#i always hated how i have to burn everything to find myself | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nadvs · 1 month ago

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the power play (part seven)

pairing hockeyplayer! rafe cameron x tutor! reader

rating mature 18+

summary rafe is your complete opposite. the only thing you have in common with the hockey player you tutor is that he’s also recently had his heart broken. in a last-ditch effort to make the people who hurt you regret it, you agree to pretend to date.

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“When’s that part supposed to be done again?” the voice buzzes from your laptop.

You glance up at Rafe when he steps into the study room, locking eyes as he shuts the door behind him.

“By Wednesday night,” you answer, looking at your screen again. The other students in your group project stare back at you, three guys who haven’t even tried to pull their weight.

“And we have to do the peer evaluation, too,” you add. “She expects us to be transparent about how everyone contributed. And I’m planning to be totally honest.”

Rafe settles in his seat, diagonal to you at the corner of the desk like always. A smile pulls at his lips. He hates when that serious, disappointed tone of voice is directed at him, but watching you give that attitude to another guy is something else entirely.

He places his laptop on the desk and crosses his arms as he watches you in amusement.

“Is that review thing online?” one of the guys asks. You tap your foot against the floor in frustration. You’ve mentioned where to find it at least five times.

“I have an appointment now,” you say, “but everything you need to know is in the rubric. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

You exit the call, looking over at Rafe with wordless exhaustion. He doesn’t need you to tell him; that was about the group project you were venting to him about last week.

He digs his teeth into his bottom lip. It was hot to see you assert yourself like that. And he knows you’re just doing your job as his tutor, respecting the time you set aside for him, but it still makes his ego grow a little that you ended the call so quickly after he arrived.

And now he’s convinced you can’t do a single thing without it sending him into a mental spiral.

“Someone’s mad,” he murmurs.

“They’re killing me,” you say with a defeated chuckle. “I don’t know how many times I’ve had to repeat myself about things they can figure out on their own. Why do I have to hold grown men’s hands?”

“Damn,” he jokes, looking down and nodding, feigning offense.

“Well, I signed up to hold yours,” you laugh. “And you kind of hold mine with all the free therapy, so win-win.”

Rafe smirks. He’s not sure if he’s helped you nearly as much as you’ve helped him, if his version of therapy even comes close to how you’ve talked him down.

You need a physical reset after that frustrating call, a way to release the tension sitting in your body. You arch your back as you extend your arms above your head, stretching your muscles with a deep exhale.

Rafe’s mouth goes dry watching you dip your head back, your arms pulled high.

His thoughts are self-willed, running off with no warning, compelling him to imagine putting his lips along the column of your exposed neck, kissing you open-mouthed, cradling your head, hearing your sighs.

And because you have a special talent for driving him crazy, your shirt falls over your shoulder when you lower your arms. And you don’t fix it.

His eyebrows inch upward, left in stunned silence, fantasizing about planting his lips down your neck, over your collarbone, along your shoulder. Over and over again.

“Okay, I’m in tutor mode now,” you say, pulling his laptop towards you and opening it, oblivious to what you do to him. “Midterm on Monday. How are you feeling?”

How is he feeling? Like infatuation and lust are burning through him. Like he might lose whatever sanity he has left.

He clears his throat.

“Where is it again?”

“Should be in the same lecture hall the class is in,” you say, dragging your fingers over the trackpad. “But we can check the message board to be sure.”

You feel his stare on you, then look up to see humor twinkling in his eyes.

The realization hits you. He’s messing with you, acting like the guys you were just on a call with.

“Notice how I don’t get annoyed when you do it?” you chuckle. “I told you that you were my favorite student.”

Rafe’s smile slightly fades as you turn your attention back to his laptop.

He doesn’t like the reminder of the birthday party, of the bitterness that made itself a home in his chest that night when you made it clear what he is to you. Just the guy you tutor. Just a friend.

And he swallows his pain down, because he’s not going to unleash his silent grudges on you. Not anymore.

════════

There’s only four games left of the tournament. A loss means the season is over. And Rafe can’t lose.

He’s in the middle of a scoring drill, preparing for a nerve-wracking match against the visiting team. The rolling of skates cutting over ice, the smacks of sticks hitting pucks, the din from the filling stands, all fill his ears.

As always, not giving this his all is not an option. No matter how much the dread of his shoulder acting up again hangs over him.

Hockey gives him an outlet, a purpose. When he sets out to block a shot or hit the puck into the net, when he throws himself into a game with nothing but aggression guiding him, the fervor that courses through him is unlike anything else.

He can’t lose that.

You settle into your seat at the side of the rink, many rows up, chatting with Lyla. Your eyes have been almost exclusively on Rafe since you came in and you can’t believe you used to attend games without paying him any mind before.

Then again, you didn’t know who he really was. You didn’t know that under the hard exterior was such a complex man that would unexpectedly start turning anything and everything in your world inside out.

“There’s no way,” Lyla mumbles to you, shoulders shaking with laughter. “Look.”

She points forward and you lean closer to her to see a couple of girls a few rows ahead looking at a phone. They’re on the college’s athletic department’s website, on the men’s ice hockey team roster page.

Rafe’s headshot and name is at the center of the screen as they whisper and giggle.

“There are eyes on your man,” she laughs. “Watch out.”

The jealousy that swirls through you is hot and unwelcome. You don’t bother trying to hide it. It’s what his real girlfriend would do anyway.

You meet Lyla’s eyes, flashing her an exasperated frown.

“I guess it comes with the territory?” you say, tense.

“Oh, my God, they’re trying to find him on Instagram,” she chuckles, then looks at you again. “You obviously have nothing to worry about. He only has eyes for you. Everyone can see it.”

The same frustrating, overwhelming discomfort you felt the night of the last game fills your senses.

You meant it when you told Rafe that you need to take some time for yourself, to not date until Beck is no longer on your mind.

But you can’t deny that since then, it’s like Rafe is claiming the space in your heart that Beck once owned. Except Rafe is taking it over with a thousand times more force.

While you thought Beck was what you needed – friendly and level-headed and calm – you’ve seen him for who he really is after putting distance between you.

Whether he meant to do it or not, he strung you along. With a clearer head, you can see his flaws. And you’re pretty sure he’s a people pleaser.

And it kind of feels manipulative. You don’t doubt he’s a mostly genuine person; it’s just that he chooses the comfort of being liked over the discomfort of honesty. You used to love it about him, seeing it as kindness, letting it cloud your vision, letting it lull you into infatuation.

Rafe gives you an entirely new thrill. He’s not concerned with people liking him. He says what he thinks, and even though he can be harsh, you appreciate being around a man like that. He may be moody, with little control over his temper, but at least he’s direct.

And it’s because of that that you know you can’t take Lyla’s words that everyone can see it to heart. What everyone’s seeing is fake.

He’s playing it up, pretending to like you because that’s what you agreed to do. If someone like him felt something real, they’d cut the bullshit and tell you.

You think of the fleeting moments you’ve had with Rafe, the soft, gentle vulnerability and the heart-racing affection brimming with what you wish was chemistry.

Maybe he feels something, too. But probably not. Your mind is heavy with fog after years of pining for someone and being sure they felt the same, only for it to crash and burn in heartbreak.

This is why you’re trusting your instinct to stay away from romance for the time being.

The familiar pain of a confusing crush pinches in your heart. You can’t believe you’re back here, back to sitting in the stands, a spectator to your heart’s choices, dwelling over a man you can’t take your eyes off of.

You didn’t break the cycle.

You just started a new one.

════════

At the end of the second period, you head to the bathroom with Lyla. You’re washing your hands in the middle of the long row of sinks and instinctually glance up when someone appears next to you.

Tension crushes your chest when you realize it’s Emma. You make brief eye contact, then abruptly end it. You step away to dry your hands when, to your surprise, she speaks as she walks by.

“Do you not have any of your own shirts?” she murmurs.

You have to take a second to absorb her words as she storms out.

You look at your reflection, Rafe’s jersey draped over your body. You wish she wouldn’t have caught you off guard, so you could at least laugh off her dig.

Even though you’re annoyed, you’re not offended. Because if you lost Rafe after having him for real, you’d be bitter, too.

You leave the crowded bathroom and wait in the hall for Lyla, deep in thought.

You agreed to this whole thing to make two people jealous. Beck stares at you like you’ve broken his heart. Emma’s pissed that her ex has a new girlfriend. You’ve achieved your goal. You can end this now.

For your own good, you think it’s finally time to do just that.

════════

Rafe is coming down from a high. It was a tight game, but they took the win. Three games left and they could be the champions.

He’s down to his boxers in the locker room when he checks his phone before heading to the shower. A smile perks on his lips when he sees you texted him.

Congratulations! You were amazing. I won’t be able to come out to celebrate because I’m drowning in school work :( Try to have fun without me (even though you can’t)

You’re kidding, but you’re right. He can’t imagine having nearly as good of a time if you’re not there.

He slams his locker shut, donning a scowl.

════════

The next night, you step into the humid house, your arm linked with Lyla’s, the memories of the last time you were in a frat house fresh in your mind.

Rafe had you propped up on the counter, his steely blue eyes fixed on you, his large hands on your thighs. It was weeks ago at this point, but the thrill it gave you still lives in your mind. So does the sight of him shirtless the morning after.

Rafe’s eyes land on you as you pace into the living room through the pockets of crowds. He texted you about this party, offering to pick you up, and you told him you’d meet him here. He’s been practically staring at the front door since.

He’s never felt like this before. Like he’s constantly holding his breath and he can’t breathe easy until he sees the girl who possesses his every thought.

You’re saying something to Lyla, your smile bright and your eyes dazzling and God, of course you’re wearing a dress that shows more of your body than he’s ever seen before.

If he didn’t know how sweet you are, he’d think you were purposely torturing him. And he knows other guys are looking at you. It makes his blood boil.

“I just shouldn’t talk when she’s around,” Isaac murmurs.

“Huh?” Rafe looks to his friend, who’s standing beside him, taking another drag of his beer.

“Huh?” Isaac mocks with a grin. “I was in the middle of saying something.”

Rafe can’t even pretend to be annoyed. Not when you’re in the same room.

“My bad,” he says, looking forward again. When you find his eyes, you flash him that smile that both breaks and mends his heart, pressing through the crowds to close the distance.

Rafe’s palm is flat against your back when he hugs you, stroking his thumb between your shoulder blades, your skin warm and soft. His body buzzes from the relief of reuniting, even though it’s only been two days since he saw you at the library.

“I have to thank you,” Lyla says to Rafe, half-shouting over the noisy chatter and music. “She never came to this many parties before she dated you.”

“You’re welcome,” Rafe replies, his eyes on you even though his words are directed to your best friend.

“Funny,” Isaac says to you. “He used to go to everything, but he wouldn't come out last night because you weren’t there.”

Your brows knit, pleasantly surprised, hesitatingly touched as you look up at Rafe.

“Really?” you say.

Rafe needs to play it off. He’d thoughtlessly admitted it to Isaac yesterday after leaving the locker room, saying you weren’t coming out anyway, so why would he?

“Can’t have fun without you,” he replies, repeating your text back to you. You’re unsure if he’s just saying that as your fake boyfriend, or if he really feels that way.

“That’s cold,” Isaac mutters in his usual joking way. “I’m right here.”

Lyla laughs, then squeezes your forearm.

“I saw some girls from my film class,” she tells you. “Do you want to go say hi with me or stay here?”

“I’ll stay here,” you reply.

“Thought so,” she says with a knowing grin. “I’ll be right back.”

“What’s the deal with your friend?” Isaac asks the moment Lyla scurries away.

“The deal?” you say.

“What’s her type?” he asks. “If I ask her out, would I get laughed at?”

“Ohhh,” you say with a conspiratorial smile. “Are you trying to get a date?”

“I’ll owe you big, okay?” he replies, putting his hand to his heart. “For that and for my essay. What do you think of it, by the way?

“I’m halfway through,” you reply, having taken a look at it that morning between your classes. “I think you need more annotations, but I’ll get it back to you by tomorrow night with my notes.”

“Awesome, thanks,” Isaac says. “Be honest. Who’s the better writer? Me or Rafe?”

“Rafe,” you reply immediately, gazing up at him. He’s pretty sure that the sound of you saying his name is better than anything he’s ever heard.

“Well… obviously you’re going to pick your boyfriend,” Isaac mumbles, then gazes past your shoulder. “So? Do I stand a chance?”

You follow his eyeline to see he’s staring at Lyla. You can imagine her liking Isaac.

“You might,” you say, then turn back around. “She likes when guys are direct, but don’t be presumptuous.”

“Whatever that means,” Isaac says, then looks at Rafe. “Is she always using big words?”

You chuckle, “Be yourself. And don’t be too forward. Be a gentleman.”

Right now, Rafe would be wondering what your type is, what you like guys to do. But he knows. It’s Beck, who’s different from him in every way.

“So, don’t be yourself,” Rafe chides.

Isaac flashes him a humored, but sarcastic smile, flipping his friend off before downing his drink.

“See you guys,” he says, stepping past you.

You let out an amused exhale, resting into the first private moment you’re having with Rafe tonight.

“Hi,” you say, taking his strong features in as he towers over you.

“Hey.” His eyes drift over your face. The bass of the music filling the thick air is no match to how loud his heart is thumping in his ears. “I know you can hold your own, but you don’t have to help him.”

“Back up,” you say, your smile widening. “Hold my own? Did you just give me a compliment?”

“That call I walked in on was intense,” he says with a half-chuckle. “It’s obvious you don’t take any shit.”

It’s meaningful praise, not only because it’s coming from him, someone who’s usually so aloof, but also because of how many times people have mistakenly seen your kindness as a sign that you let others get away with mistreating you.

And it’s unexpected. You never imagined feeling like Rafe sees a part of you that so many don’t.

Your crush on him was supposed to stay noncommittal. Meaningless. Shallow.

The squeezing sensation in your heart is telling you that might not be a possibility, because seeing this kind, tender side of him is proof that maybe he could be the type of boyfriend you’d want.

“I would’ve told Isaac no if I couldn’t do it,” you reply, “but I’m happy to do a favor if I can manage it.”

He still looks worried. A warm, comforting sense of endearment zips through you. You weren’t lying to Lyla when you’d told her that you liked Rafe’s protectiveness.

“I appreciate you looking out for me,” you add, trying to ignore the fluttering in your chest.

Silence sinks between you, your gazes locked, your smiles slowly fading as tension replaces every remaining sense of amusement.

Rafe breaks the stare. He looks down, his Adam’s apple bobbing with a hard swallow. He can’t have these types of moments with you. He’s fighting everything in him not to kiss you.

“You want a drink?” he asks, looking towards the dining room. “If you can pace yourself.”

You glance at the beer bottle he’s holding.

“Is that all they have?” you ask.

“I grabbed the first thing I saw,” he replies.

“I never tried that kind before.”

Rafe doesn’t think. He just holds it out, perching the neck of the bottle towards you.

Your fingers brush over his as you accept the offer, taking the cold bottle and lifting the smooth cusp against your mouth, your knees weak as you think about how he just had his lips right where yours are.

You take a small sip, promptly cringe at the sourness, and hand it back to him with a look of disgust. He laughs that sweet, innocent, boyish laugh you’ve only heard a few times before.

“No?” he murmurs, his smile bright.

“You really enjoy drinking that?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he says with a shrug.

“Awful,” you mumble.

You shuffle in place, remembering what you’ve been eager to tell him.

“Oh, I have two things to tell you,” you say. “First, these girls sitting in front of me yesterday were looking at you on the school website. You know how they say a determined girl investigates better than the FBI? Just a warning, they’ll find you. If they haven’t already.”

Rafe smirks, unable to believe he ever found your rambling anything but entertaining. And cute as hell.

He should probably be taking your words to heart and thinking about dating for real, going out with girls who actually like him, but it’s unimaginable when he’s certain that he couldn’t find the feeling he gets when he looks at you in anyone else’s eyes.

“And you got jealous and lost your shit?” he quips.

“Yeah, they had to kick me out,” you play along. “How has your shoulder been, by the way?”

The sudden question is an intrusion, an assault on the happiness he’s been feeling since you walked in. He’s still getting used to it, to how you prod, to how you try to saunter past the wall he has up as if you don’t even see it.

You gaze up at him as he looks away, raking back his hair and offering a tense, “Good. I’ve just… been in my head about it. It’s messing with my game.”

A crease forms between your brows as you gaze at him in confusion, hoping he’ll say more. But he doesn’t.

“Are you worried you’ll hurt it again?” you ask.

You step just an inch closer, craning your head to look up at him, wishing he’d just lean down instead of being so unnecessarily impenetrable. He’s quiet and cold, drawn into himself like he was the day you met him.

“Yeah,” he says. “One wrong move and…”

Rafe’s convinced you’re about to judge him, to look at him like he’s a wuss. But the confusion on your face fades and is replaced with sympathy.

“That makes sense,” you say. “You want to give it your all like you always do. I bet playing it safe just feels wrong.”

He’s in awe. How do you take the tiny pieces he gives you and still get him? You’ve teased him for being perceptive, for reading people so easily, but it’s nothing compared to you.

“Yeah, I – I don’t know how to just half-ass it,” he says with a sarcastic chuckle. “I’ve never done it that way.”

You study him, curiosity stirring in you, along with a certainty that there’s nothing but beauty behind the front he puts up.

“You said you were better after you started playing in high school, right?” you press. “It must mean a lot to you.”

He scratches the back of his neck. It’s a tell. You know he does it when he’s nervous.

“Yeah,” he admits. “Hockey did so much for me and it – it makes me me, you know? I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

“Bad word,” you remind him with a soft smile. “It’s not stupid. Tell me more.”

Rafe bites the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t want to go back there, to when he was a kid, needing a place to let everything festering in him out. Not here, with other people around. Not now, when he’s unsure if you feel something, too.

“What was the other thing?” he says.

“What?”

“You said you had two things to tell me.”

You flatten your lips. It hurts how he’ll begrudgingly give you some vulnerability when you’re insistent, but most of the time, remind you that he keeps you at a distance.

“The other thing,” you eventually say with a nod, willing yourself to go back to how you used to be when Rafe’s mood drops didn’t affect you as much. “Your ex made a little dig at me.”

His face hardens, wearing that look you know well by now. The one that silently, impatiently tells you to explain.

“Something about how I’m always wearing your jersey,” you say. “Like I don’t have any shirts of my own.”

“When?”

“Yesterday at the game,” you chuckle. “She left before I could even react. But she obviously noticed me wearing it before. That girl is jealous. And very, very mad.”

He wants to ask if you’re okay, but he can tell by the amused smile on your face that you are. It takes a lot to shake you. Still, he hates that his ex tried to embarrass you. That you were in that position because of him.

“Is this the point where we call it?” you ask.

“What?”

“Do you want to still keep this up?” you clarify, motioning between you.

This is how his last breakup happened. In the throws of a party. Unexpectedly. But even though this one isn’t real, it hurts a thousand times more than the last one.

“You’re… done?” Rafe asks, embarrassed at how thin his voice sounds.

“I don’t want to care about what Beck thinks anymore,” you say. You swallow down that Rafe’s the reason why. “And we got what we wanted, right?”

You both agreed to an easy-out clause. He owes you to follow through on that. If you want to cut and run, you should be able to.

The thought of not getting to touch you, to hold you, even though it is just to make another person in the room jealous, makes his blood run cold.

But you deserve to get what you want.

“Yeah, we did,” he says. “Good luck getting over me.”

“Thanks,” you laugh. “We don’t have to announce it or anything. We just have no reason to lay it on thick anymore. Friends?”

You hold out your hand, and he gently squeezes it, shaking on it just like you did when you started all this.

“Friends.”

════════

The next night, you and Lyla and a couple of your mutual friends go out to dinner to unwind from studying. The off-campus restaurant is elegant, the entrance decorated beautifully. Lyla asks the hostess to take a photo of you all before you sit.

When you settle at the table, you look at the photo and post it to your story. You put your phone down, just to pick it up again a minute later, the impulse to see who’s looked at it too strong to ignore.

You got so used to doing it with Beck, eager to pick up on the breadcrumbs he’d leave for you. Now, you’re doing it to see if Rafe looked at it.

You tap to see who’s viewed the story and see two familiar icons. Beck’s. And Rafe’s.

It’s almost taunting to stare at, one man who led you on and another who helped you get back at him for it.

You can hardly stomach how desperately you crave indifference. How badly you wish Beck had never taken so many years from you. And for the first time, how deeply you regret putting on this ploy with Rafe.

Because all it led to was allowing another man into your heart and having to tell yourself not to let him steal it.

You lock your screen and put away your phone, determined to be present with your friends.

════════

As you finish up dinner, Lyla suggests going to a bar.

“It is a school night,” she says, mainly looking at you, “but we don’t have to stay out late. We could invite some boys if anyone feels inclined.”

“Do you have a boy in mind?” one of your friends asks her.

“Isaac’s cute,” she says, pointing to you. “He told me he asked you about me.”

“He better be following my advice to be a gentleman,” you reply.

“Do you want to invite Rafe?” she asks. The mention of his name makes your heart drop.

“No,” you say, sure you didn’t do a good job masking your sadness. “He has a midterm tomorrow.”

“Are you guys doing okay?” Lyla mumbles, surprised by how quickly you declined. This isn’t the time to drop the bomb that you’re technically broken up.

“Yeah, we’re good.”

“Good,” she says, taking her last bite. “I really don’t want Beck to be right.”

You tense up.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“He told me not to say anything,” she explains, the way her face is twisted in confusion making it clear that she has no idea why her brother wanted to keep this from you. “He’s worried about you. He thinks Rafe isn’t the best guy and you jumped into this with him too fast and that you’ll get hurt. I told him you wouldn’t be with someone who treats you badly, but you know Beck.”

You’ve managed to stay composed up to this point. You’ve held yourself together, even in private.

But this might be the thing to finally break you. The cold, hard confirmation that Beck isn’t jealous, was never jealous. He was just concerned.

Because he’s a friend and nothing more. And you were delusional to think otherwise.

“He shouldn’t be worried,” you say, forcing a smile. “Anyways, you guys go without me. I’m pretty tired.”

════════

Rafe watches you walk to his car through the dark, rainy night air as he idles in front of the restaurant’s front doors. You’d texted him ten minutes ago, asking if he could give you a ride home.

You’d said goodbye to your friends and waited for Rafe behind the front doors, fighting the urge to cry.

You open the passenger door, the interior light fades on, and his stomach drops when he sees that the girl who’s always smiling has tears in her eyes.

You settle in the car, putting your seatbelt on, staring at the dashboard. Rafe stills.

He’s witnessed you disappointed, happy, sad, annoyed, but he’s never seen you like this. Like all the joy has been drained from you, not a single trace of optimism or humor or anything left.

“You okay?” he rasps. The car light fades off, blanketing both of you in darkness.

He stares at you, moonlight just barely pricking the edges of your profile, your eyes gleaming with tears.

“No,” you utter, your voice fragile over the sound of the rain pattering on the roof.

Rafe leans in just a little closer to get a better look at you, but you’re only gazing ahead, stuck in place. He wishes he didn’t have to ask. It’s like he’s losing you, like you don’t want to tell him what you’re thinking anymore.

“What happened?” he rasps.

You don’t know how to say it. He surely already knows that he has a bad reputation, but you care too much about him to repeat any gossip. There’s so much more to him that people don’t see and you don’t want him to not believe that.

“I need a moment,” you say. “Can we go?”

He grimaces, his brows furrowing, shaking his head slightly.

“We’re not rushing anywhere,” he says quietly. You haven’t heard his voice like this before. It’s soft. Soothing.

You can’t think of what to say.

This doesn’t feel fair to Rafe. You pick at him and expect him to open up to you, but now, you’re shutting him out.

He grew to love how you share what you’re thinking, rambling so he’s completely clear on what’s running through your mind. Now, he’s on the outside, behind a wall you never had up before.

It feels like rejection.

“Can we go?” you repeat. “Please?”

He scoffs in disbelief and hurt. And then, he switches gears and steps on the gas pedal.

════════

Rafe pulls up to your dorm. You haven’t said anything to each other the whole ride.

You’ve caught discreet glances at him. His jaw is tense, a grimace on his face. He’s mad. Of course he’s mad. He’s always mad.

You’ve been silent, sniffling and wiping away tears with your sleeve.

He’s losing his mind. You’re just sitting there, your breaths shaky, like you’re breaking right in front of him and he can’t do anything about it.

“I’ve never cried over him,” you finally snap the silence.

He’s caught off guard. The sympathy you’ve been needing is etched into his face, the scowl replaced with tenderness.

“Even when I felt the worst over it, I… managed to keep myself together. But tonight, Lyla told me that he doesn’t like me and it just made it all crash down on me. I wasted so much time.”

He puts the car in park. Kills the engine. Looks at you.

“What the hell did she say?” he says sharply, his anger directed at your best friend now.

You’ve been thinking about how to tell him without causing any collateral damage. You don’t want to hurt him or risk the dynamic between him and his teammate.

“You know that I never dated anyone before,” you tell him. “To jump into something so intense with you is unlike me. Beck thinks I’m being impulsive. He’s just worried I’ll get hurt. That’s all. It was never jealousy.”

Rafe scratches his jaw. He thinks back to how every time you’re in a room with Beck, his eyes are on you.

“I thought you said you saw it for yourself,” he says after a moment. “He’s into you.”

“He was just looking at me like a concerned friend,” you mumble, your throat feeling raw again. “You’ve fed my delusion enough.”

He sighs. It’s impossible. There’s no world where a guy gets to know you and doesn’t feel something.

There are too many possibilities. Beck could simply not be into you. Or he is and he hasn’t told his sister. Or he is and he has and she’s been sworn to secrecy. Or a thousand other things that you can’t know for sure.

It’s all a confusing disarray of what you know and what you don’t, so uncertain about where you stand with Beck that it’s forcing your heart into a knot.

“I need to talk to him and get everything out into the open,” you conclude. “I don’t care if it makes things weird. I can’t keep overthinking.”

When your eyes meet Rafe’s again, an uncontrollable shudder escapes your lips, a result of how hard you’ve been crying.

And he can’t stand it. He puts his palm on the back of your hand, the words sitting in his throat, awkward but necessary to say.

“He’s not good enough for you, you know that, right?” he murmurs.

“Rafe,” you laugh sadly, his words wringing your heart. “You’re just making me cry harder. Stop being nice. It’s unlike you.”

A smile pulls on the corner of his lips. There’s the glimpse of you that he’s been craving. It’s like the sun is finally rising after a long, cold night.

“What do you want, then?” he says.

“Tough love,” you joke. “Call me annoying or something.”

“No,” he says with a shake of his head.

He can’t even do it as a joke. He’s told himself he feels too much his whole life. He’s not going to do it to you, too.

You sigh, looking down at his hand on yours. There’s nobody around to fool. He’s doing this because he wants to.

“I’m… so mad I still care,” you say. “I don’t even like him anymore, but I need to tell him that he was cruel to string me along. And then I’ll finally be done with it.”

You look out the window, seeing your reflection in the side mirror.

“And I need to be on my own and live my life without worrying what a guy thinks,” you continue. “I don’t think you see how much you’ve helped me through all this.”

Rafe is sure that he hates Beck. He fucked with you for years, stringing you along, making you question everything. You shouldn’t have to cry all because that idiot refuses to be upfront with you.

He wouldn’t treat you like that. But he’ll never get the chance to prove it. You’re blind to how fast his thoughts are racing, how hard his heart is pounding. To what he’d give to you if you felt what he does.

“You helped me, too,” he says. He wishes he was better at this, that he could say more, but there’s no way he can utter what he’s really thinking without opening up a wound that you can’t patch up.

That’s the last thing you both need right now. Especially after you told him you’re not looking to tie yourself to a relationship anytime soon.

“I’m glad,” you say. You shift your hand to unbuckle your seatbelt, leaving him to pull away. “Thank you for the ride. You should get back to studying now.”

“Who said I was studying?”

“Pretending I didn’t hear that,” you quip with a small smile, meeting his eyes one last time before you push the door open and step out of the car.

════════

It’s Wednesday night and Rafe’s sitting in an unfamiliar locker room, two periods into a vicious game.

They’re down by two goals. He’s exhausted, his shoulder is aching, yet all he can think about is you, in your dorm room four hours away.

You’d texted him twice since the night he picked you up at the restaurant. The first was on Monday, a good luck message for his midterm. The next was last night, letting him know that you can’t make tonight’s away game due to the long distance and the fact that you have a huge paper due.

If they win this game, they’re in the semi-finals. The hunger he’s feeling for a victory is the one thing driving him right now.

He’d love it if you were in the stands, behind the penalty box again, holding your phone up against the screen, lightheartedly counting his indiscretions, giving him brightness in his otherwise bleak life.

Rafe stares down at the scuffed floor, chest rising and falling rapidly, the tension thick in the room as he holds his helmet in his hands. Coach enters the room, jumping right into his pep-talk.

“We’re missing scoring opportunities,” he eventually says, his voice booming through the room.

“That’s on me, Coach,” Beck pipes up from the other side of the room.

“Then step up,” Rafe mutters with vitriol, meeting his eyes. “Instead of being such a kiss-ass, try playing better.”

“Whoa,” Isaac mumbles beside him. “Chill, man.”

“I’ll do the coaching here, got it, Cameron?” Coach says sharply.

Rafe stares down at the floor again, rage flooding him. He’d swing at Beck right now if he could, if there was nothing on the line.

Not because of the game. Because of you.

════════

When the team is back in the locker room, all the stress that was previously cutting through the air has dissipated, replaced with pride. They managed to secure the win. They made it to the semi-finals.

Rafe gets to his locker and tries to take off his equipment. But the pain in his shoulder is so blinding, so hot, that he can’t ignore the agony.

It was a hard body check, minutes left in the game. The sharp stab he felt was undeniable.

He knows that this is it.

════════

“Thank you,” you say to the security guard who walked you over to the athlete’s dorm.

It’s nearing midnight and, as promised, Isaac texted you that they’re back on campus. He’d sent you a message that Rafe got injured near the end of the game.

You called him then, learning that Rafe could barely move his arm, that he was taken to urgent care, that he was muttering about being sure his season is over.

You texted Rafe right away, concern burning through you: Isaac told me what happened. Can I come by when you get home?

He replied: yes. And then hours later, the text came in a minute after Isaac’s.

Home. Don’t walk by yourself.

You’d planned to text Isaac to open the front door for you, but you’re lucky to sneak into the building as a resident leaves. You rush in, take the elevator, and scurry down the hallway.

Your heart is pounding when you knock on Rafe’s door.

“It’s open,” you hear grumbled from the other side.

Rafe is in the dark, a pinch of moonlight gleaming into the room through a crack in the blinds as the door shuts behind you.

He’s sitting up in his bed, resting against the headboard, and when you see the sling on the same arm that he’d injured before, your heart cracks down the middle.

You don’t bother turning on the light. You have a feeling he doesn’t want to be seen right now. You settle on the edge of his bed, the side of his thigh against your lower back.

Rafe stares at your profile in the dark, his breath evening out, the dread he’s been battling losing some of its power now that he’s with you.

When Isaac said he let you know what happened, Rafe was glad he hadn’t told him about your breakup. And he was relieved that Isaac shared the news, because Rafe’s not sure he would’ve been able to tell you himself.

“Hey,” you say. “How bad does it hurt?”

“You got security to walk you here, right?”

“Yeah,” you reply. The fact that he’s thinking about your safety right now is unbelievable. “What happened?”

“I tore my rotator cuff,” he says into the dark.

“Your season’s done?” you ask, although you know it is. That’s too serious of an injury to play with.

There’s a beat of silence.

“Yeah.”

Your throat tightens. His fear came true and now he’s like this, in pain, miserable. And surely blaming himself.

“I’m sorry,” you say, your voice trembling.

His heart shifts when he catches the fragility in your tone.

“Don’t cry,” he says.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

He can’t help but huff a quiet chuckle. Leave it to you to make him smile at a time like this.

“Can I get you anything?” you ask.

“No.”

“I’m going to hug you because I need to do something,” you decide, giving into the impulse to get closer to him.

He shifts lower, resting his head on his pillow, and you turn to your side, leaning on his good shoulder, making sure to stay as far away from his injury as possible.

Your arm is draped over his torso, your cheek at his upper chest, feeling the faint thumps of his heart. The soft, rhythmic beating is what beckons the tears threatening to fall finally come out.

“How bad does it hurt?” you ask again, your voice thick with sadness.

He doesn’t see a reason to lie.

“Like hell,” he admits, the painkillers barely numbing the pain.

Rafe shuts his eyes, grimacing, angry at his body for betraying him.

Your arm around him brings him a sense of peace. And the fullness warming his heart doesn’t come from simply liking someone.

This is love.

But you’ve told him so many times that you need to be on your own. He can’t mess that up for you just because he wants you for himself.

He’s never been this worried about his selfishness. He’s never really liked himself and he’s always wanted to be a better man and being with you is the first time it feels achievable.

“Why’d you come here?” he asks, desperate for you to tell him you feel it, too. That he’s worth breaking your rules.

“Because I care about you,” you say with an offended laugh. “Should I leave?”

“No,” he says quickly.

“Then try being a little more welcoming,” you joke.

If you want to feel welcome here, in his room, in his bed, in his heart, in his life, he’ll make it happen.

And he’s always been the type to show, rather than tell.

He still feels a pinch up his neck, but he fights through the ache to sit up half an inch. He brushes his lips against your forehead to leave a chaste, featherlight kiss on your skin.

“How’s that?” he rasps, settling back on his pillow.

Your body numbs, the air heavy with pressure. It’s an avalanche coming down on you, the excitement of his touch, the confusion of his intentions, the fear of giving another person all the power to break your heart.

And it’s like you’re buried under your overwhelming emotions, barely able to move.

You don’t know what to say.

So, you nuzzle closer, squeeze him tighter, and close your eyes, hoping that whatever happens next doesn’t hurt you anymore than you’ve already been hurt.

next >

author’s note um so i think we’re at 50k words and all we have is a forehead kiss... next part will be the last and the slowburn will be OVER. i promise. don’t hate me <3

if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron and you #rafe cameron and reader #rafe cameron and y/n

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lazysoulwriter · 2 months ago

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safe place. - pedro pascal.

requested! thank you for sending. ♡ - requests are open. ✎ summary: You’ve been with Pedro for years — in love, in sync, and happy. But when the topic of kids comes up, everything shifts. He doesn’t understand your resistance… until he finds out the truth: a heartbreaking past you’ve never spoken of. You’re terrified of the pain, but Pedro? Pedro just wants to hold your heart through all of it.

---

You were brushing your teeth when he said it. Casual, like it wasn’t the kind of thing that could make your stomach twist in knots.

“I saw this dad with his kid at the café today,” Pedro started, standing behind you in the bathroom, eyes on your reflection. “And I just… I don’t know. I think I’d be a good dad.”

Toothbrush frozen mid-air, you blinked at your own reflection. You managed a non-committal hum and went back to brushing.

He didn’t push. Not then.

But he started bringing it up more — in the softest, sweetest ways. “Imagine a little one running around the kitchen while you’re designing.” “Can you picture me reading bedtime stories with all the voices?” “Your eyes… on a baby? I’d be done for.”

And every time, you found a reason to change the subject. Joked about diapers, or daycare, or how kids would ruin your furniture. You laughed — like it was nothing. But inside, your chest was a battlefield.

Pedro wasn’t dumb. He noticed.

So one night, he finally asked. You were curled up on the couch, his hoodie drowning your frame, your legs tangled together. And he said it — softly, but serious.

“Why don’t you want kids with me?”

The air thickened instantly. You sat up a little, heart pounding.

“I just… I don’t want kids,” you muttered, eyes on your hands.

“That’s not true,” he said gently. “Not really. I know you. I know how much love you have to give.”

You hated how he looked at you — not angry, but hurt. Like he didn’t know where he’d gone wrong. Like he was questioning the future he thought you both saw.

“I just don’t, Pedro.” Your voice cracked.

“Why?” His own voice was quieter now, afraid of the answer. “Am I not the person you see a future with?”

You looked up, panicked. “No! God, no, it’s not that.”

“Then tell me. Please.” His hand found yours, thumb rubbing your skin. “I don’t want to push you. But I feel like I’m losing you a little, and I don’t even know why.”

You swallowed hard. Your throat was burning. He was always so patient. So loving. You didn’t want to lie. Not to him.

“I lost one,” you whispered. And just like that, the truth spilled out. “Before you. In another relationship. I didn’t even know I was pregnant until… until it was too late.”

Pedro’s eyes widened, but he didn’t speak. Just listened.

“I didn’t tell anyone. I was young and scared, and… it happened so fast. And I blamed myself. Still do, sometimes.” Your lips trembled. “I thought I’d moved on, but the idea of going through that again? Of losing a baby that’s ours?” Your voice broke completely. “I couldn’t survive it, Pedro. I couldn’t survive hurting you like that.”

He didn’t say anything. Not at first. Just pulled you into his chest, arms wrapped tight, one hand on the back of your head like he was trying to shield you from the whole world.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into your hair. “I had no idea.”

You nodded against him. “I didn’t know how to say it.”

He held you like that for a long time, his heart beating against your cheek. And then:

“You’re not alone. Okay? Not now. Not ever.” His voice cracked, too. “I love you. Whether we have kids or not. Whether we try or don’t. I love you.”

You closed your eyes, holding on tighter.

“I just want you to feel safe again. That’s all I care about.”

And for the first time in years, in that moment, you did. Safe.

---

this request made me so happy! it’s so special to see other brazilians here too 💛 obrigada por me enviar! beijinhos 🤍✨

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal angst #pedro pascal imagines #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fics #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal blurb #blurb #pp

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boysbeware2 · 6 months ago

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all the old tptm girl journal entries w the new (if anyone wants to see them again and compare them)

please proceed with caution as many of these could be upsetting to read

disposable girl (jordyn)

(old)

i cant fucking stand this. i try so goddamn hard to make friends, to be attractive to people, to be even somewhat appealing to them etc etc. it never works. i thought it would get better the older i get. thats what i was told. guess what! i was fucking lied to!!! im alwasy left out of EVERYTHING i never get invited to shit and my own friends ignore me all the time. everyone looks at me weird. i cant go in public anymore im so fucking terrified of everyone. nobody fuckinf wants me, man. im so close to doing something stupid i feel so gross and ugly and dumb i should actually just die id be doing everyone a favor LOL

(new)

man, i havent been on here in forever. the internet is kind of dumb. what is there to say? my friend group celebrated our outpatient graduation anniversary the other day, that was pretty nice. we’re all trying to figure out housing stuff, nora’s been helping with that. freyja + mayra + kairi found a place already (how are they so responsible??) and the rest of us are trying to find places near them so we can visit more often. i never expected to have such a big group of friends. if you told me 2 years ago that i’d be living like this, i wouldn’t believe you. it’s still surreal to me. i’m not sure what i did to deserve them. same goes for my girlfriends. i don’t wanna say who just yet, we’re still figuring things out, but i’m just so thankful for them. i feel so lucky to have a second chance at life. i really didn’t believe people when they said it would get better, and then it did. how funny…..

irreverent girl (kairi)

(old)

I do not want God to see me anymore. I do not want anymore eyes on me. This is near unbearable. I have no one to turn to. My mother is in the church. Many of my friends are in the church. They would tell me to find hope through Christ. They would tell me to pray to Him. They would tell me that He will save me. He must not remember He made me, and if He does, He simply does not care. I know this is unbecoming of me, and I don't mean to be dramatic. I am simply depressed, nervous, and I cannot tell what's real and what isn't anymore. I know I'm supposed to hear God speaking to me, but I do not, and I am tired of straining my ears. I just want to see a doctor. I want some kind of tangible solution. I do not want to pray anymore. Praying hurts. I only do it when I am afraid, but I am afraid much of the time. I don't want to be unheard anymore. I do not want to hold out hope for someone who does not act like they're there. I am hurting. I am hurting. I am hurting. Belief is hurting me. The idea of God is hurting me. I need an out. I am hurting.

(new)

When I have a job and money and I can move away from my shitty Mormon parents

splitter girl (tahira)

(old)

theres something so broken in me thats beyond saving. so i dont know why i keep trying to be saved. i meant to kill myself when i was 18. i didnt. all ive wanted to do lately is kill someone or something. i havent. im too much of a pussy to plan anything concrete, no matter how much i hate everyone around me. no matter how much i get off to videos of people dying or how much i love cutting myself i cant actually take action against other people. i am fucking purposeless. i was born from evil and i will always be evil and i cant even live up to that. i hate myself i hate myself i HATE myself and the universe hates me too. i dont know what to fucking do at this point. i talked to one of my friends about wantingto die and they said smthn about hospitalizing myself. maybe. i dunno. i dont know what else there is for me/. my eyes are fucking burning from lookign at my computer for so long adn not getting any goddamn sleep. i am not a good person. i dont think i can be helped but i just dont wanna fucking keep goign to school and being around people and pretending like everything is norma;l. i cant keep doing it. what the fuck is wrong with me whagt happened. why cant i be loved or feel love for other people when did something change in me that switched the aggression and affection parts of my brain. im hyperventilating ill be back. maybe

(new)

getting myself onigiri from this one good boba place 2nite bc im 8 months clean…… its the little things~ ^^

fainéant girl (freyja)

(old)

i know i dont hate being disabled... i just hate being disabled in a society that makes existing difficult... but sometimes i really just dont want to be disabled anymore. i dont want my family to lecture me about how i could be helping out more, or how i should get a job. i dont want teachers to keep asking me whats wrong or the fuckin uni counselor to try to get me hospitalized. i dont want to be in so much pain anymore, to feel so exhausted that i cant even do so much as prepare food for myself, let alone do anything meaningful or fulfilling. its not fair. i shouldnt have to stay inside and sit in the dark all day,. i should be able to have friends. to talk to people and to go out with them and to feel like i am alive. its lonely and traumatic to suffer through this and on top of that no one around me understands, and they never fully will. i am tired of trying to justify my existence to everyone, to explain the pain that i am in and why i shouldnt have to experience it. i know the problem isnt me. i know i live in a world that isnt built for me. but if the world cant change then sometimes i truly feel that i should just stop living in it. my lifespan is already shorter than everyone else's anyways. what difference does it make

(new)

my qpps didnt seem to appreciate me playing Alien Kids Alien Rap for them. Do they even love me

caliber girl (nora)

(old)

唉～It is 3 AM and I should go to sleep but I can’t. I have a work zoom meeting early in the morning and I gotta hit the gym also because I haven’t done leg day in like… weeks. Oh well, it doesn’t even matter. My value is depleting but I don’t think I care anymore. The turnaround date for my code is also in a couple of days and I haven’t made any progress. I keep getting the same error and I’m too tired to figure out what’s wrong. I might get fired at this rate LOL(笑). If that happens, I think I’ll just consider ending it all. Not that anybody will miss me. God I sound so weak and pathetic right now. When did it get like this. How did it get like this. I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’ve been through worse before and this is nothing. Ugh, why is it so hard to breathe? My chest hurts and I feel like something is wrong but I don’t know how to make it go away. Should I call someone about this? No. No one is awake or around to help. I’ll be fine. I’ll just sleep it off. Shake it off… shake it off…

(new)

My Tamagotchi beeped during a meeting fml

chocolate box girl (morgan)

(old)

i thought i was doing better but i cant stop thinking about them. their touch, their interests, their smile, everything. the worst part is that i miss them, after all of what they've done to me. i was 13. i dont even feel justified calling it rape since our relationship was so muddy... they never yelled at me or was angry at me, they just got so sad when i tried to speak my mind, and got all my friends to hate me when we finally broke up. i never said no so i feel like im insulting actual survivors by feeling violated. i wasnt even trying to get into a relationship with them, it just happened... i feel like everyone around me wants me in the same way they did, even though im an adult now and i dont even try to make myself appealing. i wish i could trust people not to take advantage of me, and i feel disgusting and selfish for feeling like everyone has ulterior motives of getting me to fall in love with them, or worse. that's so self centered of me. i dont know how long i can keep doing this

(new)

girl help i cant stop looking at anime figures on japan yahoo auctions !!!!!

taxidermy girl (mayra)

(old)

I don't remember ever not having a sex drive, is that normal ? I was born and then it was all downhill from there, something happened to me sexually i think, I don't know what happened, because I don't remember much, but something happened and I was beaten for it and yelled at and my mother hated me, and now I am an adult and I try to have sex, and I'm not there mentally, even if my body is participating, I feel like I am in the past again, being beaten and yelled at . I want to keep trying, I want to have fun, to feel safe in someone else's arms, to reach the heights of pleasure, but my mind scares me so much, I haven't been able to eat anything today because I feel so horrified by my body . If I was good I would have been born as a nonsexual being, no parts, no desires, no instincts, a blank slate, too empty to be enjoyed . Do you know what it feels like, to have your mother tell you people want to sexually abuse you when you are a child, and then to be made fun of by your peers for being so ugly, to have your middle school and high school classmates joke about how much they don't want to have sex with you ? I am illicit and undesirable at the same time, I am everyone's last option, I am nothing and still too much, rotting deer meat on the side of the road . I wish I had been born as something beautiful and pure, I wish I could start over, that whatever that initial sin was had never been committed .. I want to start over

(new)

Went to a kink event the other night and everyone was so nice … The low lights were fucking with my vision so one of the hosts helped me navigate the place . I ❤️ you random disabled ally with a pup mask on

chemical girl (joy)

(old)

LMAOOOOO im too angry and miserable to be around. i think i just need to give up at this point because theres clearly like. something broken inside me that cant be fixed. that has 2 be it because i try to talk and i just sound cold, i try to make a joke and it comes out overly edgy and unfunny, i try to be like everyone else but its too much. i cant even be a collection of the positive traits i see in others, i try to replicate it and it comes out warped and wrong. im either fucking enraged or in abject misery or way too happy and nobody can keep up with me. the thing is i dont even blame them. i wouldnt want to be around me either. do u know what thats like? being someone you wouldnt want to know? i keep hoping that one day ill wake up and suddenly be normal, the mood swings will be gone and everyone will like me and i wont do stupid shit that pisses them off. but i know that day isnt coming. theres no hope for me and i want to say sorry to everyone who has ever had the misfortune of knowing me but i know it wouldnt do anything. theres nothing i could ever do to make myself right

(new)

i need to convince my gf to take me to Round One again soon

refraction girl (nataana)

(old)

i don't want to do this anymore. i'm going somewhere better

(new)

talked with my psych and i’ll be starting TMS soon, it’s some thing where they put magnets to ur brain and it’s supposed to treat depression.. trying to temper my expectations bc i’ve tried so many treatments that just do nothing for me, but i’d be lying if i said my hopes weren’t riding on this. i want to confidently say i’m glad to be alive. i feel like i’m getting closer to that

nurse parallel/machine girl (xiomara)

(old)

I am so excited... Tomorrow my experimental outpatient treatment plan begins!!! I'm beyond delighted. I have complicated feelings about my DID being in remission, but it's nice to feel stable enough to be in charge of something this big, and to not have terrible gaps in my memory anymore. I still don't remember everything that happened to me, but maybe I don't need to. At this stage of my life, I feel content. I can confidently say everything was worth it. I want to help others feel that way, too. I think I can.

(new)

I’m meeting up with a new friend tomorrow… I feel nervous, but it’s a good nervousness, I think!

#the post traumatic manifesto #tptm #refraction girl #weevildoing #splitter girl #nurse parallel #chocolate box girl #chemical girl #disposable girl #faineant girl #irreverent girl #taxidermy girl #caliber girl

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melioraskz · 5 months ago

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Lee Minho, the guy who…

A/N : Wrote this in the middle of the night LOL !! Also my first written thing of 2025, it’s short af but enjoy !!! It’s like a headcanon thing idk

Warnings : mentions of sex, markings, Minho being a little jealous ig. Nothing crazy LOL!!

Minho x reader !

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Lee Minho, the guy who remembered your order at the local coffee shop in detail, if you hated coffee ? Then he’d order you something else like tea or matcha, point is he knew exactly what you liked and would always get you one if he was grabbing one for himself and knew he would be meeting you as well, sometimes if he knew you needed cheering up he’d come with one anyways despite not getting myself anything <3

Lee Minho, the guy who even before he knew that he had a crush on you would feel his ears burn up when your hands accidentally touched while you were handing him something, even if it was just for a second he’d think about it for an hour afterwards…

Lee Minho, the guy who who stared at you for a solid minute when you finally told him how you felt about him. Under that minute you had felt all your anxiety about being rejected build up to the point where you had to snap your fingers right in front of him to make him snap out of it. When you said it was fine if he didn’t like you the way you liked him he quickly shook his head in panic and waved his hands in front of you to signal a strong no. “No no no I like you! I like you too!”

Lee Minho, the guy who even a year into the relationship looked at you with such loving and genuine appreciation in his eyes. His lips curled into a crooked smile. You’d be doing your laundry in front of him and he’d be staring at you smiling like a goof with one elbow against the table with his hand steadying his tilted head.

Lee Minho, the guy who will act like he definitely doesn’t wanna help and that you’re so annoying for asking but secretly love doing anything and loves the feeling of being needed, even if it’s for something as small as reach the top shelf or open a glass jaw. (he is such a Tsundere…)

Lee Minho, the guy who definitely is rough in bed, you will wake up bruised up the morning after and he will have the biggest smug on his face as he looks at you trying to cover it up in the mirror, resting his shoulder against the doorframe as you swear at him for being too reckless.

Lee Minho, the guy who when you do get upset at him for marking you up will say something like “well you didn’t complain yesterday” and just laugh at you.

Lee Minho, the guy who definitely find it super fucking sexy seeing you marked up by him, however he will eventually feel bad as he does not wanna cause any trouble for you at work so he’ll try to help you cover it up to the best of his abilities <3.

Lee Minho, the guy who will be jealous over your boss, especially when he one day goes over to your work to give you your phone that you forgot at home on his way to JYPE. He casually walks in with cap & mask on hiding his identity and sees your boss trying to put his hand on your shoulder, on top of your clearly uncomfortable expression he just feels a rush of jealousy so he will straight up walk up to you, introduce himself as your boyfriend like. “It’s nice to finally meet you, sir. I’m Lee Minho, her partner”.

Lee Minho, the guy who after years of being with you, when his kpop career has calmed down a bit and he has finished his military service, will propose to you. He did definitely ask his members, most likely Jisung, for help on rings, making sure it’s the perfect ring that’s your style. He takes everything into consideration, what style you usually get drawn towards, if you’re out with him at a mall and walk past a jewellery shop he will see if your eyes linger just a little longer at a certain design as well. He wants everything to be perfect.

#fanfic #imagines #stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut #Lee know #Lee Minho #stray kids one shot #stray kids minho #lee know x reader

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gloomwitchwrites · 1 year ago

Note

Still in love/obsessed ex-husband

A still in love and obsessed ex-husband can be answered in various ways. I thought I'd make this one a little loosey goosey and stretch the definition of "ex-husband" here a tad bit. I also split "still in love" and "obsessed." My personal HC about these characters actions around those two phrases will certainly vary.

Find the Imagines & What If Series Masterlist HERE

Content & Warnings (MDNI): reconciliation, fluff, light angst, suggestive themes, swearing, marriage, strained and established relationships, stalking

Word Count: 400

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“I still have it.”

“Have what?” you ask.

“Your wedding dress,” answers John.

“I told you to return it. And the ring.”

John shakes his head. “Couldn’t bring myself to do it. Still in my closet.”

“You don’t want to.”

“No.”

“Why?” you ask.

“You know why, love.”

You sigh. “Did you sign the papers?”

“No,” he answers automatically. “Why would I? When you’re clearly still in love with me.”

“John.”

“You promised me an army.”

“I’ve given you three,” you murmur, thinking of your children with him.

John smiles, and you melt. “We can make number four right here.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

“What’s this?”

“Nothing.”

“Show me.”

You keep your hand behind your back. Johnny grins down at you, one eyebrow raised. Johnny is fast, snagging your arm and bringing your hand into the light.

His gaze drops to the diamond on your finger.

“You still wear it,” he breathes.

“It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Oh, love. It does.” He steps closer, one warm hand cupping your cheek.

You lean into him, not wanting to admit out loud what still holds true in your heart.

“You still love me,” he teases.

“And?” you prompt.

He draws you close. “And I still want you.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“Signing this won’t change anything. You know this.”

Kyle is right and you hate that he is. Grasping the back of your neck, Kyle threads his fingers through your hair. Twisting. Gripping. Arching your neck.

He draws you forward, lips nearly brushing over yours. “You know I’d burn everything down for you. Walk any distance. I will never be rid of you. Never.”

Kyle’s words are searing. They sit heavy in your chest.

“Do you not feel the same?” He shakes his head. “I don’t believe that.”

The divorce papers are scattered across the kitchen table.

You swallow. “Shred them.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Ghost is a wraith.

He watches from the shadows. He knows your every step, who you talk to, and what your day looks like. He has always known. Even before you called him husband—and before that boyfriend—Ghost learned your habits.

He sits. Waits.

You glance over your shoulder with no idea how close he is, trying to find his in. Because he will. He will have you.

The current boyfriend will disappear.

Just like the last one.

Because Ghost made it happen.

All he needs is time and then, he can put his ring back on your finger.

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hearts4hughes · 7 days ago

Note

Ex bf rafe where you’re pretty consistent w no contact but he calls you one night maybe having a panic attack or thinking about doing a line and you come over?? I feel like this trope often has rafe going to reader but the switch up sounds good to meeee 💞💞

warnings: substance abuse & recovery (mentions of cocaine, implied addiction history), emotional vulnerability & anxiety/panic episode, depiction of relapse temptation, toxic relationship, themes of codependency, grief, soft angst / hurt comfort dynamic, mature emotional themes (self-worth, trust, healing)

you’ve been good. painfully, stubbornly good. months of silence stacked like matchbooks, untouched. no texts, no calls, no answering the ache when you drive past his street and feel your bones flinch. all for it to come crashing down.

your phone rings. you pause the tv and walk towards it. butterflies swirl through your stomach. the device illuminates an unknown number, but you know. you don’t breathe, you just feel it. it’s the static before lightning, that little voice in your chest whispering it’s him.

you answer, but don’t say anything. your leg is bouncing up and down like a jackhammer, mouth biting at your hangnails. you hold your breath until he decides to speak.

“hey.” he says. it’s low, broken, soft. your throat goes tight on the other line. you should hang up. you meant to hang up. but he’s quiet for a second too long, and your mouth moves before your brain catches up.

“…rafe?” you whisper into the phone. his name rolls off your tongue like a curse. the same name that you swore you’d never associate yourself with again.

there’s another pause. then a sharp exhale. “fuck. i didn’t think you’d pick up.” he sounds wrecked. like the idea of you still being kind hurts worse than anything else.

“why are you calling me.”

he stifles out a laugh. it’s not funny, but he can’t believe he’s actually talking to you. “i don’t know. maybe because i keep standing in the bathroom trying to talk myself out of doing something really fucking stupid.”

your blood freezes in your veins. stupid in rafe’s vocabulary meant reckless. your pulse beats louder, heat pooling in your chest. “like what?” you’re not even sure you want to know the answer.

“like opening that drawer.”

you don’t have to ask what’s in it. you remember that drawer all too well. how it appeared normal to anyone else, but to you it wasn’t. it was the drawer he’d open when his world caved in and he felt alone. he’d pull out a baggie and come back with a bloody nose and wild eyes. he’s always been less careful with his grief than his coke.

you exhale through your nose. it’s late—too late—and he’s not yours anymore. but he still sounds like home on fire, and you’ve never been great at walking away from things that burn.

“i’m coming over,” you say, leaving no room for debate. he can hear the faint sound of your keys jingling on the other line.

“you don’t have to.”

“i know.”

the door’s already unlocked when you get there. classic rafe. always the panic and never the plan. you walk in slow. everything smells like him. your relationship still haunts the walls of his house. your pictures hang on the wall, your heels you never cared to get back still lay near the door. it’s as if you never left him.

you find him sitting on the floor of the hallway, knees drawn up, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands. he looks up. you haven’t seen his eyes in months and now they’re right here, all glassy and raw, like he’s sixteen again and scared shitless of being alone.

“you came.” his voice is hoarse. blood rushes to his ears. he can’t believe you’re here. he thought that he’d never see you again. he grips the skin of his thighs to hold back from pulling you into his arms.

“you sounded like you needed someone.” you lean against the opposite wall. you don’t get too close, don’t touch him. not yet.

he nods like he’s chewing on something bitter. he hates how much he wants you here. “i didn’t do it,” he says. “i mean—not tonight.”

you nod and relief washes over you like a warm shower. you sit, finally. you’re right across from him, legs stretched out, one brushing his when you shift. it’s quiet, almost peaceful. he stares at you as if he’s reminding himself of all of your features.

“i’ve been doing better.” he says it like a question. like he wants you to confirm it. like your word still holds that kind of weight.

you look at him for a long time. longer than you mean to. he’s changed, but not in the way that makes your chest ache with nostalgia. this kind of change is slower, harder. it shows in the hollows beneath his cheekbones, the smudges under his eyes that haven’t been slept away. he’s thinner, like something’s been chipping at him bit by bit, taking pieces without asking. his hoodie hangs looser, sleeves pushed to his wrists in that restless way he does when he’s trying to stay grounded. but he’s here and he’s sober.

eyes clear, skin flushed from panic and not powder. and you can tell—just by the way he’s sitting with his knees pulled up and his fingers twitching against his thigh—that he’s trying. not just for show, not for pity. the effort lives in his silence, in the air between you.

you swallow down the sting at the back of your throat and shift your weight, spine pressing against the wall behind you like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. “then keep doing better,” you say. the words come quiet, but they land heavy. your voice is soft, sure. tired in the way only history can make you, but firm enough to mean something. you don’t say it to comfort him. you say it like a condition. a truth he needs to earn.

he swallows hard. “i miss you.” his eyes scan yours like he needs to see a crack in your armor. he needs to see that you still miss him—that you still want him.

“you miss the version of you i saw.”

he opens his mouth and shuts it. silence passes like an ocean breeze. “…what if i want to be that version again?”

you shake your head. “that’s not something you say to bring me back. that’s something you do for you. not for me.”

it lands like a punch to the gut. but he nods. when he leans his head back against the wall, eyes fluttering shut, shoulders loosening for the first time all night, you know he heard you. really heard you.

you sit with him until the sun starts peeking through the curtains. when you leave, he doesn’t ask you to stay. he just watches you go like it’s the last time. and maybe it is. but maybe next time, he won’t need to call.

taglist ~ @ren-ni @bungurus @kayperrysinging @cupids-diner @mojitrvo @babygirlboeser @makiplan @ladyatwalmart @qversazex @favbrnette @nothingtosee333her @soft-starr @f10werfae @bibissparkles @brennanyay @grungefck @kravinoffswife @restinpaece @illumoria @meetmeintheemeraldpool

#nora’s writings 💐#ex!rafe cameron #ex!rafe #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #dark rafe cameron #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron obx #rafe cameron imagine

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elleaitch22 · 7 days ago

Text

Love on Fire

Chapter 2: This is How It Starts

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

A/N: Sorry! I’ve been gone all day. I had cooking class with my little brother! This will be a slow burn btw, probably slower than Terms of Endearment 😬 If you have requests for this story or suggestions, please let me know! I might just put them in 😊 Gotta go work on Chapter 15 now! Hope you love it! Love you, bye!! xx Elle

Warnings: Fertility treatment discussion, mentions of medical procedures and an injection

Word Count: 3.1k words

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

The car swerved a little.

“What do you mean you’re having a baby?” Paige questioned, getting control of her truck.

Azzi gripped the tray of cinnamon rolls in her lap. “Jesus, Paige.” She muttered.

“Don’t ‘Jesus, Paige’ me, Jazlyn. You didn’t even tell me you were dating anyone.” Paige huffed.

She knew Azzi would find someone else eventually. She’d been preparing herself for this moment since Azzi went on her first date junior year. But still, ten years of preparation and Paige still wasn’t ready.

“I’m not seeing anyone!” Azzi exclaimed. “We’re just getting old, P. I don’t want to be an old mom. I want to be the fun mom who races her kids, so I need to get started.”

Paige nodded, her whole body relaxing a little. “So, how’s this gonna work?”

“Well, my doctor already checked all my levels and stuff, so after I pick a donor, I have to take medicine for a couple days, then they’re gonna do an ultrasound, I’ll get a trigger shot the night before they shoot me up, then I’ll take some pill for a couple weeks, then take a test to see if it worked.”

The car swung into the parking spot, but neither woman moved to get out.

“You told Mom and Pops yet?” Paige asked, brow raised.

Tim and Katie Fudd were amazing parents. They supported Azzi in pretty much everything she did, but they never liked when she diverted from the plan. They hated it when she passed on basketball scholarships to pursue studies in culinary and baking arts. They lectured her when she decided to move thirty minutes away to open her bakery. She knew this wouldn’t be any different.

“Not yet. You know she’s gonna lecture me about doing this by myself.” Azzi sighed. “I know they’re going to be excited eventually, but I don’t want them to try to talk me out of it, especially because it might not even work.”

Paige cupped her knee, “You’re gonna be a mom, Az. Besides, you won’t be doing it by yourself. You know I’m always here.” She swallowed. “I’ll help you pick a donor if you want. You know how indecisive you are.”

The pair giggled.

“I’ll come with you to your appointments. I’ll go get your weird ass cravings in the middle of the night. And you know you can tell my dad and Katie, if you want.” Paige finished.

“You’re my favorite person, Paige Madison.” Azzi smiled.

She climbed out of the car, leaving her tray of baked goods. “Biscoff cinnamon rolls this time. Let me know what they think.”

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

Paige carried the warm tray of cinnamon rolls to the kitchen, seeing some of her crew sitting around the table.

“Becky is here!” Cameron, the EMT called happily.

Her partner, Rickea scrambled over to the blonde, “Whatchu got for us today?”

“I don’t got shit for you, Kea. I’m still pissed.” Paige glared at the woman playfully.

“It was an accident! I didn’t know that was your pasta salad!” She whined, talking about Paige’s lunch she’d stolen the week before.

The tray of cinnamon rolls was plucked from Paige’s hands before she could respond. “What’d your wife make use today, Rook?”

The chief is already removing the foil from the top of the pan. “Biscoff cinnamon rolls today, D. Make sure Rickea gets nothing.” It’s pointless to correct Chief Taurasi; she’d been calling Paige and Azzi wives since Paige’s graduation from the fire academy.

Flau’jae and Ant reach into the pan and pull out rolls, while Steph, Phee, and Stewie pull plates from the cabinets.

“Yo, if you ain’t gonna marry that girl, say something. Because I’ll do whatever she wants if she keep making shit like this,” Anthony tossed to Paige, mouth full.

Jalen came behind him, smacking the back of his head. “Azzi’s a lesbian, Edwards. And even if she wasn’t you’re not her type.”

Paige chuckled at the truth in her best friend’s statement.

Until he opened his fatass mouth again. “Seriously though, P, when are you gonna stop playing with my sis?”

The blonde glared at the traitor. “Shut the fuck up, J.”

“I know you’re not talking, Suggs. Didn’t Hailey have to slide into your DMs?” Stewie questioned.

“Aye, bruh. We not talking about me right now. Besides, my girl got a ring on her finger.” Jalen finished with a smirk.

Paige just rolled her eyes, walking to gym. Maybe she’d be able to process whatever she just signed up for with Azzi while she lifted.

She was halfway through her third working set of bench presses when she heard the door open.

“You good, Paige?” A gentle voice called.

Phee.

Napheesa Collier was Engine 22’s engineer, and she’d worked very closely with Paige until the blonde was moved to Squad 5 last month. Paige loved working with Stewie, Jalen, and Ant on Squad, but she missed her mentor.

“Yeah. Azzi just said some shit today. It’s heavy on my mind.” She reracked her weight, and sat up, breath heavy.

“Wanna talk about it?” Phee questioned, sitting on another bench.

Paige shook her head, “Nah. I don’t know if I’m allowed to yet,” she laughed. “It’s personal, and I don’t know if I’m doing what’s best for her, or if I’m being selfish.”

Napheesa giggled, “Paige, my love,’ she started. “I’ve known you for eight years now. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you do anything selfish when Azzi’s involved. Your default setting is to make her happy.”

She hadn’t thought about it like that. Obviously, she wanted to be involved with whatever kid Azzi ended up having, but she couldn’t tell if it was to help Azzi or to fulfill her own fantasy of having a family with the brunette.

“You might be wrong this time, Phee. God, I wish I could talk to you about it. You and Stewie always know the right shit to do.” Paige groaned.

Phee laughed against, “Yeah. Because we’re grown ass women who know how to handle our emotions.” She patted Paige on the back, “Just talk to her about it. Whatever it is, I’m sure she’ll understand.”

Before she walked of the gym, Phee turned around again. “Let Azzi know those cinnamon rolls were bomb and ask her if she can do a cookies and cream ones next.”

Once Paige was left alone, her mind started racing. She was so happy for Azzi; she always knew the brunette would be the best mom. But she always assumed she would be the child’s other parent. She thought she would have already had the guts to tell Azzi how much she loved her. But she didn’t. And now, she would have to watch from the sidelines. She was going to miss out on the baby’s first ultrasound. First kick. First smile. First roll over. She was going to miss all of it. And she had no one to blame but herself.

But she couldn’t let Azzi go through all of that on her own.

Azzi didn’t deserve that.

She deserved the best.

And Paige was going to be the best for her, no matter what she was feeling for her best friend.

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

“I told Paige,” Azzi said, piping a shell border around the cake.

“That you’re in love with her?” Caroline spun around from the cupcakes she was dusting with edible glitter.

Azzi fixed her with a look.

“You can’t blame me for having hope that you might follow through. It’s a compliment!” Her co-owner muttered. “What did she say?”

Azzi giggled. “She looked like she was buffering at first. Thought someone had actually gotten me pregnant. But you know Paigey.” She smiled. “She volunteered to do it all with me.”

Caroline stopped mid-sprinkle, hand hovered in the air.

Fingers with pink fingertips shot out over the cake. “I told you, you idiot. Now you owe me twenty bucks.”

“After I finish decorating this cake.” Azzi rolled her eyes. “Who’s out front?”

“KK and Ice, but Sarah’s out there to keep them in line.”

Azzi loved her surrogate sisters, but they (KK) could be a handful at times.

“So, are you going to let her help you?” Caroline asked after a beat.

Azzi still hadn’t made up her mind. “I want to, I really do. But I’m scared it’s gonna make me love her even more than I already do.” She paused, placing the piping bag down and brushing powdered sugar off her apron. Her voice lowered. “I don’t know if I can handle all that, especially when my hormones are going crazy.”

“I know you won’t believe me, but I’ve been around you guys for years. She’s in love with you too; let her help you, sis.” Caroline urged.

Azzi looked up. “But what if you’re wrong, Carol?” Her voice cracked. “It’ll break me; I love her more than anything. I won’t make it if she doesn’t want to stay.”

Caroline didn’t say anything at first. She just picked up one of the extra cupcakes, handed it over, and said, “Eat sugar. Breathe. Everything will fall into place.”

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

The next morning, Paige gets off work, showers, and knocks out. They had six calls over the last 24 hours, and she was exhausted.

On the other side of town, Azzi was waiting on a patient table at Caldwell Fertility.

“Okay, Azzi, you’re going to take Letrozole for the next four days. You might experience some moodiness, headaches, and hot flashes. If you feel like you’re experiencing something out of the normal, go to the emergency room.” Dr. Caldwell stated plainly.

Azzi nodded, cataloging the information in her head.

The doctor droned on. “We will see you back in one week and three days to do an ultrasound to measure the follicle and your uterine lining. If all goes well, you will do your trigger shot the next night, which will be cycle day 12. The next morning, we will inseminate you. You will start progesterone twice daily and test weeks later. Do you have any questions?”

Dr. Caldwell didn’t really give Azzi any time to ask questions. In thirty seconds, she was being ushered to the front to set up her next appointment.

The receptionist gave her a thick notebook. “We’ll see you on Wednesday, July 9 at 10:30. These are the donor profiles. Please make sure your donor is selected by the date of your next appointment.”

Four hours later, Azzi was sitting on the couch, fifty sperm donor profiles spread out around the living room when the front door opened. A tall blonde peeked around the corner, hands toting bags of takeout.

“I brought Hana Hibachi.” She said, raising the bags. “We didn’t really get to finish talking earlier.”

Azzi moved some of the papers off the couch. “Come on. You can help me pick my baby daddy.”

“Woah,” Paige coughed, moving towards the sofa. “I didn’t know you were already that far in the process.”

Azzi picked up the plate that had steak and vegetables, knowing that couldn’t be Paige’s food.

“Yeah, next Wednesday they’re gonna ultrasound me. If everything’s right, I’ll give myself the shot on Thursday night, and they’ll shoot up the club on Friday morning.”

Paige nodded, brows almost touching her hairline. “Okay!” She looked like she was rebooting. “Let’s do it. Have you made any decisions yet?”

“I think I have it narrowed down to ten,” She replied, nodding to the pieces of paper spread out on her coffee table.

“Hmm.” Paige hummed, lowly.

“What?”

“I don’t know, Az.” The tips of her ears reddened. “I just thought…I thought when we had a baby, I’d be more involved.”

Azzi’s breath hitched. “We?”

“You know what I mean,” Paige laughed it off. “Hand me one of those.”

They argue for the next forty five minutes.

“Yeah, he wears glasses, but have you seen toddlers in glasses? They’re so fucking cute!”

“He has a tattoo of his dog, doesn’t seem like he makes the best life choices.”

“And this one has a PhD in astrophysics!”

“Az, he’s 5’4. And you’d probably die if your kid was that much smarter than you.”

“I can’t have a lactose intolerant child, ice cream’s my favorite food, Paige.”

“Yeah, but he has a degree in biochem, his sperm’s probably smart as shit.”

“They can’t have asthma on both sides of the family. The kid’s lungs are gonna be fucked!”

“We can’t have a redheaded baby, Azzi. Can you image your skin tone with red hair?”

After a while, they’d narrowed it down to two.

Donor #53502, or the Golden Retriever as they called him, was a soccer coach with a degree in kinesiology. He was athletic, energetic, and loyal. He was tall, blond, blue eyed, but he had allergies and wore glasses.

Donor #20985, or the Quiet Genius, was going to be a doctor, but he was still in med school. He was also athletic, but he was a thrill seeker. He was soft spoken and gentle. His parents were from India; he had dark hair and eyes.

“I’m thinking the Golden Retriever,” Azzi started. “He just seems right, I guess. What do you think?” She turned to Paige.

Paige read the his profile again and something sour twisted in her gut. He sounded perfect. And completely wrong. He wasn’t her.

Her brows were raised again. “I was thinking the Quiet Genius. He’s quiet; you probably don’t want a child that’s gonna be bouncing off the walls. And he’s really smart, so that can’t hurt.” She paused, “Honestly, I don’t think you can go wrong with either option.”

“Rock, paper, scissors?” Azzi’s fist was already laying on top of her other hand.

Rock and scissors.

“I win,” Azzi said with a grin, leaning her head on Paige’s shoulder. “Thank you, Paige, thank you for everything.”

“Of course, Princess.” She replied, kissing her forehead.

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

The next week passed quickly.

Paige called every morning to make sure Azzi had taken her medicine, apparently, she made a calendar for the month of July and all the fertility-related things.

She went to Azzi’s appointment the afternoon before to make check her uterine lining. Held her hand through all of the discomfort, smile and squeezed her hand when Dr. Caldwell said everything looked great.

“So tonight between 8 and 9, you’ll have to do your trigger shot. You want to aim for an inch or two below your belly button.” Dr. Caldwell said. “Then on Friday morning, you’ll come in a 9 for the insemination.”

“Okay,” Azzi’s voice was high with anxiety. She hated needles. It would definitely be worth it, but she still didn’t want to get a shot.

As they walked out, Azzi’s lips were still turned down.

“Okay, so you’ll come to the firehouse tomorrow night, since I’ll be on shift?” Paige asked, starting her truck.

Azzi turned to her, shocked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I can’t take the rest of the day off; Stewie hardly let me come for the appointment.” She smiled.

Azzi was still confused. “Yeah, I get that. So why am I coming to the station tonight? Are y’all having a dinner or something?”

Paige turned to her, brow raised. “Azzi. You hate getting shots. You’re going to come to the station, and I’ll give it to you.”

Azzi stared at the blonde. The sun was shining behind her head, and she looked exactly like the angel she was.

“You’re the best person I know, P.” She said, cheeks flushed.

Azzi was floaty for the rest of the day. She didn’t even yell at Sarah when she accidentally dropped a tray of cupcakes that she just finished decorating. Not even Carol’s teasing about Paige could bring her mood down.

After the bakery closed and everything was wiped down and mopped, she took the ten-minute walk to the fire station. She smiled, seeing Flau’jae, Anthony, Shai, and Rickea playing basketball out front.

“Bueckers, your girl’s here!” Flau’jae called, as Azzi walked up.

She was met with cool air as she opened the door. “Azzi Ray!” Cam exclaimed. “Come on, I’ll bring you to Paigey.”

“So, have you and Ben finally set a date?” Azzi asked while Cameron dragged her through the firehouse.

“November 22; the Saturday before Thanksgiving. It’ll be cool, but not too cool.” Cam smiled.

The brunette’s smile widened, “I’m so excited for you guys!” She squeezed her friend.

“And here we are!”

Paige was in the weight room doing hammer curls. Azzi giggled. There was a time Paige hated lifting, preferring to play basketball or go running instead.

“I’m here for a shot?” Azzi started. “I prefer vodka or tequila, but I’ll take Pregnyl tonight.”

Paige turned to her beaming. She grabbed the medicine the brunette was holding out to her.

“Let’s go pretty girl.” Paige took her hand, leading her away from the workout space.

They wound up in one of the dorms. Paige dropped to her knees and pushed Azzi’s shirt up. “Hold.”

It wasn’t a request, and Azzi obeyed quickly.

The blonde rolled her leggings down a bit.

She’d held countless needles in her life. On the job, they were just tools.

But tonight?

Her hands shook.

She swallowed, forcing herself to calm down. Azzi was already nervous enough.

She took a deep breath and cleared her mind.

“Okay, I’m gonna wipe and then give the shot. It’s probably gonna burn a little, but remember what you’re getting out of this, okay?” Paige said, looking up at her best friend.

The wipe was cold, and Azzi wasn’t prepared for it.

Paige blew on the spot, drying it.

Azzi’s pulse skittered beneath her skin.

Paige's breath was cool.

Azzi’s hands clenched into fists.

That did irreparable damage to her.

Paige was on her knees.

Paige was looking up through hooded eyes.

Paige blowing just a few inches above her panty line.

Azzi’s thighs clenched involuntarily.

“Okay, on three, alright baby?” Her voice low.

“One. Two.”

“OW!” Azzi gritted through clenched teeth. “You said three!” She whined.

Paige giggled. “It hurts less when you don’t see it coming.”

She bowed her head and whispered into Azzi’s belly.

God, let it work.

Let her be happy.

Let her need me—just enough that I don’t fall apart wanting more.

“Amen.”

A prayer, she was praying.

Tears filled brown eyes.

Caroline was right.

Azzi pulled her shirt back down and stared at the closed dorm door after Paige left.

She wasn’t sure what hurt more — the pinch of the needle or the fact that she wanted to pull Paige back in and ask her to stay. To lie beside her. To press her forehead to her belly again and promise they were a team.

She looked down at her flat stomach, rubbed it softly.

"Please, please work."

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #pazzi fics #pazzi #paige x azzi #love on fire

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phantomwithbreakfast · 6 months ago

Text

~ Danny Phantom ~

“What does it feel like? To be terrified of yourself—of what you are becoming? The future looms not like an open road but a trap, a dark inevitability. You’re not waiting for it, not watching for it. You’re running. Trying to ignore the whispers in your head, lying to yourself that it’s fine, that it’ll always be fine.”

When the sun goes under the line called a horizon, the night sky comes to life. A silvery moon’s light bathing the eerie glow of an aura, catching the shadow out of the black.

The darkness surrounded him, with little sparks of hope. Stars that couldn’t catch him, neither he could catch.

His veins flowing with cold fire, tingling skin feeling intangible. A mind that’s filled with hollow, yet spiraling in chaos. Split into divergent, until down and dusk.

Why are you doing this to me? You leave me standing here, can’t you see. I was lost in your eyes, this was never meant to arise. You were my hero, always to be. But now you’ve vanished, you’re no longer with me.

We tried to carry on, but it wasn’t right. Forever burned in memory, like a song in the night.

Why does this hurt, hurt so much. It was never meant to be, as such. You gave me strength to stand alone, but now I cry when I’m on my own. Drowning inside, lost in a sea, why are you doing this to me? It makes me weak, a strange kind of ache, you’ll never understand the pain I take.

The memories keep running on, of how it used to be, before you were gone. The hero you were is no longer here, you flew away, so light, like a feather near. Don’t do this to me, please come back.

I still wonder why it had to be this way, so much potential, yet it all went astray. You went a different path, never to be seen, this wasn’t meant to happen, it was too obscene.

It lingers like a song, etched in my mind, it should have brought us joy, a love so kind. Like a song, will you ever return?

When will you be here again? I miss you more with every grain. Forever chained within my heart, I bring you to life through every art. In my memory, you’ll always remain, and beside you, I’ll forever stand.

“I want to cry, I want to scream, but I can’t. I mustn’t.”

The storm raged on, tearing through the night. Shadows of fear and regret clung to her like chains.

“Take my hand,” Danny said, his voice calm, cutting through the chaos.

“Why? So you can watch me crumble? So I can drag you down with me?”

His eyes softened, but his hand never wavered. “If you crumble, I’ll catch you, I’ll follow. Just trust me.”

“You… don’t understand.”

“I don’t need to understand,” he said softly. “I’ll carry you, no matter what happens, I’ll never let you fall.”

Slowly and with a trembling hand, she reached for him. Their fingers met, and his grip was strong, cold but alive—everything she thought she’d lost.

The chaos began to still, and she felt the faint echo of something she thought was gone.

Hope.

Those were random texts I wrote through the years of my own existence.

———————

You can read my Phan Fics on FanFiction.net. PhantomWithBreakfast

———————

Note to myself again…

About the drawings, I was just playing (practicing) with lighting, shading, etc…

Expressions, mouths... Yeah, still working on that. I was too lazy to shade the hair, lol.

Still hate drawing hands.

And the funny thing is, just because I’m drawing every day, I’ll always find new ways to try to improve my art (duh). Because I’m never happy when I’ve ‘finished’ one.

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asterafroditis · 2 months ago

Note

Hello!! What do you think about a scenario with a freshman reader who is dating a third-year student and is worried about their relationship after the guy graduates from college?For example with Lilia, Leona, Vil, Jade (would like to read something longer rather than a headcanon, I realize it's hard to write with everyone, so pick whichever of the characters listed you like best).

𐔌 . ⋮ seasons ahead .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆Lilia & Vil x gn! reader (separate)

𓏵 1350 words

ᝰ.ᐟ 2nd Person POV, no pronouns used, light angst, hurt/comfort, ooc(?)

When I first saw this ask I legitimately wanted to write Vil BUTT I barely have made any Lilia content so I wanted to challenge myself with this haha TT but there is also a Vil version since he rots in my head! feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

You should have known from the beginning—should’ve known that dating someone like Lilia meant chasing after someone with centuries of stories behind his smile. You knew from the moment he first offered you his gloved hand with a mischievous wink and an old-fashioned compliment. Knew the moment he called you “darling” with just enough sincerity to make your heart skip.

But you were foolish in that soft, hopeful way only freshmen can be. You let yourself fall.

And he had never pushed you away.

Even now, as the end of the year creeps in like fog rolling off the Briar Valley cliffs, he lets you stay close.

You sit with him in a quiet corner of the Diasomnia dorm lounge, wrapped in the faint scent of worn leather and old paper. The fireplace crackles softly. Lilia is reading—of course he is. Some ancient, yellow-paged novel written in a language you barely recognize. His fingers trace the faded ink like he’s greeting an old friend. You’re curled beside him, your open notebook long forgotten, your pen idle between your fingers.

It’s too peaceful. Too quiet for the words burning in your chest.

“I heard you’re really leaving,” you say at last. “Not just graduating. Leaving Night Raven College… for good.”

He closes the book with a soft sound. Smiles gently. “Mmm. The birds must leave the nest sometime, mustn’t they?”

“It’s not funny.”

“No,” he says. “It isn’t.”

There’s a pause. You stare at the flickering hearthlight and feel your chest tighten. You’ve known this was coming since the day Malleus cracked under centuries of pressure and pain, and everything changed.

But knowing doesn’t make it easier.

You hate how kind Lilia is in moments like this. How easy he makes it to love him. He’s warm in that way starlight is—beautiful, constant, and impossibly far away. You want to drag him closer. Keep him here, where the world still makes sense. But he belongs to time. And time never waits.

“You’re going to live for centuries more,” you murmur. “And I’m just… me.”

He tilts his head. His hair catches the firelight like dusk on water. “You’re you. And that has always been enough.”

You bite your lip, fighting the burn in your eyes. “Will you forget me?”

His laugh is soft. Almost sorrowful. “I’ve forgotten many things over the years… names, places, entire winters. But the ones who matter? They leave echoes. Imprints.” His gaze lowers to you, quiet and fond. “You’re not a passing breeze. You’ve already left your mark.”

You want to believe him. You do. But doubt still coils in your stomach like a vine.

“I don’t want to just be an echo,” you whisper.

He places his hand over yours—small and delicate, but steady. “Then don’t be. Write me letters. Send me photos. Meet me again someday, when the winds are kind. We’ll find each other. We always do.”

You don’t know what to say. You want to scream, cry, beg him to stay. But instead, you lean into his shoulder. And he leans into you right back, like he always has.

“I don’t know how to say goodbye,” you admit quietly.

“Then don’t,” he says. “Say goodnight. Say ‘until next time.’ Say ‘I’ll see you in spring.’ The world is big, yes, but paths cross in the strangest places. Even time bends a little for love.”

You close your eyes, memorizing the sound of his voice.

And when he kisses your forehead, it isn’t a farewell. It’s a promise. That he might not be yours forever—but he is yours now. And that has to be enough.

─────────────────────────

It started the way all fairytales do—not with a grand gesture, but something quiet. A single moment that shifted the light.

Vil had gently brushed your hair out of your eyes one day after your alchemy class, his fingers lingering longer than necessary, his gaze soft and searching. You were still new to NRC then—navigating the chaos of the cafeteria, dodging overly ambitious spellwork in the halls, and learning, day by day, how not to gawk whenever Vil Schoenheit walked past like a vision of poise carved in gold.

You hadn’t known what to expect when he asked you to meet him for tea later that week. You still didn’t, even a year into dating.

Now, the two of you sit hand in hand beneath the hush of the Botanical Gardens after hours, a space Vil had “borrowed” with a few elegant words to the staff. The greenhouse glows with soft firefly light and the ghost-pale shimmer of moonlight through misted glass. It’s beautiful—of course it is. Every moment with him feels curated, intentional. But this time, you can sense the quiet weight beneath the beauty.

Graduation looms like a shadow at the edge of the light.

He’s leaving soon. You won’t.

And the thought claws at your chest like brambles.

Vil senses it before you speak. Of course he does. He’s always been attuned to your silences the way a director reads stillness on a stage.

“You’re uncharacteristically quiet tonight,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “That usually means something’s troubling you.”

You shift, the question burning at the tip of your tongue. “It’s just… I’ve been thinking. After graduation… where will you be?”

Vil’s expression remains still, poised. But you feel the smallest shift—like a mirror catching light at a different angle. His grip tightens slightly, not enough to hurt, just enough to ground.

“You mean: what will happen to us?”

You nod, biting your lip.

He doesn’t look away. “I’ll be busy, yes. My schedule will change. My career is—and will remain—demanding. But do you truly believe I’d forget you?” His voice is soft but sharp, like velvet hiding a blade. “Do you think I’d treat this—treat you—like some seasonal wardrobe I can store away when it’s no longer in fashion?”

Your breath catches. “No. I just… I’m scared.”

It feels so small to admit, but it’s the truth. You’re young, still tethered to the rhythms of campus life. He’s already halfway into the world beyond, with press interviews, film scripts, magazine covers bearing his name.

Vil lifts a hand and gently touches your chin, tilting your face up to meet his. His eyes are serious, edged with something vulnerable—something real beneath the perfect exterior.

“I won’t lie to you. I never have,” he says. “This won’t be easy. There will be nights I’m in another country. Weeks when we can’t speak beyond a message or two. There will be pressure—rumors, distance, uncertainty. But I have never committed to something I didn’t intend to see through.”

His words steady something trembling in your chest.

“We’re not naïve,” he continues. “We know time. We know ambition. But if you trust me—truly trust me—and if you still want me, even when I’m not here, then I will be waiting. No role, no red carpet, no flashing light will ever hold the same weight as your voice saying my name.”

You stare at him, overwhelmed.

“I do trust you,” you whisper. “I’m just scared to lose you to a world that’s so much bigger than me.”

Vil exhales slowly, and when he smiles, it’s not the show-stopping, camera-ready one. It’s something smaller. Truer.

“Then let’s not waste this season worrying about ones we haven’t stepped into yet,” he says, bringing your hand to his lips. “Let’s make these days worth remembering. Let me become a memory so bright, even time won’t dull it.”

And somehow, in that moment, you believe him.

Because with Vil, even endings feel like carefully chosen scenes in a story far from finished.

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jyoongim · 1 year ago

Note

I have a request that has been sparked to life by that demon form!alastor fic you posted (thanks to you and anon who requested btw, i've now unlocked the monster fcker kink i never knew i would ever have but that's beside the point)

Anyway the request is simply: Alastor hate fcking reader 😇

{I had no idea what to really do with this so I’m sorry if its not up to expectation}

Morningstar!Reader x Alastor

Themes: 18+ SMUT SMUT SMUT!!! hate fucking, humiliation, pet play, power play, face fucking, horn grabbing, tail pulling, creampie, biting/marking/claiming, I’m probably missing something but just know its NASTY

Alastor hated you.

The moment you came to visit Charlie and told her you would help, he hated you.

He hated how you carried yourself with such grace and dignity.

Hated how you remained in control no matter what.

He hated the power you wielded.

He hated you.

At least that’s what he likes to tell himself.

He let out a deep growl as your cunt fluttered around him; coating him in creamy slick.

You let out a soft whine as he lifted one of your legs to rest on his shoulder, causing your cunt to take him deeper at the new angle

”A-Ala-stor!”

He hated how pretty you looked under him, face flushed and eyes scarlet.

If this is what heaven looked like, he would claim redemption right now.

“All that talk about redemption and look at you” he sneered with a harsh thrust “Cummin’ on a demon’s cock like a common whore” another thrust as he leaned his face down to yours, long tongue licking up your face.

You growled and with some force willed yourself to roll the two of you over with you on top. You moaned as you sunk down on his cock, head thrown back in ecstasy.

Alastor let you seek your pleasure, head tilting as he watched you grind against him.

what a needy little thing you were

You gasped as you were yanked forward roughly, confused, your eyes drift down to see a smirking Alastor. You made an effort to try and lean back, to ease the drag of his cock against your insides, but Alastor had a steel grip on your horns.

He sneered up at you as he pounded up into your soppy heat.

”Always in need to be in control, but dont worry ill fix that”

A clawed finger found your puffy clit, rubbing tight circles into the little nub.

You thrashed your head to get him off but Alastor had a grip and the force of your struggle made you topple over and slip of his cock.

Crashing onto your side, you tried to regain your balance but let out yelp as a weight crashed onto your back, hauling your hips up, forcing you into an arch.

Clawed hands mended your ass, taking moment to appreciate your form.

A slap to your ass made you jolt.

then another and another.

You whined at the stinging sensation that burned your ass.

A hand grabbed your swishing tail and yanked you back, his dick slapping against your weeping cunt.

”You’re no different from a common sinner” he dipped his tip inside you.

”Nothing but a pretty pet waiting to be ruined”with another yank of your tail, you were impaled on his cock.

He hissed as he bottomed out, wrapping your tail around his wrist as he gave you a few harsh thrusts.

H wanted to ruin you.

To break that heavenly persona you held onto.

Filling you to the hilt, he set a harsh pace.

Reveling in your wanton cries and moans.

”this cunt was made to be ruined” Alastor growled setting a hand on your back to keep you arched as he pounded your poor cunt.

You clawed at the silk sheets beneath you, trying to find an anchor in the midst of him fucking you.

”Ah Ah darling” a hand found your hair and pulled, bending your head back to hear your delicious cries.

”You’re gonna take everything i give you”

”You’ll let all of Hell hear that one of its princesses be treated like a wanton slut”

”That a demon such as myself was the only one who has the right to fuck you into submission”

each humiliating taunt was greeted with a powerful thrust and a sickening squish of your wet heat.

Sharp teeth nipped at your shoulder.

”You’ll cum on my cock and sing your praise of gratitude that it is me that allowed you such a courtesy.” You whimpered as his thrusts felt like they were trying to burrowing into your very soul.

There was a ring of cream forming at the base of his cock.

Alastor chuckled deeply “You like that my dear? You want me to claim this cunt as mine so all of Hell know who bred this cunt?”

You sobbed as your orgasm ripped through you, moaning as he rapidly thrusted into your pussy.

”P-please” you whined through clenched teeth, feeling him hit that sweet spot inside you repeatedly.

”What was that? I couldn’t hear you”

He was using your tail to pull your against his thrusts, never slowing down.

”P-plea-Please cum in me…FUCk! Alastor!”

You gasped as he buried his cock deep inside you and emptied his cum inside your welcoming heat.

You felt a string snap and roared as trickles of your slick dripped down your thighs.

Alastor sunk his teeth in your shoulder and rusted into you as he rode out both of your releases.

Releasing your tail and hair, you shook on the bed in the aftermath of your fucking.

Panting you tried to regain your breathing.

You weakly protested as he flipped you onto your back, scurrying up your body til his cock laid on your lips.

Your eyes widened and you glanced up at him.

Alastor grinned at you

”I’m not done with you pet” he smeared your lips with your combined juices.

“Open those pretty lips” a hand forced your jaws apart and he purred as he sunk into your throat.

Taking your horns, he used them to bob you along his cock.

Your jaws ached, throat burning as he pounded your throat.

You gagged around him, but that didn’t deter him.

The sight of you swallowing his dick sent him over the edge and with a twitch of his dick, you whined as he spilled into your throat.

”that’s it. Take it. Swallow every drop i give you”

some of his cum spilled from your lips and you whined as he stayed buried to the hilt.

Satisfied, Alastor slid out of throat and grabbed your face, sneering

”despite your irritating presence, you will make a fine pet…yes my own personal little Hell slut”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor the radio demon #alastor #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor smut #jyoongim

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bxeckers222 · 13 days ago

Text

summary: paige was your bestfriend, and you’re only friends, right?

right?

word count: 10k

warnings!! cursing, angst

again, only my second time writing so don’t judge too hard, and if you have suggestions please please tell them to me !!

Paige is my best friend. everyone knows this, we’re inseparable.

except to me, it’s more than that.

the late night drives, the cuddling, the nicknames she has for me, and the always being around her.

i’m in love with her.

part of me thinks i always have been, like i was born to find paige bueckers.

we met when we were young, our parents are good friends. the first memory i even have of Paige was outside her house. it was burning hot, and i’d say we were about 4 years old at the time, playing in the pool. we don’t have that “we hated eachother at first” story, we really just clicked.

Paige knows i’m a lesbian. she’s always been supportive, even when i came out to her at the age of 13, her views, and the way she loved me never changed.

she’s never really been open about her sexuality with me, just a few “oh she’s hot” here and there, but then theres her celebrity crush on Steph Curry that makes me question everything she’s ever said.

she’s also never been open about her feelings towards me. there was the time we kissed in the 10th grade, but that’s normal for friends to do right?

right?

| present day. you’re 17 in your senior year of high school, in paige’s bedroom. it’s a Friday night. |

“hey babe can you hand me that pencil?” she asks me

there’s one of the nicknames i was talking about earlier.

i stand up from her desk i was sitting at and hand her the pencil, sitting down beside her on the bed, crossing my legs. she scoots closer to me, sitting just close enough just to make sure our arms were touching, a small gesture that meant more to me then she knew.

“doing homework on a Friday night? really?” i said, with a teasing tone in my voice.

“can’t help it, pre-calc final on Monday”

“i took mine today, need help?”

“please, I’m dying over here”

she handed me her notebook and pencil, her notes are a wreck. i can barely read her messy handwriting.

“well no wonder you’re struggling p, how do you even read this?” -i say with a laugh.

she rolls her eyes playfully and nudges my arm.

“please just help me, math is supposed to be your thing, not mine”

she was right, math was always my strong suit, hers being english. we balance each other out, one of the many reasons i love her.

“okay so, to begin with you need-“ i started.

“this is so boring” she retorts back. “let’s do something more fun, i don’t want to study anymore. i have all weekend”

“but Paige you-“ before i could get the rest of my sentence out, she’s speaking again.

“cmon let’s go to the park or something, i can teach you how to shoot basketball” she adds.

“paige, honey it’s almost dark”

“oh well, it’s okay. not dark yet” she pleads, before adding- “i’ll drive”

“fine, let’s go”

“great!” she says, as she kisses me cheek before she stands up, i think this caught her off guard as much as it did me. her cheeks turned a light shade of pink before her lips curled into a smile while she slipped her shoes on.

this is normal friend behavior. that’s all, right?

right?

she grabs one of her many, many basketballs and we walk downstairs, getting in her car.

we get in her car, and she turns her favorite playlist on. it’s the one she always has on shuffle, it’s titled “anotha banga.” you would think since she liked english so much she would atleast spell the words right, but i guess that’s just who she was. she didn’t care about small things like that.

i care too much about the small things, and that’s my problem. but really, the “babe” and kissing me is just friendly. right?

right.

i have to keep telling myself that.

she’s straight.

right?

right.

right?

we’re driving with the windows down, it’s the beginning of april so the weather is starting to get nice again, but still chilly enough to wear hoodies and sweats everywhere. it’s a nice evening, around 60 degrees outside, and not a cloud in sight, the sunset becoming more evident and as beautiful as always.

she’s, as beautiful as always.

she’s wearing a UConn hoodie since that’s where we’re headed in the fall, yes “we’re”. I told you we really are inseparable. along with that, it’s some grey nike sweats, and her basketball shoes from 10th grade, that she thinks it’s bad luck to get rid of.

“is it too cold for you? want me to roll the windows up?” she asked me

“no i’m okay, it’s perfect”

“if you get cold, there’s an extra hoodie in the back if you want it”

i wasn’t cold, i just wanted to feel closer to her. wearing her hoodie would do for now.

i reach into the back seat and grab the hoodie, slipping it over the plain black cropped t-shirt i was wearing.

she looks over at me with a smile, straightening the hoodie out as she drives.

“you look great, you should keep that one” she says as she pats my thigh

i can feel the blush creeping across my face. my cheeks are hot at this point

“really?” is all i can manage to say back

she lets out a small laugh and returns her focus on the road

“really, it looks good on you”

she always knows exactly what to say. my lips curl into a soft, genuine smile

“well thank you, you can have one of mine next time we go to my house. your choice”

“i’m holding you to that”

“i know, don’t worry i won’t forget”

we finally make it to the park, it’s daylight but barely. the evening sun hiding behind the trees, but still casting a glow on her face that makes my heart skip a beat. she’s always been beautiful, but it’s astonishing how good she looks right now. i’d kiss her right now if i could.

she walks me over to the basketball court, talking about how she can’t wait to teach me the proper shooting form, how she can’t wait for me to watch her succeed in college ball next year.

i’m just as excited for her. i can’t wait to go through the next chapter together.

together?

you know what i mean.

we make it to the court and she immediately starts shooting, all of her shots sinking effortlessly.

“baby c’mere, your turn”

nicknames again.

i walk over to her and she positions herself behind me, handing me the ball

“okay so what you’re gonna do, is plant your feet and when you release the ball, push with your left wrist”

she makes it sound and look so easy

“paige i don’t think i can do it”

she laughs again, moves her hands to mine, helping me hold the ball how i’m supposed to

“you got it, i know you do”

she takes a step back and crosses her arms with a smile, like she’s proud of what she’s watching. she’s always wanted me to get into basketball with her, but my thing has always been soccer. it’s convenient, we can always go to each others games because our seasons don’t collide. and trust me, i’m at every single one of hers, and she’s at every single one of mine.

i shoot the ball, and as expected, it bounces off the rim and i miss.

Paige just laughs, a whole-hearted laugh, one that instantly made me laugh too.

“Paige stop i’m embarrassed” i say with a fake pout.

“no no it’s okay really” she says breathlessly, still laughing her ass off “you dummy, you’re shooting with both hands- let me help you again”

she gets back behind me and positions me again, her hands lingering on my waist for a little longer than normal before she steps back again

“you got it this time, 100%” she smiles and nods before adding, “i believe in you”

i take a deep breath and shoot the ball again, this time it swishes through the net.

i turned around and locked eyes with her, honestly i had never seen her so excited in my life. not even that time when she wrapped a string around my loose tooth and tied it to a door knob and slammed it. yes it hurt, but yes it worked.

i smile at her, and she smiles back.

“well paige, looks like you have some competition. better watch your spot on the UConn team next year”

she walks over to me and wraps her arms around my waist, holding me close to her, and speaks with a warm tone.

“not even close, but that’s was a good shot if it makes you feel any better”

“it does actually, thank you”

there’s a silence, not an awkward one. it’s only silent because i caught the glance of her looking at my lips, then back up to meet my gaze again.

my cheeks flush red, she knows exactly what she’s doing.

“you’re beautiful, y’know that?” she says as she brushes a loose strand of hair behind my ear

i take a moment to gather my thoughts. should i say it?

no. might make things awkward.

what if it doesn’t?

i should say something.

“paige i..” i start, but then stop myself.

“you what?”

silence.

my breathing speeds up and my heart drops to my stomach.

i need to say it.

it’s eating at me.

i have to say it.

“i love you. you know that right?”- i finally speak up.

“and you know i love you too, right?”

i nod my head. - “yeah. i know”

silence again.

come on idiot. say it.

i open my mouth to talk again and she cuts me off - “you don’t have to say anything else. i know what you mean. and i promise i feel the same way”

“you do?”

she lets out a small laugh, “was it not obvious?”

“god paige i thought i was the only one feeling this way”

“you idiot, i’ve loved you for so long”

“why didn’t you say anything?”

“i thought i was obvious enough”

i don’t know what took over my body in that moment, but whatever it was, im glad it did.

i leaned in and kissed her, wrapping my arms around her neck. holding her close to me like she could disappear any moment. months, years of built up feelings all slipping away between our lips.

it was slow at first. gentle, sweet. then she moved her hand to the back of my neck, deepening the kiss.

she pulled away first, and rested her forehead against mine, i watched as she smiled, and still held me close.

“wanna stay with me tonight?” she asked

“of course i do, is that even a question?”

she kissed my forehead and grabbed my hand, squeezing it gently as she led us back to her car

after we get in her car, she leans her head back against the seat and looks at me, still holding my hand, that same beautiful smile playing across her lips that i’ve seen all day.

“paige?”

“mhm?” she says back quietly

“there better be a lot more kissing now that we’ve established this”

she nods her head and laughs- “oh you know it”

she leans over and gives me a quick kiss before she starts the car to head back.

“oh and one more thing” she adds

“what is it?”

“can we stop by your house so i can pick out that hoodie you promised me?”

“you’re serious?”

“of course i am, you have one of mine, so it’s only fair that i get one of my girlfriends hoodies too”

“girlfriend?”

“shit, you know what i meant, but only if you want”

“then it’s official paige, you’re my girlfriend”

“i like the sound of that”

“yeah p, me too”

we drive to my house and she picks out a grey hoodie with my soccer number on it, and she wasted no time putting it on.

#paige bueckers #paige x reader #paige bueckers x reader #hopkins paige #best friends #friends to lovers #light angst #angst with a happy ending

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hattiewritesalot · 9 months ago

Text

Gevives (Beauty)

Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!reader

Summary: Jacaerys, ever the hard worker, is late to bed. Again. Luckily for him, you’re very forgiving.

Warnings: Reader and Jace have a daughter, one or two mentions of stress and overload, Jace being babygirl. Literally just fluff tbh

A/N: how’s it going lads im a little bit (very) in love with this pouty princess. I also wrote this at midnight for my sister so enjoy

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

A soft sigh escapes you as the wooden chair creaks against the stone floor, rocking back and forth, lulling you and your sweet daughter as she snores, slumped against your chest.

She’s as loud as the day she was born, kicking and screaming as she was lowered into your arms for the first time, and now, thank the gods, she screams less. She has, however, taken after her father with her snoring, noisy enough to rumble Dragonstone itself. You’re not surprised - not entirely, at least. Little Rhaenyra has been a daddy’s girl since the moment Jace held her, since the moment her chubby fingers curled around his one, and he weeped into her downy head. It baffles you that that was so long ago - you can see the image as clear as day.

Speaking of your most beloved husband, he’s still not here. His tendency to overwork himself is shining through, and he’s all but locked himself in his study to sort through his papers and meetings and arrangements and everything boring that you sometimes have the urge to burn so maybe, just maybe, he’ll come to bed on time.

‘Perks of being the eldest son, my darling wife.’ He’d once grinned, amber eyes glinting in the sunlight with that twinkle of mischief you love so much. He’d kissed you, then, and slipped away to occupy himself with his duties.

You can’t be mad at him, not really, not when your heart is brimming with the love and devotion you have for your Jace. Not when you’re carding your fingers through your toddler’s dark curls as she dreams. It doesn’t stop you from being frustrated though. You hate it when he burns himself out like this, knowing all too well the way he crumbles when the day is done. You’ll always be there, though, to pick up the shards and put him back together again, knowing he’d do the same for you in a heartbeat.

The door creaks open, and then it closes with a squeal of the hinges, and quiet footsteps patter behind you, Jace’s face peering around the rocking chair. He winces. “You’re awake?”

You cock a brow, shooting him a look. “Yes, I’m awake. And so are you.”

He sighs, then, pressing those full lips to your forehead and cradling your face, his free hand reaching down to stroke Rhaenyra’s hair. “I’m sorry, my wife. Everything is so… overwhelming right now. Some days I want to rip Aegon’s hair out, and some days I want to rip my own out.”

“Please don’t. I quite like your pretty curls.”

“As you tell me so often, gevives.” Gevives. Beauty. Gods, this man has a chokehold on your heart.

“Perhaps I will find it in myself to forgive you.” You finally push up off your chair, cracking your back, groaning. “Remind me not to sit in that chair for too long.”

“I do remind you. You don’t listen.”

“You’re on thin ice, Velaryon.”

You lower Rhaenyra into her cot, rocking it and shushing her gently when she squeaks. Jace’s hands curl around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder. “Our little princess.” He mumbles. “She’s perfect. Is she really ours?”

“Given that she snores like a bear and pouts all day, I’d say she is.”

He snorts. “I do not pout.”

“He said, pouting.”

“You’re mean.” He turns you around, now, the tip of his nose brushing against yours. You love it when he’s this close, when you can count every freckle, every streak of gold and brown in his eyes, every curl. You smile at him. “You love it.”

He sighs dramatically, shaking his head, as if every word he speaks ails him. “Yes, yes I do. Gods save me from my cruel wife and her cruel ways.”

You scoff, but laughter bursts through it, pushing his shoulder and walking to the bed. “Fine. I guess you won’t be sleeping next to your cruel wife, then?”

He’s scrambling out of his day clothes and under the covers before you can even fathom it, pulling you into his arms. He has the blood of the dragon, and runs hot when he sleeps. It’s nice on colder nights like this one, where you could bury yourself in his arms and never leave. His deft fingers trail up and down your spine, lips pressed against your hairline.

He calls you the beauty, but it is only because you are so infatuated with the man next to you. Every part of him; the sweet, gentlemanly parts, and the bitter, ugly parts; holds a dear place in the organ beating beneath your breast. Jacaerys Velaryon isn’t just your husband - he’s your best friend, your soul-mate (as the poets may say), and every time his fingers intertwine with yours, you like to think that your very beings intertwine too. You and Jace will find each other wherever you need to, for you know he is never far when he loves you so.

He sighs, nestling into your hair, and you gently kiss his jaw. “Promise me something, husband?”

He hums in response.

“Promise me you’ll take a break tomorrow?”

It takes him a long moment, but eventually, he swallows, nodding, body sagging against yours. “I’m sorry, I just-“

“Hush, I don’t need to hear it. I love you, alright? Even if you don’t show up to bed on time, even if you sometimes infuriate me with how much you put on yourself.”

He chuckles softly at that, pulling you in closer. “I adore you, my lady.”

You’re half-asleep by now, safe and content within the comfort of your lover’s arms. “Not as much as I adore you.”

You could have this argument for years, endless bickering of ‘I love you more’s, but you don’t. Not now, at least.

Now, you hold each other, falling asleep within the solidarity of your love.

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

I actually like this sort of a tiny bit

#jacaerys velaryon #jace velaryon #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys velaryon x you #hes so babygirl

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kingkat12 · 1 month ago

Text

So Kate's (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: dom/sub dynamics, foul language, humiliation, office misconduct, reader is a freak ouf

summary: being a brat has its consequences-- did you really think Mr. Godfrey was going to let that go with no repercussions? time to smarten up, and dress up too.

word count: 9,670

← previous chapter | next chapter →

a/n: I've been obsessed w Zendaya's shoes as of late, so you best believe I managed to squeeze in a chapter about Louboutins....... and we are FINALLY getting reader and Letha being cute besties again omfg so TIHI ENJOY<333

Handling pain is a skill.

However, there are some people that are born without the ability to feel pain, and that is often a lethal flaw-- if you don't feel pain, then you're actually more susceptible to injury, did you know? I didn't. After scouring BDSM forums all over the internet, I had quite frankly gotten obsessed with finding out everything I could, and the more I got into the pain aspect of it, the more I found myself unable to understand.

I didn't like pain. Never have, never will like pain. That wasn't the part I enjoyed, or wanted, out of my odd relations with my boss. Although, it seemed I might be into the emotional pain of being Mr. Godfrey's secretary-- it certainly made my brain hurt and my cheeks burn, but in the most intoxicating way. Something told me that was a feeling I had been chasing my whole life, and now that I had it, I finally felt complete, and unable to let go.

But, back to it-- if you're unable to feel pain, then you're prone to unintentional self-injury, because you literally can't feel it when you get a paper cut, or when you've bitten your tongue too hard, or even broken your bones. Maybe it's alright to be in pain sometimes? Maybe it's fine to feel it in exchange for health? I had no idea. All I knew, was that I had managed to triumph over the worst pain a woman could handle; not my period, no, not childbirth, but--

Wearing So Kate's.

The classic stiletto by Christian Louboutin, famously worn by Zendaya and probably all of Hollywood.

I'm joking, of course-- I know there are much worse things I could go through. However, I had gotten a pair as a gift for finishing college, and originally, I fucking hated those pretty sons of bitches. They were gorgeous, elegant, classy, perfect, yet agonizing to wear. I couldn't walk for more than five minutes before my feet would beg to be beaten with a hammer in order to not be able to walk in them anymore. However, after about four months of wearing them around my apartment, making dinner in them, washing the dishes in them, doing my laundry in them, they almost started to feel like socks.

I had pushed past the pain, and gained something beautiful-- a wearable pair of Louboutins.

And today, I finally dared to wear them to work. It wasn't like I was running track around Godfrey Industries, right? I could totally wear them without even noticing how ridiculously tall they were. I knew how to handle them, after all. I could totally fucking do this.

Anyway, I needed something to distract me from the psychological warfare Mr. Godfrey was waging on me for biting his fucking thumb. Stupid, stupid girl.

Using my shoulder, I nudged the door to his office open and slipped in like a shadow, keeping myself small and unnoticeable. Hoping to get it over with soon, my first step was hurried, and that made the cup clink clumsily in the saucer; with a quiet hitch of my breath, I deliberately slowed, pressing my steps into silence. Thank fuck I wasn't a spy-- I'd get myself killed with my heavy damn steps. Or was it the Louboutins?

One cube of brown sugar.

Not too much milk.

Stirred three times, exactly.

I always got Mr. Godfrey's coffee just right. I always made it with the utmost precision. If anything, I was the picture-perfect secretary right now (if you excluded the times I got off behind my desk, or the two times in my boss's office whilst he watched me). Had Godfrey Industries been a fair place to work, I wouldn't have any problems here. However, it wasn't-- this place was somewhere I'd guess the Anti-Christ would set camp, if he could choose.

So, with my heart lodged in my throat, I continued making my way to Mr. Godfrey's desk, not daring to take my eyes off the coffee; there was no way in hell I'd spill any of it and give him more reasons to deem me incompetent.

But just as he had done every day for the past week, Mr. Godfrey didn't look up.

There was not as much as an acknowledgement, not as much as a glance. He sat behind his desk, back perfectly straight, one hand poised near his temple with a pen resting lightly between two long, slender fingers. His green gaze scanned some document with such intensity that it was almost theatrical, like he knew I was standing there and he was choosing, with full awareness, not to acknowledge me. Fucker.

With a subtle roll of my eyes, I cleared my throat; "Your coffee, sir,"

I put it down one inch from the edge, centered with the stack of papers to his right, just as he had instructed me to do during my first week here. It was perfect; I was perfect. I put it down with a trembling sort of reverence, my hand ghosting over it for a second, unsure, like maybe if I lingered just a little longer, he'd finally look at me. Maybe he'd say something, acknowledge me? I didn't need much at this point. I'd take anything, just a glance, a huff, a sigh, anything.

But... nothing.

The air between us stretched thin. I could hear Mr. Godfrey's pen scratch against the paper in front of him, could see the way his sharp jaw flexed once, twice, like my presence was physically bothering him-- and then, he moved.

I held my breath as Mr. Godfrey's hand reached forward, slow and unbothered. For a moment, I thought he was going to say something, that this would finally be the morning he gave in and spoke to me again, even if it was just a snide comment or a thinly veiled insult-- I was so starved for his attention, I would've taken it like praise. I would've taken it with open arms, whatever it would be. Even if it was just a tiny 'this coffee sucks', it would probably make my day, and maybe even make me orgasm on some higher level right in my Louboutins.

But instead, Mr. Godfrey lifted the coffee cup by its delicate handle, turned a fraction in his seat, and... dropped it into the trash bin beside his desk. The ceramic hit the bottom with a sharp crack, and I flinched. The sound echoed in the quiet room like a slap-- I stood frozen, watching the faint steam curl up from the bin, mixing with the scent of scorched sugar and shame.

I balled my hands into fists.

Mr. Godfrey had been pulling this crap on me for a week now, and I knew that it was because I had bit his thumb. I knew it, deep in my gut. But after he had let me cum on his shoe (yes, I know, I'm deeply ashamed, don't you worry), and I bit him (because I was overwhelmed by the power he held over me, like any fucking newbie would be), he had stepped on me and called me a brat! Who the fuck does that?! If anything, I should be spitting in his OCD-coffee!

... Oh, that's a good idea, actually.

I wanted to spit down at his feet too, maybe even specifically on his right shoe, where I had gotten off. How dare he make me feel this way? How dare he play these games with my head?! At the end of the day, it was fucking childish, and at the end of the day, it... was getting to me. Ugh. Why couldn't he at least look at me?

I forced a swallow past the burn in my throat, and I nodded even though he couldn't see it. Or maybe he could? Maybe he was watching me through his periphery with that sick, surgical precision he had, cataloguing my humiliation like it was data, like it was proof that this was working?

Bastard.

However, in the midst of my frustration and anger, I recognized that I had missed the sickness of it all. The twisted feeling of being scorched, and feeling my skin swell in resistance to the burn. I stood in Mr. Godfrey's office a beat too long; way too long, actually. Maybe I was stupid enough to believe that if he got uncomfortable enough, he'd say something? I just needed him to speak to convince myself that I hadn't imagined the whole thing, that I hadn't invented the way he had pressed me down onto this very desk, the way he had looked at me, and the way I had unraveled in his hands like a silk ribbon--

But Mr. Godfrey didn't change his mind. He wouldn't-- not for me. He didn't look at me, nor did he give me anything as much as a hum. Instead, he merely raised his hand and gave a short, dismissive flick of his fingers, a wordless, effortless command for me to leave, the same way one might shoo away an insect buzzing too close to their ear.

The flick of his wrist felt like a phantom bruise, and as though I had been slapped, I turned around on my Louboutin heels and marched out of Mr. Godfrey's office, stomping my every step to his floor. Hopefully, I'd leave a large scratch or two.

How long would this war last? What did I need to do to get him to sign a peace treaty?

Ugh.

This day sucked.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

.... Okay, fine, maybe this day had some redeeming factors after all.

"--He's really sweet and all, but I feel like he can sometimes be too sweet. This isn't high school, y'know? I don't like going on dates with him and feeling like I'm going to prom every time!" Letha swirled the rosé in her wine glass, tutting the tip of her tongue against the roof of her mouth with disapproval. "What the hell happened to normal men in the 21st century? What happened to them, seriously? Where did they go?"

I could only laugh, glancing down at my Louboutins as she continued complaining-- lunch with Letha was always amusing. She also worked for Godfrey Industries, but much higher up (nepotism alert), and therefore always had access to my schedule. Even though she worked remotely from inside some mansion her father bought for her as her graduation present, she could therefore calculate when she could swoop by the lobby on the first floor and ask for me to be called down for lunch; the Godfreys were all smooth like that.

Letha was the one who had gotten me my Louboutins for graduation, and Letha was the one who got me the interview at the company-- I could trust her. If anything, I needed her opinion on what was happening between me and her cousin, without her knowing who I was talking about. However, I needed to get to that somehow, eventually. "I don't know," I answered, placing my elbows on the table and putting my face in my hands. "But I promise you, you could find someone way crazier than someone who wants to date you the old-school way." Much, much crazier.

Letha sighed, cocking her head to the side as she looked back at me with those classic Godfrey-green eyes. It was almost scary how similar they were to Mr. Godfrey's-- well, of course. They were cousins, after all. Maybe I could keep looking into Letha's eyes for the rest of my life, and that'd relieve the withdrawal symptoms I was having from my boss no longer looking at me? Yeah, that sounded like a good plan.

"You might be right," she purred, steepling her fingers as well, mimicking me. "Or maybe I just find it repulsive that he's into me? I've been scouring the internet, and that's what comes up most of the time."

I shrugged; "I don't know, Lee. Maybe you should bring that up with the guidance counsellor, just like in the good old days?"

"Ha-ha," Letha rolled her eyes, grinning from ear to ear. "But I think my main issue with this guy is that he seems genuinely nice. Big difference from Chad-- do you remember Chad? That asshole didn't even bother to pay for dinner when we flew to Aspen together!"

"Of course I remember Chad! But him not buying dinner for you doesn't really indicate whether he's a nice person or not, though?--"

"Come on! It's enough to show he was a shitty boyfriend!-- Oh, wait, yeah, that one's mine,"

Our conversation was cut off when our food arrived, and as we exchanged polite smiles and short thank you's, I couldn't help but notice the look in Letha's eyes when she scanned our waiter; it was almost flirty, yet openly hungry. She brought her hand up to her shiny blond locks, twirling it around her finger as she locked eyes with the guy, blinking sweetly, innocently-- I had to do everything in my power to not groan or laugh. It was crazy how this sort of stuff always worked for Letha without fail, because as predicted, our cute waiter left the table with a pink tint colouring his cheeks.

Godfrey-green eyes met mine once more with a playful smirk. "I love the waiters here," she purred. "That one's my favourite. He's particularly yummy!--"

"Okay, enough!" I grabbed my cutlery, suppressing my giggles. "You were just talking about the guy you're actually dating. What was his name again?"

A rather pregnant pause ensued. Letha swallowed, clearing her throat with suspicious anxiety. "Well, I call him Barty..." she mumbled, barely audible.

Wait. Immediately, I put down my fork. "No," I breathed, stunned. "Lee, don't fucking tell me his name is!--"

"He's from old money!" Letha whined, placing her glass next to her plate. "Of course he'd end up with a name like!--"

"Bartholomew?!"

"I know!" With a cry-like sigh, Letha grabbed her fork and stabbed her salad, visibly upset. "Okay, now it's decided. I should definitely break up with him."

I bit down on my lower lip, crossing my legs at my ankles as I hoped to regain my composure and hopefully not be too harsh with Letha's endeavours. "Again, I don't agree with that. Maybe he has a crazy name, but at least he seems normal! There are much worse men out there, believe me. Seriously, maybe you should stick around and take it slow, this time?" Believe me, believe me.

Letha stabbed another cherry tomato with such force you'd think it had personally offended her. "I'm not so sure about that," she mumbled. "Ugh... Bartholomew just sounds like the kind of name you moan by accident when you're trying not to finish."

I choked on a piece of salad. "Jeez, Letha!"

"Tell me I'm wrong!"

"You're... not," I muttered, trying very hard not to imagine anyone whispering Bartholomew in a sexual context. Ew. Could not be me. "But I'm also begging you to change the subject."

Letha smirked, clearly pleased with her joke. "Fine, but I'm not wrong about him. He wears Balenciaga shoes unironically. You know how I feel about men who dress like they're about to blow Kanye West in the middle of January!

Ew, ew, ew! "Yeah, but you've dated worse!"

"And that's not a comfort!"

I ended up rolling my eyes, letting her spiral while I pushed my salad around my plate. This restaurant was glossy and cold in that exclusive way, and I knew I had to eat my food until its last crumb to not offend the head chef or something--- with its white tablecloths and modern chairs, this was the kind of place that pretended it wasn't trying too hard, even though you knew a thousand-dollar lighting consultant had planned the ambience. It was a typical Letha-place to dine. The wine was crisp, the water had cucumber in it, and someone was definitely eavesdropping from the next table over.

Still, it was better than the office, where Mr. Godfrey was ready to make my life pure hell.

"Well," Letha said suddenly; "At least your love life's probably better than mine. I haven't seen you in a while, so I expect a good fucking update! Who are you dating at the moment? Does your guy also insist on intense eye-contact during sex? Sickeningly long cuddles afterwards? Ugh, I could barf..."

My fork paused halfway to my mouth-- I set it down gently. Eye-contact? If only. Physical intimacy? I wish. Sex? Oh Lord. I cleared my throat; "Actually, about that..." Your cousin is into some form of office sadism and has seen me cum multiple times. Did I tell you I came on his shoe last week? "I know you have more experience than me regarding relationships and men, so I need your opinion on something."

Immediately, Letha's ears perked up, and she beamed at me from across the table. She grinned like a cat who had just heard a mouse blink; "You're seeing someone?"

"Oh, hardly,"

"You're... sleeping with someone, then?"

"Not really?"

"What?" Letha chewed on a cherry tomato as her brows drew together. "How can you not really sleep with someone? Do you, like, exclusively dry-hump or something?"

"I'm-- yeah, I don't know what the fuck this is," I scooted closer to the edge of the chair, lowering my voice so that the rich aunties next to us wouldn't hear me. "It's not sex, but it's not nothing... it's much deeper than that."

Letha blinked, putting down her cutlery with urgency before leaning closer. "What do you mean?"

"There's-- there's this guy," I whispered. "And I feel like he's literally inside my head! It's like he knows what I'm thinking, like he knows my nastiest thoughts, and it's freaking me the fuck out because he uses it against me!"

Letha looked like she was about to explode like those birds in Angry Birds, barely able to contain her excitement. "I'm listening,"

"No, no, this is not a good thing!" I tried, fiddling with the napkin nearby. "He knows what I want before I even know it, and... these past few weeks, I've done some really crazy shit, and I just-- have you ever let someone control you?"

Letha's plush lips parted slightly, eyes scanning my face with confusion. "That sounds really... kinky,"

"Yes, but have you ever?"

"... No? I don't think so,"

"Are you sure? Has a guy never, like..." I couldn't even say it out loud. I glanced at the nosy ladies next to us who were trying to eavesdrop, and they quickly turned away from us and our conversation. Sighing, I turned back to Letha-- how was I supposed to avoid making it obvious that I was talking about her intimidating (and ridiculously hot) cousin? "Have you ever, like, for example... humped guy's a shoe?" Maybe it was a normal thing? Maybe I just wasn't experienced enough?

But then, Letha practically jumped in her seat, gasping; "Humped a shoe?!"

"Shut up!" I hissed, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. Oh God. "Lee, please, I!--"

"I need to lie down!" Letha exclaimed, blissfully stunned. "Preferably in traffic, because this is so much juicier than Bartholomew! What the fuck have you been up to, seriously?! Who are you, and what did you do to my best friend?"

"--I didn't know what I was doing, okay? It just happened, and now I can't look at him without thinking about it! And even worse, he won't even look at me anymore!

Letha had both hands over her mouth, but I could still see the unhinged smile hiding behind her fingers. "Oh my god. This is... this is the craziest thing I've ever heard in my life," she whispered, barely containing herself. "You humped a shoe? His shoe?!"

"He told me to!"

"And you just did it?!"

"I told you, I've lost my mind!" I stared down at my plate in shame; I knew I had gone mad when a piece of lettuce started to look judgmental of me as well. "Forget I said anything... Seriously, just forget it."

"Right..." Letha's voice was now a reverent hush, like she was observing a religious moment. "So, you're saying he won't look at you anymore?"

"Yeah," I breathed.

"Maybe he's ashamed?"

I cocked a brow; why was she suddenly sounding like she was actually helping me? "Nope,"

"Well, to me it sounds like he might be toying with you, then," Somehow, Letha had calmed down, and was now casually back to eating her salad. "If he's the type of guy that tells you to hump his shoe and then ice you out, he's playing a game."

"... Oh?"

"Definitely," She tilted her head and flashed me her pitiful, green eyes. Gorgeous. "And I don't know too much about this sort of stuff, but if I were you?" Her voice dropped, soft as a dare, yet served with concern;

"I'd learn how to play the game."

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

There was a woman waiting for Mr. Godfrey.

I stared at her from where I sat behind my desk later that day, wondering what on earth she was here for. She had been waiting patiently outside his office for about fifteen minutes, refusing to sit down on the designated seats, and it had now gotten to the point where she was clearing her throat and squirming uncomfortably because of her heels.

They weren't very tall, yet I guessed they were a pair of those kitten heels that felt really comfortable in the morning, but became absolute killers by the end of the day.

However, she was gorgeous. With legs that could probably reach all the way to China, she was statuesque, poised, and everything I'd guess Mr. Godfrey was usually into. Something in me burned when I realized that he'd be alone in his office with her, and images of me throwing my computer at her and ruining her beautiful face flashed before my eyes-- I shook my head, hoping to get the thoughts out of my head before I continued smashing my fingers against the keyboard to hopefully complete the weekly report I needed to hand in soon. The harder I clicked the buttons, the more I felt my aggression relieve itself-- God, how I wished I could relieve myself my usual way, yet Mr. Godfrey had installed something in my brain that wouldn't let me. For some reason, I couldn't physically bring myself to go against his words, and that scared me more than anything.

Ms. Long-Legs cleared her throat again, making me wonder whether it was a tic, before she approached my desk for the fourth time today; "Are you sure that he remembers my appointment? I was scheduled for 13:45, and I have been waiting for fifteen minutes! It's almost two o'clock now!"

With a long, dramatic sigh, I glared up at the woman; I couldn't bring myself to be nice to her, knowing she'd be alone with him shortly. Would she also be asked to hump his shoe? Did she get off in front of him too? "Mr. Godfrey is a very busy man," He's not running a business for fucktards, after all. "He will be with you shortly." And you can shove your cock up your ass.

Was he maybe toying with this woman too? Was he making her wait because he knew this would drive her crazy? It seemed he had a pattern.

She scanned me up and down, sensing my hostility. "And you're sure he knows I'm here?"

... Something told me she had been a part of the Godfrey circus longer than I.

Bitch.

I blinked, angered. Because this, I wasn't actually sure about. Mr. Godfrey's blinds were rolled down. Therefore, I had sent him an email about this ten minutes ago, yet he hadn't answered any of my emails the past week, so... ugh, I knew what I had to do. With a sharp breath and an unprofessional roll of my eyes, I got up from my seat, expertly poised in my high heels. As I graciously made my way past her and her pained feet in Louboutins that were nowhere near a heel-height threshold she could handle, it made me feel on top of her in some evil way. Better than her. Why would Mr. Godfrey want someone who couldn't deal with some pain?

Hoping to hide my anxiety from the woman waiting for him, I knocked thrice on Mr. Godfrey's office door.

No answer, of course.

I glanced over my shoulder-- Ms. Long-Legs was still watching me like I was an idiot. Frustrated, and keen not to be seen as incompetent, I knocked again, this time a bit harder. My stomach knotted with anxiety, because I knew the woman was still staring, arms folded, one foot angled awkwardly as if trying to relieve the pain in her heel. When I didn't get any answers again, I pressed my ear closer to the door, feeling as though I was breaking all the laws in the universe.

I quickly pieced together that Mr. Godfrey was on the phone; "--No, I said I don't care who signed off on it, you run it past me first, that's the entire goddamn point!--"

Then, the door flew open.

It was clear that Mr. Godfrey had dragged his hand through his hair multiple times; it was a mess. The top two buttons of his shirt were open, and the anger flaring in his green eyes was unmistakable. However, despite all of it, he looked handsome as ever-- bastard.

I blinked up at him, staring; up close like this, I could smell his cologne, probably with hints of his aftershave as well. Just as I started to feel pink mist seeping out of my ears, I cleared my throat, hoping to get his attention through his scattered energy, and--

Oh.

He looked at me.

Mr. Godfrey looked at me.

For the first time in about a week, eyes wide with frustration with the person on the other side of the phone he had pressed between his shoulder and his cheek, he looked at me.

"Sir," I tried, nodding towards his guest. "Sorry to disturb, but you have a-- a visitor... she was scheduled for 13:45."

Visibly annoyed, Mr. Godfrey's green eyes landed directly on her, and immediately, his expression faltered. It was momentary, like he was horrified to see her, and his jaw tightened as he kept his eyes on the beautiful woman waiting to get a moment of his precious time. "Right," he breathed, probably debating whether to jump out the window in his office, or if it'd be easier to shoot himself with the gun I knew he had in his third desk drawer. "And you are?"

The woman straightened up; "I'm with HR. We met a few weeks ago,"

HR? What the fuck had he done, now?

Mr. Godfrey sighed, relenting; "Come in, then,"

Ms. Long-Legs straightened immediately, her discomfort forgotten in favour of the crisp swish of her designer skirt as she strutted past me and into his office. I remained outside, still holding the handle, uncertain whether to close the door behind her or not, until Mr. Godfrey made the decision for me-- he slammed it shut in my face.

The blinds stayed up this time, and for a second, just a second, I saw him-- Roman Godfrey. Not the suit, the tyrant, or the freakishly composed bastard I'd come to hate and want at the same time, but the man; pale, quiet, and rattled.

He was visibly uncomfortable, leaning against his desk with his arms crossed over himself, as though that would somehow protect him from whatever the woman was there to tell him. I watched as his eyes narrowed and fixated on the way Ms. HR shifted in her heels in hopes of relieving her discomfort.

Then, through the blinds, I watched as his gaze flicked to mine.

My heels.

His lips parted, just slightly. Was he maybe thinking about the difference? The way I looked like I could be in these hell-bringers for hours, yet the other woman couldn't even hold herself for fifteen minutes? High, thin stilettos, black patent; perfectly balanced. I hadn't shifted once-- I didn't need to, and I wouldn't. I could stand in these all day.

But Mr. Godfrey didn't seem to allow himself to stare on any further. Without a word, he stood up with a sharp clack, and approached the blinds-- I couldn't read him when we locked eyes, and I didn't have any time to, before he snapped the blinds down again.

Ugh. I couldn't see anything now, so I did what any dangerously curious person would do; I stayed frozen and pressed my ear up against the door, just close enough to hear.

"I'm here about the complaint filed last month by your previous secretary," came the woman's voice. Cool, measured, practiced, HR; that was what she was. Not a girlfriend, not a sub, but an executioner. Thank fuck. "I assume you've read through the preliminary documents. There were some... disturbing claims. Specifically about a personal dynamic between the two of you that was allegedly coercive."

A sharp scoff followed from Mr. Godfrey, almost a laugh. "She begged for that job back after I fired her," he huffed. "There was even a whole fucking scene the day I interviewed for my new secretary! If anything, she should be the one in trouble right now! There was nothing coercive of the sort, and I'm even suing her for saying that crap, ask my paralegal!"

"That may be," the woman replied, cold. "But the concern is the power imbalance. The possibility that you encouraged certain... behaviours."

Mr. Godfrey snapped back, raising his voice; "That's bullshit! She was undeniably nuts, you must've realized that during your talks with her?!"

"-- Mr. Godfrey, please, this is simply a formality! You must understand that!"

"I do!" he hissed. "And you've done your job, so are we done? Can I go back to doing mine?"

"If you're asking if I'll be filing a formal report, then no... But this will stay on record,"

Mr. Godfrey groaned-- I didn't need to see him to know that he was rubbing his temples. He did that whenever he got properly annoyed. "If every woman I'm going to work with is going to try to squeeze this company for my money, then I'm compelled to only hire men! But I can't fucking do that because of your fucking inclusivity regulations!"

"Mr. Godfrey, I suggest you stop speaking!--"

"This is my company! If my previous secretary is going to press with crazy claims, then I expect you to be on my side!--"

"I am not here to shield you, sir! I am here to protect your employees, and quite specifically, your young, new secretary who frankly looks terrified of even being in your vicinity!"

Something thudded inside the office-- maybe a drawer slamming, or a fist. I couldn't make it out. In an instant, I scurried to my desk, sitting down with the utmost hurry. So, my suspicions had been correct; the previous secretary had definitely been his sub. Why couldn't Peter have told me this? How many people knew? With trembling fingers, I tried to go back to working on the weekly report-- I had to submit it in about ten minutes, and I realized all I needed was Mr. Godfrey's signature. Fuck.

Then, I heard harsh footsteps nearing. The door to Mr. Godfrey's office whipped open with a gust of air, and the man himself stormed past me like I was invisible.

The HR woman stepped out shortly after, smoothing her skirt and offering me a polite smile; I could see the evil glee behind those gorgeous eyes of hers. I didn't return it. Bitch.

For some reason, I felt beyond angered by what I had just witnessed. If Mr. Godfrey was being hounded for something that was consensual, that was simply unfair. I would never do that to him. I would never, ever, even though Letha confirmed that my afflictions were irrational, even though I knew it was irrational-- in a hurry, I grabbed the weekly report from my desk and rushed after him.

I wasn't terrified of Mr. Godfrey; I needed him to know that. If anything, I wanted him near at all times. The HR bitch had no idea what she was talking about!

That was why I was now on my feet, heels clacking sharply against the marble as I chased after him. "Mr. Godfrey-- sir-- wait!--"

But didn't stop; he wouldn't. He was a storm in motion, cutting through the office like it offended him just by existing. A few people looked up as we passed, some quickly ducked their heads back down behind their screens, and others openly stared. I didn't care; all I saw was the back of his head, the sharp angle of his jaw as he strode ahead of me, fists clenched so tight the tendons in his forearms stood out.

"Mr. Godfrey!" I tried again, clutching the paper against my chest. Maybe talking about the report would make him see that I wasn't scared? I had no idea what I was thinking. "I just-- I just need your signature on the!--"

In an instant, he stopped so abruptly that I nearly crashed into him. Mr. Godfrey turned around, eyes blazing, lips parted with fury-- and before I could take a breath, duck, save myself, he shouted at the top of his lungs; "What do you want?!"

The hallway went silent. Several doors cracked open. Somewhere, a printer stopped mid-page. All I could hear was the thundering pulse in my ears.

I blinked up at him, stunned.

"What," he spat, "is so fucking urgent that you need to chase me like a lunatic down the goddamn hallway?!"

I froze. "Sir, I-- It's just the weekly rep--"

"I don't give a shit about the weekly report!" he barked. "You think I'm in the mood to babysit your paperwork right now?! Don't you see I have more important things to deal with right now than your incompetence?!"

My ears were burning red from the humiliation, but this wasn't the kind I had previously liked-- this felt like torture. I couldn't yell back, couldn't oppose him, not in front of the whole office. My body betrayed me, and I felt my eyes well with tears; did he think I was incompetent? Was that maybe all this week had been about, that I just... wasn't good enough?

Had I imagined everything?

Mr. Godfrey wasn't done. "Oh, don't stand here and look like a victim! I told you to stop stuttering, and to wipe those fucking tears you always have! And still, week after week, you hand in your work like I should be grateful you managed to use a stapler!" he yelled. "If you need my signature on bullshit like the weekly report, learn to forge it, and save me the fucking waste of time! How incompetent is it possible to be?!"

A lump rose in my throat, and I pressed my lips into a straight line, not wanting to give away the way they quivered with my building tears.

But then, Mr. Godfrey's voice dropped, and he got all up in my face-- to truly cross the line, he pressed his finger into my shoulder, giving me a harsh shove in hopes of me losing my balance; I didn't. Not in my fucking Louboutins. I didn't dare to look at him, and I screwed my eyes to the floor.

"Fix it," Mr. Godfrey hissed, low and lethal. "And get out of my fucking face."

With that, the scratch of the heel of his shoe violated my ears before he stormed off, yelling something I couldn't catch at the rest of the employees who were watching.

My hands were still gripping the report, wrinkled now and damp where my fingers had started to sweat. My vision blurred as hot tears finally spilled over and fell, one after another, down my cheeks and onto the paper. I didn't even wipe them away. I just stood there, crying silently like some stupid little girl who couldn't even handle a bad grade. How could I have been so thoughtless? How had I manage to convince myself that Mr. Godfrey was into me, when all along, he was just a plain fucking sadist?

Letha's words stung me as I stood there, frozen, staring at the floor, and specifically at the marble that shimmered faintly beneath the artificial lights. Somewhere behind me, someone coughed. A keyboard clacked. A door eased shut. Life went on, yet I couldn't move. How was I supposed to play Mr. Godfrey's game?

Then, a voice cut through the blur, urgent but soft; "Hey-- hey, hey," A warm hand appeared on my arm, and I instantly knew who it was.

Peter's handsome face was a mix of worry and fury, his brows drawn tight as he stepped between me and the eyes of the office. "Come here," he murmured, shielding me with his body. "Don't just stand here, come on."

I shook my head and tried to push him off, tried to regain my dignity, but he wouldn't let me; "Don't argue with me right now," Peter said, gentle but firm. "Look at the state of you... Jeez, you're shaking. You're coming with me."

Like the saviour he was, he ushered me toward his office, blocking the view of every curious face that dared look up, his hand never leaving the small of my back. He opened his door, pulled me inside, and shut it behind us with a soft click. "There you go," he murmured, guiding me into the chair across from his desk before leaving to close the blinds.

The moment I knew no one could see me, I allowed myself to unravel-- the sob clawed out of my throat before I could stop it, and I bent over my knees, hands clutching at the short skirt I had specifically worn for Mr. Godfrey, just trying to hold something, anything. My pride, maybe?

Peter was already crouching beside me, his sigh falling warm against my knee. He didn't touch me, didn't shush me-- he just stayed still and let me fall apart. "Hey," he eventually said, voice barely above a whisper. "He doesn't get to talk to you like that."

I shook my head, but I couldn't speak. The tears kept coming, thick and hot, soaking my lashes until the whole world looked smeared. My ribs hurt from holding it all in, and now it poured out with everything I had been hoarding for a whole week.

Peter shifted closer, eyes round with concern. "You're not stupid," he said, softer now, reading my silence. "And you're not bad at your job. Roman just needed someone to bleed on, and you were standing too close... It's not your fault, kid."

I let out a shaky laugh; my tears were shockingly salty as they spilled over my lips. "I'm so pathetic," I whispered, voice breaking. "Crying in your office... Over him."

"No, you're not pathetic," His voice was steel now; "He's the pathetic one, for taking his shit out on someone like you."

Someone like... me?

The phrase echoed. Someone like me. Someone who still wore short skirts because she wanted the attention, someone who played pretend-submissive in her head like it meant something, someone who thought she could turn lust into safety, or longing into control. Someone delusional. Someone small. Someone pliable. Someone discardable. Someone unimportant.

"I just thought he--" I stopped, swallowing another sob. "I thought he liked me." Stupid, stupid girl. Why would anyone like someone like me? Especially Mr. Godfrey, who could have anyone he ever wanted.

Peter's silence was heavy. It wasn't cruel, wasn't judgemental, but full of all the things he didn't want to say too quickly. "He did-- He does," he tried. "But not in a way that's good for anyone." Peter looked at me, earnest, eyes kind in a way that only made it worse. "I can't say much because of legal reasons, but the way he handled the last secretary wasn't... it wasn't okay. None of it was alright."

He shifted, gently placing his hand on my knee; something about it made my skin pleasantly buzz. "Look... This is a guy who grew up being told he was a God. He's been bathed in wealth we can't even begin to comprehend, and his mind is all screwed up because of it, so anything he says, comes from his sheltered little dream-land. He doesn't understand consequences. He doesn't understand that you're sitting here, upset. Imagine it like... like he's constantly in a moderate bubble of psychosis. Life is not real to him, so you can't make him real. Roman Godfrey is the virus in your computer, and it's time that you either tossed the whole thing out or built a firewall,"

I blinked at him, my heart aching in some small, tender way I wasn't prepared for. "But... I like my computer," I whispered.

Peter reached out with his free hand, slow, careful, and peeled the wrinkled report from my grip. "It's a very nice, shiny computer," he said, rubbing my knee with his thumb in soothing motions. His eyes rounded out further with concern and pity, and he sighed before he landed his last blow;

"But you really need that firewall if you want to keep using it,"

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Handling pain is a skill.

Going through a full workday at Godfrey Industries was also a skill. It could break the strongest of soldiers, kill the most resilient of wolves, yet somehow, I had gotten through to the end of it.

Mr. Godfrey hadn't come back from where on earth he had ran off to (probably his palace in the depths of Hell, if you ask me), and I had been back from Peter's office for a while now, sitting behind my desk playing my favourite game-- snake. Now that Mr. Godfrey wasn't here to give me any assignments, I had nothing to do, and quite frankly, I couldn't focus on anything that garnered my full attention; I needed something to space out to, and this was perfect.

I had about thirty minutes until I could go home. Hopefully, my crazy, evil, handsome bastard of a boss wouldn't return from Satan's secret lair, where he probably resided, and I wouldn't have to face him until the end of the day.

But as you likely guessed, speaking of the devil--

Mr. Godfrey's steps were usually harsh, quick, rash, and I'd usually be able to hear them from miles down the hall. However, he had somehow managed to appear in front of me with the swiftness of a CIA-trained spy, completely undetected. He leaned against the wall opposite my desk with his arms crossed over his chest, not looking at me-- instead, I saw the way his eyes had fixated on my Louboutins, and most specifically, the heel of them.

Then, just as I thought he was about to yell at me some more, and just as I grabbed my desk with dread, his first words were shockingly soft; "Those are sharp," he mumbled. "Sharp and high. I wondered why you were so tall today."

Stunned, I shifted in my seat, straightening up. I couldn't believe he was talking to me again. Swallowing over and over, I scanned him; was he wearing a different shirt? Maybe he had sweated through the previous one-- the whole incident with the HR lady seemed intimidating, after all. "I'm glad that how I dress doesn't utterly disgust you anymore," I huffed. "Is there anything I can do for you, sir? Maybe I could go get another cup of coffee for you to dump in your trash?"

Despite my sharp words and attitude, I flinched when Mr. Godfrey's green eyes darted to meet mine. However, they weren't terrifying like they had been earlier. Something had changed. "Yes," he said, pushing away from the wall and swallowing the reprimand he wanted to give me for mouthing off. "There is something you could do. Follow me."

There was something unbelievably relieving about hearing Mr. Godfrey talk to me and treat me like a normal person. If anything, it made everything worth it, and I felt sick for even thinking it. Some part of me would maybe even let him yell at me every day, if he'd come back at the end of it and speak to me softly like this. Without saying a word, I nodded and followed his long steps into his office.

The door shut behind me with a muted thud.

I stood in the middle of his office, unsure whether to sit or wait for him to tell me to. It felt like I had walked directly onto a wooden stand, ready to have my head chopped off by the dreaded Godfrey guillotine.

However, Mr. Godfrey didn't look at me. The silence was suffocating, and the room smelled like that expensive cologne he wore, mixed with the adrenaline still lingering from whatever fire he'd walked through to get back here.

Without saying a word, he went to the bar cart by the dying orchid, fingers brushing over a crystal decanter before pouring a glass of what I could only guess was brandy. That alone told me something was off-- he never drank during office hours, meaning something was brewing, and it might be the cauldron where he was going to cook my remains.

Mr. Godfrey walked over to me and handed me the glass. What? I took it because I didn't know what else to do, and placed it beneath my nose; yeah, this was brandy, alright.

Then, finally, he spoke, still not looking me in the eye; "What happened earlier... wasn't supposed to happen,"

"What are we talking about?" I asked, clutching my glass. "Me getting off on your shoe, or you yelling at me in front of the whole office?"

That did it-- Mr. Godfrey's eyes snapped up, ready to burn a hole through mine. It was clear that I had caught him off guard, and that he had obviously meant the latter, but I had been dying to finally say it out loud. You've seen me cum. You've seen me cum!

I was building my fucking firewall, piece by piece. Thanks, Peter.

I had to play Mr. Godfrey's game to defeat him, the ultimate boss. Was he perhaps the modern equivalent of Bowser? That wasn't a thought I wanted to think right now, but anywho-- thanks, Letha.

"I crossed a line," Mr. Godfrey finally said, his voice tight with discomfort. "But I'm not usually surrounded by like-minded people, so... I got ahead of myself. I got too excited."

"Like-minded people?" I took a careful sip of my brandy as my words echoed the office. What was that supposed to mean?

Mr. Godfrey's mouth twitched like he regretted saying it out loud. He turned away slightly, running a hand through his hair; it was disheveled again in a way that made him look younger, almost boyish. "I saw something in you," he said after a pause, quieter this time. "Or, well, I saw you, and what you did, and I suppose I took that as an invitation. But was it?"

"Was what?"

"Was it an invitation?" he pressed, swallowing. "That first time I saw you? Did you want me to see it?"

I stilled, pressing the glass to my bottom lip as I tried to find my words. "No," I breathed-- that was the truth. It'd had nothing to do with Mr. Godfrey. I was simply doing what I had been doing for years, and I had only wanted to relieve myself, but... "But I think I part of me wanted you to."

"To?"

"To see me, sir," My gaze fell to the floor, glancing at my Louboutins as anxiety burned its way into my fingertips-- or was that the brandy? "I just... wanted to be good."

Mr. Godfrey blinked. "Good?"

"Yes, sir,"

"Good for... me?"

Green eyes burned into mine when I dared to meet them again. The tone of his voice, the way it was painted with a delicate stroke of uncertainty, made my heart skip a beat. "You're doing it again," I breathed. "You're talking to me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like this is something more than me being your secretary, and you being my boss,"

The air between us grew thick with tension as Mr. Godfrey's gaze never left mine. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. His broad chest rose and fell as if trying to steady himself, like he was trying to catch up with something that had just slipped through his fingers. "You're right," he said, his voice low and controlled, though there was a hint of something raw beneath it; "And I don't think I'm able to stop."

Oh God.

I didn't know how to respond; I was suspended in that breathless pause, feeling like the wind had been knocked out of me, and not because of anything cruel, but because Mr, Godfrey was so composed now, so gentle. I opened my mouth, daring to speak, but he lifted a hand-- calm, slow, before he delivered the final blow; "So, if you wish to leave, you're not going to walk out of here with nothing. Don't worry. You'll get the severance package, full benefits, letters of recommendation, glowing ones... You'll be taken care of. I want you to land softly after what I've put you through,"

I stood still.

Very still.

Too still.

It felt like any movement might shatter the fragile air between us, but in this tension, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't exist. So, I downed the brandy, to Mr. Godfrey's surprise-- I put it down on the floor next to me, flexing and unflexing my fingers like a nervous tic. I could feel my eyes well with tears as all my air got stuck in my chest; was this really happening?

No, no, no.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no!

"Sir," I breathed, hoping my voice wouldn't crack. "Are you firing me?"

Mr. Godfrey's eyes widened slightly-- not with anger, not with that usual razor-sharp contempt he wore like a suit, but with something closer to confusion. However, there was no uncertainty when he gave me his answer; "No," Immediate. Definite. "I'm not firing you. If I fired you, you wouldn't get the severance package, so no. I'm not firing you. You're just... allowed to leave."

Something within me had cracked, and I couldn't mend it. I was trying to scoop up my emotions and stuff them somewhere I couldn't reach, but there was no going back. My tears had blurred my vision completely, and I had no idea how they hadn't spilled down my cheeks yet. This was an immediate panic unlike anything I had ever felt before. It felt like I was about to be executed, and like my entire reality was shattering. "Am I really that bad?" I breathed. "Did I-- Did I do that bad?"

"... What?"

"Did I do that bad of a job? Was I-- was-- I that bad?"

Mr. Godfrey stilled, but not like before; this was different, quieter, slower, like I had said something in a language he only half-understood. He took a single breath, and then, almost cautiously, exhaled; "You think this is about your job,"

"I just!--" I swiped at my eyes, furious that I couldn't stop my tears. "I'm just trying to-- to understand, sir! What did I do-- do wrong?"

Mr. Godfrey blinked. His hands gripped the desk even harder, as though that would ground him in this unforeseen conversation. Something told me that no one had cried like this in front of him before, and that he had absolutely no idea what to do with the crybaby in the room. "I thought I was doing you a favor," he tried. "I thought you'd want out, after what I've been putting you through?"

I placed my fingers beneath my lower lashes, hoping to salvage at least a bit of my makeup.

Now that I was faced with the option, I finally knew what I wanted, after all the different inputs of the day. Just the thought of no longer seeing Mr. Godfrey, no longer being told what to do, no longer chasing the pain, the humiliation, the exhilaration, along with the high of having his full attention, made me want to scream. I needed him like water, despite what everyone else thought I needed. I'd had a taste of what I could have with him, and I needed, needed, needed, needed--

"No, I need this," I said, suddenly, voice thick with the kind of desperation I didn't know I was capable of exposing. "I need this job, sir. I need the rules, I need you to keep telling me what to do, I need-- I need this."

I watched as Mr. Godfrey flinched and pushed away from the table, shaking his head as though I was telling him something he shouldn't know. He paced back and forth, chewing on his bottom lip. He stopped with his back to me, his hand dragging down his face. "You can't need that," he muttered. "You shouldn't."

"But I do!" I cried, louder now, surer; it was a relief to say it out loud. "This, whatever this is, has been the only thing that's made any sense to me in a long time! It's like-- it's like I've been living under a damn rock for years, and all your bullshit makes me feel alive!"

Mr. Godfrey practically spun around on his heel, facing me with his brows drawn together in a look of offence; "My bullshit?"

"Yes, your bullshit!" Sniffling, I rubbed my nose, trying to get myself together. "You haven't even as much as looked at me for a week now because I showed some resilience!"

"That's not!--"

"No, that was why, sir! That's why, and I've loved it!" Tears ran down my cheeks as a broken laugh slipped past my lips. God, what a relief, and what a revelation-- all the emotions from my week of being ignored had culminated in something I had never felt before; important. Because Mr. Godfrey had taken the time to single me out, put his energy into ignoring me, and that made me feel beyond special, beneath all the pain and confusion.

I needed this. I needed this.

Mr. Godfrey stared at me like I had just spoken in tongues. He was absolutely baffled-- positively scandalized. I watched it ripple through him; first the disbelief, then the reluctant understanding, and then that flicker of dark, stunned delight. "Are you sure?" he eventually asked, scanning me for any possible cracks. "Are you sure that this isn't just some new obsession of yours?"

I took a shaky breath; I was sure. "It's not,"

"And how can you be sure?" Something told me that Mr. Godfrey was nervous about this too, somewhere behind his deep, green eyes. He had previously had a hefty telling-off from HR, which I definitely should've have witnessed, so I could understand that he was reluctant to step into this again, no matter how much he wanted to; however, something in my head stopped working, and went into a gear I didn't know I had.

My brain short-circuited and did the most instinctive thing I could've done. I stepped forward away from the door, one step, two step-- I was sure, and this was the only way to show him.

I dropped to my knees before Mr. Godfrey.

The carpet grazed my knees, but I barely felt it. My breath came down in hard, choppy motions, but I didn't let it show. I simply placed my hands on my thighs and waited. I waited for him to say something, to deny me, to accept me, to step on me once more and call me a stupid little girl with a brain the size of a nut, anything-- I had to lower my gaze.

And for a few agonizing seconds, nothing happened.

Then, I heard the sound of his shoes.

Mr. Godfrey stepped forward, silent, until the tips of his expensive shoes were nearly touching my knees. I didn't look up, I didn't move-- I couldn't. I was offering myself up to his dominance, to his control, to his liking, so I needed to stay very, very still. This felt like a mating dance I'd see birds do on National Geographic, because that was their nature, and this was ours. I could sense the air change above me, hear his soft sigh, and then--

Mr. Godfrey snapped his fingers, and I didn't need to talk to know what he wanted.

I tilted my head upwards, daring to meet his green, unreadable gaze. From this angle, he was gorgeous as ever, breathtaking-- I couldn't believe I even had a sliver of his attention.

Mr. Godfrey's thumb touched my bottom lip; his skin was warm. The pad of his thumb pressed inward with gentle pressure, and his eyes never left mine, even as they fluttered with my shaky exhale.

I parted my lips, inviting him, accepting him.

He let his thumb rest inside my mouth a moment longer, not controlling, just there, like a question he already knew the answer to; I wouldn't bite. I wouldn't do that again, and he knew that now. When he eventually pulled it out, slowly, carefully, he brushed it against my cheek, smearing my spit into my skin, wanting to see whether I'd whimper with discomfort or squirm with disgust.

I did neither.

With a dreamy sigh, Mr. Godfrey crouched down in front of me, getting on my level for the first time-- it almost felt symbolic. We had accepted each other. It was done. He leaned in closer, so close I could smell his cologne again, so close I could trace the outline of the blessed Forbes nose, close enough to make me wonder whether he'd kiss me or not, before he whispered; "Are you sure?"

My lashes were heavy with my drying tears. "I'm sure,"

"I've been burned here before, so I need you to be clear with me. Do you consent?" Mr. Godfrey's green eyes seared into mine as his words clung to the thick air-- he needed to know. He needed to know, the same way I needed him to doom me.

I needed him to specify; "To working here?"

"No," Mr. Godfrey breathed. "To being my submissive."

My heart stuttered-- finally.

It was out in the open, and in the midst of my joy, my eyes scoured his, searching for lies, searching for anything Mr. Godfrey could trick me with, but this was one of those rare moments where he was laying out everything for me to see. Something told me I wouldn't get him like this ever again. If anything, this was the opportunity of a lifetime, and an opportunity I had been waiting for him to give me since the second I met him.

Finally, there was no question in my mind. I didn't need a firewall; I needed a dominant.

"Yes,"

(a/n: there is so YUMMY about this guy.... wtf is wrong w me?? OH WELL<333 HOPE U ENJOYED, MWAH MWAH MWAH FOR ALL THE SUPPORT!!!<333)

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marvelousels · 5 months ago

Text

oh fuck you! | 2

authors note — (if u wanna read pt 1 here) meh no one asked for a continuation but its my most liked post so im doing a lil part 2!! also i find it so difficult trying not to use y/n but i NEED to somehow use something to name the reader like...do u guys get me??

pairings: caitlyn x fem!reader

cry baby - the neighbourhood playing!

Caitlyn stood there, frozen, as if the rain had locked her in place. She couldn’t chase after you—not yet. Her feet refused to move, weighed down by guilt and the crushing weight of what she’d just let happen. Her hand lingered in the air where you had been, now clutching at nothing but cold, empty space.

The rain was relentless, soaking through her clothes and dripping from her lashes, but she barely felt it. The only thing she could feel was the absence of you. And, gods, it hurt more than any wound she’d ever endured.

“Fuck,” she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of it all.

She wanted to go after you, to make you stay, but what could she even say now? Every word she’d tried had been a nail in the coffin. Every step closer to you had been a step closer to losing you for good. And the worst part? You were right.

You’d been there for her through everything. Every scraped knee, every sleepless night, every time she doubted herself or the weight of the Kiramman name. You were her anchor, her constant in a world that often felt like it was spinning out of control.

But Vi… Vi was a storm, unpredictable and wild. She was everything Caitlyn had never been allowed to be, and that scared her as much as it thrilled her. She was drawn to Vi like a moth to a flame, even though she knew it might burn her—and now, worse, you.

She finally managed to take a step forward, the puddle beneath her feet rippling as if mirroring the chaos inside her.

“Y/N!” she called out, her voice raw and desperate. “Please—don’t go!”

You didn’t stop, your figure disappearing into the misty haze of rain. Caitlyn felt her chest tighten, panic clawing at her throat. Was this it? Was this how it ended?

“Dammit,” she muttered, running a hand through her drenched hair. She didn’t care about the mud splashing onto her polished boots as she sprinted after you, her heart pounding louder than the rain.

When she finally caught up to you, she grabbed your arm—not harshly, but firmly enough to make you stop. You turned to her, tears streaming down your face, blending with the rain, and it shattered her all over again.

“Just listen,” she pleaded, her voice trembling. “I’m sorry, alright? I’m so sorry for making you feel like you’re not enough—because you are. You always have been.”

You pulled your arm away again, this time with less anger and more exhaustion. “Then why, Cait? Why do you keep doing this? Why do I feel like I’m always the second choice?”

She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re not second choice. You’re everything. I just… I don’t know how to make sense of all of this, and I hate myself for it.”

Her hands trembled at her sides as she looked into your eyes, her own brimming with tears. “But losing you? That’s the one thing I know I can’t survive. Please, Y/N, don’t let me screw this up. Don’t let me lose you.”

You hesitated, your lips parting as if to speak, but the words caught in your throat. For a moment, all that filled the space between you was the sound of the rain.

Then, quietly, you asked, “What do you want, Caitlyn? Right here, right now, what do you want?”

Caitlyn’s heart stuttered. She stepped even closer, her voice barely audible but unmistakably certain.

“You,” she said, her voice cracking. “I want you.”

The rain drummed steadily around you both, a symphony of chaos that somehow made the world feel still. Your eyes locked with hers, searching for any hesitation, any lingering doubt. But for once, Caitlyn’s gaze held only certainty—no broken compass, no wavering. Just you.

Her hand moved slowly, trembling as it reached up to cup your cheek. You didn’t pull away this time. Her touch was tentative, almost afraid you’d shatter beneath her fingers, but when you didn’t, her thumb gently brushed against your damp skin.

“Y/N…” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the rain. It was laced with so much—apology, longing, love.

And then, she closed the distance.

Her lips found yours softly at first, almost hesitant, as if asking for permission. But when you didn’t resist—when you leaned into her instead—the hesitation melted away. The kiss deepened, urgent and raw, as though it could somehow undo all the hurt, all the unspoken words that had lingered between you for so long.

The world around you faded—the rain, the cold, the ache in your chest—all of it dissolved into the warmth of her lips, the way she poured every ounce of herself into the kiss. Her other hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer, as if she were afraid you might slip away again.

You finally broke apart, just enough to catch your breath, her forehead resting against yours. Both of you were panting, rainwater and tears mingling on your faces.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, her voice hoarse but sincere. “For everything.”

You shook your head, your hands clutching at the lapels of her soaked jacket as if anchoring yourself. “Just… don’t make me regret this,” you murmured, your voice breaking slightly.

“I won’t,” Caitlyn promised, her voice firm now. “I swear, Y/N. No more doubts, no more running. Just you.”

And then, with a small, tentative smile breaking through the tears, you pulled her into another kiss, this one slower, softer, as if savoring the moment. For now, the storm didn’t matter.

All that mattered was this—her, you, and the fragile, beautiful hope blooming between you.

#arcane #caitlyn kiramman #fanfiction #caitlyn defender #caitlyn x reader #oneshot #angst #light angst #caitlyn arcane #fem reader #caitlyn kiramman fluff #fluff #kisses #girls kissing girls #reunited

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cricket-reader · 9 days ago

Text

Lilacs On Her Lips

summary: You didn't mean to fall in love with her. Truly, you never meant for it to go this far. But as the lilacs begin to overtake your lungs, one thing is clear: Natasha Romanoff will be the death of you. Because you'd rather die suffocating on something as sweet as her love than ever forget what it meant to love her.

warnings: hanahaki disease, internalised homophobia, near-death, blood, infidelity, toxic boyfriend, female reader (she/her pronouns)

word count: 3,844

A/N: prompt fill for day 4 for @juneofdoom | "It's really not that big of a deal" | Denial

{Read on A03} | what i’m listening to

I love him.

At least, that’s what I tell myself.

It’s easy to pretend when I’m pressed against my boyfriend’s side, his arm heavy around my shoulders—too tight, too stifling. It’s easy when he’s kissing me—too forceful, too eager; I tell myself that I don’t hate it—I just need to get used to it, that’s all. It’s easy when he lets his gaze wander, and I have to pretend I don’t notice. It’s easy when I see Natasha across the room, laughing with someone else, with her lips on someone else—just a reminder that I will never be on the receiving end of such affection.

I am happy with my boyfriend. He’s the good choice—the expected choice. The kind of man I am supposed to want—all broad-shouldered, confident and charming.

So I can ignore the knots that grow in my stomach every time his eyes turn hungry and dark, I can ignore the prickling of my skin when his hands wander too far, I can ignore the dread that suffocates me every time that we’re alone.

I love him, and he loves me.

It doesn’t matter how heavy my lungs feel when I see Natasha slip into her room with someone else—choking on jealousy as I force myself to follow my boyfriend into bed. Everything is as it should be.

The first time I cough up a petal, I stare at it for what feels like hours. Breath hitching in my throat, I run my fingers over the silken purple petal. I don’t need to be told who it is for. Deep down in my heart, I know there’s only one person who could evoke this kind of suffering. It doesn’t stop me, however, from trying to deny it. I clench my hand around the delicate object, crumpling the petal beyond repair. As if destroying the evidence could destroy the feelings taking root inside of me.

I swallow down the rising panic and tell myself it’s just a mistake.

I have a boyfriend that I love. A boyfriend who loves me.

It should be enough—it has to be enough.

Stuffing the petal deep into my pocket, I tell myself that I will get over it. I don’t love Natasha. We’re friends, and that’s all we will ever be—all we ever should be.

It seems, however, that my body doesn’t get the memo.

Soon one petal becomes two, becomes three and so on and so forth. I stuff them in my pockets, in tissues I discreetly throw away, in cloths or towels that find their way into trash bins before anyone can notice. I excuse myself when Natasha brushes against me, when her touch lingers too long, when the warmth of her presence makes my chest tighten, vines wrapping around my lungs.

I hold it down, swallow it back. Until I can’t.

The petals come in fits now—sudden, ruthless attacks that wrack my body with horrifying coughing spells. Tears burn in my eyes as I hack up another mouthful of lilacs, my body trembling violently. It’s becoming harder and harder to keep it from the team—my boyfriend doesn’t notice. He never notices anything, too wrapped up in himself to bother.

I barely make it to the bathroom in time, collapsing against the porcelain bowl as my body expels the evidence of my own denial. I’d gotten too close to Natasha, letting the redhead lean her head on my shoulder during the team’s biweekly movie night (my boyfriend had come up with a lousy excuse to miss it once again). It was almost as if I was trying to prolong my own suffering (the team always did say I lacked self-preservation instincts).

I flush the petals away. Watching them spin in the water, delicate even as they violently swirl away. I swish tap water through my mouth in an attempt to expel the sickening taste of lilacs from my tongue.

But it lingers even still.

It’s always there nowadays. Nothing I do will get rid of that sickeningly sweet taste.

No matter how much I tell myself that I don’t love Natasha—

My body knows the truth.

I love Natasha, and Natasha doesn’t love me back.

Sometimes, when we’re alone—late night hot chocolate simmering over the stove, I can convince myself that maybe Natasha does feel something for me. Maybe it’s only friendship—perhaps it's merely lust or curiosity. Whatever it is, it isn’t love; it won’t save me.

I sip the burning liquid to combat the flowers crawling up my throat. Listen absently as Natasha’s gravelly, sleepy voice lulls in the quiet of the kitchen. Let myself fantasise that this is what it would be like if I were Natasha’s lover. No more cold nights alone, wondering where my partner is. No more stilted conversations, needing to fill the empty space with nothing but noise. No more pretending I don’t feel hollow when being kissed, kisses that are more out of obligation than desire.

I shouldn’t want this—shouldn’t want her, but really, when have I ever been normal? All my life, I’ve tried to fit into that cookie-cutter mould, tried to be the person that everyone wants to see—never offensive, never different, never difficult. I wonder if the plant growing inside me is the universe’s way of telling me that I had failed. Had I been doomed from the start? Destined to be a spectacle even with my last dying breath. Destined to be different—to have that imperfection rooted deep within me as proof of that.

For all that I would never fault another, I can’t help the self-hatred that clouds my mind like a grey overcast. Inexplicably, I am the only one on the receiving end of my prejudices. Shame curls around my heart in iron-hot tendrils. The thought of anyone knowing the truth sends spiders crawling up my body.

And so I hide.

I put on an artistically crafted mask, something to hide my greatest shame, and I hope that no one will see through it. I play the part of the loving girlfriend to a man I hold no feelings towards, but perhaps resentment. I hold steadfast to my facade, never wavering despite the fact that it’s killing me.

No one can know.

I wake to a cold, empty bed.

It’s no different than any other morning, yet the smell of his sweat, the burn of his lingering touches makes my stomach twist. I long for cinnamon and sandalwood, yearn for lithe fingers and red hair, wish for lazy mornings spent kissing and snuggling.

Jolting upright, I hack a mouthful of blood-stained lilacs onto my lap. I stare at the blood staining the gorgeous petals and white sheets, my heart sinking. My time is running out. Soon I’ll be nothing but a memory—the girl who died suffocating on her love. I wonder if Natasha will care.

Tears roll down my face as the loneliness sets in. For so long, I’ve been hiding. I wish someone was there to wrap me up in a hug, to tell me everything is going to be okay, even if the words are nothing but an empty platitude. Instead of cleaning up the petals, instead of soaking the sheets before the blood has time to set into the fibres, I curl up under the sheets. Tears stain the pillowcase as I wallow away in solitude. Why would anyone miss someone like me? Why would anyone care?

I awaken to a crash, my eyes sore and nose clogged. Someone says my name, but I just want to go back to sleep. I could sleep for a century, and it wouldn’t be enough. Pulling the sheets over my head, I pray that whoever it is will leave me to die in peace.

“Jesus Christ.” The voice is closer now. Groaning as the sheets are yanked down, I glare at the offender with red-rimmed eyes.

Clint stares back at me, eyebrows furrowed and mouth downturned. “Who is it?” He asks, raising a gentle hand to push away the hair sticking to my face.

“Doesn’t matter,” I say. “They obviously don’t feel the same.”

Clint makes a wounded sound in the back of his throat as I hack up full blooms, sticky blood matting them down. He runs to the en-suite bathroom and returns with a damp rag. He kneels at my side, taking my face into his hands. “Have you thought about the surgery?” Clint asks as he wipes the blood from my face.

“No surgery,” I say, heart constricting at the mere thought of losing my Natasha. Clint just sighs, resigned—as if he knew that would be my response.

“What is taking you so lo-” Natasha’s voice cuts through the silence.

Throat constricting, I cover my mouth in a last-ditch attempt to hide what can’t be hidden. Without a moment’s hesitation, the redhead is at my side, eyes alight with fury as she takes in the massacre of flowers before her.

“Who is it? Tell me who it is,” Natasha says, voice sharp. “Is it that piece of shit you call a boyfriend? I’ll kill him!”

“Stop, Nat,” I choke on my words. “I’m fine. It’s really not that big of a deal”

“Not that—Not that big of a deal?” Natasha splutters. “You’re dying! You’re dying and you didn’t say anything! You… were you ever going to tell me?”

My heart constricts in my chest as I take in the tears forming in Natasha’s eyes. The tears I put there. It’s not Natasha’s fault that she doesn’t love me, it’s not her fault that I had to grow feelings for someone so unattainable.

“I didn’t want to upset you,” I confess, tears forming in my eyes. “I didn’t want to upset anyone.”

“You idiot,” Natasha scolds, her hand brushing against my clammy forehead. “Я не могу жить без тебя.”

“You know… You still haven’t taught me Russian,” I say before coughing up another bout of lilac blooms. It was one of those things we talked about over hot chocolate late one night—one of those things we just never got around to.

Clint furrows his brows as I stifle another round of lilacs from erupting onto the sheets. His eyes dart between Natasha and me, calculating—as if he knows—no he can’t, no one can know. He raises a brow at me, a silent question hanging from his lips. I cut it off with a sharp glare.

“I think I’ll leave you two alone,” says Clint as he pushes himself up from the bed. A look passes between him and Natasha that I can’t even begin to comprehend—their bond so long-formed that their thoughts have practically become one.

Natasha’s face twists up as he leaves the room, eyes shut tight. When she opens them, Natasha fixes her eyes to the dying woman before her, two bright emeralds shining with grief. Warm hands wrap around cold hands, holding tight as if that alone would keep me weighted to this world.

“Я не могу жить без тебя.” Natasha says, voice wobbling through every syllable. It’s almost terrifying, seeing the world’s most composed, strong woman being brought to her knees. “It means: I can’t live without you.”

My heart stutters in my chest. I’m not foolish enough to believe those words hold any more weight than that of a dear friend, yet the way Natasha says it…

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, for lack of anything better to say. I’m sorry for falling in love with my best friend. Sorry for putting her through the pain of losing yet another person she cares for. Sorry for not getting over the juvenile feelings that plagued me from day one.

“Whoever it is… they are a fool,” Natasha declares, that sweet furrow settling in between her brows.

“I am the fool,” I mutter, eyes lowering to our entwined hands. “For falling for someone who deserves so much better.”

Natasha’s eyes light up with a familiar spark of fury. “Don’t say that.”

“Nat… I never deserved this person’s affection. I was fooling myself for ever believing that I had a chance. I’d only drag her down.”

Natasha freezes. “Her?”

My heart stops in my chest, cold dread seeping through my blood. The secret is out. Grimacing, I say, “Yes. Her.”

“You… you like girls?”

Mortification curls deep within my soul. “Don’t tell anyone,” I plead, eyes brimming with shameful tears.

“Why not?” Natasha questions.

“I’m not… I shouldn’t… I can’t…” I can’t even finish my sentence without a burst of lilacs erupting from my lungs. They expel onto the stained bedding, adding to the disarray of bloodied flowers scattered around me.

“Shhh, shh, it’s okay, just calm down,” Natasha coos, pushing back the hair in my face. More flowers follow, crawling up my trachea and tearing up my throat. Tears burn in my eyes with the force of the flowers. I gasp for breath as Natasha kisses my hand, tears streaming down her lovely face.

“Please,” Natasha sobs, cradling my hand as if it’s something precious—as if I were something precious.

“Hold me?” I choke out, as the lilacs fill my lungs to the brim. I could die happy in the arms of my love, surrounded by her warmth and comfort. If the request is nothing but a selfish wish, something that will only hasten the flowers growing inside me, I would never say.

Natasha complies, her entire body trembling with the force of her sobs. She places a kiss to my forehead, murmuring in unintelligible Russian, words broken up by the shock of emotion welling up inside her.

“I love you,” Natasha cries, holding on for dear life. “Don’t leave me, please.”

I splutter on a cough at the words, heart working overtime. “Don’t say that,” I croak, voice thoroughly destroyed by the blooms. “Don’t.”

“I know it’s not a good time,” Natasha says, her hand weaving through messy tresses. “But I love you.”

“No, you don’t,” I protest, heart ripping to shreds. Not in the way I need you to.

“Yes, I do,” Natasha insists. Mourning the heat as Natasha pulls away, I try to crawl back into those loving arms, only to be held off. I stare into those green eyes, burning with such passion. “I’ve loved you for so long, Милая—darling.”

I shake my head, thoughts spinning out of control. My world tilts on its axis as Natasha murmurs to herself: “Why couldn’t it have been me?”

“What?” I question, convinced I hadn’t heard the redhead correctly. Certainly… certainly it cannot be so…

“I know I’m being selfish,” Natasha admits, “but if it were me… if it were me, you wouldn’t be… you wouldn’t…”

“You love me?” Words whispered so quietly, as if afraid to break the illusion.

“Of course, I love you!” Natasha says it as easy as if she were stating the weather. “I meant it when I said I couldn’t live without you. You are everything to me.”

“But… those other women…”

Natasha sighs, mouth pulling into a deep frown. “They were a poor attempt at distracting myself. You were already dating someone else, and no matter how much I wanted to murder him, Clint always talked me down.”

“You love me,” I repeat, disbelief coursing through my veins. All this time…

“Yes.” She furrows her brows. “We’ve already established that. It doesn’t matter, though. Tell me who these flowers are for, please. I can… I can make them-”

“Natasha…”

“Let me help-”

“Natasha!”

“What?” Natasha shouts, chest rising rapidly.

“They’re for you.” The words hang heavy in the air, almost as suffocating as the lilac bush inside my lungs. Natasha just stares, dumbfounded. Her intelligent eyes trace over my features, then to the blooms surrounding us both, then back to my face.

“They’re for me?” Natasha breathes out, her face pinched up. “But I love you.”

“I didn’t know that.”

Natasha flinches as if physically struck, her face contorting into the most pained expression I’d ever seen. “Why wouldn’t you tell me? You were dying because of me, and you didn’t say anything! How could you be so… so… so stupid?”

I open my mouth to retaliate, but stop as soon as I feel the roots inside me tear out of their iron-tight grip on the lining of my lungs. Screaming in anguish, I clutch my chest. Natasha is at my side immediately, a warm presence in the most agonising experience of my life. Her words are drowned beneath ear-splitting cries as flowers pour from my lips. The blood-stained lilacs join my pathetic arrangement, each bloom more painful than the last until, finally, the most excruciating thing crawls up my trachea, thick and hard, scratching at my throat as it expels from my body.

I stare down at the roots of my love, now sitting in my lap. A physical manifestation of my hidden desire for that which I shouldn’t. The room is silent, tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.

I look at the object of my desire, her eyes rimmed red, and the stains from her tears left behind on her cheeks. Even in this moment, she sparks the desire I’ve been tamping down, trying to suffocate it before it grew to this. And yet, in this moment, there is nothing more I yearn for than to kiss her—to taste those chapped lips, to feel her body pressed against mine, so warm, so soothing.

Against my better judgement, throwing all rationale to the side, I lean in. Slowly, so as to give Natasha ample time to pull away, to reject me if she so pleases. But she doesn’t. Her eyes bore into mine as she met me in the middle, tears still on the precipice of falling.

I close my eyes as our lips meet, suppressing the bodily shudder that tries to overtake me as I feel those warm lips move against mine. Never in my wildest imaginings would I have ever believed that Natasha would kiss me like this. So soft, so sensual, every bit as sweet as she is. Treating it as the most precious moment, treating me as the most important thing in her life. Every moment so tender, the care behind her lips more than I’ve ever even dared hope for in my lifetime.

Natasha pulls away first, and I open my eyes to see the wet streams of tears flowing down her face. “You taste like lilacs,” Natasha says, her eyes darting to the flowers strewn about the bed.

She sniffs once, wiping the tears from her face. “I’m still mad at you,” she says, voice still a bit unsteady from the overwhelming emotions of almost losing me.

“I’m sorry,” I say because I truly am.

“You could’ve died. You almost died because you didn’t tell me that you loved me.”

“You never said that you loved me either,” I counter, squirming at the way her eyes pin me.

“You were in a relationship,” Natasha protests.

“You were in multiple relationships.” A low blow, sure, but nonetheless true.

Natasha glares at me. “They meant nothing to me.”

“They meant something to me.”

Silence encapsulates the room.

Then, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I think we both messed up.” I sigh. “I… I’m not that comfortable with this kind of thing.”

Natasha raises a brow at me. “What do you mean?”

My face heats under her calculating eyes. “I don’t… I’m not comfortable with people knowing that I’m… that I like women.”

Natasha frowns at that, and for a second, I think that it’s over. No one would want to help pick up the shattered pieces of my self-esteem. Not even the most patient person could put up with such a thing. If I can’t love myself for who I am, who am I to expect someone else to? I couldn’t possibly ask Natasha to stay with me though I feel shame for our relationship.

“Why not?” Natasha asks.

“I don’t know.” For honesty is the best policy. It’s better for her to know that I won’t be an easy fix. That this insecurity runs as deep as the dark cave I buried my truth in.

“But you still want to be in a relationship with me?” Natasha questions, voice teetering on the verge of sounding hopeful.

“Of course,” I say, “I just don’t want you to be upset that I want to keep it private.”

“I don’t care,” Natasha insists, stubborn as always.

“Maybe not at the moment, but you will.” They always do. Not that I could ever fault them when their own girlfriend doesn’t want to even hold their hand in public.

Natasha narrows her eyes at me, taking in the certainty of my statement. “Comparing me to anyone else wouldn’t be fair.”

I swallow down the urge to berate her for being so observant. “You’re telling me that you don’t care if I’m not comfortable holding your hand in public? That you don’t mind us not showing up to events as a couple? That it might take years for me to ever be ready for even the idea of telling the team? That it’ll take even longer for me to be comfortable with the idea of marriage?”

Natasha smiles at my rant, only furthering my rapidly beating heart. “I love you. I don’t care how slow we take this. I just want you.”

“That’s not…” I trail off, unable to form a single coherent thought. That’s not what was supposed to happen. She was supposed to realise how much work I was—how loving me was a feat impossible to overcome.

“What about my boyfriend?” I gasp. “I kissed you while we were still-”

“He’s done more than that with others,” Natasha interrupts, voice downright murderous. “Don’t you dare feel bad about that. He’s a piece of shit.”

“He’s not that bad,” I feel obligated to say.

“I would murder him without a second’s hesitation.”

“Nat!” I scold, hitting her arm. Natasha grabs my hand, bringing it to her lips before placing a reverent kiss on it.

“I would kill anyone for you,” she smiles.

“That is the most awful thing I’ve ever heard you say,” I groan behind my laughter.

“It made you laugh, didn’t it?” Natasha asks, pulling me into her arms. She brushes through my hair, the steady rhythm of her chest nearly lulling me to sleep. “Don’t ever do something like that again,” she murmurs into my hair, holding tight.

“I think it’s pretty safe to say that I won’t get Hanahaki again. Unless you stop loving me, of course,” I smirk.

“I’m serious.” She pulls away from me, a frown steady on her face. “If you even so much as a cold, I want to hear about it, alright?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I dutifully respond.

She rolls her eyes at me. “You are something else, y’know that?”

“Hey, you’re the one that’s in love with me.”

“For better or worse,” she says, kissing me on the forehead.

Taglist: @harleycao @fxckmiup @hallecarey1 @filmsbyblair

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