#half my reply goes into the tags anyway

[crossbackpoke-check]

re last answer: please don't stop, being very unhinged about these two pretty white boys is helping distract me from the sharks losing streak rn so bring it on

https://www.tumblr.com/bondedpairs/764566430180147200?source=share

(sideblog woes but there's the link for you) anyway in the vid they talk about going over to each other's houses to have dinner and things and while that is a delicious example of their codependence i love it bc through an rpf lens there is definitely some old man ******* going on. they can have the dilfs and each other.

(someone else mentioned kept boys which i could write an essay on but i fear being Perceived™️)

anyway if you have anything to add to this please do, if not ignore me and i will hide under a rock until the stress-related insanity has worn off and i am a functioning member of society once more 😂

- @bondedpairs

ty for the video!!! and please, WRITE THE KEPT BOYS ESSAYYYY i promise i will read it with my hands over my eyes if you don’t want to be perceived. do it scared!! do it anyway!! we’ll all love you for it!!!

[gomzwrites]

Being their sugar baby

Summary: A look into some moments if they are your sugar daddy(separately)

Pairing: John Price, Simon Ghost Riley with x civy gn!Reader

Tags: fluff, implied/light nsfw, you call them daddy, kissing, mdni(18+)

Note: gif are not mine, reader’s texts are in purple!, indented texts are memories

a/n: this is for you annon who wanted a sugar daddy cod thing <3 It took me a while to get this done and I'm still not 100% satisfied with it, the amount of self-control I needed to not make this into a full-blown smut fic- 

Anyways, this time I only wrote for Price and Ghost, I do have a few drafts for Soap and Gaz but I haven’t finished it yet cause my adhd ass cannot be decisive. I don't know if I will complete them or not since my uni starts tomorrow, so no promises!

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Captain John Price

Hmmm absolutely not, you’re not going anywhere like that.

John clicks his tongue as he shakes his head and looks at the outfit you’re wearing with a disapproving look as you give him a pout. 

Daddy, we’ve been here for an hour already. 

You complain as you sigh and let the workers remove your clothes and frown as Price goes through another list of outfits, putting his finger up in the air as he gives you a smile.

Patience, sweetheart. I need to make sure you look just as good as I am at the party, hm? 

He says as he picks out another fancy clothe that is probably worth more than your car and orders the people around to dress you up again. You chuckle and roll your eyes as you do as you are told. Obediently dressing up as you glance at yourself in the mirror.

There you are, look at you…

He gives a proud smile as his beard shifts and walks slowly at you, you giggle as you give a spin and let him rake his eyes over your body, watching and observing you as if he is admiring a piece of art. 

Mmm, you like it?

He gives a nod as he rests his hands on your shoulders and gently adjusted the creased fabric slightly and glances at you through the mirror, always a perfectionist. A content look shows as he kisses your hair.

Always so perfect, sweetheart. Do you like it as well? 

He whispers into your ears as he runs his rough calloused hand around your waist and thigh, watching as your half-lidded eyes trace his motion from the reflection, he gives your ear a bite when you haven’t replied, already hazy when you take in a deep breath and stare yourself in the mirror.

You’re always confident with how you look with how much care and precision you put into yourself. Sticking a routine and maintaining your diet, and you thank yourself for having such discipline because that’s exactly how you even met John Price in the first place.

You give a few stretches and hum a tune as you feel how nicely the soft silk fabric adorns your body perfectly, no matter where you turn or pose it always displays your shape in the best way possible. You appreciate how he asks for your opinion still even though he makes the final decision, truthfully you’ll wear anything he wants you to because for one, it makes him happy and two, you can rock any outfit really.

Yes, I like it. Thank you, Daddy. 

He gives you a hush on your ear as he slightly runs his thumb across your exposed neck. This is nothing, no need to thank me. He whispers before tilting his head and turning back to the mirror again.

Hm, think you want a little something here? 

He gives a tap on your neck as you give him a nod.

He turns around with a hum and glances around the jewellery box he got you and picks one, you quickly place your hand on his as you shake your head, he raises his brow as he complies and lets you take out another shiny one instead, he gives a chuckle as he watches you wear it.

Out of so many of them, you always wear that one huh sweetheart? 

He says as he brushes your hair away and hooks his finger on the gold choker and examines it. It's the first of many pieces of jewellery he bought for you and it has since become your favourite. You’ll admit that the other necklaces with different gemstones and accessories would’ve fit your look better, but you also wear this one because it always reminded you the day you got it. 

Okay no way, you spent how much on this again?? You gesture at the beautiful gold choker, shining and twinkling brightly under the light as it hangs from Price’s hand. He gives a laugh as he ties it around your neck and ravishes the way it hugs around your pretty neck perfectly. Hush, if it looks good on you then it doesn’t matter. You give a frown and pout as he pokes your puffy cheek and smirks, turning your head to face the mirror again as you take a moment to examine it, you’ll have to agree that it does look pretty good as you run your hand along the cold metal, you’d expect it to be heavy but it’s pretty lightweight and it doesn't bite into your skin. 

Is it because you like the way you look with nothing but the choker on? 

He pulls you back out of your thoughts into the current time as he whispers with a dangerously low tone in your ear, causing you to blush as you tense up and recall the memory. He gives another chuckle as he bites your neck softly and nibbles it, causing you to whine as you push him away gently.

W-w-wait wait wait- the party-

Ah to hell with the party, need you now, need my sweetheart.

He rasps as he pulls the curtain and presses you onto the mirror with your back against him, feeling his palm going under the silk as he stares at you hungrily.  Are you going to be good for me then? He gives a devilish smirk as you quickly nod and arch your back for him.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Simon Ghost Riley

You walk towards your kitchen as you hum out a tune and give a soft yawn as you turn on the sink handle to let the water run, lazily rubbing your eyes as you wait for the water to fill the pot.  

Angel… 

A second voice joins you as Ghost wrapped around your waist and nuzzles close into your neck.

Mmmm, good morning Daddy.

You reply with another yawn as you kiss his cheek which earns a satisfied hum from him as he presses light kisses around your neck, leaving trails of goosebumps as he pulls your body closer to his. Soft, gentle yet needy as always.

You have been in this arrangement with him for the past two years already, he’d pay for your bills and get you anything you wanted, while you would court him to dinners, being his plus one essentially. It started off as once or twice per week, then to three or four, then somewhere along the line though, he had chosen to visit you and just bask in your presence whenever he wanted in your apartment, well the apartment he bought for you that is.

It took a while to get used to him, you were even sceptical and scared out of your life when you first met him after a friend recommended him to you. You study his actions a lot, being on your best behaviour for him on the first few outings. Overtime, you come to realise a few things about him.

He doesn’t ask for much whenever he’s at your place, he just wants to have you close to him, he’ll pull you away from whatever you’re doing to sit on his lap, smiling whenever you protest or complain about how it distracts you from doing your chores. 

I can hire a maid for you to do it you know. Absolutely not, I don't trust them. Hm, I’ll find trustable ones... Then what am I going to do? Then you’ll give me all your attention, Angel. 

Whenever you’re with him outside, one of his hands must always be on you, be it your waist, hands, or neck. He’s never one to speak a lot, instead to answer you based on his actions. He is also incredibly observant, if you stare at one item just another second too long you’ll see it on your bed the next day. Thanks to him, you also forgot what it's like to stress over every single payment every day, he’d always pay your bills the moment you send him the receipts. You don’t question where or how he manages to carry things out with this efficiently, but you suspect it’s probably due to his job in the military. Well, you don’t know if he actually is working in one.

So are you like an admiral in the military or something?  You asked casually one day when you were sitting on his lap and feeding him strawberries, you can tell he glance at you from the corner of his eye as he slowly run his hand along your back and munch the fruit, to your surprise he actually responded to your question this time and not ignore it like he always does to any questions that are related to him. How did you come to that conclusion? You give a long hmmm and answer back as you gesture at his body. Well, you’re ridiculously big and tall, and you carry yourself highly anywhere you go. At first, I thought maybe it was just a confidence thing, but the way you walk, your gait…it follows a very specific rhythm. You also tend to have a much broader, stricter stance.  You paused before you glance back at his arm and ghost your finger cautiously, Aaaaaand your tattoo, quite interesting with the choices of pattern no? You say as you trail along the dog tags, guns and skulls, pausing as you rest your hand on one of the longer faint scars on his forearm. and I’m assuming these scars are not just from simple accidents.  He gives a low chuckle once he patiently listen and wait for you to finish your answer, feeling the vibration from his chest as you give a grin and tilt your head and watch him, he gives you a smirk as he run his finger along your cheek, Such a smart angel, hm? He whispered as he brings you in for a kiss, wrapping his palm around your neck as you give a shudder, you kiss him slowly before retracting as you wipe the string of saliva that connected from his lips to yours. So was I right? He only hummed as he kissed your ears and grabbed your thighs over for you to straddle his hip. You never got a confirmation or an answer, but you didn’t mind since he was clearly professional in throwing your questions out the window the moment he pulled your hips close to him and feel something hard pressing against you as a gasp escape your mouth-

The memory sends a shiver down your spine as you snap back to the present time.

Cold?

He mumbles when he stopped his hands, you realize he has been rubbing your bare hips under your hoodie for some time now as you felt the warm pad of his fingers pressing into your skin.

You shake your head as you turn around and face him,

Mm, just thinking…

You whisper back as you rest your hand on his chest, watching it rise and fall, he raised his eyebrow as he carries you with ease and puts you on the cold kitchen counter, watching the way your thigh bounce softly upon contact, he glance back up at you as he rest his chin on your chest.

What were you thinking about? 

He says with a smirk as you blush and giggle softly.

Thinking about you. 

You replied back as he tilt his head in amusement.

Issit now…. 

He gives a reply as he kisses your nose and gives you a coy smirk,

Thinking about how well your sugar daddy treats you? 

He whispers as he kisses your neck teasingly, making your cheek red as he flattens his tongue on your skin and swipes it in a circular motion.

M-mhm. 

You replied back with a shaky tone as he sucks on your soft skin, leaving a soft mark as he chuckles. He starts to slowly trail his hand up under your shirt as he leans in and mutters against your sensitive ear once more. 

My angel, always so good to me.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

a/n: am pushing my soft Ghost agenda with this one >:] and yes, if you noticed I always write Price to be a bit mean hehe. I don't know how to feel with this fic, do let me know what you think! Have a nice day/night :D

[nereidprinc3ss]

okay i know this is kind of a specific request but can you do something with professor Spence and uni reader where they get into a spat and argue bc she did something stupid and he gets mad and she’s like “noooo pls don’t be mad i hate when you’re mad at me I’m sorry🥺” bc she literally cannot function knowing she let him down (me with everybody) but he’s like super stubborn and goes all closed up and quiet so that he doesn’t like blow up on her until she finally says like “pls talk to me” and he’s all pissed and like “hell na bitch u crazy!🗣️‼️” but then later he’s like “it’s ok i love u but neva do that shit again ho” then they make up and it’s good again 🎀 ok i explained that so poorly (and comedically if i may) but i hope u get it and pls make it SO DRAMATIC bc I live for drama! like she steals test answers or something or does something that could like get her kicked out of school OR him lose his job 🤔 sigh … idk I’m leaving now. Also i LOOPOOOCE ORRKGOOVI love your fics. Luv em

hey girl (gender neutral) this made me laugh bc genuinely sometimes i write spencer so ooc that is what he sounds like. and i'm not sorry! anyway this is potentially a vyvanse fueled nightmare but i wrote it and i'm posting it MY BLOG MY RULES BITCHESSSS!!!! but genuinely read the content warning LMAO this one got a lil kick to it

warnings/tags: ANGST, HURT/COMFORT, fem!reader, spencer and r get into a for real argument like they're mean to each other, spencer is a lil toxic but its resolved, emotionally neglects reader just for a teeensy second but then he's really nice and sweet again, discussion of his past addic+ion, gets fluffy because i'm not EVIL, gets suggestive at the end bc i am secretly evil.......

a/n: i don't know whats happening. this confuses me just as much as it confuses you. its 3 am in the morning. im gonna post nice happy things soon. Gootbye

“I cannot believe you right now. I don’t even—I don’t even know what to say.” 

“Spencer, you don’t have to say anything. It has nothing to do with you, and I’m not looking for your approval.” 

He looks up from where he’d been rubbing his temples, like you’re a headache, eyebrows raised and lips parted in indignant disbelief. 

“Oh! You’re not looking for my approval? Well thank god for that, because if you were one of my students I would recommend expulsion to the board.” 

“Are you fucking kidding me? I just said I don’t care about your opinion on this, much less your hypothetical opinion from some alternate universe where you have any authority over my education whatsoever.” 

“You distributed an answer key to half of your class! Objectively this is the kind of thing that gets people expelled. I don’t understand how someone so smart could do something so fucking stupid.” 

The words bite more than you were prepared for—but what hurts even more is how much he seems to mean them. In arguments past you’d both said things you didn’t mean, and then would immediately melt into I’m so sorry’s and the fight would resolve itself. Spencer’s clenched jaw and inability to make eye contact with you do not lend themselves to tender apologies. They cannot be attributed to miscommunication. 

You take a step closer to where he’s bracing himself against the countertop, arms crossed defensively in front of your chest. 

“Spencer, I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was such a big deal. People cheat in college all the time.” 

Still no reply. His head shakes so minutely you wonder if you’re imagining it. Panic wells in your chest. 

“Please talk to me. I really hate when you ice me out. I’m sorry, okay? Just... please say something.” 

Finally, his eyes slide to you. They lack the fiery anger of moments ago but there’s not much softness there either. His normally warm gaze now feels too abrasive, too cold and sharp on your bare skin. You're exposed, much too soft for that grating look, and it feels like he can see everything that’s wrong with you. 

“Believe me when I tell you this. I am doing us both a favor by not speaking to you right now.” 

And then he’s leaving the kitchen—nothing but a breeze against your cheek and the sound of a door slamming to prove he was ever there. 

The apartment is silent. You stand in the middle of the kitchen, unsure of what to do next. Spencer very, very rarely gets angry at you to the point of neglect, and you know he’s doing his best with what was modelled for him as a child and his tendency to feel things so deeply it’s nearly disabling; but that doesn’t make it hurt much less. It doesn’t make you feel less abandoned or alone.  

You’re sad, and you’re still pissed, and maybe you’re in just a bit of shock as you robotically move back to your nest of blankets on the couch and resume your schoolwork. What else is there to do? Unless Spencer is right—unless you really are about to get expelled after getting the answer key for an upcoming test from a friend, who then gave it to another friend, and so on. But is that really your fault?  

It’s a struggle to stay focused as your mind keeps drifting back to Spencer in the other room, those cruel words and that cold steely look in his eye that isn’t supposed to ever be aimed at you. It’s not a secret that side of him exists, but it doesn’t belong in this apartment. It’s not something he needs to use against you. He’s supposed to be on your side. But instead, he’d said you should be expelled and essentially called you stupid. And now you’re doing homework for a class at a school you may not even be a student of come Monday. 

---------------------------------------------------

The sound of the office door opening forty-five minutes later spikes your blood pressure and simultaneously makes your heart flutter, because no matter how mad at him you might be, Spencer is still Spencer.  

He comes to stand behind the couch quietly, but you don’t acknowledge him. Maybe your typing gets a bit more aggressive, but aside from that you flat out reject his presence. 

“Can we talk?” 

You let him sweat for a minute as you finish your paragraph. 

“I don’t know, Spencer. Can we? Or are you not done with your temper tantrum?” 

“That is... well deserved,” he sighs, rounding the couch and tapping the bottom of your foot, signaling that he wants you to move your legs. You despise how automatically you comply, pulling your knees to your chest to avoid touching him as he sits next to you. There’s a long moment of silence, in which you resume typing. Spencer scoffs, leaning in slightly to peer at your screen. “Are you doing homework right now? I’m a complete asshole to you and you just... do your homework?"

“What the fuck else was I supposed to do?” you almost-yell, slamming your laptop shut and blinking away potential tears. “The only person I wanted to talk to called me stupid and fucking left!” 

The tears realize their potential once you admit the blunt truth. 

Spencer carefully moves your laptop and pulls you into his arms—and you just let him. There’s not much fight left in you. There wasn’t a lot to begin with. 

“I am so sorry, angel. You’re right, I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have yelled, I shouldn’t have said what I said, I shouldn’t have walked away. I overreacted.” 

“Yeah, you really did,” you cry, allowing him to run his hand over your hair. “Why did you do that? Why were you so fucking mean?” 

His voice shakes slightly as he responds, betraying his own anxieties, and a new, unwelcome sense of trepidation slithers through your veins. 

“I was wondering that, too. Even as I was saying it, I knew—I knew it wasn’t what I wanted to be saying. And then I was in the other room and I wanted to be out here, and I couldn’t figure out why I wasn’t. But I think I was just scared. Which—I know, doesn’t really make sense, but... I think about when Ethan dropped out of the academy, and ended up doing heroin in New Orleans for three years, and I think about when I almost left the BAU because I was so convinced I’d never get clean that I didn’t even want to anymore, and—and the idea of you losing your education and your direction like that terrified me, probably unreasonably, and I took it out on you. And I’m sorry.” 

“But I’m not like you or Ethan. You don’t have to worry about that. Even if I... even I do get in some sort of disciplinary trouble. That’s a road you don’t have to worry about me going down, ever.” 

He fixes some unseen wrinkle on your shirt.  

“Yeah, but, remember... I used to not be like me or Ethan either. Do you think twelve-year-old Spencer would have ever even considered that of the infinite realities and universes which exist, he was living in one where someday he’d be shooting up in the bathroom at work?” 

“Mm-mm,” you hum, shaking your head and burying your face in Spencer’s shoulder. The sound is more of a plea for him to be less descriptive than an answer to his rhetorical question. It’s still much easier for him to talk about that part of his life than it is for you to have to actually imagine it. You didn’t know him then, but you’ve seen pictures, and you know Spencer now, and it’s... it’s just too much. Too sad. 

“Okay,” he agrees soothingly, still playing with your hair. “I digress. My point is that literally anything is possible, and while it’s not necessarily likely, I more than anyone know that anxiety even over the most improbable of things is never completely unfounded.”  

You sniffle in response, too emotionally and physically exhausted to contribute much to the conversation by this point. Thankfully, Spencer can talk for two. An idiosyncrasy which you love and comes in handy every once in a while. He can play his own devil’s advocate; in this case, you. 

“But that doesn’t mean I get to take it out on you. Ever. I truly, truly, sincerely apologize for that. I never want to hurt you.” 

You let the apology sink into your skin like a salve, soothing every abrasion those earlier words had left in their violent wake. 

After a few minutes, you find the energy to ask a question that might best remain unanswered. 

“Are you still mad at me?” 

He’s quiet for a beat, seemingly contemplative as his fingers trace abstract patterns in a language all his own on your arm. 

“I’m not thrilled. But you were right earlier. It’s not my place to be mad at you for something like that.” 

“Mm... it’s a little bit your place. You’re an actual professor.” 

He chuckles. 

“At an entirely different university.” 

“Thank god,” you laugh. “You and me at the same school would be such an HR clusterfuck.”

While it’s almost a serious matter, the smile in his voice is evident. 

“Yeah... I, uh... try not to think about it.” 

“Okay, but seriously. In your professional opinion. Am I fucked? Like, do I need to prepare an appeal and character witnesses or whatever?” 

Spencer sighs. 

“It was incredibly reckless and irresponsible. You should be ready for disciplinary pushback from the schoolboard if you get caught. That being said... because over sixty of you got a hold of the answer key, I doubt anyone is getting expelled, and even if they did, it would likely only be the TA and the student he gave the key to. It’s my tentative, professional opinion that you’ll probably be fine.” 

You relax slightly, allowing a tension you didn’t realize was there to shed like an old skin. 

“I’m not gonna cheat again,” you promise on an exhale. It’s simply too much risk for too little reward.

Spencer’s response is quiet, and comes much faster than you’d expected. 

“Oh, I know you aren’t. Because if you do, you’re going to have to worry about disciplinary action from me. And I’m not nearly as nice as the dean of your school, darling girl.” 

But something about the way he says it—a thinly veiled threat/promise contrasted by a sweet kiss to your forehead—doesn’t exactly make academic honesty look all that exciting.

[momodita]

snapshots. [—suo hayato]

TAGS / WARNINGS: male reader but no pronouns are       used and can be read as gender neutral, implied       jealousy, really just fluff, aged-up to third years,       flower language, reader's a little oblivious WC: 1,000 NOTE: no one look at me. this guy's ruined my life

✗ MINORS / AGELESS / BLANK BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED.

“What’s this? A confession?”

Your whole body flinches, curling in on itself.

Suo watches on—his smile is neat. Polite. Hands clasped behind his back, the neck of a barley tea bottle perched between his fingers as he stands above you.

The others are mingling over rice balls: Sakura is eating Suo’s portion—you watched the latter hand it off before he’d even finished with the first one.

The back of your neck is hot, Suo’s gaze is heavy on the crown of your head: an itch blooming there. You resist the instinct to scratch.

“D-don’t be stupid,” you splutter. It’s always felt a little precarious to be crouched low in his line of vision—but it’ll be like losing if you stand; your feet remain anchored to the pavement. “These are a ‘thank you’ for helping at Yamato-san’s shop. Her daughter was in the area.”

Suo’s eye drops to the flowers—yellow camellias, she’d told you, looking awfully uncomfortable with the whole exchange—and though his expression doesn’t budge, disbelief is obvious in his light-hearted hum.

“Is that so? You seem plenty embarrassed, though.”

“Shut up.”

He’s watching in your periphery as you lift the bottle to inspect it. The blossoms are undeniably beautiful: pale yellow petals arranged symmetrically with pristine coloring. Himari had scurried off before you could learn what they meant, leaving you dumbfounded on the sidewalk.

“Thinking about your response?” Suo asks.

Your eyebrows scrunch. “I already thanked her.”

He’s amused: his little chuckle coaxes a flat slant of your mouth. “You’re a funny one. But that’s not quite what I meant,” he explains. “Are you going to give her a flower in return?”

You frown. He’s been like this since year one—giving you half of what you need to understand his point. “It hadn’t really occurred to me. I wouldn’t wanna… I dunno—is it that important? She seemed kinda uncomfortable.”

Suo considers you, silent. Then, his smile softens, a teasing intonation in his voice when he speaks.

“If this were my confession, I’d be heartbroken, hearing you talk like that.”

“I already told you, it’s not a confession!”

“Yamato-san has been friendly to us Furin students for years.” His stare sends a shiver crawling along your arms. “And you’ve known her daughter for quite a while.”

“I’ve only been helping them since last summer,” you grumble. “She’s never mentioned liking me before. I thought she was scared of me; she rarely talks when I’m there.”

Suo tuts. “You’ve got to consider her feelings. I’m sure she’s just shy. But look—Haruka-kun’s been bright red ever since she called out to you. His radar’s as impressive as ever.”

“He hasn’t learned to turn that off yet?” you grumble. Sakura is too far away to hear, busy scarfing down rice balls, but his narrowed glare hits you anyway, cheeks still red.

Relenting, you groan. “Fine, then—tell me; what do these things mean?”

Suo’s chin tilts as his gaze slides over you.

“…Longing. They symbolize longing.”

Your jaw goes slack. “They’re… what?”

“It’s quite the bold choice—she probably didn’t feel comfortable explaining with all of us here,” Suo suggests, attention turned up toward the sky, now. Looking at nothing, you suppose. “Though it probably doesn’t take much guessing to realize that.”

“…Are you calling me an idiot?”

“Not at all,” he replies lightly. “She must have thought hard about which flowers to give you.”

It’s your turn to laugh. “Are you serious? These are just… It’s just a coincidence. She said her mother would’ve delivered them but she’s busy managing the shop right now.”

“Oh, I doubt that’s the case,” Suo muses. His words have you pausing—the tone of them sitting strangely in your chest. “She’s been raised with flower language, I’m sure her mother would’ve chosen a different kind for simple gratitude.”

You can’t help but stare. His voice is light enough—teasing. But you know Suo’s expressions: even the ones he’s not aware of. His words are never wasted.

“But that’s alright,” he continues, pulling out another smile for you. Oddly stiff for how peaceful the day’s been. The plastic bottle crackles lightly as you roll it between your palms. Light catches on the beads of his earrings, illuminates his fringe. “It just means you’ll be responsive to a more direct confession.”

You scoff. “Yeah, I’ll let you know if that ever—”

“I love you.”

Your fingers crush the plastic so hard water comes spouting out between the gaps in the stems. It spills over your hand and down your wrist, narrowly avoids your knees as you gasp and leap up, pressing your back against the warm concrete.

“What the—what the hell—!” you swear, holding out the bottle as water dribbles to the pavement below. “Wh-what’re you—you—!”

“Something like that, am I right?” Suo’s face is alight with mirth. You scowl, skin hot: tempted to swing a foot out towards him despite knowing he’d dodge.

“Enough outta you,” you huff, flicking water from your fingertips. Suo offers you his handkerchief. “If you want entertainment, go try that on Sakura.”

“It would be such a hassle—I don’t want to get punched,” he lilts, looking entirely too pleased. You attempt to fold the handkerchief before returning it.

For all his growth, Sakura refuses to look at you; his cheeks colored a warm pink as your group sets back for the school. Suo walks beside you, placid and quiet.

Curiosity gnaws as you throw a glance his way. “Y’know, Suo, Himari-san’s a nice girl. And her mother likes giving out snacks. You’d probably get some flowers if you lent them a hand.” In fact, you bet he would get dozens of them without even needing to lift a pretty finger.

He merely hums.

“What’s with the interrogation, anyways?” you ask, nudging a light elbow into his side with a shit-eating grin. “Jealous?”

Suo’s eye catches the bouquet. Then lifts to meet your gaze.

He smiles. Tilts his head. “Maybe I am.”

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

Would you be making a Part 4 of the dancer and the angel🥺🥺

so many people have asked about this so I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to piece it together BUT it’s here so I hope you love it 🤍🤍

title: the dancer and the angel part 4

pairing: grayson hawthorne x reader

synopsis: crying sucks and you needs somewhere to just let your hair down but when gigi goes missing, all hell breaks loose and things don’t stay exactly to plan

parts: part 1 part 2 part 3

warnings: SPOILERS FOR TGG, swearing

a/n: I’m dedicating this to @midiosaamor <33 ilysm belle thank you for your endless love for this fic, I’m so grateful 🤍🤍

tag list: @bewitchingkisses @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @notshortbutsweet @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234 @adalia-jaycee @off-to-the-r4ces @lyra-kane @reminiscentreader @lyrakanefanatic @imaseabear @elizaa31 @loveinalocket

YOUR POV

I’m tired of crying. Tears are overrated anyway.

I’m sat with Avery, my cheek resting against her shoulder, her head resting on top of mine. It’s peaceful. I can hear her soft steady breathing in my ear and it’s oddly comforting. Maybe it’s because I’m used to sleeping on Grayson’s chest and hearing him breathe so rhythmically.

I need to get him out of my head. His stupidly perfect face is the only image running through my mind. That angular jawline, those velvety lips and those silver eyes that made me melt every damn time. Every inch of him is too engraved in my soul to get rid of him so quickly.

“Let’s go somewhere,” Avery says suddenly, like she’s been reading my mind this whole time.

“We’re on a secluded island,” I scoff.

“And I happen to be a billionaire who owns many modes of transport,” she winks at me, helping me to my feet.

“You wouldn’t,” I say.

“I already have,” she winks, “there’s a helicopter that should be showing up in about…” she trails off checking her watch, “five minutes.”

“You’re joking!” I gape.

“Do I look like the kind of girl to joke about ordering a helicopter?” she asks, raising her eyebrows.

No. No she does not.

***

We arrive at our destination thirty short minutes later via helicopter of course. And as if by magical transformation we’d gotten changed into some variant of sparkly party dresses inside, a sentence I never thought I’d ever say aloud. We walk down a cobbled alleyway towards a tall establishment.

“A club?” I say tilting my head to the side.

“A club,” she nods.

“I’ve never been to a club before,” I admit, feeling a little nervous.

“Neither,” she shrugs, “but there’s a first time for everything right.”

“Right…” I trail off.

She takes my hand eagerly and together we walk in. Lights flash, music pulsates and my ear drums nearly burst. It’s so lively, so upbeat, so full. People are grabbing drinks, making out, dancing and all the in between.

Avery glances at me, “drink or dance?”

“Drink,” I don’t hesitate, having already spotted the bar, “please.”

“You got it,” she grins, linking her arm into mine as we go over, weaving between throngs of half drunk sweaty bodies.

The bartender offers us a welcoming smile, “what can I get you two ladies tonight?”

“Vodka martini dry with a twist,” I reply, the order bitter on my tongue when I remember how Gray and I would usually order these together.

I feel so pathetic. Linking everything to him, but I couldn’t help it. He’s just there, but not properly. It’s like some sort of ghost of his has decided to haunt me for fun.

“And a mojito please,” Avery says, forcing me out of my thoughts.

He nods sharply and turns to make our drinks. I fiddle with my necklace trying to figure out how I feel in this very moment. A weird mix of emotions are settled heavily on my chest. Notes of sadness and bitterness, building up anger and fury as well as a pathetic self pity and loneliness. I don’t like that none of the feelings are definitive, it makes me uncomfortable. I don’t know how to be, my brain is too preoccupied trying to work out what emotion to act on.

The bartender hands me my drink. I take a long sip closing my eyes as the flavours hit my tongue. The sharp burst of lemon mixed with the kick of hard vodka feels like someone is slapping me across the face. I’ve never felt more awake.

“How’s the martini,” Avery asks.

“Much needed,” I smile, “your mojito?”

“Divine,” she replies taking another sip.

“Never pictured you as a mojito girl Ave,” I mention leaning against the bar and surveying the room.

“Jamie got me into them when we went to Greece,” she replies naturally.

A sinking sensation hits my stomach, I know it shouldn’t. She’s been with Jameson forever it shouldn’t hurt. They were beautiful people with beautiful souls that belonged to each other. So why is it suddenly so hard to digest? I knew about their trip to Greece, heck I’d helped them plan it. But Avery mentioning Jameson sends this rippling pain through my upper chest. She loves him and he loves her. It’s the same both ways, they’re devoted, they’re each other’s everythings. And it reminds me of what I don’t have. I think I hide it well but she sees it on my face.

“Oh god I’m sorry I didn’t mean to bring up-“

“Hey it’s fine,” I shrug.

“That was so stupid of me,” she winces putting her drink down.

“Avery you don’t have tread on eggshells around me, it’s okay,“ I try and laugh it off, “no big deal.”

“Okay,” she replies, but I can see she still feels bad.

Neither of us say anything for a few beats until the music changes and I recognise the song.

“Oooo you love this song, come on,” she laughs, tugging my hands forwards.

I sigh, “I don’t know Avery, I’m not much of a dancer.”

Not like Lyra.

“Doesn’t matter,” she shrugs, swigging her mojito, “let’s let our hair down, have a bit of fun.”

“Fine,” I crack a smile.

She squeals excitedly, practically dragging me forwards as we fall on the dance floor. We move to the beat, hips swinging from side to side, arms in the air. I wish this could take it all away. I appreciate what she’s doing. But despite her best efforts I don’t think it’s working. This distraction, this attempt of respite isn’t hitting like it should. I feel buried under too many layers of him, each time I did myself out of the first in into another. And digging is exhausting.

“Why don’t you just kiss a random guy?” Avery says bringing me back to the present.

It takes me a few minutes to process what she’d just said and when I do I can’t form a response.

“How much of that mojito did you have?” I laugh.

“No seriously,” she says, a deadly true look in her eyes, “it might help you get… him out of your mind.”

“You can say Grayson,”I roll my eyes, playing it off coolly. I didn’t want her to know that this was affecting me this much, because it shouldn’t be.

“No,” she shakes her head, “the name holds too much power, he’ll get all in your head again.”

“He already is all in my head,” I tell her with a sigh.

“That’s why I’m saying,” she continues, “so just go and kiss someone for the hell of it.”

“How do I even go about doing that?” I say. I can’t believe the words are coming out of my mouth.

“I don’t know, never done it,” she shrugs with a wicked grin.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I reply.

“Who cares?” she laughs, “yolo.”

“Yolo? Since when do you say yolo?” I scoff, wondering if she is drunk or just spending too much time with Xander.

“Since now,” she sticks her tongue out.

“I could be kissing a serial killer,” I point out, “or an axe murderer.”

“I don’t think they’d murder you in front of everyone, it’d be a bit off brand for them,” Avery replies, “besides everyone would know who they were then. Do you really think they’d risk jail time to specifically murder you in a club? “

I think about it. Contemplate the idea of kissing someone else. Maybe she had a point, someone else’s lips on mine, hands in my hair… they won’t be his. I won’t have to associate those actions with him anymore. Would it hurt? It’s one stupid night and one stupid kiss. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“You know what, you’re right, why the hell not,” I say suddenly.

Surprise flickers across her face for mere moments before she breaks out into a large smile.

“You get them girl!” she shouts.

I scan the room, or all the faces I could see at least. I spot someone. He’s fairly attractive. Dirty blonde, tanned, muscular. He didn’t look too old either. I couldn’t tell the colour of his eyes but from here they looked light. I hope he isn’t taken as I approach him.

“Hey,” I shout over the music.

“Hi,” he shoots me a smile.

It’s in that moment I realise how unprepared I am for this. Why did I think this was a good idea? How do you just kiss someone?

So I blurt out the only thing in my mind, “do you want to kiss me?”

“What?” he replies.

I feel like an idiot but I say it again, “do you want to kiss me?”

“I can’t hear you love, speak up,” he yells.

I don’t know what comes over me but I just grab his face and kiss him. It’s probably the most impulsive thing I’ve ever done. But he doesn’t pull away, in fact he kisses back. His lips are rougher than what I’m used to and he’s a more aggressive kisser. When his hands hold the small of my back it’s more like he’s grappling onto my body than holding me gently. This didn’t feel as natural, as tentative, as loving as when Grayson kisses me.

“Well that was quite something huh?” the man smiles as I pull away.

Maybe for you I want to say, but I bite my tongue.

“Fancy doing it again?” he asks.

“Maybe another time,” I force a smile, walking away.

He doesn’t follow much to my relief. I’d chosen someone who wasn’t a serial killer at least. I make my way back to Avery who pretends she didn’t see the whole altercation to save my dignity. Though she’s very bad at hiding it.

“I know you saw,” I sing song, giggling a little.

“You went for it girl,” she says eyebrows raised.

“I did,” I nod, chewing my bottom lip tentatively.

“And?” she prompts me. I don’t know what she wants to hear. So I tell her the truth.

“It’s not the same,” I shrug.

“It won’t be but sometimes that helps you get over it,” she replies.

“It’s not working,” I sigh, “also he tasted like beer and that was gross.”

She scrunches up her face, “oh ew,”

“Yeah 100% ew,” I agree wrinkling my nose as I still taste the residue of it on my lips.

She senses how I feel even though I don’t quite know what it is I’m feeling, “you want to get some air?” she asks.

I nod, feeling that my cheeks were flushed and my everything was sweating. Hand in hand we swim upstream through dozens of people before we reach the door. The cold night’s air hits us as we slump down onto the pavement. I take a deep breath in, closing my eyes tasting the fresh air in my lungs.

“Well that was a bust,” Avery sighs.

“Not completely,” I tell her, “the dancing was fun.”

“But you’re still thinking about him, aren’t you?” she replies. It’s a question that she already knows the answer to.

“How can I not?” I say, leaning my head against the back wall and looking up at the sky.

“I don’t know,” she replies sadly.

Silence envelopes us, swallowing us whole like a whale shark to plankton. A thought recurs in my brain like an annoying decimal that wasn’t supposed to be the answer. I keep thinking, if someone had told my yesterday self that I would be here today I never would’ve believed it. Hours ago he was my person, the one. And now? Now what? I was in a club kissing some random trying to get over him. Trying and pathetically failing. How can I still love him? After all of it, how is it possible?

“That guy I kissed, it just reminded me of how I don’t have him to do that with anymore and I never will,” I say, glancing at Avery.

“Do you still love him?” she asks me, some sort of morphed pain and pity bleeding through her eyes.

“Of course,” I reply with no hesitation, “I’ve always loved him, it’s always been him and I can’t stop now, I’m in too deep. But I have to make myself.”

She gently pulls my body into her arms, “this will get easier, it’s still the first night. The feelings are fresh, the wounds are new and they need time to heal.”

“I just don’t understand,” I whisper, “I love him so much my heart bleeds but he never felt it back that same kind of love… and I was stupid enough to think he did.”

“I think he did,” she murmurs, “I really do.”

“You don’t have to do that, you can be honest,” I say softly, “it’s not like it can hurt anymore.”

“I’m serious I promise,” she replies, “you don’t see it as clearly we do. When you came into Gray’s life he changed in the best possible way. I mean I’ve not known him as long as his brother but I saw it. And they definitely did. He wasn’t the same, he was in love. I know it.”

“He kissed another girl,” I laugh bitterly.

“It doesn’t mean to say he never loved you like that,” she says.

“Suppose so,” I mumble into her.

“And for the record he was an absolute idiot for doing what he did,” she replies, a flicker of anger I wasn’t used to in Avery sparking for a fraction of a second, “actually there’s a list of words I would use that are way worse than idiot but we’ll keep it PG tonight.”

I crack a weak smile.

She softens her tone, “But seriously sweetie he’s losing the best thing he’s ever had in his life.”

“But Avery,” I say, my voice shaking, “I’m not sure I want to be lost.”

She hugs me tighter. There are no words that can fix my state we’ve both silently agreed, so she hold me as I stare up at the stars. Some glow, some twinkle, others gleam. Then they all blur as water fills my eyes. I blink away the lousy tears. I’m not going to cry.

“Avery…” I murmur hesitantly “can I ask you something?”

“Yeah sure,” she nods.

The questions are so weighted on my chest, it’s physically hurting me, “why do you think he chose her? What did I do wrong? What does she have that I don’t?”

“Oh sweetheart,” she murmurs sympathetically, “it’s not like that.”

“Then why,” I choke, trying to keep my tears at bay, “why would he…”

I trail off, the tears I was trying to express rolling down my face. The sobs get stuck in my throat and I’m unable to make a sound. I silently shake in Avery’s grasp, my lungs aching.

“You cannot sit here and think you are the reason for this. I won’t let you,” she shakes her head, “I don’t know why he did what he did, that I can’t tell you, but I do know for sure that it wasn’t you. You have no faults, you did nothing wrong, you’re beautiful, you’re brilliant, you’re smart and brave and kind and perfect. He’s the biggest fool of them all.”

“You think?” I snivel.

“I know,” she says, wiping away my tears with a gentle hand, “now come on, let’s go back in, have one final shot and a dance and then we’ll hit the streets at midnight, do something crazy fun and stupid, no murder please, and just breathe a little you know, forgetting all of this.”

“Okay,” I nod, biting the inside of my cheek to prevent more tears from spilling over.

I am strong. I am strong. I am strong

She stands up and dusts her little dress off before hoisting me up behind. She flashes a smile my way that reminds me of Jameson for a split second. I eagerly take her hand and we re enter. The lights feel as if they’re flashing brighter than before. The fluorescence stings slightly. The familiar aroma of sweat mixed with all manner of alcoholic drinks hits us as well.

Just as we’ve reached the dance floor Avery says, “Jamie’s calling, give me a second.”

She rushes off out of the back door, probably to hear him better, leaving me alone on the dance floor. I don’t really feel much like dancing so lazily drag my feet to the bar and take another shot. The liquid burns my throat and I feel somewhat alive as I slowly swing my hips and move my arms to whatever beat is playing.

I feel dead. I don’t understand how in the space of mere minutes I can go from feeling so emotive, so distraught, so melancholy to nothingness. A wave of coldness from empty voids and bottomless pits.

I hand touches my shoulder and I jolt as the unfamiliar touch makes me jump. I look up to see a man stood there, but he’s a little fuzzy. The alcohol is getting to my head.

“You alone sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. The word cuts like a poisoned blade. Grayson calls me that.

“No,” I respond calmly, positioning my back more towards him, hoping he’ll gage my body language and kindly leave me be.

“Well you’re very pretty,” he grins, flashing white teeth I’m sure he paid a lot for.

“I’m sure my boyfriend would agree with you,” I say coolly.

“Which one’s yours then?” he asks, clearly still not catching onto the several messages I’m sending him.

I shrug, “why do you care?”

“Maybe you’re wasting your time on him,” he smiles. Something about the smile makes goosebumps rise on the surface of my skin and an icy shiver run down my spine. Something about him isn’t right and I didn’t like it.

“I highly doubt it,” I reply nonchalantly, “but thanks for the offer.”

“Come on sweetheart,” he says, making my skin crawl, “you can ditch your boyfriend for a night, I promise I’ll be better. Ask anyone in here.”

My stomach twists and something goes off in me. Like a ticking time bomb that’s finally hit zero.

“Look here mister,” I snarl, “there’s hundreds of other women in this place that would love to get into your bed, find one and do it, but leave me alone. I’m not interested and I’m taken.”

“You heard her Dex, back off,” shouts a new voice.

I look up to see another man, with a striking resemblance to the one I was talking to, behind him. Brothers, I infer silently. Dex glares at his brother and then turns back to me.

“Okay, until next time then,” he says with a wink.

He skulks away as I roll my eyes. I go to turn back to my drink when Avery comes crashing into me. I gasp audibly before I catch a glance at her. She looks pale.

“What? What’s wrong?” I ask quickly, checking over her to make sure she was physically in tact.

“We have to cut our trip short,” she tells me, regret and apology lacing her tone.

My heart thumps in my chest and a million thoughts race through my mind.

“Gigi’s missing.”

And suddenly I’m very very sober.

***

LYRA’S POV

Finding out he was with someone else made me feel sick to my stomach. I can’t explain it exactly. It’s just this horrible awful tug in the gut. I am the other woman. I shiver at the thought.

I thought everything was going to be okay, that for a change, life might be on my side. I deserve it don’t I? To be happy, to be free, to be in love. I thought wrong. I always think wrong. I am the fool of a flower that let her pretty petals be plucked by anyone who pleased until she became a stem. Until no one wanted her. The tender truth of it all burns violently all over my skin.

So I dance.

Dance is my way to escape all of this, my freedom. The music begins and my heart aches louder, screaming in my ears. The pain coursing through my limbs that delicately dust the empty air. I reach out to touch something that doesn’t exist. I relax into a deep plié letting the music seep through my throbbing soul and form the moves. I do a gentle three step turn on pointe and the pace of the music picks up.

I hurt an innocent girl, who fell under the same loving spell that Hawthorne’s are so good at casting as I did. But I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I didn’t know. How was I supposed to know? I thought he looked at me differently, I thought his gentle touch he only used for me, I thought his words were mine to cherish. But I’m just another trophy in his grand cabinet. Another meaningless prize to collect on the journey to greatness.

I developpé sauté to perfection. I am nothing to him. And now, he’s even less to me. I pirouette and pirouette and pirouette, spiralling into furious thoughts. I’m angry. How dare he turn me into someone I am not. Making me betray my own morals. As if he has that right, that power. Men always feel so entitled, so deserving of power. He couldn’t just have one girl and be happy, no he had to find another. He had to act of his greed, the fatal flaw that poisons so many men. How many more will fall into greed’s bloodied hands?

I grand jeté until my thighs burn but I keep perfect positioning. I hate the fact that I’m feeling so deeply, that my emotions are so raw and intense. It’s too much for my mind to take, I’m so overwhelmed and head is splitting, pounding, screaming. My breath picks up the more grande jetès I do. My chest is so tight, so constricted, so suppressed. It feels as if an invisible force is choking me. I come to a halt suddenly and find myself paralysed in an arabesque, unable to breathe.

The music has silenced. Nothing dare move and the world comes to a standstill. I let myself get wrapped up in feelings I shouldn’t have had. I’m an idiot. Lyra Kane doesn’t fall in love, she doesn’t trust people with herself, she doesn’t let people in. Especially not Hawthornes. Never Hawthornes. I intricately move my feet. On pointe, pivot, flat, up, on pointe, down, in, out, over, up. At some point my mind hits a blank, a white room and I just move to what feels most natural. My mind doesn’t properly register the moves. I become aware I’m performing rapid battements and sissones when I’m deep in analysis. I should’ve seen the signs sooner.

The way he stared at her while we were dancing, the look of distraction and captivation in his eyes. The guilt that flashed across his face every time he got that little bit closer to me. The minute he had to take after our lift in the room we’d been locked in with Odette. It all made sense now.

My legs extend naturally as I leap with great height across the room. It was so pathetically unfair. Everything in his life is perfect, he’s got the money, the face, the family, the support. People would kill to be in his position, quite literally. And he takes it all for granted. God, how did I think I could love someone like that?

I travel with light and airy sauté passes. Everything to a Hawthorne is a game. Including people. I was his game. And he played me. Just like he played y/n. I only wish I could talk to her, tell her I understand how she feels but I’m probably the last face in this earth she’d ever want to see.

My movements are now sharp and staccato, jagged and uneven. The opposite of what a ballerina should be. Catherine Howal wouldn’t let me forget that if she were watching me today. My old dance teacher was always strict on me, but right now I missed the sharpness of her voice and her minor corrections. She made me the dancer I am today. I push the bittersweet memory of her away and my rage over Grayson bubbles over. Even his name now disgusts me. It used to be one that I craved to say, to feel my mouth curve in the shape of each and every letter. Now it’s just a reminder of my sheer revulsion for him.

I pirouette I don’t know how many time on pointe. I’m dizzy, but not from the turns but from the idea that I let myself be so easily tempted by a pretty face. I begin a fast paced sequence of fouettés and chainés across the space, desperately trying to hold myself together. I’m poised, I’m professional is what I try to tell myself. If only I had known, I wouldn’t have. Ever. I wouldn’t have even looking into those stupid gray eyes. But he knew, he knew how to manipulate my feelings, he knew what he had the power to do. I was a marionette that obeyed every string he pulled without even knowing it. He lead me on. He had a girlfriend and he lead me on. Why did he lead me on?

God, he’s even more of a jerk than I’d given him credit for. Hawthornes never change. With this painful honest realisation my movements gradually return to more fluid and flowing motions, interspersed with slow gentle turns. It’s ruined, the moment we shared. It’s now tainted. How can I even imagine such a beautiful kiss without feeling regret? Without tasting the bitter aftertaste that coats my mouth even now? I pirouette for the final time, getting so lost with each spin I’ve lost count of how many I’ve done. It’s an everlasting void of blurry scenery and my messed up mind.

I collapse into a helpless heap on the floor, finishing the routine. There is no fight left, no anger, no pain, no momentum. Just space. The little girl in her ballet flats is long gone. The teenager locking her pointe shoes away has also disappeared. The woman who lent her heart to a Hawthorne for far too long will never return again. Every part of me is lost. I’m not sure I even know who I am anymore. All I know is that, the dancer in me is broken.

***

YOUR POV

“Any word?” I rush in, Avery close beside me.

“We need to know everything,” she says, dominance in her tone.

We had arrived back on the island practically in a flash. My head is all over the place, jumbled with attempts to remember things that could help us find Gigi. My heart dropped when I found out. We couldn’t lose out Gigi.

“Y/n!” Xander exclaims.

He looks in shock to see me, both burnt and unburnt eyebrows raised, jaw dropped. Jameson wears a similar expression and so does Nash. It’s like they’ve seen a ghost.

“Yeah?” I reply bluntly.

“You’re here,” he says, eyes bulging.

“Unless I’ve magically become a hologram in the past 2 minutes,” I say looking at my watch, “yeah I’m here.”

“Right,” he nods slowly, before turning back to his computer.

“So Gigi,” Avery says, steering us back to the present.

“We’re just about to scout for her,” Jameson explains.

“And I’m attempting to search the security footage,” Xander calls, eyed glued to the screen.

“If someone kidnapped her wouldn’t they cut it?” I ask.

“The main footage has been cut but we’re Hawthornes,” Nash flashes a very Hawthorne grin, “there’s always a back up camera where they least expect it.”

“Unfortunately for us, it’s a very blurry back up camera,” Jameson grimaces.

“Oh,” Avery sighs.

“With horrible sound,” Nash adds.

“Fantastic,” I smile sarcastically, walking behind Xander to look at the screen.

They are right. The screen is black and white and pretty much the blurriest thing I’d ever seen. Our situation is looking quite dismal.

“I’m putting better back up security on my to do list,” Avery murmurs.

“I’ll second that,” Jameson says, kissing her cheek.

“We have to find her,” she says, leaning into him, “Jamie we have to.”

“I know heiress, we’re going to, don’t worry,” he soothes, giving her that look. The look that only men in love can master.

My heart feels sore and I turn. Then I realise why. The room suddenly feels so empty, so hollow. And I feel alone despite being surrounded by people. He’s not here. My head had been so caught up on my millions of thoughts that I hadn’t registered it.

“Where’s Grayson?” I ask out of the blue.

The whole room stands still. Everyone is frozen by a force I didn’t know existed until this moment. No one dare move, let alone breathe. A sickening chill rolls down my spine and I fear the worst.

“He’s outside,” Jameson finally says.

“He won’t move,” Nash adds quietly, looking down at the floor.

Xander sighs, “and we had to take the whiskey away from him.”

“You left him alone!” I yell, not meaning to sound so attacking.

“We didn’t know what else to do, he isn’t exactly a joy to be around right now and we need to find Gigi,” Jameson reasons.

“We thought it’d be best to focus on that, the sooner we get Gigi found, the sooner he’ll marginally snap out of dark era,” Nash explains further.

“I’m going to talk to him,” I reply, my tone sharp and definite. No one was going to tell me no.

Eyes snap up at me. All four pairs. I can read all of their emotions so clearly it’s painful. Elements of confusion, shock and pity wash over me, but I push it all to the side. What they thought didn’t matter.

“Y/n, you don’t have to do that…” Jameson trails off.

“No,” I tell him softly, “I do.”

He opens his mouth to argue.

“I can help him, you know that and so do I,” I say before he can get a word out, “so that’s what I’m going to do.”

***

He’s sat on the rocks, looking over the choppy water. The wind whips the hair across my face and back again. My cheeks grow rosy with the cold. He hurt me, but he’s hurting. I can’t let him hurt alone. As pathetic as it may be I physically can’t. Slowly I approach from behind. I know he can hear me but he doesn’t turn, he doesn’t even move a muscle. He just sits and stares.

I cautiously sit beside him, my legs hanging over the edge. The reflection of death’s face snickers at me in the water. Still, Grayson does not move. He remains a stationary block, robotic almost. I look towards at him and analyse his features. He’s sober. But oh lord is he broken. I turn away, any longer and I might’ve done something stupid.

“Are you okay?” I murmur, looking out to the moon kissed water miniature waves bobbing up and down.

“You’re asking me?” he almost scoffs. I can tell he’s been sobbing, his tone is thick and swollen with grief. It stings my soul, like antiseptic to a fresh wound.

“Why shouldn’t I?” I reply quietly.

“Because I hurt you,” he says, his voice barely a whisper.

“Just because someone hurts you doesn’t mean you have to hurt them too,” I respond, finally turning to look at him.

To my surprise his eyes are ready for me, already locked onto my every move. They meet and something washes over me, something that probably shouldn’t.

“How are you so kind?” he asks, something tender in his voice. It makes my soul squeeze.

“People need to be nicer to each other in this world,” I shrug in response.

“They do,” he says quietly, playing with his fingers.

“So,” I exhale, “are you okay?”

I already know the answer. He’s not. He’s filled with guilt and sorrow and hatred and anger and upset and conflict. He’s the furthest from okay you can get.

“Not really,” he breathes, “are you okay?”

“Not really,” I grin.

A ghost of a smile haunts his features. Who gave him the right to look so beautiful?

“Gigi will be okay,” I tell him confidently.

He shakes his head as pain constricts his features, “ we don’t know that.”

“She’s stronger than you think she is,” I reply quickly.

“She’s just a kid,” he growls.

“No, she’s not Gray,” I snapped fiercely, “she’s bold and she’s brave and she can handle herself, but we will find her, we won’t stop until we do.”

He stares at me. Eyes fixated, like I’m worthy of being looked at. My heart rate picks up and that’s when I realise that this is all wrong. I can’t be the idiot that lets him back in, I won’t be.

“What?” I ask.

He says nothing but his silver eyes still remained glued to mine.

“What is it Grayson?” I whispered, the wind barely carrying my words.

“I still love you.”

The words hit me like a tonne of bricks. I can’t respond. All the air is knocked out of me. His hand is in my chest and wrapped around my heart. He’s squeezed it between his fingertips and licked my blood greedily from his fingers. He stills loves me. And I know I still love him too, but I can’t say that. I won’t.

“How can I trust you?” I scoff, letting my rage take hold. It’s better than my love.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs softly. Did his voice have to be so soft?

“Fool me once, shame on you,” I state, “fool me twice, shame on me.”

“I’m sorry,” he tells me. I can hear he means it, I can see he means it but I can’t believe it. He was too good of a liar before, too talented of an actor. I can’t afford to fall for it again.

“Sorry isn’t good enough,” I press on.

“I know…” he trails off, voice hoarse, “but I don’t know what other words to say.”

“Then don’t say anything,” I snap, shooting him a fiery look.

“But I love you,” Grayson says, too much emotion decorating his tone.

“If you loved me you wouldn’t have kissed her,” I say, throwing it all back in his face. He needed to face the truth and so did I.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me, I don’t expect you to love me too, but I need you to know and hear it from my lips that I love you,” he confesses, his eyes not wavering for a second, pinning me down with their addictive nature. It feels like my hands are tied. I’m a prisoner to those eyes. I always have been.

“I’ve heard it from your lips a thousand times before today and you still did what you did,” I spit back, the words rolling from my tongue before I gave them permission to.

He falters, there’s no words left to say.

“I want you to be happy, that’s all I care about,” I tell him, my tone still slightly jagged, “so drop the guilt, I forgive you. But things can’t go back to how they were, not after this.”

They are all lies. Every single sentence. I’m avoiding the truth beating so loudly in my chest. I’m ignoring its petulant screaming. I’m such a hypocrite. I loathe him for his lies and then I return them with my own tongue.

“How can I drop the guilt when it’s all I know now?” he murmurs.

“You’ll find a way, you’re stronger than you think Grayson. You doubt yourself too often,” I sigh.

He doesn’t say anything for a while, but runs a hand through his hair, then over his face. After one too many best of silence he turns to me one final time.

“Why are you so good?” he asks me.

“It’s not a question of good or bad it’s a question of what’s right,” I say impatiently, “I’m not going to just sit here and let you wallow because that’s not you Grayson and you know it.”

“You’re an angel,” he murmurs, almost in a daze.

But you chose the dancer. The words are on the tip of my tongue but I don’t say them.

“No time for flattery, we’re wasting time,” I sigh, “let’s go and find Gigi.”

***

GRAYSON’S POV

We search for four hours straight until all of us are too exhausted to speak. We need to sleep, though we’re all too stubborn to admit it. As a collective we decide half of us are to get some rest whilst the other half stay up two more hours, then we’ll switch. I take the first shift, searching with Jameson. Xander is still inside still attempting decipher the body on the mini security camera or placement of Gigi’s phone and everyone else has gone to sleep.

Jameson and I are on the edge of the island, calling for Gigi with raw throats and pounding heads. I can’t believe I’d lost her. I was meant to protect her, look after her. Things like this weren’t supposed to happen when I was around. I’ve failed as a brother.

“What did she say to you?” Jameson asks snapping me out of my thoughts.

I look up. I knew exactly who ‘she’ was.

“Who?” I reply plainly.

“Don’t play dumb,” he rolls his eyes at me.

Sometimes it was annoying how well my brothers knew me.

“She asked me if I was okay, comforted me about Gigi and helped me pull myself together.” I pause, “she told me that wallowing isn’t what I do.”

“Are you sure she knows you properly?” Jameson raises an eyebrow with a smirk.

I try to crack a smile but can’t.

“I told her I still loved her,” I blurt out.

I don’t know why I say it, the words just come out. Jameson has that effect on me. Lying to him has always been difficult, I feel so transparent in his presence. And I know he’ll be honest, he won’t sugarcoat what he really thinks. Maybe that’s why it’s easier.

His eyes grow to the size of saucepans, “what?”

“I told her I st-“

“I know what you said Gray but are you crazy?” he asks me, looking semi-genuinely concerned.

“I don’t know,” I shrug, “maybe.”

“That was selfish,” he seethes, eyes blazing with fury. Similar to how they looked earlier.

“Selfish?” I furrow my brows, “she deserves to know!”

“No, you needed to get it off of your chest in a last ditch attempt to get her back,” he snaps.

I’m not fighting the truth this time. He’s hit the nail on the head. My silence unfortunately speaks volumes and my brother understands.

“So…” he exhales, “what did she say?”

“If I loved her I wouldn’t have kissed Lyra,” I say, her words rubbing through my head again.

“She’s right,” he sighs.

“She always is,” I say, my voice catching slightly.

“I don’t think she’s okay,” Jameson murmurs, “I don’t think Avery does either.”

“It’s all my fault,” I groan, closing my eyes.

I wish I could be taken out of her life, erased forever just so she could be happy. I deserve to hurt, not her. Never her.

“She shouldn’t love me,” I say, the words becoming more real when I say them out loud.

“No one decides who they love, it just happens,” he shrugs at me.

I open my mouth to reply but a familiar ringing cuts me off. My phone vibrates in my pocket. I presume it’s Xander for some sort of update so I answer the way I always do.

“It’s Grayson,” I say sharply.

I hear Jameson mutter something about how weird it was that I answered like that but I choose to kindly ignore him.

“I know,” the voice sings from the other side.

All the oxygen is robbed from my lungs and I struggle to breathe. Every muscle ceases to move and I become a picture frozen in time. It couldn’t be, she wouldn’t call me, it shouldn’t happen.

“Y/n?”

Her name feels foreign to my tongue in that moment, despite the thousands of times I’d uttered it. Jameson gapes.

“Grayson Davenport Hawthorne actually,” she corrects me, her speech a little slurred, “one s, one v and one h.”

“Are you drunk?” I ask bluntly.

“Noooo silly,” she laughs, “I don’t get drunk I’m always fine, perfect actually. That’s what you used to call me, perfect!”

My heart shatters, “you are perfect.”

She giggles, the sound so light and airy and beautiful I want to lock it away and play it on repeat to myself all the time.

“Where are you?” I question.

There’s a few beats of silence before, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” I say, suddenly alarmed. Protection surges through me and all I want to do is run to wherever she is and scoop her up into my arms.

“I’m in a room,” she explains, soundly dazed, out of it.

“Your room?” I prompt her.

“Maybe,” she muses, “there’s all my stuff here but this burning liquid I’m drinking is not mine. It’s kind of hurting my throat.”

“Stay right where you are,” I snap, “I’m going to get someone to come and help you.”

I want the someone to be me. Why can’t the someone be me?

“Help? I don’t need help! I’m fine, always fine. I’m never not fine,” she laughs. I can imagine her tipping her head back with a hand on her stomach.

“I know lo-“ I catch myself again, almost saying love, “I know, but don’t you want a friend to talk to you right now?”

“Yeahhh I do,” she agrees, her words all mushing together into one.

“Good, someone will be right over-“

“Gray can you come?” she murmurs.

I stop. She sounds too vulnerable, too helpless for me to ignore. Her voice is small and cautious. It makes me want to weep.

“Where?” I ask.

“Here…” she trails off, “…with me.”

“Okay,” I blurt out before actually thinking about what I was saying.

“Then bye bye pumpkin pie,” she giggles, “oh my gosh I just rhymed!!”

“Yes you did,” I chuckle, the smile stretched out in my face physically agonising me. She could always make me smile.

I made her cry.

“Are you coming then?” she makes sure, with that soft defenceless voice again.

“On my way now,” I reply, almost as if it’s a reflex.

“Oh good,” she says and I can hear the smile in her voice. With that she hangs up. I shove my phone back in my pocket and meet my brother’s eye.

“She’s drunk,” I explain slowly.

“I heard,” he nods.

“I’m worried she’s going to do something stupid,” I admit with a sigh.

“Go and help her, I’ll carry on looking for Gigi,” Jameson says, as if it’s that simple.

“No I can’t do that,” I shake my head.

“Why not?” he furrows his brows.

“She hates me,” I say quickly, “you go.”

“She asked for you,” he points out, “and I think she’ll notice if I turn up.”

“Maybe she won’t,” I suggest.

“She can’t be that drunk,” he rolls his eyes, then sighs, “look Gray, this might be the last time she ever asks you for help, so go and help her, look after her, then leave.”

“This won’t end well,” I tell him. I can feel it in my chest and in my stomach. If I go there, I’ll lose myself and she won’t be in the right mind to stop me.

“Then don’t go,” he says with a shrug.

I groan, “but she needs someone.”

“You’re arguing with yourself Gray,” Jameson says. And he’s right. The only person who’s stopping me is me. I just don’t want to do the wrong thing.

“It my fault she’s in this situation,” I reply, “it’s my fault she’s on her own, drunk and at risk of doing something stupid.”

“All the more reason for you to go and fix it,” he says.

I stand in silence. That consolidates my answer. To myself and to him.

“Let me know if you get any word of Gigi, I’ll be back soon,” I say, sharply adjusting my suit jacket.

“Bye,” he salutes.

***

I’m quick to make my way to her, the worry sort of takes over and my instinctual protection kicks in. When I get there the door is unlocked, my first indication to how drunk she really is.

“Grayson is that you?” I hear her murmur.

Her voice is vulnerable but the sweet notes are all the same. If I were to hear any voice for the rest of my life I’d want it to be hers. I’d never tire of listening to it. I walk further in the room I see her, the moonlight streaming through the window is the only thing illuminating her figure. Her face is red and there are prominent dark circles underneath her eyes. She looks pale and hollow and there’s something not quite right about her eyes, their usual sparkle dimmed. A catch a glimpse of a glass half empty in her hand.

“How much have you had?” I ask her, cocking my head towards the glass.

“Not that much,” she grins lazily, stumbling over herself in an attempt to make her way towards me.

“You need to get to bed,” I say softly.

All I want to do is scoop her up into my arms and hold her close to my chest, taking in her sweet shampoo. I want to keep her safe, protect her forever but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t let myself. I make a silent promise that I won’t get too close, I won’t touch her because I know once I do I’ll fall in too deep.

“But I’m not even sleepy,” she pouts.

She doesn’t know what she’s doing to me. Those lips are killing me softly.

“Come on,” I murmur gently, gesturing to the bed.

“Nu-uh,” she shakes her head, “you’re going to have to carry me.”

I sigh and weigh up my options before lifting her up into my arms, knowing I shouldn’t be doing this. But I can’t just leave her. She squeals and giggles. An essence of sunshine shining back through the empty void I’d entered.

“Do you feel okay?” I ask her, lowering her down onto the mattress.

“Me? I’m fine!” she smiles, that beautiful smile, “are you okay?”

She tilts her head to the side and a chunk of hair falls over her face.

“I’m fine,” I say, moving it out of the way. It surrounds her like a halo.

“Oh well I know that’s a lie,” she laughs, “I’ve always known that about you though, you’re hurting. On the inside.”

“I am hurting,” I say, caressing her cheek, “but you’re hurting more.”

“I’m not hurting, I’m in the numbing process,” she explains with great enthusiasm.

“Hence the alcohol?” I raise an eyebrow.

“I call it happy juice,” she grins.

“Well no more happy juice tonight,” I explain to her.

“Why not?” she pouts, “it makes me happy.”

“It also destroys your liver,” I say, taking the glass away from her and putting it on the other side of the room.

“Come sit,” she murmurs, patting the bed beside her, “please.”

“I don’t think I should,” I reply. I have to stay strong, I can’t listen to my heart, my brain must have superiority.

“But I want you to,” she whispers.

My brain switches off. I sit beside her and as soon as I’m on the bed, her head falls into my lap, quite literally. It flops down as if she can’t hold it up any longer.

“Can you do that thing, where you massage my head and be all gentle with my hair, I love it when you do that,” she asks me.

When we were together I used to do it all the time subconsciously. If we were watching the television or cuddling. I never realised she loved it so much.

“I’m not sure you want me to,” I say hesitantly. This isn’t fair on her. She’s not in her right mind, she can’t make a decision properly.

“Of course I do!” she exclaims, “that’s why I asked you silly!”

“It’s not a good idea,” I murmur, only saying this because it is right not because it is true, “us being this close.”

“I disagree,” she says cheerily.

“You won’t like it when you sober up,” I warn her. Deep down I know she can’t even comprehend this, I know her mind if fogged over by alcohol and she doesn’t know what she’s really doing. But it doesn’t make me leave.

“I am sober-ish,” she says, “that’s good enough.”

“You are anything but sober,” I chuckle shaking my head.

“Head massage please,” she says, readjusting her head in my lap.

Slowly I comb the hair out of her face and eyes. My fingertips slide gently through her silky hair. The silence is torturing. Seconds morph into minutes until if feels like it’s been hours. I’m being strangled by no sound, suffocated by a blanket of blankness. To distract myself I weave my hands in and out in a rhythmic pattern.

“Why did you choose her?” a small voice asks making me jump. We’d been sat in silence for so long I’d forgotten that we could speak. My hands stop moving suddenly as I register the question.

“What?”

“Is it because she was prettier? Better personality? Funnier? Nicer? Happier?” she lists.

“I didn’t choose her,” I shake my head in defiance.

“But you kissed her,” she says, yet again. The words sting every time they come out of her mouth.

“That was a mistake,” I explain resting my heavy head back until it hit the headboard.

“So were all of our kisses a mistake too?” she asks, rolling onto her back so her eyes are gazing up into mine.

“None of them were,” I murmur in reply, the colour of them so mesmerising it was distracting.

“Then I don’t understand,” her eyebrows pinch together in confusion.

“You don’t need to,” I whisper running my fingertip over her knuckles.

She sighs and sadness ripples over her face. I hate seeing her with that expression on her face. It rips me apart.

“My chest hurts,” she moans softly.

“Where?” I ask urgently, running through every illness and condition that could possibly cause chest pains.

“Here,” she says pointing to her heart, “you broke it.”

My eyes grow glossy even though I didn’t ask them to. She lets me take my hand and place it on top of hers to feel the steady beat in her chest.

“I didn’t mean to,” I barely choke out.

“But you did and it can’t be mended, pain like this there aren’t any pills for,” she tells me.

“I’m sorry.”

“You said that before,” she smiles sadly.

“It’s true,” I whisper.

“Can you fix me?” she says quietly, “because I can’t fix me.”

My heart shatters into a million pieces, fragmenting into shards of pulsating muscle.

“Of course you can fix you,” I tell her.

“No I can’t,” she says, beginning to tear up, “look at me, this is the real me and she’s ugly.”

“This isn’t the real you and she is most certainly not ugly,” I assure her.

She giggles with tears rolling down her rosy cheeks. Beautiful even in tears.

“What?” I ask her.

“You use big words like ‘certainly’, it makes you sound very posh,” she chuckles to herself.

“I’m not that posh,” I reply.

She scoffs, “have you seen your house?!”

“Maybe I’m a bit posh then.”

“You know how ealierrr,” she slurs, “how you and me were talkingggg.”

“You might not want to continue that sentence lo-“ I stop myself from saying love. She’s not my love. She’s not mine to love.

“No,” she shakes her head, “no I do want to carry on actually…” she giggles bringing ther fingertip to my nose, “boop!”

“Okay,” I say softly, taking her hand into mine, away from my nose or any other poke-able part of my face.

“You said you still love me,” she says.

The beating in my chest begins to slow, as does my breathing, “I did.”

“And I still love you too.”

I can’t speak.

“But I can’t say it out loud, because then I’m an idiot for loving someone who cut me deeper than any weapon could ever cut me. And I tried to drink it all away, believe me I tried, but then halfway through my fifth glass I kind of realised it wasn’t working. And then I realised why. It’s because I still fucking love you, how depressing is that? You murdered my heart and yet it can’t stop beating your name. I mean it’s so on brand for me because my whole life people have told me that I always love the wrong too hard, that I get in too deep to come back out of and I’m just proving them all right,” she laughs and sobs at the same time, “I’m so stupid, so horribly ironically stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” I snap.

“You’re only saying that because you still love me,” she groans, rolling her eyes.

“I would say it regardless, any competent person can see that,” I say.

“But you still love me?” she murmurs, her for eyes forcing the truth from my lips.

“I still love you,” I say.

I knew something stupid like this would happen but I’m not stopping it now.

“How? How can you still love me when you love her?” she asks, agony in her tone.

“I don’t,” I tell her sharply,

She furrows her brows, “you don’t love Lyra?”

“No,” I shakes my head.

“But you kissed her,” she says, tracing a fingertip across my bottom lips.

I shy away from her tentative touch, “I did but that was the worst mistake of my life.”

“Why?” she laughs.

“Because I’m losing you because of it,” I admit. She won’t remember tomorrow morning, she won’t remember what she said or why she said it. This moment will be lost in time and I’ll be the only one left to remember it.

“You’re just losing the outside me, I have a feeling I’ll always love you,” she replies.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” I shake my head, “you’re drunk, you need to sleep.”

I need to stop this. I’m being selfish again. She’s pouring her heart out to me because she can’t control her mouth. It’s not fair and I won’t let her do it anymore.

“No I do know what I’m saying,” she insist, sitting up, “you don’t understand what you do to me and I wish I wasn’t so in love with you because maybe I’d be able to walk away more easily but I can’t, because this love isn’t just love. It’s something more for me.”

I’m in shock. A physical state of shock. It was more to me too…. I know I must go quickly before this escalates. It’s already gone far too far. Enough is enough.

“Look sweeth-“ I stop myself, “y/n, I need to leave.”

I stand up quickly and attempt to make a b-line for the door.

“No!” she yelled, yanking be back down. Her fingers clawing at my arm, like a scared animal, “please Gray, stay with me.”

“I can’t,” I shake my head, my face pinching in pain.

“You have to,” she begs, tugging at my arm.

I sigh, “you’ll be mad at me tomorrow if I stay tonight.”

“No I won’t silly,” she says, “please I need someone to cuddle.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I tell her. As much as I want her in my arms again, to feel her skin against mind and listen to her sweet breathing as she sleeps I can’t. I can’t do it to her, I won’t.

“Well I do,” she says, pushing me down firmly.

Slowly she crawls onto me and curls up against my chest. If the last twelve hours had never happened this would be totally normal and completely natural. Instead I carrying the heaviest stone of guilt I’ve ever lifted. I can’t leave her, but I can’t stay either.

“You won’t like this in the morning,” I tell her, hoping she might find to her senses.

“Well I like it now,” she yawns, cozying further into me.

“That’s because you’re drunk,” I explain, resting my cheek on top of her head. I smell her sweet shampoo and deja vu washes over me like a tidal wave. I’m swept under

“Grayson?” she whispers gently.

“Yes?”

“Promise you’ll just stay for tonight, then you can leave me for the dancer again tomorrow,” she says.

The bones in my chest ache and the pump that supplies me with blood crushed between fate’s cruel fingers.

“I’m not leaving you angel,” I tell her firmly, “not ever again.”

“I love you,” she mumbles, the words muffling against my chest.

“I love you too,” I whisper, planting a kiss onto the top of her head.

***

heyyyy guysss. so you’ve probably noticed this is the first fic I’ve posted in a bit of a while. It’s bc of exams and stuff and also this fic was so long. I got a little bit carried away mid way through but oh well… I hope you guys enjoyeddd 💖💖

am I dancer? Yes. The last time I did ballet? when I was about nine years old…. so apologies to any actual ballet dancers who are reading lyra’s routine and are thinking what in the world…

ANYWAYS I love love loved writing this and I know different POVs sometimes are a bit controversial but I felt like it was necessary here and thanks for readinggg 🤍🤍

also no one asked but I’m going tell you guys anyway, Lyra’s dance is based off of a song called girl with one eye by florence and the machine (omg it’s such a good song)

I wonder if any of you worked out my little clue 🤭🤭

hint: weiv fo tniop s’aryl

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[amongemeraldclouds]

better than revenge | chapter one: falling for me, dear?

Lorenzo Berkshire x Slytherin!reader (ft. Ex!Mattheo Riddle)

Series trope: Fake dating

Chapter one summary: While trying to hide from your ex-boyfriend Mattheo, you run into a potential ally and the scheming starts.

Warning: Swearing, allusion to cheating

Author's note: I prefer using I instead of you to refer to the reader. Feel free to comment if you’d like me to tag you when the next one goes live.

Aahh I'm so excited to publish this! It's my first time writing fan fiction and doing a series. I used to write fictional one shots years ago when I was 15. Anyway, enjoy reading! Happy to receive feedback.

main masterlist | series masterlist | chapter two: practice?

What is Mattheo Riddle doing in the library at this hour? He’s supposed to be in class.

I close my book and grab my bag. Trying to tame my racing heart, I sneak off to the shelves. He can’t see me, nope. He no longer has the privilege to interact with me in any way, not since he broke my heart.

I curse inward, walking back, further down the shelves. My eyes dart from him and the exit, mapping out my escape plan. If I wait for him to pass the next five rows of shelves, I can—

“Oof,” I drop my book as I hit something behind me. No, not something. Someone.

I nearly fall but then strong arms catch me. “Falling for me, dear?” I hear a deep, playful voice. Lorenzo Berkshire, we knew each other casually but he and Mattheo are rivals despite being half brothers so I never had much opportunities to speak to him when we dated.

“Ha, funny Berkshire. Maybe if you didn’t randomly stand by shelves, then people wouldn’t knock into you,” I say grabbing my things off the floor and composing myself.

He raises an eyebrow, “maybe if you didn’t walk backwards, you’d actually see where you’re walking.”

“Maybe if your brother stuck to his schedule and he was where he needed to be then I wouldn’t have to go sneaking around the damn library at my damn school. Like I’m the one who did something wrong,” I reply.

“First of all, it’s half brother. And second—what?” His eyebrows knit together.

“Why are you avoiding Mattheo?” His voice softens.

I look away from him and my cheeks burn. “I just don’t want to see him,” I whisper, trying to keep my voice steady. It’s been three weeks yet the memories felt fresh in my mind. A night of forbidden kisses and broken promises. I can feel my eyes sting and it takes everything in me to hold it all in. 

“I don’t know what happened between you two, but knowing Mattheo, it was definitely his fault,” he says. I look at his grinning face and smile back. 

“Listen,” he leans in conspiratorially and holds his arm out to lean on the shelf.

Footsteps grow louder as Mattheo approaches, watching you smiling up at Lorenzo while he stands intimately close to you. “Get a room!” He chides.

Lorenzo smirks at you then turns to face his brother, “stalk much? If you missed me, brother, you could have just called.”

“Fuck off, Enzo,” Mattheo bites out. “I heard a thud and had to see what is was about.”

“Always looking for trouble,” Lorenzo tsked. “You know what? I’ll take your advice. I’ll fuck off and we’ll get a room.” He turns towards me, “what do you say?”

“I think that’s a great idea,” I take his hand and force a smile, looking at Mattheo for the first time in weeks. God, I missed his brown eyes and those dark curls.

I inwardly slap myself to stay focused. “Thanks for the advice, Mattheo,” I say sweetly. I hold my head high and leave the library with Enzo, my sadness transformed to anger.

“Thanks for the save,” I bump my shoulder against Lorenzo’s once we’re far enough away from the library. 

He bumps my shoulder back, “any chance I can annoy Mattheo is a great opportunity in my book.”

“So listen,” I start, an idea forming in my head. “What if we continue to annoy him?”

“And how do you propose we do that?” He asks.

“By continuing this” I point between us. I didn’t expect it but I felt courageous speaking to Mattheo earlier when I was with Enzo. It felt good.

Lorenzo smirks, “darling, if you wanted to date me, all you have to do is ask.”

I hit his shoulder playfully, “fake date. Honestly, I’m still getting over Mattheo. It wouldn’t be fair. I’m not yet ready to date for real.”

“Let’s do it!” He agrees enthusiastically.

“Wait,” I stop walking. “You agreed too easily, what’s in it for you?”

“Aside from the kindness of my own heart?” He smirks. I roll my eyes.

“Fine. Here’s a tale as old as time: my father wants me to marry a pureblood. Given my dating history, he doesn’t trust me to make the right decision so he’s been setting me up with his friends’ and allies’ daughters this past year. Now normally I don’t mind wining and dining with beautiful ladies, but at this point, I’m exhausted,” he sighs.

I frown, “Shit, that’s a lot of pressure. But why? We’re still young.”

“Right, but he wants to have a strategic marriage that will keep our social status or even elevate it,” Enzo explains.

I catch on, “My father is influential in the political sphere so it would definitely help you.”

“We don’t actually have to date, don’t worry. But it’s enough to keep him off my back just until we graduate and then I’ll have more room to breathe.”

“So that’s why Mattheo was annoyed earlier! If we date, he’ll think you might marry me and then his ex-girlfriend would be his sister in law,” I realize. 

“Exactly, it’s a win-win situation,” Lorenzo grins then looks at his watch. “I have class in ten minutes. Meet me at my dorm later so we can go over the details in private?” I nod in agreement.

Lorenzo leans closer, “can I kiss you on the forehead?”

“Why of course, fake boyfriend,” I whisper with a small smile, finding an odd comfort in his proximity as he places a gentle kiss on my forehead. A few students around us whisper, witnessing something new to gossip about. 

Fake dating, what could go wrong?

main masterlist | series masterlist | chapter two: practice?

[ohimsummer]

✎ . . .❝ AW, FUN’S OVER.❞

—minors dni, implied creampie, poly! satosugu x afab!reader, sub! gojo, dom! reader + geto, overstim, pegging, hickeys/biting, slight dacryphilia? kind of proofread

⭑ ࣪ ˖ sum’z notes.ᐟ ummmmm. idk where this came from. anyway i wanna breed this man’s ass, sawry for my sins (not rlly 🤷🏽‍♀️)

his chest is heaving, stuttered moans crawling from within his throat, and satoru’s hazy blue eyes struggle to blink back a fresh wave of tears. there’s a vibrant red over his cheeks, ears, his face entirely, matching the shade of his erect cock drooling strings of sticky precum down to his abdomen.

“fuck, i’m spent.” suguru heaves out a breath, pulling his softening cock from satoru’s insides. “need a break. y/n, you ready?”

an arm is bent to cover your eyes, but you adjust it just a bit to peek at your boyfriends. satoru seems exhausted—all dumb and mindless from round after round after round with both of you tag-teaming whenever the other gets tired. he has an iron grip with fingers laced between yours, squeezing even harder whenever he’s close to another orgasm. or what would be another, at this point he’s just shooting blanks, begging for even five minutes to recover, but that’s just no fun, is it?

“y-y/n–!” he tries to bargain with you as you situate between his mark-riddled thighs, the result of you and suguru’s love on his skin. they catch your eye and don’t let go, inflate your ego for a bit and it’s no wonder satoru likes to do it so much.

“you two, please—,” his whiny plea is cut off, muffled by suguru’s lips on his. a hand tugs at sleek, black strands, prompting a moan from geto, and your pussy flutters at the kinky display; even more so as suguru’s hand wanders down to fist satoru’s bobbing cock.

flicking a button, the small vibrator within the harness begins buzzing against your swollen nub, and you let out a moan as your hips thrust forward, breaching satoru’s entrance and sending a shiver up his spine. through lust-filled vision, you see suguru’s cum gush out around the faux dick, a natural lubricant that makes it easy to plunge deeper inside. his nails sink into suguru’s shoulders to leave more red, angry marks, back arching as your hips finally meet his ass.

“bein’ such a good boy, satoru.” suguru pulls back for a second, and you can see the pout on your white-haired partner’s face. his throat has long went hoarse, insults and comebacks since becoming nonexistent, though you can still see hints of that rebelliousness within the blue of his eyes.

“so pretty when you’re filled with my cock, aren’t ya?” he gives a needy whine in reply. “so. fucking. pretty.” and you rip broken moans from his lips when you punctuate each word with a hard thrust. satoru’s desperate cries grow louder, other hand clutching at the sheets as his head plummets into the comfort of plush pillows.

“is my ba–by gonna make another mess?,” your words are slurred, vibrations on your clit tightening the coil in your tummy—a rapidly approaching release forces your hips forward in eager ruts against satoru’s ass. “cum all over himself again?”

“or try to, anyway.” suguru teases your overstimulated boyfriend, pressing a kiss to his tear-streaked cheek. “i think we emptied him out a while ago.”

said man huffs, barely finding his words through a flurry of whimpers and groans. “you— you guys are, ah!, so f–fuck—ing, oh, shit!”

you lean forward, over suguru’s arm still pumping at satoru’s stiffened cock, tossing one of his trembling legs over your shoulder to almost fold him in half. “so what, sweetheart? can’t get your words out anymore, either? fucked you too dumb?

his white brows downturn in a glare. “sh-shut u–“ another hard thrust, fat tip of the strap ramming into his prostrate. “pl–ease, ah!”

a tremble rolls throughout his body, cock twitching in suguru’s hold, before satoru’s body goes limp. the stuttered heaves of his chest fade into deep, even breathes, lids fluttering shut, and he lets out a last, gentle sigh before succumbing to exhaustion.

you and suguru look to eachother, before he taps a finger to satoru’s cheek, whispering ‘you okay, love?’—you’re both content when his head turns away, brows knit together and mumbling an unintelligible complaint, before falling back into a state of unconsciousness.

both of you then get up to fetch towels, water, other aftercare supplies for your passed-out lover; suguru presses a loving kiss to your temple before you part ways for different areas of the house. “aw, fun’s over.”

tagz: @anthoosies @staryukis 🚊choo choo !

[hysteria-things]

✿ PROMISE? ✿ PART FIVE.

ʚ♡ɞ 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 | 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 ʚ♡ɞ

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: chris x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you and your former best friend chris sturniolo hang out for the first time in a long time.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: swearing

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 822

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i added a promise? tag to make it easier to navigate!

𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐈𝐒 𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐘 recorded video when chris opens his door without knocking. nick lets out a yelp and aggressively takes off his headphones, staring up at his brother with horror and anger in his eyes. “for fuck sake!”

“stop yelling, it’s just me. have you heard from y/n?”

he gives him a look that looks like disgust, but his facial expressions are so similar that chris doesn’t know which emotion is which anymore. “not since the afternoon. why?”

“just curious,” he says, closing the door.

chris’s phone is on the kitchen island facing upwards. he taps the screen to see if there are any notifications, but there aren’t. he groans. it’s almost midnight, she has to be home by now.

as matt is walking into the kitchen, his phone goes off making him lunge across the island to grab it. matt stops in his tracks and looks at chris with wide eyes. “i’m confused.”

“keep on walking, lover boy,” chris says, holding up his hand in a shooing gesture. the boy rolls his eyes and opens the fridge. he stays hunched over the island, a smile appearing on his face when he sees it.

y/n l/n is typing…

he didn’t bother waiting for you to finish typing when he opened up snapchat. your bitmoji is on the bottom left corner above the keyboard, the three dots in the thought bubble moving from side to side as you type. a breath of relief was released from him when your message popped up.

Y/N

| i made it home

| see?

ME

| fine you win

| thank you for keeping your promise :)

Y/N

| as always (unlike you😒)

ME

| I SAID I WAS SORRY

Y/N

| i know i know i’m just kidding

| you're lucky claudia kept throwing up or i would’ve stayed there for wayyyy longer

ME

| LMAO

| that must’ve been fun to witness😍

Y/N

| for sure

ME

| are you free tomorrow?

Y/N

| i have no life

| so yes!

ME

| cool!

| do you want to hang out?

| like the good old days🥹

Y/N

| sure why not?

ME

| BET

| i’m going to text you to plan i hate using snapchat

| see you tomorrow :)

matt approaches next to chris. he’s sipping a root beer he got from the fridge a few minutes ago. “you’re going to hang out with y/n tomorrow?”

chris hides his phone by bringing it to his chest. he stares at him with a look of annoyance. “can you not snoop at my private conversations?”

he shrugs. “i wasn’t snooping. it just so happened to be in my eyesight.”

“get out of here, lover boy.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ✿ ⋆⁺₊⋆

𝐘𝐎𝐔’𝐕𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 journal more frequently than you have anticipated. you’ve had this journal for a while but stopped for no apparent reason, but ever since the triplets, it’s been a number one priority in your eyes.

your brain moves faster than your hands, so you write down whatever your scrambled thoughts are telling you to. half the time you don’t even know what you’re writing.

that’s when you remember you’re supposed to hang out with chris today, so you place your pen into the crack of the book and start texting.

you get up from the bed and take a shower. after that, you find a decent outfit and throw it on. by descent you mean a black long-sleeve shirt and gray sweatpants. you’re basic like that.

walking to your parent’s room, your mother sits at her vanity putting the final touches on herself. you knock on the doorway, and she looks at you through the mirror and smiles. “hi, sweetie.”

“hey.” you reply. “so… just letting you know chris is coming over soon, even though you guys are going out anyway.”

“your father is in the car waiting.” she says, getting up and grabbing her purse. she grabs your shoulder lightly. “i’m glad you guys are starting to talk again.”

she kisses you on the head, exiting the room.

there is a knock at the front door, causing you to spring up from the couch.

you stand there for a beat before opening it. chris stands there with his hands in his pockets, lifting his head when he hears you. you look behind his shoulder and lift a brow. “your clones aren’t joining you today?

he laughs and shakes his head. “no. you didn’t ask for them.” you open the door wider for him to step in.

he looks around. “still feels like my second home.”

the heart inside your body flutters at the comment, but you clear your throat to distract yourself. “do you want anything? a drink or something?”

“i’m good, thanks.” he looks down at you, a grin plastered on his face. “i just want to hang out with you.”

biting your lip, you smile. “ask and you shall receive.”

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @txssvx @sttzee @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @matthewsspecial @sturnolio-luvs @sturniolho @suga-daddy-69 @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hertvgirl @whoreforchrissturniolo @sturniolotriplettoplover @stars4matt @freshsturns @loverrsposts @sturnlcvr @elliesturniolo1 @tpvmz @user283926392 @lalalands86 @sukiipjs @sturniologirl813 @leahrab @chrissturniolosslut @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @luv4kozume @ivyyyyyysposts @mirxcle1 @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @catalina-island @mbsbaby @mattsdollie @pinkfarts @slut4mattsturn @thesturniolos @vickeyzloserz @nononopenono1 @bitchydragonparadise @gdsvhtwa @hrt-attack @bellasfavbisexual @dwntwn-strnlo @venusbabysblog

[cripplecharacters]

I know we (disabled people) aren't a monolith and all that, we'll all have different opinions on what is and is not offensive, but I want to ask if you can explain your opinion on cosplaying a disabled character a little more, because I don't really understand how portraying a character accurately, disabilities included within reason, would be offensive. I could see the use of an aid that other people could be actually making use of being harmful, and I can see not treating the disability in a respectful manner by making a joke of them being harmful, but as far as the inclusion of scar to cosplay a canonically scarred character goes, I feel like excluding them seems more offensive to me, it feels like erasure of the character's disability. If for example someone cosplayed a character I made that I was using to portray my own disabilities, and the cosplayer didn't include those disabilities when they could do so, I'd find that really insulting and hurtful. I guess it feels like too nuanced of a topic for a blanket This Is Good or This Is Bad answer if that makes sense? Sorry if this comes across as antagonistic or hostile, I'm not trying to pick a fight, I just want to understand your perspective.

Hi, I'm fully aware that there is a lot of opinions going either way (from "literally everything is fine" to "abled people shouldn't cosplay disabled characters at all no matter what"). I did a longer reply about the same thing in this ask that maybe will explain some of it better. There are also opinions of other mods on this in our #cripping up tag.

I don't consider not including a character's disability in cosplay as erasure, since to me it's just dressing up as a character with your own body and all. I think everyone should be able to cosplay everyone regardless of what their "factory settings" are, just don't pretend to be a minority that you aren't a part of in your normal life. I see pretending to have a disability for "character accuracy" as more offensive, your canvas for cosplay is yourself and if you don't have that disability then you just don't and that's completely fine. For the sake of not being accidentally insensitive I won't be making comparisons to other kinds of "pretending to be a minority for cosplay", especially since most other examples would be much worse anyway. To me, this whole practice is just... unnecessary. Work with what you have the same way disabled cosplayers shouldn't cover their disabilities when cosplaying abled characters.

I see your example of a potential cosplayer not including the disability in a character that you have made. I make disabled characters too, a lot of them even (probably granted for a mod on this blog). Some of them share my disabilities. And I think that we just have fundamentally different opinions because I'd vastly prefer for someone without my disability to just omit it rather than pretend parts of their face don't move or aren't symmetric. It'd feel like mockery to me, I don't want anyone to pretend to have a facial difference for any reason. If someone tried to dress up as literally me, I'd have the same opinion - do the clothes and goatee, but leave my gait disorder and half-moving mouth out of this. Obviously these things are part of my identity to an extent, and they make me who I am, but pretending to have them to imitate me feels more akin to bullying than authenticity. To be clear I get why you have that opinion, I just feel completely differently about it. And I don't think either of us are wrong or not wrong, it's just a different view of the same thing.

At the end of the day though I don't really care about how people cosplay their blorbos if all they do is dress up and take some photos like most cosplayers do. I just answer questions when directly asked rather than go out of my way to talk about this since in comparison to a lot of other issues this doesn't have big enough of an impact on me to be too bothered by it (if I had to do a list of ableist things I'm annoyed by I can't imagine a world where cosplay would make the list). I'm guessing that most askers don't know any handy person with an FD they can ask that so they come here, and I try to be helpful to the best of my ability.

I think the smartest thing a person can do is read a few opinions of different people and make a decision for themself. There is no one convenient consensus to follow (that I know of?), so it is what it is. If there is a potential cosplayer who is reading this ask and thinks that the asker's opinion makes more sense to them, then that's what they should probably do. The only thing I insist on is that they have fun cosplaying (rather than stressing over what person on the internet is right) because otherwise what's the point...

What I do consider important personally is the original thing I brought up, which is how abled people use facial difference as a costume in order to scare or disgust others. That is insensitive, offensive, and always in poor taste, it spreads misinformation about visibly disabled people and creates a negative image about a whole group of people, a lot of whom dread this time of the year (as mentioned in the article). Talking about this is in my opinion way more important than any Comic Con cosplay of a fictional character will ever be or has ever been, which probably influences my opinion on cosplay. When I think "fake facial differences", I'm reminded of horror villains with make-up that tries and fails to imitate how visibly disabled people look like. I associate fake scars and fake burns and fake skull shapes with this problem strongly, and as you can guess I don't like it at all. I find the authenticity argument hard to believe for myself when what is usually originally portrayed is an abomination of VFX designed to make us look scary; for most of these characters there is nothing good coming out of their "FD representation" anyway. If Freddy Krueger magically started to be shown as abled I'd be glad, not mad that the character who genuinely horribly affected how people from my community are seen is no longer doing that. This might be a radical take, but most existing characters with facial differences literally shouldn't have them. The way they are portrayed shapes how people are seen for the worse and if I had a "disability erasure" button for all the Scars and Voldemorts out there I'd make them as abled as possible.

Is this how all people with facial differences feel? I don't think I can go and ask each of them but definitely no, it's just the opinion of A Guy on the Internet (many such cases!) and rather than anything else I just want to share my view on stuff, so askers can hopefully make a more informed decision - whether that's writing, drawing, cosplay, etc. If someone reads my take and decides that they want to do the opposite, at least they have a bit of context on how some people might feel about it, and I think that's still valuable.

This is my opinion on this and I hope this clears it up more,

mod Sasza

[woahjo]

I think tendou likes being called babygirl

reading this literally felt the same way i imagine it feels to have the devil knock at your door. i feel like frollo when he sees esmeralda in the flames because you’re soooo fucking right. i’m so sorry for what i’m about to become here and in the tags.

cw: petnames, groping, i mention and oedipus complex at the end, teasing (ofc), i really don’t know how to tag for this just know i’m thinking weird thoughts and i wanted to give u a warning. the tags are weirder.

i feel like at first it starts as a little joke between the two of you, but quickly spirals into tension filled teasing. you call him babygirl and he leans in real close to you and grins this sleepy, lust-drunk grin and goes “yes?” because it’s weird and he’s REALLLY into it.

he knows it gets you going when he responds to it and it’s something of a pet name, but for some reason he weaponizes it a little bit.

“how’s my babygirl today?”

“mmm hungry..” he smiles a sly grin. satori puts his hands on your hips and draws you close to his sitting figure. he rests his hands on your hips so that his face is positioned just below your chest. “i could eat you up.”

“i should be saying that to you,” you huff as he presses his mouth to your fleshy stomach.

“maybe,” he says but it’s clear his interests are elsewhere as his hand creeps up to cup your breast. “got something for me?”

your reply is breathy. “if you’re hungry, cook.”

“not that kind of hungry…” he hums quietly. “not gonna take care of me?” he presses his face into your clothed breast. “mean.”

you run your hands through his spiky red hair, tilting your head back as he looks at you over the swell of your chest with glassy, teasing eyes.

“you’re a big baby.”

“yup,” he pops his p and presses his mouth to your nipple through your shirt. “you smell good.”

you sigh as he palms at your chest as waist, mouthing at the fabric of your shirt. satori closes his eyes momentarily, furrowing his small eyebrows. his hands are so big on you, grabbing slowly and pinching at the fat on your sides.

“satori…” you gasp quietly.

“who?”

when you open your eyes, he’s smirking at you with his head tilted up, his mouth still half pressed to your chest.

“babygirl,” you breathe, despite the heat that rises to your face.

“yeah, that’s it,” he says lightly, giving you that weird signature smile he seems to adopt when you play along.

anyway……….. i think he’s oedipus complex weird. and i think he plays up on the discomfort of it. it gets him off.

[longlivesteddie]

soulmates au where you start seeing color if you lock your eyes with your soulmate, rockstar!eddiesoulmates au where you start seeing color if you lock your eyes with your soulmate, rockstar!eddie

I need Steve to love Corroded Coffin so much he goes to their concerts every time they are in Indianapolis. This time is different. This time he manages to push through the crowd until he's almost next to the stage. Maybe he shouldn’t have done that. Because if he stayed behind like all the previous times, there would be no chance for Eddie – the singer – to look him in the eye. The world would not start coloring itself. The singing would not stop mid-song. And Steve would not have to run away like a kid.

Eddie deserves someone better. Someone less damaged, someone less needy and clingy. Steve’s so wrapped up in his own head in the train on his way home. He’s obsessively refreshing the corroded coffin tag on twitter, but it looks like the concert continued after.

And then for two months, there's nothing. No news, no concerts, no paparazzi photos. And then suddenly a new mini album. It’s under Eddie’s name titled: to my soulmate.

Steve manages to not listen to it for the whole 20 minutes. It’s just 4 songs. And they are all beautiful, all heart breaking.

The first one starts with Eddie saying: “This is for you, sweetheart.”

One of them talks about Steve’s face and the color of his eyes and Steve’s sure that Eddie couldn't see it from the stage with all the lights around them. Does that mean that he went through footage from the concert trying to find a glimpse of him? Could he check the names on all the tickets he sold? Did he try to search for him online? Did he go through the endless follower list on his instagram account, hoping he’s gonna find Steve?

Another one talks about how Eddie understands if he’s not enough for his soulmate. And Steve’s whole chest hurts so bad as he sobs through it. Eddie is more than enough, Eddie’s perfect.

The last one is a love song. Love at first sight. It’s about everything Eddie accepted to feel if he ever found his soulmate, it’s about how wrong he was, because the words can’t describe the overwhelming love he felt the moment they looked at each other. When the song ends, Steve can hear Eddie breathing: “If you want to give me a chance, I’ll be waiting where we met. Friday, 7 o’clock.”

And then it’s quiet.

Steve’s determined not to go anywhere. He has 5 days until it’s Friday. And then it’s gonna be over. Then, Eddie can find someone else. Someone better.

On Friday, he finally confesses to Robin. If she could reach through her phone, Steve’s sure she’d pull him by his ears and kick him towards Indianapolis. He tells her all his worries, all his reasons to not go to the club. He tells her that Eddie would not want him anyway. Who would want someone like him?

“Don’t you think he should make that decision himself?“ She asks and she’s right.

The last train leaves in less than an hour and Steve barely makes it. Shaking like a leaf he sits next to a window and tries to calm himself down. He managed to take a shower before, fix his hair and put on a Corroded Coffin hoodie. He’s gonna be 20 minutes late. And he hopes, he prays that Eddie will wait a bit longer.

When the bouncer finally lets him in, Steve runs down to the stage. It’s way past 7.30. He’s not sure where Eddie could be. There’s no band playing tonight. The club is half empty so it’s not that hard to check every table.

Eddie’s not here anymore.

Tears sting his eyes. He squeezes his nose. And goes towards the bar to ask for rum and coke. He chugs half of the glass on his way towards an empty table. He writes Robin a quick message.

After he finishes his drink, he’s gonna find a place to spend the night, because there are no more trains going back to Hawkins.

Robin replies back almost instantly: “check his insta stories.”

But before Steve’s able to do that, there’s someone standing in front of him

“Hey.”

When he looks up, he’s lost for words. Because that’s definitely Eddie. Eddie, who looks so put together. A proper contrast to Steve’s red face from running and his puffy eyes from tears that haven’t fallen yet. It takes him a solid 5 seconds to say something back.

“Hi.”

Eddie gestures at him, smiling, like he can’t believe this is happening. Then he scratches his head and says: “I didn’t think this through.”

Steve starts laughing at the absurdity of it all and then he hears Eddie joining him.

“I’m Steve,” he finally introduces himself a minute later. He extends his hand.

“Steve, hi. I’m Eddie, but you probably already know that.” Eddie’s hand is warm and his handshake is firm. And he doesn’t let go afterwards.

“I’ve heard your songs... But you probably already know that too, since I’m here at all.”

“Did you – did you like them?” Eddie looks at him like it really matters. Like Steve’s opinion is important.

“I love them,” Steve exhales. “I’m sorry.”

Once he starts apologising he can’t stop.

“I’m so sorry Eddie. I didn’t. I thought you deserved so much better than me.”

“It’s okay. Hey, it’s okay.” Eddie says he grabs Steve’s chin and makes him look up. Eddie’s eyes are the prettiest shade of brown and Steve’s so grateful. “You’re here now.”

“I’m here,” Steve repeats. “I’m here and I’m not leaving.”

Less than a month later, there’s another mini album. Another 4 songs, but this time, they're all happy. And maybe the last one is Steve singing for Eddie.

[k-hotchoisan]

heyy! congratulations on 500 🩷 c-could you maybe do number 6 of your list with jongho's nudes? 😳 damn I'd give my vacant womb to see him naked everyday. just the thought of him being all contained and uptight in public but being a pervert in reality makes me want to scream

6. Receive nudes from Jongho everyday or Call sex with Yeosang every week?

CRAZY THING TO SAY BABE NGL IT MADE ME LAUGH A LITTLE 😭🤚🏻 OKAY OKAY HERES ONE FOR YOU

Jongho loves sending his pretty selfies to you. He also likes making sure you’re flustered by his cock.

Warnings: nudes, suggestive, Jongho’s dick, perv!jongho, sexting(kind of??), mentioned breeding kink and cream pies

Tag list:

@bro-atz @diamond-3 @mcarebearsstuff @choisansplushie @voicesinmyhead-rc @pre1ttyies

K’s 500 this or that: Master list here!

Monday

Your phone pings.

[🐻❤️] sent you a message.

You glance over, the face recognition mechanism on your phone activates, and you see a message sent from Jongho.

You are clearing up the remnants of your work as you and your idol boyfriend are adjusting with his busy schedule.

The app switches over to your messaging account, where you and Jongho’s chat takes the whole of the screen, at where the both of you left off. He sent you a zoomed in photo of his face with his adorable pout, his puffy cheeks being eventuated. You giggle at how cute he is, and you begin typing a reply, that is, until another picture that’s blurred under the spoiler function and your breath is caught in your throat.

It’s a mirror selfie of Jongho in the gym, seated on the benches of the locker room, in a tight tank top which was hiked up past his broad chest, dabbing his sweaty chin, his tits in full view, and the one that takes middle stage—the obvious erection that presses teasingly against his thin gym shorts as his legs are spread wide open.

[🐻❤️] endorphins kicked in a little too hard today~

Your thumbs are paused in mid-air trying to think of a reply to him, the only thing in your mind was the way his erection was there. You force yourself not to think about it, of course, failing miserably.

Tuesday

[🐻❤️] sent you a message.

[🐻❤️] I hope work is treating you well, honey~

You giggle at the message. Your attention right back at your partner’s message in the midst of work. You are about to reply him with another flirty message when another spoiler-covered photo pops into the chat.

[🐻❤️] here’s something sweet.

You hesitate for a moment. But it falters quickly when you remember that you’re working remotely anyway. So you think, fuck it, and press the hidden photo.

Oh gods.

Another mirror selfie. But this time, he’s only in a pair of white boxers, his thick erection clear as day imprinting onto the sheer fabric. You swear you see a small wet patch if you squinted hard enough. He’s in a black shirt this time, and it frames his biceps so well. His bangs almost hides his small, pretty eyes and his smile is half hidden by his phone as the white sheets below him are crumpled.

You’re wondering how far he’s going to go with this.

Wednesday

[🐻❤️] sent you a message.

You bite you lip. Out of all times, when you’re in a work meeting. But the static animation of the spoiler fuzzes onto your screen, tempting you. You shut your eyes to put your phone down, that is, until;

[🐻❤️] I bought a new pair of shorts today for gym. They said to wear loose shorts if your thighs are thick 🤔

And there goes all your self control as your thumb immediately slides over to the spoiler, and you fucking wished you didn’t—especially in the middle of a meeting.

It’s a mirror selfie, again, but it’s zoomed in to his lower abdomen. Yes, the shorts are definitely fucking loose.

The openings are loose despite his thick thighs taking up so much leg space of the opening, and you fucking see it. Jongho wasn’t wearing underwear, and his shorts are deliberately hiked up to his inner thigh.

The angle is low enough that you see his cockhead peaking out from the shorts opening, resting on his inner left thigh, leaking precum, and making another bulge against the fabric.

“Y/n? Anything else you wanna add to the work flow?” Your colleague asks, snapping you out of the trance.

“N-no. I think that’s all from my side”, you reply hastily, unintentionally pressing your thighs together.

Thursday

It was getting absolutely ridiculous at this point. Jongho has been teasing you for the past few days and it has only been escalating from there. You know he’s coming over on Saturday anyway since he finally has the time, and it’s making your heart pound.

[🐻❤️] sent you a message.

You don’t even hesitate at this point—your reaction is automatic, immediately swiping up to Jongho’s notification to check what he sent you.

Sure enough, another spoiler message. You take a quick breather, and brace yourself before you do it.

And the wind gets completely knocked out of you.

Again, a mirror selfie, but he’s fully, fuckin nude. You see the full glory of him—his broad chest and shoulders, his perky nipples, chiseled abdomen all for view for a good second before your eyes land on his fully bare, erected dick.

Jongho is posed with his knee up, propped onto the bed, the bedsheets all over the bed again. He has a towel draped over his shoulders, his biceps are flexed from holding his body up as his thigh holds his other arm up to take the selfie. His hair is messy and damp—he probably took this after a shower.

You can’t help but stare at the way his thighs look so inviting, and it naturally leads you gaze right back to his cock once more—a gorgeous shade of pink at the tip, with his pretty veins running down his shaft. You swear you see it twitch even if it was just a photo.

You could only imagine how his cock would rearrange your guts every time he fucks into you, filled up all the way until your mind breaks, over and over again.

[🐻❤️] weather’s been a little warm recently. There’s another warm place my cock definitely loves. I think you know where.

Friday

[🐻❤️] sent you a message.

The worst out of the lot. The only saving grace was that his message came after work. You don’t know what else he could have sent you now, and almost nothing prepared you for it.

[🐻❤️] shit, I got too excited thinking about you.

You swallow hard when you open the photo. You expect another mirror selfie, but it’s not.

The photo is taken from the front facing camera, and it’s positioned right at his crotch. Jongho has his fat, wet cock in his hands, and thick cum is leaking out of his tip, covering the majority of his cock and his fingers.

Okay. Two can play that perverted game. You don’t send him a photo—you send him a short video. Your camera is front facing, and it’s positioned right at the angle where he can see your pussy in clear view. You’re fully nude, your tits out in the open, so are your legs as you tug your soaked cunt open, letting the lights in your room emphasise how much slick has leaked out of your neglected pussy.

And you hit send. It’s silent for a good minute.

[🐻❤️] sent you a message.

[🐻❤️] I’m gonna fucking breed you so fucking full tomorrow, I swear.

Saturday

[🐻❤️] sent you a message.

It’s a photo of your poor abused cunt, wet with slick and his cum glistening all over your inner thighs. Jongho’s cum is leaking out of your hole, his previous loads fucked into you have evidently soiled the bedsheets beneath you.

[terresdebrume]

Back in late September I made a poll to know what fic I should work on, completely forgetting I was about to run headfirst into the end of year rut (plus moving plus other life projects) so I ended up predictably writing nothing of substance aside from a quick snippet in an AU that has cool aesthetic but not enough foundation to stand on its legs -_-

So, as a way to finally start working on the most popular option from that poll (aka: the one where a Catland kiss is the spark that gets Payneland started) I'm going to just write and post the first draft on Tumblr and then I'll clean it up into a more proper story for AO3. @kepodewers you asked to be tagged in case that happened so watch this space (unless you want to wait for the polished version). This is based on this prompt from @stinastar which I got somewhere around forever ago^^" I'm very sorry about the delay and the rushed format, I hope it satisfies anyway! Fair warning: it starts out pretty angsty.

ETA: Important note: Like all my first drafts this is going to be posted in several snippets! I'll be making separate posts for each I think, unless the overwhelming consensus is that people would rather have a chain of reblogs

Edwin falls through the floor.

He hasn't lost control of his corporeality since his first week back on Earth and never that badly. The thought of it would be mortifying any other day, but not today. Today, it is a relief. Today, Edwin's entire being is intent on denying his death harder than it ever has before. Blood pulses in his ears as he finally comes to a stop in the basement of their building, tears burn in his eyes and in his throat, and his heart claws at the inside of his ribs with the ferocity of a hell hound. Half-blind with tears, Edwin pulls his right foot out of the ground, spins around, and rushes to the staircase as soon as he spots it.

His feet clatter up the steps, the door bangs in his wake, and when he bursts through the front door he cannot even manage to avoid running straight through Crystal. She calls out his name and Edwin slows down, trying to decide if he can stand to speak to anyone right now—

"Edwin!"

Edwin turns around just in time to see Charles phase through the door, through Crystal—continue without even apologizing to her—and then... And then his feet turn around again, carry him across the street and into the little park there, Charles' footsteps thundering after him.

"Edwin, wait!"

Edwin ignores Charles' pleading tone. He has never done that before. Not for a case, not for a reward, not even to preserve his own existence. Nothing could have forced him to ignore Charles then, no amount of danger, no amount of torture, no amount of pain. Except, it seems, if Charles himself were the source of Edwin's distress.

"Leave me alone!" Edwin yells over his shoulder, harsher than he meant but unable to stop and soften his voice.

Charles hasn't caught up with him, Edwin knows that. He is the much faster runner of the two, especially with the novelty of needing more distance from Charles than ever before. Perhaps it is that knowledge that stops him in his tracks when he hears Charles gasp.

"Edwin," Charles tries again, but Edwin shakes his head, ignoring the jogger that goes through him with a disgruntled shiver.

"Charles, please," he pleads, "please leave me alone. I can't—"

"Edwin, please, talk to me," Charles begs.

He is standing in the middle of the street, hands up as if to calm down a distressed client. He looks so genuinely distraught, so sincerely hurt, that Edwin feels bad for the way he is acting. He wishes he could be a better person. Wishes he could be a better friend. Yet, when he tries to speak his voice comes out cold and cutting in a way he never thought he could have used against Charles.

"I fail to see what there is to say. You made it quite clear before that you were uninterested in what I had to offer. It is hardly my place to be upset about where they lay instead!"

"But you are upset," Charles replies, and the lack of denial feels like a knife going right through Edwin's chest.

"Well, Charles," he says, a sob clinging to the cold fury that laces his voice, "I think you might be able to understand why I am."

"Look, Edwin, Thomas—"

"'Thomas'?" Edwin exclaims, anger and hurt dragging his voice down, making Charles flinch. "Thom—what happened to 'That Cat King'? What happened to 'Whiskers'?"

"Edwin—"

"You know, it is your right to move on," Edwin says, pressing his hands together so hard he is half afraid to damage his nonexistent gloves. "I understand that my feelings do not entitle me to your affections, but I would have thought you would at least have had the courtesy to let me know you had figured 'the rest' out! I would have thought you would at least told me so I didn't have to find out like this!"

Edwin closes his eyes, half to avoid the look of hurt mixed with almost fear on Charles' face, half to catch the flood of tears threatening to spill on his face as he remembers. Coming through the mirror. Looking around for Charles, so eager to show him the new book he acquired. Finding him sitting on their sofa, with his hands on the Cat King's hip, his head tilted back, the long column of his throat all but offered up to the other man as he cradled Charles' face in his hands and kissed him with exactly the sort of tenderness Edwin would endure another seventy years of Hell to give Charles.

"Please," Edwin repeats, "leave me alone. At least for now."

And Charles, silent and pale, nods and turns around, and leaves Edwin alone.

[d10nsaint]

☆ One of the Girls | Miguel O’hara x black cat! reader

sny: A few months after your breakup, you meet him at an art gallery.

notes: Comic references (2015) and Game references (the heist dlc for Marvel’s Spider-man)

"So, are you swinging solo now? Or back with whats-her-face?"

You say, as you trace shapes into the thick bulletproof glass seperating you and miguel in the art gallery, smirking at his tall figure. You walk a few steps backward and look at a painting on the wall. It was bland, but timeless.

"Too many questions." He replies. "now, what the hell are you doing with the Maria? I thought you stopped stealing art." He raised his eyebrows from behind the suit, crossing his arms sassily. He truly didn’t care if you stole it or not—he was only watching the painting because Peter asked him to.

"I dont want the Maria, I want whats in it." you say as you take the piece off the wall, get one last good look at it, and place the painting on your knee. You use full force and push your hands down to break the art in half.“It wasn’t even that pretty, anyway.

Miguel deeply sighs, knowing Peter is gonna kill him for letting you do that.

“Why the shock would you do that?!” He pulls his claws out;thick and sharp, and has half a mind to break the thick glass to get to you for doing that. Although he knows he could never hurt you.

You pull out a USB drive from the inner workings of the broken painting and smile at him. You flash it in front of him, taunting him.

“I need to give this to the Kingpin. He has something I need. I dont steal art anymore, either. I’ve lost my artistic touch.” You say, matter of factly, proudly smiling.

“thats…good,” he says. He feels a headache coming on as he thinks about how hes going to get an earful when he goes back to Parker Industries.

“You never answered my question, Miggy. Are you single?” You inspect the drive, making sure that it was in good shape to use.

“No. No, i’m not. And i dont think i will be for a while. And what the hell is on that drive thats so important?”

“Nothing that’ll interest you, i’m sure. Anyway, if you and…Temptest ever have problems, i’ll be waiting. Bye, Spider.” You say, turning around for the hole in the wall that you came from.

Tagging: @rubyredish , @lostandfound , @monoeve

[copperbadge]

I am so close to being done with Royals/Ramblers I can taste it, and it's one of those frustrating situations where the last remaining work to be done is just annoying. I have to write one damn scene, which of course is the most emotionally fraught and difficult one, and then pick from the *counts on fingers* three separate versions of the epilogue I wrote, none of which are very satisfying. I'll probably slam them all together and then sort it out somehow.

And then I definitely have to give the whole thing one more pass before I think about posting, because it's going to clock in at right around 150K words, and I already have notes on continuity issues that need fixing.

Anyway, please enjoy this scene, in which I realized at the same time Gregory and Eddie did what a great joke their names make. (Some brief context -- Joan uses she/her but doesn't like the word "princess", so she chose the gender neutral Princeps as her title.)

Friday evening, when Gregory came on the air for the address, Eddie was sitting next to him, and Joan was leaning on Eddie's shoulder. Her excitement was almost a visible thing; she'd been fussed over that afternoon, Gregory helping her pick out clothing followed by Jerry doing her makeup for camera and Eddie doing a slightly less clumsy job of braiding her hair than she generally did. 

"Good evening, Fons-Askaz, Askazer-Shivadlakia, our neighbors, and our viewers abroad," Gregory said. Behind the camera, Jerry mouthed the words along with him absently. "I'm pleased to greet you all this Friday evening and I hope you're well. I find myself, for the second time in a year, setting aside the usual issues of the day and questions from citizens to talk to you about family...."

His idea had been to talk about Joan's history just a little, then introduce her as the newest Royal, their daughter the Princeps. He could use that as a platform to present to the country his new funding package for adoptive families, meant to encourage adoption and support children coming out of the foster system. Each half of that would hopefully make the other half seem less random.

It went pretty smoothly; Eddie chimed in at all the right moments, and Joan got to say a few words of introduction at the end. After he signed off, he gave her a hug and a forehead-kiss and told her she'd done a great job. 

And then Noah, standing with Monday and Jerry behind the camera in the little studio, said, "Well, you crashed the internet again."

Gregory sighed. "Can't blame Eddie this time, can we?" 

"It was only the tourism website, and it wasn't on purpose," Eddie said. 

"He was always breaking my stuff when we were kids," Monday said.

"Nope, this one's all Joan," Noah replied. "As soon as you introduced her as your daughter, traffic started spiking -- palace website, tourism website, and every royals' Photogram."

"Katie in Communications says told you so," Jerry said, already on the phone with her.

"Joan's Photogram is down, looks like bandwidth-suck. And there goes mine, and yours," Noah said, nodding at Gregory. "There's two hashtags trending, PrincessJoan and PrincepsJoan." 

"Let me call my guy at Photogram," Eddie said, taking his phone out. 

"You have a guy just like, at Photogram?" Monday asked.

"Yeah, he handles my requests, I send him sausages," Eddie answered. 

"How is it you simultaneously live in the 22nd century and the 14th?" Monday asked. 

"Have him kill the Princess hashtag," Noah suggested.

"It's fine," Joan said. "They can use it for now, it'll keep things, um." She narrowed her eyes, searching for the word. "Segmented. Spread out the discussion a little."

"Someone's been reading my data analytics memos," Gregory said. 

"You leave 'em out," she pointed out. 

"Good news is people seem excited," Noah continued. "The hashtag's glitching, it's moving so fast, but overall pretty positive," he added.

"Well, we knew this would be intense," Gregory said. Joan, studying her own phone, squeaked. "Joan?" 

"Mas Corbin tagged me," she said, with possibly the most excitement they'd seen from her, at least since her first trip in the Jaguar. 

"The footballer?" Gregory asked, confused.

"Who?" Noah and Eddie chorused. 

"He's a Shivadh footballer, I think he's playing in Ireland right now," Gregory said, and his voice took on a slight edge as he considered some of the reasons a football player might mention his daughter. "What did he say?" 

"Dedicating my next game to my new Princeps JoanMac, long may she reign," Joan read, and Gregory relaxed. "Congrats to Gin&Tonic, she's cute as a button. Mas Corbin thinks I'm cute!"

"Gin and Tonic?" Gregory asked, and then said, "Gregory and Theophile," right as Eddie and Monday both began to laugh. "How did neither of us think of that before?"

"You get used to it," Noah said to Joan. "All kinds of famous people are going to have opinions on you."

"What do I do?!"

"Gram him back," Noah said. "Comment and say thanks and that you're a fan and you'll be watching the game."

"I'm gonna have to do a video with some gin and tonic recipes," Eddie said, as Noah and Joan debated the best wording for her response. Gregory leaned back in his chair, exhaling, and let the chaos happen around him for a minute. 

[stardust-falling]

One very neat thing I’ve seen with my fanon-debunking meta blog is how differently people react to the debunkings and analysis— not counting any bad faith responses, there are some people who feel vindicated when a popular interpretation is fanon, some people who are relieved when it isn’t entirely disproven, and some replies such as “it’s good to know where it comes from, but this is also an important head canon to me personally even if it goes against canon for <reasons>” and in the end, really, it’s important to remember that every person brings their own experiences to the way they interact with fandom— and that even when something goes against canon, fandom has been transformative from the beginning anyway.

As much as any one person might despise a certain interpretation, there’s another person who it’s equally important to. Personally, there are a lot of interpretations I don’t like and which even make me uncomfortable, but I do think people should still be able to enjoy fandom in the way that best suits them and resonates with them— in the end, I think fandom should stop thinking of OOC as a dirty word. You can write characters OOC to canon, if that’s what you like— if it’s tagged correctly there wouldn’t be half the issues there are. If you’re changing up the way a character behaves, their motivations, their worldviews from the way they are canonically, tagging the work as “<character> is OOC” and posting it is perfectly fine! I can’t say that you shouldn’t write such a story, or that you can’t find enjoyment, or catharsis, or whatever else in it because that’s none of my business.

OOC isn’t inherently bad— when it’s a choice being made for the story. I think a lot of the issues come when the OOC behavior isn’t tagged, because then readers will assume that the way the character is being written is the way you interpret canon.

TLDR; transformative works that change aspects of characters even if directly against canon are perfectly fine and morally neutral actually, please just tag OOC if you’re writing it so that people expecting and looking for canon-accuracy won’t think you’re just misinterpreting canon. That would save creators a lot of “actually this is canonically incorrect” messages, and let others avoid interpretations they’re not looking for.