn’t his choice to stay away.

But he was keeping himself from you on purpose now. 

Your sadness was a burden you would not rest upon your Lord, not even if he asked you to. It’s not fair to lay it on him when he was not the one that caused it in the first place. If anything, him being back was all your tired heart could have ever hope for.

But, then again, anger was easy to cling to– to let it stick around. 

The rain was warm, and it casted light and softly onto you as you stepped out of the sheltered gallery and towards one of the fountains. As the summer breeze helps your flushed neck and face to cool down, you look up at the sky. And then close your eyes with a long sigh for a few seconds.

To be human is to be in pain.

It was to be beautiful, to be demanded. To be cherished and to be defied.

And you didn’t entirely like it, but you wouldn’t call it hell to be earthbounded. 

Not in the slightest.

Because it also meant you could shower in his rain.

You hold the skirt of your dress up, feet going over the edge of the fountain's basin one at the time after taking your sandals off.

It was cold, but not unbearable— and the sensation made you finally relax as you were itching to get closer to the water.

You hum in a sigh, closing your eyes once again as you let go of the skirt and pull the hair that was sticking to your cheeks away.

And, when you open your eyes, there’s Morpheus.

He’s standing across the fountain, an invisible ring around him prevents the rain from soaking him through.

He was looking straight at you, commanding and strong. A force pulling you in.

Pursing your lips, you grab the skirt of your dress again and step towards him.

He watches you without even blinking and you wonder if you’re blurring out his periphery like he’s doing with yours.

When you get to the end of the fountain, you stretch your arms and hands towards him— he obliges. Helping you to stand on the edge of the fountain’s basin, he takes a step closer to you. 

The small invisible ring now protects you from the rain too, the sound also disappearing as you stand inside of it.

His power pulsing all around you.

“Should I remind you of your fragile nature?” he rasps out, hand travelling from your hands to your elbows— chin tilting up to compensate for the height difference now that you’re up on the fountain’s basin.

You hum, your own hands resting on the inside of his elbows as his hands wander further up “I wanted to know what it was like”

“The rain?” he deadpans softly, hands trailing up to push the hair out of your shoulders and squeeze and twist it so the water would drain out of it.

“I haven’t been under the rain for centuries, you made me promise not to” you remind him, fingers tapping mindlessly against his arm with an slow rhythm.

There's a ghost of amused indulgence in the corner of his lips as they twitch up “Is this your way of defying me? By breaking your promises?” he asks, hands cupping your jaw as he dries your cheeks.

“I don’t have wings anymore”

His eyes sober up, looking between yours.

Because it’s raw, and emotional. And it’s something.

It’s finally giving in and resting upon him, not being able to drift away from the grief it caused you to not be free anymore.

He purses his lips “Share your mind with me, little bird” he whispers, a plea for what he’s been asking from you for days now.

You swallow hard, squeezing his forearms “It is not a matter of the mind” you croak out, trying to make him understand.

Morpheus’ hand slides down to your waist as he makes you step down from the edge of the basin. As he looks down at you, he stops the invisible ring from protecting you both from the rain. 

Your gasp turns into a surprised huff of laughter, looking around for a second before focusing back on him.

“Let it wash it away” he whispers to you.

And after that, the rain starts to give the Dreaming it’s well deserved rest.

For you are forgiven.

Later inside the warm water of the bathtub you hug your legs as you come to understand what he meant by fragile.

You were trembling when you reached your tower, nose running and teeth chattering. It was an immediate relief to be able to get into hot water— to rest surrounded by warmth.

Lilacs surrounded you, their scent sticking to your skin and hair making it your own.

Stretching, you rest against the white porcelain of the bath— sighing deeply as your hands play with a few petals.

Thinking back to the moment of your absolution, you wonder if Morpheus was ever angry to begin with or if you made yourself unreachable. Either way, it feels kind of silly now that you’re forgiven and gifted so many indulgences.

His hand in yours, elegant and respectful, as he walks you back into the palace with the rain covering you both.

The soft squeezing of your fingers and the small hesitation before watching you part with his far more dry coat engulfing you in warmth.

You cover your face with your hands, sighing as you try to shake the feeling of embarrassment rushing through you— a small smile on your lips as your own hands slide down to cup your jaw as he did earlier.

And, out of nowhere, you leave a small kiss on your palm as if they were his hands on you— 

You think you’re going crazy. Delirium’s probably bubbling with amazement at how silly you were acting in your own private rooms— she probably didn’t see it coming, always the serious raven now giggling like a mere mortal buzzing with excitement upon such a small caress.

It was a fair exchange, you think to yourself: your beautiful shiny feathers for this soft and warm skin.

If it meant it would entice him to touch you more often.

Taglist! 🤎 @elinadenise @thelady-of-dragonfire @radioactivewatson @jeshomie @getitrtealgood @stranger-chan

next part: 005 (coming soon)

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Can you do a Eric Campbell X Reader and it be like she’s Julie’s friend and Her and Eric pretend to hate eachother but it’s just one big game of cat and mouse!!! I hope I explained it well thank you!!

Request: Can you do erik mistakenly getting a nude from julia's friend?

Something fun to end this Monday! I hope you like it

Warnings: mention of a topless picture

—

Everybody makes mistakes. It’s part of life. But sometimes you just wish you could erase the past. 

Or a text message from the night before. 

You should have checked twice before sending a topless pic to Julia. Nothing sexy or suggestive, just a simple picture to show her the new jewelry you got for your nipples. Instead, you sent it to her brother Erik. 

To make things even more embarrassing, you only realized your mistake when you woke up the next day and saw Erik’s name flooding your notifications. 

Erik: I was not expecting that this morning 💀 

Erik: Is this a drunk text? Because I don’t think I was supposed to receive that… I’m guessing you wanted to send it to someone else

Erik: Nice jewelry. We sell similar styles at the shop. In case you’re interested?

You’ve never been more embarrassed in your life. Of all the people to see you half-naked, why did it have to be Julia’s brother? You considered deleting the conversation and pretending nothing ever happened, but it was too late for that now.  

Quickly typing, you apologized for the unsolicited nude and explained that it was meant for Julia. You thought it would end there, but your phone buzzed with a new notification. 

Erik: Great tits by the way 👀

Your jaw dropped as you read. Great tits?! 

You stared at the screen, heart pounding, unsure if you should be mortified or flattered. 

 ⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

A few days later, you ended up at Julia’s house to drop off a dress she asked to borrow for a date. As you knocked on the door, you prayed that Erik wasn’t home and that you’ll never have to talk about your late night mistake again. The gods of luck must not have answered your prayers because there he was, standing before you, a playful grin on his face.

‘’Well, look who finally showed up,’’ he said, his voice oozing with sarcasm. ‘’I was wondering when you'd grow the balls to come over here after sending me that little surprise.’’

You ignored his teasing and walked past him. ‘’I’m just dropping off a dress for Julia.’’ 

Erik shut the door behind you. ‘’She’s not here.’’ 

‘’I know. She told me to leave it on her bed.’’ 

You went upstairs and left the dress on Julia’s bed, then came back down. 

Having heard you come down, Erik lifted his head from the couch where he was laying on and playing Silent Hill. “You sure you don’t want to stick around? I could return the favor. Show you my jewelry,” he joked, tone suggestive. 

He worked in a tattoo shop, it didn’t surprise you that he had body piercings — other than the one in his nose. But which one was he talking about? Was it nipples? Some men do have them pierced. Or was it…lower?

Although you were curious, you rolled your eyes. “Not interested. Bye Erik.”

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•

‘’I’m so nervous. The last piercing I got was my ears when I was eleven,’’ Danyka told the piercer while she was filling out the paperwork, a nervous giggle leaving her lips.

The woman smiled at her, kind and empathic. ‘’You’ll feel just a pinch, honey. I got my belly done three times, I know what I’m talking about.’’ 

Once she was done, Danyka followed her to the piercing area of the shop, leaving you in the front. 

You walked around, taking a look at all the nipple jewelry behind the glass counter. There were some cute ones with pink and blue gems. And some were insanely big barbels, and painful to look at. How could anyone want something like that? Stretching the hole must hurt, no? Last week, your left piercing accidentally got caught in your towel. It hurt like a bitch. You couldn’t imagine stretching it. 

Your eyes fell on a heart shield with tiny gems on it — very feminine, just how you liked. You weren’t looking to buy any, having bought a new pair recently, but this one was calling your name. 

You pressed the small bell, calling someone up at the front. 

To your surprise, Erik appeared from the back, wearing his leather jacket and nothing under. Shit. You completely forgot that this was the tattoo shop he worked at. 

Your eyes lingered for half a second too long, and Erik definitely noticed.

He smirked, leaning casually against the counter. ‘’Missed me, sweetheart?’’ he teased, voice low and smug. 

You rolled your eyes, trying to focus on the jewelry behind the glass. ‘’Don’t flatter yourself. I didn’t know you worked here.’’

Erik chuckled at your quick denial, his smirk widening as he saw your eyes dart back to the jewelry behind the glass. ‘’These would look good on you. You’ve got the perfect sized nipples.’’

You tried to maintain your composure at his bold comment, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing it made your stomach flutter. ‘’Oh my god. Why are you so obsessed with my boobs?!’’ 

As the banter continued, the front door dinged, signaling someone walked in. A girl — no older than eighteen —, looking to get a belly piercing. She batted her lashes as she talked to Erik, blatantly flirting. 

‘’Alright, I’ll just need you to fill this form, and then we can do the piercing, sweetheart,’’ he said, purposely calling her that to get a rise from you. 

You glanced at the girl, jealousy beginning to run through your blood. ‘’I changed my mind,’’ you declared, refusing to let this girl take what was yours. ‘’I think I’ll take you up on the jewelry offer.’’ You leaned over the counter, your eyes locking with Erik’s. ‘’If you put it in for me.’’

—

All and more taglist:  @kenqki@hawkegfs@gillybear17@black-rose-29@fudge13 @cece05 @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade   @mellabella101 @vxnity713  @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart  @xyzstar  @graceberman3   @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs  @lexasaurs634  @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @lexasaurs634  @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis  @katherinejess  @rafesgirlstuff   @lafleshlumpeater @iamluminosity  Anouk nani-2305 @books0fever @papichulo120627 @qardasngan @ghostlyvoidydragon @M0rgans1nterlud3 @dahlia-blossom21 @Spacexdrago @nhlfs

[westanleovaldito]

Now to reveal my true evil scheme!!! I made New beginnings... all to make THIS!!!

Thread count

You ask your room mate to take you shopping for sheets

CW: fluff and domesticity, Reader wears scrubs but profession is unspecified, Reader tries too hard to not be a burden (will be a common theme), Spencer profiles reader a bit, financial insecurities?

A/N: In my previous fic, i said they were both in freshman year but i meant to say that reader was in freshman year of college and Spencer sped through it, hes now joining the BAU.

ʚ Your bag slumped off your shoulder and you collapsed. Not from a medical condition, but from a mix of exhaustion and dramatic. Your knees hit the ground, then stomach, then face.

Spencer, who had just woken up, slid off the counter to playfully kick your shoulder.

A loud groan emitted from your throat and chest, holding the not for as long as you could.

"One minute, thirty four seconds." Spencer recalled with a hum, then a crunch from a food item. "Wanna bagel?"

You were overwhelmed with pride as you felt Spencers shell fall away over the few days spent together. Talking with a mouth full was something he would normally never do, and you could imagine him covering his mouth as he did so.

You sighed, turning your head to press the other cheek to the floor. "Blueberry?"

"Mhm- strawberry cream cheese."

"You're my favorite person ever."

Spencer kicked your shoulder again, before stepping away to cut the bagel. You occupied yourself with mustering up the will to get up and not fall asleep right there.

His slim figure was draped in loose sweats, a black tee shirt with planets and books and big bold font that read "A Universe of Stories" and your favourite part, a purple and green t-rex sock, with an orange and brown pterodactyl sock on the other foot.

You were draped in scrubs.

He easily folded himself to sit on the counter again, guiding the peices into the toaster. He took in your now standing form, your hunched shoulders, dragging feet, tired eyes. Even the way you waddled over, seemingly aimless.

"You ok?"

You shook your head, yawning. "Overtime, night shift... Homocidal thoughts."

Spencer nodded. "I join the BAU next week." He started, but didnt finish.

You countered quickly. "Yeah, but then we wont be 50/50." Referencing the room mate agreement you both constructed and framed next to the door.

'No. 4, Both parties will contribute 50% of rent and bills will be determined by majority, or communal use of amenities.'

He shrugged, frowning. "Do more chores?"

"I kinda forgot that you wanted to work for the FBI." You muttered, shaking your head.

"You don't have to get a higher paying job- you're still in school-"

"But that means you're supporting me, Spencer!"

His dark brows furrowed, his face scrunching at he pulled the halves out of the heated appliance. "I'd rather make more income than watch you work double shifts every day."

That seemed to stop you. Your face fell as he extended the plated bagel to you.

You were trying so hard to live up to a standard that you set for yourself, drowning in too much work and not enough sleep.

Spencer, in his adorable sweater vests, unending kindness and his own need for independence, stood and offered you food.

With another sigh, you took the plate. "I've been psycho analyzing myself because of you." You grumbled in an attempt to be bitter. It was hard to be bitter when a pretty boy was basically hand feeding you.

"Let me guess, you have a deep seated need to take care of everyone and everything around you because of your savior complex?" He spoke without faltering, like he had thought this for a while.

Stopping mid bite, you blinked. "N...no?" You retracted yourself, leaving bite marks indented in the cream cheese so you could speak. "I was going to say that I'm overcompensating because I'm very afraid to be a dead weight to you."

Spencer nodded, pursing his lips. "I don't think you're a dead weight."

All you could do was shrug and continue to eat the thing your roomie made for you.

"Thanks, Spencer." You sighed, shuffling down the hall to change clothes.

"Back to bed?"

"Maybe. Theres some shopping I-"

"We can do that tomorrow." He cut you off quickly, handing you as pen and a block of sticky notes. "I canceled your shift. You need to go to bed- It's vital for cognitive function as well immunal functions, digestion and-" he stopped, seeing your sluggish blink and blank expression.

A small smile crossed your face as you leaned into the wall. "I'd hug you, if I weren't in scrubs and if you weren't a germaphobe."

He chuckled softly, taking an exaggerated step back and raising his hands.

You grumbled to open air as the lanky boy walked in to the living room.

"Hello?" He asked, tilting his head. You weren't there when he went to bed.

Another sigh. "All my sheets are threadbare or pilled." You were laid out on the couch, curled up under the comforter from your bed.

Spencer hummed, nodding in acknowledgement. He, too, had sensory issues. "Should we get new ones for you?"

Finally opening your eyes, you stretched. "I just want a nap." It sounded too whiny for your liking, but you were too tired to care.

He just nodded, lazily patted the side of your head, and quietly muttered for you to get sleep. He padded off into the kitchen, and a 'flick!' was heard, making the light on your eyes easier.

A huff left your lips as you slipped your keys in your pocket. "Spencer?" You called, standing by the door.

He emerged from his room with a raised brow.

"This is stupid, and embarrassing- so you can't judge me."

Spencer nodded, slipping his shoes on before letting you lead him out of the apartment.

The words left your mouth as you narrowly avoided spilling your energy drink. "I've never bought my own sheets."

"Oh?" You could hear that profiling tone behind you, ever since he really got that stupid job at the BAU. "And... what do I have to do with this?"

You paused, turning to face him as he stepped down onto the landing. Your brow furrowed like it was the most rhetorical question to date. "Because you understand my needs and likings for specific textures?"

He knew your tone well enough to know that there was an unspoken 'obviously!' You just rolled your eyes as he ushered you down the stairs.

"What I mean is that you know how to buy high quality sheets."

He nodded, mentally running numbers as you made it to the car. "So, you're recruiting me."

You nodded, glancing over to him with a nervous smile.

So that's how you ended up standing behind him as he gazed at the shelves with far too much concentration to be dedicated to plain white sheets.

"Those will stain too easily." You suggested, shifting your weight foreward to look at him from another angle.

Spencer nodded, his tongue darting out for a moment. "None of these list thread counts..." his voice faded as he looked up and down the shelf.

You held your hands behind your back, not sure what to do with them as you memorized the bridge of his nose. "So?"

"That typically means they're low quality..."

You felt like you were just there. His awkward shadow, pressing your lips together in the same way he always did. Fuck, you were subconsciously mimicking his habits now- and still psychoanalysing yourself!

He glanced over to you for a moment, clearing his throat and putting his hand over his mouth to hide a blush. Spencer blushing or becoming flustered was not at all a rare occurrence. It had always amused you, but now that you realized it was because of your unconscious staring?

He cleared his throat again and grabbed a set of sheets, grazing his thumb over the corner before handing it to you. "Do you like that texture?" He mumbled, not daring to meet your eyes.

You hummed, feeling the sheets. "Yeah, good enough." You shrugged, tossing them in the cart.

"'Good enough'?" He mimicked, finally turning to look at you. "If we're here because you don't like the texture of the other ones, I'd prefer if you actually liked it-"

You let out a nervous chuckle, nodding. "Yes, I like them!"

"You sure?" He pressed, gesturing to the others on the shelf. "You have a tendency to deny yourself of nice things, and I don't want to let that slide."

You wondered if you had visibly paled, or if you looked like how his words made you feel. Clearly, something changed in your expression, since Spencer also paused.

You felt you eyes unfocus and drift down to his sharp jaw. He hunched, forcing your gazes to meet.

"I shouldn't be profiling you." He started firmly, pinching your chin between his index and thumb. "I'm so sorry- I'm not a therapist, and It's inappropriate for a room mate to attempt to be one."

"Weird, too." You mumbled without thought. He simply nodded. There was a moment of hesitation before he let go of you.

"Lets get you home- y'know it takes four whole days of sleep to make up for a single night missed?" He asked, his lips quirking up like he was afraid to enjoy sharing the fact.

All you could do was nod as you dragged your feet behind him. "Does fact exchange count as a love language?" You asked monotonely.

He hummed, cocking his head as he looked at possible ice cream choices. "Perhaps? Why?"

You met his eyes with a lazy smirk. "Because if it was, everyone would be ass over tea kettle for you."

"I do not appreciate that phrase."

"Sucks to suck, pretty boy."

Bonus ^^

You flopped onto your newly sheeted bed with a sigh. It was still warm, and still smelled of Spencers detergent, since you 'ran out' of your own. You were adamant that his smelled better, but would never outright tell him that.

"May I collapse as well?" Spencer asked from the doorway. He was always weird about germs, but you never really cared.

It was common for you to give him first pickings of things, or his own bowl of popcorn, and now you moved aside to let him flop next to you on clean sheets.

"Permission granted."

And with that, he fell next to you with a content sigh, curling up with one of your stuffies.

"Bitch." You mumbled, kicking his calf.

He poked his head up with a grin. "What was that?"

"You heard me!" You giggled before a plushie slammed into your head. Nothing you couldn't counter.

[zorrasucia]

this mess was yours (now your mess is mine) - Part 4

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

Reader x Carmy Berzatto (The Bear FX)

Rating: Explicit (6k)

Tags: Smut, Set two(ish) years before the present aka the New York years, Porn with a little plot, Fluff, Friends with Benefits, Virgin!Carmy (my beloved), P in V Sex, Rough Sex, Non Sexual Roleplay, Oral Sex (F receiving), Fingering, Both Carmy and Reader have a bit of a praise kink, Confessions, Bittersweet Ending

Summary:

"You're a fucking tease," he spat.  "And you're an asshole," you replied, riling him up.  "I'm aware. You have no idea," you detected a hint of sadness underneath the panting lust, you might have felt compassion if you weren't actively trying to get even. "Make it up to me," you dared him. 

"Oh, my God..." you gasped for air as Carmy groaned above you. You were splayed over your kitchen table, your ankles on Carmy's shoulders while he stood and fucked you mercilessly. 

You had the suspicion that his work was being especially hellish lately - it had been four days in a row of him knocking on your door at one in the morning, his hair and skin still wet from the shower, practically begging to fuck you. You had gotten all the way to the bed on the first night, then settled for the couch, now the table. You suspected that next time he would take you on the floor. 

"Sorry for waking you. Shit," he placed a gentle kiss on your ankle, contradictory to the rough pace of his hips against yours. "I can't- Fuck. Needed you so fucking bad..."

"You didn't wake me. Ah!" you muffled a whine with the back of your hand.

"You're in your pajamas," he still had the wherewithal to contradict you, even as you were both nearing your orgasm. 

"I was up reading. Why do you care?" you snapped, craving your release. He chastised you with a particularly hard thrust. "Fuck!"

"I care!" he frowned, tightening his grip on your legs. "I just need you. Holy shit. But I don't want to-"

"I was reading erotica so I'd be wet when you got here, okay?" you blurted out. "Now fuck me stupid so we can both get some sleep."

"Jesus Christ," he growled and sped up, desperately thrusting inside you. His half lidded eyes alternated between glancing at your face and your pussy. He was sweaty and flushed, panting like a drowning man. And all you could do was stare, mouth agape, past the point of moaning, just taking every drop of pleasure he could give you. 

Afterwards, tangled in your bed, your back to his chest, breathing slow, he asked:

"Was that true?"

"About me reading erotica?" you guessed. 

"Yeah."

"Yeah," you admitted. "Wasn't sure you'd come over but last night was-"

"I lost it a little," Carmy admitted. He had bent you over the arm of your couch, fucked you, and then ate you out until your legs trembled around his face. 

"It was hot, Carm. I was still thinking about it. So... Yeah. There's no reason for you to worry. If I didn't want you here, I wouldn't open the door. I... I need you pretty fucking bad too," you admitted.

"Fuck. Okay."

He pulled you even closer to his body, the warmth of his skin lulling you to sleep. 

~

"...I left for a minute and he poached one of my customers! Like sure, he sells a shit ton of books and corporate loves him but he hasn't read a single one of the books he recommends - which is total bullshit!"

Your coworker was venting while you were helping him rearrange the books in his section. 

"He does that shit all the time too," you agreed with a huff. "One time he asked for my opinion on a book and then repeated it word for word to a customer a week later."

"See? That's what I don't get. If his memory is so fucking great then why doesn't he read the synopsis off the back of the book like a normal human being? He's a vampire," he scrunched his face in a grimace, making you laugh. 

"Who the fuck leaves a book with the spine on the inside?" you groaned, looking at a full row where about fifteen books had been flipped so that none of the titles could be read. 

"An idiot. Or a teenager. Same difference," he hummed, a little less agitated than when his rant had started. You worked in silence for a while. "Hey, remember when you promised you'd let me talk to all the cute customers?" your coworker added out of nowhere. 

"It was all the cute gay guys," you accentuated. "But yeah, I remember."

"Now, how am I supposed to know if a guy is gay if I don't talk to him?" 

"I feel like that is a trick question," you said with a giggle without looking up. If your coworker was so taken with the customer, there was no point in fighting him over a twenty dollar sale. 

"Oh, never mind, he's looking at you," he said with disappointment. "Oh, he's looking at you," he grabbed a random book and left quickly, you caught him mouthing the word 'hot'. 

You smiled and put on your customer service voice. "Good evening, how can I help you?"

You turned to find Carmy, with a mischievous smile on. 

"Good evening, Miss," he played along. "I was wondering if you sold any books on cooking?"

"Oh," you stopped yourself from outright giggling by biting your lip. "Right this way, sir." You guided him out of YA, through non fiction, and to the culinary books. "Were you looking for anything in particular?"

"I have a couple of these already," he said looking into your eyes, almost breaking. "Which ones do you recommend?"

You started pulling out titles, rare paperbacks and beautiful glossy hardcovers that you couldn't afford to gift him on a whim, things you had already thought he'd like when it was your turn to arrange this section. 

"I'll give you a while to browse through," you said, your fingers brushing against his as you handed him the heavy pile. "Let me know if you need anything at all," that last phrase came out a little suggestive if Carmy's blush was any indication but he simply nodded.

You stared. He looked beautiful as he went through the pages and stole glances in your direction.

It was nearly closing time when he got to the till, cheeks red as he carried most of the books you had recommended. 

"You want a bag for that, sir?" you asked softly.

"I think I need one," he let out a shy laugh.

"Anything else?" you asked, putting the books carefully inside a canvas bag. 

"I know it's a little, uh- But I was wondering if you could give me your number," he mumbled. You covered your mouth to hide an endeared smile. 

"I don't give my number to customers as a rule. But we're closing soon and there's a coffee shop across the street. Hole in the wall, gourmet sort of thing a foodie like you would like," you offered.

"Right," he chuckled. "Yeah. Okay. I'll, uh, wait for you then." 

It was distracting to have him there, just outside the store, waiting. You messed up at least three times while you counted the cash, and your coworker had to step in and help you. 

"Thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty. You should fuck him," he said all of a sudden.

"What?"

"You've been single for months. And he's looking at you with those sad, lovesick eyes. Put him out of his misery."

"He doesn't have lovesick eyes!" you protested. 

"He does. I would have given anything to have my ex look at me like that," he emphasized pointing at Carmy on the other side of the glass. "And he just met you. That's insane."

You looked at Carmy, smoking calmly in the glow of the streetlamps and something warm and fluttery settled in your stomach, something a lot like butterflies...

After a little while of silence, your coworker asked gently:

"You know I'm kidding, right? About you fucking him."

"Oh! Right!" you forced a smile.

"Like, if you want to fuck him that's cool and you can tell me all about it but only if you like him," he looked actually worried.

You shook your head. "I know. I'm a big girl. I can-"

"Take care of yourself. I know," he rolled his eyes. "It's just that you looked like you were having an existential crisis."

"It was the whole 'lovesick eyes' thing," you admitted. "But you were kidding so it's okay-"

"Oh, no, I was dead serious about that. Made me believe in love at first sight and all that shit."

"Fuck."

"Yeah," he said dryly. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

Before you could overthink everything he had said, Carmy appeared by your side.

"I'm sorry for showing up like that," he said, looking sheepish. "It's my day off and there was a bookmark in one of the books you gave me with the address and-"

"It's okay. It was fun, playing pretend and all that," you smiled. "You didn't have to buy all those books though."

"I wanted to get them."

You looked away, the openness of his expression a little too much for you to handle just then. 

You tugged on his sleeve to the left and led him to the coffee shop. "It's this way."

A small detail you had omitted was that they only served to go. So you walked together back to your building, coffee in hand, not talking much, the air between you electric. Predictably, you ended up in his bed, your drinks getting cold on the counter, and his books forgotten on the floor along with your uniform shirt. 

"I feel like I need to tell you..." you started, a teasing tone in your voice. 

"Hmm?"

He was staring at you through his eyelashes, his warm hands on your waist bringing you closer. 

"If you ever get bored of me, my coworker is first in line," you said with a wide grin. 

"Fuck off!" Carmy laughed.

"I'm serious. He thinks you're very hot."

Carmy blushed a deep shade of red, smiling, which had been your goal all along. 

"That's nice but I think I'm getting used to you so-"

He let the sentence hang in the space between you two and leaned in to kiss you deep and sweet. His hand moved your thigh over his, guiding you to grind against him. He was addicting. And fucking him had always stopped you from overthinking. So you let yourself fall into it, the need you felt for him, his touch warm and familiar on your skin. 

"Fuck, baby," he groaned into your neck.

"You'd never called me that," you commented later, basking in the afterglow with Carmy. His face was resting on your belly, tickling your navel as he caught his breath. 

"Huh?"

"Baby. You kept calling me baby while we were fucking.”

You wouldn't feel the need to call it out but the sweet and needy way he said it was half the reason you had come as hard as you did.

"Is that- I crossed a line, right?" Carmy arched his eyebrows with worry. 

"No. You're okay, you're okay. I think I like it," you knew you liked it. "It just felt different."

"I can stop."

You shook your head, and caressed his skin. Whatever you two had was moving and changing into something else but you couldn't name it, not yet. If you didn't acknowledge it, you could still enjoy this. 

"Don't stop."

~

When Carmy knocked on your door that night, he didn't look tired or frustrated like he usually did, he looked fucking destroyed - he was so pale he looked almost grey, his eyes were red and blotchy like he had been crying, and the palm of his hand was half covered with a bloodied bandage.

"Carmy..." you sighed with worry. You reached out for him, cupping his face. 

"Don't ask," he rasped. He surged forward to kiss you, pushing you inside the apartment and slamming the door behind him. 

"But-" you mumbled against his lips. He truly looked terrible, and you were worried. 

"Just kiss me. Please," his eyebrows arched, pleading. He looked like the first time you fucked: a second away from a meltdown, holding tight to you to stay grounded before he completely lost himself.

"Okay," you agreed, caressing his face. If fucking was the way to help him, then you would do just that. "Okay."

You started kissing him frantically, tugging down his coat as you walked backwards to your bed. 

Carmy paused to hold your face, his expression serious. "I need it hard tonight, is that okay?"

You leaned to touch your forehead with his. "Yes. Whatever you need."

He brought you closer and started undressing you, his hands eager. You helped him get rid of his own clothes, no time to linger on his body or caress anything, he wanted efficiency and you could give him that. 

He held your jaw roughly. "On the bed."

He didn't specify how, but you thought this was a "fuck me from behind until I scream" situation, so you landed on all fours, looking back at him. You saw Carmy going through the motions as quickly as he could; putting a condom on and dropping a dollop of cold lube on your pussy. Everything urgent and desperate. He lined himself up and thrust inside you hard.

"Fuck, shit, oh!" you moaned, the stretch of your pussy just this side of painful.

"You're so fucking tight," he groaned.

He didn't say anything else. He started pounding into you hard and fast, his bandaged hand steady on your waist, the other pulling on your hair and then rounding your neck. You were overwhelmed, tears in the corners of your eyes, uttering breathy little sounds. Everything was Carmy, the smell of his sweat, the pressure of his hands, the unforgiving rhythm of his cock inside you...

A particularly sharp thrust hit you just right, you gasped and your arms gave out. Just like that, you were face down on the bed, biting your comforter to stay silent. The frantic rhythm Carmy had set was leading you to the edge quickly, and so you braced yourself for the feeling of blinding pleasure, squeezing the mattress underneath you, breathing fast and shallow.

And suddenly, he stopped, taking his cock out completely, leaving you desperate and empty. 

You whined in dismay, looking back and half expecting to see a teasing smirk on his face - there wasn't. 

Carmy was holding his face in his hands and breathing hard. 

You turned around and rushed to hug him.

"Carm... Baby..." you cooed, running your hands through his hair. He hugged you back, squeezing, like you were the one thing keeping him tethered to reality. 

It was a strange reality too - your pussy was still pulsing, and his softening cock was trapped in your embrace, covered in arousal and lube; all of this as you tried to lure him out of what seemed like a mean panic attack. 

"I need you to take a deep breath for me, Carm." 

"Can't. Fuck," he was crying like a little kid and it broke your heart. "Think I'm dying."

"Breathe with me, baby," you repeated, softer, gentler.

You took a deep inhale, really filling your lungs so he could feel it as he held you. After a second of hesitation, he joined you. His exhale was shaky on the side of your face.

"One more time, yes?" you could feel him nod. "And again..."

You kept breathing like that, until he stopped shaking, and his grip on you loosened a little.

"That's it. That's it. I'm here. Don't worry, I'm here."

"I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"Don't be silly," you caressed the back of his neck lovingly. "Wanna talk about it?"

He shook his head, burying his nose deeper in the crook of your neck. "It's, uh, some bad shit from back home," he replied vaguely.

You went through the few things you knew about his family. He was from Chicago, he had a bad relationship with his mother or his father or both, you thought he had a brother even though Carmy had never mentioned him directly, and he had a sister he cared for a lot.

"Is Sugar okay?" you asked softly, guessing. 

He froze in your embrace like he had forgotten you knew about her existence. "Sugar? Oh, yeah. Yeah, I think she's okay."

He was shutting down, and you sensed it could spiral back into the desperation he was feeling before. 

"Sorry. We don't need to talk about it," you felt the muscles on his back relax a fraction. "What can I do?"

He sighed. "Honestly, fucking was working pretty well until just now."

You chuckled softly, and withdrew a little, searching for his eyes, touching your forehead to his. "Yeah?"

"It was good until- I got in my head," he squeezed his blue eyes shut. "Fuck, it sounds awful but I forgot where I was and what we were doing for a second, like none of it was real... Does that make sense?"

"Kind of," you cupped his face gently, soothing the skin of his cheekbones. 

"Probably didn't help that I couldn't see your face," he added softly. In some weird way, it was probably the sweetest thing anyone had told you during sex. 

"C'mere," you tugged on his arm so you were both lying in bed. His head was on your chest and you carded your fingers through his hair. 

You wished he could tell you what was wrong but maybe that was the sort of thing he reserved for relationships. You were friends with benefits, fuck buddies, a booty call that was conveniently across the hall. The title didn't fit the heavy weight of worry and doubt that had settled in your stomach. You realized all at once how fucked you were, because you cared so much for Carmy, more than you had ever planned to, and there was a very real possibility that he didn't feel the same. You had to tell him - not now but soon and then-

"I can hear you thinking," Carmy said softly. Then: "Fuck. I feel like shit. Didn't even ask you if you were okay or- Is it work? Bad day?"

"Yeah," you lied. "I feel a little better like this, though," you intertwined your legs with his. "Do you feel any better, Carm?"

"I'm okay," he looked up to see an incredulous expression all over your face. "I'm- I'll be okay."

He tilted his head, luring you in for a deep kiss. He tasted salty, dried out tears all over his skin. He drew you closer and for the second time that night you were reminded of the first time you fucked - the eagerness that bordered on desperation as he moved with you, kissing, caressing, rolling over...

You opened your legs to straddle his hips, his cock steadily hardening underneath you as you ground your hips needily. His tattooed hands squeezed your ass, guiding your movements, urging you to put your weight on him. 

"Fuck, baby," he panted, reaching up to kiss your neck. "Please."

"Anything, anything, Carm," you said honestly. "What do you need?"

You wanted to make him forget whatever was happening. Instinctively, you began kissing down his torso - a blowjob seemed like the obvious answer. But he reached to cup your face gently.

"Ride me. Use me. I want you to feel good, I want to see your pretty face as you come," he said, his voice gravelly.

You tilted your head in confusion. "You sure?"

He looked at the ceiling, avoiding your gaze as he confessed. "Want to remember that I can make good things happen, that I can make you feel good." 

Oh.

Okay then. 

You moved up again, kissing the side of his face lovingly, intertwining your fingers with his, looking into his eyes as you lowered yourself on him. You rolled your eyes, exhaling sharply, relishing the feeling of him inside you, warm and thick.

"Mmm," you guided his good hand up, to squeeze your breast, to pinch your nipple, and upward, to press on your neck, to cup your face, his thumb tugging on your lower lip, then tangling in your hair. Carmy's eyes were wide open, pupils dilated, following the movement of your hand and his. 

He nodded eagerly. "Yes. Use me," he repeated.

You left his hand there, the pressure on the nape of your neck reassuring as you started rolling your hips, teasing yourself and him. A breathy moan left your lips. 

"Please. Let me hear it," he begged. 

You leaned on his chest and swayed forwards and back, his cock hitting just right, and you let your mouth fall open, letting whatever pathetic and needy sounds you made be heard across the room. 

"Okay but don't fake it," Carmy said sternly, well, as stern as he could be while you were riding his cock. 

"'m not faking," you searched for his eyes. "Mmm. I'm always trying to keep quiet, biting my lip, screaming into a pillow... Fuuuck. You make me feel this good, Carm, always."

He drew you in for a frantic kiss, messy, starved for you, almost as much as you were starved for him. You started bouncing on his cock, pulsing around him, so fucking close. 

"Can't believe you didn't let me hear that all this time," Carmy growled underneath you. 

Hazily, you realized that the sounds you two were making were borderline pornographic - each whiny moan followed by the lewd clap of your hips against his, the squeak of your mattress, then a low groan from Carmy. You would get strange looks from your neighbors for at least a week, but you didn't care right now, not when the beautiful man underneath you was looking at you like you were the starlit sky, mouth open in awe, marveling at every move.

"Fuck, Carm."

"Close?" 

You nodded, halfway into your orgasm already, letting out a loud exhale followed by cries of pleasure. 

"Jesus," Carmy cursed. His bandaged hand was grabbing the edge of the mattress with force, struggling to keep himself from coming. 

You leaned over, pressing your forehead against his, catching your breath. 

"Can you go again?" 

You licked the side of his face, salty with sweat now. 

"Fuck yes."

And you resumed riding him, harder and louder still. 

"You're beautiful," he blurted out, his eyes feasting on your naked body. "You feel so perfect. Fuck."

"Nobody's made me feel this good, Carm" you managed to confess between moans.

His thumb found your clit with ease, brushing over it, following your rhythm. 

"Fuck!" you cried, feeling pleasure build in your belly, squeezing your eyes shut, babbling everything you were thinking. "Yes, fuck me. I want this forever. Oh, my God! You're so good, Carm. I'm in lo-"

He planted his feet on the mattress and started fucking into you. A couple of thrusts was all it took for you to fall sweaty and exhausted in his arms. He held you tight, chasing his own release, the rhythm of his cock frantic and messy. You could hear his lewd growls on the side of your face but you could also feel them rumble inside his chest. 

"Jesus Christ. Fuck," he whined, loosening his grip on you. 

You sat up for a moment, wanting to check in on him. There were tears streaming down his face. 

"You made me feel so good, Carm. You're good." He shook his head, sobbing quietly, trembling. You settled back in his embrace, trying to hold him together, stop him from falling apart. "You are! You deserve good things, Carmy. It's gonna be okay."

"Thank you," he said after what felt like a very long time, sniffling a little. "That was exactly- You were- Just thank you."

You placed a gentle kiss in the crook of his neck and rolled over to lie by his side, your thighs were shaking.

"Wanna stay the night?" you offered.

"Can't," he shook his head, and reached for your hand. "I'm- I need to wake up early."

"Okay," you tried not to sound too disappointed. "Can you- I want to talk to you about something. Not now. But maybe we can go get coffee on Sunday or something?"

His gaze softened, caressing your knuckles between the bedsheets.

"I need to sort some shit out back home but, yes, when I'm back, yes."

~

Two years later

"You mad?" Carmy asked. 

"You surprised?" you snapped.

The drive to his apartment had been mostly in silence, letting you simmer in your anger. Having Carmy near, looking at him calm and unaffected, had opened old wounds and it hurt more than you had expected.

"I know I fucked up. The moment I got here it all went to shit. I wanted to call you. Even just to say that I wouldn't come back. But we never even exchanged numbers and I-" he got choked up. It all came out as one long and frantic sentence. 

And, yes, it had been stupid self-sabotage from the both of you. You had thought about it too: not exchanging numbers kept everything separate, like your physical lives at your apartments were something completely different from your work and your friends and, more importantly, your feelings. Keeping everything so carefully compartmentalized felt downright stupid when your landlord was suddenly showing the empty apartment across the hall to prospective tenants while you were worried sick for Carmy. 

"I'm sorry," he said finally. 

You weren't ready to accept his apology just yet but you gave him a little nod of acknowledgement. 

"For whatever it's worth, your restaurant looks really fucking nice," you said as a peace offering. 

"Thanks," he smiled for the first time since you had arrived. "So are you here for work?"

"Yeah, one of those team building things," you explained with a shrug. "Thought I'd stop by and say 'fuck you' real quick."

You were angry and bitter and hurt but Carmy's soft eyes were hard to hate. He caught you staring and moved closer.

"Glad you did," he said openly. He took another step closer and when you retreated back, your back hit the counter. 

"Carm," you said sternly. He was too close, like he had suddenly forgotten the passage of time and you were back in New York two years ago. 

"Sorry," he walked back, giving you space. "Um, are you with anyone?"

His voice sounded sad and defeated. 

"No. I had a boyfriend for a hot minute there but he turned out to be an asshole so..." 

Carmy winced. "Sorry."

"Not your fault. You?" 

"Same. Only I was the asshole,” he allowed himself that boyish smile that made you melt.

"Wouldn't be the first time," you said dryly, reminding yourself that you were here to demand explanations and apologies and- 

Why was he walking towards you and why were you grabbing his t-shirt and bringing him closer and why did everything feel so right and familiar?

Carmy searched for your eyes, his fingers carefully fixing a strand of hair behind your ear. 

"Can I just-?" he asked, leaning in, leaving half an inch of separation between you so you could choose to close that space. It wasn't really a choice - you had wanted him for so long and here he was, wanting you back like it was that easy...

You kissed him hard, a little angry, biting at his lower lip, nails abusing his scalp. Before you knew it, he had placed you on the countertop. You tugged at his shirt until he took the hint and removed it. His hands were restless on your thighs, so you guided them up, to the button and zipper of your jeans.

"Are you sure?" he asked against your lips. 

"Yes. Fuck. Yes," you panted, helping him to get rid of your jeans and underwear. He gave you one more desperate kiss and knelt in front of you. You opened your legs slowly, teasingly and Carmy just looked up in awe. 

"I missed you," he said, getting close. You could feel the exhale of that last syllable on your pussy.  

"You talking to her or to me?" you quipped but it was a feeble attempt at saving face - he had you moaning almost immediately. You pulled on his hair and got rewarded with a groan directly on your clit. "Fuck, I missed you too," you confessed.

He smiled with satisfaction, nipping at the stretch marks on the inside of your thighs and, fuck, it felt good to be wanted so completely. You shivered. 

Carmy looked intently at your pussy; before you could ask what he was thinking, he spat on it, adding enough moisture to put two fingers inside you. He had never done anything like that with you. It was a stark reminder that time had actually passed and he had fucked someone else, someone who made him feel that he could be dirtier, more daring, and the thought could have made you spiral if it wasn't interrupted by Carmy curling his fingers just the way you taught him while his lips sucked on your clit. You let out a low moan, pawing blindly at his back. 

He paused to ask: "Do you still like it this way?"

"Of course I do, you fucker," you cursed, feeling him chuckle against you. Softer, you admitted: "You're so good at that."

"Yeah?"

You nodded. It had been a really fucking long time. And maybe you needed to be a very specific type of competitive and emotionally unavailable asshole to be good at this. That was a comforting explanation to give yourself while you begged Carmy to keep going. It hurt your pride when he emerged from between your thighs, a satisfied grin on his face as he wiped your arousal from his chin while your legs were still shaking uncontrollably.

"Fuck you," you managed, then drew him in to kiss that smug expression off his face. The moment you touched his cock over his slacks, he let out a whiny sound that felt like you were finally starting to get even. His expression turned needy, arched eyebrows and wide eyes. Adding more pressure to your caresses, you whispered: "You better have a god-damned condom in the house or I swear to God-"

"I do. Fuck. Hold on," he put his hands underneath your thighs and carried you, your legs framing his waist and your hands squeezing the firm muscles of his back. Once you got to the bedroom he let you fall on his bed, a little careless. You scooted up, taking off your shirt and bra, then arching to see Carmy open a condom with his teeth.

"Good boy," you teased, noticing how red he got at your praise. You cursed the fact that you didn't know this about him when he was still in New York. What a waste. 

He hovered above you, kissing down your neck. You busied your hands unbuttoning his slacks and palming his crotch. He hissed at your touch. 

"Shhh," you soothed, freeing his cock just enough to let him roll the condom on, squeezing his ass under the fabric of his boxer briefs.

You lined his cock to your pussy, anticipating the stretch and the easy way you two fit together. Carmy groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he thrust inside you. 

"That feels so fucking nice," he managed to say. "You feel incredible."

"Yeah?" you clenched around him purposefully, a challenge.

"You're a fucking tease," he spat. 

"And you're an asshole," you replied, riling him up. 

"I'm aware. You have no idea," you detected a hint of sadness underneath the panting lust, you might have felt compassion if you weren't actively trying to get even.

"Make it up to me," you dared him. 

And he gave you everything he could, hard thrusts that made the bed shake and hit the depths of you. He pinned your hands above your head and stared hungrily, focused entirely on you, drinking in every little sign that he was making you feel good. Your mouth was agape, your eyelids fluttered with every thrust, and you were uttering soft moans into his mouth. 

"You going quiet on me?" he had the nerve to ask. 

"You don't get to hear that. Not after ghosting me," you managed. 

He changed his rhythm to something slower, more tender. "I'm sorry. I swear I am."

His eyes were wide and sincere and you had the sudden urge to start crying. You pulled your hand from his hold and covered your face with your forearm. You couldn't look him in the eye for this.

"Remember I told you I wanted to talk, when you came back?" you asked.

"Yeah."

"I was gonna tell you that I'd fucked up, that I had feelings for you and- Fuck, I don't even know what I hoped for back then."

Carmy stopped moving his hips and grabbed your wrist, slowly pulling on your forearm to see you. A tear ran down the side of your face and you had never felt so naked. 

"I was in love with you," he said simply. "I didn't know it back then but- You were the only thing that made any fucking sense, the only thing that made me even remotely happy..."

"And?"

"I was scared of it. Terrified. And I had to stay here. My brother died. Everything was fucked. And you were good and deserved better," he cupped your face, wiping tears with his thumb.

"Fuck you," you sobbed. "I thought you were hurt or worse. You told our fucking landlord but you couldn't tell me?"

"It wouldn't have made a fucking difference! Would you have left New York?"

"Of course not! But you don't get to decide for me!" 

"I know that now!" he sighed. "And I know it's too little too fucking late but I'm so unbelievably sorry."

You didn't know how to reply so you moved your hand to his lower back, pressing a little, asking him wordlessly to keep fucking you. He gave you a small nod and started moving, back to that undulating, love-making pace. 

"Baby," he said and kissed you sweetly, trying to fit a thousand apologies in the movement of his lips. You carded your fingers through his hair, a little longer and wilder than you remembered. 

"Carmy," you sighed against his lips and realized most of your anger had melted. "You know you're the best I've ever had, don't you?" you teased, eyes still teary but a small smile lighting up your face.

He flushed down to his collarbones. 

"Right back at you."

And with that, he took your right leg and maneuvered it over his shoulder, his angle changing and making you see stars. You didn't stop the needy whine that came out of your mouth. 

"That's my girl," he beamed. "Fuck, I love how you sound," his calloused fingers moved down your leg to your thigh, squeezing. "And I love your thighs. Never got you to sit on my face but I wanted it so fucking bad."

You were a moaning mess but even with his cock deep inside you, you could tell he was saying goodbye. 

"You always made me feel so beautiful, Carm," you raised a hand to cup his face. "Thank you for that. Oh, right there..."

He kept hitting that spot, concentrated, that tiny wrinkle between his eyebrows a little more pronounced than you remembered.

"You are beautiful. And funny. And, fuck, all the books you gave me are at The Bear. I never forgot, I could never."

You moaned higher, your hand dropping down to his jaw, then his throat, until your thumb rested on his Adam's apple. You could feel him groan with every thrust. His hand traveled lower still, to your clit, his thumb bringing you closer to your release.

"I forgive you," you said, realizing as you said it that you actually meant it. 

"Holy shit," Carmy cursed as his thrusts became messy and frantic, driving you to orgasm right before he did. He collapsed on top of you, his head on your chest. "Thank you. Fuck. Thank you, baby."

You touched his face, traced the shape of his nose, as you both recovered. You caught a glimpse of the dusky sky. 

"It's getting late. Gonna miss my flight. I should probably-" you gestured at your discarded clothes on his bedroom floor. 

"Let me drive you to the airport?" he offered softly. 

You fixed his sweaty hair, a little too messy even for him, and kissed him. It was sweet and short and it tasted like goodbye. 

"Okay. Thank you."

~

@vyctorya

[natihoneybee]

Kagi’s School Trip Buddy

Woahh okay everyone’s freaking out about chapter 31 dropping tonight/tomorrow (I am too). So in an attempt to calm my nerves, I tried to work on another theory post or whatever type of ramble this is.

Ughh idk idk OH MY GOD this was originally going to be a Hirano and Niibashi analysis post, but while looking for material I stumbled upon this INCREDIBLE easter egg and decided to prioritize this instead (fear not, I will get to Hirano and Niibashi’s dynamic later). Now this could be a stretch, but I’m pretty sure…

THIS CHANGES EVERYTHING I THOUGHT I KNEW ABOUT JEALOUS-KUN.

Based on the timeline in Hirano and Kagiura, Vol 1, chapter 3, we know that the second year students’ school trip happens in November. In The Second Years Light Novel, chapter 2 Kuresawa’s Flashback (The School Trip), we follow Kuresawa’s point of view on his second year school trip and there are several scenes about Kagiura. And while going through these parts in the book, Kagiura is discussing Hirano with a friend. And I have a suspicion that Kagiura is actually on the trip with Jealous-kun. I KNOW I KNOW, you’re probably thinking whaaat. But please hear me out.

Look at these passages from the Second Years Light Novel, pages 28-29 and 58-61.

Pages 28-29

I overheard someone saying, “Why’d you pick Hokkaido? I mean, I know it’s a little late to ask, but most of Class A went to Hawaii.” I guess one of the guys nearby was from Class A. It was a little unusual. The guy talking to him was obviously from some other class. Our school had a lot of different programs, which was part of what gave each class its own special character. I don’t want to say that was the whole reason so much of Class A had chosen to go overseas together, but that was part of it.

“Well, Hirano said he went to Hokkaido…”

“There you go talking about that ‘Hirano’ again! Who is he anyway?”

“Not telling.”

Hirano, like, Hirano? The upperclassman? I thought. I hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but my ears picked up that name specifically. It made me glance to the left.

Big: That was my first thought when I saw the guy nearby, the one who had mentioned Hirano. He was taller than I’d expected, maybe even taller than Sasaki.

~

Besides being taller than average, this person looked really… manly. I’d always assumed a seme would be the forceful go-getter of the two, but I realized now that an athletic type like this would make a pretty good partner, too.

Page 58

Just then, I heard another voice I thought I recognized. “Oh, someone gave me one of these once. So they really sell them here!” I hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but when someone is talking right next to you, it’s hard not to hear them.

“Hey, that’s the thing you’ve got on your phone. And it’s a limited edition–they only sell it here! Wow, it really exists! So that person you like got that for you?”

Intrigued by the mention of something limited-edition, I sneaked a peek at the shelf to find two guys looking at cell-phone charms in the shape of a weird-looking dog. It had a massive head, with a sort of afterthought of a body… it was a dog, wasn’t it?

“Yeah, that’s right,” said the tall guy. I thought he’d been in my car on the ropeway… i was pretty sure. In the daylight, he looked more muscular than he had that night; he definitely seemed like an athlete. His back was to me, so i couldn’t see who it was, but more striking than his build was his gentle voice.

“So what’s with this Hirano guy anyway? He’s cool and kind and sweet? I can hardly picture an older guy who would give someone a weird-ass thing like this.”

Hirano again?

“Huh…”

Page 60

“He’s supposed to be blond and handsome, right? I’d like to get a look at him!” the second guy said.

Blond? Blond! It all matched up too perfectly… As i was thinking, the line was moving, carrying me away from the two guys with the phone charms.

“Hmm… I think maybe you’ve seen him in the mornings,” the first guy said.

“Mornings? You mean, like, on television? Is he an actor?!”

“Yeah, no.”

If they were talking about the Hirano I was thinking of, then what was this about mornings? Mornings… greetings… What else happened in the mornings? Sometimes the Disciplinary Committee ran uniform inspections. Was that it? No, that was stretching it. Those inspections didn’t happen very often. But then again… I couldn’t reject an idea just because it seemed too convenient.

Page 61

That was when I noticed the two guys I'd overheard in line had moved to a shelf near the register.

“Hey, they sell earrings here. Is he still wearing the ones you got him?” the buddy asked.

“Uh-huh,” the athlete replied.

I felt a shock: That did it. Hirano… He wore earrings, didn’t he? Was this really right? Should I be taking a naughty little imagining like this seriously?

Who is Kagiura talking to here?

The guy from Class A that Kuresawa refers to is obviously Kagiura, but the guy he’s with is someone from a different class. Neither Class 2-A (Kagi’s class) or Class 2-B (kuresawa, tashiro, miyano’s class). So I’m assuming he must be from 2-C or 2-D (is there a Class D?), even though there hasn’t been much discussion yet about Class C or Class D.

Initially I thought it may be Niibashi, however, there’s no way it could be him either because:

This friend Kagi is talking to has no idea who Hirano is. With all the questions he’s asking and how frequently Hirano is coming up between these two, it almost seems like this friend just recently learned about Hirano and about Kagiura having a crush. Kagiura has talked Niibashi’s ear off over Hirano, and Niibashi has met Hirano before. Also, the way this friend is speaking and asking about Hirano, doesn’t sound like Niibashi.

We know Kuresawa would have recognized Niibashi if it was him. In Second Years Light Novel, chapter 3 (also from kuresawa’s pov), page 77 he mentions Niibashi, “The teacher did most of the instructing, with one student helping out as an assistant—Niibashi, a second-year from Class A. I knew him for his refined good looks.”

Kuresawa also notes that he “knew all [his] roommates in [their] six-person room (Second Years Light Novel, 36). That includes Miyano, Kuresawa (self), Tashiro, Karasubara, Shirahama, and Hiwatari. So, Kagiura’s friend couldn’t be Shirahama either or anyone else in this room.

We can conclude that Kagiura’s school trip buddy knows that an upperclassman named Hirano is Kagi’s crush, Kagi’s dog keychain was a gift from Hirano, and that Kagi gifted Hirano earrings.

Kagi tells his friend that he may have seen Hirano in the mornings. Kuresawa thinks to himself that it’s possible Kagi is referring to the Disciplinary Committee uniform inspections, but that the inspections didn’t happen very often and that was stretching it. But let’s remember: this is from Kuresawa’s perspective. It’s limited to what he knows. We know more about Hirano and Kagiura’s morning routines. So what else happens in the mornings? Well, Hirano and Kagiura study together, they sometimes eat breakfast together, and Kagiura goes to basketball practice in the morning. If Kagi is telling his friend he may have seen him in the mornings, then his friend must either live in the dorms as well (unlikely cause then he’d know who hirano is) or is on the basketball team with Kagi. It’s possible that come November, Hirano might stop by once in a while to watch Kagi’s morning practice.

Kagi’s School Trip Buddy is:

Possibly from Class C or D

Possibly someone from the dorms

Possibly from the basketball team

Someone Kagi has confided in about his love for Hirano

On pages 59 and in Bonus: A Short Little Something, we barely see Kagiura’s school trip buddy. From the front, his hair made me think he looked more like Muroi, but he’s a kouhai so he wouldn’t be on this trip. In the bonus chapter, the back of his head kinda reminded me of jealous-kun’s haircut from the back. Although, the color seems lighter than jealous-kun’s black hair. I wonder if Harusono did this on purpose to conceal Kagiura's friend’s face for now.



HiraKagi’s Relationship in November/School Trip Timeline

On page 28, Kagi’s school trip buddy asks him what Hirano is to Kagi, “Who is he anyway?” and Kagi answers “Not telling.” It’s possible that Hirano and Kagiura are:

trying a dating trial at this point

actually dating and are keeping it a secret

delaying making it official to stay roommates

actually did elope and are married and are secretly husbands while still in high school.

Tbh I wrote that last scenario as a joke, but then I remembered Hirano started wearing a ring on a necklace in OCTOBER. Hellooo that halloween extra where he’s all over kagi?! SECRET HUSBANDS.

If Kagiura goes on his school trip to Hokkaido with jealous-kun, they may actually be really good friends at this point in November. Like I think maybe we’re looking at a rivals (one-sided on jealous-kun’s part) to friends development in the late summer. Whoever Kagi is buddied up with on the school trip is clearly someone he trusts enough to talk in depth about his crush on Hirano and is someone who is kind and understanding of Kagiura liking a guy. Anyway, I could be totally wrong about the school trip buddy being jealous-kun, but I think it is based on his character appearance growing and the timeline. Who knows, we might actually get a name for jealous-kun by the time we reach November in the HiraKagi timeline.

[olderthanthemorning]

get him back! (john walker) part 1

pairing: john walker x reader

summary: “do i love him, do i hate him? i guess it’s up and down,” john walker had no right coming to your event, let alone looking like that. he knew how to play you, but you’ve upped your game. and for each bitchy comment or warning look, you would have your revenge. you were going to get him back. based on the song ‘get him back’ by olivia rodrigo.

wc: 2.7k

warnings: none really (yet), vague body description (reader wears a dress), swearing, light drinking

a/n: i have risen from the dead. yesterday i accidentally took too much of my adhd medication and this flowed out of me. wrote this thinking it would be one part but surprise! i love to torture myself (and you dear readers), so more than one part it shall be. i have been feral for john recently so now you all have to deal with it. as always, i’m open to feedback (and requests!).

—

international affairs. the term seemed like a sick joke at this point.

as an assistant administrator at the embassy, your life was often spent translating, accounting for time differences, and publicity events. but you couldn't complain too much as it also included travel, special treatment, and mingling with important people. by the time you were in your third year, you had it down to a science, balancing work while satiating your hunger for the world.

each summer, the foreign relations committee hosted a summer exposition as a way schmooze country leaders and promote friendship. being that the expo changed country host each year, it also turned into something of a dick-measuring contest, so you were thrilled to hear that your boss would have the honor this June. with more to do, you were, in turn, given more responsibility: organizing the week long conference on peace keeping efforts across continents. the weeks leading up to the expo were stressful and invigorating, running between venders and your office, triple checking that everything was perfect for your speakers and guests. late nights were spent in your office with your work wife, Leah, waiting for calls from across the ocean and giggling at nothing but your shared lack of sleep.

"if that old guy from bulgaria comes again, i'm going to have to wear a disguise," Leah cried, hiding her face.

"well you wouldn't have to hide if he hadn't seen your entire body last year," you poke, "besides, it's not like he's married," you pause, waiting for her to sip from her mug, "i think his wife died in 2014." she chokes and tears prick at your eyes as water comes out of her nose and you struggle to breathe.

"there is a special place in hell with your name on it," her throat hoarse from coughing. clearing it, she looked at the monitor illuminating the dimly lit room. after a moment of a keyboard clicking, "Valentina should be calling in the next three minutes and then that's a wrap for tonight."

"right, Valentina. isn't she on some watchlist by now?" you had only seen the woman over video calls with your boss, her reputation and cadence was enough to make you feel small through the screen.

"if she weren't bankrolling them all, i'm sure she would be. oh, this is her," Leah picked up the receiver and pressed a button to transfer the call to speaker, "Ms. De Fontaine, thank you for calling, you're on with Leah and Y/N,"

"yeah, listen, i don't have time for pleasantries," Valentina brushed off.

"of course, we won't keep you. we just wanted to confirm your presence at the Facilitating Foreign Friendships Exposition this month. i spoke with someone from your office who said you will be bringing a party of six for the entire conference, is that still right?" your voice was somewhere between customer service and a stern teacher, practiced and perfected on politicians.

"god what a stupid name," you couldn't disagree with her there, "yes, that's still correct."

"okay. your office also volunteered three speakers, one on each of the following panels: Gender Violence in Areas with a UN Peacekeeping Presence, Nuclear Weapons and Peace: Intertwined or At Odds? and lastly, Enhanced Individuals as Facilitators of Peace. are these speakers included in your party of six or will separate arrangements need to be made?"

"oh this'll be fun, sure the speakers are already accounted for in our number. if that's all," her voice sounds far away, like she was already on her way out the door.

"actually! one more thing, you will have to send over personal documents of all guests. it's a security measure, i'm sure you understand," Leah cuts in quickly.

"i'll have someone send a digital copy this afternoon,"

"great, we look forwa— and she hung up," Leah's voice drops half an octave once she realizes we're alone again, "at least she doesn't prolong her petulance."

"13 point word after 11pm? your brain is so big," you stretch and start to gather your things. after 12 hours in one room, it's starting to look like your bag threw up.

"alright tiger, let's get you home. you need all the beauty sleep you can get before all the foreign hotties show up," she shuts off the computer and heads toward the door. you lock your office and fall into step on the short walk to the elevators.

"first of all, ouch. second of all, we'll see how the hotties go this year, i have a lot more on my plate." in the past, large conventions like these were a fun way to let off steam, especially for someone as low-ranking as you. invisibility was your superpower, only appearing to Leah and strangers with accents you met at the bar outside the hotel. heat crept up your cheeks as you remember sweaty bodies and loud music and hands. the elevator dings, doors sliding open.

"right," she looks at you quizzically, "and that blush has nothing to do with the fact that you haven't been fucked in two months."

"i told you, it was ‘hot celibate spring,’" you defended, "besides, i'm not making any promises either way at this time."

"how diplomatic of you," the doors open again, revealing an almost empty lobby, "just remember your allegiance is to me and a good time."

"but the embassy pays so much better," you say dryly and wave at the security guard behind the desk, "have a good night Rob, see you bright and early."

"you take care ladies, get some rest, you hear?"

"haven't you heard? that word's banned until august," Leah replies, leaning into the large front door to open it, holding it for you to pass. she turns to you, "but seriously, you've worked hard on this project and you should get to enjoy it. just something to think about." She gives you a kiss on the cheek before bidding farewell as you part ways.

—

eight hours later, you're back in your office, yesterday's mug full of today's coffee. with the welcome event tomorrow, there wasn't much to do, something you were very grateful for considering you'd been staring at the same email for 15 minutes, retaining nothing. all you had to get through was a meeting with the ambassador to go over what social programs to highlight in her speech and a final security check before lunch, and had decided to take a half day to personally prepare for the expo.

at 11:30am, you knocked on Leah's door, already ajar, "hi princess, i need security clearance for Valentina's guests then i'm off, have you received them yet?"

"good morning sunshine! yeah, they just came through, let's take a look," she moved her chair a bit to make room for you to look over her shoulder. "is that file marked 'avengers'?" you questioned.

"yes it is, america has made some new version. talk about tired," she opened the folder and began to scroll through the documents.

Barnes, James

"he's that congressman, AND he was in the last avengers," Leah said leaning in.

"pretty hot for a politician,"

"ok i don't want to hear about bulgaria, it says he's 110."

"right, moving on."

Belova, Yelena

"alright, the mean attractiveness is remaining high," you said looking at mesmerizing blue eyes on the screen.

Reynolds, Robert

"he's looks like a lost puppy,"

Starr, Ava

"she has an air of mystery in her eyes, i like that in a woman."

Shostakov, Alexei

"alright i'm starting to lose what vibe they're going for here."

"i don't know, i like big men." this comment earns Leah a smack on the arm.

"he looks like he would eat you for breakfast,"

"here's hoping," another smack is halfway to her arm when you both still completely.

Walker, John

"oh shit," Leah whispers, looking up at you, "did you know he was coming?" john walker had been part of your effort to blow off steam two years ago. normally, your sex-capades only lasted a night at the expo (you and Leah called it sleeping around the world), but after you met john in france, he didn’t leave your bed until the end of summer. it wasn't anything serious, like kissing boys at summer camp; something to keep you occupied and gossip about. and beyond the bedroom, you and john had little to talk about, and even less to agree on.

"no, i haven't talked to him since Côte d'Azur. wait he's in the avengers now? he looks," you search for the right word, "different."

"yeah like he went through something," she scoffs and opens a new tab, typing furiously. begrudgingly, your thoughts were not so harsh. he looked weathered, sure, and older. but it wasn't a shocking change, john had always been a hard pill to swallow; his rude or brash comments mismatched his soft face and blonde hair. this version looked more like his bark fit his bite. and you knew too well what his bite felt like.

"uh.. i guess he did go through something," Leah's voice draws your attention back to the screen, now littered with articles and profiles on the captain america turned disgraced former captain america turned free agent turned anti-superhero. "seems like he's even more of a loser than before," she was not subtle in her dislike for john the first time, and her tone told you the feeling hadn't changed, "now he's just an asshole that wears tights."

you laughed at that but couldn't find the words for a witty comeback. your head was swimming, unable to even decide on an emotion to the news of john's attendance. "you alright?" Leah asked.

"yeah, yes, of course," very cool, Y/N, "listen, can you take these documents to the ninth floor for me? i have an appointment I have to get to."

"definitely," she responds as you're already halfway to the door, "listen, it's gonna be fine. tomorrow has an open bar and 299 guests who are not him. we'll find someone cuter for you to flirt with."

you give her a smile, "thanks, this is why i love you!" and with that you're out the door, grabbing your bag and making a B-line for the elevator.

by the time you're on the ground level, you've read two articles about john. the emotion your head landed on was somewhere near annoyed. you were annoyed that he was coming to your event, annoyed that you had planned for everything except this, annoyed that he could still annoy you this much. you could already see his smirk, but now with a layer of scrub across his face. god, it even annoyed you that you still had dirty thoughts about him. he hadn't crossed your mind in two years, but as you stepped out of the large office building, you felt something spark in you, a renewed confidence before your reunion.

—

the welcome dinner was going perfectly, the tables looked stunning, the live band was in tune, and the bar was open. you stood next to one of the diplomats and relayed names of guests as they approached your boss. a junior intern tapped your shoulder, "i'm here to take your place," he said meekly. you nodded and turned to confirm with your superior before stepping away. as you made your move towards the reception area you hear, "Valentina, how wonderful to see you!" you picked up your pace at the sound of her name, not turning to see who she was with. after checking in with a few colleagues, you make your way to a standing table where Leah stood. she pushes an extra champagne flute towards you, "i don't know what looks better, the party or the organizer," she winked at you. with years of experience, you'd learned how to dress yourself at events like this. a simple, well fitting dress flies under the radar of prying eyes, but you knew your own figure would do the job. the soft material hugged all your favorite features and flowed down to the ground, making you feel beautiful and powerful.

"you clean up nice yourself," you raised your glass and she mirrors you.

"to us," she says and drinks, you giggle and follow. the two of you spend the next ten minutes scanning the crowd and swapping information about people you recognize.

"he's just been indicted for embezzlement."

"she's only here because she needs the to convince the australian minister to back her fossil fuels proposal."

"i heard they have a secret family in rural chile."

and then you see him. john walker in a tux. "there he is," you say, trying too late not to catch his eye. you give a polite wave and smile, hoping the gesture and distance between you is enough to deter him.

"and here he comes," Leah says as john starts walking in your direction.

"Y/N, hi, it's been a long time," he leaned in to give you a customary kiss on the cheek in greeting. you could smell his cologne, one thing that hadn't changed. as he took a step back, you saw his eyes travel down your body and back up. beautiful and powerful.

"hi john, good to see you," you smiled again. "i saw you're here with your whole ‘squad,’ you'll have to introduce us," your neutral tone was met with a split second of confusion from the man before he blinked it away, "of course," he said looking at you before eye flickering to Leah beside you.

"Leah, you look lovely tonight," he nodded to your friend.

"fuck off, walker," she said, then her voiced dropped to address you "i'm going to go check that everyone's here before announcing dinner," before walking off.

"she always knew how to make an exit," he says, although his eyes are on you.

"she's not the only one," you say before you can stop yourself, half hoping he didn't hear, "so," you continue, "you're a team player now."

"something like that, yeah. turns out there are less rules when you work with others,"

"i'm not sure that's how it works," doubt riddles your voice.

"oh it is, and i've really grown," you take another sip as you hear his confidence begin to grow, "i'm great at compromising now, plus, every team needs a captain," the smirk on his face tells you he is starting his mating dance.

"that sounds more like the john i know, not the compromising part but the needing-to-be-in-charge part,"

"if i remember, you used to like it when i was in charge," that comment catches you slightly off guard, and you look to up notice how close he's standing. but you weren't going to give it to him that easy, "i did," you replied, there was no use lying to him. besides, two could play at this game. “but come on john, after two years i hope you have more to show than the same machismo character,” you leaned into his gaze, meeting his eyes through your lashes, goading him, testing how deep he’d dig his hole. “so tell me, why should i give you a second glance this time?”

“a famous super soldier isn’t enticing enough? i’ve got a whole new body to test drive, no complaints yet,” his eyes were darker now, irises eclipsed by widening pupils. right where you wanted him.

“you should tell Valentina to add humility to the curriculum,” then you closed the space between you, balancing on the balls of your feet to reach and whisper in his ear, “because if i remember, you always came faster when i had you on your back.” john sucked in a small breath as you returned to your normal posture, opening his mouth but faltering. “have a good night, walker, i’ll see you around,” you let your hand rest on his bicep briefly before floating past him to find your seat. somehow walker had gotten cockier, and hotter. but you knew you had, too, from the way your hips swing between steps to the burning feeling of his eyes on your back. maybe Leah was right, you could find a way to enjoy the expo. taking john down a few pegs was just too tempting, and you knew just how to do it. you were going to fuck him, because fuck him!

a/n pt 2: like i said, longer than i anticipated, so just getting of the ground. the next part(s) will have more john x reader time and maybe some spice, if you’re good. so behave yourselves ;)

xoxo,

me

[megs-1800]

Go Back To Us Again- Part 1

Notes: I have had so many requests since my last post so I thought I would combine them into the piece of work I was already working on. Sit tight and enjoy... there are places to stop so you can stop and continue as its a longggggg one so I have combined it in Part 1 and Part 2.- Part 2 will be posted in the next couple of days. I hope you enjoy and feedback is of course welcome! Requests are open!

Y/H/T- Your Home Town

Summary: You are tired of Mason always putting you second best. When you walk away how far will Mason go to get you back, especially with all the drama along the way of everything pulling you apart.

Pairings: Mason Mount x Reader

Word Count: 14.5k

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Smut, and mentions of alcohol, swearing.

The front door slammed shut behind Mason, his trainers kicked off, keys clattered, a tired sigh echoed through the hallway but you didn’t come to greet him, no kiss, no “hey, you’re back. How was training?” Not even a glance from the kitchen. Just silence greeted him. That was until he stepped into the bedroom — and found you there, standing in front of the full-length mirror, tugging the zip of a black satin dress up over your back. Your face was set and you eyes were hard.

Mason slowed. “You’re still going out?”

You didn’t turn around. “Yep.” You said sharply with a empathises on the ‘P’.

A pause. “I thought we were staying in tonight.”

That did it, you spun to face him, eyes narrowed, jaw tight. “Did you, yeah? Because I told you — twice — that it was Brittany’s birthday tonight. I said it two bloody weeks ago. You even nodded like you were listening.”

“I didn’t know that was tonight.”

“I reminded you this morning!” you shouted, voice cracking with disbelief. “Before you left. You kissed me on the forehead and said, ‘I will be home for your thing later, babe.’ And now you’re acting like I’ve lost my mind for having plans?”

“I didn’t realise it was a big thing,” Mason muttered, shrugging off his coat. “I thought it was just drinks or something.”

“It is drinks. At a club. With all her friends. And me — the one who’s apparently going to be the only sad cow turning up alone. Again.”

Mason let out a long breath. “Y/N/N, I’ve had a long day. The gaffer’s been on my back, I’ve barely eaten, and all I wanted was a quiet night with you.”

“Well, too bad,” you snapped, reaching for your earrings. “Because for once, this night isn’t about you.”

You shoved a gold hoop through your earlobe with more force than necessary. “I offered you to come out with us,” you went on, each word sharper than the last. “You’re supposed to be coming with us. But no, once again, I gotta show up on my own. Smile through the ‘Where’s Mason?’ questions like you’re too bloody important to give a shit.”

He flinched. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” you bit out. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks pretty damn accurate.”

Mason took a slow step forward, his voice softening. “You look nice though.” You rolled your eyes in response. “I mean it,” he said, getting closer. “You always look good. But in that dress—” and then his hands were on your hips and your body instantly stiffened. He leaned in, his mouth brushing the side of your neck, his breath warm. “Stay in,” he murmured, fingers sliding against the silk. “Just for tonight. We could order food, I’ll give you a massage, and—”

You shoved him back so fast his back hit the dresser. “Are you serious?” you said, voice rising like a siren. “Is that your idea of an apology? Try and kiss the anger out of me? Are you that bloody dense?”

“Y/N—”

“No. Don’t ‘Y/N’ me,” you snapped. “You always do this. You mess up, and then you try and seduce your way out of it. Like one hand on my arse and a few whispers are enough to make me forget the fact that you made me feel invisible.”

His jaw clenched. “That’s not what I was doing.”

“Don’t lie. You tried to fuck this problem away the same way you always do.” You was trembling now with anger and disappointment. “Well, guess what? I’m not in the mood to be your emotional sponge or your stress relief tonight.”

He stepped back, raking a hand through his hair. “This is exactly what I mean,” he muttered. “You live in Y/H/T. You pop down to Manchester when it suits you, then you’re out with Brittany the second you get here and I’m the bad guy for wanting one night in with my girlfriend?”

You stared at him. “You think I pop down like it’s a casual trip? Like I’m just swanning about with nothing better to do? I get on trains after work. I miss early shifts. I lose sleep. And I do it to see you. Not Brittany. Not anyone else. You.”

“But you’re not seeing me,” Mason bit back. “You’re in my city, and instead of spending the night with me, you’re getting shitfaced with the one person I cannot stand.”

Your eyes flashed. “Don’t start on her.”

“She’s a fucking liability, Y/N,” Mason snapped. “She drags you out, gets you plastered, and ditches you at God-knows-what hour while I get the phone call — ‘Mason, I lost my bag, can you come get me.’ I pick up the pieces. She just causes the chaos.”

“She’s been there for me more than you have recently,” You fired back, voice shaking. “At least she remembers when something’s important to me.” He flinched like you’d hit him. “Mason,” you said, quieter now but no less furious, “you forgot. You didn’t text, didn’t ask what time I was leaving. You just walked in and acted like your exhaustion should be enough reason for me to cancel my plans.”

“I just wanted to see you.”

“Then you should’ve come with me.”

“I don’t want to be around her,” he said flatly. “Or her crowd. You know that.”

“I’m not asking you to marry her. I asked you to be there for me.” You inhaled, shaky and full of heat. “But you didn’t even try.”

Mason looked away. “I’m tired, Y/N/N. I’m fucking exhausted trying to balance this. Football, life, the media, you and when you’re finally here… you’d rather be anywhere else.”

“That’s bullshit,” you snapped, stepping forward, dress swishing with force. “You don’t get to use your job as a shield for being shit at this.”

His voice dropped, quieter. Raw. “I love you.”

You paused. His eyes met yours — tired, desperate, begging but you didn’t soften. “Then love me better,” you whispered. “Love me when I’m talking about work. When I’m not dressed up. When I’m in Y/H/T, just needing a text from you that says you still remember I exist.”

“I do,” he breathed.

“You sure as hell didn’t tonight.”

He looked down at the floor, fists clenched, like he wanted to punch the guilt away but there was no fight to be had. Not really. Not when you’d already won by default — by realising that you deserved more than scraps and kisses passed off as apologies. You grabbed your jacket.

“Y/N—please. Don’t leave like this.”

“I’m not leaving you,” you said. “I’m going out to something I was looking forward to, until you reminded me that being with you means I’m always second priority.”

He didn’t follow, he couldn’t. You walked out the bedroom, your heels echoed down the hall and the door closed behind her with the kind of silence that settles when someone’s already halfway gone.

The music was too loud, not just loud in the way clubs always were — bass thudding through your chest, bodies pressing too close, people screaming to be heard. It was loud in the way that made you feel like you was drowning, like no matter how many drinks Brittany poured into you, no matter how red your lips were or high your heels were, you was still back there in his house, in that bedroom, with Mason’s voice in your ears and his hands on your waist. You hadn’t even made it to the second cocktail before your phone buzzed.

MASON 💛 You there safe? xx

You swallowed hard and shoved it back into your clutch. “Y/N/N! Dance!” Brittany shouted, grabbing your wrist and twirling you like you were sixteen again and not falling apart in completely different ways. You smiled — a half-smile, tight and forced — and let Brittany spin you into the centre of the floor. Neon lights danced across your skin. Laughter erupted around them. The music was thunderous but inside, you was ice. Still angry. Still burning. Still shaking from the way Mason had tried to slide around an apology with his mouth on your neck like that was ever going to work. Your phone buzzed again.

MASON 💛 Let me know when you’re heading home xx

Another message came a second later.

MASON 💛 Please.

You closed your eyes. God, why was he doing this? Why now? Why text you like he cared after everything he said — after making you feel small and forgotten and like some afterthought he was expected to entertain between press days and training sessions? You pulled the phone out and turned it on Do Not Disturb. Brittany was already by the bar, ordering two more drinks with a wink at the bartender like she’d been born under strobe lights and vodka fumes. When you finally reached her, she held out a drink with a knowing grin.

“You look like you’re two seconds from crying or two seconds from snapping,” Brittany shouted over the music. “Drink this before you do either.” You took it and downed half, burning beautifully. “Where’s Mason, anyway?” Brittany asked, far too casually.

You froze, you knew that tone. That baiting, smug little sing-song rhythm Brittany got when she wanted to be told she was right. “He’s at home,” you muttered. “Didn’t want to come.”

Brittany rolled her eyes. “Of course he didn’t.”

“Britt.”

“No — sorry, but come on, babe.” Brittany leaned in, eyes narrowed in faux-concern. “You travel all that way, and he can’t be arsed to come out for one night? He knew it was my birthday. I even messaged him to remind him.”

“You messaged him?” you blinked.

“Yeah. Yesterday.” Brittany shrugged, sipping her drink. “Told him not to forget. Guess he did anyway.” That sting? That was betrayal. It sliced deeper than the alcohol.

“And then he tried to fix it with sex,” you added bitterly, looking down into your glass.

Brittany laughed — an actual laugh. “Wow. Classic Mount.”

“Not funny.”

“It kind of is.”

“No, Britt, it’s not.” you turned to face her fully now. “Because that’s the thing — he forgets, and then he tries to make it better with his hands like I’m some stupid girl who can be kissed into silence.”

Your phone buzzed again, you look down and ignore it. “Leave him on read,” Brittany said, not even pretending to be neutral. “Let him sit with it. He needs to learn.”

“I don’t want to play games.”

“This isn’t a game, Y/N/N,” Brittany said, lowering her voice just enough. “This is about respect. And honestly? He hasn’t been showing you any.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. It was easy to let Brittany get into your head, easy to drown in the truth when someone else held it up like a mirror and dared you to look but this still didn’t feel like comfort. It felt like a slow burn. A spark to petrol. “Let’s dance,” Brittany said quickly, sensing the shift. “You need to dance.”

You let yourself be dragged back into the crowd, surrounded by bodies, heat, perfume, and pulse. You tried — really tried — to get into it, to move, to laugh when Brittany twirled you again. To sway to the music, to feel young and wild and untouched by the ache in your chest.

Your phone buzzed inside your clutch again.

MASON 💛 I know I fucked up. Just say something. Please. MASON 💛 I miss you xx MASON 💛 Are you ignoring me?

You stopped moving. “Y/N?” Brittany grabbed your hand. “Hey—are you alright?”

You blinked hard. “Yeah. Yeah, I just— I need some air.”

You shouldered through the crowd, out past the bar, out the side door where the smokers huddled, and down the alleyway beside the club where no one could see you inhale like you was trying not to cry. The cold bit at your arms and the phone buzzed one more time.

MASON 💛 I hate fighting with you. Please. Just come home xx

You stared at it. God. Why did he have to sound so soft now? Why now, when you was out here trying to breathe through the tight knot in your chest and the sting behind your eyes? Why did he always say the right thing after saying the wrong one first? And why—after everything—did you still want to go home to him?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The house was quiet, too quiet. Mason paced the open-plan living room like a man possessed. The hum of the fridge was the only sound that existed now, save for the dull tap of his own footsteps against marble floors and the muted thud of his heartbeat in his ears. His phone buzzed again in his hand — not from you. Just a stupid app notification. He threw it onto the sofa.

You hadn’t replied, not to a single one of his texts and every second that passed without a ping from your name, the pit in his stomach grew colder. He ran a hand through his hair again and again, tugged at the back of his hoodie, then sat — only to stand again seconds later. Why did he say those things? Why did he let the words pour out when he knew they’d land like bricks? He wanted to go after you. Drive to the club but he didn’t know where you was anymore — not in the literal sense, but in the way that mattered. Somewhere far from him. Somewhere he couldn’t reach with soft words or a kiss on the neck. He grabbed his phone again. Hovered over your name. Still nothing.

No little “typing…” No “read.” Nothing.

He cursed under his breath. Then — impulsive, desperate — he hit Call on someone else.

Lewis.

The phone rang once. Twice. Then—  “Mate, it’s midnight.”

Mason collapsed onto the edge of the couch, hand dragging down his face. “I fucked up.”

Lewis didn’t even sound surprised. “What now?”

“Y/N.”

“Obviously.”

Mason stared at the wall. “We argued before she went out. I forgot her plans again. I didn’t mean to — I’ve just had a lot on — but then I said shit I didn’t mean, and I—” He cut himself off. “I tried to kiss her like that’d fix it.”

There was a pause. “You what?”

“I didn’t push it,” Mason muttered. “But I tried. Thought she’d let me smooth it over, y’know? She always does.”

“Yeah, well, maybe she’s tired of always having to.”

Mason leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “She said I only remember she exists when she’s in a tight dress. Said I don’t love her properly.”

Lewis’s sigh echoed down the line. “Do you?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then act like it, Mase,” Lewis said firmly. “She works all week, travels up to see you, and then ends up feeling like she’s chasing scraps. If she’s dressing up for you and you forget, that’s not just a mistake. That’s neglect.” Mason didn’t speak. “You’re not a lad anymore. You’re in something real with her. If you don’t start treating her like she’s your priority, she’ll stop waiting to be.”

“I already think I’ve lost her,” Mason muttered.

Lewis was quiet a moment. Then: “Not yet you haven’t. But if she’s with Brittany, and she’s feeling ignored... you might not be the one she calls tonight.” Mason’s stomach sank. “Don’t let your silence be louder than her anger,” Lewis added. “Just… make sure she knows you’re there. Even if she won’t answer.” The line went dead and Mason stared at the screen like it might tell him what to do.

Back outside the club the cool night air bit at your shoulders as you stood in the shadowed alley beside the club, your heels grinding into the gravel, arms crossed tight over your chest. Your phone buzzed again — Mason, still trying. You didn’t open it, you didn’t want to read ‘please’ one more time. The back door creaked open behind you. A gust of warm air burst out with it — music, laughter, and perfume-slick chaos. Then came Brittany.

“There you are,” she said, heels clicking. “I’ve been looking everywhere. What are you doing out here? You look like you’re about to cry or kill someone.”

“Maybe both,” you muttered.

Brittany handed you another drink without asking. “Here.”

“I don’t need any more.”

“You do. Trust me. Come on, this is your night. Or mine. But we’ll share it. That’s what best friends do.”

You took the glass reluctantly, swirling the contents. Your head already felt fuzzy — not drunk, but detached. Your emotions lagged behind your actions, like you was watching yourself from outside your own body.

“Is he still texting?” Brittany asked, peering over her shoulder.

You shoved your phone further into your bag. “Yeah.”

Brittany scoffed. “God, he’s so predictable. Treats you like a backup plan and then gets all panicky when you finally walk away for five minutes.”

“I don’t know if I walked away.”

Brittany’s eyes sharpened. “You did.”

You glanced at her. “You make it sound like I should leave him.”

“I’m saying maybe you should stop acting like he’s the only man who’ll ever want you.” There was a beat of silence, then Brittany added — too casually — “There are other guys in there tonight, y’know. Guys who’ve actually noticed you. Asked me if you were single.” You froze. “I told them no, of course,” Brittany said breezily. “But if Mason’s not showing up for you? Why should you be the loyal one?”

“Britt.”

“I’m just saying. You’re not married. He clearly doesn’t think he has to try anymore.”

You looked down at your shoes. Her legs. Her dress. Everything you’d worn hoping Mason would say, ‘Jesus, Y/N, I’m lucky.’ But instead, he’d said nothing until you was halfway out the door. “I just wanted him to show up,” you said quietly. “Not even for me. Just… beside me. For once.” Brittany didn’t speak. The silence lingered, just long enough for you to feel the burn of it.

Then Brittany leaned in, her voice low. “You want to make him care?” she said. “Then stop letting him think he’s already won.”

You didn’t answer, you didn’t move but your eyes stayed fixed on the club doors — on the darkness behind them. On the noise. On the idea that maybe, for one night, you could feel something other than disappointment. And inside your bag, your phone buzzed again.

The music hit you like a wave as you stepped back into the club — heat, lights, the press of people, and the sharp scent of sweat and perfume. You couldn’t feel anything anymore and maybe that was the point. Brittany was beside you, all lip gloss and chaos, dragging your back into the crowd like nothing had happened.

“You need another drink,” she shouted over the music.

“I think I’ve had enough.”

“You think,” Brittany scoffed. “That’s your problem. Tonight’s about doing, not thinking.”

She shoved a drink into your hand — something cold, sickly sweet, rimmed with salt. You took it because you didn’t want to think. Not about the argument. Not about the fact that Mason was probably pacing around that stupid glass mansion of his with your name still glowing on his screen. Not about how bad your chest hurt from the weight of his silence before — or how much worse it felt now, with him still texting like he cared after the damage was already done.

The next thirty minutes blurred together. The lights got darker. The bodies got closer. Brittany dragged you from the bar to the booth to the edge of the DJ platform and back again, laughing loud, filming stories, pulling you into frame with every pass. You didn’t resist. You laughed. You drank. You posed with a pout and let Brittany tag you in videos she’d delete by morning and then she saw him. Not Mason. A guy. Tall, dark hair, maybe a few years older. Confident. Already half-cut and grinning like he had every right to speak to you.

“You alright, love?” he asked, leaning close, voice warm and laced with flirt.

You didn’t back away but you didn’t smile, not really — but you didn’t move either.

“I’m fine,” you said, lifting your drink.

“You look it.”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t walk off. Your skin buzzed from the alcohol, from the ache behind your ribs, from the mess of it all. His hand brushed your arm but still, you stayed.

Brittany came up behind you and bumped your hip with a grin. “He’s cute,” she whispered. “Go on.”

“I’m taken.”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

You didn’t respond, the guy leaned in closer now. His arm slipped around your waist — not fully, not rudely, just enough to test the water. You let it happen, only for a second. Only long enough to feel the weight of someone noticing you and wanting you. Your phone buzzed again in your clutch. You didn’t check it but Brittany did. Phone out. Filming. She turned and captured it all — the flashing lights, your drink in one hand, your laughter blurry in the background. And then a clip — short, silent — where the guy leaned in far too close, lips brushing your ear. Your face wasn’t quite readable, but you didn’t stop him and the second Brittany posted it to her story, it lit up like wildfire.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mason was still pacing, still refreshing your Instagram. You hadn’t posted in hours. Not since the night began but Brittany had. Mason clicked on the circle, his thumb trembling. The first clip? Just a pan of the club. Nothing. He exhaled. The second? It was you dancing.

His stomach twisted. You looked stunning — flushed cheeks, red lips, hair tousled from the heat. You was laughing, but it didn’t reach your eyes. His throat tightened. Then the third clip started playing and everything inside him turned to stone. There you was. At the bar. With some guy who was way Too close. The guy leaned in, spoke in your ear. His hand skimming your waist and you didn’t pull away, you didn’t even flinch. You just stood there — smiling, maybe? Or stunned? He couldn’t tell. The music blurred everything, but you let it happen.

He dropped the phone and then picked it back up and watched it again and again. You wasn’t kissing him. Wasn’t touching him back but you didn’t stop him either and Brittany — fucking Brittany — had filmed it and shared it like it was a trophy. Mason’s chest heaved as the room blurred.

He opened their text thread.

Typed: What the fuck is that video. Deleted it.

Typed again: Is that what we are now? You’re letting him touch you like that? Deleted that too.

Finally, he wrote: You’re really letting her post that? You know I’m watching it, right?

He didn’t send it, he couldn’t. He just stared at the blinking cursor because he wasn’t sure what he was angrier at — The video. The guy. Brittany. Or the fact that for one terrible moment, you had let yourself forget he existed.

Mason’s phone read 2:08am. Mason hadn’t sat down in over an hour. The club video played over and over in his head, taunting him with every second you didn’t move away. Your body language. The guy’s hand on your waist. The way you just stood there — frozen, tipsy, swaying to the music like he wasn’t even on your mind anymore. He was spiralling, fully, properly unravelling. His thumb hovered over your name again — your message thread full of blue bubbles. None of them read. He cursed under his breath and hit Call on the only person who might be able to slap sense into him.

It rang twice. Then: “Bro… it’s 2am. Please get off my phone.”

Mason let out a shaky breath. “I can’t sleep.”

“No shit.”

“I saw a video.”

Lewis groaned through the speaker. “This better not be another one of your overthinking meltdowns.”

“She was at the club. Some guy had his hand on her waist.”

“…Right.”

“She didn’t push him off.”

Silence.

“She let him, Lew.”

“You sure she let him? Or are you watching grainy clips from a Brittany Special and reading too much into every pixel?”

“I know what I saw,” Mason muttered.

“Mate. You don’t know what you saw. You saw ten seconds of footage in flashing lights. You don’t know what happened after. You don’t know what happened before.”

“She didn’t even look uncomfortable.”

Lewis exhaled sharply. “You’re not really about to spin out over this girl talking to a guy in a club. After what? You picked a fight, tried to shag her into forgiving you, and then forgot her best mate’s birthday?”

“I know I fucked up.”

“Then stop acting like she owes you perfection when you gave her nothing tonight.”

Mason went quiet.

Lewis softened. “You need to calm down. Go to bed. Let her message you when she’s sobered up and not surrounded by Brittany and whatever Spotify Sex Playlist the DJ’s running.”

“She won’t message me.”

“She will.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

Lewis sighed again. “Then you wait. Or — and this is crazy, I know — you call her in the morning and actually apologise like a grown man instead of treating her like she’s yours to control.”

Mason dragged a hand over his face, pacing again. “I just— I saw her. I saw him.”

“You’re jealous.”

“I’m not—”

“You’re spiralling,” Lewis said. “And you’re lucky you called me instead of texting her something you’ll regret.” But Mason wasn’t listening, his jaw was already tightening. His fingers already flying, not to you but to Brittany. He opened her Instagram. Still active. Still posting. A new story up two minutes ago — a grainy photo of a club table, shots lined up, a blurry selfie of her and you laughing into the lens. Mason zoomed in, you looked wrecked, smudged makeup, glassy eyes.

He opened their message thread.

MASON Why the fuck would you post that video.

Three dots appeared.

Then disappeared.

Then reappeared.

BRITTANY Chill. It’s a club. People dance. Your girl wasn’t naked.

Mason’s blood boiled.

MASON You know exactly what that video looks like.

BRITTANY Oh, sorry, was I meant to ask for your permission before uploading a story on MY birthday?

MASON Don’t play dumb. You filmed that to stir shit.

BRITTANY Or maybe she just looked better next to him than she has next to you lately!

Mason stared at the screen like it had punched him. His jaw clenched so tight it ached.

MASON You’ve always hated me. This is your dream, isn’t it?

BRITTANY I don’t hate you. I just think if you can’t treat her right, someone else will.

MASON Stay the fuck out of our relationship.

BRITTANY Then stop giving her reasons to need me.

He didn’t reply, he couldn’t because as much as he wanted to fire back, his chest was caving in because Brittany might be smug. Petty. A fucking vulture circling their relationship like it was already dead… But right now? She wasn’t wrong.

It was now 3:04am and Mason was still awake. Still wired. Still sick with that gut-heavy mix of fury and panic. He hadn’t moved from the sofa. Just sat there, hoodie sleeves bunched at his elbows, scrolling Brittany’s Instagram with his thumb twitching like an addict waiting for a hit.

It came.

New Story: @britt_xx

He tapped instantly. It started mid-laugh — Brittany’s camera swinging too fast before it steadied. The flash lit up her face. The music was deafening and then the lens turned and there you was, on the dance floor again but this time, the guy was behind you. Dancing. Hands on her hips and you were glassy-eyed, flushed, high off something between drinks and pride  and you didn’t pull away. You wasn’t grinding on him, not explicitly but you didn’t move, didn’t look bothered and Mason felt something in his chest snap.

He stood up like he needed to physically escape the image. His phone almost flew from his hand. His jaw locked so tight it hurt. This wasn’t you, this was whatever the fuck Brittany had turned you into — and Mason let it happen by pushing you out the door and then watching the aftermath from a distance like a fan.

He hit call again - Lewis

Ring. Ring. Ring.

“Jesus Christ, Mason.” His voice came through thick with sleep and venom. “You’ve rung me three times,” Lewis groaned. “At this rate, I might as well sit up with you and stalk their Instagram all night.”

“She’s dancing with him.”

Lewis sighed hard. “Did you not listen to a word I said earlier?”

“She’s letting him touch her again.”

“Mase—”

“He’s behind her. Hands on her hips. She’s not pushing him off. She’s letting it happen. And Brittany’s filming it. Fucking posting it. Tagging her in it.”

He was pacing again. Faster. Steps snapping across the tiles.

“This is exactly what she wanted,” Mason spat. “She wanted me to see. She wanted to get back at me.”

“Maybe she’s just drunk.”

“She doesn’t get like that,” Mason shot back. “Not unless she’s with Brittany. You know what that girl does to her.”

Lewis’s voice softened just slightly. “She’s angry, Mase. You hurt her. She probably doesn’t even realise how it looks right now.”

“I do.”

“Mason, what’s your plan here?” Lewis asked, calmer now. “You going to keep scrolling every ten minutes until you see something that finishes you off completely? Then what?”

Mason stopped and stared at the floor.

“I don’t know.”

“Then let me spell it out,” Lewis said firmly. “You text her. You tell her you’re here when she wants to talk. And then you stop acting like a 18 year old on Snapchat after a breakup.”

Mason didn’t answer.

Lewis sighed again. “She’s not with that guy.”

“You don’t know that.”

“She loves you. She wouldn’t.”

“But I saw—”

“I saw you with someone else once,” Lewis said flatly. “Remember that? Ibiza? You said it was nothing. And I believed you. Because ten-second clips don’t tell the full story.”

That shut Mason up, he dropped back down onto the sofa, head in his hands.

“She’s not trying to destroy you, mate,” Lewis added. “She’s trying to forget because you made her feel like she doesn’t matter.”

Mason’s throat burned. “She looked good tonight,” he said quietly. “So fucking good and I didn’t even tell her that until she was already walking out.”

“Then fix it.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Try anyway.”

The line went quiet, and Mason, for once, didn’t argue. He just sat there — phone screen still open on Brittany’s story, your blurred outline in someone else’s arms — wondering how many more stories it would take before she disappeared from his life completely.

Mason’s thumb trembled on the screen as he refreshed Brittany’s Instagram for what had to be the hundredth time that night. The time now read 4:11am. His eyes stung, he hadn’t blinked properly in ages. The room was dark now — only the light from his phone screen illuminating the hollow of his face and the anxious twitch of his jaw. And then— New story.

His stomach twisted, he tapped. A grainy, chaotic clip appeared — Brittany giggling, filming her feet stepping over a plush hotel carpet. Then a flash of a bed. A guy’s voice in the background. Champagne. Then a very clear mirror selfie — Brittany in the bathroom, makeup smudged, robe slipping off her shoulder. No You. No tags. No group shot. No mention.

Mason sat up so fast he saw stars. “Fuck,” he whispered. “Fuck, fuck.”

Where were you? Why wasn’t she with you? Why the hell was Brittany at a hotel with some guy while you was just— what? Left outside a club? Wandering around Manchester in heels at 4am? He grabbed his keys off the counter. Heart racing. Brain fogged from exhaustion but sparking with panic. He sat back down on the sofa, trying to text, trying to call, trying to think — but the fatigue hit him in a violent wave.

He fought it. He stood up. Paced. Splashing cold water on his face didn’t help. The adrenaline was running out — and his body betrayed him. He didn’t mean to sleep, he didn’t mean to drop onto the sofa, one hand still gripping his phone, his heart still racing under his hoodie but his eyes closed anyway and the next thing he knew—

Bzzz bzzz bzzz His phone vibrated violently in his hand. Incoming call: Y/N ❤️

He shot upright, heart crashing into his throat. He answered instantly. “Hello?”

Your voice hit him, low and tired. “Hey… you wanna pick me up or am I getting a taxi?”

Relief flooded him — quickly overtaken by the worst kind of pettiness. “Oh,” he said, bitter and bone-tired. “I figured you’d be getting a hotel with lover boy.”

There was silence. Then: “Fuck off, Mason.”

Click.

The line went dead. “Wait—Y/N—” But she was gone.

He shot up, keys already in hand. His fingers flew across his screen as he climbed into his car.

Call: Y/N ❤️

Nothing.

Call again.

Voicemail.

He was already pulling out of the driveway, heart in his throat. His GPS lit up — he'd memorised the name of the club from Brittany’s last tagged story. He sped through the early morning fog, city lights smudging against the windscreen. His chest was tight. His mouth dry. Every second ticking by made his panic worse. What if she was alone? What if she’d already left? What if something had happened and he’d slept through it? He called again. And again.

Finally — finally — you picked up.

“What?” your voice was sharp now. Defensive. Tired. “What do you want?”

“I’m on my way,” he said, breathless. “Just stay where you are.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not walking home by yourself at four in the fucking morning, Y/N.”… “I’m ten minutes away,” he muttered. “Just… stay there.”

The passenger door slammed shut harder than necessary, you didn’t look at him. You dropped your clutch in your lap, barefoot now, heels swinging loosely from your fingers. Your legs were pressed tight together, dress rumpled, mascara smudged beneath your eyes. Your hair was half-fallen from the clip you’d worn — the one Mason loved, the one you always wore when you wanted to feel extra beautiful and now you just looked… Gone.

Mason stared through the windscreen, white-knuckled on the steering wheel. He didn’t say anything and neither did you. The car was heavy with it — the smell of vodka and perfume, the tension laced with every unsaid word. The faint hum of the road was the only sound as he pulled away from the kerb. He couldn’t stand the quiet, but he didn’t trust himself to speak yet.

The drive was fifteen minutes and every second of it carved a little deeper. You didn’t look at him once. You just scrolled aimlessly, thumb dragging down your phone, barely focusing. He gripped the wheel harder.

“You alright?” he asked finally.

You let out a laugh, Short and dry. “Why? Gonna accuse me of fucking him again?”

Mason’s jaw clenched. “I didn’t say that.”

“You implied it.”

“I saw the video, Y/N.”

“And what? That gives you the right to treat me like shit the second I call you for a lift?”

“You were wrapped around some guy at 3am and your best mate was off shagging some bloke in a hotel.”

You finally turned, eyes glassy and furious. “And you were fast asleep, weren’t you? Comfortable in your perfect fucking house, scrolling like a psycho instead of checking if I was okay.”

“I tried to check,” he snapped. “You weren’t answering.”

“You didn’t even want to pick me up!”

“You hung up on me!”

“Because you were being a dick!”

“I was worried!”

“You were jealous,” you spat, stabbing a finger in his direction. “You saw a ten-second video of a drunk girl dancing and suddenly I’m some cheating whore who needs to be punished for making you feel like shit.”

Mason’s chest heaved as he turned down a quieter road, his throat tightening. “That’s not what I—”

“You humiliated me before I even stepped out the door,” you cut in. “And then spent the rest of the night watching me from afar like I was your problem instead of your girlfriend.”

“You didn’t look like my girlfriend tonight.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

The silence after that was deafening. You turned away again, breathing hard, hands shaking in your lap. Mason pulled the car into his drive, cut the engine, but made no move to get out. His hands stayed on the wheel. “I hate seeing you like this,” he said finally, voice low and strained.

You scoffed. “Yeah? You should try being me.”

“I mean it, Y/N. You’re barefoot. You’re half-cut. You were left outside a club at four in the morning—again.”

“I called you, didn’t I?”

“Only after everyone else left.”

“I didn’t want to call you,” you snapped, turning back to him. “I didn’t want to need you. But I didn’t have a choice, did I? Because Brittany got bored and fucked off and there was no one left.”

Mason stared at you and there it was — the truth under all of it. The rage. The pride. The loneliness you never admitted.

“I hate her,” he said coldly.

“Well that’s convenient,” you laughed bitterly. “She hates you too.”

“She uses you.”

“She doesn’t abandon me when it’s inconvenient.”

“She left you at a club, Y/N.”

“So did you,” you said. Quieter. Sharper, that one landed and Mason blinked.

“I tried to kiss you because I didn’t know what else to do,” he muttered.

“I don’t want your body when your heart’s not in the room.”

His throat burned. “My heart’s always with you.”

You laughed again — humourless. “No, Mase. It’s with Manchester. With training. With whatever public image you’ve got to protect this week. I’m just… the mess you get to clean up when you’ve got the time.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Neither is forgetting I exist until I’m wearing heels and storming out the door!”

“I told you, you looked nice—”

“You tried to fuck an apology into me, Mason.”

He slammed a hand against the steering wheel, loud enough to make her jump.

“I. Don’t. Know. How to fix this,” he barked. “I don’t know what you want me to say anymore!”

“I wanted you to show up!”

“I didn’t ask you to travel for me!”

“Then why do I keep doing it?!”

You were both breathing hard now, eyes locked, tears starting to sting in yours and fire burning behind his. You shoved the door open. “I’m sleeping in the spare room.”

“Y/N—”

You turned back to him, voice cracking. “I can’t talk to you like this. I’ll say something I won’t take back.” He didn’t stop you. He just sat there, engine off, chest caving in as the door slammed behind you and your footsteps disappeared into the hallway. The house was silent again and he didn’t know if it would ever sound like home without your voice in it.

The slam of the door echoed through the house long after you had disappeared down the hall. Mason stayed in the car for a moment longer, hands gripping the steering wheel like it was all that tethered him to the earth. The windows fogged. The adrenaline wore off and in its place sat something colder. Quieter. He pushed the door open and climbed out into the darkness, slamming it shut behind him with less force than he wanted to. His body was begging for sleep. His brain was screaming for peace but all he could see was the look on your face when you  said, “You tried to fuck an apology into me.”

He climbed the stairs slowly. Quietly. Like that might somehow soften the chaos they’d already carved through the night. The hallway light was still on. Your bedroom door open and empty. The spare room — the one you always threw your suitcase in when you stayed over — was closed, that’s where you was now.

Mason stood in front of it, heart thudding, he could hear the faint rustle of sheets. A sniff. A creak of the mattress. You was awake. Of course you was awake.

He knocked once — soft.

Silence.

He pressed his forehead against the wood and let his eyes close for a second. “I know you don’t wanna hear me right now,” he said quietly, “but I don’t wanna fight anymore.”

Still nothing.

“I’ve got training in two hours,” he added, a little rougher. “Please, Y/N/N. I’m wrecked. Can we just—”

The door opened so fast he almost fell into it. You stood there in one of his hoodies — sleeves too long, hair tied up now, face still streaked from where your makeup had run. Her eyes were red but  you didn’t look tired, you looked done.

“Well that’s convenient,” you said, arms folded. “That you only wanna apologise so you can get two hours of sleep before training.”

Mason blinked, caught off guard. “That’s not—”

“You wanna apologise for you, not for me,” you said, quieter now. “You wanna sleep with a clean conscience. Not because you actually understand what you did.”

“I do understand.”

“Do you?” your voice cracked. “Because all night I’ve been walking around with nothing in my stomach but vodka and bile and the sound of your voice in my head making me feel like a slut.”

His chest hollowed.

“I didn’t say that,” he whispered.

“But you meant it,” she snapped. “You meant it when you said I didn’t look like your girlfriend. When you implied I was going to a hotel with some guy. When you acted like I was dirty just for dancing.”

“I was angry.”

“Angry doesn’t erase what you said.”

Mason ran a hand through his hair, pacing back from the door, then stepping forward again. “I can’t do this right now, Y/N/N. I’m—”

“No,” you said, stepping out now too. “You don’t get to shut this down because you’re tired. You started this fight. You picked it the second you forgot my night even mattered.”

“I said I was sorry—”

“No,” she cut him off. “You tried to kiss me better. You didn’t even say the word until I was in the club and Brittany was dragging me to the bar and you were probably at home liking bikini pics and pretending to give a shit.”

He flinched. “That’s not fair.”

“Neither is being treated like I only exist when I’m a problem.”

Silence. You was breathing hard now, shoulders rising and falling. Mason stared at you — wrecked, furious, and somehow still the most beautiful thing in the house.

He swallowed. “I was scared,” he said finally. “When I saw that video, when I saw him… I thought—”

“You thought I stopped loving you.”

The air shifted. You wasn’t shouting anymore. Just standing there. Exposed. He nodded slowly. “Yeah. I did.”

You looked away then, your voice dropped to almost nothing. “Then maybe that says more about how little you think of me than what I actually did.” You didn’t wait for him to respond, you just stepped back inside the spare room and shut the door in his face.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mason's boots hit the turf like dead weight, the sun was too bright. His mouth tasted like sleep and shame. The grass beneath his studs blurred every time he blinked too long. He hadn’t said a word all morning, not when he got out of bed. Not when he showered. Not when he passed the spare room door, still closed tight with no sound inside. Not even when he checked his phone for the hundredth time and still found it silent. No texts. No missed calls. Not even a fucking read receipt. You was ghosting him in his own house and now, here he was, warming up with the lads like nothing had happened — like he hadn’t spent the entire night watching you hate him in real-time.

His first touch was off, his second was worse. He misread a drill he could’ve done in his sleep, and the ball skimmed off his boot and rolled out of bounds.

“Oi!” came the shout from somewhere behind him. “Wake up, Mount.” Mason shook his head, tried to blink away the static. His chest was tight under his training vest.

From across the pitch, Lewis was watching him, not subtly. Mason ignored him.

“Again,” The trainer barked. “Come on. Focus.”

They reset the drill. Mason got through it, barely. One decent pass. One half-decent sprint but every time he paused, his thoughts went back to last night — to your voice behind the spare room door, sharp and exhausted. “You wanna apologise for you, not for me.”

He hadn’t even known what to say back to that. He still didn’t. “Mount,” Shaw called. “You alright, lad?”

Mason nodded stiffly. “Fine.”

Shaw didn’t look convinced. Lewis jogged over a few minutes later when they were switching drills. “You look like shit,” he muttered under his breath.

“Cheers.”

“Did you sleep at all?”

Mason didn’t answer. Lewis looked at him again. “She’s still not speaking to you?”

“She shut the door in my face.”

“Right,” Lewis said quietly. “So this is going well.”

Mason shot him a glare, but Lewis didn’t back down. “Mate, you’re rattled,” he said simply. “And I’m not saying that to wind you up. But if you don’t sort your head, someone else’s boot’s gonna do it for you in a drill.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not. You’re half-asleep. You’re sulking. And if you don’t benched by lunch, I’ll be shocked.”

Mason looked away. Swallowed. “I just… I don’t know what to say to her.”

“Start with sorry,” Lewis said. “Then maybe ‘I fucked it,’ and then maybe something that doesn’t sound like you’re asking for forgiveness just so you can sleep again.”

“I already said sorry.”

“Yeah, and she didn’t buy it.”

Mason wiped a hand down his face, jaw clenched so hard it ached. “She hates me.”

“No, she doesn’t.”

“She looked at me like I was a stranger.”

Lewis went quiet for a moment. “Then remind her who you are.” Mason didn’t answer because right now, he wasn’t sure who the hell that even was.

Lewis was home when his phone buzzed beside him. He almost ignored it but something in him made him glance anyway.

1 new message – Y/N

His chest tightened, he hadn’t heard from you directly in weeks. You had always been close with Lewis, and Lewis always liked you the best out of all the girlfriends Mason has had, Lewis sees you as a little sister now. However, something was different lately, your silence and distant had made him worry. He tapped the message.

Y/N hey. just needed someone to talk to. it’s not good x

Lewis stared at it for a long second. Then he took a breath, sat forward, and typed.

Lewis You okay? Do you want to talk now?

Three dots appeared. Paused. Disappeared. Came back.

Y/N i’m just… really tired. don’t feel like myself lately. feel stupid for texting, sorry

Lewis You’re not stupid. You’re overwhelmed. I get it.

Y/N Mase isn’t speaking to me. Or I’m not speaking to him. Or both. It’s a mess.

Lewis leaned back on the sofa, he knew you was proud. Knew you didn’t show this side to many people.

Lewis Do you want to come here for a bit? I can meet you after work. Or now.

Y/N I’m still at his haven’t seen him since he left for training feels weird being in a house with someone you can’t even look at

Lewis sighed, he knew that feeling too well.

Lewis You don’t have to stay there if it’s not good for your head. I’m not taking sides. Just offering you somewhere neutral if you need it.

There was a long pause, you didn’t reply but you read it. He stared at the message for a moment, then locked his phone and stood up and debated calling Mason. Ten minutes later, he gave in and pulled his phone back out and rang Mason. It rang twice.

“Yo,” came Mason’s voice — strained, flat.

Lewis didn’t bother warming up. “I just spoke to her.”

Silence on the line and Mason inhaled sharply. “You what?”

“She texted me.”

“You’re joking.”

“No. She’s still at yours.”

“I know, I checked the ring doorbell and haven’t seen her leave”

“She’s not okay.”

Mason exhaled, low and sharp. “Yeah, well. Neither am I.”

“This isn’t a competition, Mase.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

“She’s shutting down.”

“I know she is—”

“No, you don’t,” Lewis cut in, sharp now. “You think she’s being dramatic or punishing you, but she’s hurting. Properly hurting. She said she doesn’t feel like herself. She said she feels stupid for even texting me.”

Mason didn’t respond and Lewis softened a little. “Mate. You can be mad at each other. You can be bruised and proud and fucked up all you want. But if she’s in your house and she feels alone, you’ve already lost.”

Another long pause. Then Mason’s voice — quiet, hoarse. “What do I do?”

“Don’t try to fix it all in one night.”

“I already did that,” Mason muttered. “Didn’t work.”

“Start smaller, then.”

“Like what?”

“Like letting her know you’re still in this. Even if she doesn’t wanna hear it right now.”

Mason was quiet for a long time. Then: “She’s not gonna come out of that room.”

“Then sit outside it.”

Lewis ended the call before Mason could say anything else, and Mason makes his way home to the fire.

As he arrived home the door clicked shut behind him with a softness that didn’t match the storm building in his chest. Mason dropped his bag in the hallway, No sound. No footsteps. No movement. No slam of a cupboard or click of the kettle. Just the same smothering silence that had greeted him all morning. The house didn’t feel like home anymore. It felt like a hotel hallway — sterile and quiet, just waiting for someone to check out. He walked slowly up the stairs, dragging his fingers along the banister, dreading what he might find and fearing what he wouldn’t. The spare room door was still closed. He stood in front of it for a moment, heartbeat crawling up his throat. He knocked — soft, barely audible but there was no answer.

So he did the worst thing he could do, he opened it anyway. The door creaked and revealed you sitting on the edge of the bed, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, a glass of water in your lap. Your eyes snapped up the moment the door opened.

“What are you doing?” you asked, sharp.

“I just—” Mason hesitated, his throat dry. “I wanted to talk.”

“You couldn’t knock?”

“I did knock.”

“You could’ve waited.”

“I didn’t want to wait.”

“Of course not,” you said, setting the glass down hard on the bedside table. “Why would Mason Mount ever wait for something when he can just barge in and take it?”

His mouth twisted. “Don’t start.”

“Too late.”

Mason stepped further into the room. “I spoke to Lewis.”

“I know.”

“He told me you texted.”

You looked away. “I was upset.”

“I gathered.”

Silence. Then— “You could’ve texted me,” Mason muttered.

You scoffed. “Right. Because that’s worked out so well lately.”

“I’ve been trying, Y/N/N. I’ve been trying since the minute you got in the car.”

“No,” you snapped, standing now. “You’ve been spiralling. You’ve been watching Instagram stories and throwing tantrums and trying to own the situation instead of actually fixing it.”

“I was scared—”

“You were jealous.”

“Same thing when you’re in love with someone!”

Her breath caught. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

“Don’t do that,” he said, jaw tight. “Don’t act like I don’t care about you. Like I haven’t dropped everything to be there when it actually counts.”

“When it’s convenient,” you fired back. “When it’s dramatic. When it’s your hero moment. But in the boring, real-life stuff? You forget me. You forget me.”

Mason’s hands curled into fists. “That’s not true.”

“Last night—”

“ I forgot, Y/N. It was one night.”

“It was my night out. It was my friends birthday all I wanted was for ONE time not to show up on my own!”

“And I apologised—”

“No. You kissed my neck and told me I looked hot and tried to shag the fight out of me.”

“I didn’t know what else to do!”

“That’s the problem, Mason!” you shouted. “You don’t know how to deal with anything that isn’t easy or pretty or dripping in sex. You don’t talk, you don’t listen, you just react.”

His voice broke. “I was trying to hold onto you.”

“You’re losing me,” she said, quieter now. “And you don’t even see how.”

He took a step back like she’d hit him. “I never wanted this to be hard,” he said. “I never wanted to fight with you like this.”

“But here we are,” you whispered.

Another silence. Heavy. Final. Mason’s eyes dropped to your suitcase — already on the floor by the wardrobe. Half-packed. Your toiletries beside it, his chest caved in.

“Where are you going?”

You didn’t look at him. “Y/N.”

“I’m going home.”

His throat tightened. “So that’s it?”

“I need space.”

“From me?”

“From this.”

He shook his head. “No. You don’t get to blow up my life and then run off to Y/H/T like we didn’t just—”

“Say things we didn’t mean?” you cut in, voice shaking. “Like we didn’t ruin whatever we were trying to build?”

He was silent. “I can’t breathe in this house,” you said, voice cracking. “Not when you’re pacing outside the door like I’m a problem to fix instead of a person.”

“I’m trying to be there.”

“You’re trying to win.”

That one landed. He stepped back again. “So go, then.”

You froze. His voice was low, tired. “If you really think I don’t love you… if you really think this is all one big ego trip… then go.”

You blinked fast and started zipping the suitcase. Mason didn’t move, he didn’t speak. He just stood there — a statue in his own doorway — as the love of his life packed a bag like he wasn’t even in the room.

The front door didn’t slam, that almost made it worse. You didn’t shout, you didn’t break anything. Didn’t even give him one last look. You just rolled your suitcase over the threshold, pulled the door gently behind you, and left. Just like that, you was gone.

Mason stood in the hallway long after the quiet settled. After the soft click of the latch. After the distant sound of her car door, the engine, the wheels crunching over gravel.

His hands were still clenched. His chest still heaving.

But his voice was gone.

He hadn’t said “don’t go.”

He hadn’t said “stay.”

He hadn’t said anything.

His throat ached from all the words he’d screamed that morning — and all the ones he hadn’t.

You’re not a problem. I do see you. I’m sorry I forgot. Please don’t stop choosing me.

But it was too late now. He turned slowly, dragging himself up the stairs. Not to the guest room. Not to hers. To the bedroom they used to share. The one where her perfume still clung to the pillows. Where one of her earrings still sat in the trinket dish by the lamp.

He collapsed onto the bed fully dressed and stared at the ceiling. He didn’t cry, not at first. He just laid there. Frozen. Numb. Listening to the echo of her voice in his head.

“You don’t know how to deal with anything that isn’t easy or pretty or dripping in sex.”

He hadn’t even tried to defend himself after that because she was right and that terrified him.

1 new message – Brittany

His phone lit up from the bedside table.

He ignored it.

It buzzed again.

2 new messages – Brittany

He reached for it with a groan and unlocked the screen.

Brittany Heard she has gone back to Y/H/T. Didn’t take her long! I did say she was going to snap eventually.

His jaw locked, another ping.

Brittany If you need a distraction… you know where I am xx

Mason dropped the phone on his chest like it burned. Of course she’d be circling. Of course she’d be watching from the sidelines like a vulture. He rubbed a hand over his face, resisting the urge to throw the phone across the room. But another message came through before he could.

Brittany Just saying… I’d never storm out on you like that. Even when you’re being a moody prick. She is angry with me too if it helps because I left her in the club. It was my birthday, and she is moaning about what I decided to do. Anyway babe, if you wanna rant I am here xxx

He shot upright. Thumbs flying.

Mason Don’t fucking text me. You’ve caused enough.

The typing bubbles popped up instantly.

Brittany Oh please. Don’t blame this all on me. If your girlfriend’s that unstable, maybe she’s not the one.

He did throw the phone that time, It hit the carpet with a dull thud and then he sat there, alone, shaking. It wasn’t just you leaving that broke him. It was why, because somewhere along the line, you stopped feeling safe with him and he had no one to blame but himself.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Y/H/T felt smaller than you remembered. Your suitcase hit the hallway floor with a quiet thunk. Your mum met you with a cautious smile and arms that didn’t let go for too long. Your dad hovered behind you, awkward with the emotion of it all, asking if you’d eaten, if you was tired, if she wanted the kettle on. You hadn’t said much, just nodded and hugged them. Just cried into your mum’s cardigan before slipping upstairs to your childhood bedroom, curling into the duvet, and pretending you didn’t miss his side of the bed.

Your phone stayed on silent the whole time, you didn’t want to see the notifications. You didn’t want to read the messages he’d definitely sent. You didn’t want to be reminded of the fact that you still hadn’t replied to:

Let me know when you get there safe x

Or the one that followed:

I know you’re mad. I just want to know you’re okay x

Or the one that hit her like a sledgehammer when she read it three hours later:

I deserve this. I know that. I am sorry x

You locked the phone, turned it over and gone back to sleep.

Monday came quickly and work was… numbing. Your inbox was overflowing and calls lined up before you even finished your first cup of tea. The pile of paperwork on oury desk felt taller than you remembered. It helped, sort of. Routine was a distraction but every break room conversation, every Teams ping, every look from your colleague Amber that lasted too long made you feel seen in a way you didn’t want to be. You knew people knew.

Amber cornered you at lunch. “You alright, babe?”

You nodded.

“You don’t look alright.”

“I’m just tired.”

“Is he texting you?”

You hesitated. “Yeah.”

“You replying?”

“No.”

Amber’s brows rose, but she didn’t say anything. Just offered you half her KitKat and squeezed your hand under the table.

The week was long, you still not replied to Mason and you just put your whole mind into work. Friday night came and it was your colleague Emily’s birthday, which meant drinks, which meant heels, which meant… forcing yourself into a version of you, that you hadn’t felt like in weeks.

“You’re coming to the next bar,” Emily insisted, tugging on your wrist as they queued outside the new bar. “You said you’d come. You need this.”

“I look like a ghost.”

“You look hot. Sad-hot. Tragic girl era. Very Bella Hadid post-breakup. Men love that.”

Amber snorted behind them. “God help us.”

The bar was packed. Emily had booked a booth for all your work. There were margaritas and cheap prosecco and an office playlist Emily had clearly spent hours curating. You let yourself drink. Not like before — not like that night — but just enough to feel the sting in her chest dull.

You laughed at someone’s joke, danced. And you even let Tom — the sweet policy guy from downstairs — sit a little too close and rest a hand on your back when she stood up. A photo was taken by one of the girls — maybe Emily, maybe Jess —  and uploaded it to her story and tagged you in it.

A flash of neon. A clinking glass. Tom’s hand on your waist. Your head thrown back in a laugh.

It lasted ten seconds and you didn’t even see it go up.

Meanwhile… Mason was on the sofa, his phone in one hand, TV remote in the other. The match was on mute. The messages he’d sent were still left on read — or worse, unread altogether. He shouldn’t have looked. He knew he shouldn’t have.

But Lewis had warned him days ago: “You keep checking her socials like this, you’re gonna drive yourself insane.”

And yet here he was, thumb scrolling, eyes burning, until he saw it.

Y/N was tagged in a story:

My girl’s healing era 💅💋

The photo. Some guys arm. Your smile. Mason dropped his phone. Stared at the ceiling. Heart thudding like a fucking kick drum. You was laughing- with another guy. In a bar he’d never set foot in, in a town he was never invited to and his mouth twisted.

And then— Almost on reflex— He opened a different chat.

Mason You still up?

Three seconds later:

Brittany Always. What’s up trouble?

He didn’t even think. He just typed.

Mason You free?

Back in Y/H/T you didn’t check your phone until you was in the Uber home, you felt lightheaded. The prosecco had caught up with you. You squinted at the brightness of the screen — and then froze.

MASON  💔 6 new messages

You clicked.

So this is what moving on looks like? Cool. You looked real comfortable. Didn’t know the guy but glad he made you laugh. Enjoy it. I messaged Brittany btw. Thought you’d love that.

Your blood ran cold, your ears rang. You stared at the screen like it had personally slapped her. Your fingers were shaking as you typed.

Y/N You don’t get to weaponise the one person you know would hurt me. Not because you got jealous of a fucking photo. You think this is me moving on? This is me coping. This is me not drowning.

No reply. Just read receipts. The same silence you’d given him, now it is flipped and god, it stung.

Mason shouldn’t have texted Brittany, but the house was too quiet. The sofa too big and the photo — that fucking photo of you with your head tipped back, laughing, that guy’s hand around your waist — had shattered something inside him. It didn’t try and talk it through with you, he hadn’t even tried. Instead, he messaged the one person he shouldn’t have.

It was just past midnight when there was a knock at the door. The knock was light. A little too enthusiastic. He opened the door to Brittany leaning on the frame like she was posing for a fashion shoot — windblown hair, messy eyeliner, a cropped hoodie that barely reached her ribs, and a bottle of rosé in one hand.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” she said, pushing past him without waiting.

“Didn’t ask you to dress like that,” he muttered.

“Oh please,” she grinned, kicking her trainers off and padding toward the kitchen. “You didn’t not ask either.”

He followed reluctantly, hands in his hoodie pocket, watching her pour herself a glass of wine without permission.

She nodded at him. “Drink?”

He shrugged, he hadn’t thought this far ahead. He just hadn’t wanted to be alone.

They sat on the sofa, not touching, not talking much. She curled her feet under her, eyeing him like he was some kind of stray cat she could coax closer.

“I saw the story,” she said eventually.

“What story?”

She raised a brow. “The one with her and that guy. Looked cosy.” He didn’t answer. Brittany leaned in, her voice a purr. “Bet that hurt, huh?”

He drained the last of his wine and set the glass down harder than necessary. “Not here to talk about her.”

“No?” she tilted her head. “Why am I here then?”

He didn’t reply. She moved closer. “You’ve got that look in your eye, Mase. Like you want to break something just to hear it crack.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re lonely.”

He turned. “What’s your point?”

“My point,” she said, shifting beside him, her thigh brushing his, “is that I know what this is. I know what you need.”

“I don’t need anything.”

“Lie,” she whispered, and kissed him. It was fast. Hot. Familiar. Her hand found his jaw, her mouth slanted over his, and for a split second — just a moment — he didn’t stop it. He let it happen. He was hurting, and you was gone, and Brittany was here.

Her nails curled into his hoodie, pulling him closer. Her leg slid across his lap. He made a noise in the back of his throat — frustration, shame, need — and kissed her again. He didn’t notice her phone. Didn’t see the camera flipped, the flash off, the angle framed perfectly.

Click.

He was too lost in it. In her tongue against his teeth, in her breathy sigh, in her fingers sliding beneath the hem of his hoodie. And then— “You want me to send it to her?”

His eyes snapped open.

“What?”

Brittany smirked, breathless, still straddling him. “The photo.”

His stomach dropped. “What photo?”

She held up her phone. A perfect shot — her body draped across him, her mouth on his jaw, his eyes half-closed like he was into it.

“You’re sick,” he said.

“Come on,” she teased, trailing her mouth down to his neck. “You brought me here for a reason. This’ll push her right over the edge.”

“No—”

“You said you wanted her to feel something. You think that photo with lover boy was accidental? You think she cares how it makes you feel?”

Her hand dropped lower. Too low and his whole body stiffened.

“Stop.” Brittany froze. “Get off me.”

She rolled her eyes, staying exactly where she was. “Jesus. You’re such a tease.”

“This was a mistake.”

“You think?”

“I didn’t want a photo. I didn’t want this. I was pissed off and I called the wrong person—”

“Wrong person,” she repeated, something mean glittering in her eyes. “You didn’t seem to mind when my mouth was on yours.”

He shoved her gently off his lap, standing up and pacing to the other side of the room. “Fuck’s sake, Brittany.”

She stood, slow and smug. “You really are pathetic.”

“You were supposed to be her friend.”

“And you’re supposed to be the boyfriend, but clearly she didn’t want that either.”

His voice dropped. “Delete the photo.”

“No.”

“I swear to God—”

“What? You’ll tell Y/N?” she laughed. “Please do. Then I’ll tell her how quick you were to kiss me back.”

He shook his head, heart pounding. “You’re toxic.”

“You’re desperate,” she snapped, snatching up her bag and her phone. “You don’t care who you hurt as long as you feel something.”

“I told you to stop and you didn’t. You crossed a line.”

She rolled her eyes. “Grow up. You wanted it.”

“No. I wanted Y/N. And you’re not her.”

The silence stretched between them like a wire ready to snap.

Then Brittany scoffed. “Enjoy your lonely little pity party.”

The door slammed behind her and Mason stood there, fists clenched, chest heaving, neck still burning from her kiss — the ghost of it like a bruise he couldn’t wipe away.

And in his mind?

Only one word screamed loud enough to cut through the rest- Y/N

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mason couldn’t stop sending you messages:

You up?

Sent.

Please just say something

Sent.

You can call me. Any time. I mean it.

Sent.

I know I messed up. I keep messing up. But I swear to god I didn’t mean to hurt you.

Sent.

Mason stared at his screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard, watching the messages hang there like desperate little flags in the silence.

No reply.

Just grey ticks.

No “read,” no typing bubbles.

He tossed the phone onto the sofa beside him and sat back with a groan, running both hands through his hair. The TV flickered noiselessly in the corner — some old match highlights, a bit of commentary he couldn’t focus on. It had been hours since Brittany left, the house still smelled like her perfume, the back of his neck still burned from her mouth, his lips still tasted like guilt.

He’d showered — twice. Changed into clean clothes. Poured a drink and then tipped it out untouched. Every minute that passed without hearing from you clawed a little deeper under his skin. He was stupid for letting Brittany come over. Stupid for letting it get that far. Stupid for not seeing through the act until it was too late. He wasn’t even sure if she’d sent the photo. She said she would but she also said a lot of things. He stared at the phone again. At the empty lock screen. The clock ticking closer to 4am. He typed out one more message. Just one.

I miss you xx

And this time he didn’t hit send. He dropped the phone on the table, leaned back into the cushions, and let sleep finally drag him under.

He was woken by the sound of his phone buzzing. He startled awake, heart racing, hand fumbling for the phone like it was a lifeline. Notifications lit up the screen — Instagram. Direct message tags. Someone posted to a close friends story. His stomach sank.

@britt_xx  had added a story to her green circle. His thumb trembled as he opened it and there it was. The photo. Not a regular post. Not even visible to everyone — just her Close Friends but he knew who definitely had access. It was the one she took mid-kiss — the shot that blurred the lines between guilt and want. His hoodie crumpled in her fists. Her body curled into his. The angle perfect. Too perfect. It wasn’t explicit. No one outside the situation would clock it but you would. You knew his sofa, his coffee table — the one with the tiny chip on the corner, his personalised mug in the background — Number 1 Bro — a gift from Lewis three Christmases ago, you would know exactly where that photo was taken and worse, you didn’t know he stopped it in time.

“Fuck,” Mason breathed, standing so fast he nearly knocked over the empty glass on the table.

He opened your messages, still no reply but he started typing.

Y/N please. That photo — it’s not what it looks like. I swear I didn’t know she took it. I wasn’t thinking straight. I shouldn’t have let her in. I shouldn’t have—

He stopped. Deleted the whole thing, and he tried again.

Please don’t believe what you saw x

But the words sounded pathetic even to him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You didn’t check your socials until you was in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil, your mum was outside, watering plants and your dad had left for work already. The house was quiet. Normal. Safe and then your phone buzzed.

@britt_xx  added to their story — Close Friends

You wasn’t even sure why you hadn’t removed yourself from Brittany’s list after everything. Curiosity, maybe or stupidity. You clicked it without thinking — the green circle glowing in the corner of your feed like a trap and there it was. Your heart stopped. The photo. Brittany’s body draped across Mason’s. Her face nuzzled into his neck. One of his hands gripping her hip. His hoodie crumpled. The little white mug in the background. Your vision blurred and the kettle shrieked, but you didn’t move. She just stood there, staring because no one else would notice it — but you knew that living room like your own. You’d had tea from that mug a hundred times. You’d sat on that sofa in that exact spot, your legs curled up beneath you, laughing at the way Mason could never find the remote.

Your knees gave out before the scream did, you sat on the kitchen floor, phone still clutched in your hand like it might burn a hole through your palm. There were no words, no messages, no explanations. Just proof , proof that less than 48 hours after you walked out — he’d let her in.

The moment the story hit, Mason was ringing you, all calls declined and sent to voicemail. He paced his kitchen barefoot, hoodie still unzipped from the night before, eyes bloodshot and voice hoarse from shouting at no one. “Pick up, pick up, pick up…” He sent another message. Then another:

Y/N I swear to god it’s not what it looks like. I didn’t know she took it. Please talk to me. Please. Just let me explain.

He refreshed the story again, it was still there, still visible, still that same blurred, too-intimate photo with the unmistakable shape of him at the centre and it was obvious You’d seen it. You always had your phone in the morning. You always opened Instagram while the kettle boiled. He could picture it — the exact moment you saw it, the exact way your face would crumple. He felt sick. He was already halfway through typing a fifth message when his phone started ringing. Your name lit up the screen.

Y/N 💛

His thumb froze over the answer button. His heart stopped. And then surged into a gallop. He answered.

“Y/N/N—”

“Are you fucking serious?!”

Your voice was sharp and raw, every word laced with fury and disbelief. “Y/N—please—just let me explain—”

“You want to explain what, Mason? That my best friend was straddling you less than two days after I left?!”

“I didn’t know she was taking a photo—”

“Oh shut up! It’s not about the photo! It’s about the fact she was in your house. Your hoodie was halfway off. Her mouth was on your neck!”

He flinched like you’d slapped him. “It wasn’t what it looked like—”

“Oh my god,” you breathed, voice trembling now. “You actually went there. You actually did it. You slept with her.”

“I didn’t!”

“Don’t lie to me!”

He shouted it before he could stop himself: “You got with your colleague!”

Silence.

Then your voice, cold and shaking: “Excuse me?”

“That guy. The one in the story. With his hands on your waist. You were laughing with him like—”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” you snapped, cutting him off. “He had his hand on my back for one photo. I laughed at a joke. I left alone. I went back to my parents. Alone.” You paused, and then your voice cracked — soft and trembling and furious all at once. “We haven’t even officially broken up, Mason. We didn’t sit down, we didn’t talk, we didn’t say it was over. And you—you invited her in. You kissed her. You let her crawl all over you like I never mattered.”

“That’s not true,” he said, but it sounded weak.

“You’re telling me you didn’t kiss her back?”

“I…” His breath hitched. “It just—happened.” Your silence was deafening. “I wasn’t thinking, Y/N/N.”

“Oh, that makes it so much better,” you spat. “You weren’t thinking. Brilliant.”

“I was hurting. I thought I’d lost you—”

“So you fucked the one person who’s hurt me more than anyone else?”

“I didn’t fuck her!”

“Do you really think that’s the part that matters right now?”

He didn’t know what to say, he stood there, phone pressed to his ear, heart thudding, knowing you was right. Knowing every second of that night had been a choice. Even if he didn’t plan it — he’d let it get that far and now you hated him for it.

“Y/N,” he tried again, voice cracking. “Please. Don’t let that photo be the thing that ends us.”

You let out a harsh laugh. “Oh babe. We ended before the flash even went off.” He physically recoiled, you sniffed. “I thought I knew you.”

“You do know me. You do—”

“I know that coffee table. I know that mug. I know that stupid corner of your sofa where you always make me curl up. You didn’t even think about hiding the evidence, Mason. You didn’t even try.”

“I didn’t know—”

“You knew what you were doing the second you let her through that door.” A pause and then you continued barely a whisper  “I hope it was worth it.”

The line went dead, Mason stood in the middle of his kitchen, holding the phone to his ear like if he didn’t put it down, the silence wouldn’t feel so final, but it did. It felt like the end.

Lewis didn’t knock, he stormed into the Mason’s house like he owned it — trainers loud against the floor, a face like thunder, and a printed screenshot clutched in his fist. Mason was half-dressed in training gear, he looked up.

“Jesus, Lew, you ever heard of knocking—”

“You slept with Brittany?”

The room fell silent, Mason blinked. “What?”

“Don’t fucking play dumb,” Lewis growled, flinging the screenshot onto the bench. “She sent Y/N photos. You. Her. In your house. Hickeys on her chest.”

Mason paled. “I didn’t sleep with her.”

“Don’t lie to me—”

“I swear to God, Lewis—” Mason stood, voice rising, “—I didn’t. We kissed. It got heated. Then I stopped it. I told her to leave.”

Lewis snorted. “Oh, brilliant. You think that’s a win? ‘Oh, well done, Mase, you only made out with your girlfriend’s best mate and then decided to grow a conscience’?”

Mason ran a hand through his hair, jaw tight. “I was in a bad place.”

“You don’t say.”

“I thought Y/N had moved on. That guy in the photo—”

“Oh fuck off, man,” Lewis snapped. “A hand on her waist and you spiral like that? And now she’s back in Y/H/T, sobbing in her mum’s arms, thinking you shagged her best mate while she was crying herself to sleep.”

Mason flinched. “I didn’t—”

“Brittany sent photos.”

“She faked them.”

Lewis froze.

“What?”

“She faked them,” Mason repeated, quieter this time. “The hickeys. The shot of her in my bed. I was never near her like that. Not after I told her to stop.”

Lewis stared at him, processing and then: “So you’re telling me she lied to Y/N.”

“Yes.”

“Fucking hell.”

Mason sat back on the kitchen stool, eyes dull with exhaustion. “She played me. Played both of us. Took the photo without me knowing. And now she thinks the worst because Brittany made it look like the worst.”

Lewis didn’t say anything for a long moment, then he picked up his phone, unlocked it, and swiped to his texts. “Here,” he said, voice grim, turning the screen toward Mason.

It was your message.

Forwarded: Screenshot from Brittany — a photo of two purple-red marks on her hip. Caption: “He left these last night. You should probably stop crying over him x”

Underneath, your text to Lewis:

I can’t believe he fucked her. I really thought he’d never do this to me.

Mason went still, his stomach dropped. His hands trembled. The guilt flooded back, worse now, because this wasn’t just pain — this was humiliation. you was being humiliated by the person you once trusted most. He swallowed hard. “I didn’t. I swear to God, Lew. I didn’t touch her like that.”

“Then why the fuck did you even let her in?”

Mason exploded, “Because I was broken, alright?!” he shouted. “Because I hadn’t slept. Because I thought I’d lost her. Because I saw that photo with the guy and thought I was done. Because I’m a fucking idiot!”

Silence filled the kitchen and Mason’s breath was heavy, his voice shaking. Mason looked up, eyes red. “I didn’t want Brittany. I wanted Y/N. I just… I didn’t know how to handle losing her.”

Lewis stepped back, disgust curling at the corner of his mouth. “You think this is about you?”

Mason blinked. “What?”

“You think all this pain is about you?” Lewis repeated, incredulous. “She was hurting too. You both were. But she didn’t crawl into someone else’s bed. She didn’t send you fake photos or try to make you jealous. She left quietly, Mason. And you punished her for it.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“But you did. You wanted to hurt her back.”

Mason sat down, face in his hands. “I know,” he whispered. “I know I fucked up.”

Lewis’ voice dropped. “You didn’t just fuck up. You burned it down.”

Mason didn’t reply, he didn’t have anything left to say.

That afternoon Mason knew what he had to do, he had to confront Brittany. He didn’t text. He didn’t call, he just showed up. He only knew where she lived as Mason had to pick you up from there once, when once again Brittnay got you smashed and you couldn’t stop being sick. Mason’s fist banged once, twice, three times on Brittany’s flat door — hard enough to rattle the frame. She opened it in a slouchy jumper, holding an iced coffee and a smug little smile.

“Well if it isn’t Loverboy,” she said. “Took you long enough.”

“Don’t fucking play cute with me.”

“Oh,” she blinked, stepping back. “So we’re doing the rage and regret combo now? Sexy.”

Mason walked in, slamming the door shut behind him. “You told Y/N we slept together?”

Her brow arched. “Well. Didn’t we?”

“No!” he roared, voice raw. “You know we didn’t! And you still sent her that photo of those fake hickeys—are you out of your mind, Brittany?”

She shrugged, strolling into the kitchen, unbothered. “Look, if you’d just slept with me like you wanted to, none of this would’ve been an issue.”

“I didn’t want to. You pushed me.”

“You kissed me back.”

“For two seconds. Before I told you to stop.”

She didn’t flinch. “Still counts.”

“You told her I left those marks.”

“I improvised.”

“Improvised?” he repeated, stunned. “You’re blowing up my relationship for sport.”

“No, I’m blowing it up for justice,” she said coolly, sipping her coffee. “Y/N doesn’t see how weak you are. How fast you let your anger twist you. You spiral and then play victim—”

“Don’t talk about me like you know me.”

“I know enough,” she said, stepping closer. “I know you let me in. I know you kissed me. I know I still make your blood boil — maybe not in the same way she does, but let’s not pretend that didn’t mean anything.”

Mason clenched his jaw. “I messed up,” he said, voice low. “But at least I owned it. You’re out here planting lies and manipulating people who used to trust you.”

Brittany’s eyes narrowed. “Trust goes both ways. And Y/N? She’s not innocent either. She’s always playing the poor girl card. Crying over boys she broke first.”

“Get help,” Mason muttered, backing away toward the door. “Seriously.”

“You really think she’ll forgive you?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But I know I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t try.”

He opened the door, turning one last time. “If you ever message her again — lie to her again — I swear you’ll regret it.”

“Is that a threat?”

“No,” he said. “It’s a promise.” and then he was gone.

You hadn’t left the house since Tuesday. Your mum kept trying to coax you out with gentle cups of tea and hot dinners; your dad would pop his head into the lounge with quiet but you just lay there, wrapped in a blanket, numb and raw, until you phone buzzed with Lewis.

Lewis Mount You home?

She stared at the screen.

Then typed back:

Yeah.

Fifteen minutes later he rang your phone, you go upstairs to your room for privacy before answering it. “Thought you might need a break from reality for a little,” he offered.

After a long pause, you finally said: “You knew, didn’t you?”

Lewis guilt etched deep into the lines of his face. “I knew something happened. I didn’t know about the photo till after she sent it.”

“I thought she was my best friend,” you whispered. “I trusted her.”

“I know,” he said gently.

Your hands trembled. “She made it look like he slept with her. Like he didn’t even hesitate.”

Lewis exhaled. “He didn’t sleep with her, Y/N/N.”

“He kissed her.”

“I know.”

“And he let her in.”

“I know.”

You didn’t speak for a minute. Then: “Why did you call?”

“Because he’s my brother,” Lewis said, “and you’re basically my sister. And I hate what’s happening.”

“You should hate him.”

“I did,” he admitted. “For a minute. I wanted to punch him so hard he’d forget what a football was. But then I saw him after the phone call. I saw what he looked like when he realised he’d ruined the one thing he actually cared about.”

You blinked fast trying to hold back tears. “He didn’t look ruined in the photo.”

“I know,” Lewis said quietly. “But you weren’t in the room after. You didn’t see him sit in the dark for five hours, texting you stuff he never even sent.”  You stayed quiet. “Just…” Lewis shifted, voice softer now. “Please hear him out.”

“After what he did?”

“Come to Manchester this weekend,” Lewis said. “I’ll meet you off the train. I’ll sit with you, or wait outside. I don’t care. If you want to scream, scream. If you want to hit him, slap him, throw a mug at his head — go for it. You want to turn around and leave after five minutes? I’ll drive you home myself. But please… just hear him out.”

You blinked back a wave of tears, lips trembling. “I don’t know if I can forgive him.”

Lewis nodded. “Maybe not. But at least then you’ll know for sure. No lies. No Brittany.” You looked away, silent again not knowing what to say but Lewis continued. “He knows he fucked up. And he’s not asking to be forgiven right now. He’s just hoping for the chance to try.” With that Lewis ended the call leaving you sat alone with the ache in her chest, wondering if closure meant confrontation — and whether you was strong enough to face the boy you once loved more than anything.

[opreaadriann]

Monthly Update - Jul 25

Hello, people! Another month, another update!

So, same as last month, I guess I’ll do a little list with some of the big stuff I’ve worked on and finished in the last 28 days:

4 different endings to the half-time performance for the Fighting Rooster, ranging from an encore from both sides of the crowd to complete humiliation with the band on the edge of collapse.

Plan to make Olivia listen to her own words before the Tragedy now implemented.

Ruin the performance of the Fighting Rooster or make it better, even if you didn’t plan to do it ahead of time

Make Connor listen to his words from the Tragedy, or maybe get surprised by his capabilities to avoid ruin…?

Make Vivian fall of the top of the cheerleading pyramid, and potentially injure her…?

2 different endings to the baseball game (duh, you win or lose), with different nuances, ranging from a complete wipeout for one of the sides or a close win (with Michael potentially kicked out of the game).

Based on the revenge plans you perform, students will know if “king/queen creep” is back in town, and more and more people will fear their notoriety.

Choose your outfit for the big night.

Choose if you’re going to bring your date to homecoming in a limo or your cool new car! Or your old mini…

Share a limo with your date, Dylan, and start peeling off some of his fake layers. And arrive in style to the homecoming dance

Pick up your date, Olivia, from her house and meet her mother for the first time in 7 years. Will she recognize you? Will she like you? Who knows? (I know, duhh)

The Olivia part isn’t finished yet, I wanna write a bit about the ride to the dance as well and maybe bond with her a bit. I’ll have to do this for all of the other 5 date options, cause, yeah, there are 7 options, not 5, like I said last time. (Dylan, Olivia, Cecily, Isaac, Haley, Angela, Marcus)

We’ll follow with some banter at the dance, some dancing, the crowning, and then the chapter is done. Yey! No after party, cause I feel like making it clear that the “creep” will ruin all the desire to party for the rest of the night. If you’re a non-revenge enthusiast and won’t do anything, I might write something that just ends the night cutely with your date, if you kept things civil, and that’s that.

Anyway, see ya for the next update, next month!

[freyafrida]

rilla of ingleside, chapter twenty-two

ahahaha...ahaha...pain

The first few chunks of this chapter all feel like they're basically leading up to the reveal -- reflecting on how long the war has been and that Rilla's thankful that she's grown from it, despite the pain -- but of course, she hasn't really experienced just how close the war will come yet.

And think of all the Somme victories this blessed summer.

Ouch!!! Ouch!! I feel like this has to be ironic (from LMM's part), given how bloody the Somme fights were. (Cousin Sophia, for her part, notes how many men have been lost.)

"Yes, I had a letter from him in July," said Rilla. "He said that when he got word of his wife's death and of my taking the baby—Mr. Meredith wrote him, you know—he wrote right away, but as he never got any answer he had begun to think his letter must have been lost." "It took him two years to begin to think it," said Susan scornfully. "Some people think very slow.

honestly, you'd think the man would at least follow up after a few months instead of two years. Also interesting that Mr. Meredith wrote him? I guess as the town minister, that was maybe his responsibility to track down Mr. Anderson and write him?

but young creeturs had to be kept down. If they were not kept down society would be demoralized.

lmaooo so true Cousin Sophia

But so far nothing had touched the manse and the Ingleside boys. They seemed to bear charmed lives.

Also ouch! Although -- as mentioned, it's always kind of interested me that the manse kids are perhaps a little more wise to how harsh life can be than the Blythe kids, before the war -- interesting to think it might be the other way around after the war, where the Blythes have suffered the loss of one of their sons/brothers in the war and the Merediths haven't.

"Oh, let me work—let me work, Gilbert," she entreated feverishly. "While I'm working I don't think so much. If I'm idle I imagine everything—rest is only torture for me. My two boys are on the frightful Somme front—and Shirley pores day and night over aviation literature and says nothing. But I see the purpose growing in his eyes. No, I cannot rest—don't ask it of me, Gilbert."

Shirley mention! I wish we knew what exactly interested him about aviation -- it tended to attract people who either wanted to avoid frontline service (wrongly thinking flying was safer) or who were interested in flying because it was a new, experimental type of combat. The latter seems more like Shirley, and almost Gilbert-like of him (see also Gilbert's interest in new medical treatments). IIRC this point in the war was kind of when flying was transforming into an actual, standard type of combat, instead of being mostly reconnaissance (like the early war) or officials bolting guns onto planes and hoping for the best.

her thick creamy eyelids heavy with sleep

Once again with the thickness and creaminess of Rilla's eyelids, of all things. what is with this, LMM?

"I'm afraid he's sick," she said anxiously. She hated to go away and leave him. But no bad news came that day—nor the next—nor the next. Rilla's fear lifted.

noooooo :( I definitely know that feeling, where you let yourself be comforted that if something bad has happened, you'd know about it by now, and having that not be true is just devastating.

But Rilla Blythe shed no tears before the nightfall. When her father, his face grey and drawn and old, came to her that afternoon and told her that Walter had been killed in action at Courcelette she crumpled up in a pitiful little heap of merciful unconsciousness in his arms. Nor did she waken to her pain for many hours.

You know, I can't actually remember my reaction to Walter's death when I first read it :/ I'm trying to remember if it shocked me -- I feel like I might've spoiled it for myself by looking up the plot before reading the book, or maybe reading the end of the book first?

I do remember that I wasn't that upset, oops -- maybe because I'd already spoiled myself? -- but also partly because I was immediately like "well time to pretend this never happened and write fix-it fic :>" (I'd already gotten invested in several other book series that had legit upset me over what had happened to my fave characters so I'd already developed coping mechanisms by the time I read Rilla!)

At the same time, the line itself is so stark and plain -- even though I've fully been living in the denial of headcanon, rereading it is always a bit of a gut punch :( Also, heartbreaking details about Gilbert, grieving over his son and having to tell Rilla about it.

Also...this is super dark, and will maybe discuss further when Walter's actual cause of death is mentioned in the book but...given that families were often lied to that their sons were killed instantly (see All Quiet on the Western Front), and Monday howls for like six hours (midnight to sunrise), I wonder if mayyyybe Walter's death was actually quite prolonged.....sorry :/

glossary:

Readying Rilla bits -- mostly just typos and minor edits in this one:

The chunk about Roderick McCallum "diddling" (uh) the German censors wasn't in the original draft.

Cut mention of the telephone ringing in the afternoon (presumably to tell Gilbert about Walter)

[lenalee-academy]

Look at this comment someone made on my Avengers fic?! 🥹😭 I read it and couldn’t stop smiling and a minute later read it again and burst into tears and now there’s this cycle of like near rolling around my couch in glee as I read it again and sobbing ugly happy tears that this person said such kind things about my work.