#i admit to having like 11?? muses | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aceyalonso · 2 months ago

Text

we're both winners, sweetheart - LEWIS HAMILTON

pairing : lewis hamilton x fem!reader | READ PART 1 HERE

summary : Y/n and Lewis going through the typical struggles of marriage (or in other words, the struggle of keeping up the charade of being married)

warnings : THE ANNOUNCEMENT IN THE STORY IS FAKE!!! swearing, kinda angsty, drinking, nail-biting, talking about sex (nothing too detailed), discussions of raising a family, 11-year age gap (reader is 28 years old), smut, hair pulling, unintentional overstimulation, choking, unprotected sex (always use a condom guys!)

face claim - gracie abrams

word count : 18.6k

song : agora hills - doja cat

a/n : this isn't proofread and SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG, I WAS DEALING WITH SO MUCH PERSONAL STUFF OMG (this was supposed to be fore my 300 followers celebration thing | i might make a separate series for lyka and lando…………………………

July 8, Monday, 7:09 AM

Toto Wolff sits behind his desk, his expression a mixture of surprise and concern. Y/n and Lewis sit on the other side, both looking a bit sheepish and on edge. Toto looks at them, a moment of awkward silence hanging in the air before he finally speaks. "So," he begins, his voice cautious. "I have to say, this is... quite a situation you've gotten yourselves into."

Lewis clears his throat, his gaze meeting Toto's. "Yeah, we kind of... didn't see this coming," he admits, a hint of humor in his tone. "It was a very unexpected development, to say the least."

Y/n fidgets in her seat, her fingers massaging her forehead. She glances at Toto, his expression still unreadable. She tries to sound calm and rational, but her voice betrays her nervousness. "We weren't... fully sober when it happened," she offers lamely, as if it's an excuse.

Toto's eyebrow quirks at this revelation, a hint of disbelief in his voice. "Not fully sober," he repeats, his tone heavy with incredulity. "You got married... not fully sober?"

Lewis grimaces slightly at the bluntness of his words but doesn't deny it. "That... that's correct," he affirms, his voice a bit strained. "We were both a bit... impaired when we tied the knot, let's put it that way."

Toto rubs his forehead, seeming to struggle with how to respond to this information. He gathers himself and looks at them again, his expression more somber now. "And what exactly were you doing that led to this... marriage?" he asks, his tone slightly stern.

Lewis and Y/n exchange a glance, both knowing the answer will likely not help their case. Lewis speaks up first, his voice a bit sheepish. "We, ah... we were at a club. A very lively club, if you understand."

Toto leans forward in his chair, expression now a mix of thoughtfulness and strategy. "Okay," he says, "this is clearly a situation that will need some serious damage control if it gets out. We'll need the PR team to make something, anything to spin this in a way that... minimizes the impact on your image, Lewis, and the teams' reputation."

Y/n coughs, breaking the silence in the room and drawing everyone's attention. She clears her throat, feeling a bit awkward under the weight of Toto and Lewis' gazes. "Um, forgive me," she apologizes, her voice a bit hoarse. "But what... what are you suggesting?"

Toto's eyes shift to her, his expression still calculating. "Well, we need to control the narrative," he explains. "We need to get ahead of any potential media storm and craft a story that… makes this look less like a drunken mistake and more like a… a romantic love story, perhaps."

Lewis can't help but scoff slightly at this, his mouth tugging into a wry smile. "A romantic love story, huh?" he muses, skepticism in his tone. "Do you really think anyone's going to believe that?"

Toto's gaze hardens at Lewis' flippant comment. "At this point, any narrative is better than the truth," he says, his voice firm. "We need to protect your image, Lewis, and the team's reputation. We need to control the damage, and that means spinning this in a way that… makes you both look as good as possible."

Y/n mutters under her breath as Toto and Lewis continue their discussion, unable to hide her growing concern. "My dad is going to kill me," she whispers, her voice a mixture of dread and resignation. She imagines her father's reaction to this news, the fury and disappointment in his eyes.

She finally speaks up, her mind turning to her own interests in this situation. "Wait," she interjects, cutting into Lewis and Toto's discussion. They both turn to her, surprised. "If we're going to go along with this… PR plan, I want something out of it too."

Toto and Lewis look at her, a bit taken aback by her unexpected request. Toto quirks an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "And what is it you want, exactly?" he asks, his tone a mix of curiosity and caution.

Y/n takes a deep breath, her mind racing as she formulates her request. "I want this to benefit me too," she says, her tone firm but tentative. "I don't just want to be a pawn in this charade. I want my own image to be protected, and… I want it to have a positive impact on my future, on my family's company."

Toto and Lewis exchange glances, both surprised but also understanding the logic in her request. Lewis turns to her with slight admiration, a small smile playing on his lips. "That's… very practical of you," he says, his voice carrying a hint of respect.

Y/n's response is matter-of-fact, and her expression is a mix of determination and practicality. "Business is business," she repeats, her tone resolute. "If we're going to play this game, we might as well use it to our advantage, right?"

Toto nods slightly, appreciating her mercenary approach. "You're not wrong," he concedes, a grudging respect in his voice. "If we can use this situation to our mutual benefit, then perhaps it won't be a total disaster."

Lewis looks at Y/n, a gleam of admiration in his eyes at her business-mindedness. "You've got guts," he remarks, a smirk playing on his lips. "I can respect that."

Y/n chuckles a bit at his comment, the humor beginning to shine through despite the seriousness of their situation. "Well," she says with a small laugh, "if you want to get technical, that is one reason we got married, isn't it?"

Toto glares at Y/n, his gaze is stern and reprimanding. Y/n's eyes widen in response, and she immediately feels a pang of regret, realizing she has spoken out of turn. She mutters a quick "Sorry, too soon," her voice a whisper as she shrinks down in her seat.

Toto sighs, his expression softening slightly. "Let's remain professional, please," he reminds her, his tone a bit weary. "We need you to be present at the next Grand Prix, okay? Because by then we'll have the PR statement announced. Lewis can send you the details."

Y/n nods, a bit chastened but also understanding. "Okay," she apologizes again, her voice sincere. "I'll check my schedule if I'm free on... whatever day that is."

Toto nods in acknowledgment, his expression is still weary but slightly less stern. He turns his attention back to Lewis and continues the discussion, the mood in the room now more serious and focused.

With the focus of the conversation now shifted to Lewis and Toto, Y/n pulls out her phone, sensing that she isn't needed in the immediate discussion. She scrolls through her phone, trying to distract herself from the ongoing conversation. Occasionally, she glances up, listening to bits and pieces of the talk, but mostly just biding her time.

Y/n scrolls through her Twitter feed, her eyes scanning over the various news and Tweets. Suddenly, something catches her eye, causing her to stand up from her seat and exclaim a surprised curse word.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" Y/n exclaims, her voice laced with disbelief and shock. She stares down at her phone, the blood draining from her face as she processes whatever she has just seen.

Toto and Lewis' heads snap in her direction at the outburst. They look at her, startled and alarmed by her reaction. Toto's brow furrows in concern, and he asks, "What is it? What's wrong?"

Y/n holds out her phone to Toto, her face still etched with shock and disbelief. Toto takes the phone from her, his eyes widening as he looks at the screen. Lewis leans over to look as well, his expression turning serious as he reads whatever is on the screen.

Toto's jaw clenches as he looks at the image, his expression hard and guarded. He glances at Y/n, then back at the phone screen, seeming to be processing the implications of this photo.

Lewis shakes his head, his jaw clenching in annoyance. "That's just perfect," he mutters sarcastically. "As if we didn't have enough to deal with already."

Toto continues scrolling through the tweet and reading comments from fans and media alike. He pauses, seeing several comments speculating that the woman in the photo is actually Y/n. His expression darkens with concern as he reads these comments.

He glances at Y/n, then at Lewis, and sighs deeply. "This is really bad," he says, his voice a low grumble. "If people start connecting the dots… we're going to have a PR nightmare on our hands."

Y/n is silently freaking out, her mind racing with thoughts and worries. She gnaws anxiously on her nails, a nervous habit she has when feeling overwhelmed.

Toto notes her distress but focuses on the practicalities of the situation for the moment, exchanging a few more words with Lewis.

Toto and Lewis quietly discuss the next steps, trying to come up with a damage control plan. Toto occasionally glances at Y/n, noticing her anxious behavior, but doesn't interrupt his conversation with Lewis for the moment.

Y/n suddenly pipes up, interrupting Toto and Lewis' conversation. "Wait," she interjects, her tone a bit frenzied. "What if we lied? What if… what if we said we've been married for almost a year? Like, we got married during the winter break?"

Toto's expression softens slightly as he contemplates Y/n's idea. "It's a possibility," he muses, his voice measured. "Getting married during the off-season would make sense, given the hectic schedule of the drivers. It would be more logical that Lewis would take time off for a wedding rather than a drunken elopement."

Lewis nods, seeing the logic in Y/n's suggestion. "It could work," he agrees, his tone less skeptical than before. "It would at least make the whole situation seem less impulsive and foolish, and more like… a planned commitment."

Y/n continues to gnaw anxiously on her nails, her eyes flitting between Toto and Lewis as she waits for them to make a decision. The weight of the situation, the impending lie they are about to concoct, hangs heavily on her mind.

Toto notices her distress but is still wrapped up in the discussion with Lewis, he decides to address it once they have a plan. "Let's work out the details," he says, his tone business-like. "We need to make sure our story is ironclad, and our timelines line up."

He turns to Y/n, his expression stern but not unsympathetic. "And I suggest you stop chewing on your nails," he remarks matter-of-factly. "We'll need to present a united, calm front, and that doesn't include nervous fidgeting."

Though Y/n stops biting her nails as Toto advises, her anxiety doesn't diminish. She transfers her nervous energy to her palms, starting to scratch and pick nervously at the skin, leaving slight crescent-shaped marks.

Toto notices her new anxious habit but doesn't address it directly at the moment. He and Lewis continue their discussion, fine-tuning the details of the lie they are going to spin. The atmosphere in the room remains tense, but there seems to be a rough plan coming together.

As the meeting draws to a close, Toto excuses himself to take a call from the head of PR. He motions for Y/n and Lewis to wait, and they remain silent in Toto's office as he steps out to take the call.

When Toto returns, he appears even more tense than before. He bids both Y/n and Lewis a rushed farewell, as he needs to deal with the situation with the head of PR. The two of them are left standing in the office, the atmosphere heavy with the weight of the day's events.

Lewis glances at Y/n, her face slightly pale and tired from the stress of the situation. He can tell that she's still anxious and tense, and he reaches out to gently squeeze her hand, offering a small gesture of comfort. "Hey," he says in a soft voice, "it's going to be okay. We're… we're going to get through this."

Y/n looks up at him, her eyes weary and full of worry. She tries to force a small smile, appreciating his attempt at reassurance. "I hope so," she replies, her voice a bit shaky. "I just… I hope we can pull this off. The lie…"

Lewis nods in understanding. "I know," he says, his tone sympathetic. "It's a lot to take on. But we don't have many options at this point. If we don't control the narrative, someone else will, and…" he trails off, the implication clear.

Y/n nods, knowing that he's right. "I get it," she mutters, her voice laced with resignation. "I just… I didn't sign up for all this, you know? All this… lying, and spinning stories, and… pretending."

Y/n lets out a humorless chuckle, her voice resigned. "You're telling me," she says sarcastically. "I didn't even sign up for this marriage, not while I was sober at least... and now I have to lie about it, pretend it was pre-planned, and… play the part of the dutiful wife."

She shakes her head, the absurdity of the situation weighing heavily on her shoulders. "It's just… surreal," she continues her tone a mix of disbelief and frustration. "A few days ago, I was a private person, living my life, and now I'm suddenly… a married woman, the center of a media shitstorm, and I'm expected to lie about it all like it's no big deal."

As they walk down the halls, Y/n is still somewhat zoned out, her mind preoccupied with the stresses and worries of the day. Lewis is right beside her, his hand occasionally on her lower back, providing silent moral support. They pass by other team members and staff, and more than a few curious glances and whispers follow them, aware of the situation unfolding but unwilling to speak openly.

They reach the parking lot, and Lewis turns to Y/n, his expression concerned. "Do you want me to drive you home?" he asks gently, his tone sincere. "You look exhausted."

Y/n nods, her fatigue clearly visible in her eyes and demeanor. "Yeah," she replies, her voice a weary whisper. "That would be great, thanks. I'm… I'm feeling pretty wiped out."

Lewis nods in understanding and leads her towards his car. The trip to her home is mostly silent, both of them too emotionally drained to talk much. Lewis occasionally glances at her, checking if she is okay. Y/n just gazes out the window, her thoughts far away.

He follows the directions given by Y/n to her apartment. The car ride is quiet, neither of them speaking much due to the weight of the situation on their minds. Once they arrive at her apartment, Lewis parks the car but doesn't immediately get out. Instead, he turns to her, his expression a mixture of worry and concern.

Lewis watches as Y/n unbuckles her seatbelt and reaches for the door handle. Before she can open the door, he turns to her and asks, "You're going to be okay, right? You'll be okay alone? I can stay with you if you want."

Y/n offers a weary smile, touched by Lewis's concern. "I… I'll be fine," she assures him, her voice soft but strained. "You don't need to stay. I just… need some time to process all this. Alone."

Lewis accepts her decision to be alone, though his expression remains worried. "Okay," he says softly, "Take care of yourself, alright? And… call me if you need anything. Anytime, okay?"

She nods slightly, appreciating his offer. "Thanks, I will," she replies. "I'll… I'll be fine. I just need a bit of space to clear my head."

Y/n exits the car, her movements slow and weary. The weight of the situation seems to hang heavily on her shoulders as she stands outside her apartment, looking up at the building.

Lewis watches her from the driver's seat, a mixture of concern and sadness on his face. He waits a moment to make sure she gets inside safely before driving off.

July 8, Monday, 10:37 AM

As Y/n begins to unlock her apartment door, she hears the familiar sound of her cat meowing on the other side. The sound is both a comfort and a further reminder of her responsibilities, and she feels a pang of fondness mixed with exhaustion.

After unlocking the door, she pushes it open and is immediately met with the soft sound of her cat rubbing against her legs, meowing for attention. Y/n bends down and scoops up the cat in her arms, holding it close to her chest, seeking comfort in its presence.

She holds her cat “Extra Virgin Olive Oil” (“Evoo” for short) close, the familiar warmth and weight of her furry companion a soothing presence. The ridiculousness of the name, a result of yet another drunken decision, momentarily brings a bittersweet smile to her lips.

Y/n walks into the apartment, closing the door behind her and making her way to the living room. She sits down on the couch, setting her bag on the floor before setting Evoo down on her lap and gently stroking his white fur. The soothing motion and rhythmic purring of the cat help to calm her tumultuous thoughts.

As Y/n sits on the couch, gently stroking her cat, she begins to speak to him in a soft, quiet voice. Although it’s not unusual for people to talk to their pets, there’s an undertone of vulnerability in her words, unloading her worries to a receptive but silent companion.

“Hi, baby,” she begins, her voice laced with exhaustion. “You won’t believe the day I’ve had.” She continues to idly pet the cat in her lap, the gentle motion seeming to soothe her as much as her cat. “I… I’ve gotten myself into a real mess, you know? Things are… complicated, to say the least.”

She leans her head back against the couch, her fingers continuing to absently run through the white cat’s fur. “I know you’re just a cat, and you probably don’t understand what I’m saying. But it helps, talking to you like this. It helps to get it all out, even if you can’t talk back.”

As Y/n continues to talk, the words flow out of her in a rushed confession. “And… that’s not even the craziest, Evoo,” she murmurs, shaking her head slightly. “I got married. Can you believe that?”

Her cat, as if responding to her words, looks up at her with its large eyes, seemingly bewildered by the revelation. It tilts its head as if asking “What?!”

Y/n lets out a soft, humorless chuckle at her cat’s reaction, continuing to stroke its fur. “Yeah, I know. It’s crazy, right?” she continues, her voice still heavy with exhaustion but holding a hint of irony. “I… I got married, and I don’t even remember most of it. Isn’t that just wild?”

She pushes aside her exhaustion and moves from the couch, placing Evoo gently on the nearby rug. She then remembers to change her cat’s water bowl, her actions automatic and routine. As she fills the bowl from the kitchen sink, she glances back at her cat, still resting on the rug.

“Don’t worry, bud,” she calls out, her voice slightly less weary, “He’s… he’s a good guy. I think.”

After refilling the water bowl, Y/n returns to the living room, her mind still swirling with the day’s events. She glances at Evoo, who is now lapping up the fresh water. For a moment, she wishes her life was as simple as a cat’s, where the most pressing concern was the next meal, not an unexpected marriage and a web of lies.

Y/n rubs his head one last time before straightening up. “Alright, buddy,” she says, her tone softer now that she’s attending to her cat’s needs. “I’m going to take a bath. Be a good boy while I’m gone, alright?”

She sits in the bathtub, the water warm and comforting, surrounding her tired body in a soothing embrace. An iPad is placed on a wooden bath tray near the edge of the tub, playing a movie that she’s only partially paying attention to.

In her hand, she holds a glass of lemon water, taking small sips every now and then as she there, letting the hot water work its relaxing magic.

The scent of lavender from a bath bomb fills the room, adding to the atmosphere of calm and tranquility. However, despite the peaceful setting, Y/n’s mind remains restless, the events of the day still weighing heavily on her thoughts. Despite trying to focus on the movie, she finds her mind wandering back to the marriage, the lie, the future.

As the stream from the bath billows around her, Y/n takes another small sip from her lemon water, her mind still spinning. The bath was intended to relax her, to wash away the tension of the day, but her thoughts stubbornly refused to let her rest. She tries to force herself to watch the movie, to focus on something other than her worries, but the events of the day keep flooding back.

The heat of the bath, combined with the subtle fragrance of the lavender, should be lulling her into a tranquil state, but her mind is too chaotic, too filled with worries and regrets. She takes another sip of her lemon water, the tangy taste reminding her of the sourness she feels inside, the unease that hasn't let her go since this whole mess began.

Y/n is wrapped in a towel, her wet hair sticking to her shoulders as she steps out of her bedroom and into the living/dining space. She's surprised to see Lyka walking in with a bright smile, a stark contrast to her own weary state.

Y/n, still wrapping the towel around herself, glances up at Lyka through wet strands of hair. "You seem unusually cheerful," she remarks, her tone slightly teasing as she reaches the kitchen and sets her glass down in the sink. Evoo brushes against her leg, seeking attention, and she gives the cat a gentle pat before turning back to Lyka. "What's up?"

Lyka's eyes sparkle with excitement and a hint of pride. "The best night ever," she echoes, her smile widening. "You won't believe it, Y/n. I hooked up with the DJ."

Y/n raises her brows in surprise and recognition. "Oh, Lando?" she asks, a hint of amusement in her tone. "I saw you dancing with him at the booth last night."

Lyka blinks in surprise when Y/n says Lando's name, her excitement now mixed with a touch of curiosity. "Yeah!- Wait, how do you know his name?" she asks, her expression a mix of surprise and intrigue.

Y/n settles onto a bar stool, opening the wrapper to a small piece of chocolate. She takes a small bite of the chocolate and continues talking to Lyka as she munches on the sweet treat. "I became friends with one of Lando's friends last night," she explains, a hint of a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

Her playful smile fades as the memory of her marriage hits her like a ton of bricks. She chokes mid-sentence, the taste of chocolate turning bitter in her mouth. "I... um..." she stutters, her mind racing to find a way to explain.

"I... I have something to tell you," she manages to continue, her voice a bit strained. She sets the chocolate bar down, her appetite suddenly gone. "And... it's kind of a big deal. Like, a really big deal."

Lyka's expression changes as she senses the seriousness in Y/n's tone. Her eyes widened slightly, and she leaned in, her face replaced by a look of concern. "What is it?" she asks, her voice low and worried.

Y/n takes a deep breath, bracing herself for the reaction that's about to follow. "I..." she starts, her voice faltering as she struggles to find the right words. "I... I got married."

There's a moment of stunned silence as Lyka processes Y/n's confession. Her eyes widen even further, and her hand grips the countertop, her knuckles turning white. "You... you what?" she manages to stutter out, her voice a mix of shock and disbelief.

"And... it may or may not have been a friend of Lando's...." Lyka's eyes widen even further when Y/n clarifies that the person she married is a friend of Lando. "Wait..." she starts, her mind spinning with the implications. "You married one of Lando's friends? Who..."

Y/n hesitates for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest. She swallows hard, preparing herself for the fallout. "Lewis," she finally manages to say. "I... I married Lewis."

As Lyka tries to remember if Lando mentioned anything Lewis, a flicker of recognition appears in her eyes. "Wait..." she says, her soft soft as she recalls the conversation with Lando. "Lando mentioned something about a party of celebrate one of his friends' win. Was that Lewis?"

Y/n doesn't trust herself to speak, so she just nods in affirmation. She can see the pieces falling into place in Lyka's mind, her friend digesting the information with a mix of surprise and confusion.

Lyka lifts her hands in a gesture of disbelief, her voice filled with a mixture of amusement and incredulity. "I swear, the universe has a weird sense of humor when it comes to you and alcohol," she says, shaking her head. "Seriously, the weirdest things happen to you when you're drunk. It's like you're attracting weirdness or something."

As Y/n gets up to change, she can't help but notice that Lyka is wearing a hoodie she doesn't recognize. She decides to bring it up later, as they have plenty to discuss when they regroup in the kitchen.

"Alright, let's change and meet here in five," Y/n suggests, her tone a bit lighter now. "We'll compare our crazy nights, and you can tell me about your new hoodie too," she adds with a smile.

Lyka flushes furiously as Y/n hints at the hoodie she's wearing, her cheeks turning a deep shade of red. "Oh my god, shut up," she giggles, trying to hide her embarrassment. "It's just a hoodie, okay?"

Y/n grins knowingly as she responds, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Yeah, it's Lando's hoodie," she teases, emphasizing the name for effect. "And you're blushing like crazy."

Lyka buries her face in her hands, still blushing profusely. "Ugh, I swear, you're the worst," she groans, half-heartedly swatting at Y/n "Why do you have to point it out like that?"

Y/n laughs, enjoying the sight of her flustered friend. "Alright, alright, I'll stop teasing," she says, her voice filled with amusement. She moves towards her room, still smiling at Lyka's reaction. "You get changed, and I'll do the same. Meet you in the kitchen in five."

Y/n sits next to Lyka, a soft smile on her face. As they settle into their seats by the counter, Lyka begins recounting her night with Lando. Her cheeks are still a little flushed, betraying her excitement.

"So, about last night..." she says, her voice slightly giddy, "I had the best night ever with Lando."

Y/n takes a chip from the bowl on the counter, chewing on it as she listens to her friend's story. "Yeah?" she prompts. encouraging Lyka to continue. "Tell me more. What made it the best night ever?"

Lyka emphasizes her point, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "His hands were skilled," she repeats, her voice lowered to a whisper. "Seriously, Y/n, you have no idea. He was so fucking good."

"His touches, his moves, everything just... wow," Lyka continues, the memory clearly relived in her mind. She takes a sip of her water, her gaze distant for a moment before she focuses on Y/n. "I swear, it was like he knew exactly what to do, and how to do it."

Lyka's excitement reaches a whole new level as she starting bouncing in her seat. "Oh my god," she exclaims, her voice a mix of shock and excitement. "When he was-" She suddenly breaks off, her words catching in her throat.

She cuts off her own sentence, biting her lip as if holding back a secret. There's a mixture of delight and surprise on her face. "He... he was just-" she stammers, struggling to put the experience into words. "It was incredible," she finally manages, her voice full of awe.

Y/n listens intently, smiling at her friend's enthusiasm. She can tell that whatever Lando did, it clearly surpassed Lyka's expectations. "Incredible, huh?" she teases, raising a brow. "Sounds like Lando's got some serious skills there."

Lyka takes a moment to fan herself, the memory of her night with Lando still fresh in her mind. "Yeah... yeah I was," she says, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "I was shaking like a leaf by the time it was done."

She looks down at her hands as if reliving the sensation. "It was tense," she adds, shaking her head in disbelief. "Like, seriously intense. I don't think I could have handled much more."

Lyka lets out a shaky breath, a mixture of pleasure and disbelief in her voice. "Yeah," she replies, her face still flushed. "He just... he just kept going, even when I thought I couldn't take anymore. It was... it was too much, but in the best way possible, you know?"

She takes another sip of her water, her body still feeling the after-effects of Lando's touches. "He knew exactly what he was doing," she adds, a hint of admiration in her voice. "I've never experienced anything like it before."

Y/n can't resist teasing a little more, a sly smile on her face. "Well," she says, raising a brow, "Maybe Lando was just making up for the disappointing performance your ex put on."

Lyka, still flushed and giggling, enthusiastically agrees with Y/n's assessment. "ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY!" she exclaims, her voice loud and clear. "Lando was the complete opposite of my ex. He made up for that shitshow tenfold."

She takes a moment to catch her breath, her face still glowing. She can't help but gush about Lando's attributes, her voice filled with awed excitement. "I swear, he was HUGE," she says, her voice filled with excitement.

Y/n laughs, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and amusement. "Shh, shh, keep it down," she shushes her friend, laughing as she glances toward the wall shared with their neighbors. "The whole building doesn't need to know about Lando's... size."

Lyka, still caught up in the memory of her night with Lando, continues to rave about his skills and his 'size' ''I don't even know how to describe it," she gushes, her voice filled with admiration. "There's just... no comparison. Lando's in a league of his own."

She's so caught up in her praise that she practically glows. "I never knew it could be like that," she admits, her flushed cheeks a clear indication of her satisfaction. "He knows how to handle everything."

Lyka's voice softens as she reflects on the night, her face now taking on a more tender expression. "He was so gentle and caring afterward," she says, a hint of fondness in her tone. "It was like he knew exactly what I needed."

Y/n, curious about the tender side of Lando, asks how exactly he was caring after their night together. Lyka's expression softens even more as she continues. "He was really sweet," she explains. "He held me close, and told me how amazing I was. Kept asking if I was okay, and if I needed anything. Just really took care of me, you know?"

"Oh, and he left me a shit ton of hickeys too," Lyka mentions, causing Y/n to involuntarily spit out her drink in surprise. Y/n's eyes widen as Lyka casually mentions that detail. She was taking a sip of her drink at the same moment, causing her to almost choke on the liquid, spurting it out in surprise. "Hickeys?" she exclaims, her voice slightly strained. "Lando gave you hickeys?"

Lyka grins widely, her eyes sparkling with excitement. She shifts the collar of her shirt to reveal several small, purplish marks on her collarbone and neck. "Yeah," she says, her voice a bit smug. "He marked me up, good."

Lyka lets out a cheeky giggle, her eyes sparkling. "Oh, yeah," she confirms, her voice slightly lower. "He left some on my thighs too, but Lando said those were for his eyes only."

Y/n can't help but stare at her friend in disbelief. Her mouth is still slightly agape, her eyes wide as she processes the information. "For his eyes only, huh?" she manages to say, her voice a mix of disbelief and amusement.

She shakes her head, a little bemused by Lando's possessiveness. "Sounds like Lando wants to keep you all to himself," she teases, grinning. "No sharing allowed."

Lyka grins, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "Oh, absolutely," she confirms, giggling. "We made a deal. He wants to be my friend with benefits," she says, using air quotes, "And I just have to look pretty and make him feel good." She adds with a coy smile, paraphrasing Lando's words.

Lyka brightens up even more, her voice eager and excited. "Oh, and I'm going to his next race too!" she exclaims, bouncing a little in her seat. "I'll be in the McLaren garage, of course. Lando said he wants me there."

Y/n nods, a smile on her face. "I'll be there too, slightly against my will," she confirms, "But I'll be in the Mercedes garage." She glances at her friend, a spark of curiosity in her eyes. "This is gonna be fun, watching the race from opposite ends of the garage."

"So... what about your night?" Lyka asks curiously, looking at Y/n with amusement through her eyelashes.

Y/n takes a moment, her mind flashing back to the events of her night. "My night…" she muses, her voice a little dreamy. "Well, it was… eventful, to say the least."

She lets out a soft chuckle, the memory of the night still fresh in her mind. "So, I was on the dance floor, just dancing, and Lewis came up behind me," she recalls, her voice laced with a hint of excitement.

Y/n glances at Lyka before continuing, her voice taking on a wry tone. "Yeah, it was around the time you went to dance with Lando," she says, clearly amused by the coincidence. "Lewis just appeared out of nowhere, tapped me on the shoulder, and we started dancing."

She smiles, her cheeks slightly flushed as she describes the night. "We were talking, flirting a bit," she says, her voice holding a hint of excitement. "He bought me drinks at the bar, and we just… connected, I guess."

Y/n lets out a light laugh, her cheeks flushing a little at the memory. "Yeah, so… eventually… we may have found a secluded spot and, you know, things got a bit heated," she explains, a coy smile playing on her lips. "And I may or may not have told him I'd marry him as a joke."

She shakes her head, still amused by the audacity of her own words. "I don't even know where it came from," she says. "Just a spur-of-the-moment thing, you know? A little drunken banter."

Y/n continues, her voice filled with amusement. "Well, Lewis just chuckled when I said it," she recounts. "I mean, he knew I was just joking, right? But then he just… playfully agreed, you know? Like, he said something like, 'Sure, why not? Let's get hitched.' It was all just goofing around, really."

Y/n sees the look on Lyka's face and knows her friend is judging her, but it's in a friendly way. She laughs, shaking her head. "Hey, don't give me that look," she says, a hint of defensiveness in her voice. "It was just a joke, you know that, right?"

Lyka gives Y/n a sly smile, her voice filled with mock disbelief. "A joke that turned into an actual marriage," she repeats, her tone dripping with cheeky sarcasm. "Wow, I hope Lewis doesn't mind waking up to your morning breath every day."

Y/n playfully smacks Lyka's arm, laughing. "Hey, my morning breath isn't that bad," she protests, her voice light with feigned offense.

She then swats at Lyka again, her smile broadening. "And for the record, I would make an amazing wife," she boasts, her voice half-joking, half-serious.

Y/n straightens her shoulders, posing theatrically. "I'd be, like, the perfect trophy wife. I'd look good standing next to Lewis during his press conferences and podium interviews."

Lyka laughs out loud at Y/n's confident declaration. "Oh my god," she snickers, her voice filled with mirth. "You're actually picturing yourself as a trophy wife? Standing there, looking pretty while Lewis talks about racing strategy and tire compounds?"

Y/n grins, raising a brow at Lyka. "And what about you?" she asks a hint of challenge in her voice. "Can you see yourself doing the same for Lando? Standing there, looking gorgeous, while he talks about car setup and track conditions?"

Lyka nods with conviction, a sparkle in her eyes. "Absolutely, yes," she affirms. "I can totally picture myself looking all cute and pretty, with a whole wardrobe of amazing outfits courtesy of Lando's earnings. It's all about the perks, you know?"

She grins mischievously. "Besides, watching Lando on the track, all focused and intense, and then coming home to spoil me rotten? Sounds pretty damn good to me."

Y/n nods, her lips curving into a smile. "You know what, you have a point there," she admits, her voice laced with a touch of envy. "Getting to watch Lewis race, all focused and competitive, and then having him come home and… well, show me just how much he appreciates me… yeah, I could get used to that."

She quirks an eyebrow, glancing at the calendar. "Alright, when's the next race again?" she asks, her voice slightly impatient. "I need to check if I'm free that day, cause Toto- his team principal, I believe? said that I have to be there. Some PR bullshit."

Y/n pulls out her phone, quickly searching for the race schedule. "Lemme see," she murmurs, scrolling through her screen. "There we go. The next race is two weeks from now... Let's see… yep, I'm free that day."

She puts her phone away, a hint of satisfaction in her voice. "All clear," she affirms. "I'll be there, cheering on Lewis every lap of the way."

Lyka smirks, her voice dripping with playfully sarcastic praise. "Oh, you're such a good wife," she teases. "Making sure you're always available to support your husband's racing career. That's true devotion right there."

Y/n laughs, returning the teasing with a sly grin. "And what about you?" she asks, raising a brow. "Ready to be Lando's arm candy, showing off all those designer outfits he'll buy you?"

Lyka nods vigorously, her face already picturing the fancy outfits she'd wear. "Oh, absolutely," she declares, her voice oozing with enthusiasm. "I'm so ready to be Lando's arm candy, strutting around in all the gorgeous designer outfits he'll spoil me with."

Lyka takes a moment to swallow her chip and then adds, "And hey, speaking of Lando's stuff, I actually need to return that hoodie he lent me. Gotta make sure he gets it back."

She grins mischievously. "Although, maybe I'll 'accidentally' keep it a day or two longer just to remind him of me."

Y/n tsks, shaking her head in mock disapproval. "Oh, wow," she chuckles, her tone laced with feigned surprise. "That's such harlot behavior, keeping a guy's hoodie just to remind him of yourself."

Lyka looks at Y/n in exaggerated shock, her mouth dropping open in mock offense. "Harlot? Really?" she exclaims, her voice filled with laughter. "Out of all the words you could've chosen, you went with harlot! That's a bit harsh, don't you think?"

Y/n shrugs, unable to keep a straight face. "What? It fits!" she replies, her voice laced with mirth. "You're deliberately keeping his hoodie longer just to keep his attention on you. If that isn’t harlot behavior, then I don't know what is."

Lyka rolls her eyes dramatically, a playful grin on her face. "Oh, please," she exclaims, batting her eyelashes dramatically. "It's not harlot behavior, it's strategic flirting. There's a difference."

Y/n chuckles, holding up her hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay," she concedes, her voice still tinged with laughter. "You can call it whatever you want. Strategic flirting, friendly teasing, whatever floats your boat."

July 8, Monday, 4:51 PM

Y/n is in the middle of preparing dinner, peeling potatoes and chopping veggies, when her phone buzzes with a message from an unknown number. She glances down at it curiously, setting down her knife for a moment.

After a few moments, Y/n finishes replying to Lewis' message, a small smile on her face. She sets down her phone, the conversation with Lewis momentarily distracting her from her cooking preparations.

Y/n continues chopping vegetables, her hands moving deftly as she's suddenly interrupted by the sound of Lyka's phone ringing. She stops for a moment, looking up as Lyka grabs her phone.

Lyka's face lights up with surprise as she answers the phone, hearing Lando's voice on the line. "Oh! Hey, Lando," she replies, her voice already cheerful.

Y/n can't help but smile at Lyka's reaction, hearing the change in her tone. She continues chopping vegetables as she listens to Lyka's side of the conversation.

Lyka's voice is filled with excitement as she responds to Lando's question. "Yes, I'll get the tickets for the flight myself," she confirms, her voice slightly giddy. "I'll be there by Friday, no problem."

Her face flushes with a rosy hue as Lando brings up the subject of his hoodie. She lets out a soft, nervous chuckle and replies, a hint of playful charm in her voice, "Ah, about the hoodie… Well, I was actually thinking I might hang onto it a little longer."

Y/n, unable to contain her amusement, lets out a soft giggle, drawing Lyka's attention. She glances at her friend, a sly smile on her face.

Lyka continues the conversation with Lando, her voice taking on a flirtatious tone as she playfully teases him. "You know, if you miss the hoodie that much, you'll just have to come and get it from me yourself…"

Y/n stops mid-preparation, her eyes widening as she eavesdrops on Lyka's conversation. She gapes at her friend for a brief moment, surprised by the boldness of her response.

She can't help but chuckle to herself, thinking, "Lyka's really turning on the charm. Lando's going to be all over her when he gets that hoodie back…"

Lyka continues the conversation, her voice dropping to a sultry tone. "It seems like you miss this hoodie more than you miss me, if you're that desperate to get your hoodie back, maybe we should meet up tomorrow…"

Lyka smiles widely as Lando agrees to meet up the next day. "Great, I'll send you my address in a moment," she replies, her voice a mix of anticipation. "I need to go now, though. But I'll see you tomorrow, alright?"

Y/n watches the exchange with a mixture of amusement and surprise. She can't help but shake her head in disbelief as Lyka ends the call, a cheeky smile on her face.

"Wow," Y/n says, her voice filled with admiration. "You really have Lando wrapped around your finger, don't you?"

Lyka grins, her cheeks still flushed with a hint of a blush. "What can I say? I have my ways of persuasion," she replies, a coy smirk on her face.

Y/n laughs at Lyka's response, amused by her friend's confidence. She continues preparing dinner, adding the ingredients to the pot and stirring it together in the pot, her mind temporarily preoccupied as she focuses on her cooking task. The kitchen emits a warm, savory aroma, the spices blending together to create a mouthwatering scent.

Y/n is suddenly interrupted by the sound of Lyka spitting out her tea, accompanied by an annoyed meow from Evoo. She looks up, slightly startled, setting down her spoon to look over at her friend.

"Whoa, what happened?" Y/n asks, looking at Lyka, who's wiping her mouth with a napkin. Her eyes move to the cat, who's also looking slightly grumpy from the unexpected spray.

Lyka, still catching her breath, quickly points at Y/n's phone, which is on the kitchen counter. "Check your Instagram," she says urgently, a hint of excitement in her voice.

Y/n grabs her phone from the kitchen counter, a look of curiosity on her face. She swipes through her notifications and opens Instagram, as per Lyka's instruction.

Y/n scans through her Instagram timeline and her heart skips a beat as she catches the first article. The statement from Mercedes about her marriage to Lewis is plastered right on her screen. She reads through it, disbelief and surprise etched across her face.

mercedesf1

liked by lewishamilton, george_russell, lyka.val and 563,447 others mercedesamgf1 Following the recent victory at Silverstone, unauthorized images of one of our drivers and his private life have been leaked. We respect our driver’s privacy and are addressing the situation with the seriousness it deserves. Here’s Toto’s reaction to the matter.

user44 HE'S WHAT? FOR HOW LONG?

lewishamiltonfan446427 who the fuck is y/n.... ↳ george.jpg i just searched her up, she used to be a model! she's still active on social media so it isn't that hard to find her account

mercluvr I'M SORRY???

nepobbylver ms rabbit has fainted.

y/nfan1 I'M GOING INSANE??????????????????????????

lewis.hamiltons.gf does this mean i have to change my username...?

y/nfan2 WHEN DID THEY MEET WHAT

y/nfan3 WHEN WHERE WHAT HOW WHEN HUH

rockstarlewis this is some 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 shit dude

wtfmerc so it WAS y/n

A mix of emotions floods through her as she continues reading. She feels a wave of shock, followed by a pang of confusion. Y/n grips her phone tighter, her eyes glued to the words on the screen.

Y/n looks up from her phone, her voice quivering with surprise and a hint of concern. "I didn't know they were releasing this statement today," she replies, her words tinged with a mixture of confusion and anxiety.

Her voice becomes more frantic, the words tumbling out of her mouth in a rush. "It was just an idea I pitched! The whole 'married for 6 months' thing- it wasn't supposed to be taken seriously, not this soon at least!"

She paces around the kitchen, her heart pounding with worry and uncertainty. "I never thought they'd actually make a statement about it without speaking to me first," she mutters, her voice betraying her growing anxiety.

As Y/n continues to pace anxiously, biting on her nails, Lyka takes action. She stands up from the counter and gently grasps Y/n's shoulders, trying to anchor her in the moment.

"Hey, hey," Lyka says in a soothing tone. "Take a deep breath, okay? Panicking isn't going to help the situation."

Y/n nods, trying to steady her racing thoughts. She takes a few deep breaths, letting the air fill her lungs and gradually slowing down her frenzied heartbeat.

Y/n is snapped out of her anxious thoughts as her phone rings loudly in her hand, jolting her back to reality. She glances down at the screen, wondering who could be calling her at this moment.

Her eyes widen as she sees her father's name on the caller ID. She stares at the screen for a moment, her mind swirling with thoughts. Taking another deep breath, she swipes to answer the call.

"Hello?" she says, her voice slightly shaky as she brings the phone to her ear.

She listens intently as her father's voice comes through the other end of the line, waiting anxiously for whatever he has to say. Y/n's father's voice is stern but concerned. "Y/n," he begins, "Have you seen the statement released by Mercedes?"

Y/n holds the phone a little tightly, her heart rate increasing again. "Dad," she begins, "Yes, I just saw it on Instagram. But listen, it's not what it seems-"

Her father's voice cuts her off, filled with disbelief and disappointment. "Not what it seems? It says you've been married to Lewis for 6 months. Explain that."

Y/n hesitates for a moment, her mind racing to come up with a viable explanation. Feeling cornered, she decides to go along with the lie, knowing that the truth will lead to even more disappointment and shame from her father.

"Okay, okay," she says, her voice quivering slightly. "Yes, it's true we got married. But Dad, please understand, it wasn't a spur-of-the-moment thing. We wanted to keep it quiet, that's why we didn't tell anyone right away…"

Y/n listens to her father's scolding, her heart sinking further with each question. "I know, I know," she responds, her voice filled with guilt and remorse. "I should have told you sooner. But Dad, you have to understand, Lewis and I wanted to keep things private at first. The public attention can be overwhelming, and we wanted to enjoy our newlywed bliss in peace…"

Y/n feels a lump form in her throat as she hears the disappointment in her father's voice. This is a first for her—she's never had to lie to her father before, and the guilt starts to weigh heavily on her heart. Fresh tears well up in her eyes, but she tries to maintain her composure on the phone.

Lyka sees the tears in Y/n's eyes and immediately takes notice, her face filled with concern. She walks over to her friend and starts rubbing her back soothingly, a silent show of support and solidarity.

Y/n's father continues to press, his tone slightly more subdued now, "And when can we meet Lewis? Your mother deserves to meet him as soon as possible. We can't just be finding out about your husband on social media, for goodness sake!"

Y/n swallows hard, the weight of the lie becoming more palpable. She racks her brain for an answer, trying to come up with a believable timeframe. "Uh, well, we're actually not together right now... he's still... with his family...," she says, her voice still shaky. "Maybe… Maybe this week? Or when their summer break begins?"

Her father remains silent for a moment, mulling over the proposed timeline. "Very well," he finally responds, his voice still edged with disappointment. "We'll plan something for next week then. I expect a proper introduction and explanation. No more secrets, understood?"

Y/n nods, even though her father can't see her. "Yes, Dad, understood. No more secrets," she mutters, her voice tinged with a mix of guilt and resignation.

After the call ends, Y/n closes her phone, a deep sigh escaping her lips. The weight of the lie and the disappointment from her father hang heavily on her shoulders. She feels like a guilty teenager all over again.

Lyka sees the distress etched on Y/n's face and quickly strides over to her, wrapping her arms around her in a comforting hug. "It's going to be okay," she whispers softly, trying to soothe her friend's troubled heart.

Y/n takes a deep breath, gathering her thoughts and trying to rein in her emotions. She then looks over at Lyka, a newfound determination etched on her face. "I need to let Lewis know about the situation with my father," she says, her voice steadying slightly.

She swiftly opens her phone and navigates to Lewis' contact. She knows she needs to inform him about the recent turn of events. Her fingers grip the phone tighter as she starts typing a message to him.

Y/n closes her phone and sighs, her body still feeling the emotional toll from the conversation with her father. Seeing that Lyka has taken over the cooking, Y/n moves to a nearby chair and plops down, still mulling over the recent developments.

While sitting on the chair, she takes a moment to mentally process everything that has happened. Her mind is filled with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions - the lie, the need to maintain the facade, the guilt of deceiving her father, and the impending meeting with Lewis and her parents.

July 14th, 5:34 PM

The two sit in the car, the engine idling in the driveway of Y/n's childhood home. The atmosphere in the car is tense, and both of them are dreading the upcoming meeting with Y/n's parents.

She takes a deep breath, stealing a glance at Lewis before speaking up. "Okay, here's the plan," she begins, her voice a mixture of conviction and anxiety.

Y/n goes over the 'story' again, recapping the timeline of their 'relationship.' "We met during my vacation- your Christmas break of 2022, and became friends for about two months before you started courting me for three more months," she reminds Lewis. "We started dating after that, dated for five months, got engaged for around two months, and then got married in mid-January. Got it?"

Lewis nods, taking in the timeline and details of their fictional relationship. He's clearly trying to commit everything to memory, fully aware of the importance of maintaining a consistent story in front of Y/n's parents.

Y/n takes another deep breath, her hand fiddling with the hem of her shirt. "Just remember, the key is to stay consistent and make it believable," she adds, her voice a tad shakier than before.

Lewis reaches out and takes Y/n's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "We can do this," he says, his voice filled with determination and reassurance. "We just have to stick to the story and not let our nerves get the better of us."

Y/n nods, reassured by Lewis' words and the gentle squeeze of his hand. "You're right," she says, her voice steadier now. "Stick to the story, stay cool, and we'll get through this."

Lewis turns off the ignition, and the engine falls silent. Both of them unbuckle their seatbelts and get out of the car. Standing in the driveway, they take a moment to glance at each other, preparing themselves for the upcoming interaction.

Y/n's heart pounds in her chest as she and Lewis approach the front door. The familiar surroundings of her childhood home bring back a mixture of emotions—nostalgia, nervousness, and the weight of the lie they're about to perpetuate.

She reaches out and rings the doorbell, the sound echoing through the peaceful neighborhood. They wait for a few moments, the anticipation growing with each passing second.

The maid opens the door and greets Y/n and Lewis warmly. "Hello, welcome," she says with a friendly smile. "Your father is still in his study doing some paperwork and your mother is helping the chefs with the dishes. They should be finished soon."

Y/n thanks the maid and glances at Lewis, a hint of anxiety in her eyes. She leads him into the house, the familiar scent of her childhood home filling her nostrils.

She takes Lewis' hand and leads him into the living room. The spacious room is tastefully decorated with a mix of antique and modern furniture, a reflection of her family's taste and style. She guides him to a cozy sofa and motions for him to take a seat.

As they settle onto the sofa, the maid follows behind them and asks, "Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee, tea, water, perhaps?"

Y/n turns to the maid and responds, her voice a bit tense. "I'll have cold water, please. Thank you."

She then turns to Lewis, trying to keep a semblance of normalcy despite her inner turmoil. "Would you like anything, Lewis? Water, coffee, tea��?"

Lewis looks at Y/n and then at the maid and replies, "I'll have tea, please. Thank you."

As the maid exits the living room Lewis sidles closer to Y/n on the sofa, draping an arm around her in a comforting gesture. He leans in and whispers something in her ear, his voice low and barely audible to anyone else.

In a quiet voice, Lewis whispers to Y/n, "Are there any cameras in the living room?" He asks the question, his gaze subtly glancing around for any visible signs of surveillance equipment.

Y/n is slightly taken aback by Lewis' arm around her, but she collects herself quickly. In a hushed tone, she whispers back, "Yes, there are cameras. They're hidden in various spots around the room, my father has access to the cameras from his study."

Lewis places a soft kiss on Y/n's temple and then pulls her closer, his voice a low murmur. "I know, I probably should have asked for your permission before doing that, but I thought it might help our act. For all we know, your father could be watching us on those cameras at this very moment."

Y/n can feel her heart rate increase a bit at Lewis' proximity and his reasoning behind the kiss. She glances at the hidden cameras, a hint of nervousness in her eyes. She nods subtly, understanding the necessity of keeping up the act.

The two of them maintain their close position on the couch, trying to appear as a married couple who are comfortable in each other's company. Y/n glances around discreetly, wondering how her father is handling the surveillance footage.

Just as they are about to continue their conversation, the maid re-enters the living room, carrying a tray with their drinks. She sets the tray down on the coffee table in front of the sofa, placing a glass of cold water next to Y/n and a steaming cup of tea next to Lewis.

The maid arranges the drinks on the coffee table, the sound of the glass clinking against the tray cutting through the silence in the room. She then smiles politely at them before discretely exiting the living room again, leaving Y/n and Lewis alone with their beverages.

Y/n watches the maid exit, her heart rate slightly elevated. She picks up her glass and takes a small sip of water, her mind racing with a million thoughts. The sound of Lewis' tea cup being placed back on the coffee table breaks the silence, drawing her attention back to him.

As Y/n starts to bite her nail, Lewis reaches out and gently moves her hand away from her mouth, his gaze meeting hers with reassurance. "Hey," he whispers "It's going to be okay. I'm here with you, every step of the way. We'll get through this together, alright?"

The simple act of Lewis gently stopping her from biting her nail serves as a small anchor, bringing Y/n back from the edge of her nervousness. She glances at him, his steady presence offering a small sense of comfort. She nods subtly, her eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and anxiety.

Y/n's breathing remains somewhat labored, the anxiety still coursing through her. Lewis takes her hand in his and begins rubbing his thumb against hers, a soothing motion that seems to ease her nerves, if only a little.

As she gazes at their intertwined hands, her eyes move up to the rings and tattoos adorning Lewis' fingers. The sight of them adds another layer to their carefully crafted pretense, the evidence of her supposed marriage right there on display for anyone who looks closely enough.

Their moment is interrupted as Y/n's mother walks into the living room. Her mother's presence brings Y/n back to reality, and the nerves come rushing back. She straightens up immediately, letting go of Lewis' hand to brush off any dust on her shirt and pants.

Y/n's mother enters the living room, her eyes lighting up as she sees her daughter and Lewis sitting together on the sofa. A warm smile graces her lips as she approaches them. "Hello, you two," she greets them, her voice filled with genuine affection.

As Y/m/n approaches, Y/n rises from the sofa, her movement slightly jerky due to her nerves. She tries to force a smile, hoping to appear normal, but the tension in her body is palpable.

Lewis follows Y/n as she nods, his hand gently moving to rest on her back, a small comfort in the face of the inevitable confrontation with her father.

He extends his hand towards Y/n's mother, his demeanor is polite and friendly. "Hello, it's lovely to meet you in person," he says with a warm smile. Y/n watches the interaction, her heart thumping loudly in her chest.

The introduction occurs, Lewis offering his hand in greeting and Y/n's mother shaking it warmly. Y/n stands nearby, the sound of her own heart pounding in her ears drowning out almost everything else.

As Lewis shakes her mother's hand and exchanges greetings, Y/n's heart pounds louder in her ears. Her eyes flicker between the two, the casual interaction between her mother and Lewis standing in stark contrast to the turmoil of emotions churning within her.

Y/n watches as Lewis engages in pleasantries with her mother, and the polite exchange is a far cry from the anxiety that grips Y/n's insides. The sound of their voices and the sight of their interaction blur into the background as Y/n struggles to keep herself together.

Y/m/n gestures towards the dining room, saying, "Follow me to the dining room, please. Your father will join us in about five minutes." With a nod, Y/n and Lewis follow silently behind her, the nerves tightening in Y/n's stomach.

Lewis takes Y/n's hand again, his touch providing a source of comfort in the midst of the mounting tension. With a subtle gesture, he begins rubbing his thumb against hers, offering a silent reassurance.

The gentle, soothing motion of Lewis rubbing her thumb helps to ground Y/n, and the simple action is a small balm against the anxiety that threatens to consume her. She glances at him, silently expressing her gratitude through her eyes.

They enter the dining room, and Lewis takes a seat next to Y/n, his presence a silent comfort. Y/n sits down across from her mother, leaving her father's chair vacant. The sight of the empty chair sends a jolt of anxiety through Y/n, her palms beginning to sweat.

Y/n sits across from her mother, her eyes darting to the empty chair that her father is bound to occupy shortly. The sight of the vacant seat is a ghost of the man who is about to confront the facade they've created. Y/n's palms begin to sweat, and the nervous energy builds rapidly within her.

The silence in the dining room is nearly deafening. Y/n's mother makes small talk, but Y/n's mind is elsewhere, consumed by the impending arrival of her father. She glances again at the empty chair, the seconds ticking by like hours as they wait for him to join them.

The wait seems endless, Y/n's mother's attempts at small talk falling on deaf ears as Y/n's mind races with thoughts. Every sound seems magnified, and every breath echoes. The empty chair looms over the table like a storm cloud, its absence speaking louder than any words could.

It seems almost too well-timed. Just as the silence is about to become unbearably awkward, the butlers enter the room, gracefully serving the meals that have been prepared. The aroma of the food fills the air, but Y/n's stomach is in knots, the thought of eating almost impossible.

As they express gratitude to the butlers, Y/n's father proceeds to place food on his plate, his hands moving deftly. Still in the midst of his task, he begins to ask questions, his voice laced with authority and curiosity.

Y/n's father continues to plate his food as he asks questions, his words almost nonchalant, but his tone hinting at hidden scrutiny. "So, Lewis, how did you and Y/n meet?"

Lewis responds calmly to Y/n's father's question, his tone matter-of-fact. "We met back in 2022, during Y/n's Christmas vacation," he says. "It was a coincidence, really. We just sorta bumped into each other and started talking."

Her father nods, seemingly taking in the information, still focused on loading food onto his plate. His next question comes with a hint of intensity, "And when did you decide to get married?"

Y/n's father's question about their marriage takes her slightly off-guard. As her mind races, she accidentally drops her spoon, the metallic clatter bouncing off the walls of the quiet dining room. Her heart sinks, the unexpected question leaving her feeling even more exposed.

Y/n apologizes for the dropped spoon, her voice a bit shaky. Lewis takes over, answering her father's question calmly. "We decided to get married after being engaged for two months," he explains. "We actually got married right before the off-season started. It was quite a whirlwind, to be honest."

Y/n's mother interjects, curious about the term 'off-season.' "What do you mean by off-season?" she asks, her tone casually curious.

Lewis responds to Y/n's mother's question, his tone casually informative. "The off-season is sort of like Christmas break," he says. "It's the time of year when school is out, and everything kind of slows down for a while."

Y/n's mother nods, absorbing the explanation, and then proceeds to take a bite of her food. She seems reasonably content with the answer, her focus shifting back to her meal.

Y/n's father, seemingly unsatisfied with the previous answers, resumes asking his questions. His gaze remains fixed on a spoonful of soup, but his voice drips with a sense of authoritative interrogation.

He continues to question Lewis, his eyes focused on his bowl of soup as his voice pierces the air. "So, you're an athlete, correct?" he asks, his tone suggesting he already knows the answer.

Lewis nods in confirmation, his demeanor still poised. "Yes, I am," he answers, his response firm.

Y/n's father persists with his questions, delving into practicalities. "How are you going to provide for Y/n when you're constantly traveling and training?" he probes, his tone skeptical.

Y/n's mother chimes in, gently nudging her husband and scolding him playfully. "Darling, you're acting as if Lewis is going to be your personal assistant," she admonishes, adding a little humor to the conversation.

Lewis chuckles lightly, finding a bit of humor in the situation. Y/n, on the other hand, lets out a somewhat awkward laugh, the tension still palpable beneath the facade of casual banter.

He responds to her father's question, his tone confident. "I have a well-established career, sir," he says. "I'm well-paid, and I can certainly provide for Y/n and any future family we might have."

As Lewis mentions potentially having a family, Y/n is caught off-guard and inadvertently causes herself to cough, the water going down the wrong pipe. She quickly composes herself while both their parents look at her in concern.

While Y/n recovers from her coughing fit, Lewis gently pats her back, a look of concern etched on his face. "Are you alright?" he asks, his voice laced with genuine worry.

Y/n responds nervously, her voice a bit shaky. "Yeah, I'm fine," she reassures, trying to brush off the incident, her eyes darting between Lewis, her parents, and the water in her glass.

Y/n's mother chimes in with a question, her tone light yet curious. "So, have you two thought about how big of a family you'd like to have?" she inquires, her eyes flitting between Lewis and Y/n.

Lewis expresses his thoughts on starting a family, his voice filled with warmth and optimism. "I'd really like a big family," he admits, "maybe 2-3 kids or more, and a few pets too. But ultimately, it'll be Y/n's call since she'll be the one carrying and giving birth to the children." He smiles affectionately at her, adding, "It's her decision, and I'll support whatever she chooses."

Y/n's gaze softens, her heart warmed by Lewis's words. Despite the awkward family setting, the way he looks at her, coupled with his last statement, touches her deeply. It's a small but significant gesture, emphasizing his support and understanding, something she didn't fully anticipate.

Y/n's father nods in approval, clearly satisfied with Lewis's response. "Good man," he remarks, appreciating the thoughtfulness behind Lewis's words. "Always considerate of your wife's feelings, as you should be."

As Y/n's father praises Lewis, a sigh of relief escapes her lips. The approval from her father seems to ease some of the tension, and she shoots Lewis a grateful glance, silently expressing her relief.

Y/n's mother chimes in with a question, her tone casual but slightly concerned. "Have you two thought about moving in together soon?" she asks. "I recall Y/n mentioning she's still staying with Lyka."

Y/n responds, her voice laced with a hint of anxiety, explaining the reasons behind their decision. "We haven't moved in together yet," she begins, "due to Lewis's job. With him traveling all over the world for most of the year, it would be quite lonely for me. I have some of my stuff at his place, but we agreed that I'll stay with him when he's home and stay at my apartment with Lyka when he's away."

The explanation seems to make sense to both Y/n's parents and her father nods in understanding. He seems to comprehend the challenges that come with Lewis's job, and the reasoning behind their living arrangement makes sense in their circumstances.

The dinner gradually comes to an end, and Y/n and Lewis bid farewell to her parents. There's a sense of relief in the air, mixed with a hint of lingering tension. As they part ways, Y/n's mother gives them both a warm smile, while her father offers a firm nod.

"Thanks," she says, smiling at his gesture, appreciating the small act of chivalry. She pulls out her phone from her bag before taking a seat in the car, the soft leather of the seats molding to her body.

As Lewis closes the car door, Y/n notices Lyka's name popping up on her phone's screen. She taps on the answer button, the phone pressed to her ear. "Hello?" she says, her voice slightly weary.

Lyka's voice comes through the line, sounding a mix of anxious and excited. "H-hi," she greets, her tone bordering on the guilty, like a child trying to conceal their mischief.

Y/n listens to Lyka's nervous greeting and responds, curiosity in her voice. "What's up?" she asks, setting the phone on speaker and placing it on the dash. Just as she does so, Lewis gets into the car, and they both focus on the now-speaker conversation.

Lyka's voice, sounding a bit unsure, asks, "Are you heading home now?" The question lingers in the air, suggesting that there may be something on Lyka's mind.

Y/n shoots Lewis a glance, their eyes meeting briefly as he maneuvers the car out of the gates. She's silent for a moment, contemplating Lyka's request and the implications of staying over at Lewis's place tonight.

Y/n turns her attention to Lewis, asking the question aloud, even though he had already overheard the conversation. She takes the phone off the dashboard, holding it in her hand as she speaks, her voice quieter than before. "Lyka's asking if I can stay over at your place tonight because Lando is a bit too drunk to go home."

Lewis responds, keeping his focus on the road, his voice calm and unwavering. "Sure," he says, seeming amenable to the idea. "You can stay over at my place tonight."

She relays the response to Lyka, conveying the okay from Lewis. "Okay," she says, her voice a bit lighter now. "I can stay at Lewis's place tonight."

Lyka's voice comes through the phone, brimming with gratitude and a hint of apology. "Thank you so much," she expresses, her tone sincere. "I'm really sorry for the sudden request. We just, uh…" Her voice trails off, leaving the rest unspoken.

Y/n chuckles, still on the phone with Lyka, and teases her gently. "Yeah, yeah, just make sure you take care of your 'boyfriend,'" she says, a hint of playfulness in her voice. "I'll be with Lewis."

Lyka's embarrassed screech comes through the phone, her voice full of flustered denial. "DUDE, SHUT UP!" she practically yells, her annoyance tinged with a hint of humor. "HE'S NOT MY BOYFRIEND!"

Y/n responds, a playful tone in her voice. "Yeah, yeah, whatever, Lyka," she teases. "You can tell that to the flowers he's been sending you every day." Her tone takes on a mock serious note. "Anyways, I've gotta go now."

Lyka's frustrated scream comes through the line, her voice muffled as she probably covers her face with her hands. Y/n laughs, having heard this reaction countless times over the years, knowing it's a clear sign of Lyka's embarrassment. "Bye," Lyka manages to say, her voice still tinged with flusteredness before ending the call.

Y/n looks at her phone, opening the text messages app to find the flurry of texts Lyka sent just moments ago before the call. Her eyes scan over the screen, curious to see what kind of messages her flustered best friend sent, no doubt venting about what was happening.

Lewis breaks the brief silence that had settled in the car, starting with a casual, "So…" His tone is conversational, suggesting he has something to talk about. He keeps his focus on the road, but his voice is filled with curiosity and a hint of anticipation.

Y/n sighs, her voice tinged with a mix of resignation and uncertainty. She closes her phone screen, resting it on her lap before responding. "Honestly, I'm not even sure," she admits, her tone reflecting a hint of frustration at her friends' complex relationship.

Y/n tries to explain the complicated nature of Lyka and Lando's relationship, her voice trying to convey the complexity of it all. "They're more than friends, but less than lovers," she clarifies, her tone thoughtful. "It's a bit confusing, really. They're stuck somewhere in between."

Lewis chuckles, reflecting on the implications of the "stuck in between" situation. He offers a playful observation. "Well, that could go one of two ways, right?" he muses. "Either it's really good, or really bad."

Y/n smirks, agreeing with Lewis's assessment. "Yeah, you're right," she concedes, her voice hinting at the complexities of Lyka and Lando's dynamics. "It's either going to work out amazingly or explode in their faces."

The car falls back into a moment of silence, the low hum of the engine filling the space. Lewis keeps driving, his focus on the road, his mind likely contemplating the complexities of relationships and the uncertainty of the future.

Y/n breaks the silence again, her voice carrying a hint of hesitation. "Uh…" she begins, her tone a bit uncertain, but there's a question lingering behind it.

Y/n's voice softens with gratitude as she addresses Lewis, her tone sincere. "Thanks," she says, her appreciation evident. "For, you know, not making a big deal about me staying over."

Y/n's voice takes on a more grateful tone, her appreciation clear. "And thank you for saving my ass at the dinner," she says, a hint of relief in her voice. "I really appreciate you having my back."

Lewis responds with a warm smile, his tone easy and hospitable. "It's no problem, sweetheart," he says. "You're always welcome at my place, even when I'm not around. I'll give you a key soon so you can come and go as you please."

Y/n turns her head swiftly, her gaze now locked on him. She repeats his term of endearment, "Sweetheart?" Her voice is tinged with a hint of surprise, her head slightly tilted to the side as she processes the familiarity of the word coming from his lips.

Lewis's eyes widen momentarily upon hearing her question, clearly surprised by the inquiry. He quickly recovers and responds, his tone questioning yet gentle, "Oh, is it okay if I call you that?" His voice carries a note of concern, clearly wanting to ensure he hasn't crossed any boundaries.

She lets out a soft laugh, the tension easing away. "Yeah, it's fine," she assures him, her tone tinged with a hint of amusement. "It's actually better that way. I won't be caught off guard when you call me that in public. It'll make our act more believable for the press."

Lewis nods, the concern in his eyes replaced by a hint of relief and a touch of playfulness. "That's true," he agrees, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "It'll make it more convincing when we're around people. Plus, it's kind of nice…" His voice trails off, a slight implication behind his words.

A smile dances on Y/n’s lips, and she decides to tease him a bit. “Oh really? I feel like you have a big crush on me Sir Lewis,” she asks, feigning surprise, her tone lighthearted. Her eyes glimmer with playfulness, expecting him to respond with a playful banter.

His voice takes on a playfully challenging tone as he responds to Y/n’s teasing question. “And what if I do?” he says, his eyes briefly meeting hers before turning back to the road. “What would you do about it?” There’s a hint of a challenge in his tone but also a flicker of genuine curiosity, as if he’s eager to see how she would react if her teasing was based on truth.

Y/n responds with confidence, her eyes locked into his. “Oh, I have a few ideas,” she says, her tone dripping with a hint of mystery. Her voice drops lower, filled with playful tease, as if she’s already planning something.

Lewis raises an eyebrow, his interest piqued by Y/n’s response. He can’t help but wonder what kind of ideas she has in mind. “Oh yeah? And what ideas do you have in that pretty mind of yours, sweetheart?” he asks, a smile playing on his lips.

Her smile widens, her eyes glimmering mischievously. She remains coy, not revealing too much. “Oh, I can’t give away all my secrets,” she teases, her voice playful. “You’ll have to wait and find out.”

Lewis chuckles, enjoying the banter between them. "Fair enough," he responds, his tone playful. "I guess I'll just have to wait and see what you have up your sleeve, sweetheart."

Y/n smirks at the term of endearment, the name rolling off his tongue with a familiar ease. "Oh, you'll see," she teases back, her voice filled with confidence. "I promise it'll be worth the wait."

Lewis brings the car into the parking lot of the condominium building, the wheels smoothly coming to a stop. He turns off the engine, the sound of the vehicle falling silent as he shifts his gaze over to Y/n sitting next to him.

"We're here," he announces, his tone casual. He unbuckles his seatbelt and glances over at Y/n. "Ready to head inside?"

Y/n nods, the teasing banter settling into a comfortable quiet. She unbuckles her own seatbelt and prepares to get out of the car. "Yeah, let's go."

Lewis opens the car door and steps out, stretching briefly before closing the door behind him. He then walks over to Y/n's side and opens the passenger door for her, offering his hand to help her out of the car.

She smiles appreciatively, taking his hand and stepping out of the car. "Thank you," she says, her voice tinged with gratefulness. She then follows him as they head towards the entrance of the condominium building.

As they walk into Lewis's penthouse, the faint sound of a low thumping becomes perceptible. Y/n glances around, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise. She looks over at Lewis, a quizzical expression on her face, silently asking if he hears it too.

Lewis catches Y/n's curious look and can't help but smile to himself, fully aware of what's about to occur. He says nothing for a moment, amused by the fact that she hasn't figured it out yet.

Out of nowhere, a chubby bulldog appears, sprinting toward Lewis with excitement. Its short, muscular legs carry it swiftly across the floor, its paws creating a thumping sound as they hit the ground. The bulldog clearly recognizes its owner and makes a beeline straight for him, tail wagging joyfully.

Lewis crouches down to meet Roscoe, his face breaking into a wide smile as the dog happily rolls onto his belly, begging for some attention. Lewis laughs and begins to scratch the dog's belly, his fingers rubbing the animal's belly fur affectionately.

"Hey, buddy," Lewis coos affectionately, his voice filled with warmth as he speaks to Roscoe. "Did you miss me?" The bulldog responds with a slobbery grin and continues to wiggle his short, stub tail on the floor in bliss.

Roscoe looks up at Lewis with big, soulful eyes, his tongue hanging out, clearly thrilled to be in the presence of his owner. He playfully licks Lewis's hand, expressing his happiness in the only way he knows how.

Roscoe, in the middle of his display of excitement towards Lewis, suddenly halts, his furry head tilting to the side as he notices Y/n's presence. His wide eyes focus on her, his gaze inquisitive and a little cautious, as if wondering who this new person in his home is.

Y/n stands there, a mix of surprise and uncertainty on her face, not quite knowing how to greet the curious bulldog. She looks over at Lewis, silently seeking some guidance on how to approach his pet.

He notices the change in Roscoe's behavior and the puzzled look on Y/n's face. He stands up and gestures for her to come closer, a reassuring smile on his face. "It's okay," he says, his tone comforting. "He's just curious. Come closer."

Y/n steps closer, her nerves palpable as she admits to Lewis that she isn't particularly fond of dogs. "Um, is this a good time to say I'm not really a dog person?" she mumbles, her voice tinged with slight unease.

Lewis chuckles, a mix of amusement and understanding in his eyes. He glances down at Roscoe, who is still sitting and watching Y/n intently. "Oh, really? Well, that might be a problem," he teases jokingly.

She cautiously moves closer and gives Roscoe a tentative pat on the head, her touch light and tentative. The bulldog responds by closing his eyes in the pleasure of the unexpected attention, his stumpy tail wagging once again as he basks in the affection.

Lewis watches the interaction and smiles, finding the scene amusing yet endearing. "See?" he says, his voice encouraging. "He likes you already."

He stands up, motioning for Y/n to follow him into the kitchen. "C'mon," he says, gesturing towards the kitchen. "I'll grab us some drinks."

Y/n follows Lewis into the kitchen, her face transforming into a surprised smile as she asks a question. "Why do we need drinks?" There's a hint of curiosity in her voice, as if she's secretly hoping for a particular reason.

Lewis uncorks the bottle, taking out two wine glasses from the overhead cabinet. As he pours the wine into the glasses, he glances over at Y/n, his eyes holding a playful twinkle. "Besides," he says, a sly smile on his lips, "we need to celebrate our marriage properly, don't we?"

He passes a wine glass to her, his fingertips lightly brushing against hers for a moment as he does so. The atmosphere in the kitchen suddenly feels a tad heated as the implications of his words hang in the air between them.

Y/n takes the offered glass, her heart skipping a beat as their fingers touch briefly. The look in his eyes and the undercurrent of flirtation in his tone are hard to ignore. The words "we need to celebrate our marriage properly" echo in her head, causing a flutter of anticipation in her stomach.

Lewis pours himself a glass of wine, then pours another for Y/n as she settles into her seat. He moves around the counter, the wine glass in his hand, and takes a seat next to her. The silence is comfortable, but the air is charged with a simmering tension, the earlier flirtation not yet faded.

Y/n holds up her wine glass, lifting it slightly in his direction. "Cheers," she says, her voice carrying a note of excitement. The clinking sound of their glasses meeting fills the air, the act oddly intimate and charged with unspoken desires.

Their eyes meet over the rims of their glasses, the moment charged with a mix of tension and anticipation. Y/n takes a sip of her wine, the liquid smooth and cool as it touches her lips, but it's the man sitting next to her that leaves her feeling flushed and warm.

Time has passed, and the wine has taken its toll. Both Y/n and Lewis are visibly tipsy, their cheeks flushed and their inhibitions lowered. She finds herself in a slightly drunken state, her speech more slurry than Lewis's. They're exchanging stories, the wine loosening their tongues and making them more susceptible to sharing their secrets and embarrassing anecdotes.

Y/n continues her story, her voice a bit slurry from the wine but filled with amusement. "So, there I was, planning to go grocery shopping, right? But then Lyka calls and invites me out for drinks. And well, as you can imagine, one drink turns into several, and the next thing I know, it's been three hours. I completely forgot about the grocery shopping. Then, instead of coming home with actual groceries, I end up bringing home this stray white cat I found. And thus, my cat Extra Virgin Olive Oil was born."

Lewis can't help but chuckle lightly as he listens to Y/n's story, finding it both absurd and endearing. He leans his face against his palm, his elbow propped up on the counter, his eyes sparkling with tipsy amusement. He glances at her, a lazy smile playing on his lips. "You named your cat what?" he asks, his voice tinged with playful disbelief.

His laughter continues, the image of Y/n coming home with a cat instead of groceries amusing him more than it probably should in his current state of drunkenness. "You named your cat Extra Virgin Olive Oil because you forgot about grocery shopping and got drunk instead?" he asks, grinning widely, clearly finding the situation hilarious.

Y/n grins widely, nodding enthusiastically in affirmation. "Yep, that's right," she says, her voice filled with tipsy mirth. "Extra Virgin Olive Oil. And let me tell you, he's the most spoiled cat ever. All because I couldn't stick to my grocery shopping plans."

She feels a sudden brush of fur against her leg, her gaze dropping down. But before she can even react, Roscoe takes off like a shot, darting away with one of her high heels clenched in his mouth. Y/n's eyes widen, and a tipsy laugh escapes her lips.

Y/n jumps out of her seat, a tipsy grin on her face. "Roscoe!" she yells, giggling as she tries to catch the dog who's now prancing away with her high heel. Lewis watches the scene unfold, his laughter joining hers, finding the whole situation hilariously adorable.

Y/n's pursuit of Roscoe continues, her steps a bit unsteady from the alcohol. She tries to catch him, but her foot catches on the edge of the rug, her already tipsy balance getting the better of her. She trips over, her body stumbling forward, a yelp of surprise escaping her.

Lewis sees Y/n's fall, her carefree chase after the dog abruptly interrupted by her slip on the rug. He gets up from his seat, a slight worry crossing his face. But before he can make a move, Y/n raises an arm up from the floor, and yells out, "I'm okay!" Her voice is slightly slurred but there's a sense of pride in her tone, as if she's proud of her resilient demeanor despite her tipsy state.

As she stands up with a wide smile on her face, she doesn't realize the small cut on her elbow until Lewis points it out. Y/n glances down, noticing the slight trickle of blood on her arm. She touches the spot, a little surprised, but the alcohol has numbed the pain, giving her a false sense of invincibility. She giggles, looking at the cut with amused detachment.

Despite her stumble and the small cut on her elbow, Y/n's demeanor remains carefree, her eyes blinking in a slightly confused manner. The alcohol has dulled her senses, so pain feels distant and the reality of the fall hasn't quite registered in her mind yet. She looks up at Lewis, a slightly bewildered expression on her face as if she's not quite sure how she ended up on the floor in the first place.

Lewis lets out a small, playful exhale and saunters over to Y/n, gesturing for her to sit on the couch. "Alright, come on, sit down," he instructs, his voice laced with a hint of amused frustration. He guides her over to the couch, steadying her a bit as she clumsily flops down onto the cushions.

He turns away, giving her a warm smile, and says, "Okay, sit tight. I'll be right back. I'll get a bandage for that cut on your elbow." He strides out of the room, leaving Y/n slumped on the couch, a little drunk and a bit bewildered.

Y/n lounges on the couch in a slightly disheveled manner, her body stretched out like a starfish. She looks like a ragdoll, her limbs flung about in a completely comfortable yet chaotic way. The alcohol has made her feel relaxed and carefree, completely unbothered by the fact that she's lying haphazardly on the couch, waiting for Lewis to return with a bandage for her now-forgotten cut.

After 5 minutes, Lewis enters the room carrying a small first-aid kit. He looks over at Y/n, noticing that she's a bit more composed compared to a few moments ago. The alcohol's effect seems to have subsided a bit, perhaps due to the short break in time. He walks over to her, sitting down on the couch next to her, the first-aid Kit in his hand.

"Seems like you're getting a bit more sober now," he observes, his tone gentle as he opens the first-aid kit. He takes out an antiseptic wipe and a small adhesive bandage, preparing to clean and cover the cut on her elbow.

"Hold still for a moment," he says, his voice soft. He gently takes her arm and begins cleaning the wound with the antiseptic wipe. The cool touch of the solution stings a little, but he's careful not to cause her any unnecessary pain.

Y/n winces a bit as the antiseptic wipe touches the cut, a small "ow" escaping her lips. The alcohol has numbed her a bit, but the sting of the antiseptic still registers. She looks at her arm, watching as Lewis carefully cleans the cut, his touch light yet deliberate.

"It's alright," he soothes, his tone gentle. "I'm almost done." He continues to clean the cut, making sure it's free of any dirt or debris before gently placing the bandaid over the cut. His touch is light and careful, his fingers grazing the soft skin of her arm.

Once the bandaid is placed, he gently pats the area around the cut, securing it in place. He then releases her arm, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. He looks up at her, a small, reassuring smile on his lips.

Y/n gazes at Lewis, her eyes studying his face intently. She takes in every detail - the curve of his lips, the flecks of gold in his eyes, the slight stubble on his chin. The alcohol still in her system has lowered her inhibitions, making her bolder and more observant. She continues to stare at him, not saying a word.

Lewis notices Y/n's unwavering gaze, her eyes taking in every feature of his face. He raises an eyebrow, a hint of curiosity in his expression. Seeing her silent observation, he jokingly asks, "Got something on my face?" His voice is light, and his words are filled with humor.

Y/n shakes her head, continuing her silent observation, her gaze still fixated on his features. And then, in a surprising move, she leans forward, her lips brushing against his in a soft, slow kiss. The alcohol in her system lowers her inhibitions, making her actions more impulsive and carefree. The kiss is unexpected but filled with an undercurrent of desire and affection.

Lewis is taken aback for a moment, caught off guard by her unexpected kiss. But then, he relaxes into it, his eyes closing as he responds to her contact. His hand comes up to cup the back of her head, his fingers lightly brushing through her hair. The kiss deepens, the alcohol in their systems making it heady and impulsive.

Y/n, emboldened by the alcohol and the heat of the moment, makes another bold move. Without breaking the kiss, she shifts her position, straddling his lap, a leg on either side of him. Her body presses against his, her hands on his shoulders, pulling him closer as she continues kissing him, her actions driven by a combination of intoxication and desire.

She suddenly pulls away from the kiss, the reality of her actions sinking in. Her blush spreads across her face, a mixture of embarrassment and desire filling her. She looks at him, her eyes wide, her breathing slightly ragged from the intensity of the kiss. The alcohol in her system has lowered her inhibitions, making her bolder and more impetuous, but she still feels a mix of shyness and confusion at her own behavior.

Lewis looks at Y/n, a hint of confusion and surprise in his eyes. He gently cups her face with his hand, his thumb tracing the contour of her cheek. He asks her softly, "Why did you stop?" His voice is a mix of curiosity and tenderness, his gaze holding hers as he waits for her response.

Despite the buzz of alcohol in her system, Y/n hesitates, her actions and her desires at war within her. The kiss had been spontaneous, driven by a heady mixture of alcohol and desire, but now she feels a sense of self-consciousness and insecurity. Her blush deepens under his touch, and she looks into his eyes, trying to find the words to explain her sudden break in their intimate moment.

"I…I don't know," she stutters out, her voice small and unsure. "It's just…I don't know…" Her gaze flickers away from his, unable to hold his intense, questioning stare. The alcohol and the heat of the moment have made her impulsive, but now she feels exposed, vulnerable in her straddling position, her guard faltering under his soft but insistent touch.

Lewis gives her a reassuring smile, his hand still cupping her face. Seeing her hesitant, he gently draws her back towards him, his other hand coming up to rest on her hip. He pulls her down, bringing her face closer to his, and kisses her again, his lips pressing against hers with a soft but determined pressure. The kiss is slow, tender, and deliberate, his tongue slipping out to caress her lower lip, seeking more.

With a swift movement, Lewis stands up, still not breaking the kiss, his hands holding onto Y/n's thighs to keep her stable. The shift in positioning causes her to tighten her arms around his neck, and their bodies press even closer together. Lewis's grip is firm but gentle, his strength evident as he holds her up with ease, the kiss continuing unhindered.

He walks with purpose towards the bedroom door, his strength and balance holding Y/n securely in his arms. In a move that seems completely effortless, he keeps one hand on her thigh, supporting her weight, while his other free hand reaches out, unlocks the door, and swings it open. He strides across the threshold, carrying her into the room, the kiss never once breaking.

Inside the bedroom, he kicks the door closed behind them, shutting out the rest of the world. The only sounds filling the room are the soft gasps and sighs exchanged between them as the kiss deepens, fueled by a heady mixture of desire and alcohol. Lewis shifts his grip slightly, his hand sliding from her thigh to her waist, holding her steadily as he guides her towards the bed.

Lewis gently sets Y/n down on her feet, helping her regain her balance. Then, with a soft yet firm pressure on her shoulders, he eases her backward until she sits on the edge of the bed. He stands in front of her, his body looming over hers in a way that is both dominant and protective. He looks down at her, his gaze darkened with desire, his breathing slightly heavy.

With a subtle but deliberate action, Lewis's hand moves up to Y/n's neck, his fingers wrapping around the delicate skin in a light but firm grip. He squeezes gently, not enough to cut off her air, but enough to assert a sense of control and possessiveness. The kiss that follows is quick, fierce, and possessive, his tongue invading her mouth in a dominant, needy manner.

Y/n whimpers into the kiss, the sound caught between a protest and a moan of pleasure. Lewis's dominant grip on her neck, the way he claims her mouth in a possessive kiss, fuels the fire within her. Her hands come up to cling to his shoulders, the mixture of pleasure and submission washing over her in waves.

Too caught up in the intensity of the moment, she grips the loops of Lewis's pants, her fingers hooking onto them as if anchoring herself. The action is both needy and desperate, a silent plea for more as she looks up at him, her eyes burning with desire and anticipation.

Lewis glances down at Y/n, noticing her fingers gripping his pant loops, a small, amused smile playing on his lips. Teasingly, he leans down, his face close to hers, and whispers, "So needy, aren't you?" His voice is a low, gravelly murmur, his words carrying a hint of possessive satisfaction.

She looks up at Lewis with wide, innocent, doe-like eyes, her expression a mixture of need and submission. She doesn't respond, her voice caught in her throat, but her grip on his pant loops tightens just a fraction, her body silently begging for more. The contrast between her innocent gaze and her needy actions is striking, and the heat in her eyes speaks volumes.

Lewis continues to look down at her, his eyes taking in her beautiful, vulnerable expression. He reaches out a hand, tracing the line of her neck with his fingers, but the touch light is barely there. He can hear her soft, ragged breaths, can feel her pulse quickening under his touch, and his own need, his own desire, increases exponentially.

He leans in, his lips moving to her ear, his breath against her skin as he whispers, "You're so gorgeous like this, so needy for me." He kisses her ear, his lips moving down to her jaw, leaving a trail of soft, hot kisses down the delicate curve of her neck.

Lewis continues to kiss along her neck, his mouth nipping and sucking gently at her skin, his tongue darting out to taste her sweetness. His hands slide down her body, caressing her sides, his touch both tender and possessive, his own need growing with every soft sound that escapes her lips.

He bites gently at her pulse point, a small, possessive act that makes her gasp and whine softly. His hands move to the hem of her shirt, his fingers tracing the line of exposed skin, his touch both gentle and firm. "I want you," he whispers against her skin, his voice rough and full of desire, "so badly."

His hands slide underneath her shirt, his palms pressing against her skin, feeling her warmth and softness against his touch. He feels her shiver at the contact, her body responding to his touch like a perfectly tuned instrument. He kisses her collarbone, his mouth moving down to the hollow of her throat, his lips trailing along her skin with increasing need.

His hands move higher, his fingers tracing the contour of her stomach, her ribcage, her breasts. He feels her arch into his touch, her body craving more contact, more of his touch, his caress, his attention. He can feel her need, her desire, the way her breath hitches at his touch, and it only fuels his own fire, his own burning need for her.

Lewis pushes her gently back onto the bed, his body hovering over her, his weight propped up on his forearms. He looks down at her, his eyes roaming over her face, her body, taking in the sight of her beneath him, soft and yielding, yet filled with an undeniable fire and desire.

His fingers move to the buttons of her shirt, his touch slow and deliberate as he unfastens them one by one, revealing her bare skin inch by inch, his lips following the path of his fingers, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses along her skin.

Y/n's breathing becomes ragged as Lewis' hands reach the last button, freeing her breasts from the confines of her shirt. She pushes the fabric off her shoulders, tossing it aside, her nipples hard and aching for his touch.

Lewis' hands cup her breasts, his thumbs teasing her sensitive nipples. Y/n moans, her head falling back as she arches into his touch. Her hands roam over his body, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants.

She slides her hand inside, gripping his erection through his boxers. Lewis groans, his hips bucking into her hand. Y/n pulls him closer, their lips meeting in a rushed kiss as she fumbles with his boxers, freeing his hard cock.

She strokes him slowly, her thumb rubbing over the head, making him moan into her mouth. Lewi's hands leave her breasts, training down her sides to her waistband. He hooks his thumbs into her pants, pulling them down her legs, leaving her completely naked.

Y/n steps out of her pants, her body trembling with desire. Lewis' eyes roam over her, drinking in the sight of her before he pulls her back against him. He reaches around, unfastening his braided belt, letting it fall to the floor.

He pushes her onto the bed, following her down, his lips trailing kisses down her neck, his hand guiding his cock to her entrance. Y/n's breath hitches, her legs parting, welcoming him.

Lewis positions himself at her entrance, his eyes locked on hers, filled with lust and desire. He pushes inside her, slowly at first, allowing her body to adjust to his size. Y/n gasps, her nails digging into the sheets as he fills her completely.

Y/n bites her lip, her eyes widening as she feels the full extent of Lewis' size. "Fuck, you're huge," she hisses, a mixture of pain and pleasure coursing through her.

Lewis smirks, his hands gripping her hips as he begins to thrust, his rhythm slow and deliberate. "Like it sweetheart?" he growls, his voice deep and seductive.

Y/n nods, her eyes fluttering shut as she adjusts to his size. "Yeah, I... I love it," she admits, her voice breathy and needy.

Lewis grins, his hand sliding around Y/n's neck, applying gentle pressure. "Good," he murmurs, his thrusts growing faster and more forceful.

Y/n's eyes widen at the added sensation, her body arching off the bed as her arousal intensifies. "Lewis," she whispers, her nails digging into his back, "don't stop."

He doesn't, his thrusts becoming more aggressive, his hand tightening around her neck just enough to heighten her arousal. Y/n's moans grow louder, her body trembling in anticipation of her impending orgasm.

Y/n's voice is barely a whisper as she gasps, "I'm... I'm close, Lewis."

Lewis, however, is lost in the sensations, his focus solely on the feel of Y/n's tight, wet pussy wrapped around his cock. He continues to thrust, his hand still tightly around her neck, his body moving in perfect unison with hers.

Y/n's orgasm hits her like a tidal wave, her body convulsing as she cries out, her nails digging into Lewis' bicep. Her walls clench around his cock, milking him as he continues to thrust.

Lewis' thrusts grow more erratic, his grip on Y/n's neck tightening as he feels her orgasm grip his cock. Her shaking only serves to fuel his desire, his release drawing near.

He pulls out of her, Y/n's protest cut off by the loss of his cock. He positions himself at her entrance once more, his cock glistening with her juices. "On your knees, sweetheart," he commands, his voice thick with lust.

Y/n obeys, her body still trembling as she gets onto her hands and knees. Lewis lines up his cock with her wet pussy, thrusting back inside her, this time from behind.

His hand leaves her neck, instead gripping her hair, pulling her head back as he begins fuck her with renewed vigor. Y/n's moans fill the room, her body responding to her every thrust,

Lewis' thrusts become more rushed, his breathing heavy. "You're such a good girl, taking my big cock like that," he praises, his voice thick with desire.

Y/n's body shudders, her arousal building once more as she feels him fill her from behind. "Mmm, Lewis," she moans, her voice thick with lust.

Lewis' hand tightens in her hair, his thrusts growing more urgent. "Cum for me, sweetheart. Cum for me one more time," he says, voice a mixture of command and desire.

Y/n's body responds to his words, her orgasm building once more. "I... I'm close," she gasps, her nails digging into the bedsheets.

Lewis feels his own release building, his thrusts becoming more erratic. "Come for me," he demands, his cock pulsing inside her.

Y/n's body convulses, her orgasm washing over her like a tidal wave. Lewis can no longer hold back, his cock pulsing as he releases his hot seed deep inside her. He collapses onto her back, his breathing heavy as he tries to regain his composure.

Her body shudders, her mind swimming in the aftermath of her orgasm. Lewis slowly pulls out of her, his cock leaving a trail of cum between her legs. He rolls off her, pulling her into his arms, their bodies entwined.

They lie there, their bodies intertwined in the aftermath of their passionate encounter. Both are out of breath, their hearts still racing from the intensity of the experience. Lewis is holding Y/n close, her head resting on his chest, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her back. The room is quiet, the only sound being their ragged breathing, the sound gradually slowing and evening out as they regain their composure.

Y/n breaks the silence, her voice a bit hoarse but weary. She looks up at Lewis, her head still pillowed on his chest, and says, "That sobered me up real fast." Her words are a mixture of exhaustion and satiation, the aftermath of their passionate encounter leaving her both depleted and fulfilled.

Lewis gives a soft laugh, his fingers still tracing patterns on her back. He nods, agreeing with her words. "I guess that's one way to sober up," he replies, his voice still a little breathless. He gently brushes a stray strand of hair from her face, his touch soft and affectionate.

Y/n jokes, a weary but playful smile on her face. "Well," she says, "that was like our very own little honeymoon night, wasn't it?" Her comment, although lighthearted, carries a hint of seriousness, a nod to the intense and passionate connection they had just shared.

Lewis chuckles softly, a smile on his lips. He gently pulls her closer, his arms tightening around her. "I guess you could say that," he responds, his voice warm and gentle. "We definitely made some memories tonight." He looks down at her, his gaze filled with tenderness and affection.

Y/n hisses as she adjusts her position, a slight wince on her face. Her body is likely still sensitive from their passionate encounter, and she moves gingerly, trying to find a more comfortable position.

Lewis notices her hiss and the wince on her face, his expression immediately becoming one of concern. He asks her gently, "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" His voice is laced with worry and concern, his fingers lightly coming up to caress her cheek.

Y/n shakes her head, her eyes meeting his. "No, I'm alright," she reassures him. "Just a little sore, I guess. But it was worth it," she adds with a sleepy smile.

Lewis continues to look at her, his eyes searching her face for any signs of discomfort. He asks again, his voice filled with concern, "Are you sure you're alright? Soreness is normal, but I don't want to hurt you." He gently tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch tender and caring.

Y/n nods, a small smile on her face, and jokingly says, "Well, I guess there's an easy fix for that. Just take me out on a shopping spree, and I'll feel like a million bucks again." Her tone is light and humorous, indicating that she's not entirely serious but also hinting at her desire for some pampering and shopping therapy.

Without hesitation, Lewis reaches for the nightstand near the bed and grabs his wallet. He opens it and pulls out a credit card, then hands it to Y/n with a smile. "There," he says, his voice lighthearted, "your ticket to feeling a million bucks. Go wild."

Y/n's eyes widened as she took his credit card. She playfully gasps, a mischievous smile on her face. "Are you serious? You're giving me carte blanche with this?" she says, holding the card up and examining it like it's a precious gem.

Lewis nods, a smirk on his face. "Dead serious," he confirms, leaning back against the headboard. "Go nuts. Buy whatever you want, and don't hold back. It's on me."

Y/n places the credit card on the nightstand, her smile playful. "Oh, it can definitely wait till tomorrow," she says. "I think we should both rest and recover from tonight's… activities." Her tone is teasing, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of exhaustion and satisfaction.

Lewis chuckles, a knowing smile on his face. "I agree," he replies, his voice deep and gravelly. "We definitely need some rest after tonight. But tomorrow…tomorrow is all yours. Shopping sprees, pampering, the works. I can't have you sore for too long, can I?"

Y/n smirks at his words, her eyes narrowing mischievously. "You know, you might be starting to regret giving me that credit card already," she teases. "You're creating a little monster here."

Lewis laughs heartily. "Oh, I'm fully aware of the monster I'm creating," he replies, still sporting a smile. "But honestly, I find it kind of hot. The thought of you going on a shopping spree, spending my money without a care in the world… it's strangely alluring."

Y/n teases, a mischievous grin on her face. "Oh, don't worry, I plan on getting something for you too," she says. "After all, a good shopping spree isn't complete without a little gift for the guy who's footing the bill."

Lewis pulls her back towards him, drawing her close against his chest. He settles back against the pillows, his arm wrapping around her in a protective, comforting embrace. Y/n's head rests against his chest, her body tucked snugly against his, and he gently kisses the top of her head. "Sweet dreams," he whispers, his voice soft and affectionate.

yn.ln

liked by lewishamilton, lyka.val, george_russell and 644,819 others yn.ln Shopping sprees, a hot best friend, and an even hotter husband? I'm winning. tagged lewishamilton, lyka.val

COMMENTS ARE LIMITED

lyka.val luv ya <3 ↳ yn.ln Love you more babes, remember to feed Evoo please :) ↳ lyka.val yes ma'am 🫡

lewishamilton We're both winners sweetheart. ↳ yn.ln Whatever you say, I'm enjoying it either way 😂

masterlist

taglist

@nepobbylver @wobblymug @seonghwaexile

497 notes · View notes

foreingersgod · 19 days ago

Note

babes ur writing is so good , can you write something where the reader is going to indiana with caitlin but is nervous that cait will forget about her ???

*i think i interpreted this wrong so i’m so sorry lmao

Champagne Coast . CC

pairing: caitlin clark x reader

synopsis: request ^

A/N: y’all i’m so sorry for how long this took me!! and i feel like my writing has really deteriorated so please give me feedback and let me know if you like it or totally hate it lmao, thanks for your patience!!

also sorry i had to use YN like ONCE !!

wc: 10.6k

Finishing eight or nine?

Tell me, what's the perfect time?

your bowl had been placed in the dishwasher long ago, countertop cleaned and leftovers placed in the nearly empty fridge. dinner was growing cold and you hadn’t cared to wait, opting to eat alone yet again before residing in the living room. the tv played in the background with some arbitrary doctors show from the 90s as you sat patiently watching the clock. the hands were beginning to collect dust, you noticed, though it had only been up for a few months upon your move to indiana. each tick seems to mock you the more time dragged on.

she was supposed to be home long ago. practice would have been done at 8 or 9 and it was now approaching 11. this is what it always was, waiting up for her well into the night when the street lamps turned on and the sky grew dark. and you’d wait up like you always did as you were unable to sleep without her. especially in this new home, new bed, new sheets, new life. it never quite bothered you that caitlin would show up late every once and awhile, but it had started to become a habit, and you were left cold and alone. pestering her about being home at a certain time wasn’t fair to her by any means, knowing that she was just going and getting to know her team some more. but recently it felt like you were navigating this milestone in your life by yourself-your girlfriend hardly around to comfort your racing mind.

when caitlin had been drafted, you knew immediately in your heart that it was going to be rough. change was something of a challenge for you and it terrified you more than anything. you recalled sitting at that table, hearing her name announced and the deafening cheers, thinking about how excited you were for her. and even though you were thrilled for her, you couldn’t help but think about how your perfect world was going to slowly crumble. caitlin insisted that things wouldn’t fall apart, just adjust for the future you were going to build together. but now you were here, in this house-not home-trying to convince yourself that all of it was true.

suddenly, you were pulled from your period of musing when the lock of the front door clicked. it was followed by the faint creaking of hinges, old brass from the 70s, your land lord had claimed. you thought she was full of shit. weary eyes traveled to the opening door to see a very tired caitlin walking in. her hair was tousled, post practice shirt just slightly wrinkled, the slightest bags under her eyes that she insisted weren’t there. she was struggling with the move just as much as you, though she’s never admit it.

“hey,” you uttered just enough to be heard over the television. feelings of your isolation had begun to dissipate the moment you saw your girl, relief running through your veins “you’re home”

“yea” she cleared her throat as she let her bag fall to the floor. the squeak of her shoes echoed against the walls when she toed them off, eventually setting them on the rack beside the door. there was an uneasiness laced in her voice you had picked up on. she didn’t seem angry nor irritated, but she was far from her usual self when she was home. she’d typically be thrilled to see you, ready to be in your arms again and let the stress from the day wash off. you were the first thing she’d looked for when she stepped across the threshold. but tonight, her eyes were hesitant to find yours.

“are you alright?” you watched as she shuffled into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water, skipping over the leftovers that you had considerately set aside just for her. her favorite meal dished into the nicest tupperware you owned. her slim figure leaned against the cool marble countertop, taking a swig of the water “you seem a bit…off”

“just tired” she glanced at you, locking eyes for what felt like the first time since she’d been home. a weak smile made its way onto her lips as she studied your position on the couch. you couldn’t lie, she did look tired, but part of you couldn’t shake the feeling that had been consuming you for months. the distance that basketball had created made it feel like you and caitlin were living separate lives, when really, this should be something you tackled together. you couldn’t blame her for any of it even if you wanted to, just hoping that things would go back to the way they were.

you wished she were home more, that her presence would provide you some sort of reassurance. maybe just to convince you that you weren’t going insane, liked you were trapped within these walls for a reason other than her career. it had been a while since you felt like you were living a life that didn’t solely revolve around caitlin’s.

“okay” you smiled back bitterly without pressing any further. any energy you had for a conversation like that had left your body hours ago. reaching for the remote and lifting yourself off the couch, you motioned to the stairwell. considering she didn’t even acknowledge the food, you assumed settling down for the night was what you both needed “ready for bed?”

she blinked rapidly, kissing her teeth silently when she noticed the annoyance in your voice. guilt consumed her as she saw the look on your face, the twinge of desire lost from your eyes.

“mhm” she hummed in agreement as she followed you upstairs to the bedroom.

maybe you both just needed some sleep, caitlin thought. neither of you were mad nor cross with each other, but you’d be fools if you didn’t sense the tension in the air. things had been different for quite some time now, all of it too confusing to address, leaving you to wallow in the awkwardness for days now. but if there was any time, any place, where all that was left at the door? it would be here with each other in bed. it was something of a safe haven, nothing else mattered when you left your worries at the door and held each other tightly.

like clockwork, you stripped of your typical daywear down to your lace panties and one of caits t-shirts. it had a worn down high school logo on it, the design fading from the countless times it had been through the wash. she, likewise, pulled her sweaty gym shirt off her body to replace it with one from her closet. you crawled under the covers whilst you took off your earrings, setting them on the small tray on your nightstand-something you picked out at target when you and caitlin went decor shopping for the new apartment. you had barely noticed caitlin also climbing into bed as the memory of that day overtook you. no words were exchanged as you both settled into the sheets, pulling the thick duvet over your shoulders and finally letting your muscles relax. it was only when a pair of burley arms wrapped around your waist, a familiar nose prodding against your collarbone, did the silence break.

“love you” caitlin whispered, breath warm on your skin “m’sorry i was late tonight and that i missed dinner. i’ll make it up to you”

“s’ok cait,” you murmured, sleep tugging at your eyelids. you brought a hand up to her head as you raked your fingers through her hair, she always loved it when you did “i love you too”

it mattered not what she did to make it up to you. she could do anything in the world, buy you countless gifts, take you on a million trips, but it wouldn’t change the one thing your heart desired for.

her.

I told you I'll be waiting

Hiding from the rainfall

trying to navigate to the locker room was a difficult task, having to push past the cheering crowds in a stadium you weren’t familiar with. you were surrounded by a blur of seattle’s green and yellow jerseys as you looked for any sort of path to follow. indiana had just taken quite the loss against the storm and you knew, the second you heard the buzzer sound, that you needed to find caitlin as soon as possible. eventually, you found where you needed to be and beelined for the locker room, hoping she hadn’t already gone looking for you.

the large metal doors stood tall in front of you when you arrived at the locker room entrance. the shift from the excitement out on the stadium floor to this quiet displeasure was staggering and you weren’t even inside yet. whatever you were about to be faced with would break your heart, you could already see it now. you pictured caitlin sitting down, head in her hands as she tapped her foot anxiously and made her best attempt to hold back her tears. she had been struggling with everything recently-the move, the new team, the continuous losses-it was slowly chipping away at her.

however, after pushing the doors open and stepping inside, it was quite the opposite from what you expected. the doors clicked shut behind you, causing the noise to reverberate around the desolate room as you took in the sight before you. and just as you imagined, your heart slowly began to twinge. caitlin sat there on the bench alone, head leaned against her locker as her chest heaved up and down. tears cascaded down her face and her lip quivered the more she sobbed. wispy strands of hair stuck to her forehead from all the sweat and her hands clutched the sides of her head in frustration. you had never seen her in such a state. caitlin was typically reserved, even with you, not wanting to be open and vulnerable. but here you were, seeing her with all of her guards down.

“caitlin” you breathed, immediately rushing over to her. you fell to your knees, body slotting between her thighs. shaky hands came to rest on her legs hesitantly as to not make matters worse “hey, hey what’s going on baby?”

she made a weak attempt at looking at you, tears blurring her vision. a hiccup escaped her chapped lips when she felt your soothing touch on her clammy skin. caitlin couldn’t even manage the words, thoughts lost in her own mind, only tangling more as she continued her cries. she managed to push herself off the locker, letting herself collapse into you as she shook her head. something to signal her unwillingness to talk. her large arms and heavy torso clashed against you as you enveloped her into a hug. warm tears dropped onto your shoulder as she pressed her cheek into your clavicle, creating a damp spot on your indiana fever t-shirt.

“shhh, i know you’re upset,” you rubbed circles onto her back, palm running across the fabric of her jersey “but i need you to talk to me, i can’t make it better if you won’t tell me”

“i just-” she croaked, voice wavering “i feel like…like a failure”

your body went stiff, the movements of your hand stopping momentarily. you hoisted her back up to face her in disbelief. the confession had taken you aback-not that caitlin had been anything but humble, but she knew how amazing she was, of her immense impact on the sport. to hear that word tumble from her lips, masked by a series of desperate whimpers, was enough to break you.

“caitlin,” you dragged on, feeling yourself at a loss for words. everyone thought so highly of your girl and it crushed you to hear her say those words “you are so far from that”

you watched her throat bob as she swallowed harshly. she tugged at the bottom of her jersey, bringing it up to her face to wipe some of the sweat away. in reality it was just an excuse to hide her blood shot eyes. another shake took possession of caitlin’s head to deny your statement.

“yea well my performance begs to differ”

“one bad game isn’t-”

“it’s not just one game” she cut you off before you could even begin to disagree. she had stopped crying by now, intense emotions now overtaken by aggravation “it’s several games. i keep fucking up. missing shots, turning over the ball-shit”

her rambles trailed off in a rampage of huffs and groans, her breath hot as she breathed angrily out of nose. she was always too hard on herself, lost in the heat of the moment and not giving herself any grace for all the hard work she’s put in thus far. it was a topic that began to consume your daily life. caitlin couldn’t seem to shake off the struggles of the day, in turn bringing them home where they became your baggage as well. of course you didn’t mind being there for your girl-hell, you’d do anything for her no matter what-but it was all starting to get exhausting.

you hated that you had these thoughts in the first place, feeling like a bad partner because you couldn’t bare the repetition of these conversations. time after time after time again you’d beat yourself up over it. caitlin deserved the world and more, but you deserved that just as much and these restless nights weren’t providing that. you didn’t even know what to say anymore, torn between how you wanted to proceed.

“there’s a lot on your plate,” you reassured, getting off your knees and taking a seat next to her on the bench. caitlin’s head automatically went to your shoulder as you took one of her hands in yours “you’re just starting out…don’t be so hard yourself. i know it’s rough, but you’re doing what you can and that’s what makes you so amazing. give yourself some grace, babe”

“i know but,” she sniffled, feeling a sense of calmness rush over her as you toyed with her fingers. it kept her distracted, grounded her for the time being “i don’t know, i’ve just been wanting to be the best all the time-for everyone-and i can barley even keep my head straight”

“i think i can speak for everyone when i say you’ve blown us all away” you traced along her lengthy fingers “your fans, your family, me…we’re all so proud of how far you’ve come”

she sighed deeply, you could practically feel the relief dispersing in her veins. in trying times like this, this is exactly what she needed. you were the shoulder to cry on, the answer to all her problems.

“you always know what to say”

she was right, you did. you’d always have the most thoughtful response lined up, no matter the reason or time. partially because it came so naturally to you, having an empathetic heart since forever, but partially from the consistency of these conversations. you couldn’t even count on your fingers the amount of times you’d sit with caitlin on tough nights, rubbing her back and whispering softly in her ear to bring her back to reality.

“well it’s the truth” you chimed “i’m always going to be here for you, cait”

you always are.

she offered you a smile through puffy pink lips, sore from biting them in strain. caitlin found the strength to pull away from you as her hands left yours, only to plant them right back onto your cheeks. her hands felt heavy on your skin when she brought your face to hers gently. your lips met in a sharp yet delicate kiss, caitlin eager to feel you against her again. but it hadn’t felt usual to you, as your bottom lip caught between her teeth and as your tongue collided with hers. it lacked that passion, that thrill of reveling in your lovers embrace. what was once fire was now a mere ember is a pool of spreading ash. you had feared this feeling for quite sometime although you’d never admit it, it felt as if she was slipping through your fingers.

bit by bit.

Tell me, what's the joy of giving

if you're never pleased?

she had changed.

locking herself away and distancing herself further from you as the season went on. she had always been hard on herself, but even then, she knew when enough was enough and what her limits were. but it seemed that after each game, she lost control of herself more and more. you had never seen her be so critical, so judgmental about her abilities.

it was hard to watch one of the most important people in your life shut themselves away. you wanted nothing more than to be there for her, but she put on the same facade each time and claimed that it as a slump to overcome. but could you really call it a slump when it was starting to weasel its way into the foundations of your relationship?

you hated to think it, but you felt neglected; your wellbeing didn’t feel like it was a priority to caitlin anymore. she used to be so sweet, attentive and caring when you were back in iowa. you wished that you were just as important as basketball. but the mere thought of accusing her of abandoning you seemed harsh when you considered bringing it up to her, because in all fairness, she was undergoing one of the biggest milestones in her life. but that didn’t mean that pushing you aside was fair either. you were taking care of the apartment, running all the errands, helping her balance her schedule, comforting her every single night as she saught after you for solace…and then managing your own life on top of that.

some days it felt like she didn’t even bat an eye at the lengths you went for her. how her laundry was done and set on her dresser, how dinner was made each night, how you picked up her favorite protein powder at the grocery store because you noticed that she was running low? she had began to expect it the more you pushed, not even offering so much as a ‘thank you’ or any regard of appreciation.

you could only give so much with little in return, you need her just as much as she needed you.

On my last strength against you

Baby, tell me what you need

you were happy for her, truly you were. it was so rewarding to see caitlin bond with her team and start to navigate her place in the W. she was beginning to believe in herself and that’s all a girlfriend could want for her partner. but something continued to gnaw at you.

you were doing everything in your power to make more time for caitlin-even if it should be the other way around. maybe by clearing up your schedule, it would make it easy for caitlin to make time for you. but you were sorely mistaken, you couldn’t force someone to make time for something that barely crossed their mind. and perhaps it was a foolish thought. an accusation a bit too cruel, but it was hard to watch caitlin celebrate life without you when most of it was owed to you. no one else served as her backbone, her crutch as she climbed her way to the top.

it was a bittersweet feeling for the most part. you smiled when seeing all the team pictures posted on instagram, chuckling lightly when caitlin retold stories of practices as she got ready for bed each night-the only time you seemed to get with her nowadays. but then there were the tears when you ate meals alone at the head of the table, staring off into the empty seat where she should be sat. and of course the mornings where you didn’t feel like getting out of bed because facing reality of your crumbling relationship was too much to bare.

it was an unfair truth; as she glances off in another direction, you’ll be glancing back to her.

Young as I want to know

I will never let you go

“baby?” her voice felt foreign in your ear. you hadn’t heard that pet name in a while.

“hm?” you responded mindlessly, unable to form a genuine reaction.

you were sat on the balcony of you apartment, the sliding glass doors open behind you. it would let the autumn chill into the house, you told caitlin many times to not leave it open. but she disregarded your commands as she leaned against the frame of the door. you had a small blanket draped over your lap to protect your bare legs from the nippy weather of the changing seasons, your chin resting on your palm as you over looked the view of indiana. your mind felt blank and overcrowded at the same time and trying to clear your head with some fresh air didn’t seem to help at all.

you hadn’t realized she would be home so soon. after all it was 5:00 on a friday evening, you presumed she’d be out with the team or running extra drills with aliyah, hell even at a media event of some sorts. you never knew what it was anymore with her. she didn’t bother to text or update you, most times you only knew of her whereabouts from socials or her family.

“are you ok?” she asked again “it’s freezing out here, you should be inside”

“it’s too stuffy” you sighed, inhaling sharply as the breeze brought in another gust “i can’t be in there right now”

you felt her tense up behind you, the image of her shoving her hands into her pockets formed in your peripheral. this was the most you two had interacted in a while, but your moody attitude appeared sudden to caitlin.

“why not?”

“jus’ can’t”

an unsteady silence filled the atmosphere. the only noises left to be heard were the sniffling of your red and runny nose and the traffic blaring below the apartment complex. you had hoped she’d leave you alone and walk back inside. the optimism of trying had started to disappear and you didn’t think you had much fight left in you. you planned to savor the last bits of energy you had to keep this alive, although today didn’t feel like one of those days. you continued to look out into the distance when she finally moved. you felt the spot next to you plunge as she took a seat.

“you never answered me,” her hand came to rest reassuringly on your thigh. despite the blanket that separated your skin, the contact still felt cold “are you doing ok?”

she had already picked up on your weariness, you were never so shut off when you were with her. but you couldn’t pretend to care when she couldn’t either.

“mhm” everything in you fought to not make it sound so obvious, the sound of your heart breaking as you croaked out the words “i’m good”

caitlin was doing so well and you couldn’t bring yourself to be the bitchy girlfriend that was groveling for attention. you weren’t okay, your relationship wasn’t, but if you just sat in the quiet and let it blow over then maybe it would be. you feared being seen as selfish and you felt guilty as you pushed caitlin away with your short answer.

she huffed, pulling her hand away from you as she hunched over her self, elbows on her knees and head in her hands.

“weeks ago you were talking about how excited you were for fall” she muttered “so that you could put out decorations and we could cuddle up on the couch and watch those old scary movies you love so much”

you allowed yourself to look in her direction, noticing how her face was covered by her beautiful long hair. but you didn’t need to see her to know that she wasn’t pleased.

“but the house looks the same and you’ve been sitting on the balcony every day even though you know it’s gonna make you sick” she craned her neck to look out across the city and you could see the trail of tears in her eyes. just glossy, but not enough to fall “it doesn’t sound like you’re ok”

you couldn’t do this, not right now.

“i’m sorry” you breathed “i understand your concern. i just think i’m a little stressed is all you know? just got a lot going on right now and i guess my focus has just been elsewhere. i’m sorry”

a nearly complete lie, all your focus had been on her these days.

“no need to be, i get it, and you know you can always talk to me about these things. but you gotta come inside, babe” she prodded “you’ll catch a cold”

with reluctance, you gave into her request and pushed the blanket off your lap. caitlin watched as you folded it and draped it over your arm before taking your hand and guiding you inside. the warmth and the calming pumpkin scent of your candle enveloped you like a hug, putting you at ease for the time being.

the both of you fell back into your typical routine almost instantly. no words were exchanged as she headed upstairs to shower, and you moseying into the kitchen to start on dinner. some polite conversation was made when caitlin came back downstairs with wet hair and freshly moisturized skin to help you finish dinner, but that’s as far as it went. no hugs from behind as you stood at the stove, no kisses on the neck, no laughter that was pure enough to make your stomach hurt. but it was simple and it was nice, enough to hold you over until the rubber band holding you together finally snapped.

Trading a baseball lover as I face the snow

“alright,” you said as you walked into the living room, heels padding against the carpet of the hallway and your dress itching at the skin on your legs. your fingers fiddled with your last earring, making you huff in relief when the clasp finally shut “i’m ready!”

it was date night tonight, the first in what felt like years, and there weren’t any words that could describe how ecstatic you were. just the thought of some much needed bonding time with caitlin gave you hope. yes times have been tough, but there wasn’t anything a little quality time (and maybe some good sex) couldn’t fix. you had been planning this night for sometime, making sure you both had the evening off and meticulously scheduling every last minute of the night. you were optimistic that tonight would open up a new door for progress.

but when you walked into the living room, your heart sunk. here you were, all dolled up with the prettiest smile on your face, waltzing into the most disappointing sight.

caitlin sat on the couch, legs spread and back against the soft cushions. she had her phone in hand, hair pulled back like always…and most definitely in a dirty tee shirt from her hamper and a pair of sweats. certainly not date attire, you knew.

“cait” you stood blankly “it’s 7:00”

“uh yea” she responded, only looking up from her phone for a moment, then quickly doing a double take once she realized your physical state “what’s with the dress? i mean you look as beautiful as always but-”

“are you serious?” you scoffed. you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. never in a million years did you think this would happen in your relationship. caitlin wasn’t like that.

“what do you mean ‘am i serious’?” she was taken aback, frustration already evident on her face as her checks glowed a shade of red “i just asked a fucking question”

“you really don’t know?” shoulders slumping when you realized she actually did forget.

she shook her head, brows furrowing as she awaited your response. a quick “no” fell from her lips.

“is the 24th caitlin” you chewed at your lip nervously, trying to hold back tears. you voice wavered as it caught it your throat, making you sound weak and defeated “our date?”

the color drained from her face in seconds, gaze softening and lips downturned. she was off the couch in seconds as she stumbled towards you, bringing your hands into hers. but you pulled them away swiftly and shot her a glare. you were done with the excuses, done with being left in the dust

“babe, i’m so sorry” she shook her head and brushed off the sting that came with your reluctance to her touch “i totally spaced, i could’ve sworn it was next week”

“i’ve been talking about this for months, caitlin” the words stumbled out from gritted teeth, jaw clenched in anger. you had no idea what to say anymore.

she gulped deeply as she looked down to her feet, she was in the doghouse for sure. although you’d consider her fate to be much worse than that. you began to sniffle upon her silence. could she really not manage to say anything right now?

“let me make it up to you” she tried to compromise. part of her knew she’d never be able to outlive this, but she was delusional enough to still believe she could somehow fix it.

“no,” you breathed, bending down to take off your heels. there wasn’t even a point in salvaging this tonight “just forget it”

“no really, you’re upset and this meant a lot to you and i want to fix it”

that was your breaking point. perhaps she didn’t mean it that way, but did she really only see this as something important to you? did she care at all about spending time with you? you wouldn’t be dumb to think that she wouldn’t, she had hardly done anything recently to make you think otherwise.

“really?” you sneered again, there was nothing holding you back anymore. you tossed your shoes onto the couch, leaving them as a problem for later “you want to fix this because it meant a lot to me?”

caitlin tried to study your facial features as she said nothing yet again. she couldn’t tell if you were genuinely mad or just annoyed, willing to forgive or prepared to hold this against her. she noticed the deepened tones of your cheeks and nose, the twitch of your left eyebrow, and the motion of your tongue darting out to sooth the previous bites on your lip. she had never seen you this mad, not in the eternity she had known you. you were such a sweet and loving person, incapable of talking bad about someone or staying mad for long. but she’d be damned if it felt you hadn’t changed within a second.

“i thought you would’ve cared too” you continued “you know, since i’m your girlfriend and you should also want to spend time with me”

“i do spend time with you”

“the fuck you do”

“what the hell does that mean?” she questioned angrily “of course i do, i’ve just been busy”

“please enlighten me then” you couldn’t help but roll your eyes “when was the last time we spent time together?”

“well what about tuesday, huh? when we, uh..when we watched that movie before bed? or when we both went to the team dinner the other night? that was spending time together wasn’t it?”

“no i watched the movie, you barely talked to me all night and the crawled into bed and went to sleep with your back turned,” you choked up as you recalled the memory, you remembered how much it broke your heart. your fingers came to pinch the bridge of your nose as the familiar sting of tears washed over you. “and really, the team dinner? you call that spending time? is it really that if you just chat with your buddies the whole night? you practically ignored me the entire time”

she kissed her teeth at you, clearly aggravated, but deep down she knew you were right. she hadn’t been good to you at all these last few months. and if she were to really be fair to herself, she’d have to admit that it was taking a toll on her too. she didn’t know why she was doing this, why she was acting this way, but she had already made her bed and she’d have to lie in it. this was a habit she knew she’d been baring for quite some time, pulling away when things got hard, leaving her loved ones to cope with the pain from her mistakes. and it broke her heart each time, but with you, it was like she was losing air.

“i’m trying here, alright?” her throat was dry as she tried to give you some poor excuse. she was too caught up in her own shame that she was digging her grave deeper.

“look caitlin,” you glared “i don’t know what the hell is going on with you, but i’m tired. trying just won’t cut it. i know you’ve felt the distance too, we haven’t been normal for a while now and it’s killing me. i can’t eat alone every night, have you come home just to ignore me, and the only time i get with you is under the public eye or with your friends. i know you have shit going on, cait, but you keep pushing me further and further away from you and i don’t know how much longer i can take it. i’m here for you time and time again and you can’t find it in yourself to set aside one fucking night for me”

you chewed at your lip, carefully navigating your next move before continuing.

“i left my entire life behind for you, caitlin. my friends, my family, everything that i have ever known. i left it all to be here with you and support you. and the fact that i spend every day mourning you when you’re in the same house is suffocating, i just can’t do it”

body shaking with anticipation, you looked down at your bare feet. you couldn’t bring yourself to look her in the eyes anymore. before you could stop it, sobs racked your body, tears cascading down your face. the emotions were too much to handle.

“babe-” she cooed, voice softening upon your confession. she’d never felt so disappointed in herself.

“stop,” you said meekly, cutting her off through your own sniffles. you forced yourself to look at her briefly, wiping away the mascara that had definitely accumulated under your eyes. whatever she had to say, you couldn’t hear it tonight. whether it be an apology or total rejection, the end to this period of suffering was about to end and you weren’t ready to deal with it head on yet “i think we need some time, caitlin. i just-i’m too upset and i’m hurting and i think time will do us some good”

“wait what?”

“you need to work out your shit. i don’t know, i think i’ll go to one of my friends places or something for a while..because i can’t put myself through anymore of this”

“no,” it came out as a blurt, her mouth moving before she could think. although she wouldn’t want to think, the image of you leaving plaguing her mind already “please, no, we can figure this out! god, fuck- just please don’t leave me”

you watched her slowly breakdown, she was becoming increasingly hysteric as begged you to stay. you gulped hard when she started crying along with you, another one of the few times she had shown you this side of her. it pained you to see the sight, your instincts told you to take it all back and reassure her everything was ok. but you had to keep your head high and remind yourself that things wouldn’t be ok if you didn’t look out for yourself, even if that included stepping away from caitlin for a few days.

“i’m not…i’m not leaving you, cait. just gonna take some time away, we both need to think about how this relationship is going to continue. and i can’t have an open mind if the cycle continues. but i promise it’s not goodbye, ok?”

she breathed through staggered hiccups, trying to force her body to relax. she couldn’t stand to be without you, even if it didn’t seem like it these past few months. her calloused hand came up to run down her face, taking the tears with it in an attempt to calm down.

“yea” she agreed, her voice barely above a whisper. she hated this, but she knew you both needed the time. you were always right “yea, ok”

and with that, you reluctantly stalked to the bedroom to pack a bag for a few days. shoving random shirts and shorts into the small duffel, avoiding the ones that you’d previously stolen from caitlin over the years. she had opted to sulk alone in the living room, bracing herself by sitting on the couch. she still couldn’t process any of this, the fact that she wouldn’t be with you for more than a day made her sick. even more sick at the fact that you couldn’t talk this out right away, you’d both have to navigate your feelings alone for a while.

she was perched at the edge of the couch, knee bouncing at an alarming rate. her gaze was fixed at the wall in front of her, staring at the variety of pictures that you’d hung on the wall. some of you both when you were younger, others of pictures with your families, and a few from the vacations and holidays you two shared since you’d been together. but her favorite ones, the ones she couldn’t bring herself to look away from, where the one of just you both. her eyes flickered across each and everyone, looking at the way you smiled at her, eyes almost welling up again when she saw how happy you guys were. she’d do anything to have those moments back, go back in time and stop herself from treating you so horribly.

she was disrupted from her period of musing when she heard you walk down the stairs for the second time tonight. you came into view with a bang slung across your shoulder, high heels replaced with a beat up pair of converse. you grabbed your keys as you stopped momentarily to give caitlin a saddened look, lips drawn in an apologetic smile. but you had nothing to be sorry for, caitlin thought when she gave you a similar look in return.

“hey,” she said before you could reach the front door. you turned your head, hand resting on the knob. desperation lingered in her eyes “i love you, and i’m so fucking sorry”

you dipped your head and pursed your lips, letting her know of your approval before fully opening the door and beginning a solemn ascent to your friends apartment.

“i know”

On my last strength against you

Baby, tell me what you need

it had been 6 days. 6 agonizingly long days.

she had nothing but time to think, and yet, she couldn’t seem to gather her thoughts at the same time. her mind was everywhere, bouncing from regret and guilt, to anger and dissatisfaction, and of course the remorse and pain. this is what caitlin was afraid of doing, pushing herself so far away that it had finally gotten to you. she’d gotten caught up in her head so deep that she failed to realize how much you were hurting. she’d never forgive herself for this.

everything felt gloomier without you, she noticed that now. there was a certain comfort in you being there, even if she did ignore you and push you to the side, you’d always be there and she abused that luxury. from the moment you left the essence of your shared home shifted uncomfortably. it was like a storm had unleashed its wicked winds to reign terror over the household, dulling your spirt that had kept it so pleasant and welcoming.

but she had to admit, the time was good. she needed to sit and make a change, promise herself that she’d get better for you. even if that did mean she’d have to sleep alone for a few nights, order takeout because her cooking would never amount to yours, brush her teeth before bed and come home from practice with you nowhere in sight. it was a necessary torture, but only temporary, she reminded herself. maybe she’d never know why she was acting the way she was, have to come to terms with the fact that she’s a shitty girlfriend and doesn’t deserve the apology she hoped you were willing to give. but despite knowing or not knowing, at least she could catch the poison that was her troubled subconscious before it could sink too deep. it was time to give up the self loathing and internal ridiculing. she wouldn’t let herself hurt you anymore

caitlin had always struggled with holding herself to an unachievable standard, convincing herself that she would never be enough or worthy of all this attention. she couldn’t believe that so many people wanted to watch her play, that she was first pick and that she was finally playing pro like she always wanted-part of her thought it was too good to be true. but she didn’t want to wake up from this implausible dream, forcing herself to go above and beyond just to hold onto it. and in the process, she’d forgotten to make time for you too. it was foolish, to ignore you like she had, you were her everything. every waking moment, at every practice and at every game, you consumed the entirety of her mind. at the end of the day, she was doing this all for you.

it was easy to get lost in the fame and the excitement and the pressure, but it shouldn’t have been enough to make her neglect you. nonetheless, she managed to do it anyways. so she took these 6 days to reflect and really target why she felt like she needed to act like this. she would go to the ends of the earth for you, willing to pick herself apart if it meant making it up to you.

Come into my bedroom

her foot tapped nervously against the coir fiber of your friends doormat. a faded “welcome” written in black felt contradictory as she tried to find the motivation to knock. you hadn’t texted or called, hadn’t reached out to caitlin at all to let her know you were ready. but she needed you like she needed air and just had to see you. she had to finally apologize for how terrible she was acting, beg for your forgiveness because being away from you was eating her alive.

she let out a shaky breath as her closed fist met with the white wooden door, sending a loud pounding noise through the other side. caitlin could hear your friends dog barking and scratching against the door, followed by rushed footsteps that got increasingly closer. she barley had a moment to regather her thoughts before the door was pulled open harshly.

“caitlin?” your friend came into view, disheveled as she tried to keep her dog from running out the door. she quirked her eyebrows at caitlin’s presence, shocked and confused-and definitely a little angry-as to why she was at her door “what’re you doing here?”

“i um,” caitlin cleared her throat as if to stall, wanting more time to think of the right thing to say “i was hoping i could talk to-”

“i don’t think she’s ready to see you, cait” your friend muttered, trying to keep her voice down so you couldn’t hear. and you probably didn’t, caitlin was extremely aware of that.

“i know i know” caitlin urged “but i just need to see her ok? i need to make this right”

your friend chewed at the inside of her cheek as if contemplating her next move. you were her best friend and she’d do anything to protect you. after a few seconds, she shook her head and began closing the door, offering caitlin an apology and a goodbye as caitlin continued to beg for just one chance.

“no please, just let me see her! just a few minutes!” she said louder this time, slotting her sneaker clad foot in the doorway “i just need a second i swear to god-”

your friend put all she could into getting caitlin to leave, trying to push her out the door as quickly as possible. but she was persistent and continued her pleas.

somewhere in between the endless banter, through caitlin’s desperate cries and your friends agitated dismissals, came the answer to caitlin’s prayers. you were napping in the guest bedroom when she walked up the steps to your friends home, having been exhausted from sobbing throughout the night. just like caitlin, you hated sleeping alone. but your efforts to seek out peace were quickly interrupted when you heard subtle shouts from the the other room. curious and worried when you heard your friend raise her voice, you hurried to see what the commotion was all about.

you were surprised to the see the scene unfolding in front of you. your friend wrangling the door shut as her legs fought to keep the dog at bay, cussing out whoever was behind the door. you could’ve about laughed at her antics until you suddenly realized who it was that she was trying to shut out. you had assumed maybe an ex or maybe even a family member would have been the culprit, but the long silky black hair that glimmered through the gap in the door quickly corrected you.

“caitlin?” you questioned just as your friend had before. you stood back a few feet front the door, although your voice was loud enough to make the both of them stop.

their heads both whipped in your direction, the door creaking open wider so you could see her in full view. your friend huffed, rambling about how she thought you were asleep and how she was sorry that they had woken you up. but you discarded her as your eyes locked with your girlfriends. there was a certain look of grief in her eyes, the color almost fogging over in despair. your head told you to look away, the sight too depressing to stand, but your heart yearned for her nonetheless, unable to tear your eyes from her.

“YN” she spoke. it was like a cliche movie scene, like out of a fairytale, when the prince sees his princess in her natural beauty for this first time. whist she was hardly a prince and you hardly looked the part of a princess, the feeling was all the same. that feeling of reassurance and love. you were here, right here in front of her in your pajamas and bunny slippers, and suddenly she felt some sort of relief wash over her.

you walked over to them, assuring your friend that it was ok and asking her to give you some privacy. she walked away hesitantly after giving your shoulder a supportive squeeze. she shot caitlin a disapproving glare as she disappeared back into the house. you ushered caitlin to follow you out to the front porch, motioning to the swing that croaked in the afternoon breeze.

“what’re you doing here cait?” you asked, not looking at her, as you settled on the swings cushion, using your foot to keep it from rocking back and forth “i thought we agreed to take some time”

she took the spot next to you slowly as if not to scare you off, she worried she’d mess this up with you. she so badly wanted to reach over, rest her hand against your thigh and feel the soft skin of your palm rest atop it. but she opted for her own lap, picking at her nails mindlessly.

“i know,” a sigh that had nestled deep in her chest had finally met its release when she began “but i couldn’t take it anymore. this week has been fucking torture for me…i had to see you”

sadness washed over you for a moment, like the sun in a day of mist when it has nothing to shine upon, only dissipating when you felt her shoulder brush against yours. there was almost a faint smile on the corner of your lips, you’d also missed her touch over these past few days. but reality was cruel as it brought you back to the present moment.

“it’s torture for me too” you admitted. you despised being away from her, constantly yearning to be with her whenever she was away.

“really?”

“of course” you snorted, shaking your head as you look out across your friends lawn. you eyed the hydrangea bushes that weaved its way through the porch railings, the patches of yellow that spread through the grass-what a statement to question “i always miss you when we’re apart, why wouldn’t i?”

it sounded stupid to say, you realized once the words left your mouth. nothing you had done would insinuate you missing her, especially leaving her to wallow in your apartment alone, if anything it did quite the opposite.

“cause i’ve been a fucking asshole” she blurted “i wouldn’t miss me either to be honest”

she wasn’t lying, she was an asshole. the pain and loneliness that you endured over the past several months were dreadful, and she was finally ready to admit that it was all her fault. there were no more excuses to hide behind, not when your relationship was at stake. as she reminisced on the many years you’d been in each others lives, she found no reason to validate her behavior. you were everything she could ever need, ever want, and she was taking that for granted.

“nothing could stop me from missing you, cait”

a bitter taste filled your mouth as you anxiously responded to her. you’d been biting down on your lip so hard that you had started to bleed, barely even noticing it through the stiff tension between you. it was silent again for a while as you both pondered on your next moves. should caitlin beg for your forgiveness, get on her knees in front of you and cry? or maybe it should be you, convincing the both of you it was a misunderstanding and you should just forgive her and go home? you’d been straining yourself with your own stubbornness and you didn’t know how much longer you could keep it up. part of you wanted to hold your ground and let her know that you wouldn’t except this treatment, but the other part of you just wanted to fall into her embrace and forget about the whole thing. but before you could conquer this battle within your brain, caitlin beat you to it with a rapid burst.

“baby, i-” she said, stoping herself to think-was she even allowed to call you that anymore? her tongue clicked and her eyes squeezed shut, this feeling of guilt was insurmountable “i can’t tell you how sorry i am. how much i regret everything”

she sounded defeated as she fought to get the words out, a whimper threatening to spill at any moment. her nose stung as she sniffled back cries. she thought she’d never get through this, that she wouldn’t even be able to look you in the eyes. but to much of her dismay, your delicate hand met with hers, forcing her fidgety fingers to relax. she turned her head to look at you through damp lashes, and finally seeing your sparkling eyes looking back at hers, found the courage to continue.

“i get so…caught up in myself, and i forget about what’s right in front of me. practice, games, all the hate i’ve been getting recently-christ everything just starts beating down on me and i get so lost. i isolate myself and i push away anyone who tries to break through this damn wall i’ve put up..and when they do..i just end up hurting them” she watched your face contort as she spoke, your lips turning downward to a sympathetic frown. you were always too sweet to her, too good for this world “and that’s what i’ve done to you, the most amazing person in my life and i won’t ever forgive myself for it”

“honey..” the pet named rolled off your tongue effortlessly. caitlin would be lying if she said that hearing it didn’t put her mind at ease. you stuttered, trying to find the words yet again, but she urged you to let her finish.

“i’ve let my shit get in the way of loving you the way you should be. there’s no excuse for how i’ve treated you since the move to indy-not tough games or being homesick or any of that-and i’ve regretted every minute of it. you don’t deserve to go to bed alone just because i was upset, o-or to feel like you have to deal with your stuff by yourself…i know moving has been hard on you, especially since your entire family is back home…and the fact that i haven’t been any support to you is unacceptable and i take full blame for that. and for everything else too, like making you feel neglected? it’s fucking breaking my heart knowing that that’s what i’ve caused, that i’m never around and that i’ve been the furthest thing from a girlfriend. we’re supposed to be a team, we are a team, and all i’ve done is let you carry the weight of both of us. i’m so incredibly sorry and i’ll keep saying it until you believe me”

her chest rose and fell ever so faintly as she breathed deeply. she had run out of air as the words left her in a haste, eager to get her apology out. these past days were spent planning each word, each motion, each action so meticulously and she needed it to work.

and with her final huff, there was a gentle silence again, the wind chimes hanging from your friends porch ceiling clinked softly together. you removed your hand from caitlin’s, letting it rise to her and face and resting it on her cheekbone. the pad of your thumb rubbed into her soft skin, feeling the prominence of her defined cheekbone. she felt warm, probably worked up from the heightened emotions, but it was soothing in a way.

“i believe you, cait” you breathed. you felt her instantly relax into you, the weight of her head pressing into your palm. her eyes fluttered shut and her brows furrowed, she felt undeserving of your reluctance “and i know you’re sorry, it’s okay”

“it’s not” she mumbled against your hand “it’s far from okay. and i’m going to do everything i can to gain your trust back”

“you’re right, it’s not. but i know you’re actually sorry…and you don’t need to gain my trust back, babe. you’ve always had it” her lips quirked when she heard the lighthearted tone of your voice “you really hurt me, and these past few days have been straight from hell. but the fact that you came and owned up to it all shows me that you’re going to work on it”

she nodded frantically, agreeing with every word. because it was true, she’d go the extra mile to ensure you never felt like this again.

“i can’t imagine a world in which i’m not spending eternity with you..so i’m willing to forgive, but my heart won’t be able to bare this again and i need you to promise me it won’t happen in the future. i know you have so much going on in your life, you’ve gone through a lot, but it can’t continue to get in the way of us. i’m here for a reason, to listen and to help in any way i can. please talk to me instead of shutting me out-i want to be there for you okay?”

“of course, i’m going to be better. for you. you deserve more than what i’ve shown you and that’s far from how i want to be, we’re in this together and i want to change. i love you so fucking much and it’ll never happen again”

with a hand still on her cheek and a smile tugging at your lips, you leaned in closer to her. the denim of your jeans rubbed against the swing cushions as you moved nearly into her lap, close enough to press your lips to hers. you could tell the kiss caught her off guard when you felt her body jolt, but quickly relaxing when she fell under your enchantment.

it was a feeling that was hard to explain, like a flame being reignited or a spark nestling in the depth of your chest. you hadn’t kissed caitlin in quite some time, and when you did all that time ago, it had felt meaningless. but here it was different, the taste of jovial tears mixing with that of your lips, creating a rejuvenated feeling of love and adoration. there as a kick to this kiss as she pulled you in deeper, her hand coming to the back of your head to cradle you. it felt good again and you couldn’t be more grateful.

“i love you too”

Come into my bedroom

it had been about a week or so since you decided you were ready to come home and work on healing your relationship with caitlin, and it had already been going better than you had expected. even though the conversation on your best friends porch went smoothly, you had only imagined the fights and anger that would be exchanged once you came home. but caitlin had shown quite the change already and you could already feel the rips and holes of your relationship beginning to mend. she had been just as doting and soft as she was at the beginning of your relationship.

she was treating you to candlelit dinners, drawing you the most relaxing baths, and fitting time into her schedule for you no matter how long it might be. she even took you golfing with her and was dragging you along to outings with the team and occasional press events. you hadn’t felt this excited in a long time, it was like you were crushing on her all over again.

for the first time since your life started in indiana, the little things were beginning to matter.

and now it was a quiet weekend night in, the plushness of the living room carpet weaving between your bare toes as caitlin’s hands rested quaintly on your hips. the furniture had been been pushed off to the outskirts of the room in order to give your bodies plenty of space to sway freely. the overhead light fixture had been long forgotten once the evening sunset began to bleed through the window, creating the sweetest source of light. the old record player, the one you brought with you when you moved away from home, sat on the the table in the corner as it spun yours and caits favorite album. the tune hummed quietly as its scratchy notes bounced off the walls, yet it was perfect for a night like this.

maybe it was cheesy, the way you and caitlin rocked side to side as you danced in your pajamas to sappy love songs, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. it was like a page out of the romance novels you read in high school. you were convinced this was all you needed in life, no luxury clothes or fancy dates, just you and caitlin soaking each other in as you danced around the apartment. it healed something in you as she spun you in her arms, laughing heartily when you stumbled. she was finally back to being your caity girl once more.

“what?” you giggled breathlessly after catching yourself from almost falling, pushing a loose strand of hair out of your face. she was staring at you when you faced her again, dimples evident as she grinned at you. her eyes had a softness to them, similar to the softness of her hand that snuck under your shirt to lightly pinch your side.

"nothin'" she shook her head with a wavering sigh "you're just...everything i've ever dreamed of, and i don't know- i just can't believe this is real"

she seemed choked up, in genuine disbelief that you were standing right in front of her, and it made your heart melt. it was moments like these that you craved, where her walls came down and she was completely herself with you. no pressure to look strong or tough, no holding back tears or true emotions, just pure love.

"of course it's real cait" you titled your head with an appreciative pout. you pulled her in with a comforting hand to the back of her head, leveraging yourself on your tiptoes to place a kiss to her forehead "what do you mean, baby?"

"like," she tried to find the words as she cleared her throat "like i can't believe that you're still with me. i don't know anyone who would stay through anything like the pain i've cause you. and the fact that you're right here in front of me, been so patient with me and understanding...i just feel so undeserving"

"hey, of course you're deserving" you politely scolded "we all make mistakes and sometimes they're bigger than we intend. but i love you more than words can describe and i know you've been trying to mend them. everyone has rough patches in their relationships, but i'm here to stay, caitlin. i'm not going anywhere"

you watched as her shoulders fell drastically; it was apparent that your words meant more than you had originally thought. she had always need reassurance, having always doubted herself in anything she did, and it was an unmatchable feeling knowing that you were the one to soother her. she nodded, not saying anything as leaned into you even more. so, you confided, not prying for a response. this vulnerability was already a big step for her.

you rested your forehead against hers, arms coming to loop around her neck. her long lashes fluttered as they tickled yours. the music was still playing in the background, allowing you both to fall into another oscillating rhythm. although it was cut short again when you felt her lips part, a quiet voice barely escaping her.

"it was you" it came out almost inaudible, leaving you confused on whether you hear her correctly or not.

"hm?"

"it was you," she said clearly this time, foreheads till touching and eyes shut in romantic bliss "from the second we met i knew it was going to be you. like a soulmate or life partner..whatver you want to call it, i just knew that you were going to be it for me"

as you stand there, your heart races, the world about stops spinning. each syllable strikes a chord deep within you, resonating with the echoes of past moments you’ve cherished with her. you could hear those words over and over and never get tired of it. The weight of uncertainty from the past months finally lifts, replaced by an exhilaration that makes everything else fade into the background. nothing else mattered anymore, no stress and no disdain for the road ahead, just you, caitlin, and an eternity together.

"you're it for me too," you said "in every lifetime"

A/N: FINALLY!! it's finished!! i definitely didn't spell check this, so if you catch any mistakes, feel free to DM me so i can fix it! i love you and thank you for your patience with this fic :')

188 notes · View notes

maiiuelle · 5 months ago

Text

❀ warnings: minors dni, alcohol, “daddy” is used, phone sex, mutual masturbation

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ᡣ𐭩 ⋆ ˚｡⋆

your room is like a sanctuary; poofy pink pillows, a silky canapé over your bed, and your fluffy duvet just melt your anxieties away at the end of the day. before bed you have a sort of ritual — after your extensive shower and skin care routine, you tip toe into your princess suite and shut off every light except the floor lamp next to the window overlooking the street.

you have a gorgeous vintage bench beneath the window that functions as your reading nook, complete with floral pink and cream cushions, lace curtains, and your favorite blanket. you’ve been loyal to your nighttime reading since you were little, always setting aside at least an hour to read before going to sleep every night. to really set the mood, you light your favorite cinnamon vanilla bean scented candle and put on a relaxing record.

humming along to lana’s soft voice, you shuffle to your towering bookshelf to look over its contents. the shelves are overflowing with books and knickknacks — most being calico critters and sonny’s angels that live happily amongst the hardbacks, complete with appropriately sized furniture for them. you carefully squeeze past the animal tea party you carefully set up to retrieve tonight’s read—

buzz buzz.. buzz buzz.. buzz buzz..

you sigh, your eyes softly closing in annoyance at your phone ringing against the wooden end table where it’s charging. one peek at the bright screen and you stomp over to answer.

“rafe? its 11:30.”

“yeah? what’re you doing up so late?” you can hear the smirk on his lips, and you roll your eyes.

“well, i was trying to read.” you snark, looking at the book in your hand and skimming over the summary on the back, pacing mindlessly over to your reading bench with the phone pressed to your ear. “what’re you doing? working?”

“nah, actually — i was just thinking about you.” in truth, he was supposed to be working, but the scotch in his glass distracted him. now he’s reclining in his office chair, tapping his pen against his wooden desk as he speaks. “missed you today.”

“mhm.” you muse. he’d invited you to come golfing with him, topper, and kelce but you refused. sometimes it felt like he was a completely different person with them, and you don’t want to be around that. you hadn’t heard from him for the rest of the day, until now.

“what? you mad at me or somethin’?”

“no.. i just — i’m frustrated! i wanted to see you.” you admit, throwing the book down on the bench cushion beside you. “and only you — not top and kelce — just you!”

“aw, pretty girl, m’so sorry.” his tone is almost mocking, clearly not actually apologetic as he slides his toned hand over the bulge in his pants. he really does miss you, and he certainly missed watching you prance around the country club in your mini skirts. even now you’re just too cute when you’re angry, it’s driving him crazy. “how ‘bout you lay down, i’ll help you relax, yeah? yeah.. lemme make it up to you.”

you pause, all of a sudden very aware of how his breathing has deepened. he couldn’t be.. “rafe? what’re you doing?” you ask again, listening closely to the muffled sound of his clothes rustling.

he has the phone pressed between his ear and his shoulder, both hands working to pull off his belt. “didn’t i just tell you to do somethin’, princess? go lay down.”

you blink like a deer in headlights — you want to stay mad at him, after all he had completely blown you off all day. but his gravely voice is already making you push your thighs together, you’d rather he take care of you than prove a point. “mm.. okay.”

“yeah, s’what i thought.” rafe breathes over the phone. you’re always so pliant for him, so desperate to please him you’d do anything he says. you jump onto your poofy bed, scaring your poor cat awake as you roll onto your back.

“wanna tell daddy what you got on?”

you look down your torso, manicured fingers dragging down your thigh as you try to stay patient. “just a tank top n those cute panties you got me. you know the pink lacy ones?” you play with the bow attached to the front of them in thought, remembering how he’d ripped them right off of you last time he snuck over.

“oh yeah? that’s it?” he’s amused, his smirk growing as he pictures you putting on practically nothing to go read. he groans at the thought, freeing his cock from his boxers. “i like ‘em better off.”

“i bet.” you bite your lip, giggling as your fingers slip under the thin fabric to pull them down. you want more than anything for him to appear at your door so he can take care of you properly, his encouragement over the phone just isn’t the same. “you should come here n help me.”

“oh, believe me, i want to. could sneak in the window and fuck you right — like you deserve.” rafe coos. “remember last time? had you on your back, spread out on your bed with your pretty legs around me.” the memory makes you whine, hips moving on their own in search of friction. “you playin’ with that pussy like i do, baby?”

you take that as permission, humming a soft, “mhm..” as you dip your fingers into your mouth to wet them, then settling them in between your folds.

“don’t tell me i’m gettin’ you all wet already, princess.” he teases, his smugness interrupted with a grunt as he slowly strokes himself to your soft moans. “such a good girl, see what happens when you listen? feels nice, huh?”

“ah.. rafe—”

“shh, i got you. you just worry about playin’ with that pretty pussy n daddy’ll handle the rest, a’ight?”

maybe it wouldn’t hurt to skip reading for one night?

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ᡣ𐭩 ⋆ ˚｡⋆

#my inbox is open! ‧₊˚.#obx #rafe cameron #rafe #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #rafe cameron drabble #rafe drabble #rafe cameron smut #rafe smut #minors dni #tw daddy

324 notes · View notes

nyctoaerah · 7 months ago

Note

AERAH, I BEG OF YOUUU, I SAW YOUR POST ON QUOTEV, PLEASE, PLEASE, ATLEAST A SNEAK PEAK OF THE UPCOMING FIC? OR THE ONE WHERE YOU SAID ON YOUR IG THAT YOU'RE POSTING A ONESHOT ABT GETO! PLS PLS, ANY OF THAT, JUST A SNEAK PEAK, I BEG YOUU, I'M GETTING SO FANFIC DEPRIVED AND I'M SUCH A WHORE FOR YOUR IMMACULATE WRITING 😭😭🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐋

“ 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐃 ”

╰┈➤𝐒𝐘𝐏𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒: Satoru’s sister started to have an unusual cravings for blood after managing to tame habakiri, and Suguru is there to help her.

╰┈➤𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: vampirism (lmfao), sexual stuff, cannibalism (habakiri), blood

╰┈➤𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Yandere! Suguru Geto x Fem! Gojo’s Sister! Reader

╰┈➤𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: just a sneakpeek cause i still haven't written the chapter 11 of idiosyncrasies, and this oneshot is in between the timeline of chapter 14-15 and it's a smut one at that LMAO💀 so i probs won't upload it until i finish chapter 14 of idiosyncrasies pookie. And HELP, the new fic i was talking about on quotev is devil in disguise, and i already posted it on tumblr but not in quotev HAHHA. Also, this might be confusing if you guys haven't read the chapter 9 of idiosyncrasies/haven't read idiosyncrasies. I SWEAR, I’LL DO THE OTHER REQS SOON.😭 I just did this one ‘cause i’ve already wrote some of it. Also, hearts and reblogs are greatly appreciated<3

Masterlist

The crimson rivulets of his blood trickles down your chin, the exquisite taste of the sanguine liquid staining your lips. Your teeth bore small smudges of red, smearing them like fallen blood on freshly fallen snow.

Using his unoccupied hand, he cradled your chin, his thumb and middle finger. His forefinger to brushed away the residual droplets of blood on the curve of your lips and wiped them away from your chin too.

“Never thought that you had such an appetite for blood...” he murmured, sensing your touch descending down from his shoulders and going southward on his abdomen. Your fingers sought purchase on his firm abdominal muscles.

“I have an idea as to why you have it though...”

“It’s because you’re habakiri’s owner, isn’t it?” Suguru murmurs, the memory of how you had managed to subdue the bloodthirsty sword, to make it submit to your will without it killing you still lingers in his mind. But perhaps, in doing so, you had inadvertently sated its voracious appetite, if only momentarily.

Your body tenses imperceptibly at his observation, and he responds with a knowing smile, his touch gentle against your skin.

“There’s no shame in it, you know?” he reassures in a hushed tone, his thumb tracing the curve of your lower lip, coaxing it to part slightly.

“And why is that so?”

Curiosity colors your words as you inquire.

“You two share the same traits, that ensures that it won’t eat you, after all, it won’t turn on his master.” he muses with a faint hum, his gaze unwavering.

“Furthermore,” he interjects with a teasing tone,

“It makes you look like a vampire...” He says.

“And.. fuck, it might seem weird but vampires are sexy in my point of view.” He confessed, a laugh bubbling on his throat.

“Hm? ‘s that so?” You asked hesitantly.

“Doesn’t it scare you?”

“Nope, Your predilection doesn’t scare me in the slightest,” he whispered softly, nibbling pensively at his lower lip as his gaze remained fixed upon you.

“In fact, I found it rather... alluring,” he admitted in a low voice.

“Do you truly not mind, then?” you inquired, though his assurance had already been vocalized.

“I don’t.”

“You don’t?...” You questioned, your voice wavering in uncertainty.

“You’re too pure for your own well, Geto,” you sighed, shaking your head disapprovingly.

The unexpected reaction that Suguru received was far from the jubilation he had expected.

Is the pessimistic trait a common trait inherited on the Gojo clan?

Suguru thought, he wanted to release an exasperated groan; you were single-handedly sabotaging the moment once again. Though he cherished your idiosyncrasies, he longed for you to simply revel in the present moment.

Just as he prepared to interject, your hand abandoned its place on his abdomen, navigating its way to his cheek, tenderly caressing the contours of his face. Once again, your mixed signals were a labyrinth he struggled to navigate.

“You’re seriously letting a bloodthirsty woman in your bed, Geto?”

Your brows furrowed in a contemplative manner, your delicate fingers caressing his cheek as you tip your head to the side, a look of utter confusion etched upon your features.

“Suguru,”

he implores softly.

“Call me Suguru,” he insists, clasping your hand tenderly and drawing it nearer to his warm cheek.

“Suguru,” you repeat in a gentle whisper, the syllables of his name effortlessly gliding off your tongue.

A contented smile graces his lips as he nods in approval.

“That's it,” he affirms with a quiet hum of satisfaction.

“You haven’t answered my question yet, Suguru..”

You venture forth with your query, your voice barely above a murmur, as his gaze meets yours.

“Ah, about that?”

He inquired, a single eyebrow arching in intrigue as he watched your hand slipping away from his, The warmth of your touch lingered on his cheek before your fingers finding their way to the bulb of muscle at the neck base, caressing it softly, before your hand pressed onto the twin punctures that you left on his neck.

“I would.” He breathed out sincerely.

“doesn't matter if you're a monster or not...” he whispered.

“I don't mind having a monster in my bed if it’s you,”

Your expression softened at his words before a sharp yelp escaped your lips as he firmly seized your hips, deftly maneuvering to shift his weight and flipping your positions easily so that he’s the one on top of you now.

Your breath caught in your throat, a soft gasp escaping your lips as you sank into the softness of the pillow, your silken tresses sprawling across the expanse of the mattress, you could basically feel the rapid drumming of your heart within your ribcage.

“Want you so bad...” he whispered.

A shiver ran through you, your gaze fixated on his form as he leaned in, lips parted, his teeth grazing his lower lip with a fervor that drew forth an errant droplet of crimson, tracing a path down his chin.

Your pupils dilated at the sight, fingers twitching.

“Suguru...” The word fell from your lips, the syllables laced with a hint of restraint.

“You started it...” he mumbled, brows twitching as he looked at you.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this..” He says in a low voice.

“What were you even thinking?... Climbing onto my lap, biting me, kissing me.. tasting me without thinking that there’s no consequences to that...”

His fingers threaded through the strands of your hair, a gentle tug coaxing you even closer until your lips were mere inches apart.

“So, come now,” he murmured, a sly grin tugged at the corner of his lips as his onyx colored eyes bore into you.

“Finish what you started, Angel.”

177 notes · View notes

mariacallous · 26 days ago

Text

People often say to me that I wouldn’t personally be affected by a second Donald Trump presidency. After all, I live in a blue city in a blue state, and I’m a married, heterosexual woman who isn’t looking to have any more children. I won’t need medication like mifepristone for a miscarriage (though I do have girls in my family who I assume will someday want to have children), and I don’t personally rely on the federal government for education, because my kids don’t go to public school.

So, again, how would any of this affect me? The most likely answer is that, as a public-facing person, I will continue to be subjected to threats, as many in the mainstream media already are. But attacks on the media could escalate if Trump returns to power, given that he doesn’t hesitate to demonize journalists and call them out before his millions of followers. And given what Trump says on television, he may target American citizens for unfavorable speech.

“I think the bigger problem is the enemy from within,” he told Maria Bartiromo on Fox News on Sunday. “Sick people, radical-left lunatics. And it should be very easily handled by, if necessary, by the National Guard, or, if really necessary, by the military.” The “lunatics” in question could be anyone from protesters to opinion columnists—or even mainstream reporters—he doesn’t agree with. Trump has referred to CBS as a “A FAKE NEWS SCAM” whose operations are “totally illegal,” and has similarly suggested that ABC should lose its broadcast license.

What would it mean to have a president who, in this fashion, targets what little is left of the free press? It’s hard to fathom, but there’s a world where Trump imitates his strongman friends like Vladimir Putin or Viktor Orbán or Kim Jong Un—all of whom participate in jailing or killing journalists in countries with state-regulated media. He’s already taking a page from Joe McCarthy this election cycle in targeting the “enemies within,” something my family is all too familiar with.

Few aspects of Trump’s second-terms plans are more openly authoritarian than his immigration platform. On Friday, Trump traveled to Aurora, a suburb of Denver, Colorado, where he is shopping “Operation Aurora,” a policy he said would target “every illegal migrant criminal network operating on American soil” by use of the Alien Enemies Act of 1798. According to the Brennan Center, the law is “a wartime authority that allows the president to detain or deport the natives and citizens of an enemy nation. The law permits the president to target these immigrants without a hearing and based only on their country of birth or citizenship.” The last time the United States used the Alien Enemies Act, it was to put Japanese and Japanese Americans into internment camps during WWII.

What would internment camps actually entail in the modern day? Well, Trump has talked about deporting up to 20 million undocumented immigrants—an operation of staggering scale that he freely admits will be “bloody.” (The Department of Homeland Security, in 2018, estimated there were 11.4 million undocumented immigrants; Pew put the number at roughly 11 million in 2022.) It’s impossible to imagine what deporting that many people would really look like; maybe blue-state governors would be strong enough to prevent deportation camps from being built in states like California and New York. Maybe the camps would only be in red states, or maybe they’d be erected on federal land, like national parks. Then there’s the question of who would run these camps. Trump, for his part, has mused about using the National Guard. Who would stop any of this, you might ask? Would a Republican Congress stop it? Who would be the grown-ups in the room.

At least during the first Trump administration, the courts prevented Trump from doing some of the things he wanted to do, like ending DACA. But this time, Trump would be starting out with a 6-3 conservative-majority Supreme Court, featuring three justices he appointed. Last year, we saw the Trump-friendly high court issue two rulings that will pretty much serve as a blank check to an emboldened Trump: The first ended the Chevron deference, which will curb the power of federal agencies and expedite the death of regulatory expertise. The other decision, which is perhaps more worrying, Trump would have a blank check to do whatever he wants if he says it’s in the service of the presidency, essentially granting him blanket immunity against any crimes he commits in office. As Ninth Circuit judge and Ronald Reagan appointee Stephen S. Trott wrote, it means that Richard Nixon could have “legally ordered his plumbers to burgle the office of Daniel Ellsberg’s psychiatrist.”

Trump is telling us all about his potential plans: internment camps, going after his enemies foreign and domestic, including, presumably, journalists. Will I be one of them? Will he clamp down on the free press? Will he take away the licenses from networks he deems insufficiently supportive of his presidency?

On the campaign trail, Trump has recently posed a question of his own when it comes to voting for him, asking the crowd, “What the hell do you have to lose?” Actually, a lot. While we don’t know precisely what a second Trump term will look like, it’ll surely be chaotic and bleak, and could mark the end of something we certainly don’t want to lose: democracy as we know it.

79 notes · View notes

velarisnightsky444 · 1 month ago

Text

Scorched Shadows: Part 10

Eris x AzrielsSister!Reader

Summary: Y/N is the younger sister of Azriel. She has shadows just like him, and is also a spymaster for Rhys. When she meets Eris, she initially hates him, but after a bargain is made between them, things begin heating up.

cw: mentions of child abuse

a/n: ik, ik, main character who plays piano and loved the symphony, how original. but i genuinely didn't put the pieces together until after i thought this up.

Series Masterlist

Part 9 || Part 11(upcoming)

»»————-　♔　————-««

Year: 19 since fic began Year: 15 Under the Mountain

Attending a ball was the last thing on your mind. Especially after what had happened at the last one you'd attended.

There was one tonight, and you'd decided you wouldn't go. Rhys wouldn't be there, anyway. Seeing Rhys was the only reason you ever attended Amarantha's festivities. Even if you couldn't always speak with him, just a glimpse of him made it worth it.

Things had been tense between you and Eris in the last five years. Of course, fights were something you were both used to. You were always fighting.

But no matter how intense the fights got, it never ended the fling between the two of you.

So, of course, you were currently on your way to his bedroom. He was a nice distraction; that was all he was. Why you couldn't find a nice distraction with any other male, you weren't sure. You and Eris had nearly two decades of history. That made things easier. Knowing that neither of you owed the other anything.

When you arrived, you found his bedroom empty. You huffed, checking the clock on the wall. He said he'd be back by now.

So you plopped down on his bed, breathing in the scent of him, then scolding yourself when you realized you were savoring it.

The door opened, and you sat up to greet him, freezing only when your eyes met those of a female.

The Lady of Autumn stood in the doorway, her russet eyes wide. Her red hair was almost lifeless as it fell down her shoulders. She was much too thin, her face gaunt.

You flushed a deep red, scrambling from Eris's bed.

"Oh, dear, I apologize," she said quietly, her voice meeker than you expected. "I was looking for my son."

"No, my Lady, I'm sorry," you stammered, bowing your head to her. "This . . . this isn't what it looks like, I was just looking for him, I'm so sorry--"

"No need for that," she assured you, a slight smile on her lips. It looked out of place for her. "I will come back later."

Just as she was making to leave, Eris came strolling into the room. He seemed almost carefree; that is, until he took in the view before him. His amber eyes flitted from you to his mother, then back.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, shooting you a look before turning to his mother.

"Mother, I--"

"I don't want to know, Eris," she said to her son. "We'll talk about it later."

"Don't tell--"

"I won't." With that, she was gone.

You loosed a breath of relief, collapsing headfirst onto his bed. He closed the door behind him, making a point to lock it.

"That was humiliating," you grumbled into his pillow.

"Agreed," he said, sitting beside you. "But she won't tell anybody."

"Does she know that we're--" you trailed off, usually not speaking the word 'mate' out loud.

"No," he admitted. "Nobody knows."

"I haven't told anybody, either," you said.

"I figured," he scoffed. "Your brothers would've strung me up by now if they knew." You couldn't quite disagree.

"Well, I think the mood has officially been ruined," you declared, sitting up and making to leave.

"Wait," he said. You froze, turning your attention to him. "The ball tonight. Come with me."

"No," you scoffed.

"Why not?" he mused. "I have nobody to go with. Might as well be you."

"I'm flattered," you glared.

"Besides, Amarantha is hosting a meeting with the High Lords during the ball," he reminded you. "Your brother and my father won't be there."

"Your brothers."

"Will be too drunk to see straight," he assured you. "The ballroom beside it will be empty. We would still be able to hear the music. Then, we'd be alone."

"Why do you want to go with me so badly?" you demanded.

"Old times sake," he shrugged. "Who knows, maybe dancing together again will reverse the mating bond." You snorted.

"Fine," you sighed. "But only because I miss music and dance."

"We'll meet at 8."

»»————-　♔　————-««

You couldn't believe how nervous you were as you got ready. Rhys had supplied you with some money, so you bought a new ballgown from the seamstress that lived in the room beside yours.

Night Court colors. A deep violet gown with a flowing skirt and a tight, strapless, bodice. One that showed off your breasts in a way you knew would drive Eris mad.

Mostly, you were looking forward to hearing the orchestra. You loved music. You always had.

When you were very little, you'd once broken away from Azriel during your time out of the cell.

You had run amuck around the house until you found yourself in a room. It looked unused, white sheets covering the furniture. But on a side table, there was a symphonia.

You hadn't known what it was at the time, so you'd messed with it until it began playing music. You had gasped, sitting beside it and listening.

By the time your hour was up, Azriel had found you. He'd scolded you for going upstairs as he dragged you back to the cell. The upstairs was strictly forbidden for the both of you.

But you did it again. Nearly every day for months, you found yourself in that room, listening to the music.

Until the day your stepmother had found you. The lashings she had bestowed upon you, plus the beating you had gotten from your father, had been severe enough to keep you from going upstairs ever again.

Azriel saw how upset you were to have lost the music. He began singing to you to calm you down, and it helped.

After you both moved to Windhaven, your new family had a hard time connecting with you. You were shy, and you didn't speak. So they all went to Azriel for advice. He had told them you loved music, jokes, and stories.

Selene told you stories, and you loved them. Especially the ones about her and your mother, from when they were girls together.

Cassian made it his mission to make you laugh everyday after his training. He told you jokes, and delighted in hearing your laughter.

Selene also taught you to play the piano. There was a small one in the sitting room. And you loved listening to her play, as well.

Over the years, you became a very skilled pianist. Your brothers always said you should've made a career out of it, but you didn't want it to become a job. You loved it simply for the art.

And every time you went to Velaris, Selene took all of you to the symphony. From the first time, when you were seven, you fell in love. It became your favorite thing to do.

But after she had died, all of you struggled to go back. It wasn't until decades after her death that you all decided she would've wanted you to attend, to enjoy it for her.

So now, every year on the day she died, you would all attend the symphony in her memory. And the orchestra always dedicated the music to her on that specific night.

You stared at yourself in the mirror. You had lost weight, just as everyone had under here. We were kept from starvation, but Amarantha made sure none of us were well fed. She only supplied food at her parties.

Your skin was paler, though still dark due to your Illyrian heritage. You hadn't felt the sun in ages.

Despite that, you looked beautiful in your dress. Your hair was curled, your makeup simple.

You looked just like your mother when your hair was curled. You missed her so dearly. You hoped Azriel was visiting her regularly, and you hoped she wasn't too worried about you.

Thoughts of your mother kept you distracted from the nerves as you strolled through the corridors, to the ballroom.

You fidgeted with your scarred hands, trying not to chew on your lower lip and ruin your red lipstick.

You carefully snuck over to the empty ballroom, beside the one that was buzzing with life and music. You were good at blending into the shadows, so nobody noticed when you slipped into the other room.

Eris was already there, looking fine in his maroon suit. He turned, his amber eyes meeting yours. The breath loosed from your throat at the sight of him. He was so incredibly handsome. It still shocked you.

You could hear the music playing from the other room. You closed your eyes for a moment, indulging in the notes. The beauty of music was always enough to relax you.

Eris had his hand out to you when opened your eyes. You curtsied, taking it.

"You clean up nice," he commented.

You rolled your eyes, placing you other hand on his shoulder as his went to your waist. And you began to dance.

"Wish I could say the same of you," you lied.

"Is that why your heart skipped a beat when you saw me?" he taunted you. "Interesting."

"You're a prick," you mumbled. He only grinned, spinning you.

Eris was a excellent dancer. You were able to keep up with him, but your skill paled in comparison.

"Where did you learn to dance properly?" he asked you.

"What?" you demanded, making a sour face.

"I wouldn't think a bastard would be taught to dance," you explained. You only glared.

"Rhysand taught me," you admitted. "When I was ten."

Selene had gotten you a symphonia of your own, and with it, Rhys taught you to dance. He saw how jealous you were of him going off to important High Lord balls. So he taught you.

He had been thirteen, but tall for his age. And you had been ten, and small for yours. So you stood on his feet, reaching up to hold onto him.

As you got older, he began taking you as his date to every ball. It was one of the reasons he had taken you to the masquerade with him.

He knew you thought badly of yourself, being so low born. So he did his best to make you feel special.

He was never embarrassed about bringing his little sister as his date, even after he became High Lord. He said he loved seeing your face light up, and it always did when you walked into the ball on his arm.

"He taught you well," he complimented. "You dance just fine for a bastard."

"You don't need to follow up a compliment with a insult every time," you said to him, exasperated.

"I'm a cruel bastard, remember?" he scoffed. "What else would you expect?"

"Despite what I may have said five years ago," you began. "I do not believe you are as cruel as you pretend to be."

"You don't?" he hummed.

"Rhysand wears a mask," you said. "Everyone think him cruel. But he isn't. I think it's the same with you."

"Why would you possibly think that?"

"You invited me here tonight," you shrugged. "You've been a prick, but never cruel to me. You respect my boundaries in bed. You treat your mother well. You didn't turn me in when you found me spying in your court."

"We made a bargain," he reminded you.

"Even without the bargain, looking back, I doubt you would've turned me in," you mused. "I didn't know it back then, but now . . . "

"You think you know me now," he scoffed.

"Yes, I do," you confirmed. "Don't think this means anything. I still despise you, Vanserra."

"I would be concerned if you didn't," he stated, dipping you.

This time, no bond snapped as you stared up in his eyes. But that bond in your chest sang.

»»————-　♔　————-««

Scorched Shadows Taglist: @the-sweet-psycho @hnyclover @lilyevansstudygroup @esposadomd @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @a-court-of-mischief-and-madness @sourapplex @when-you-cant-think-of-anything @i-know-i-can @mp-littlebit @paintedbyshadows @kristijenner19 @kitsunetori @lorosette @bookwormysblog

Eris Taglist:

Comment to be added to the Scorched Shadows or Eris taglists!

»»————-　♔　————-««

61 notes · View notes

melrodrigo · 1 year ago

Text

Tardy, part 4

Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Summary: You take Tara on the long awaited first date, how will it go?

Warnings: Suggestive themes, so much fluff you might throw up, teeny bit of angst

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: This is purely a filler chapter because R and Tara deserve a break, here’s some fluffy shit. I’m not really sure how I feel about it, but as always; thank you for the love!

In the end, it doesn’t take you that long to plan the date.

It might be because you’ve been dreaming about this moment for months, or it’s just that easy being with Tara.

There was a famous festival happening soon, and you’ve always wanted to take a girl there. Do all the cliche things, win her a bear; ride the Ferris wheel; make out in a secluded alleyway.

“So where are we going?” Tara muses as she sidles close to you.

You raise an eyebrow at her, “That desperate already?”

She rolls her eyes, “I think we established that already.”

“What are you two lovebirds whispering about?” Mindy asks from the couch. Sam’s eyes immediately narrow.

Please don’t mess this up for me, Mindy.

“Oh nothing, just talking about how hot YN looks today,” Tara answers quickly, smirking as you turn red.

Sam grimaces at her statement, mumbling something not-so-nice under her breath.

Chad’s also been particularly gloomy today, after overhearing a conversation between Mindy and Tara about your date.

He’s shut off every attempt Tara’s made at small talk, shooing her off with a not-so-subtle glare.

You can see it in her stance, her shoulders somewhat sagged; she’s burdened by it.

You wait until Tara leaves (gets forced) by Sam to go for a grocery trip.

Sam claims it’s for “sister bonding time”, all the while Tara is screaming and crying trying to get out of her sister’s grip.

You manage to calm her down by pressing a kiss to Tara’s forehead and whispering that she should go. She pouts but hesitantly leaves.

As soon as the door closes, you turn and make your way to Chad in the living room. Mindy gets up, shooting you a look before leaving you guys alone.

You sit beside Chad on the couch, feet bouncing; eyes staring at the ceiling.

He’s silent; too silent for your liking.

A few minutes pass before you think that maybe you should bail, you didn’t have to do this right now.

“Did you have to mess everything up?” He finally speaks, voice hot.

You roll your eyes, of course, he was going to be dramatic.

“Tara picked me. Respect her opinion bro.” You say, malice laced with the last word.

He doesn’t budge, ”She would’ve picked me if you didn’t swoop in. I was this close.”

He makes a gesture with his hands, pinching them together. You feel the anger rising in you steadily.

But for the sake of Tara, and peace altogether; you don’t make a scene.

“The heart wants what it wants, I’m sorry.” You whisper.

Chad groans, but you can tell he softens up a bit; body language opening up.

He hesitates before speaking again.

“I’m- I’m sorry, really. I didn’t mean to fall for Tara. I just couldn’t help it, you know?”

He looks like he’s fighting tears. You can’t help but feel bad; he was just a lovesick boy.

You sigh and pat his back gently.

“I know,” You murmur, “And I get it, truly I do. But Tara’s made up her mind, and I’ve certainly made up my mind; so stop acting like a man-child and be a good friend. She’s going through a hard time right now.”

Your words linger in the air before Chad breathes out heavily.

“You’re…you’re right. I hate to admit it but you’re right.” He says it like he’s just realizing it now himself.

“I’m sorry too, I know it’s hard to see happen right in front of you..” You trail off, reminiscing on a certain someone from your past. You snap out of it when Chad speaks again.

“I won’t be a jerk to Tara, I promise. Can’t guarantee I won’t be a little snappy to you though.”

You breathe out in relief, nodding and sticking your hand out to him.

“That’s fair.” Is what you say, and he takes you in a firm handshake. Laughs a little bit.

“I can’t believe Tara likes a dork like you.” He says, gesturing to your hand with a nod of his head.

You chuckle slightly.

“I can’t either.”

The butterflies are fluttering so wildly in your stomach at this point you think they might just force their way up and out your mouth.

It’s the date.

You fidget with your fingers, sitting on the couch waiting for Tara to come out. You check the time on your wristwatch, you guys have to move soon if you want to fit all the activity plans you’ve set up.

“Tar? You done?” Your voice cracks a little, and you’re extremely grateful Tara can’t see your face right now.

You cough to hide it.

“Wait! I’ll be done in five.” She yells. You would believe her if it wasn’t the millionth time she’s said it in the past hour.

“Yeah, five hours.” You mumble.

“Shut up!“

Your ears perk up, blushing in embarrassment that she heard you.

You sit obediently until Tara opens the door, dressed in black overalls with a white t-shirt inside.

It’s not much, but it’s not like you have to do much when you look like that.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you feel your heartbeat race impossibly faster.

“You done? Or are you just going to keep gawking at me til I make you move?”

God, she was annoying.

You shake your head, snapping out your love-filled daze. “Yeah yeah, let’s go superstar.”

The drive there calms you down a bit. The minute you got into your car Tara had taken hold of the AUX, happily DJ-ing for the trip.

You’re quite the music freak, but you didn’t mind her controlling it this one time.

You knew it was worth it when you watched her scroll through her playlist, eyebrows furrowed; a slight frown on her face in concentration.

God, she was adorable.

You blink, surprised by your own thoughts. Jesus, this was worse than you thought. This girl had you saying shit like that?

Tara finally stops scrolling and presses one triumphantly. Glue song by Beabadobee and Clairo starts playing.

It’s a cute song, and it relaxes your nerves and helps you loosen up.

By the time you’re there, you feel normal; good even. It’s just another day with Tara, comfortable, and loving.

It’s hard not to smile like an idiot, taking her hand in yours and dragging her over to the carnival opening.

It’s amazing. The lights, the endless games, the mouthwatering food.

You stand agape, unsure of where to go first. Thankfully, it looks like Tara’s in the same boat.

Her eyes lock in on something and she gasps.

“There! There’s a haunted house over there, let’s go!” She’s like a child with the excitement that radiates off her.

You raise an eyebrow.

“We just got attacked by Ghostface and you want to go into a haunted house?”

She shrugs, disregarding your statement.

“Doesn’t matter, I love haunted houses.”

Hm. That’s kind of psychotic. You decide it’s sort of hot.

You nod, and Tara brightens up; practically dragging you over in a hurry.

“Two tickets please.” You tell the teenager working the booth; who looks like they would rather be doing anything but this.

She hands you the tickets and you and Tara stand hand in hand, waiting in front of the big house.

“You scared?” Tara smirks, eyeing your nervous mannerisms.

“In your dreams.” You return.

Turns out, you might’ve really been in Tara’s dreams because that was one hell of a haunted house. You’re pretty sure you almost shit yourself at some point.

It’s not so bad when you remember how Tara would flinch and retract back into you though.

It’s pathetic how a single touch could turn scary into euphoric.

You guys scour the whole carnival after that, giggling as you bump tiny cars with each other, ride all the rollercoasters; well, all the rollercoasters that allowed a 5’0 person to be on.

Tara pulls you into a tent, lights dimmed and kisses you like her life depends on it. Hands grabbing at your face, a soft groan leaves her lips as you bite down on her bottom lip.

You briefly feel sand beneath your feet, and you don’t pay much mind to it; until the sound of big theater lights turns on and shines into your eyes. You and Tara practically jump away from each other, startled.

You’re met with the sight of children and adults alike; staring straight at you. They’re sitting on connecting chairs, mouths wide open.

You look around for the first time and notice the humongous red ball, the striped hoops, and the elephant hiding behind the back curtain.

Oh.

You speak fast before you can make it much worse.

“Sorry ‘bout that folks, consider it a little preshow!” You bow, and quickly take Tara’s hand, running out of the tent and into the carnival again.

Tara’s giggling so hard that she has to stop and catch her breath.

“Oh my god, I’m going to cry.” She manages to squeak out as she puts a hand over her stomach to calm down.

The rest of the night is spent in bliss, the food is amazing, and the lights reflecting on her face makes her somehow more beautiful.

You manage to win her a little teddy bear, and she beams as she pulls it into her side. She doesn’t let go of the bear for the rest of the night.

When you guys get back to the apartment, climbing in by the window to avoid Sam; Tara’s still giggling slightly.

You pull her forward and wrap her in your arms. It isn’t a very “first date” move, but the beer you had at the carnival must be making you extra confident.

“How was that for a first date?” You muse, brushing your nose against hers.

Tara looks flushed as she answers.

“It was good.” She says, voice high. It only helps your confidence boost higher.

“Would you want to go on another one?” You whisper, eyes flitting down to her lips and back to her other eye.

Triangle method, gotcha.

Tara leans impossibly closer, centimeters away from your lips.

She’s breathing heavily, and it takes everything in you not to kiss her. You want to make sure she wants it; you’ll let her take her time.

“I definitely would. Are you gonna ask me to be your girlfriend?”

Her words take you by surprise, eyebrows raising.

“Bold,” You murmur. “But yes, Tara, will you be my girlfriend?”

She nods, but it’s barely visible because she’s so close to you. It’s getting harder by the second to not just take her face in your hands and kiss her until she can’t breathe.

“Absolutely.” And she closes the gap between you two, kissing you softly; with emotion, with passion.

You sigh a little at the kiss. Who knew Tara Carpenter was such a romantic?

It turns heated fast, and you guys don’t stop, not even when you hear the front door open and the sound of Sam’s voice ringing.

It’s not until Sam actually opens the door to Tara’s bedroom that you break away and try to turn your face.

The look on her face is mixed with disgust and that lingering suspicion she always has when she sees you.

You can’t stare very long though, because Tara’s already pulling your face back; desperate to keep your attention and taking you in a searing kiss.

You hear Sam scoff, but it sounds a million miles away.

“Go away, Sam,” Tara says against your lips, and you can’t help but smile at her daring attitude.

Surprisingly, Sam does. Walking to her room with a sigh, probably knowing that if she started an argument she would lose.

Tara doesn’t waste any time pushing you down on her bed, straddling your waist; lips still fused together.

She grinds on you just slightly as she lets out a huff.

“You’re in for one long night.”

Tara’s a little wobbly the next day, and you’re shining; proud glint in your eyes.

You both look like crackheads, smiling bright; and you can tell it bugs Sam by the way she leaves the room when you enter.

When Tara walks over and sits directly in your lap, it seems to send Sam over the edge because she stands abruptly; announcing to everyone that she’s leaving to go to the station.

“The police station? Why are you going there?” You ask, cocking your head to the side.

Sam grabs her phone and wallet as she answers, “Detective Bailey called. He says he wants to meet me. Talk about something with Ghostface.”

Tara perks up in your lap, “Ghostface? Does he have leads?”

Sam shrugs and continues making her way through the hallway and out the front door.

Tara turns to you and gives you a quick peck. She doesn’t have to say anything, you understand her perfectly. She’s going to go with Sam.

You nod in understanding, letting go of your hands around her waist.

There’s not much to do when Tara’s gone, so you decide to go take a quick shower. Trying to make breakfast was a disaster, and there might’ve been a couple of flour stains and egg yolk on you.

It’s nice, peaceful. You feel like you’re on cloud 9, yesterday and today was like a dream.

The illusion shatters when you step out of the shower and find 3 missed calls from Tara. Worry immediately pangs in you.

You hurriedly click into her contact and press the dial button. It’s cut off immediately.

“Shit.” You mumble, wrapping a towel around yourself and rushing out of the bathroom.

You get dressed in record time, don’t explain to the rest of the gang where you’re going; curious eyes on you.

The trip to the station is a short one, well it’s short because you’re literally speeding there; hands gripping the steering wheel so tight your knuckles turn white.

You practically burst through the doors, startling the hoard of officers sitting down.

You stop, hold a hand up; and catch your breath for a second.

“Where’s…where’s Detective Bailey?”

A worried-looking front desk officer is the one who answers you. Leads you to the interrogation, makes you wait in front of it.

You fiddle with your thumbs, head low as you wait in front of the tiny room. They take 10 more minutes, but it feels like hours to you.

When the door opens, you leap out of your seat and take Tara in a bear hug.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t answer, I was in the shower.” You mumble into her hair, and you’re so caught up with being rejoiced she’s alive that you don’t notice that she doesn’t hug you back.

She pulls away, and swerves your attempt at kissing her, turning her head so your lips only brush her cheeks.

Sam looks at you; angry energy radiating off her body.

You suddenly feel weird, like the atmosphere has shifted.

You frown and peer down at Tara’s face. Her lips are pressed into a thin line, tight expression.

“Tara?”

“Let’s just go home. I’m not going to do this here.” She says.

Your brows furrow. “Do what?”

She doesn’t answer, but she does let you entwine your pinky fingers as you walk out, and you rejoice a little.

The walk to their apartment is silent, only interrupted by a couple of jabs from Sam at you.

It isn’t until you enter Tara’s room; door closed that she turns on you, with an expression you don’t recognize.

“Why did they find your DNA at the crime scene?”

#tardy #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega x reader #scream vi #jenna ortega #wednesday addams x reader #vada cavell x reader

845 notes · View notes

schemmentis · 6 months ago

Text

La Cosa Nostra - Pt. 20

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11 / Part 12 / Part 13 / Part 14 / Part 15 / Part 16 / Part 17 / Part 18 / Part 19

Cowritten w/ @janeyseymour

Summary: The arduous task of leaving, and rebuilding.

WC: 1.9k

Over the weeks that those close to you adjust to the news of your little family of four being gone, you're all recovering in the safety of the hospital. Cat's is the slowest going. You and Melissa, while still in quite a bit of pain, are out of the woods. So is Rosie, though she isn't her usual hyper and always moving self. She’s content to sit quietly with you and occasionally snuggle up close to her sister in her hospital bed.

Cat slowly, painstakingly, gets there- after another surgery and plenty of medication and watchful eyes of professionals. Her little eyes open and stay that way more and for longer periods of time. Once she's stable, you and Melissa know you can't wait any longer. You have to leave. Before word somehow gets out that you are, in fact, still alive.

Cat's doctors contact a highly respected colleague in New York to coordinate them taking over her care as soon as you get there, essentially. Before you can leave though, you have one more meeting to sit in on. This time, instead of at businesses or the police station, it's in Cat's small hospital room. Melissa is sitting on the edge of your eldest's bed, holding a tiny hand as Cat catches a bit more sleep. You're sitting in a chair at the other side of the bed, holding Rosie in your lap.

Agent Shaw and Agent Danik greet Rosie enthusiastically when they arrive, happy to see her getting a little bit back to her usual self now that her sister is improving as well. Rosie hugs them both tight, like she used to do Luca and AJ at Sunday dinners. Like she only ever does people she likes. You almost want her to hate them, but your little girl doesn’t understand that these two are a big part of the reason that you’re in the mess you are. If they hadn’t suspected you to be a part of the hit on Bobby, none of this ever would’ve come about. But even you’ll admit, they’ve done a lot for you in the last weeks. They’re almost constantly standing guard with you, and you’ve even gotten to get to know them a bit better and see more into their personal lives.

The agents take the other chairs in the room, sitting opposite you and Melissa both. Danik hands your wife a folder while Shaw hands you an identical one.

“You each have copies of the documents for the house in New York. We'll be able to mail you the proper ones once we sort out your aliases- along with more documents for you both and the girls. Right now, we've got the plane tickets just with a different last name, to keep anyone trying to from immediately realizing it's you, though I doubt anyone is looking at this point. But once you're in New York you need to have completely different ones.” Danik explains quietly.

“The girls will be confused by calling them different names…” You mutter, flipping through your folder.

“They’re already confused enough not being able to go back home,” your wife sighs softly as she runs a hand through her hair.

“I know,” you reply just as quietly.

“We could…change them to the more common versions.” Melissa suggests. You hear the pain in her tone. When you were pregnant the two of you went through more names than you could count. The meanings and their significance mused to you both, but especially your wife- with Cat carrying on a family name so dear to her. Rosie was the name she'd picked herself and added the middle name her sister also carried down from their family.

“The nicknames would be the same.” Melissa says when you look at her, a tiny shrug of her shoulders as her fingers gently card through Cat's hair. “It would confuse them less.”

“Baby, are you-”

You don't even get to ask if she's sure. Melissa's head shakes as soon as you start. “We'll know what they mean and where they came from even if no one else will. It doesn't matter if it helps keep them safe.”

Reluctantly, you nod. The safety of your daughters is the only reason you're doing this as you are. Though originally you weren't going to almost die and fake die for it. You guess it is safer this way.

“You'll have to think of ones for yourselves, then. You're more likely to be found than the girls, especially if you kept your first names.”

You sigh. “We have to have them by the time we're in New York, right?”

“Yes. We'd prefer if you had them already but it's more important that we get you out of here right now. We'll provide an income every month, a set amount to help you get by.”

“I'm sure we'll still need to work.” Melissa says, looking to Agent Dakin.

The agent smiles wryly. “Unfortunately we can't provide you mafia level money.”

“I dunno.” You say, shutting your folder as you glance to your wife. Your shoulders shrug. “Could be fun to do somethin’ totally normal for once without worrying ‘bout the rest. ‘Sides, we both have business experience. We'll figure it out.”

“Neither of you can open a business again,” Danik warns. “Publicity will not do you any favors… even in a big city like Manhattan.”

Melissa sinks. She was hoping she would be able to open another restaurant… she’d make good money in such an affluent city. But that possibility was just thrown out the window.

A few hours later, you, your wife, and your girls are on an airplane in a private area, sorting through everything.

“So… Catherine Ann and Rose Marie,” Melissa sighs as she writes your daughters new legal names. “Last name?”

You shrug. “Should we stick with Italian, or go Irish this time?”

“Probably Italian,” your wife tells you as she scribbles down a few things. “And we need new names.”

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’ve been thinking about this for a while. I think I want to go with Saoirse... freedom,” you say softly as you rock your youngest daughter in your lap gently. “And...” you do a quick search on your phone for different Italian last names.

“Hm?” Melissa hums.

“I’m looking at common last names, and I like... Fumagalli, or.... Carozza,” you tell Melissa.

Your wife looks at you with those sparkling green eyes of her, and she then rolls them at you. “Do you have any idea what those words mean in Italian?”

You quirk your head and raise a brow. “No? Should I?”

“Fumagalli means smoked poultry,” she deadpans.

“And I love a smoked bird,” you quip. “And it’s a cool last name!”

“And Carozza literally means mozzarella cheese.”

You laugh out loud at that one. “I knew that one sounded familiar... but I do like mozzarella cheese. It’s my favorite kind!”

“Good lord,” your wife grumbles as she writes down both last names on a lined piece of paper as ideas. “You have to be kidding me. How were we a part of the mob, and yet you come up with ridiculous shit like this?”

“You love me,” you smile at her as you set a soft hand on her knee.

“You’re damn lucky.” Melissa grumbles as she writes a few of her own ideas down.

You peek over her shoulder, seeing the list of last names, your suggestions followed by her own. “What about your name?” You ask.

“Raphaela.” Your wife answers with no hesitation, making clear she's considered this about as much as you have. She glances back at you with a small, almost shy smile. “It means God has healed.”

“I guess in a roundabout way, he has, huh?” You say. “Barb would've liked that one.” You add in a quiet murmur.

Melissa doesn't miss it, nodding and muttering her own agreement as she turns back to the list of last names. “Vinci.” She says aloud, looking back to you once more. “To conquer.”

You can't fight the grin on your face at the meaning. “I like that.” You admit, quickly stealing a kiss from Melissa. “But you're sure you don't want to be mozzarella? I know it's your favorite too.” You can't help but tease.

Melissa rolls her eyes, gently shoving you back to your own seat space. “I don't want to be cheese or smoked poultry, Thank you.”

When your flight lands you and Melissa have agreed on your new identities. By the time you're in a cab and nearly to your new home, you've failed your additional attempts to persuade her into your more silly last names. Not that you really wanted to. It just gave you both something to focus on fake arguing about to pass the time.

“We'll have to wait for all the documents back before we can enroll the girls back in school.” You say as you walk with Melissa up the steps of your new house. Each of you holding one of your girls in your arms.

“Maybe that's for the best.” Melissa says from next to you. You reach behind the porch light, feeling blindly for the key you were told you'd find hidden for you. You make a mental note it might be a good idea to change the locks at the first opportunity, just to be safe. “At least it will give Cat more time to recover.” Your wife adds as you slip the key into the lock.

“Guess we'll tell them it's a little vacation?” You suggest, glancing over your shoulder.

“I don't know.” Melissa says, making a face. “That will just make them more confused when the vacation doesn't end.”

You sigh but nod, knowing she's right. “We've got time to figure it out, at least.” You say, pushing the front door open. You look back to your wife. “You ready? First step of the rest of our lives.”

“Amore, that step happened when we got on the plane, if not before that.” Melissa says softly. Still, she puts a hand on your cheek, thumb gently rubbing at your skin in affection and nerves just the same. “Hopefully there's beds, at least.” She mutters before kissing you once.

“I don’t think I could sleep on the couch again if I tried,” you grumble.

You let Melissa step in ahead of you, pulling the door shut behind you and flipping the lock back in place. You trail after your wife, glad to find a sofa in the living room. It's certainly not like your living room back in Philly, or like one actually lived in but it's something.

You don't linger there, keeping a pace behind Melissa down the hallway. She opens one of the doors, finding the bathroom. The next is a bedroom, blissfully with a bed. Again, the room is not fully decorated but the basics are here. It's enough, for now.

You and Melissa carefully nestle your sleeping daughters to the bed. You don't even bother checking the other bedroom. The two of you are already content to squeeze onto the edges of the bed with the girls. It's been a long few days. This house doesn't feel like home, not yet, if it ever will, but with the feel of Melissa’s hand slipping into your own and squeezing, the sound of the girls’ quiet breathing, it's enough of home for you for right now.

#melissa schemmenti fanfiction #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x you #abbott elementary fanfiction #la cosa nostra #collab fic

87 notes · View notes

merakiui · 1 year ago

Text

11:11 — sugar dew sewn anew.

yandere!rook hunt x (gender neutral) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, obsession, violence, murder/death of reader, description of blood/injuries, rook is rather morbid and creepy in this fic note - this fic is the result of a character fic poll, in which rook was the winner.

“You wear a very forlorn face when you paint, mon cher.”

You swivel on the stool, legs unfolding at the ankles, to properly peer past the easel at the man who sits in a gold-and-white satin chair, backdropped by various animal heads. They’re mounted with such care, each one organized according to where it lies on the food chain. They almost form a pyramid when you look at them from where you’re seated. From a dusky brown house mouse to a pitch-black crow, the heads range in species and size, all arranged on a vermillion wall.

The biggest one, sitting in the very center of the display, right above your client’s head, is a chestnut-colored buck with a pair of magnificent antlers curling from its scalp. From where Rook sits, it almost looks like those horns are sprouting from his head. Contemplating the discrepancies between man and buck, you swirl your brush through a muddy cup of water and survey the rest of the aureate placards until you reach the top.

There’s a mount lacking a head.

It was the first thing you took notice of after stepping through the halls of this quaint cabin to reach the sitting room. Although, after spending hours enclosed in cedarwood walls, it feels more like a trophy room—a place meant to showcase the spoils of every hunt rather than welcome people with disarming decorations.

Rook crosses one leg over the other and, resting his elbows upon his knee, steeples his hands. You peer at the antlers, noting the valiant curvature, before meeting his verdant stare. A grin slowly sprawls on his lips once he realizes you’ve caught his gaze.

“I concentrate on my source,” you explain with a shrug, still twirling the brush through the water. “Steady focus makes a steady hand…or something along those lines.”

“And yet you never smile, even when working so diligently to bring your masterpiece to completion.”

“If I viewed it as such, then I would have reason to smile.” Your contemptuous scowl slides to the canvas, where you’ve painted two dull green eyes set into a freckle-speckled face. The beginnings of a smile trace the portrait’s plush lips, withholding secrets no one will ever know. “I’ve yet to create a masterpiece. Therefore I can’t smile.”

“Oh, you’re much too critical of your art!” Unclasping his hands, Rook places one upon his chest, as if he must calm his heart after hearing your response. “I’ve studied your work, both through a screen and in person, and as your devout follower I can wholeheartedly say it is beautiful in every way, even down to the miniscule flaws other critics often spot with sharp, perceptive eyes!”

“You speak as if I lead a cult,” you admit with a sheepish chuckle. “I’m just painting the things I find interesting.”

“For a reason, I assume?”

“Usually it’s to find inspiration for what I hope will be my first masterpiece. I’d like to finally feel proud of my work.” The brush peruses the colorful selection on your palette, settling into the green you’ve mixed from yellow and blue. “It’s not that I’m unhappy. I just can’t find it in me to love what I produce.”

“But you enjoy creating, yes?”

“Of course. It’s what I’ve been doing for years. Painting allows me to understand the world and its inhabitants through my own lens.” You put brush to canvas in a series of small, significant strokes. “So when I’m painting… Well, I guess I just want to try to love the things I put on my canvases, even if it’s impossible.”

“Is that so? Then I’m beyond flattered you would ever consider using me as your most beloved muse!” He tilts his head, suddenly more animated than when he first sat down to pose for you, and adds, “I love you, too. Very much, my little artiste.”

“Are you just saying that so I’ll paint you handsomely?”

“Why, I would never say anything that would influence or persuade your process! Just as I love sweetly and solemnly, I also love monstrously and mercilessly. The primal facets of humankind are not exempt from my loving eyes. Even the most dirty and deceitful corners of this world—I love those just as fiercely. So should you choose to depict me as a fiend, I will adore your representation regardless of its harsh implications. After all, there’s beauty in tragedy.”

“And would that make life the greatest tragedy?” You hum as you add a sadistic glimmer to the eyes on the canvas. They pierce you with their unblinking stare, hollowing your soul until they reach unfathomable depths. “Or maybe it’s the ability to love with such a big heart?”

“Are you suggesting love is a tragedy? I suppose, in some sad sense, it is. Unrequited feelings, shattered hearts, lovers separated by way of death or divorce, and even the type of love that curdles like spoiled milk—oh, the misfortune! Each is a tragic tale spun from a mixture of melancholy or the intensity of hatred and all-consuming loneliness. But even so, no matter how horrendous it may seem, I hold each in my heart. They’re beautiful because they have the unique ability to shape a person into someone new—for better or for worse.”

You lower your arm, hesitating while the excuses rise to the surface, before turning to look at him. “I’ve never known real love, Mr. Hunt, which is why I’m trying to capture it while I paint. I suspect I’ll be able to smile at my work because it will be something I’ve fallen in love with. Only then can I consider it a true masterpiece.”

“Your way of thinking is simply très bien!” He drums his fingers along his knee, humming his contemplation. “I’d love to unscrew your skull and poke through your brain. I wonder what memories have shriveled your ability to love…”

“It’s not that it’s shriveled. It’s just…” You shrug, losing your previous statement. “The words ‘I love you’ are just that—words. I have no use for meaningless sentiments. If I force myself to love, it feels wrong. I can like people and things, but loving them is too much. I can’t cross that line. If I did, I’d be a liar.”

“Ah, so it’s like that…” Rook chuckles, but none of what you said was remotely humorous. His voice lowers to a whisper, ghostly and haunting, as if wrapping around your head and settling into the very folds of your brain. “I find it charming that you’re unable to love and I love too much. We possess many differences, and yet at the very center of it all we’re merely human beings composed of flesh and blood. It’s a beauty more stunning than the most radiant sunset!”

You pretend to have not heard him, resigning yourself to your work as you spend an absurd amount of time trying to illustrate the peculiar glaze in his eyes. They’re always so bright, but here you’ve painted them as soulless, viridescent sockets—a dark, dense forest having lost its vivid greenery with winter’s frost. But then there is not an ounce of ice within Rook’s eyes. They are always smoldering with many things: enthusiasm, intellect, new opinions just waiting to be shared regardless of whether or not you wish to hear them. It’s a genuine warmth, but something feels strange. Out of place. Much like the headless mount poised right above Rook to form the tip of the pyramid.

Why is that mount lacking a head?

Without realizing it, you’ve abandoned your task with fixing his eyes to start on the antlers poking from a head of canary-hued hair.

“You live up to your surname, sir.”

“Please, you’re much too formal with your fan. You need only call me Rook, should it suit your fancy.” He giggles when you pin him with a dubious glare. “Is it so wrong to label myself as such? I go to great lengths out of admiration and support of your work. Wouldn’t that, by definition, make me your fan?”

“I’m not very famous.”

“In my eyes, you are the famed sun and I am merely the moon who hopelessly pursues.”

“Really? Well, I wasn’t aware I had an eloquent hunter for a fan.”

“Do you find my hobby eccentric?”

“No. It’s normal to enjoy all sorts of pastimes. Hunting is as much of a hobby as it is a sustainable sport. In older times, most people would hunt for the sake of survival.”

Rook nods, his gaze flicking towards the heads on the wall. You dip your brush in brown paint to add more color to the antlers. “It takes immaculate patience to be a hunter. Most hunts are not always successful.”

“Is there a reason you hunt?”

“It’s in a human’s nature to obtain the unobtainable, and I seek beauty in its most visceral forms.”

“I see…”

“Do you?” Rook crosses his legs again, but this time his posture is stiffly statuesque. “Is obsession not the most flattering form of dedication?”

“It’s not exactly how I’d go about defining dedication… But then I suppose everyone has their reasons.” You steal a peek at the headless mount. “Do these heads mean anything to you?”

“Why, of course! They are the beautiful animals I have pierced with my arrow, whether or not I intended to. Often, when you trek through the territory of beasts, you might need to release a mortally wounded animal from its suffering.”

“So a mercy kill.” Your eyes return to the painting, where you set to work adding tiny blossoms along the curved antlers. “Doesn’t that upset you?”

“So goes the cycle of life, I’m afraid. I would be a daring fool to interfere with the balance of the world.”

“Have you ever lost any of your hunts?”

Rook hums, tapping out a rhythm against the top of his hand. The pads of his fingers fall in rapid succession: tick, tick, tick, tick. “As a matter of fact, I have! Just last week, after your departure, I lost the mouse I’ve been trying to catch for years now.”

“Years? Shouldn’t you give up?”

“Not until I feel that mouse’s heart beat within my enclosed fist.” He smiles wide, flashing flawless rows of pearly whites. Under the dim lighting, they appear sharp and predatory. “I suspect I’ll get lucky tonight.”

“How can you be sure? Mice are difficult to catch with bare hands. You’ll need a trap.”

“Mon cher, you wound me! I would never make such an amateur error.” He chuckles to himself, relishing in the cruelty of a joke that doesn’t quite land. “When I set my sights on something, it’s a guarantee I will catch it, even if I must play a dreadful waiting game.”

“My apologies. I was only passing on a helpful tip.”

You pull away from the canvas to inspect the strands of white dahlias curled around the man’s antlers. Frowning, you raise your arm, intending to slash through the portrait with a streak of black paint, when it occurs to you that you need only add red.

But before carmine, you return to nature reflected in wide greens.

“Has my dear artiste ever hunted before?”

“No, not really. I seek inspiration all the time, but I wouldn’t call that a hunt.”

“Oh? Please elaborate.”

“There are stakes in a hunt. Life and death. Danger. A battle of wits between predator and prey. Looking for inspiration is just a matter of searching and exploring. It might lead some down scary paths, but for me it’s a matter of reading more books or taking a stroll through the town. I don’t like dangerous things, so I tend to avoid them.”

“It pays to be cautious, no?”

“Right. Shouldn’t you be the same, Rook? As a hunter, don’t you worry about what might happen if you aren’t careful?”

“Of course there are worries! That comes with every profession and hobby.” He gestures to the plastic tarps plastered to the floor and walls. “You worried you’d sully my floors, and to ease such a fear I put these protective plastics up. My worries for hunting may be different, but they are worries all the same.”

“I guess that’s true… Well, what do you worry about?”

“Whether I’ll be fast enough to catch my prey when they’re unarmed and unaware.”

“O-Oh… That’s a little…”

Rook laughs a guttural laugh—a sound that comes right from the depths of his chest. “Imagine something you’ve always wanted. Picture it slipping through your fingers, just out of your reach, and now you’ve lost the chance to seize it. Is that not worth a worry or two?”

“I can’t say. I’ve never tried to chase after things I knew I wouldn’t be able to have.”

“Mon cher, you must learn to take risks. How else will you live?”

“I live perfectly fine without the need to step out of my comfort zone.”

Rook hums. “I think you’d change your tune if you found yourself in a risky situation.”

“Define risky.”

“Life and death.”

You pause, your brush poised at the pupil in his eye. “Everyone wants to survive. It’s in our nature as animals. A very basic instinct.”

“And despite our most dedicated efforts to stall the inevitable, death catches us all—some sooner than most.”

“This is getting kinda…morbid.”

“Haven’t you wondered,” he asks, and you don’t hear the wood creak under approaching feet, “what someone might do if they found your corpse?”

He’s behind you. Five steps away in this cubic space. The man with antlers has crawled out of the canvas that once confined him, and he’s behind you.

The mount on the wall lacks a head.

The man in the chair lacks antlers.

The creature in the portrait lacks humanity.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice a voice recorder tucked away beneath the chair.

You swallow thickly, your heart in your throat. “I… I’m not sure. I’d hope they’d give me a proper, respectful burial if I died of natural causes.”

And if it wasn’t natural causes?

You don’t hear him verbalize the question, but somehow you catch it amidst the smothering silence.

“If it wasn’t natural causes…” You force a laugh, but it’s flat and misplaced just like the headless mount. “That would be murder, right?”

His shadow looms behind you, cast ominously dark over the earthly colored canvas. Slowly, so slowly, your free hand lowers to the pocket in your artist’s apron, where a dozen palette knives rest. Trembling fingers peruse the selection, locating the one with the sharpest point, and it’s the heaviest burden you’ve ever secured in your fist. You remain sitting horribly still on the stool, listening only to the frantic, slick sound of blood rushing in your ears.

Steeling your frayed nerves, you whirl just as he descends.

There’s a pause, a stumbled heartbeat, and then raw fear coagulates into confusion when you find him sitting primly in his chair, his verdant stare striking through you as if it’s an arrow he’s just loosed. It hits its mark, for it leaves you pinned in perplexity.

He was behind me.

“And… And what about you?” you ask, your tongue heavy and thick in your mouth. “If someone… If I found your corpse, what would you want me to do with it?”

He was behind me. I’m sure of it.

“That wouldn’t happen.” His lips curl into a cat-like smile, and he angles his head curiously. “Normally it’s the other way around.”

You see it, then. The silver glint of a sharpened meat cleaver. It lies in his lap, where his fingers curl around the wooden handle, and all while holding eye contact he continues to smile. His teeth are refined cutlery in the light: artfully honed, yet not quite serrated, they’re tough enough to bite and tear and chew. Like a deer trapped in the hauntingly hypnotic glow of oncoming headlights, you don’t dare move. Perspiration wets your brow, slides down your back between your shoulder blades. You lick your lips. Anticipation claws through your intestines, nestling in the very pit of your stomach. Bile creeps its way up your throat like acidic fingers.

What’s happening?

“Come now, ma souris, don’t give me such a sullen face! I’ve shown you my hand. Isn’t that a miracle more beautiful than life itself?”

Your hold on the little palette knife tightens. “One person’s going to leave this room,” you say, your eyes sliding to the recording device, “and it’s not going to be me. Isn’t that right, Rook?”

“I can’t possibly say,” he affirms, dulcet and smooth like rivers of blood running ruby-red from a broken nose. His finger drums a rhythm against the flat side of the cleaver. “But I can certainly guess.”

Carefully, you rise from the stool. His eyes track you, so full of the vitality of the color green. More than that, they’re bright with bloodlust and you’ve been caught in the crosshairs of his cutting gaze. He peers at your unfinished painting and chuckles.

“Even your interpretation of me is beautiful! It’s an honor to be your fan, ma souris. Truly, I’m quite happy.”

You brandish the palette knife as if that will do anything to protect you from him. He stands from his seat, a monster adorned in gloomy garb. Like a stain against the red wall of heads, he no longer fits into the picture you once thought he did. Rather, he is blight in human form, a sinister omen housed within a skeleton encased in friendly skin.

And he’s walking right towards you, putting one foot in front of the other, in no hurry to rush. The cleaver taps against his hip as he approaches, each bump mirroring every one of your heartbeats with startling accuracy.

“Are… Are you unhappy with my portrayal?” you ask, not particularly interested in his reply, but desperate to keep him talking at arm’s length.

For every step he takes, you take two backwards.

“Not at all! In fact, I’m flattered.” Rook narrows his eyes at you, sickly entertained. “You’ve made prey out of a predator. Not many are capable of such a generous feat.”

Your back connects with the door. Swallowing thickly, you search for the door knob. “Do you really see yourself as one? You don’t have to be one. Y-You can be neither. You’re only human.”

“Ah, but humans are the worst kind of predator.”

“What makes you say that?” Your fingers wrap around the metal door knob.

“Humans are afforded choices. We think through decisions. We make merry with our enemies and then hurt them after they’ve properly settled. We are complex in a way that differs from other animals. Predators are bound by survival, always trapped in high-stakes life or death, unable to truly make a decision that ventures beyond whether they wish to live another day or become sustenance for those who sit a rung above on the food chain. You see, we are not simple predators.” He raises the cleaver and points it at you. “As for humans, we can decide if we want to feel something when we hurt and kill. We can communicate in languages simple predators can’t use. Oh, the beauty of words!” He chuckles, elated. “To pluck a phrase from my vast lexicon: I’m going to take your life for myself, ma souris. Stow it within the depths of my very soul so that I may be the only one to treasure your rarity.”

The confession guts you quicker than his knife ever could.

Wrenching the door open, you turn on your heel and step through, ready to break into a sprint, when heavy footfalls make their way towards you from behind. He covers the meager distance in seconds, wrapping a muscled arm around your torso and yanking you back into the room. You scream, words and sounds mixing into something incoherent, and elbow him in the ribs with as much force as you can muster. He releases you and you, fueled with panic and adrenaline, drop to your knees just as he swings, your hand closing around the palette knife you had previously lost.

Somehow you manage to get back on your feet when he descends again, this time intentionally missing your shoulder when he brings the cleaver down. It cuts through the sliver of space between empty air and your own body, narrowly missing you by a hair. You throw yourself against the wall, entangled in a plastic tarp that comes loose from its hooks. They fall around you in noisy pitter-patters, something akin to metallic rainfall, and you hit the floor with a harsh thump.

And all the while, the mounts continue to peer at you with glass eyes.

“There’s no need to fall over yourself in a frantic haste. You’ll waste all of your energy, and even then adrenaline won’t be enough to fuel you. I’ll catch you if you aren’t careful…” He smiles at you from where he stands, green eyes cold with calculation. “Let’s take a moment to chat, shall we? I’d like to regale you with the five stages of the delightful thing known as prey drive. You’ve heard of it, haven’t you?”

“No, of course not,” you spit, vitriol lacing every syllable. Your pupils flit about the room, tracing the cleaver in his hand and then flickering towards the chair. The recording device sits in shadow, just within your reach. If you can stand up, take two steps forward, and drop down when he moves to intercept, you might be able to retrieve it. “Enlighten me since you seem so eager to run your mouth.”

Rook chuckles and enunciates his every step with a whistle. He reaches the chair in three steps and kicks the recording device out from under it. You watch it skid across the floor towards you, settling mere inches from your feet. You glance at it; it’s still recording, seconds stapled into it with every tick of your heart.

“A dog searches.” His back is turned to you, and he gazes at the mounts on the wall. You lower just enough to swipe the device from the ground. It’s not heavy in your palm; rather, it’s palm-sized and it slips into your pocket like a silent knife through butter. “And when it finds, it stalks. Have you caught the pattern yet?”

His neck is right there. All you need to do is rush up to him, grab him from behind, and drive the palette knife so far into the side of his neck that it’ll surely cause some sort of distress. Or you could turn and run. You have evidence. You have his address. You have your car. You can escape. You can drive far away from this horrifying cabin in the woods and never return. You can live.

You can run.

“And from there…”

So you do.

He whirls just as you dart through the door, over the threshold into the hall, and you miss the crazed twinkle reflected in wild, untamed green eyes. Rook’s laughter follows you, airy and light like a comforting breeze. He’s alive with murderous delight, and you’re nearly dead with fright.

“Ensues the chase!” he calls out, so close in the cramped confines of the hall that his voice nearly grazes you.

You swallow your sobs, pressing onwards with hardened resolve, and follow the length of the hall until it spits you out into another room. It’s undeniably a kitchen, what with the refrigerator and microwave pushed into a corner, but it’s furnished more like a lab. Nearly every appliance is metallic and the floors are tiled, constructed with surfaces that are perfect for washing away pesky fluids. A drain is built into the very center of the floor, sticking out like the nastiest bruise. You spy meat hooks hanging in place of where spatulas and whisks ought to be—both of which are innocent culinary tools meant to assist in food preparation rather than something killer.

Spinning on your feet, you locate the door opposite of where you stand in the small kitchen-lab and take a momentous step towards it, hoping it leads you closer to an exit and further from your hunter, when a cold hand seizes your wrist, spidery digits curling into your skin. A shrill scream rips from the depths of your throat, surely shredding your vocal chords into bloody ribbons. You struggle, yanking your arm in vain, for his hold is impossibly strong. He tugs you towards him, his feet moving in time with the shuffling of yours. It’s a stiff stalemate of a waltz. You pull away and he pursues, his hand creeping up your arm in an attempt to pin it to the nearest surface. With another helpless shriek, you tear yourself free, staggering backwards against the metal table, which rolls further away on well-oiled wheels. Your horrified reflection blinks back at you in the shine, and with a sunken heart you realize it’s a dissection table.

“Mon cher, I must say, you wear disarray so naturally. It’s far too forbidden for my simple eyes to behold.”

“Why… Why are you doing this?” Your voice is thick with terror, sore from screaming, and you wipe furiously at your glossy eyes. “Please stop… You’ve had your fun. Now… Now let me go. I… I promise I won’t come back here again. Y-You can keep all of the supplies and the canvas. Just let me go…”

A secretive smile stretches slowly across his lips. “Oh, how Fortuna graces me with the benevolent opportunity to admire these special sides of yours. To be able to witness the rawness of pure horror after cornering the most dangerous animal of all…” He pricks his finger on the tip of the blade and adds in a breathy whisper, “Beauté.”

A disgusted shiver claws its way up your spine. You glare at him. “So it’s the thrill you enjoy, yeah? It doesn’t faze you that you’re going to kill an innocent person?!”

He tilts his head. “Rather than snuffing your light, I intend to give new life to your excellence. In many ways, aren’t I also an artist?”

“Like hell! You’re crazy!” You take a step back when he advances, moving towards you like a graceful panther stalking its prey. Your grip on the palette knife tightens. “What did I ever do to you to deserve this?”

“Nothing, mon amour.”

“N-Nothing?”

“Absolutely nothing!” he reaffirms, rather conversationally, and the frustration-riddled tension in your body deflates all at once.

“But… But I thought—” You shake your head, hopelessly searching for a means of convincing him otherwise in his pursuit, and say, “I thought you… You said you loved me! Can you really hurt someone you love?”

Rook hesitates, his feet shuffling to a halt, and he peers blankly at you, all emotions veiled in a stoic mask. “While it’s true that I will always cherish you in life, I must also come to love you in death. If I’m unable to accept even the rotting and decaying sides of everlasting love that most shy away from, then I’m simply undeserving of my title as a hunter. If I seek the wonders of life, it’s only fair I seek the wonders of death all the same. You understand, don’t you?”

“No! In what world would I ever understand that logic?!” You point the palette knife at him. “You don’t have to kill me. You really don’t have to…”

“I suppose, if I’m to apologize for anything, I should ask that you forgive my greedy behavior. I’m hopelessly infatuated with your work, so allow me to thank you for all that you have shown me tonight. I promise to repay your tenderness tenfold.”

He smiles, stepping aside to allow you passage through the door, and foolishly you take the bait. It’s a run through tar—something you’d only ever experience in a dream, in which outrunning a villain is an impossible task. You make it through the door and out into the hall, and from there your only goal is to mindlessly flee towards safety. Tears obscure your vision, clinging to your lashes like fragile sugar dew.

You think you see the outline of a faraway door, but perhaps it’s just the illusion brought on by mournful tears.

You think you’ll make it to freedom, but perhaps it’s just the animalistic desire to survive that ignites your nerves.

You think you can escape the horrors of encroaching affection, but it slips into your hand, tight and reassuring.

Tugged into the kitchen-lab, your back collides with Rook’s chest. His grip is bone-crushing, and you don’t hear anything he’s saying—is he humming or waxing poetry?—but you feel the warmth of spreading blood as it soaks through your shirt and stains your artist’s apron. The palette knife slips from your grasp, landing on the floor with a noisy clatter. You peer down at your abdomen, where the cleaver is snugly nestled in your stomach.

The cleaver.

It’s in your stomach.

He’s stabbed you.

The cleaver.

It’s in your stomach.

It doesn’t hurt. Not at first. The shock snuffs the agony. He twists it gingerly, once or twice, before he yanks it out. Sticky strings of torn flesh and blood cling to the blade, connecting it to the injury he’s inflicted. Then you feel the rush of torturous, agonizing pain, and it stings more than anything you've ever experienced before. Red-hot, thick trails of blood trickle through your fingers when you shakily place your hand upon the wound, hoping to stop the flow. Rook clicks his tongue and guides you towards the dissection table, your feet dragging bonelessly upon the floor as you’re led along. You try to fight him, but everything’s so painful, and so all you can manage is a slight shake of the shoulders. Your world spins, and your mind reels as it struggles to process the dangerous gash.

“After the chase,” he says, lowering you onto the table despite your blubbery protests, “the dog grabs its prey in a sharp-toothed bite and then it kills.”

“S-Stop… You…” Your fingers curl into shredded skin, and you press down with as much strength as your shuddering body can muster. Blood continues to seep through the cracks between your fingers. “You… You’ll kill me…”

“Well, that’s the point, no?” Rook pets your cheek, fondness glittering in his green eyes.

You peer up at him through bleary eyes, reaching for his face with a trembling hand. “Please… I’m begging you… It h-hurts… Please…” A helpless sob wracks through your frail form. “Please, Rook…”

For a while—whether an eternity or merely a few seconds, it’s hard to discern—he watches you fade in and out of consciousness, your groans a haunting melody in the discomforting quiet. Eventually, his hand finds yours on the table, limp and twitching, and envelops it in a firm hold.

Blissfully ignorant to your wheezing gasps, he begins to murmur: “‘Out—out are the lights—out all. And, over each quivering form, the curtain, a funeral pall, comes down with the rush of a storm. While the angels, all pallid and wan, uprising, unveiling, affirm that the play is the tragedy, ‘Man.’” He looms over you like a ghastly shadow, lips arranged in a gleeful grin. “‘And its hero, the Conqueror Worm.’”

The time is 11:11 at night when you finally fall into Death’s frigid embrace, never to wake again.

11:11 - the mystical time at which the universe tugs celestial cotton from its ears and listens to wishes and woes alike. it is not a promise that all wishes will be granted and all woes will be soothed at this hour.

The time is 11:11 in the morning, and sweet, twittering birdsong flutters into the trophy room through a window left ajar.

The sun has long since risen, casting radiant beams through the thinning slices between the trees. Rook Hunt hums as he works, deft fingers perusing various cosmetics arranged on a metal tray. Eyeshadow is applied to delicate, paper-thin eyelids, each one pinned open in the permanence of preservation. Glass marbles are set into hollow sockets, colored in memory of the eyes that were once attached to a brain via optic nerves. He matches foundation to the skin tone, which works well to hide meticulous stitching and mottled flesh. He’s humming in tune with the birds, the nearby rushing stream, and the swaying foliage caught up in a wind gust, relishing in nature’s symphony.

“You claimed you’d finally smile after you’ve learned to love,” Rook observes, petting the top of the head, feeling human hair beneath his rough, calloused palm. “And now you beam brighter than the sun outside! Perhaps it’s because of me? You’ve always been so honest with your heart. It’s a facet I most adore.”

His gaze slides towards the unfinished painting propped against the wall, where an antlered man smiles at his viewer, his green eyes filled with a mysterious forest.

“Have you always thought me to be prey?” Rook pauses, awaiting an answer, and snatches a lipstick from the selection. “Or maybe this is an artist’s ideal vision… Perhaps it’s a fantasy you’ve wished to see or a place you’ve always wanted to visit. Escapism is most magnificent when it’s comforting.” He opens the lipstick and surveys the color with his observant greens. He inhales deeply and catches notes of the cedarwood cabin walls and the floral perfume he spritzed on his dear artiste. “Though it may not be your masterpiece, it’s one that will forever fascinate.”

Red blooms on dry lips that can no longer scream or protest. He cups a cheek stuffed with the finest wood wool, palming an area that was once bruised and broken. The grisly mark has been painted over, and now it is out of sight and, as far as the hunter is concerned, out of mind. As the saying goes, before one can broach beauty, one must suffer some degree of destruction.

Rook steps down from the ladder and sets the tray of cosmetics on the gold-and-white satin chair. He lifts his hands, fingers forming the borders of a rectangle to frame you in his own portrait. At long last, the headless mount has its head and the pyramid of trophies is complete. There’s a crooked smile sewn into features expertly stitched to finalize beguiling taxidermy.

With a covert grin, Rook peers through his fingers at your head situated at the very tip of a tragic triangle.

“After all, prey are the prettiest when they’re dyed scarlet.”

#if i said jade's version of this concept was far more lighthearted would anyone believe me?#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere rook hunt #yandere rook hunt x reader #yandere rook #yandere rook x reader #tw: death #tw: murder #tw: violence

426 notes · View notes