#i fucking love how aware he is of his surroundings n peoples feelings

[sturnioloho]

so simple but so sweet

[suntoru]

─ ✰ 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒.

— synopsis: 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔, the popular guy in your class, chooses to sit next to you, of all people. you've fallen head over heels, what happens next?

— warnings: highschool au! angst, fluff in the beginning, will not be writing a part 2, swearing, gaslighting, betrayal, just a bet troupe, gojo being a dick or everybody generally, 3.4k words!

— a/n: not my proudest work to be honest :( also tried another formatting lmk if u liked it! comments and reblogs r very much appreciated i will love u forever

"yo. can i sit here?" gojo satoru grins, effortlessly sliding into the empty seat next to you and making himself at home.

...huh? isn't that the popular guy who's usually surrounded by his friends? he's constantly the subject of admiration among the girls in your class, eliciting swoons and whispers of infatuation wherever he goes. confusion creeps in as you wonder why he didn't choose the empty seat next to suguru. there's no conceivable reason for someone like gojo, popular and charismatic, to opt for the seat beside you. you feel a sense of self-consciousness settling in.

nevertheless, you nod softly, though you're well aware the question was more of a rhetorical one. he's fashionably late, by twenty minutes, to be precise, unabashedly ignoring the scolding glares from your teacher about punctuality. instead, he buries himself in the deep blue plastic seat, sticking his tongue out when the teacher turns his back, letting out a huffy pout from the lecture.

nervously, you glance up from your notebook, cautiously stealing a peek at your new desk buddy. he's pretty─ real pretty, snowy white lashes adorning his pretty cerulean spheres, dainty fingers idly spinning a pencil out of sheer boredom. and as if kissed by the blush of a gentle sunrise, his lips possess a natural rosy hue, smooth and plump, belong to him like a delicate work of art. you wonder just how many kisses they've stolen. caught in a moment of admiration, you find yourself staring a tad longer than socially acceptable.

his eyes flicker, locking onto yours, and the realization hits you—oh, he caught you staring. shit. immediately, you break eye contact as you cough awkwardly. you swiftly attempt to play it off, pretending as if you were engrossed in examining the intricate texture of your silver-grey desk instead. your cheeks burn with embarrassment, and you hope he hasn't interpreted your lingering gaze as anything more than idle curiosity.

...should you say something? try to deny you were very clearly eye fucking him? he probably thinks you're a freak now. perhaps he sat next to you out of pity, and now he regrets it. out of sheer embarrassment, the words die in your mouth before they could ever leave, keeping your gaze glued to the floor as you refuse to acknowledge that his presence ever existed.

however, it appears that gojo won't let you suffer the embarrassment in peace. when your stern teacher turns away, he subtly slides a ripped edge of his blue-lined paper towards you, bearing a simple 'hi :)'. he's attempting a conversation, a surprising but welcome distraction from the awkwardness of being caught staring. an opportunity to salvage a bit of your dignity. now, the challenge lies in crafting a response that strikes the right balance.

would 'hey' sound too dry? but 'heyyyy' makes it seem like you're a little too interested. you opt for a casual 'heyy' with your black pen, scribbling the reply with extra caution to avoid prying eyes. as soon as the teacher is out of view, you subtly slip the note back to gojo. his lips curl into a slight smile upon reading your response.

two minutes pass by before you get a response. 'do you get this lesson? i'm soo lost..' accompanied by a small doodle of a crying suguru. you can't help but stifle a giggle; the drawing is poorly done, yet undeniably cute. the teacher swiftly turns around at the sound, prompting both of you to scramble and make it look like you're diligently focused on the lesson. the suspicious gaze lingers for a moment before the teacher returns to the whiteboard.

'maybe it's cause you missed like, half of the lesson.' you write back. he rolls his eyes playfully upon reading your retort, swiftly countering with a pout. "it's not my fault this class is so boring.'

'who said philosophy was supposed to be fun?' you reply. in response, gojo eagerly accepts the note, maintaining the subtle exchange of eye contact. 'hey, be nice to mr. aristotle, he's a great guy :(' he sends back. and thirty minutes seem to pass in the blink of an eye.

the bell chimes, signaling the end of the philosophy session and the need to transition to your next course. reluctantly, you stow your textbook in your bag, feeling a twinge of sadness at the realization that this amusing interaction might have been a one-time occurrence.

it's been a while since you've genuinely laughed. so when his ocean blue eyes latch onto yours with a genuine sense of hope, you quickly fold when he asks you if you're interested in sitting with him again tomorrow.

in those thirty short minutes, you learn three things about gojo satoru. firstly, you realize you've sorely misjudged him. he's not just another nepo-baby cheating his way through school; he's actually quite smart, smarter than he lets on. he's especially good in biochemistry, and he promises to help you study next time.

secondly, you discover that he loves sweets, just as you do. you both agree that kikufuku mochi is better than strawberry dango, and he even tells you about his favorite shop. maybe you can go together sometime.

and thirdly, he doesn't tell you this outright, but you learn that gojo is insecure. what strikes you the most is the glimpse of uncertainty you catch beneath his confident exterior. it's not about his looks or intelligence, but it's actually about his relationship with suguru. he's afraid to lose him, a fear that seems to drive him more than anything else. he overcompensates for his self-doubt. but you find that his flaws make him all the more pretty.

it's peculiar, the speed at which gojo somehow effortlessly integrates into your daily life. how he's feeling is how you're feeling, which is usually reflected on his friendship with suguru. if they had a fight, he'd be sad, and if everything was alright, he was too. but either way was okay with you, you just want to be there for him. what was once a dreaded fourth period now stands as the radiant highlight of your entire day.

despite the limited instances of verbal communication —perhaps a mere once or twice— the inexplicable truth remains: you've fallen head over heels for him. the simple act of passing notes with satoru becomes more than a routine; it evolves into the sole force that awakens you in the morning, the singular thought that propels you forward and keeps you going throughout the day.

and just maybe, the hopeless romantic within you fervently clings to the belief that his sentiments go beyond mere friendship. his actions seem to carry an extra layer of care, an attentiveness that extends beyond your platonic friendship. he notices the little things that escape the notice of others. it wasn't lost on him when you shed tears the other night due to the weight of stress; he went out of his way to procure your favorite candy bar, a sweet gesture aimed at brightening your spirits.

he took notice of your new haircut, expressing in a note that it frames your face nicely. he had comforted you when a classmate aimed a subtle insult your way, he wrote that the words of someone whose foundation didn't match their face shouldn't hold much weight. he even made an effort to be punctual for class, all to engage in the shared exchange of silly notes with you. and honestly, even if he didn't like you back, you'd be fine.

because your heart swells with gratefulness at the fact that he chose to sit with you. he wanted to be your friend even when nobody else did. you trusted and loved him with your whole heart, because that's what you believed he deserved.

so imagine your surprise when you overhear his conversation with suguru that day.

"just a day more, then you win the bet." geto groans, tossing his head back in exasperation. the two of them linger in the now-empty classroom, the echoes of other students long gone.

"yep, twenty four hours, then you owe me three hundred dollars." satoru sings, playfully nudging his best friend's shoulder. he's all sunshine and smiles, swinging his feet from the desk he's currently sitting on.

"and it wasn't even that hard. i just had to get 'em to fall for me." suguru rolls his eyes. "dude, if i was you, i would've tapped out the first week. how'd you manage to do it?" he huffs, clearly annoyed at the impending financial loss.

satoru mischievously grins. "just used my charm." he fluffs his hair with a smug expression on his face. "can't believe it worked so fast, though. they must be real desperate for someone's attention. all it took was for you to fuckin' pretend like you cared." suguru grouches, being a sore loser. you don't hear the rest, the notebook you had lost long forgotten.

a lump forms in your throat, a sensation of dread creeping up on you. you desperately want to believe he's not talking about you, but you can't shake the realization that to him, you were nothing more than a pawn in a bet— a tool used for his amusement. you're overwhelmed by a sense of stupidity, a painful realization sinking in, drowning every rational thought.

he never cared. you could fall dead at this moment and he wouldn't even spare you a glance. you should've known. why would he? you feel stupid for allowing him entry into your life, stupid for naively believing in his sincerity, and stupid for daring to love a heartless jerk who played with the fragile strings of your heart.

they're right. you are pathetic. you just blindly fell for the first person who gave, or rather, pretended to give a shit. a relentless ache throbs in your chest as you stubbornly refuse to succumb to tears over a boy— a resolution crumbling like fragile glass. despite your stubborn determination, an uncontrollable torrent of hot tears streams down your face, distorting the world into a watery blur.

the desperate yearning for someone to choose you, to envelop you in unconditional and pure love, had fueled your hopes. and for a fleeting moment, you believed you'd found it, only to witness your heart being ruthlessly trampled blue. clutching onto the tattered shreds of your dignity, half-broken and bleeding, you muster the strength to leave swiftly before they catch a glimpse of you.

the bitter taste of betrayal lingers in the air, each teardrop is a testament to the shattering of dreams, the dead hope that once soared. the yearning for a love that stands unwavering proves to be a mirage, leaving you grappling with the shards of a love that was never truly yours.

that day, you learn one more thing about gojo satoru. he's just like everybody else.

cerulean eyes, like pools of shimmering azure, flicker with concern as they scan the empty seat beside him. minutes stretch into eternity on the clock, each tick of the second hand amplifying the weight of his worry. nine twenty morphs into nine fifty pretty quickly, and he can't help but be a little annoyed. at this rate, you'll only get in twenty minutes of 'talking.'

you're always punctual—eight fifty-five on the dot. but today, the clock ticks on, and there's no sign of you anywhere. his brows furrow with concern, a nervous flutter dancing in his stomach. did something happen to you? the mere possibility sends a pang of anxiety through him, and he fidgets restlessly in his seat, unable to focus on the lesson before him.

yet, when his gaze shifts to meet suguru's, he swiftly masks his apprehension with an air of nonchalance, as if feigning indifference to your absence. but inwardly, his heart races as he anxiously awaits your arrival. when you finally walk in, he's already scribbling furiously on a piece of paper, filled with questions about what could have delayed you today. yet, as he extends his hand to pass you the note, his eager smile fades into confusion and disappointment.

you walk right past seat thirteen, your usual spot, without so much as a glance in his direction. instead, you approach a random girl and ask if you could sit with her. his heart sinks, a flush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks as a torrent of thoughts flood his mind. is something wrong? are you upset with him? he replays every interaction in his mind, searching for any misstep. but he can't find one. he's been careful to maintain the perfect facade when you're around. perhaps you simply forgot, he reasons with himself, attempting to quell the rising tide of hurt and confusion.

yes, that must be it.

...just a simple oversight.

"hey, hey, hey, hey, hey!! just wait a moment!!" gojo's voice cuts through the chatter of students eager to leave as soon as the bell rings. he grabs your wrist, his touch gentle yet firm, halting your attempt to blend into the rush. his heart races in his chest, the sudden surge of adrenaline making his palms clammy.

"um... you didn't sit with me today." he mumbles, the words coming out in a rush, his voice tinged with uncertainty. his fingers toy with the ring around his finger, his gaze fixed on the ground as he struggles to find the right words to continue the conversation. he doesn't like the way you're looking at him. there's a flicker of irritation in your gaze, a departure from the usual warmth and affection that he's grown accustomed to. normally, when his eyes meet yours, your cheeks tint pink, your pupils dilate, and you give him the cutest starry-eyed look. but not today.

"yeah," you mutter casually, your eyebrow raising ever so slightly. there's a certain coldness in your eyes that sends a shiver down his spine. you're about to leave again, but he moves to block the door, a frown creasing his forehead.

"did i do something wrong? i don't understand why you're suddenly acting so bitchy," he huffs, irritation lacing his voice. the words tumble out before he can stop them, frustration simmering beneath the surface. "no," you reply simply, your tone devoid of any emotion, as if you genuinely don't care. it stings his ego, leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

"you can 'use your charm' to make a new friend. since it's so easy for you, right?" you mutter, your voice trembling with suppressed anger. you promised yourself you'd hold it together, but the wound is still raw, etched deep into your mind as a flush of resentment rises within his eyes widen in shock, a pang of guilt stabbing at his heart. you heard that? no, no, no... he hadn't meant for you to be there. he had been so careful, or so he thought.

"i didn't mean it, i just-" he stutters, desperately searching for an excuse, but he knows it's futile. there's no chance you'd believe him now, would you? his heart sinks. he doesn't want you to hate him. "i was easy, right?" you laugh bitterly, each word dripping with sarcasm and pain.

"i hope that three hundred dollars was worth it. not that you even needed it, though. you think toying with people is fun? you're a dick, satoru, go to fucking hell." you hiss, your words laced with venom, cutting through the air like a sharp blade. "let me explain-" he protests, desperation evident in his voice as he tries to reason with you. but you're too angry to even consider it.

"explain? explain what?'" you explode, your voice rising with each syllable, oblivious to the judgmental glances of passersby. you scoff, tears threatening to spill over.

"i didn't mean it," he cuts you off, his own voice strained with emotion. "you're my friend, i just—" his voice cracks. "friends don't manipulate other people's feelings." you interrupt, your voice laced with venom as you spit out each word. you're aware you look like a mess, mascara staining your cheeks. "friends don't trick and hurt you on purpose!" you yell, tongue dripping with malice. "and here's the thing. you may be the greatest, satoru, but you will never, be enough. not for suguru, not for anybody."

you almost regret saying it. targetting his biggest insecurity. but then again, he deserves it. "how could you say that?" his voice is broken, quiet, as he mumbles it out as a whisper. the eyes that you once found so stunning suddenly look just like everybody else's. they well with tears, but are quickly blinked away. "you don't get to cry, satoru," you scoff, unzipping your bag and opening the front pouch.

you toss all the letters you've written in class, all the sticky notes, every single ripped paper, every little doodle, flipping your bag over and emptying it on the floor. every single heart fluttering moment you experienced seems so dead now. "you don't get to act like you cared. it's only fair, after all." you manage to muster, fighting to keep your voice stable. tears drip down your chin as your bottom lip trembles.

every step feels like a battle, a relentless tug-of-war between what your heart wants and what your mind knows is right. leaving him behind is like tearing off a piece of your own soul, but you convince yourself it's for the better— for your own sanity, for your own self-respect. each stride forward is heavy with the weight of goodbye, each breath drawn in a struggle against the ache in your chest. and as you finally turn away, a part of you dies inside, a piece of your spirit crumbling in the wake of shattered trust and broken dreams. you can feel his eyes on your retreating figure, the silent witness to your silent agony.

this time he doesn't try to stop you. and when you leave, gojo finally allows himself to cry.

today, gojo finds himself seated next to suguru, reclaiming his former spot from before the bet. yet, everything feels different now. the idiotic jokes his friends make just aren't as funny anymore. their presence is irritating to him. he laughs, but the sound lacks the same genuine joy it once held with you. he smiles, but it's a mere shadow of the radiant expression he wore in your presence. his heart may feel a fleeting sense of happiness, but there will always be a hole where you once were.

his so-called 'buddies' don't even notice that he's at his lowest point, and he can't help but think about the way you would've noticed immediately.

how you would've sent him a cute note with his favourite candy attached, because you kept them in your bag just for him, for these kinds of days. he feels so numb. he's always been so confident, yet he can't even muster up the courage to pass by your desk.

and he can't help but wonder what might have been if he had chosen differently that day, if his intentions had been pure from the start. would you two have gotten somewhere? he supposes that now, he'll never know the answer. his eyes cloud over at that thought, slouching back down into his seat.

he never had the chance to tell you how sorry he was, how he would take it all back in an instant if he could. he didn't mean to hurt you. he was stupid and careless. and yet, he tries to convince himself that he'll be okay. that he'll be able to get over you one day. one day, when he's married and has two kids, he'll look back at this and laugh. so then why does his heart feel so heavy? you're not suguru, it's true. but suguru never made him feel this way. and he's confused with his own feelings.

he doesn't know what love is.

he's only sixteen.

perhaps he'll never know. but for him, love was sneaking kikifuku mochi into class for you to share. it was sending you cat memes at three am in the morning, only for you to groggily respond with your own. it was doodling you in his notebook in his spare time. it was how what you were feeling was how he was feeling too.

you were right, it seems.

gojo satoru, the greatest, yet not enough to make you stay.

© KAEFFEINEE 2024. do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works on any platform.

[tinycoffeeroom]

girlfriend of the enemy pt. 2 | charles leclerc

face claim: none ♡

request: here !

part 1 | part 3

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Charles never responded to your text, leaving you wondering just what he meant. Lying alone in bed, you run through every interaction you’d had with Charles, slowly piecing together piece by piece until a revelation knocks the air from your lungs. 

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2018. The first time you’d met Charles Leclerc. You’d heard stories from Max about the infamous man, an old rival and a new friend of your boyfriends. He’d finally be given the chance to move up to F1, joining Sauber alongside Ericsson. 

You’d wandered off from Max, leaving him with a soft kiss on the cheek and a squeeze of his hand as you went for a walk alongside the garages. Not looking where you were going, you walked straight into a sturdy body, a hand wrapping around your waist to prevent you from falling. 

Looking up in shock to apologise to the person you’d just slammed into, you couldn’t help but freeze at the eyes staring back at you. Molten gold surrounded by sea foam green. 

Still young and clean shaven, you couldn’t deny Charles Leclerc was objectively gorgeous. 

You apologised profusely, Charles brushing every sorry away as he made sure you were steady on your feet before slowly removing his hand from around your waist. He’d asked if you were a journalist or a technician for one of the teams, lips turned upwards in what you now recognise as a flirty smirk.

Before you had a chance to reply, Max appeared behind the two of you, lips pressing a quick kiss to your temple as he welcomed Charles to the paddock. Feeling his eyes roam over the two of you, green as fresh cut lime and just as bittersweet as they linger on Max’s hand that had replaced his on your waist, he responds jovially to Max. 

Max introduced you as a real estate agent and then his girlfriend, something you appreciated as he knew you didn’t like when people only saw you as an extension of him. 

You watched as Charles’ demeanour changed, slight enough that only someone who was paying close attention to him would notice. He greeted you politely, the smirk gone and replaced by a smile more suited to a first time meeting with his friend’s girlfriend. 

His race engineer soon called him away, the three of you exchanging goodbyes as Max directed you back to his garage. Unable to resist, you look back over your shoulder, only to find Charles already looking back. 

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👤 maxverstappen1, danielricciardo Liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and 298,718 others

y/nstagram yeehaw ! 🤠 lovely to be down in texas with the bull boys 💙

maxverstappen1 even when i cant see your face, you’re still gorgeous x ↳ y/nstagram you like me so much its embarrassing xx ↳ maxverstappen1 y’all see how my girlfriend treats me?? ↳ fan yes humble him queen x ♥️ y/nstagram

redbullracing lovely to have you with us y/n! ♥️ y/nstagram

danielricciardo save a horse ride a cowboy ↳ y/nstagram ??!! ↳ danielricciardo I MEANT MAX!!! I MENAT  MAX!!! ↳ maxverstappen1 you fucking better had ↳ fan literal pr nightmare ↳ redbullracing tell us about it!

charles_leclerc yeehaw! 🤠 ↳ y/nstagram see he gets it! Welcome to the paddock charles! 🥳 no inchidents you hear me 🤨🫵 ↳ charles_leclerc i am never living that down… ↳ maxverstappen1 not if i can help it!

fan but can she ride? ↳ maxverstappen1 very well ↳ y/nstagram redbullracing can someone take away his social media privileges ↳ redbullracing we tried… he bit the social media intern  ↳ fan max was totally the child who bit ankles  ↳ maxverstappen1 defamation??? ↳ y/nstagram true though 

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2020. It was the first gala of the year and you and Max were inseparable. His hand clasped your slightly clammy one, thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hand as a way to calm your nerves. He knew you like the back of his hand and was well aware of how much you hated these large galas, people clambering for the attention of the rising rookie, often disregarding you with a simple greeting before you faded into the shadow of future world champion Max Verstappen. 

You squeezed his hand once as you pulled yourself away from the group of people surrounding your boyfriend, slipping away to find the bar. As you plopped yourself down into the stool by the counter, you noticed you were not alone. A lone body sat beside you, hand tracing the rim of his whiskey glass. Looking up, you found yourself once again staring at Charles Leclerc. 

Over the 2 years since he’d joined the paddock, you’d only ever spoken in passing, normally accompanied by Max who kept the conversation flowing. Charles was nothing if not amicable, often engaging you in funny stories about their karting times, correcting any biased stories Max had told you. 

Those once bright eyes now seemed dull, worn down by the start of his 2020 season. You’d seen interviews of how proud he was to join Ferrari, wearing the red jersey with pride. But following incident after incident, whenever you passed him in the paddock, he looked more and more desolate. 

The two of you stared at each other before you glanced away, noting his empty glass. Calling over the bartender, you order a Mojito and another whiskey. Charles thanks you with a smile, tapping his fingers against the countertop as his glass is replaced with a full one. 

Not wanting to sit in silence, you ask how he’s feeling. The response is a shrug of his shoulders and a sip of his drink. Not good then. You raise your glass, tinking the edge of it against his before taking a quick drink. 

Roaming your eyes across the crowd just past Charles’ head, you take note of Daniel and Max lining up shots for the 2019 rookies. You laugh at Lando’s wide eyes and Max’s wink as he catches your eyes across the bar, catching Charles’ attention. He follows your line of sight, joining in with the laughter as George full body shudders at the first shot of what was probably tequila. 

The naivety of the 2019 rookies to trust your boyfriend and his best friend with alcohol breaks the last of the icy barrier between you and Charles, the two of you engaging in a genial conversation around the younger men. Charles recalls his own poor decision of letting Daniil and Daniel guide him to the bar during the 2018 gala, the story missing chunks as in his own words, his memory from that night was totally fucked. 

The conversation flows nicely between the two of you after that, topic after topic being nicely segued by the drinks repeatedly replaced in front of you. You learnt about his family, childhood pets, his racing dreams. In return you told him about your family, how you and Max met, and your blossoming career. 

Sebastian soon approaches the two of you, slinging an arm around yours and Charles’ shoulders. He ruffles the younger man's hair, nudging you as Charles grumbles playfully, hand coming up to fix the chestnut mess. He mentions a new sponsor that’s here, resting a hand on his chest jokingly as he apologises for pulling Charles away from your riveting conversation. You wave him off, waving goodbye to the two as they head off to hopefully secure more money for Ferrari. 

Watching them go, you see Charles turn back, smile soft and warm as he sends one last wave your way. Someone replaces his spot next to you, hand reaching out to interlink with yours. The feel of familiar calluses under your palm brings you back to your boyfriend who was looking to see what had grabbed your attention. 

An offhand comment about how he was sorry for being gone so long but he saw Seb at the bar and knew he would take care of you. The room was dark enough that you could understand how he could mistake the back of Charles for Sebastian, but for some reason you didn’t understand, you couldn’t bring yourself to correct the man. 

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👤 maxverstappen1 Liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and 301,819 others

y/nstagram such a good time at the gala with my gorgeous boy 💙

maxverstappen1 gorgeous x ↳ y/nstagram 😘😘 xx ↳ redbullracing our it couple 💙 ↳ alex_albon me and lily are crying in the corner thanks ↳ y/nstagram the it couple is me and lily lbr xx ↳ lilymhe i’m in love with you  ↳ alex_albon i should have kept my mouth shut 

sebastianvettel Beautiful as always y/n x ↳ y/nstagram thank you seb! Was good seeing you last night x

fan she’s everything and he’s just… there 

fan no cheesy comment from max? 👀 ↳ fan he literally called her gorgeous shut up 

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2021. Abu Dhabi. The year Max made history and ended Lewis’ world champion streak. It had been a difficult year for the two of you. Cancelled dates and a flat bought in Milton Keynes, sacrifices in your relationship made for this very moment. You could barely remember half of the race, too busy chewing the acrylic off your nails in stress. The engineers crowded him, hauling him onto their shoulders as champagne covered the entire garage. You’d barely been able to reach out a hand to pat his leg before he was carried off to the podium. 

Standing below, tears spilled down your cheeks at the sight. Your boyfriend, in his usual spot at the top of the podium, hands clasped eagerly around the World Championship trophy. The Red Bull team around you patted your shoulders comfortingly, some of them having to wipe away their own tears. He looks past the crowd, eyes passing yours briefly without much recognition. You blamed it on the adrenaline, knowing his mind was a hazy mess as the reality of what had happened dawned on him. 

Following the podium, he’d been whisked away by his team, press conference and the media paddock waiting eagerly to meet the new champion. You sat patiently in hospitality, welcoming warm wishes from whoever passed you. Alex had come bundling over, throwing his arms around you in congratulations. Laughing loudly as he squeezed you tighter, you hugged the reserve driver close to you. 

The wait was killing you, time dragging slower than ever. You decided to walk along to the media paddock to catch a glimpse of your boyfriend. There he stood, in all his glory. Journalists threw question after question at him, microphone cords stretched to their limit as they all vied for his attention. He’d given his thanks, to the team, to his parents, to Christian himself. No mention of you. Again, you put it down to adrenaline, but something settled heavily in the base of your stomach. 

You began to worry that you hadn’t done enough, despite going along with everything he had thrown your way this year. Agreeing to him moving to Milton Keynes for the year, flying across to him when you had some leave from work. The missed dates, declining phone calls and texts from his side. You never failed to miss a race, to congratulate him after every win and support him through every bad moment. 

Brushing the sinking feeling off, you look across at the other drivers being interviewed. Most of the reporters were by your boyfriend's side, but some stragglers took this opportunity to catch the others as they made their way through the paddock. 

You’re startled as your eyes lock onto a pair staring back at you. Charles was mid interview, nodding along to whatever the journalist was saying. You smiled at him, mouthing your congratulations on getting into the points. He returned the smile, mouth hung lopsided as he responded to the question he was just asked. 

A Red Bull employee calls out for you, letting you know Max was leaving. You nodded towards the Monageqsue as a goodbye, turning to follow the employee. Your back burned at the feeling of emerald eyes following you. 

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👤 maxverstappen1 Liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and 509,174 others

y/nstagram my love, my light, my champion… forever proud of you for all you have and will continue to achieve. Drink it in, my dear, this is all for you ❤️

fan need someone to love me the way y/n loves max

fan the maxcheco hug 🥺

fan y/n supporting max is everything to me, true love fr

fan did no one else catch how he didn’t even hug her or anything? Like??? If i was him, she’d be the first person i go to ↳ fan i mean… i think they’re only together for PR rn … he’s also moved to milton keynes whilst she’s still in monaco, kinda dodgy ↳ fan he probably moved for work, also lets not speculate on peoples relationships pls and thx xx

fan no max comment? In the trenches rn  ↳ fan he liked though! ↳ fan bare minimum  ↳ fan dude he just won his first world championship he’s probably busy

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2022. The beginning of the end for you and Max. You suppose, looking back, the end had been looming long before then. Gone was the sweet, kind Max you’d fallen for, instead replaced by a beast. Win after win, pole after pole, championship after championship. His move to Milton Keynes became permanent, whilst you chose to stay in Monaco for your job. You still had Jimmy and Sassy to keep you company, a reminder of when life had been good. 

You’d bought the two bengals after you’d officially moved into Max’s flat. Sassy had been a daddy’s girl but Jimmy was yours through and through. Following you everywhere you go, meowing constantly if he was ever forced to leave your side. 

He was sitting beside you, one paw stretched out and resting against your leg when a text from Max came through. You already knew what it was going to say. Some excuse as to why he couldn’t make it back to Monaco between races. You sighed, reaching out to run your hand down the soft fur on Jimmy’s back. He purrs appreciatively, kneading gently against your skin. 

Red Bull had sent you the tickets for the next Grand Prix and to be honest, you felt like skipping it altogether. It was midway through the season, and despite attending every race, it was like you didn’t even exist to Max. 

Argument after argument continued, you tried to get across how horrible Max made you feel when he ignored you, him rebutting by saying you weren’t being supportive enough of him. Nights spent thousands of miles apart, phones silent on bedside tables and muffled cries from your end filling the solemn night. 

You didn’t bother to reply to his latest excuse, instead grabbing your keys and heading out the front door, dropping a small kiss to Jimmy and Sassy’s heads. They had ran out of food, and without even having to look in your cabinets, you knew you had to. 

The supermarket was a mere 10 minutes from your flat, the air warm and calm as you trailed down the pavement. The kind lady who ran the cafe on the corner greeted you warmly, pressing 2 kisses to your cheeks. You promise to come see her tomorrow, knowing she would have a latte and croissant waiting for you on your arrival. 

Two aisles down in the supermarket and as you reach for the cereal on the top shelf, a hand pops out the corner of your eye and grabs a box too. You hear it drop into your cart, looking up to a now familiar face. 

Charles smiles back at you gently, shopping basket in hand. The two of you didn’t speak, instead choosing to walk in comfortable silence around the rest of the store. Charles grabbed the oat milk you like, and you grabbed the cereal bars you saw him often chomping down on between qualifiers. 

At the tills, he loads your shopping onto the belt for you, adding the three items he had got for himself behind. As you loaded the last few bits into the large shopping bags you’d brought along with you, the card reader behind you beeps. As you look behind, you see Charles pick up the receipt and chuck his three items into the tote bag over his shoulder. 

You tried to argue that you could pay for yourself whilst thanking him at the same time, but Charles simply shrugged, walking out of the supermarket. You follow behind, loading the bags onto your arms as you bump the cart back into its spot with your hip. Charles watches you, a smirk on his face as you struggle to distribute the bags evenly enough to allow you to walk home. 

Chuckling, he grabbed two of the bags, moving along to his car. You followed sheepishly, thanking him for the ride home as he loads the bags into the minimal space in the boot. Gratitude shrugged off once again, he held the door open for you to slide in.

He offered to bring the shopping up for you when you reached your apartment building but you gratefully declined, not wanting to take up any more of his time. Telling you to say hi to Jimmy and Sassy, he watched you walk into the front door, leaving only once he saw you enter the elevators. 

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Liked by charles_leclerc, carmenmmundt and 498,018 others

y/nstagram just a mum and her two (fur) babies 🧡🐱

fan !!!!! jimmy and sassy sighting!!!!!

fan which is which??? ↳ y/nstagram jimmy in the second pic and sassy in the third!! <3 ↳ fan they’re so cute 😭

francisca.c.gomes jimmy is SLUMPED ↳ y/nstagram hasn’t left my side all day, it’s tiring work being a mummys boy 😋

charles_leclerc did you tell them i said hi????? ↳ y/nstagram yes charles, i told them you said hi 🙄 ↳ charles_leclerc and what did they say? ↳ y/nstagram this is so stupid ↳ y/nstagram meow meow, meow meow meow, meowwwww - Jimmy and Sassy 🐱🐱 ↳ charles_leclerc my favourite kitties!!! I love you too 💖 ↳ fan charles is such a silly lil guy

fan y/n pls tell us what you ask for at the hairdressers!!! ↳ y/nstagram at the moment its a root touch up and occasional high and low lights, but when sometimes i throw in a chunky root ❤️ ↳ fan an ANGEL!!!!

fan not even a max like… on pics of his own CATS …. I wanna cry ↳ fan ngl i think you’re onto something there. 

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2023. The year you had decided Max and well and truly fallen out of love with you. The two of you couldn’t go two minutes without an argument, hurtful words bouncing off the four walls of what used to be a happy home. 

Two championships under his belt, and he was well on his way to a third. It wasn’t that he had changed entirely, the sweet Max you once knew was still there, he just seemed to hide away whenever the two of you were alone. 

He would still dote on Jimmy and Sassy, would approach the lady who owns the cafe with a kind smile and warm words, would run off to padel to be with his friends, often posting instagram stories of him smiling and laughing with the same people he fought with week on and week off on the track. 

He’d finally decided to grace you with his presence, moving back to Monaco for a week between races as he was pretty much guaranteed the championship as long as he placed above 4th in the next 2 races, and knowing him, he would. 

You had thought this would be a chance to connect, a way to work through your issues and bring back the man you know and love. However, he had walked through the front door, greeted the fussing cats and gone straight through to the bedroom. You stood in the kitchen, a homemade meal still simmering away on the stove. 

The sound of the shower pulled you from your spiralling thoughts, plating up the meal so it was ready for Max when he had finished. You’d nipped out that morning, especially to buy the ingredients for his favourite meal, sweating away in the kitchen as the private jet he owned flew from Milton Keynes to your home. 

Max left the bathroom, walking into the kitchen. He was fully dressed once again, cologne pungent from when you stood nearly 10 feet away. He barely glanced over the meal, grabbing his keys and throwing a quick see you later over his shoulder. 

As soon as the door shut, the dam inside you burst. Tears flowed uncontrollably down your cheeks, sobs choked and tore their way out of your throat, the sound primal and steeped in sorrow. Crouching down, you wrapped your arms around your bent knees, an almost upright fetal position. Jimmy and Sassy crowded you, confused purrs rumbling deep in their throats as they tried to nudge your head away from the home it had found between your knees. 

You had no idea how long you’d stayed there, body rocking back and forth ever so slightly as a way to self soothe. By the time you lifted your head, the sky was a mottled mix of reds and oranges. You moved on auto pilot, scraping the now cold dinner into tupperware, slotting them into the fridge and grabbing the bottle of white wine you’d put in there earlier to chill. 

A large glass sat beside you on the side table, body warm and safe under the blanket you had dragged from the back of the sofa. Scrolling through Twitter, you stopped for a moment as an F1 gossip page graced your screen. You’d normally swipe right past them, knowing they were onto the burning embers of yours and Max’s relationship, making up shocking titles to draw fans attention. This time, between the two of you, only Max was the headline.

You didn’t know what to think. Despite the growing tensions ontrack, the two men had always been friendly outside of the race cars. The tweet had gathered plenty of attention, already having nine thousand reposts and quote tweets. You pulled up your texts, hesitating as you hovered over Max’s name. He’d barely even glanced your way after 2 months apart, why should you worry about him now? 

Pulling up the old text thread with Charles, you take a moment to try and think about what to say. Would he think you were trying to spy for Max? Or would he think you were just digging around for the drama? Mind wandering, you managed to type out the bare bones of a text before your phone chimed, Charles beating you to it.  

You didn’t know why Charles was apologising. It wasn’t his fault your boyfriend fell out of love. 

Digesting his message, you willed yourself to cry, to scream, to cuss Max out to the quiet walls of your home. But nothing came. Numb to the feeling and drained from your previous breakdown, you stared at the blank wall ahead. You knew you should leave Max, all you were doing was hurting yourself, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say the words that would leave you all alone. 

Moving from the sofa to the door, you turned the deadbolt, sending Max a text to let him know to find somewhere else to stay that night. You were sure Lando or someone else would put him up. 

Falling into bed, you caught yourself hoping he’d find solace in the arms of another girl so you could use the excuse as a reason to end the horrible situation. Scolding your cruel mind, you turned your phone off and placed it face down on the bedside table, calling up the two cats who settled down either side of you. 

The ache in your chest kept you awake for a while, soon soothed as you remembered how Charles had defended you. How fucked up was it that the best friend of your boyfriend was the one who brought the first genuine smile in months to your face, his actions a calming balm across the festering cracks scattered across your heart. 

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liked by carmenmmundt, francisca.c.gomes and 10 others

y/npriv don't know, don't care

carmenmmundt you ok babe? ↳ y/npriv men... ↳ carmenmmundt ah you saw the tweet ↳ y/npriv yep... i'm chilling though, jim and sass are good company ↳ carmenmmundt want one more? ↳ y/npriv bring pastries pls and thank u x

francisca.c.gomes pierre chewed *** out in french after charles left, you should have seen his stupid face ↳ y/npriv tell pierre i said cheers x ↳ francisca.c.gomes he said thank you for giving a reason to shout at "fat head"

lilymhe can i come to the hangout 🥺 ↳ y/npriv ofc babygirl, the more the merrier x ↳ lilyzneimer i'm coming too then!!!! ↳ y/npriv ofc my lil sweetiepie 🩷

flavy.barla unbothered. moisturised. in my lane. focused. ↳ y/npriv don't think i didnt notice you omitting parts of the meme flavs ↳ flavy.barla well i'm not a liar... also i'll be there in 2 hours, este's driving me up ↳ y/npriv ugh a king x

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Dragging yourself back to the present, you pull in a shaky breath. Charles liked you. Charles had always liked you. And somewhere along the line, you’d ended up liking him too.

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a/n: part 2 is here! this will most definitely end up being a 2 parter, we're already at like 5k words 😭 let me know if you want to be added / removed from the taglist 🩷

taglist: @veryicyandspicey @oliviarodrigostan13 @fyegyall @inevesgf @brakingboundaries @boywondrgrayson @pand-de-pandora-blog @emily-b @barcelonaloverf1life @entr4p3 @asparklysoul @elia-the-bibliophile @ruebennett89 @sheslikeacurse @angywritesstuff @honethatty12 @hs-is-loml @krishasworld @velentine @weekendlusting @vintagefucksstuff @yourfreezing-hands @sinofwriting @cmleitora @ladyoflynx @zvrjkb @anuksunamon @sarahedwards16 @janeh22 @awritingtree @reguluscrystals

[planeteroticaaa]

— ATTENTION

“let’s just go, my dear. cause the way you put it on, made me wanna take it off you.”

nanami was typically a rather patient man, but tonight he couldn’t help the twitch in his eye or the deep scowl on his face as he watched you make conversation with a group of his colleagues. you weren’t aware of the way they gawked at you in that long, black body con dress you wore—their eyes flickering from the generous amount of cleavage the low v-neck flashed to the way the wind blew the slit of the garment to show more of your legs each time your eyes closed when smiling that same smile that wooed him 5 years ago just as it was doing them now.

it wasn’t intentional, he knew it wasn’t. you just wanted to make a good impression, especially because you knew it could tarnish the way people at his job viewed him, but fuck were you doing too good of a job at pretending to care about what that arrogant, asshole of a boss had to say.

nanami hadn’t wished to go to this work party, ready to lie his way out of it and while you chalked it up to your husband not wishing to socialize, his worried were rooted deeper than that…you. he knew his collages would waste no time surrounding you in disbelief that nanami had a wife and in even more disbelief on just how beautiful you were.

how was it that you were the center of attention everywhere you went? that you turned this party from something everyone felt obligated to attend to wishing that it didn’t have to end at 12am because now it was about to be 2am and nanami was in the corner messing with his now loosened tie, waiting for you to finish your last drink so you could leave as he wanted to take that dress off of you just as much as his boss did.

he himself was surrounded by his female colleagues—each in his ear about how you “left him to flirt with other men right in his face,” their words full of malicious intent that would make any other man question had it not been nanami. he didn’t care for these women—hell, nobody did when you were here, hypnotizing everybody with the way that dress hugged your curves or how contagious your laugh was, the sound blessing their ears, the sway of your hips when you walked, that damn smile luring them in like a moth to a flame.

his resolve was slowly crumbling—checking the time on his expensive watch each time these women opened their mouth to throw another jab at you, staring at you from afar, eyes asking—no, begging you to leave for it was late and he didn’t know how much more patient he could be with you looking like that and them looking at you like that. he’s adjusted himself for the nth time tonight, uncomfortable by the strain in his dress pants. you were driving him insane and he hadn’t even realized he started making his way over to you until he grabbed your wrist.

“you ready to go, my love?” he asked, but something about the way he stared at you—his usual kind, brown eyes now narrowed and dark—that he wasn’t asking you. “ken—” “y/n.” was all he said, voice low and sturn, shutting down any chance of argument, tension so thick it left everyone around you quiet.

he was tired, pissed, and needed you more than anything right now and you couldn’t help but to hook your arms around his stronger one, your smaller frame against his with his bicep pressed up against your breast. “i thought you’d never ask,” you said after smiling and pulling him down to your level by his tie so that your lips brushed against his. yeah, he knew you were all his.

“i see the tension rising…i feel the temperature rising.”

in honor of my man dropping this HEAVEN SENT album🤭! but in all seriousness, i wanted to give you guys a little something because school has been kicking my ASSSS, but i got yall again soon! — ♱. erotica

— tags list!: @kashxyou, @lame-xxx, @ninacutebee16, @ynishalee, @im-a-simp-4-2d-men (submit your tumblr username here if you wish to be added!)

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Part Thirteen — Azriel x Reader

Summary: Backstreet’s back, ALRIGHT! Or rather, the Bat Boys™️ sort their issues out. Tathaln’s ball is officially announced. Azriel gives Kaeda a piece of his mind. Fin has no business being the sexy dad he is. Roza’s worried about reader.

Word count: 6.3k.

Warnings: None for this part.

All is silent, save for the rhythmic tick-tick-ticking of the clock. Cassian has always hated that clock. Finds it fucking annoying.

But it fills the vacant hole that exists in the absence of conversation. That hole is open and gaping between Cassian and Azriel. It’s not a table that sits between them — it’s a dangerous, yawning chasm.

Az stares at Cass, and Cass feels uncomfortable. He’s seen that cold gaze be levelled on people hundreds of times, thousands. To be on the receiving end feels a little like staring death in the face. He actually kind of wishes that Kaeda hadn’t been sent off to the dorms to sleep off her drunken state, because at least then he wouldn’t be the only one here, being subjected to…this.

So, he stands up, so abruptly that his chair almost topples over, and asks, “Want me to make you some tea?” The question feels stupid the second it leaves his lips.

Azriel’s eyes track him, drink in every uneasy shift and twitch. It’s not that Cass is afraid of Az — though anybody with half a brain cell would be — just that he’s not good in these situations. Situations where he has to be serious and…and listen.

“Cassian.” The shadowsinger’s cold voice stops him before he can move. “When, in our years of friendship, have you ever once made me tea?”

Cass peers over a broad shoulder and shrugs half-heartedly. “First time for everything…”

“Sit.”

The word brooks no room for argument. Cassian does, indeed, sit.

It’s then that Azriel heaves a deep sigh, his entire body taut as a bowstring, and says, “I’m sorry.”

Cass blinks. “What?”

“I’m sorry—for what I did in the mead hall. I…had no right.”

“…But Y/N and I…”

“It’s not for me to dictate whether the two of you should or shouldn’t lie together. My…jealousy…is my problem, and mine alone.”

This is hard, Cassian realises — for Az to say this. For him to face it. And Cass can relate to that. Not everyone can be as silver-tongued as Rhysand. The Mother knows, Cass himself isn’t.

But he also isn’t an idiot. Some people may believe him to be, and that’s their mistake, because being proved wrong is usually the last thing they remember before waking up to a healer standing over them. He’s aware enough of his surroundings to know that something was brewing between Azriel and Y/N for years before Cass took her to bed…or kitchen counter, or…whatever.

“I need to be better,” Cassian offers, “at thinking before I act. Thinking about who I might hurt with my decisions. I’m working on it.”

Az studies his friend, and he feels no anger. If anything, it’s guilt that claws at the shadowsinger. He gave poor Cass a pretty good hiding over something that was, essentially, none of his business. And it could have all been different if Az simply wasn’t a coward, afraid of his feelings.

Something he needs to work on.

And perhaps he’s doing that as, rather than burying the topic, he asks, “What…what actually happened? How did you end up sleeping together? I mean…do you have feelings—”

“No.” Cassian cuts him off, blinking. “Gods, no. I love Y/N, you know that. But not romantically. I just…I felt so damn useless that night, Az. If you’d seen the way Y/N was…the self-loathing. I didn’t know how to help.”

Immediately, Azriel’s brow pinches. “Self-loathing?”

“Because of what her father did to her. When we were flying to Fenlaros, and she was the only one being carried in…”

Azriel slumps back in his chair, feeling like a godsdamned idiot.

He blinks forward and wonders what the fuck the point is in being born a shadowsinger when he obviously can’t read situations very well. Within seconds, it’s clicking into place.

“And then you started that fight with that Fenlarion male,” Cass continued. “and Kaeda just declared that it was her you were fighting over…and everyone has a limit, you know? I think that night was just all too much for Y/N. And she was so upset, so downtrodden…talking about how she hated herself. And I’m not good with words like Rhys is, and I’m not as observant as you are, but I am good at physical touch. Physical comfort. And it seemed like the only thing I could offer in that moment to take that bleakness away from her. But I should have thought about how you would feel—”

“I’m glad you were there for her.” Azriel blurts, realising, with every word, how much he means them. “I wasn’t. I failed her that night.”

“I really didn’t know that the two of you had been exploring things. If I did, I wouldn’t have done it. I mean…that fight you started wasn’t over Kaeda at all, was it?”

Az’s eyes shutter. And it goes against every natural instinct of his to strip himself bare and just…be honest. Every steel wall he’s ever built up is screeching in its effort to stand strong and not be caved in. And those walls were necessary in a life of darkness and hate…but that life is long gone.

What good do those walls do him in an environment where he has love, has people who genuinely care for him? As much as he wants to run and hide from his feelings as he always has…he thinks that the key to happiness may be on the other side of those walls. That a new bravery lays in letting some light filter through the cracks and warm a guarded heart.

His voice is quiet, laced with a self-preserving fear, as he admits, “No. It was not.”

Before Cassian can offer an encouraging response, the front door is swinging open, and Rhysand is kicking snow from his boots and trudging in. Azriel tenses like a threatened animal — but there is no threat here. Only safety, only love. He forces his shoulders to relax.

The violet-eyed male takes in the sight before him. Goes still as he looks between his two friends. “Please tell me this is a positive conversation.”

Cassian inclines his head. “Work in progress. Why don’t you make some tea?”

“Fuck you, make your own tea—”

“Make me some tea—”

“Kiss my ass, dickhole—”

“I’m in love with Y/N.” Azriel blurts.

It promptly shuts the other two males up.

They turn away from their bickering to look at the shadowsinger. He looks…shocked, by his own confession.

“I’m in love with her,” he breathes.

Cass and Rhys share a glance, and then Rhys is slowly approaching the table, carefully taking a seat like he doesn’t want to startle Azriel out of the moment.

“We know, Az.” Rhys tells him gently. “I mean…I think we always suspected…”

“I started that fight in Fenlaros because I was jealous of that damn male having his hands all over her. Saying the things he was saying. It was nothing to do with Kaeda.”

“You should really tell her — Y/N, I mean. Tell her how you feel.”

Azriel’s eyes trace a mark in the table as he admits, “Kind of already have. When she came to speak to me earlier today.”

Another glance is shared between Cassian and Rhys. And both are equally surprised — figure they would have heard something about it. Unless…unless it hadn’t gone down well.

And now that Rhys thinks about it, Y/N had been tense whilst he’d flown her back to Velaris. Taut in his arms and barely uttering a few words. Perhaps this was why.

“Did she…not take it well?” Rhys hedges. He wants to be delicate, not go blasting in at full-force. So rarely do they get to see such a vulnerable side to Az.

Azriel shakes his head once. “It’s not that, it’s…” He clears his throat. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“How?” Cass pushes, and Rhys shoots him a warning glance.

But Azriel doesn’t balk from it, doesn’t slink back in his seat. Instead, he lifts his head, and he levels his friends with a desperate look.

“There’s more that I haven’t told you.” He says.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

A short while later, Az thinks that maybe talking through his feelings is a good thing. Just saying the words has a little bit of weight easing from his chest, his shoulders.

But Cass and Rhys aren’t saying anything at all. Cass and Rhys are staring at him like he has two damn heads.

And then Cassian sits up, barking, “Tathaln Baralas wants what?”

“Exactly what I told you.” Azriel shakes his head. “He wants me to move to Fenlaros and work alongside him. Has some sort of backing from the High Lord, though I’m not sure how much. In a nutshell, Kaeda’s interest in me has always been driven by her father.”

“I knew that little wasp was up to something. You know she tried to kiss me tonight?”

Az shrugs. Really could not give a fuck. “I figured something had happened from the look on your face.”

“I never liked her. Nor her father—”

“Her father,” Rhys cuts in, “walks a very fine line in presuming to exceed in his role as a Camp Lord. His ego and title are going to his head a little, it would seem, if he believes he has the authority to scheme such ideas.”

“It’s a terrible idea.” Cass says. Neither of the other two noticed him get up, but he’s returning to his seat, speaking around a mouthful of food. “All Illyrians in one big camp? They’ll kill each other.”

Rhys is inclined to agree. But he turns a neutral — maybe gentle — expression on Az and asks him, “Do you want to go to Fenlaros?”

It would kill him if Az said yes. Would kill Cass, too. These recent days of being torn apart by tension has been bad enough. Being in different camps and not seeing each other is an almost unbearable thought.

But they would find a way to live with it, if Az decided he wanted to go. They’d find a way to be okay with it.

Such thick silence fills the room that the thudding of all three of their hearts is audible.

But then Azriel replies quietly, “No.”

Neither Rhys nor Cassian bother to hide their relief.

“I told Kaeda I would think about it.” Azriel goes on. “And I told Y/N that I’d promised Kaeda that. But I don’t think I’ve ever really intended to think about it — or needed to. I think…I think I was just using it to bide my time. To create space for myself and…avoid everything else.”

“By everything else,” Cassian chomps into a loaf of bread, “do you mean facing your feelings for Y/N?”

Azriel can’t deny it. He nods. “It’s not an easy thing to face…to be vulnerable. Hiding behind this Fenlaros situation has just been easier. Cowardly, yes, but…easier.”

“You can’t keep pushing her away, though, Az.” Rhys says. “You can’t let her think that you might be leaving if you have no intention of doing so.”

The shadowsinger’s eyes flutter shut, thick, dark lashes grazing his cheekbones. “Do you think I’ve fucked it beyond repair?”

“No.” Cassian offers. “But you will, if you don’t start handling this the right way. Tell Kaeda and Tathaln to fuck off. Tell Y/N you’re in love with her and want to see her naked—”

“Watch it.” Azriel warns quietly, but Cass continues, unperturbed.

“Just start letting more people in. And I’ll stop letting so many people in, because it gets me into trouble. I think…I think we all need to grow up a little. Do better.”

Rhysand’s brow pinches. “What do you mean, we all do? I’ve done nothing other than put my own pleasure aside to advise you idiots. What could I possibly need to do better?”

Cassian shrugs. “That haircut, for one. It’s annoying.”

“And when was the last time your hair saw a comb, Cassian?”

“When was the last time you were generous and made tea for your good, long-suffering friend?”

“So this is about the tea.”

“Of course it’s about the tea, jackass. Zakai clearly isn’t with you for your observational skills…”

Azriel sits back, allowing their bickering to become background noise. There’s a warmth to the sight, the sound, that makes him realise he never again wants a repeat of this situation — of being apart from his friends for days, tension thick between them.

He loves Rhys and Cassian. Loves them dearly.

Another reason why he could never, ever turn his back on this place.

And he finds himself actually being…grateful…that Cass was there for Y/N that night. That she didn’t have to suffer her self-loathing alone.

There’s still a lot to get through, of course. Daunting emotions and truths to face head-on. But as he watches the two loveable idiots in front of him take verbal swipes at each other, it’s the first time in a while that he wonders if things might actually be okay.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The news is announced the next day, when Lord Devlon gathers a rather colourful bunch of his soldiers in the mead hall and stands at the front, silencing them all with a single shout. Rhys, Cassian and Azriel stand against the far back wall, their arms folded over their chests.

Gods, they hope it’s not another training exercise. Not so soon. Az has things he wants to resolve before he saunters off and possibly gets himself killed.

But Devlon reads the roll of parchment in his hands, a frown contorting his features. He looks up, his eyes very deliberately finding Rhysand as he announces to the room, “A message from the High Lord.”

And every other gaze is then swivelling to turn on Rhys, too. There’s something accusatory about it, like they’re assuming he’s privy to whatever it is their asses have been dragged out of bed to hear.

He isn’t. He wants to be in bed, too.

“Looks like you pricks better get your dancing shoes ready.” Devlon raises his eyebrows. “The High Lord is calling for a ball. Legions from all camps invited.”

This — this is exciting news for the brutish males who could fill the mead hall with their egos alone. Not because they have a particular affinity for dancing, but because amongst themselves, they’re already murmuring about which particular camps they dislike for some reason or other, and what they plan to do about it. So many bloodthirsty streaks are painted in those males’ eyes, stamping out the tiredness that lay there only moments before.

Nothing pricks an Illyrian male’s ears up quite like the prospect of a fight.

“The legions from each camp have been carefully selected, and you lucky fuckers will be representing Windhaven.” The Camp Lord continues, disdain dripping from his voice. He wants his men out there training in the cold, not prancing around a dance floor. “Plus-ones are allowed, also, so it might be time to splash out on a pretty gown for whoever is warming your bed these days. The ball is to be held on Starfall, at a neutral venue of the High Lord’s choosing, and I expect you all to make Windhaven — and me — look good. Any questions?”

“Do we actually have to dance?” One male asks, while another one pipes up with, “Will those pricks from Camp Steelshore be there?”

Rhys shuts out the litany of battling voices as he turns a concerned look on Az and Cass. Their expressions mirror his own. Something about this feels…off.

So while he looks like he’s merely lounging against the wall, hands in his pockets, he sends his inner claws spearing straight for Devlon’s mind. He doesn’t give away what he’s doing, not even slightly, as he roots around in the Camp Lord’s thoughts and grabs for his glimpse of the letter. Rhys scans it, drops the thought, and he’s out of Devlon’s mind and straightening himself up before the male can so much as flinch.

“Let’s go.” He tells his friends, and not Devlon nor the males around them seem to care as Azriel and Cassian follow him, the formidable trio traipsing out into the thawing snow, regardless of whether the meeting is over or not.

They’re halfway back to the house, safely out of earshot, when Cassian finally barks, “A ball? What the fuck?”

“At the request of Tathaln Baralas.” Rhys reveals. “That’s what the letter said. He took the idea to my father, and the asshole is humouring him. This has all got to be part of Tathaln’s plan.”

Cassian scowls and spits his disdain at the ground. “Someone needs to drive a poison arrow through that prick’s heart already. I don’t like this one bit.”

“It’s my father’s intentions I’m worried about.” Rhys shakes his head. “Tathaln only has the power that my father gives him. One word from him and this idea could be snuffed out and never mentioned again. And I expected that to be the case. Arrogant as fuck he may be, but my father isn’t stupid. He’ll know what a terrible idea this is, and I would have predicted that he’d laugh in Tathaln’s face for mentioning it. I didn’t think he’d actually entertain it…which means—”

“There’s something in it for him.” Azriel finishes.

Rhysand nods. “Every single move and choice my father makes is, ultimately, for his own gain. He would never agree to anything if he weren’t getting something out of it himself. Whatever Tathaln has proposed to him…my father will be using it for his own gain.”

Cassian opens the door to the cottage and strides in, forgetting — as always — to kick the snow from his boots. “What, though?” He asks. “What could Tathaln have that your father could want?”

Rhys shrugs and waves a hand, magic promptly mopping up the wet, melting trail left in Cassian’s wake. “That, I don’t know.”

“So what do we do?” Az watches him closely, trying to read the thoughts on the male’s face. His shadows reach out to him, too. “Are you going to talk to your father? Make him see how ridiculous this idea is?”

“No,” Rhys shakes his head. “There would be no point. I could lay a whole host of truths out to my father, and he’d go against them on ego alone. He must want something badly enough for him to be throwing money into it. This ball won’t be cheap.”

“And it won’t be a ball, either.” Cassian cocks an eyebrow. Roots through the kitchen cupboards for food. “Blood will be spilled. And you can’t dance on blood. I’ve tried. Too slippy.”

Rhys chooses to ignore that little scrap of information. Mostly because he doesn’t doubt it for a second. “I don’t want us to pre-empt anything.” He says. “If I go straight to my father with concerns about any of this, it could blow up in our faces, instead. For the time being, I think we should just…go along with it. Watch it play out, and see what happens. My father is unpredictable. Even I can’t tell you what goes on in his head.”

“I can speak with Kaeda.” Az clears his throat. “See if she’ll tell me anything.”

“You have fun with that.” Cassian mumbles, biting into something. “I’d sooner chop my balls off and nail them to the front door.”

“Such a way with words. It’s no wonder, really, that females fall at your feet.”

Cass shoots him a wicked grin. And this…this is nice. What they’ve both missed. This is normal.

“I’ll keep an eye and ear out for anything.” Rhys drags them back to the subject at hand. “But my father’s good at not letting anyone know things until he wants them to know them. And he’s clearly serious about this.”

Cassian swallows. Takes another bite. “And until then? Until we know what he’s even serious about?”

Violet eyes sparkle with mischief, and one side of Rhysand’s lips tips up. “Until then, boys,” he says, “you’d better practice your dancing.”

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Azriel really hopes she’s not there, but sure enough, when he enters his room at the dorms, Kaeda is sitting up in his bed.

It gives him a little bit of satisfaction to see her look…less than perfect, for once. Her hair is knotted, and even the vibrancy of the red shade seems a little dulled. Her skin is sallow, her eyes bleary. He wonders if she’s as miserable as she currently looks.

She beholds him with a strangely coy look, like she’s waiting for him to rip into her. But if she really knew the shadowsinger, she’d know that that is not his style. He does not shout. He rarely fights physically. His danger lies in his quiet voice and icy stare.

Kaeda’s tired eyes fall to the blanket pooled around her waist, and she murmurs, “You’re angry with me.” Her throat bobs with a swallow. “I understand. But I appreciate you putting me to sleep in here when I was in a vulnerable state.”

“I would have done it for anyone.” Az presses his back against the wall, folding his arms. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

The female merely bows her head. Doesn’t bother to argue.

“I have a question.” Azriel then says. “I’d like an answer.”

“I know that Cassian has probably told you about last night, and all I can say is I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed him. I was drunk and upset and I—”

“I don’t care about that.” He really doesn’t, and it shows on his face. “I want to know what your father is playing at by organising an Illyrian ball. I don’t believe for a second that the gesture is an innocent one.”

She glances down again, but Azriel doesn’t buy the coy act for one moment.

“Kaeda.” His voice is laced with warning. “Tell me.”

“It’s just…a ball. A ball to have all camps in one place, so he can get a good look at what each one has to offer. It’s nothing sinister.”

“So, a chance for him to scout more supporters for his cause.”

“He’s trying to make a change, Azriel. A good one—”

“He’s interfering with lives. Tearing families apart.”

“Good results require difficult choices.” Her voice hardens.

The shadowsinger bites out a cold, brusque laugh, turning away from her. “Mother above, he has you trained well.”

There’s movement behind him. Kaeda is kicking the sheets away and pushing to her feet. And she’s…seething.

“You would laugh in the face of somebody trying to make a positive change?” She snaps. “What reason have you to be so arrogant? At least my father is trying to make a difference. All you’re doing is clinging to a miserable life in a miserable place where you don’t even have a family or home of your own—”

“Except that I do.” Azriel rounds on her so quickly that his wing knocks a fragrance bottle off a shelf. “I may not have your riches, and that’s fine, because I have a group of people — a family I made — who love me enough to care whether or not I come home at night. Who want nothing less for me than happiness and contentedness, and not just to use me as a pawn in some convoluted plan that will do more harm than good. I have reason to be in Windhaven, whether it’s miserable or not. I have love here. So much of it. And there’s nothing — not a damn thing — that would make me turn my back on it.”

Something in his impassioned speech clearly hits a nerve with Kaeda. She goes still.

And she looks…small, despite being fairly tall. She looks…insignificant.

Her eyes fill with tears. One spills over and rolls down her cheek as she whispers, “Please, Azriel.”

Azriel says nothing. Stares at her.

“Please.” She takes a step closer. “I’m not above begging. I…” Her voice cracks. “I need this. I need you to say yes—”

“Your father,” he interrupts quietly, “is playing a very dangerous game. And he’s using you to do it.”

“You don’t understand. I…if I can’t give him what he wants, I’m finished. I’ll have no home to go to, nobody on my side.”

“You already have nobody on your side. You’re his daughter and he’s dangling your livelihood over your head and ready to snatch it away if he doesn’t get what he wants. You’re already finished.”

“Please.” She says again. Tears are streaming, now, and she tries fruitlessly to wipe them away. “Please, just…if this is about Y/N—”

“Do not,” he grits out, “bring her into this.”

“She’s already in this. I know that you want her and not me…that you always have…and that’s fine. Bring her to Fenlaros with you, if you must. I’m sure my father could be persuaded on that. But just…please—”

“You’re not listening, Kaeda. This isn’t just about my family. It’s about all the other families that would be separated, ripped apart by your father’s scheming. He’s power hungry. This is just the beginning of a whole host of self-serving plans that will bring him glory — do not doubt that for a second. People like him are never satisfied, and he needs to be stopped. Not encouraged.”

“You’re wrong.” Her voice is so weak, Az isn’t convinced she believes her own words. “He just wants a better future for Illyria—”

“No.” Az levels her with a pointed look. “He wants a better future for himself. I will not play a part in that, and neither will my loved ones.”

“Azriel, please—”

“I will attend your father’s ball, just as Lord Devlon has ordered me to do.” He breezes to the door, not caring that this is his room he’s leaving her behind in. He stops, palm poised on the handle. “But as for delivering a male straight into your father’s den? You better start trying that seduction on somebody else. Because there is nothing that would make me follow you into that camp.”

He leaves without a glance back. And while it sits uncomfortably inside him that he made a female cry…he can’t help feeling like he’s finally doing the right thing.

About time, too.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

This — this is the last thing you ever would have expected of coming to Velaris.

The tonic you’d needed was an extended amount of girl time with Roza. And yet here you are…in the High Lord’s arms.

“This is useless.” You murmur, aware of every single place your body brushes against his. One of his hands is a firm weight on the small of your back, the other clasping yours. “I’m not a natural dancer. Fuck, I’ve never even been to a dance.”

Fin’s mouth tips up at the corners. “There’s that filthy mouth.” His hand lets go of yours, opting to move up to the cut of your jaw, where he allows his thumb to rest on your lower lip. “You,” the pad of it swipes slowly over your mouth, “are going to be exquisite.”

You square your shoulders. Cock a challenging eyebrow. “Is that genuine encouragement, High Lord? Or an order?”

A deep chuckle. Slowly — reluctantly —he lets his hand drop. “Both.”

Flirting with him like this, playing the part of the High Lord’s pet, is a necessary evil. You’re just so surprisingly good at it that you can’t discern whether it’s an affront to him, or to Roza. Or both.

But you can’t deny that you’ve been flattered by his undivided attention this past week. And perhaps he’s been flattered by yours, too.

Mother bless Roza for her undying support. The best you can do for her, right now, is to keep her in the loop. She merely tells you to be careful.

But a week — a week of cosying up to Fin, of breaking through his exterior and appealing yourself to him. You humour him with these dance lessons, with the preposterously expensive shopping trips and dinners, the late night fireside conversations. Anything, everything, to get him to tell you what truth lies behind the excited glint in his eyes whenever he speaks of the ball. To tell you what it is he’s planning.

Perhaps you’re not appealing enough. You are no more aware than anyone else. And that’s really fucking frustrating.

At least your hard work has kept you from thinking about Azriel every five minutes.

Your breath still heaving from your dance efforts, you make your way over to the table of refreshments by the huge, arcing windows that overlook the city. The High Lord’s palace, you have to admit, is a place you might miss once you’re back in Windhaven. You’ve never been one for luxury, never had more than a few things to your name — but the views are what makes you feel like the richest person in all of Prythian. These are not the cold, barren views of your camp, but a place of such vibrancy, it sometimes makes you want to cry. It’s like the setting of a storybook, laid out right before you.

From behind, slow, graceful footsteps sweep across the wooden floor. Fin comes to a stop so closely behind you that his body heat encases you.

Fingertips make contact with your skin, the back of your neck. The sleeveless tunic you wore for your practice now feels like nothing more than a paper towel.

“You have such beautiful skin.” Fin says roughly, and you tense. So far, this week, he’s kept a respectful distance away. Hasn’t put you in any awkward positions.

You pivot under his touch, pressing your back up against the table enough that his hand drops. It’s not entirely for show as you smile apologetically and tell him, “Sorry — scars.”

Such genuine, slicing rage fills his face. The intensity of it almost knocks you breathless.

“I will kill him.” He says the words like a lover’s promise. “With my bare hands, I will kill him for taking your wings.”

He had the power to stop the practice before you were even born. He is very old — over nine-hundred-years — and very powerful. What he says, goes.

And yet…he means it. You can see it. And perhaps you have seen so much unkindness, such brutality, that little scraps of ferocity, of passion, in your defence, make you a blinded fool.

But a part of him — however small — actually cares about you. Enough to mark your abuser for death.

But your father’s blood will soak your hands, and yours only.

You smile up at him, wickedly, cunningly, prettily. “No, you won’t.” You reply. “Because I will do it first.”

And the fury in his stare simmers immediately to a different sort of heat. Your words are a flirtation to him — a cut of raw meat dangled above a hungry, waiting animal. They make him feel something.

“Such a murderous little thing.” His soft laugh caresses your skin. He sounds pleased — impressed. “I like that. I like it a lot.”

“I would hope so. I am to be your special guest at the ball, after all.” A small voice in your head wants to coax him; tell me what you’re planning, tell me what to expect.

But, as always, he steers the conversation away, a vague, mysterious smile on his face. “Do you like it here in Velaris, my murderess?”

“I do, very much so.”

“I can’t help pondering how much you would thrive here. You were made for so much more than Windhaven. Illyria, even.”

A soft, coy smile — one that comes from deep within that part of you that wants the praise, the compliments — that needs them. “Many would disagree with you.”

“Show them to me, and I will twist their minds until they see in you what I do.”

“And what is it you see in me?” A disingenuous little liar. A good actress. A traitor.

Fin leans down, and for one startling, heart-stopping, stomach-lurching moment, you think his mouth might meet yours.

But his lips brush over your cheek in a tender, barely-there caress. He presses a kiss to the skin before retracting. Straightening himself out. The way he slides his hands into his pockets with casual arrogance reminds you so much of Rhys that you miss your friend instantaneously.

“I see beauty that is unappreciated, and intelligence that is underestimated.” Fin says. “And I see a female that I wouldn’t mind having at my side.” His eyes trace you from head to toe. “I wouldn’t mind it at all.”

No response sits on your tongue. You think you might be too surprised by the genuine praise. The fact that the High Lord actually feels some level of affection towards you.

Maybe you’re not so bad at these games.

He turns without waiting for your response, and only when he’s at the door does he make eye contact with you over his shoulder.

“Keep practicing the dancing, my murderess.” He says. “We’ll make a fine pair at that ball.”

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

If Roza weren’t so worried, she might laugh at the three expressions of outrage that meet her when she strolls into the cottage.

Rhysand jumps up immediately and demands, “Did you fly here? You’re supposed to be resting.”

Roza merely rolls her eyes and shuts the door behind her. “Don’t get your undergarments in a bunch, Rhysand. I’m pregnant — not on my death bed. The babe is fine.”

Her son does not look convinced. Neither do Azriel or Cassian. As if they’re, like, experts on pregnancy, or something.

“What are you doing here, mother?” Rhys stalks straight to the fire and stokes it. Then straight over to the kitchen to make a hot drink. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes. Mostly.” Roza pauses. “I hope.”

Azriel sits up at that. “Is Y/N alright?”

“She’s fine.” If playing games with the High Lord of the Night Court can be considered fine. Roza eases herself into a seat, and Cassian is promptly propping cushions behind her back. “I want to talk to you about the ball.”

Cass’s lips turn up into a half-smile. “We’ll be on our best behaviour, Roz. Promise.”

“You’d better be. Because I want all three of you looking out for Y/N at that ball, do you hear me?”

The command is a firm one, and yet the three males don’t straighten up at her matriarchal tone like they usually do. Instead, they share a puzzled glance, frowns pinching their features.

“It’s a ball for Illyrian soldiers and their guests of choice.” Rhys explains, carrying a steaming mug over to her. “None of us are bringing her along. Not to that.”

“You may not be.” Roza slides a protective hand over her bump. “But your father is.”

All three males go so preternaturally still, it’s almost frightening.

Rhys bites out, quietly, “What?”

“Your father is taking Y/N to the ball as his special guest. He’s bought her a gown, taught her to dance — he’s serious about this.”

“He can’t.” The shadowsinger’s face is like rolling thunder. “He cannot take her there. All those males—”

“That’s precisely why I’m not attending. He needs someone in my place, and he’s taking Y/N.”

“He can choose someone else.” Azriel’s clipped tone, his panic, is not at all personal to Roza. Usually, he would never speak to her in such a way, but—

But this is Y/N they’re talking about. Y/N in the High Lord’s hands, at a ball with so many Illyrian males, too many Illyrian males.

“Watch your tone, Azriel.” Rhys warns, but Roza is holding up a hand. Because she gets it — the panic.

“I’ve tried telling him to take somebody, anybody, else.” She says. “He’s insistent — absolutely adamant that he wants Y/N.”

“But why?” Cassian frowns.

“I don’t know. I don’t know if his kindness to her is genuine or not.” She shakes her head, absentmindedly stroking her bump. “All I know is that he’s taking Y/N to that ball, and I’m not going to be there. You know, Rhysand, that there is no changing your father’s mind once it’s set. I need the three of you to look out for her.”

Because Y/N is just as much a daughter to Roza as the little girl growing in her belly. They know that.

Rhys inclines his head, reaching out to place a hand over Roza’s. “We will, mother.” He promises. “Whatever game he’s playing…we’ll look after Y/N.”

Roza’s eyes dart to Azriel, to Cassian. “Do you promise?”

“We promise.” Cassian, unfazed as always, grins. “You just focus on the little one, Roz.”

Azriel’s face is grave, but he nods once. “We won’t let her out of our sight.”

Y/N is in good hands with them, Roza knows. She may even be in good hands with Fin, depending on what his true intentions are. Perhaps being at the High Lord’s side is the safest place she can be. It’s an unknown.

But one thing Azriel does know, as he wishes and wishes for this damn ball to just be over already, is that he’s wracked with guilt.

He can’t help feeling like it’s his fault — that his actions, his behaviour, chased Y/N right into a viper’s den.

That he’ll stop at nothing to get her out of it.

pom tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-agirlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd @coralseacourt @towhateverend87 @sspookz @bird-on-the-wire33 @morrie-rose @megwan @catscanteleport @sevikas-whore @thickthighs-sadeyes @hihelloitsbooktimeppl

[aemondvelaryon]

love grows (where the mustache goes) — jake seresin x reader

summary: as the squad is giving jake as much shit as possible for the new offensive hair growing on his lip, you are frozen like a deer caught in headlights.

pairing: jake seresin x fem!reader

warnings: explicit language, realization of feelings, alcohol consumption to combat dirty thoughts.

word count: 2.2k

a/n: based on this lovely gifset by unicornships

If you were being completely honest with yourself, you always kind of had a thing about Hangman.

Look, you didn't hate him, per se, but he definitely stirred some feelings in you that were less than normal. He made you feel totally feral, if you will, unrestrained and vicious. The sort of anger that made you want to scratch your skin off, vibrating and seething, screaming at the top of your lungs.

It took barely a look, less than a glance, not even a word before you were fuming just by being in his presence. He had some sort of grip on you.

So, you tended to stay as far away from him as possible. Leaving when he arrived, staying home when his attendance was announced, and sticking close to people that either didn't like him or didn't know him. It was easier that way.

Easier than thinking about why he really made you so angry.

But the worst part was, the cherry on top, was that he just loved being around you. Loved seeing how worked up he could get you, making you squirm under his gaze, and making you turn bright red from his flirting.

He had to know. There was no way he didn't. The squad must have told him how much you didn't want to be near him which is why he made it his mission always to find you in every room.

He had to know how much he rattled you.

On this particular night, he had yet to make an appearance. But wherever Rooster was Hangman usually followed, and the tall, mustached, Hawaiian-shirted pilot had already made his way over to the piano tonight and the rest of Dagger had slowly trickled in.

You didn't know why you came out tonight especially since their shore leave had just ended and all of the pilots had started making their way back to base and the surrounding area which always included the Hard Deck.

But it was the only fun place around and Penny was so nice to you and going out in a dress on a Friday night and nursing a drink for a couple of hours just to be seen and known instead of rotting in your little apartment after work was worth the possibility you might see him.

Your eyes lock on the little crowd surrounding Rooster, as charismatic as ever, singing another 80s hit. You smile despite yourself.

God, how you wished Bradshaw was the one that made your brain go fuzzy. He was sure of himself, not arrogant, teasing, not antagonistic, handsome, not drop-dead gorgeous.

Sometimes you looked at Hangman and wondered why God would make him so fucking hot and then let him open his mouth.

It honestly wasn't fair.

Eventually, you hear his voice, and your back goes ramrod straight, awareness prickling at the back of your neck, and your hands instantly sweaty.

"Bradshaw, you started without me? I'm heartbroken. After I went through all this trouble to do this just for you? Absolutely devasted."

You don't look. Because if you look it will just cement how much you want to look, and don't want to stop looking.

A choked laugh sputters, as if they're surprised and then Phoenix's voice pierces through the crowd. "You didn't. Please tell me that's not real."

"No way! Someone go pull on it! Probably glued on." Fanboy shouts and you hear the sound of someone falling out of their chair.

"You got to be kidding me. What the fuck is that! Did something die on your face?" Javy yells in disbelief and disgust.

You want to look so bad. Just their reactions almost make you turn. Did he get a bad haircut or something? You're just close enough that you can hear every word but not enough that anyone's noticed you.

"Pay up, now, I called it! I can't believe you guys doubted me. I said he would do something like this." Reuben sounds like he's smiling triumphantly.

Bob's voice is quietly astounded, "He looks like 70s Porn Star Ken."

You sit up even straighter. Oh god.

He grew a mustache.

Rooster finally acknowledges him. "Man, Hangman, I knew you were obsessed with me, but this is another level."

You can't ever look over there now. Just the visual has your skin feeling too tight.

"You like it? Took me a whole month to grow this bad boy just 'cause I wanted to see the looks on all your faces, but I gotta say, now that I'm here, totally worth it." He's grinning, he has to be, shit-eating and ear-to-ear, you can feel it, can practically see his smile in your head. You've stared at it long enough.

"That's great. When are you shaving it?" Natasha sounds disgusted and it almost makes you laugh if you weren't so fucking frozen like a deer in headlights.

"I can't believe none of you are appreciating the effort I went through to do this. Unbelievable."

"You look like someone from the cast of Boogie Nights."

"Well that's a great movie, so thank you." He sounds closer now and the hand around your glass threatens to break it. "Y'know if I can't get you guys to recognize my dedication, I know someone who will."

Oh god, oh no.

"Hangman, don't--" But before another voice can dissuade him, he's already sidling up to you at the bar. You feel the heat of him before you hear his voice.

"Hi, sweetheart, did you miss me? I know I missed you." You grab your drink and finish it off quickly, eyes not looking over at him.

"What do you want, Hangman?" You hope to come off as annoyed, not rattled to the fucking core.

"Well, I know you love Rooster so much so I thought I'd do something to make me look a little bit more like him. Maybe get you to not run out of the room every time you see me, yeah?"

Goddammit, he can't know that you do that. Unless he pays attention to you as much as you do him.

"I don't love Rooster, okay, I just don't like you." You grit your teeth and call the other bartender on duty for another drink.

"Will you at least look at it, before making your judgment, babe? You're hurting my feelings." The faux hurt in his voice almost makes you turn.

"Don't call me that."

"What should I call you then, huh?"

Your drink gets refilled and emptied just as quickly. "Woah, slow down there. Don't need you passing out on me." You have to get the hell out of here, quickly.

Your name, for starters, maybe. "Nothing. I don't even want you to talk to me."

You turn and make your way off the bar stool and it rushes over you all too fast. An empty stomach and tequila do not a wise girl make.

You nearly fall off the seat and onto your ass but a warm hand finds its way around your waist and catches you just as quick. "Easy there." You shiver and turn in his grasp trying to get away but it just makes you meet his eyes.

Shit, shit, shit.

"You good?"

No, you are very much not good. He looks--fuck.

You don't see Hangman out of uniform often. You weren't a pilot or even in the military. Just a casual acquaintance that sometimes had a few chats with his squadron. So, you'd seen him in what he usually hangs out in, his tan jumpsuit, his swimsuit, you've even seen him in his dress whites before. But this Hangman just got back and hasn't even been to the base yet so this is Jake Seresin, Texas born and bred, raised on a farm, rides horses in his spare time, mama sweeter than apple pie, probably owns a fucking cowboy hat.

So, of course, he's got a plaid shirt on. Over that is a bomber jacket, like one you've seen Mav sporting before, only it looks like something you'd wear to go ranching in the winter not fly a plane. He's got jeans on, they’re all beaten up and used, and a leather belt, and he looks like he stepped out of some country romance Hallmark movie.

The mustache is the icing on the cake.

It's not that you had a thing for mustaches. You didn't because you had no feelings for Rooster whatsoever, but you didn't think they were unattractive or creepy like most of the population seemed to.

Did you have a big crush on Tom Selleck in Magnum P.I. when you were younger? Yes. But who didn't? And liking Bella's dad in Twilight didn't make it a pattern, okay! Everyone liked him.

"Uh." You finally gracefully spit out.

He smiles teasingly. "Didn't hit your head, did you?" He knows you didn't. He's playing with you. Riling you up as he always does. Because it's funny to him. Not because he likes you--wants you.

You sober up slightly and push at him. "No, get off."

Jake--God, no, when did he become Jake in your head--just smiles more but it seems softer. "I knew you'd fallen for me, but I didn't think you'd also do it literally."

You turn even redder if possible. "Shut up."

Christ, how was it you had reverted to playground comebacks at just the sight of him? Were you really so weak?

"You didn't answer my question." Was he still talking? You felt fuzzy.

"I need another drink." You can still feel his hand on your waist because despite pushing him away he hadn't let you go.

"Did I finally break you?" He laughs and shit, he knows.

"Why are you still talking to me?" You finally snap at him and his face falls a little, just slightly, that if you didn't have every inch of his face memorized you wouldn't have noticed it at all.

"Because I care what you think." It's a confession. It has to be. You don't know what else it could be.

"Why?" You squint at him. Dumbfounded is the only word that comes to mind.

"Why? What--you don't, you seriously don't know?" He still holding onto you, and his hand flexes, fingers slightly digging into your hip and you feel yourself inch towards him, always stuck in his orbit, gravity pulling you closer.

"Don't know what?" You lick your lips in anticipation and he glances, once, up, twice, down, and then looks away and swallows.

"Why the hell do you think I talk to you all the time? Come find you in a room? Grew this fucking thing on my face?" He laughs, bewildered, and shakes his head.

"Why?" You ask again, if he doesn't say it, you won't. Too goddamn scared that you're making it all up, reading too much into it. "I thought you just liked to tease me. Get a rise out of me. I thought you were making fun of me."

"C'mon, you know me, I do the same shit I do to you that I do to Rooster. That's just what I do when I like someone."

You punch him in the arm.

"Ow! What the hell was that for!" He whines and grabs his arm, taken aback and pretending as if it actually hurt him.

"Why didn't you just tell me that, you ass!" You screech a little, desperately, feeling way too many emotions at once. He tends to do that to you.

He scoffs. "Have you met me? Do you really think I'm emotionally mature enough to do that?"

"That whole time you were just, what, flirting with me?" You question incredulously.

He laughs, a little bashfully. "I mean, come on, I thought it was obvious. I mean it was to everyone else."

You pale a little. "The others know?"

"Yeah, 'course they do. They're the ones that pointed it out in the first place. I didn't even realize I was doing it at first either." He scratches his neck, almost nervously.

"So why the mustache?"

"I don't know. I was just trying to get you to pay attention to me. Thought this might help." And god help you, Jake blushes, actually reddens a bit.

"How'd you know?"

"Hm, know what?" He smirks at you.

You cough. "You know, that I'd--that I'd like it."

Jake grins. "I didn't but you just told me you did."

You hit him again, a slap on the shoulder, almost playful, and you can't believe it, you're flirting with him, you're really this close to him, doing this. "Fuck off."

He smiles again but this one is different. His eyes are incredibly soft and he's looking at you and--did he always look at you like this? Were you really this blind?

"I need you to answer another question for me." His hand on your hips snakes around you and you stumble into him, putting your hands on his chest to brace yourself, and, Christ, he smells good. “Do you think I could take you out sometime?”

"Um." You're throat suddenly feels incredibly dry and you're heart feels like it about to beat right out of your chest. "I mean, if you want to."

"Yeah, baby. I want to."

[buckyalpine]

Snow White and Seven Soldiers

18+

Soft dark!Winter soldier bucky x reader

Idk tf is wrong with me. Many things tbh. This idea popped into my head and refused to leave so now you can all suffer with me. I’m aware this is a little fucked up, okay?

Warnings: smut, dub con, just absolute fuckery. 

A second part just cause 

Imagine y/n, the sweet pretty little scientist working for Hydra, tasked with creating a serum to create a deadly assassin. You don’t want to be there but they’ve forced you and held you captive, giving you no choice but to help them in building their super soldier army.

You hated the pained screams of the man they dragged in, watching them destroy him from the inside out. They relentlessly tortured him until they were satisfied. His beautiful blue eyes were now soulless, his arm replaced with silver vibrainium. 

The first assassin. A super soldier for Hydra.

You helped him secret, tending to his wounds and treating him with gentle touches and sweet words after his missions. You cared for his weak body every time his memory was wiped, always holding him for a moment longer before he fell asleep in his cell. 

He never remembered much after, but he always remembered you.

He recognized your voice. The soft feel of your hands. The sweetness of your words. You were so loving and warm. Like a little kitten.

His котенок. 

After their first successful super soldier, they decide it’s easier to create clones instead of capturing and training new people each time. 

You watched them file out from the chambers. 

7 super soldiers. All with a metal arm. Icy blue eyes. Dark chestnut brown hair. All with shared memories of you.

Hydra didn’t anticipate them escaping their clutches. They didn’t anticipate their very creations turning against them. The soldiers take you with them before destroying the base, your the only form of love and touch they know; they’d never leave their sweet angel behind.

You stay in a safe house with them, and the longer you stay with them, the more they need you. All of you.

They’re all touch starved. 

Craving you to take care of them.

You help them in every way possible. All but one. And the need to be touched to growing more each day. Your gentle care wasn’t enough anymore. Your sweet scent was overwhelming with their heightened senses, your skin soft and warm.

“So beautiful” The first solider watched you carefully as you brushed your damp hair, water droplets clinging to your body from your shower. He could smell your arousal, they heard the way you tried to muffle your moans while you showered, your hand between your legs, playing with yourself, thinking of him. Them. 

“Come with me” Before you could ask him what he needed, he took you hand, leading you down the hall. “Now” 

You clutch onto your towel, your heart racing as they stood around the room, eyes burning into your half naked form. 

“Take care of us darling just like you always do”

“H-how?”

“Make us feel good” He cupped your face, his lips tugging at your pouty bottom lip. “It hurts” He takes your hand, guiding it down to his thick boner and you can’t help but grasp it, your body acting on its own. “Make it go away malyshka”

You swallow thickly, trembling, you could feel your slick sticky between your thighs. 

“I-how?” 

He coos at your innocence, your doe eyes lost as you gaze up at him. 

“You don’t have to do anything котенок” He reassures you, “Lay down for us”

You’re laid out in the floor, your towel thrown off, your heart racing as they stood around you, admiring the pretty angel that took care of every need they ever had. You can’t help but squeeze your thighs in anticipation, hearing the unzipping and removal of tactical gear, identical gorgeous bodies surrounding you. You watch their hands stroke their thick cocks slowly, the room filling with low groans, eyes raking up and down your body. 

“Open”

You gasp, as one drops to his knees to push his cock into your mouth while the other spreads your legs apart, his lips sealed onto your clit. All you can do is moan and cry on the floor as they take turns pulling orgasm after orgasm out of your exhausted body, using your mouth while each taking their time tasting you. 

“So wet darling”

“Cum for us princess”

“So pretty dripping and crying on the floor”

“You belong to us”

“Sweet little cumdoll”

You can’t help but move your hand to play with your overstimulated clit as they stand above you, their cocks dripping, ready to claim you and mark you as theirs. You feel warm drops and ropes of cum spill onto your body, as they reach their climax together, ensuring there isn’t a single space of your skin left unmarked. You nearly sob as you reach your high again, your body warm and soaked with their cum dripping off every inch of your skin.

“We’re not done malyshka”

You gasp, when he licks the cum off your tummy before smashing his lips onto yours, letting you taste him. 

“Let us clean you up princess”

Their hard again within seconds, ready to wreck you all over again. Now that they had a taste, they wouldn’t be holding back. 

“Now we want to fill you”

Tags:

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[slytherhys]

June in January (Because I'm in Love)

Prompt: Powers & Possibilities (but make it Witchy!) @elriel-month

A/N: So I've had this AU in my mind for a really long time and I thought it'd be perfect for this prompt. It is kinda different from how I usually write so please bear with me. I hope I managed to make it at the very least a cute read! Enjoy 🌼

TW: Swearing, Blood and Violence (mentioned because Az is an idiot!)

You can also read this story on AO3!

The first time Azriel visits the witch’s cottage on the outskirts of Velaris, it’s against his will.

For starters, he has never been a fan of witches – not of their unrestrained power and certainly not of their blood-drinking habits. He is also a firm believer that, despite Mor’s insistence, Madja would’ve been perfectly able to fix him up with whatever medicine she usually gave Cassian whenever he got punched in the face.

But after a sparring session gone wrong, a vicious hit to the face that takes both him and Cassian by surprise, and a pounding headache only made worse by Cassian’s incessant bragging about knocking out the Shadowsinger for the first time in centuries, Azriel barely bats an eye when Mor presses a piece of parchment to his hand and nearly forces him to visit her dear friend.

“You can thank me later.” She says with an impish smile. “Preferably with chocolates.”

Azriel doesn’t bother asking any questions – namely, who her friend is. Or rather what . With a nasty black eye, a bruised ego and absolutely no desire to take part in any small talk with a stranger, he simply goes, dazed, and confused as to how the fuck he let himself be punched in the face by Cassian, of all people.

But when he first gets there, he has to wonder if Mor is pranking him. 

The cottage is covered in ivy, idyllic enough that one could think it actually belongs to the landscape where it stands. The garden surrounding him is an array of colours and scents, neatly organised by a logic Azriel does not pretend to understand. It looks innocent enough, all things considered.

But something in him goes still as he takes in the landscape in front of him. His eyes narrow as he watches the flowers sway softly in the cool January breeze. They’re beautiful and fragrant and would raise absolutely no suspicion on any other given day – if not for the fact they were in full bloom despite it being the middle of winter.

And then he sees it – a plain, wooden sign, the lettering a loopy cursive that speaks of lovely, gentle things. If it wasn’t for what they spell out, of course.

Elain’s Herbs & Potions

His entire body goes cold, and it speaks of his self-control that Azriel doesn’t shoot to the skies without a glance back. Because he knows –vividly remembers – all the tales of witches he grew up hearing about. Of their all-seeing eyes and their crooked smiles that promised nothing but pain and horror. The tales of their rituals and tricks not even the most cunning soldier could escape. Even Rhys, for all his powers and smarts, has never showed much interest in coming across a witch.

He's wondering why, exactly, Mor ever thought it’d be a good idea to send him here when he sees her.

The first thing he notices, oddly enough, is how small she is. After living next to Amren for most of his life, Azriel is not foolish enough to ever think that a sign of weakness, but it intrigues him all the same. Then, he’s utterly aware of how she doesn’t look anything like what he thought she’d look like. There’s no yellowed teeth, no wispy, greying hair, no soulless eyes.

Instead, all he sees is long, golden-brown hair and chocolate eyes. A yellow dress that compliments her tanned skin and red cheeks and speaks of warmer, sunnier days. She’s carrying a wicker basket overflowing with flowers, but the scent that trails after her is all her – sweet and sour, and Az feels his legs nearly giving out from under him, it’s probably completely unrelatable.

Elain , he assumes, and never a name has ever sounded so sweet.

When she looks up and spots him, she smiles, as if she was waiting for him and is pleased to see he's finally here. His heart tumbles inside his chest and he tells himself it’s because he’s in the presence of a witch – not because he’s suddenly wanting things he’s never wanted before.

She eyes him curiously and he has

to stop himself from asking her what’s on her mind, even if it suddenly feels

like the most important thing he’s ever needed to know.

“Can I help you?” She asks sweetly. Her voice echoes through him, and something inside him settles. He, however, can’t bring himself to speak, swallowing dryly as he stares and stares and stares . The woman - Elain ,

he thinks with delight - tilts her head, furrowing her brow as her chocolate

eyes trace his face. “That doesn’t look good.” She mutters and Azriel has to

remind himself of the reason he’s here in the first place.

“A fight.” He says oh-so-eloquently , and he’s surprised she doesn’t seem alarmed in

the slightest by his response. As if, perhaps, this is a normal occurrence for

her. He doesn’t know why that bothers him, but it does. 

Elain, oblivious to his nonsensical thoughts, simply nods and turns on her feet, disappearing inside her cottage without another word. Azriel remains where he is, unsure of what to do. All of a sudden, he can’t recall why he ever feared witches in the first place, why he ever believed the tales his brothers told him in the middle of the night when they were too young to know any better. 

And fuck if they knew any better. 

It takes the pretty witch less than five minutes to return, this time carrying a small basket in her hands, each one of her steps a small symphony of bottles clicking against each other until she’s standing in front of him. He looks down at the basket with intrigue and pretends that her closeness isn’t making his skin tingle. He listens carefully as she explains – a bit shyly, Azriel notices with satisfaction – how he must apply the green ointment to his bruises, at what time he must drink the periwinkle potion and how many times a day the white paste must be applied to reduce the swelling of his cheek.

When he nods in thanks and turns to leave, it’s entirely too soon and a pang echoes through his body as he desperately tries to come up with ways of prolonging his stay but comes up empty instead. His skin feels too tight, his cheeks too hot, his hands too clammy. He vaguely wonders if he’s running a fever - if maybe he can ask her for a cure for that as well. 

She walks by his side until they’re standing on the limits of her property, like maybe she doesn't want him to leave just yet either. He feels oddly mislaid; uncertain of what to do and who to be. All his convictions turn into ash and suddenly there’s only one thing he knows for sure: he’s going to have to get punched again, because there’s not a chance in this world he isn’t seeing Elain again.

“Who won?” Azriel turns to her as she asks, confusion clear on his face. Elain, not one to be put off by his silence, clarifies, “The fight.”

Azriel chuckles softly. “Not me.”

She frowns like she's not entirely happy with his response. “Well, make sure you win next time. Okay?” 

But the second time Azriel visits the witch’s cottage, just on the outskirts of Velaris, Elain greets him with a brilliant smile, not disappointed in the slightest to see him sporting a new bruise and a busted lip.

It shouldn’t surprise him how beautiful she looks, but he still is taken aback when he first sees her. Her hair is tumbling down her back in a messy braid, a too-big straw hat on her head and a small streak of dirt on her cheek that she probably isn’t aware of. Her cheeks are flushed from the sun, her blue dress reminds him of ripe blueberries, and the way it sways with her every step reminds him of flying in the summer breeze.

This time around, there’s no doubt in his mind he’s right where he should be. A familiar feeling of contentment rushes through his body, as if after weeks of waiting to see her, he can finally let himself relax and enjoy this small moment of reprieve (and really, who can blame him for wanting to get punched again?).

When Elain asks him what happened this time around, Azriel doesn’t dare tell her he made sure to pick Rhys during this week’s sparring session; that he made sure the most powerful High Lord in history punched him just in the right place so that he could bust his lip open. He doesn’t tell her about the confused look on his friend’s face as Azriel smiled maniacally when he felt the blood on his lips, nor does he tell her he tried to go for a broken nose instead so that maybe she would touch him too.

He simply smiles sheepishly at the pretty witch and utters something about distractions, making her blush under his stare as she turns around and scolds him for being so careless, all the while making a package of too many potions he doesn’t entirely need. (He still hasn’t used up all the old ones, but he doesn't tell her that either).

When Elain finally turns to him, her eyes drop to his lips and Azriel feels fire licking up at his spine. She watches him with curiosity and something else lingering in those cinnamon eyes. Amusement, perhaps?

For a brief, panicky moment, he wonders if she can see right through him. As it is, Azriel doesn’t exactly know where her power lies, and for all he knows every lie, every excuse is pointless in the presence of this witch.

Elain, however, doesn’t seem too concerned by his lies. “What is your favourite fruit?” She asks instead, eyes flickering to his as if nervous to see his reaction. 

Azriel tucks away his puzzlement and says, “Blueberries,” pretending the whole time it’s not only because of the colour of her dress. She nods once, as if the answer satisfies her, and hands him the basket.

“Be careful, okay?” She tells him in that honeyed voice and Azriel can think of nothing else to say, so he nods and leaves without a glance back.

He pretends he doesn’t miss her the entire flight back home.

The third time Azriel visits Elain’s cottage, he is greeted by a brilliant smile that sends his heart racing inside his chest. Elain, still bent over a shrub, tells him about the new batch of healing potions she’s been perfecting so he can try them, and he tries not to show just how pleased he is that she has been thinking about him, waiting for him to return. She doesn’t ask him about his bandaged shoulder and Azriel doesn’t tell her about the lecture he got from Rhys once the High Lord of the Night Court realised what was going on.

“These ones taste like blueberries.” She says, handing him three new potions he’s never seen before. He frowns slightly. “They’re your favourite.” She explains, and the expectant smile on her face makes it impossible for him to come clean. He isn’t even sure he likes blueberries, but he thanks her anyway and smiles the whole way home.

The fourth time Azriel visits Elain’s cottage, he has just returned from a mission abroad. When she hears the rustle of his wings, she turns to him with that brilliant smile of hers. To her credit, she doesn’t stop smiling when he sees the heavy expression on his face. She simply stands up, holds his hand, and leads him to a wooden bench under a willow tree behind her house.

They sit there for hours, without a word ever being spoken. He doesn’t know how Elain knows he doesn’t wish to speak, but he’s thankful all the same.

When he returns home, he doesn’t take any potions with him, but nevertheless something inside him feels mended; lighter than it has ever felt before. For a quiet, lovely moment he wonders if maybe he’s worthy of having his hands held despite the scars marring his skin and the idea of such a life follows him all the way home.

The fifth time Azriel returns to Elain’s cottage, nothing seems to be amiss - both Cassian and Rhysand refuse to fight him (since Rhysand promptly forbade them), and Azriel can’t seem to find any more excuses to see her again. Until he realises he doesn’t need them anymore.

As he flies to her house, a million scenarios rush through his mind as he wonders how she’ll react. If she’ll welcome him with her beaming smile, watching him as if she’d been waiting for him all along or if instead, she’ll find it so weird to find him uninjured she’ll send him on his way the second she understands why, exactly, he’s there. Azriel isn’t foolish enough to believe he’d be so lucky, but he wants to brave enough to find out.

He finds sitting in the middle of the daisies, looking for all the world like she has been painted into the landscape to make it all the more appealing. When she sees him, a smile lights up her face, eyes taking him in as he walks her way and Azriel isn’t entirely sure why, but every single doubt tainting his mind melts away into a puddle at the expression on her face.

Elain doesn’t say a word. She simply waits, rising to her feet and watching him with an expectant look in her eyes.   

“I don’t need anything today.” He says by way of greeting, and she gives him a tentative smile. 

“But you’re here.” She says gingerly, not a trace of confusion on her face.

Which makes him confused in return. “I am.” He says, and Elain chuckles, the sound low and so sweet, so perfect his heart nearly leaps from his chest to try and catch the sound. He can’t stop watching her as certainty settles deep into his bones.

Elain blows a breath like she’s finally had enough of his silence. Her cheeks pinken under his stare but she isn’t deterred. “Are you finally going to ask me out, Azriel?” She asks a bit exasperatedly. “Or is the Shadowsinger going to keep getting his ass handed to him until he finds the courage?”

He’s speechless for one second. Two. Three. He vaguely thinks of Mor and how she described Elain as her dear friend . And then he’s wondering if he’s truly that transparent and if she’s known what he had been doing all along – gathering the courage to kiss her, have her in any way he can get.

And then he’s not wondering anymore - he’s pulling her into his arms instead, kissing her until they both can’t breathe, until the sun falls behind the trees, until the cool breeze of January makes Elain shiver in his arms, reminding them of where they are. That, despite the blooming garden and the warmth of their kiss, it’s still January and there’s an entire world out there waiting for them to start the rest of their lives.

But none of it seems to matter as Elain pulls away from him, never letting go of his hand as she asks, “Do you want to come inside?”

And later that night, when the colours of dawn chase away the darkness of the night, with Elain sleeping soundly against his chest, Azriel smiles, shaking his head in disbelief.

Because he now owes Mor a very big fucking box of chocolates.

[sixosix]

KATSUKI & IZUKU: IT WENT LIKE THAT

( ? ) an interview from you (following the events of “it goes like this”)

you’re not saying you regret coming here, but you regret coming here a little bit.

“so, y/n-san,” kana says with a dangerous sparkle in her eyes. you’re acutely aware of the camera pointed right at you. “onto the next question: who’s your celebrity crush?”

“celebrity crush…? oh, that’s a hard one.” there are excited murmurs from the audience, all speculating. there are whispers about bakugou and izuku’s names; you pointedly ignore them. “i don’t know, really. a tie between mirko and hawks.”

izuku is going to grill you about this later.

“ah, makes sense,” kana nods, accepting your answer without further digging. “they’re the top two every time i ask that question.”

you don’t know how to respond to that, so you opt for a smile and a nod.

kana lights up when she moves on to the next question, and the people seated in rows across you fall hushed in anticipation. she giggles, almost maniacally, bringing the mic closer to her lips.

“you’re really close with deku and dynamight, right?”

you already know where this is going. with practiced ease, you lean against the couch, picking careful words that wouldn’t make villains froth in the mouths for a chance to break your ties. “we’re a trio.”

“right, right!” kana shivers with glee. “so, tell us about your favorite moment with deku and dynamight!”

there are cheers of encouragement and approval, nearly startling you out of your seat had you not been prepared. but any mention of their names when talking to you is always the most prominent font in headlines.

you have a feeling that once you return home, you’ll be bombarded with a series of explosions from katsuki and embarrassed whining from izuku. but that’s a problem for you later—right now, you’re here to please the audience.

“what’s my favorite moment with deku and dynamight?”

your first and favorite memory with bakugou katsuki was witnessing the start of his crude language. he taught you the phrase ‘eat shit and die’, and you find it funny to say, so you let him teach you.

he found out about it from a world-weary employee walking past and cursing out his phone, frustrated to hell. he wasn’t dressed like a villain, only someone who carried dark eyebags and a dingy, old phone. he shut up pretty quickly upon the sight of katsuki’s sharp red eyes as if expecting him to tattle tale to his mom.

instead, he turned to you and izuku, and recited those words wholeheartedly. he found the horrified looks of grown-ups to be funny.

izuku was confused, and you cackled.

he took this as encouragement because the next day, he’d found thousands of creative ways to spew nonsensical insults strung together loosely with shit and fuck.

“it fucking helps me express my shitty emotions,” five-year-old katsuki said solemnly, right after he tormented izuku with a bunch of it just to stress the poor boy out. izuku had to learn the hard way that eat shit and die is not a phrase of encouragement.

(katsuki’s smile was strangely fond and soft when you kept laughing—not that you’d indulge the audience too much by giving them that.)

“so dynamight was always like this, huh…” kana murmurs thoughtfully, giggling along with the audience.

“it’s not surprising,” you snort, “he’s fluent in the arts of being a little brat, as his parents say. we still love him for it, don’t we?”

your first and favorite memory with midoriya izuku was when you met him.

you don’t remember every detail—only bits and pieces that often keep you awake at night, thinking, “if things turned out differently, would i still be here?”. the answer was yes, you would. on a stage someday, maybe, but to miss out on izuku and katsuki sounds like a bland world to live in.

you recall stumbling into the classroom, still hanging on to the fragments of sleep your family rudely interrupted just for something as stupid as kindergarten.

katsuki was surrounded by the class, preening like a proud cat. izuku, on the other hand, was staring right at you with wide, curious eyes that resembled a puppy.

“do you have a quirk?” he asked, and the fun facts about your pet fish you practiced the day beforehand all dissipated instantly.

“i… do,” you murmured, thumbing at the hem of your shirt. “‘s not cool, though. so i don’t want to tell you.”

the strange boy with green curls looked as if you had just told him that all might retired. “i bet that’s not true! every quirk is cool! kacchan has a quirk that makes him boom!”

“...boom?”

he nodded, beaming, hopping up and down. “he can create explosives with his hands by igniting the nitroglycerin he sweats!”

“um, excuse me?” who even is kacchan? and what’s a night-row-glistening?

he continued to peer up at you as if the kacchan person was enough to convince you to reveal your secrets to him.

(you leave this part from the audience, knowing that it would raise suspicion about izuku’s quirk origins, but it went like this:

tired and a little irritated, you ask, “what’s your quirk, huh?”

izuku froze, his expression blanking for a split second before it fell into a hesitant one. “i don’t have one, yet. but i’ll get it soon! and even if i didn’t have a quirk, that wouldn’t stop me from becoming a hero!”)

and so, you focused on the pen in his hand and tried to hide a smirk when his jaw dropped to the floor when it began to float mid-air, followed shortly after by his notebook. (your quirk is nothing special. useful, maybe—especially in your line of work where you’re in charge of handling hero equipment—but nothing special. until now, you never understood why izuku…)

“oi, deku, who’s this?” a blond materialized out of nowhere, staring blankly at a pen and notebook hovering.

“kacchan!” deku practically shrieked, ignoring the grunt of christ from his best friend. “kacchan, look! this quirk is so cool, isn’t it?”

you felt your face warm at the praise, your poor heart racing. “it’s really nothing.”

kacchan eyed your expression, quirked a brow at izuku’s, then shrugged. “‘s pretty cool, yeah.”

“your quirk is like my mom’s! she can pull my toys towards her, but you can do it a bajillion more times!” deku squealed. “can i please be your friend? please? kacchan doesn’t bite, and i promise i’ll only ask three questions a day!”

your fate was sealed to both of them the moment you said yes. not that you were complaining.

“ah, y/n!” izuku all but scrambles to the door when you open it, his smile taking up most of his face. “you’re home!”

“i’m home,” you agree, grinning. izuku reaches for your bag, and you let him take it as you wriggle out of your shoes. “did i miss dinner?”

“yeah, it’s fucking cold now,” katsuki sneers as he appears from the kitchen. “go shower, i can smell you from here.” still, he does not complain when izuku tosses him your bag; instead, he places it gently on the couch.

“we watched your interview,” izuku says, gently pushing you towards the dining table despite katsuki’s chiding. “you did well! i told you they’d love you.”

“now,” katsuki says as soon as you sit down, “tell us what happened.”

“what…? you said you already watched it.”

“yeah, but, i like it better hearing it from you,” katsuki says, like it should be the most obvious thing in the world. “because it’s funnier,” he clarifies, glaring, “stop laughing, deku.”

ok guys!!!!! this little au is fun and all but HONESTLY im out of ideas and i do not have the brainpower to turn this into a series so this is the last one </3 GUYS I ACTUALLY HATE THIS i finished half of it it in one sitting but ill die if i delay it another day

[bumblesimagines]

“ do you ever hear yourself? ”  

“ how many people have you killed? how many? “

Joe or Love

“ how many people have you killed? how many? “

“ do you ever hear yourself? ”  

He/Him/His

The back of your head throbbed, sending goosebumps down your arms from the pain. Your eyes felt heavy and your body demanded more sleep but you couldn't bring yourself to doze off. Instead, you forced your eyes open and squinted through the blurry vision, blinking until everything came into focus.

"You didn't have hit him, Joe." A voice rang out, familiar and gentle. It took you a moment to become aware of your surroundings. A long dining table... A dining table? Your brows furrowed and you lifted your head, wincing at the pain only to realize something sticky was pressed against your mouth. A glance downward and you spotted your wrists, each tied to the armrests of the chair.

"I know, I panicked, alright?" Another familiar voice. A man, this time. Joe. You blinked. Could it be-

"You're awake!" Your gaze snapped in the direction of the voice and your suspicions were confirmed.

Love clicked her tongue and approached you, a damp rag in hand. She lifted it up and gently pressed it against the back of your head, frown deepening each time you winced.

"I'm sorry." She cooed, reaching down to touch your arm and rubbing it soothingly. The act would've felt comforting under normal circumstances.

"I sincerely apologize, (Y/N). I truly didn't mean to hit you as hard." Joe came into view next, a frown on his face as he studied you, unfazed by his wife tending to you.

Your response came out muffled and Love set the rag aside, taking the tip of the duct tape. "Ready?" She didn't wait, ripping it off.

"Fuck!" You hissed, feeling Love place a hand on your cheek and rub her thumb back and forth.

"You must have so many questions." She whispered and dropped her hand, leaning against the table.

"What do you want from me?" You glanced between them. You couldn't remember a single time you'd wronged them. In fact, you thought the couple liked you. For God's sake, they'd allowed you to babysit Henry! They certainly didn't need anything of yours with the money they had.

"Well, it's complicated, sweetheart. We just..." Love pursed her lips and sighed, glancing back at Joe. Her husband pulled out the chair across the table and sat down.

"It's simple. For us, at least. We... love you."

"What?" You laughed breathlessly. It had to be some sort of sick prank. You half expected Sherry and Cary to stroll around the corner with stupid grins on their faces.

"You've been so kind to us, so sweet and gentle. Offering to help us with Henry, keeping us company... saving us from Sherry and her posse." Love smiled fondly. "You understand us."

"You don't hurt or kidnap people you claim to love." You spat back, the fabric digging into your skin as you wiggled your wrist. Love placed a hand over your arm again to stop the movement.

"We wanted to take things slow, (Y/N). But then we found out you plan on moving away, and we had to be quick." Joe explained.

"Do you ever hear yourself? This isn't normal or romantic." By the looks of things, this didn't appear new to them. In fact, they seemed to genuinely believe they loved you.

And then it clicked. Natalie had gone missing only a short time after the couple moved in and not long after that, an ex of yours had stopped visiting.

"How many people have you killed? How many?" You couldn't help it. If they planned on hurting you further, you at least wanted to know what they were capable of. What the people you had allowed into your life with ease were capable of.

"You don't need to know that, (Y/N)." Love shook her head and touched your cheek again, frowning when you looked away from her.

"Don't worry... You'll learn to love us. We'll wait however long it takes."

[lillylvjy]

wait- ghost?!

a/n- hey! Long time- um. Here’s the ghost au! I had no clue what to title this so, I may change it in a little bit! But this will be a series, I already have part 2 done! Hopefully people like this- but yeah! Enjoy!

Warnings// death, murder, ghost, knife (also being thrown), blood mentioned once, brief mention of reader being short (they just can’t reach something), Wilbur being a flirt, Tommy being Tommy, mentions of food and if there’s anything else, please tell me!

Edited- yes!

wc- 1.3k

You were new to the neighborhood, so no wonder why people were looking out their windows when you arrived with a moving van. Or maybe it’s because someone actually wanted to live in the house that everyone avoided because of its past.

A couple years ago, a man in his early 20’s, along with his brother, got brutally murdered in the same exact house you were now standing in. And it was yours. Nothing seemed off, but you can definitely feel a sense of sadness and anger. ‘From what?’ people may ask, but you didn’t really know yourself. All you know is that the parents moved across the world after the incident, wanting to get far away from the place that caused them so much hurt. Which is understandable.

But here you were. In that house, standing in the middle of an empty, soon to be, living room. Smiling at the ideas running through your head as you started unboxing things.

You had drug all the furniture in and placed them randomly around the room for now until you got to decorating.

You quickly made work as you unboxed everything for the bathroom, your bedroom, and anything else you had for the time being. You saved the kitchen for last, knowing that’d take you the most time with how much stuff you have from your parents and other family members.

As you started to unpack all the kitchenware you had, you quickly were made aware of your surroundings.

“Well hello!” You jumped as you heard a deep, british voice come from behind you. Quickly grabbing a knife from the holder on the counter, you turned around to see a man, brown curly hair sitting on top of his head with a grey crewneck and black jeans on, probably somewhere in his early 20’s, smiling at you.

“Who- who are you?!” You asked, pointing the knife at him as to defend yourself. Yet all he did was laugh and shake his head.

“You don’t know who I am?! Also sweetheart, you can put that down. That won’t do anything for you.” The man said as he stood up from the chair he sat in, standing taller than you thought he would, pointing at the knife. Before he could take another steps forward, you threatened him once more.

“I swear- I’m not afraid to use this! Don’t come any further!” You shakingly told the tall man in front of you.

“Darling I promise that won’t do anything-“ as he started to take another step forward, you threw the knife at him. The knife ended up lodged into his stomach. He froze and looked at you with the most disappointed face you’ve ever seen.

“Ow? Seriously sweetheart, what do you want me to say?!” He questioned as he took the knife out of his stomach. It was clean. He was clean. No blood on the knife nor soaking up his shirt.

“What the hell-“ you said as you looked at him with wide eyes and furrowed eyebrows.

“Don’t look so scared! It’s not as bad as it looks, I promise.” The guy tried to joke but you just shook your head and rubbed your eyes, wanting to get out of this fucked up dream.

“This isn’t real, this isn’t real-“ you repeated as you turned towards the sink and splashed water on your face.

“What’s not real? Me?! Because let me tell me you darling-“ you quickly jumped back from the sink, now seeing the stranger sitting on the counter next to it. “Don’t be so jumpy love, I don’t bite- I mean, unless you want me too.”

You rolled your eyes and quickly shook your head to gather your thoughts. “Ok- you better explain what’s going on and fast.”

The man sighed and hoped down from the counter. “How about introductions first yeah? We got off at the wrong foot. I’m William Watson-Gold. You may call me Wilbur or Wil, either is fine.” Wilbur said as he stepped closer to you. You moved back, bumping into the island and grasping the counter as if it’d protect you from this super attractive man in front of you. “What’s your name sweetness?” He smirked as he leant down to meet your eyes.

“Y/n.” You replied with a monotoned voice, not wanting him to know the effect he had on you so fast.

Wilbur’s smirk turned into one of a smile in ways. His eyes stared into yours as almost to examine who you were and what your backstory was. Like he wanted to get to know you. But he quickly snapped out of his head and took a few steps back, the smirk being thrown back on his face as he looks in the living room.

“You can come out now Tom.” Wil yelled out as you quickly turned to the entrance of the kitchen.

“Fucking finally- you need to stop flirting with them! It’s very uncomfortable to watch!” The boy, Tom, complained as he hopped onto the island counter.

“Ok- what the fuck?!” You yelled as you waved your hands around, trying to figure out what was going on in your home.

“Wait- do they not know we’re-“

“Dead? No, I haven’t gotten there yet. Now continuing my explanation- Me and Tom here are the two unfortunate men that got murdered in this house. We’ve been stuck in this shit hole ever since with very little human interaction besides each other.” Wilbur explained as he leant against the refrigerator.

“Which is why he’s being so flirty with yo- ow!” Tom yelled out as Wilbur punched his arm and glared at him.

“So- you two are, dead?”

“As dead as dead gets.” Wilbur said as he picked up one of the apples you just placed in the fruit bowl and bit into it. “Fuck- I forget how good food taste sometimes!”

“Wait-“ you went up to Wilbur and grabbed his hands, feeling the coldness his body carried with him. You were thinking your hand would go right through him like the shows portray- but your hand stayed perfectly in his. Wilbur would never admit it, but it felt like your hand was meant to be in his. Like it was a puzzle piece that fit perfectly together. “Then how can I touch you? Isn’t my hand supposed to like- go through you or some shit?”

“Stupid movies. No. That shit isn’t real! But us- we are as real as it gets.” Tom said as he took a bite out of the apple Wil stole.

You nodded as you slowly let go of Wilbur’s hand, looking up at him to see his eyes furrowed and almost saddened at the thought of losing that warmth you provided him.

As you both continued to look at each other, not wanting to let the serene moment go, Tom noticed the silence and looks up at the two. Rolling his eyes, his hopped of the counter and stood in between the two and turned to look at Wilbur.

“I’m going to my room- it finally has a bed again and I need my beauty sleep. And for god sake Wil, STOP FLIRTING!” Tom yelled down the stairs. Wilbur scoffed as he looked down at the floor, hiding his face from as it turned red.

“Um- so you guys are just going to be here? With me?” You asked as you went back to unloading everything. Wilbur cleared his throat as he looked back up at you, seeing how you struggled to get the cup on the highest shelve. He smiled and went over to you, grabbing the cup and placing it for you. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem. And yeah, unfortunately. But! We can be somewhat fun! At least you won’t be alone.” Wilbur stated as he moved out of the room and turned to look at you. “I’ll let you be for now darling. Just call my name if you need anything.” Wilbur nodded his head as he walked towards the stairs, disappearing once he passed the wall.

He did have a point. At least you won’t be alone. That was the one thing that worried you.

But , how the hell are you supposed to live with two-

Ghost.

taglist: @deadphantomsociety @jadeissues @sixofshadowandbone @z3ro-to-h3ro @gaytoadwithapopsicle @art3m1s-adelia @mcr-pr-fob @romancingdaffodils @swevenne @maarriiii @ella-fella-bo-bella @opheliq @mysticalsoot @anon-duck (if you wanna be added, all ya have to do is ask lovelies!)

[lvlyghost]

Call of Duty Headcanons: Vol II ✨

How they’d react to their civilian s/o getting hurt

Pairings: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem!Civilian!Reader

Tw: blood, injuries, angst. simon is mad, whiskey and shooting?, strong language & probably more 😮‍💨 lots of grammar mistakes; you name it🐸

A/N: so here’s the second part!❣️ and ofc it’s our baby ghost! Please remember that english is not my first language, corrections are appreciated 🫶🏻✨Enjoy!🌷

Vol I✨ Vol III✨ Vol IV✨

“I promise we’ll leave super soon! You won’t even notice we left the house.” You had said, smiling widely to Simon.

He scoffed but followed you inside the bar still not convinced. Why couldn’t you accept the plan of tea and bed? Rolled his eyes.

He just wanted to stay home but he could never say no to you. And of course you ordered some sweet cocktail when you both took a seat right in front of the barman.

“Whiskey.” He growled. You shoot him a glare and he just shrugged.

“So grumpy.” You teased him.

Things went sideways too fast.

If only he had been more aware of his surroundings, if only he had never let his guard down, if only he had fixed his eyes at the door… he would’ve seen the shooter coming.

But no. He was completely in awe watching you, hearing you talking about that one party with your co-workers that had gone terribly wrong.

You were laughing. And bloody fucking hell he adored your laughter. His eyes never left yours, cheeks blushing all because of the alcohol. You were never good at drinking.

And now he was rushing to your body, drenched in blood, gasping for air. Two bullet wounds, one on your shoulder blade, another one on your arm.

Simon yelled your name. You could hear the panic in his gruffy voice. “Hey! Hey sweetheart, stay with me…” he urged you. His eyes are wide in shock, horror at the sight. His girl. That was his fucking girl the man had shoot at. Simon sucked in a breath when he tried to apply some pressure on both of your wounds. “I must do it, love. Please, hang in there. Everything’s gonna be okay, I’m right here, take a deep breath for me would ya’?… atta girl.” He said, when you did. Voice soft, he was trying to make you feel calm.

God if only he could stay calm! His heart was racing, he’d feel the thrum in his ears. You were the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Si-Simon?” You stuttered. “I’m cold.”

He felt it. Felt the way your body was shaking under his hands.

“I know,” a painful whine left your lips. “I know!” He nearly cried at the sound of it.

“Fuck! Call a fucking ambulance now!” He shouted, at the people who were running all over the place, scared, crying, panicking.

Simon never wanted to hear you make a sound like that ever again. He’d take your place in a heartbeat. He’d do anything for you if it meant you’d be safe.

Sell his own soul? Done

Rip his heart out? Done

When you brought one of your tiny hands and placed it on his hulking bicep he almost lost it.

He never wants to see you go through that again. This was where you were supposed to be safe. By his side. Enjoying a normal life. This wasn’t the army. Simon swore nothing like this could happen, let alone to you.

He swallowed the burning lump in his throat. And in that very moment he made a silent promise. He’d find the bloody bastard and make him pay.

Pushing a strand of hair out of your face he caressed your cheek so delicately as if somehow you’d break under his soft touch.

“I know what you’re gonna say…” you found the strength to smile. Even then and there, whatever may come… you were with the man you loved the most.

“We should’ve fucking stayed home.”

[thencitytales]

Non-stop Teasing - CYJ

🌷Pairing: Choi Yeonjun of TXT x fem!reader (3rd person used)

🌷 kinda enemies to lovers

🌷wc: 4.1k

🌷 Fluff? sort of angsty tho

🌷 warning: drinking, cussing, frat party, Yeonjun being kind of down bad

🌷There are a few other idols mentioned, some of them in a relationship with each other, I do not think these people are together nor do I ship them, I just felt like the story could have used these dort of relationships (ChaewonxWooyoung, KarinaxJeno)

🌷 Hey!! I am back because i felt like it. This fic is a fleeting idea i had a long time ago and was finally able to finish. In the beginning it was not meant for Yeonjun but it had mostly OC'S so if you see random names I'm sorry, I have yet to proofread it. Feel free to give me notes and feedback, as I appreciate it a lot!! 'Til next time <3

(not my GIF)

Yeonjun. Stupid, fucking Yeonjun.

Idiot, average-looking yet so stupidly attractive Yeonjun.

“If you really hate him you should stop staring at him, you know?” a blonde girl talked to her best friend, who shushed her in response.

“Shut up Chaewon, I’m not staring” Y/N retorted against her best friend. 

Except she was, and she knew it.

Another person in the library was also very aware of Y/N and what she was doing, because he could feel her eyes pierce through his head. 

And he loved it.

“Ask anybody here, they’ll say you’re staring,” Chaewon said in an amused tone, making Y/N’s eye twitch in frustration.

“Well, then it’s hate-staring, glaring if you will,” Y/N looked away from the boy and glared at her best friend, turning her head ever so slowly, as to recreate the scene in a horror movie.

“Just like I’m glaring at you right now.” Chaewon let out a laugh at her friend’s antics and shrugged it off.

“Sure thing, love. Keep telling yourself that.”Chaewon said. Y/N could only scoff before going back to look at her books.

Look was indeed the best word to describe what she was doing, the words on the page being read for the tenth time in as many minutes without understanding nor absorbing any of it. Biology sucked, and so did Y/N’s brain at that moment. So much so that after a couple of seconds she got distracted again.

“What is it with the stupid beanie anyway? Like what’s the deal with that? DO YOU THINK HE HAS A BALD SPOT?” Y/N whisper-screamed, making Chaewon almost spit out the water she was trying to drink after finally reaching the end of her chapter.

Suddenly the girls heard a louder voice coming from behind them.

“It’s actually for style-related purposes, no bald spot, though if you’re still in doubt you could always ask him. Also, Y/N, you were one hundred percent staring at Yeonjun, just FYI.” Wooyoung said whilst chuckling at the little jump the girls made upon hearing him. Y/N turned around, red in the face, a mixture of embarrassment for being caught and pure wrath, caused by Wooyoung’s presence.

“How long have you been here?” She said bitterly. The boy could sense she wanted to add something, the words dying in her throat a bit too fast. He assumed a “dickhead”, or “asshole” was missing, but he let it go, not teasing her any further. 

“The whole time, love,” he said mocking what Chaewon had said to her friend just a few minutes prior. Then turned away and returned to his spot at the same table with Yeonjun, Soobin and Changbin.

Y/N looked warily at her surroundings to make sure no one else was around to eavesdrop on them.

“How in actual hell are you able to like that guy?” Her shocked expression clearly visible on her features.

Chaewon shrugged.

“He just likes to tease you, he’s actually very nice” She answered, her cheeks turning slightly pink before continuing. 

“I mean it’s not like they’re the fuckboys group.” When Chaewon said that, Y/N was still looking at them and immediately turned around. 

“No, they’re worse, at least the fuckboys are self-aware of how awful they are” she sighed.

“Oh my God you’re so dramatic,” Chaewon said rolling her eyes before going back to typing at her computer. 

Y/N shut up and went back to try and drill a hole through Yeonjun’s head with her gaze, sadly, without any success.

As if on cue, the boy turned around, looked at her, smirked, and turned back to speak with Changbin, making her avert her gaze and awkwardly look around to find God knows what.

She couldn’t take it anymore, her heart pounding in her chest was beginning to feel like it was too much, she could literally hear it and the sensation made her shudder. She got up and headed to the bathroom searching for some quick fix to the sudden heat of her body.

As soon as she got there Y/N quickly splashed her face with some cold water to try and stop it from getting all red, failing miserably. She looked defeatedly at her reflection.

“This is a PSA for that tiny voice living at the back of my head, I am kindly asking you to shut up” She lightly hit her head with her hand in the process so that the point would go across. 

“You understand me??” The girl sighed and took a step back from the sink to exit the bathroom, but as soon as she turned around a familiar face was standing leaning on the door frame.

“Try hitting it harder next time, that should work better.” He chuckled lightly before taking a step towards her.

“This is the girls’ bathroom, Yeonjun” Y/N backed up and glared at him for what was probably the thousandth time that day.

“Sorry, I was headed to the guys’ bathroom but something here caught my attention” he smirked once again. 

Y/N was on the verge of breaking. That smirk. He had to know the effect it had on her. Or was it just a stupid habit of his? 

It didn’t really matter. Either way, she wanted to kiss him so badly right now. And subsequently, run away, completely change identities, go to Peru, and start a potato plantation or something, to hopefully never be found again. She would never EVER admit to wanting to kiss that boy.

Frustrated even more than before, she ran back to the table where Chaewon was waiting for her, shoving Yeonjun in the process, and making him audibly laugh, clearly enjoying how easily he could fluster her.

“I gotta go, or I’m going to be late for the party,” Chaewon said the moment she saw her best friend enter her view.

“Again” Y/N added to Chaewon’s statement, knowing how long the blonde usually takes to get ready. The other girl got up and quickly added:

“Remember, I’ll be at your dorm around 10 pm, we’ll see what to do from there. Remind Ryujin too when you get home, please.” Chaewon said while collecting all of her stuff and messily throwing it in her bag.

“Sure thing, I’ll finish this chapter and go home too in a half-hour or so. Don’t worry about Ryujin, knowing her, she’ll be all dressed up already. You know who you should be worried about, though.” Y/N answered, looking up from her books.

“I already texted Karina, I told her I’d be at hers around 9:30 so she’ll hopefully be ready when we actually get there.” The girl chuckled at her best friend’s trickery and waved her goodbye, mumbling a “perfect” in the meanwhile.

On her way out Chaewon was stopped in her tracks by a slightly taller figure.

“Hey there,” he sweetly addressed the girl.

“Hi Wooyoung, I’d love to stop and chat with you but I really need to go.”

“See you at the party, then” Chaewon looked at him surprised.

“You should really stop eavesdropping other people’s conversations. Besides, you don’t even know which party we were talking about, there’s like 5 every Friday night without counting the ones outside of campus” 

He gave her a playful smile and said “Don’t worry, I’ll figure it out.” The girl laughed and answered “Good luck, darling” before going her way.

After that Wooyoung quickly got back to the guys’ table where all of his friends were sitting, trying to finish some sort of group project.

“Okay, talking about important things, what do you guys know about parties tonight?” Wooyoung said, sitting down.

“You mean here in the campus? or in general? Also like, frat houses or bars?” Soobin started throwing questions at him to try and narrow down the search.

“I don't know, man, Chaewon was talking to the Menace and they said they were going to a party tonight.” Wooyoung just answered him calmly.

As soon as he heard the words “Menace” and “party” together in a sentence Yeonjun’s interest was piqued. He looked at Wooyoung, completely ignoring the semi-blank document opened in front of him.

“Well I don’t think they’d go off campus, the Menace is too lazy for that, she’d want to be as close to the dorm as possible.” Soobin started the brainstorming session.

“That still leaves like at least five or six parties” Changbin pointed out, then turned to Wooyoung and asked:

“Is it just the two of them?” to which Wooyoung quickly added Ryujin and Karina to the mix.

As soon as Karina’s name came up Changbin and Soobin looked at each other and said: “Keystone Lodge.”

“Is there something I don’t know?” Wooyoung asked given how the boys answered the place of the party seemed obvious but he had no idea.

“Karina’s boyfriend, Jeno. He’s in the frat.” Soobin pointed out.

“Okay but aren’t parties at KL like, invitation-only or something like that?” Changbin quickly raised the question.

Yeonjun, who had just started fantasizing about what could’ve happened at the party and had no intentions of having his dreams ruined just like that, said: “don’t worry guys, be prepared, I’ll text you later.” and quickly got up and gathered his things before exiting the library.

“Does he have to do it every time?” Soobin asked.

“He got it from Mark, says it gives him the surprise effect later on and the mysterious effect right away.” Changbin answered rolling his eyes, to which the other two guys only answered almost in awe with an “Ooh.” probably thinking it was the best idea a man could have.

“Okay, how did you get us in Yeonjun?” Wooyoung asked, almost alarmed at how quickly and seemingly easily their friend acquired the invitations.

“I know Haechan, and he owed me. He still does.” the older boy simply stated, raising Wooyoung's alarm instead of calming him down.

“Now let’s get this party started” Yeonjun exclaimed walking up the stairs to Keystone’s Lodge with a smirk on his face.

“You’re going to try and make her life hell, aren’t you?” Changbin said clearly amused at how his friend was planning on being even more annoying to Y/N than he usually was.

“Just wait and see Changbin, just wait and see.” the smirk on Yeonjun’s face growing with every step to the door he knocked on, where they found a guy standing alone, waiting for proof of invitations.

Inside the Frat house, the music was blasting. The air felt damp and everything smelled like cheap alcohol, adding to the mix the group of smoking boys at the far end of the room anyone could imagine that the atmosphere was not very romantic. Which is exactly what they expected.

Changbin went straight for the bar, getting everybody something to drink as the other guys scanned the room for their targets. 

Wooyoung quickly saw Chaewon sitting on the couch with her friends. They were talking to a few frat guys but they seemed nonthreatening enough to his ego. The Menace was sitting dangerously close to one of them, almost in his lap. Wooyoung could not recognize the guy though, no matter how much he squinted.

He nudged his friends and with a nod pointed the scene out, hoping they would get curious and approach them, so he could flirt with Chaewon once again. 

As soon as he realized what was going on, Soobin turned to look at Yeonjun’s reaction, gesturing to Changbin to hurry over, so he could witness it too because despite what those two liked to admit, they had this tension between them that was almost romantic. They were definitely, on some level, attracted to each other but they would never admit it. That’s why Changbin Soobin and Wooyoung were now staring at Yeonjun, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever they had theorized.

Yeonjun’s brows furrowed. The night just started and everything had to be so simple already, not even a bit of a challenge. He sighed, took a drink from Changbin’s hands, and turned to Wooyoung. 

“Let’s go say hi to your princess, shall we?” Yeonjun told his friend, who was very happy about the poor lighting, meaning the other boys were not made aware of his rosy cheeks prompted by Yeonjun's comment.

As they approached, Chaewon saw them and a big smile tugged on her lips. She raised a hand to say hi and the boys did the same.

“Well Well Well, I’m surprised to see little Sherlock actually did find us.” She chuckled looking at Wooyoung.

“I told you I could do it. I’m very resourceful” he winked and the girl lightly laughed. 

Everybody then fell back into conversation, except Y/N and her mystery guy, who were so distracted by each other that they didn’t even say hi to the newcomers. 

Yeonjun cleared his voice. 

“I know you don’t like us Y/N but not saying hi is simply rude, even for you.” He smirked, knowing very well what it did to her.

The girl turned around, her surroundings didn’t make it easy to hear but she was sure she heard a voice talking to her. 

From her sitting position she looked at the new figures that had joined the conversation. And then she saw his face. She simply rolled her eyes.

“Who even invited you here? Seriously, please tell me so I can avoid the lunatic all night long, people just become crazier and crazier by the day”

“Actually,” Yeonjun chuckled.

The guy whom Y/N was talking to gently removed his hands from her hips, feeling a bit embarrassed. 

“I think that might have been me,” He said. 

Y/N looked at Haechan with a void expression.

“You’re his friend?” She asked, not believing it for a moment.

Haechan was slightly taken aback by the question, thinking the answer to be obvious, so he simply answered:

“Yeah?” at which Y/N glared at both the boys.

“That’s a shame, I really liked you.” And with that, she got up and went to the bar to pour herself yet another drink. The alcohol was probably what made her act so suddenly with that silly explanation but even sober her had no intention of being affiliated in any way with Yeonjun.

Seeing how Y/N was behaving, the boy thought that his mission was going to be such a delight with how simple she was making it.

Yeonjun followed her, leaving behind their friends absorbed in whatever conversation, and a very confused Haechan sitting on the couch.

As Y/N approached the bar, she bumped into a few people obstructing passages left and right and leaving her even more annoyed than she already was.

She took one of the red cups and poured herself some beer. 

Not the ideal drink but it was the first thing her hands were able to grasp. 

As she was about to take a sip, a hand snatched her drink.

“Thanks, I was very thirsty,” Yeonjun told her, earning a glare once again that day.

“How do you manage to be so annoying Yeonjun?” Y/N said while pouring another cup, this time she grabbed some gin, sensing she would need something stronger than a beer.

“I give it my best, just for you” he grinned.

Y/N couldn’t help but groan as she looked for the soda to mix her drink.

“What did I ever do to you? Have I offended you in any way? Are you holding a grudge from your past life?? Why do you like to annoy me so much??” She sighed in defeat.

“Woah,” Yeonjun said taken aback by the sudden seriousness of the question.

“Well, for starters I could ask you the same thing…” He answered calmly.

As she started to protest he shushed her.

“Buut, I am not going to lie, I do find you very cute when you’re frustrated” He chuckled.

“Are you hitting on me?” She asked, mouth agape.

“Do you want me to be hitting on you?” There it was again. The stupidest grin on the face of the earth. If there was a way to wipe it off instantly, Y/N would’ve gladly taken that chance. Thinking about it, there was a way, and to be honest she had reluctantly considered that way many times before, but always ended up avoiding it.

A kiss was not the solution, everything it could’ve done was only create more problems.

She was snapped back to reality by Yeonjun waving his hands in front of her eyes. She had been staring at the grin for god knows how long. A faint red was starting to tint her cheeks.

“You want to kiss me so badly,” Yeonjun told her, the grin never leaving his face.

She tried to play it as cool as possible, hoping the poor lighting of the room helped her conceive the blushing situation.

“Projecting much?” She smiled turning on her heels, determined to get out of the house for some fresh air.

As she walked away Yeonjun screamed over the music.

“I never said I wouldn’t like it” Y/N briefly stopped in her tracks, surprised by the sudden confession. Thinking it was just another way of getting under her skin she slowly reached the door and opened it, stepping out onto the backyard.

“You just love messing with her, don’t you?” Chaewon said as she approached Yeonjun, Wooyoung by her side, holding her waist.

“I have a tendency not to lie, actually. Everything I said is true. She’s just… compelling” he tried to find the best word to describe her.

“Compelling? You mean messing with her like that is compelling?” Chaewon said, a bit offended that Yeonjun enjoyed toying with her friend’s emotions like that.

“Tell me Chaewon, when have I ever done anything truly bad to her? All I do is tease, in her opinion, when in reality I was always simply…” Yeonjun said, meanwhile Chaewon tried to start a list of all the times he’s gotten you frustrated and quickly realized most times it was just his very annoying, twisted way of ... 

“Flirting,” Chaewon said, shocked. She looked at him straight in the eyes, her expression painted with shock.

“Oh my God, you just flirt with her” Chaewon continued. She suddenly realized that every time Yeonjun ever talked to Y/N he was flirting, and that enraged her friend for some reason. He never actually DID anything bad to her. He never insulted her, let alone take action to actively ruin her day. The only times he did something of the sort she was always with a guy, like 10 minutes ago with Haechan. Yeonjun was always just… flirting with Y/N.

“I am very confused.” Wooyoung said looking at his two friends.

“You never admitted it to us and it takes you like three seconds to tell it to her best friend? I kinda hate you and I am not sure I would like to be friends with you anymore.” Wooyoung continued while watching Yeonjun's every move and acting offended.

“It’s not like you guys ever really asked, I thought it was obvious if I have to be honest. She’s pretty, she’s smart, she can be a pain in the ass but she’s one of the nicest and kindest people I ever met. Not with me, which I can not really comprehend, but if teasing her incessantly is the only way I can get her to interact with me I don’t think I will ever stop.” Yeonjun said earnestly to his friend. A small smile appeared on his features, almost sheepishly.

A voice behind him startled him right after.

“What did he just say??” it was Changbin, who basically screamed in his ear after he heard just half of the confession.

“I think he likes the Menace!!” Soobin screamed at Changbin (and in Yeonjun’s other ear) in hopes of being understood over the loud music.

Meanwhile, Y/N was outside, freezing because she forgot to bring a jacket. 

Why did he have to always be so annoying, why did he always have something to say that would just make her heart beat at a worrying speed? Why did she have to like him so fucking much?

As her mind birthed the last few words she stopped pacing back and forth on the grass.

Of course, she liked him. It seemed as if every stupid decision she could make she would take and this was not even a conscious one. 

It would explain why her fight or flight response would kick in every time he would even just look in her direction, and her choice was fight. 

Thinking about kissing him all those times was not just a stupid silly thought. 

Y/N was hopeless.

"So?" The question was raised suddenly by a voice she recognised immediately.

He was standing right there, in front of her, handing her her jacket.

She happily took it, silently thanking him with a smile before muttering.

"So what?" her eyes looking at him defeated. She liked him and he was just playing. He was just teasing, and look where all that teasing led her. A terrible position she never wanted to be in.

"Am I getting that kiss you so badly want to give me?" Here he goes again. Non-stop teasing.

This time Y/N did not find it in her to fight, not him nor the feelings she finally realized she had.

"You should be more careful with your words Yeonjun, one might think you actually want it, crave it even" she said calmly before chuckling lightly. She was now sitting down on the bench and her gaze was everywhere but the boy's figure.

"As I said when you were storming off, I do think I'd enjoy it" he slowly sat down beside her, surprised by her tone. This felt more like an actual conversation now. It didn't seem like she had any intention of fleeing this time around. Just them two, talking like normal people. It was new and he liked it. He liked it more than words could explain.

"Stop teasing me please, I honestly don't think I can take it anymore. I won't be bothering you again if you promise me you will leave me alone without uttering any other word that you don't mean" If someone were to pass by and listen very closely, the sound of Yeonjun's heart could be heard as it was cracking and falling apart like glass under extreme heat.

She didn't want to see him anymore, but what was worse is that she didn't think his words were honest. She thought he didn't mean it, ever.

He meant it from the first smile he flashed her, from the first hello he said. The first time he saw her he was struck by lightning and did not feel like himself anymore. All he could do was think about her, all he wanted to do was to speak with her. He did not care if it meant he had to endure rolling eyes and frustrated groans, at the very least he was interacting with you.

"So?" this time she asked the question. Her eyes showed how hurt she was and he could barely look at them.

As he turned to face her, Y/N noticed tears welling up in his eyes. She didn't understand.

"You really think I don't mean it? Y/N you consume my thoughts in the best and worst way ever. I think about you all the time. All I ever want to do is speak with you and I don't care if it means you'll hate me, I won't stop doing it because I am selfish like that. I don't want to feel miserable, and the only way I have to do that is if I speak to you. You can tell me you despise me a thousand times but I won't care as long as you're in front of me, addressing me, acknowledging my presence." As Yeonjun spoke Y/N could not believe his words. 

If it was just minutes ago she would've joked about how "you're so obsessed with me, jeez" but at that moment the expression on Yeonjun's face was making her want to cry. It seemed like he meant it.

He did mean it.

"You like me?" she asked, furrowing her brows in confusion.

"I think like is a bit of an understatement at this point..." he chuckled looking into the distance, the palms of his hands rubbing against each other awkwardly.

Y/N moved closer to him. He did not register how close she got until she turned his head towards her with her hand.

They stared at each other, they are not sure for how long. It could have been mere seconds or hours on end. Then she moved closer and finally kissed him. 

She tilted her head as he deepened the kiss. 

Everything felt good. They were finally happy.

[namazunomegami]

A healthy dose of stalker Geto thoughts

a/n: FYI, thats the result if you lock me up in an empty room with my laptop and a playlist full of mareux, NIN and MSI. At least I got a newfound love for Closer now bc some years ago a fic ruined the song for me lmao

Before you ask, yes, I have mental problems. But likes and reblogs are still appreciated <33

wc: 1919

cw: geto is fucking delulu, online stalking, serial murder, poisoning, dismemberment, geto cooks his blood into a meal, implied bondage, kidnapping, reader was abused, corruption, reader is forced to torture and kill their abuser, gore

credits: nakatsuji sakutaro for one of my fave geto fanarts ever <33, my dearest @notveryrussian for proofreading, my criminal pedagogy teacher for some interesting details about organized criminals lol and arone_cosplay on tiktok bc his scream au cosplay was the sole inspiration when I started writing

The dark content is heavy with this one so there's nothing wrong if you won't interact with this post! If my horror enthusiast bestie says that this shit is scary, believe them. Minors are gonna get kicked, obviously.

He’s definitely not that “Joe Goldberg from You” type of stalker. He despises the guy, he watches that show to have a laugh. It’s his form of disaster tourism. Geto is almost the antithesis of Joe. I was a big fan of the first season of You so let me elaborate. Joe has a savior complex and he latches onto any conventionally attractive rich woman in his proximity and tries to mold them into his ideal type (which is vulnerable, dependent, innocent, and forgiving) and when shit hits the fan he becomes a whiney little bitch saying stuff like “aww, but I did this all for you :cc” because he’s in complete denial about his crimes and psychopathic nature. Geto is the opposite, and what makes him so fucking scary is that he doesn’t need to convince himself that his actions are right. He knows he’s right.

Also, he won’t put on a fucking cap and go out on the streets to stalk you. That’s just a dumb decision, he has a job to do, and it’s easy to recognize him. But that doesn’t mean that he won’t do it in his spare time, from a comfortable distance. He only needs one of your socials and digs up every little detail about you. Your entire lore. Pictures shared by your relatives when you were just a little kid, he tracks your friends’ accounts (he wants to make sure that you’re surrounded by the right people), all the locations, cafés, restaurants you share on your instagram highlights, your celebrity crushes, all the playlists you made on spotify, everything. He gets to know you before you’re even aware of his existence, you’re an open book to him before he talks to you. It’s so easy to get a feel of your essence in the online space, use the tremendous information to his advantage, surprise you, win you over with his fake thoughtfulness.

"Aw, you’re so sweet, how did you know?"

"Lucky guess."

Yeah, a lucky guess, he just scrolled your twitter until 4 am to reach your first ever post.

The easiest way to understand how his mind works is to look at his MBTI type and I’ll try to hold myself back to not flood you all with my everlasting love for Jungian psychology and cognitive functions. INTJs are meticulous, skeptical, analytical, practical, everything is centered around a bigger, more complex system, a spiderweb of thoughts. Their subjective ideals and values have the utmost importance. They get lost in the details sometimes, but they manage to prioritize creativity and rationality in their actions and thought process. So, if we want to pick a category among murderers, he’d definitely belong into a mission oriented type (canon is my only proof for this). He couldn’t care less about money, power, or satisfying his needs for control. He’s the personification of punishment in his mind.

Evil is petty, he is petty, but not so much to just deal with every single nuisance in the shape of a person (looking at Joe again lol). He won’t go after the Karens at your workplace or the shitty classmates who just wanted their name on your assignment without any contribution. If he kills, he must kill for a valid reason and does it brilliantly. Calm and level-headed, organized, devoid of anger or any intense emotion. He makes awful lot of preparations for a kill. He studies the victim just like he studies with you. Their schedule, relationships, habits, social media presence. He’d rather arrange the scene to give the impression of an accident. Mixing cleaning products, fucking around with the heating system and letting them die of carbon monoxide poisoning or a house fire (an easy kill if the victim smokes). He rarely lets himself get carried away and get all bloody and gorey because he knows how much effort he must put into disposing of the body. But he does feel like a god during the process. That he rules over life and death. That he has the divine right to decide who should be removed from existence.

The only slightly risky thing he allows himself, is to put his earphones in and call you up while dismembering a corpse. Good thing that his grandma has no use for that big ass meat grinder, a literal jackpot for getting rid of the bodies. His voice is soothing, so sweet you can turn into a blushing and giggling mess, but you can still hear the loud chopping noises as he severs the body parts right at the joints. He shrugs it off that he’s just meal prepping.

You believe him, you don’t question him further. But he does cook a delicious meal just for you and sends it to your workplace. And you have absolutely no idea that he was thinking about cutting up the ingredients with the same knife he killed his victim with. Luckily, he changed his mind. You don’t deserve to have any remnants of a lowlife in your system. But the idea was nice, just like how modern witches tie their favorite person to them. There’s something ritualistic about blood consumption in his mind that he can’t explain. Hopefully, a few drops of his own didn’t ruin the meal. At least you weren’t complaining about the metallic taste. He doesn’t mind he has to live off on two cans of Monster because he pulled an all-nighter. You’re falling head over heels for him so it’s worth the suffering.

The only thing that makes his heart ache is that as your relationship develops, he must use you to forge his alibis. He immediately copied the keys to your apartment, without your knowledge of course. Sometimes he drops by when you’re absent, goes through your stuff, sniffs around, looking for trinkets. He comes over specifically when he plans to kill his next victim. Sneaks out in the middle of the night, kills them, then goes back to your place and crawls back next to you. And he’s as silent as a cat, as a phantom, as a ghost.

He’s a fucked up man in every aspect. You think he’s too hyper fixated on restraints and bondage. He’s far too keen to spend an excruciatingly long time arranging the rope in an aesthetically pleasing way, or have the gag’s and blindfold’s colors match perfectly. His creativity and imagination are running wild when you’re the rigger. You almost question his sanity when he asks you to use cable ties and masking tape on him. What does he want? To feel tortured? Deep down he’s fascinated with the feelings a potential victim might experience. A taste of distress, vulnerability, helplessness that he usually has no chance to feel, yet he’s thrilled about it. You still won’t suspect a thing, everybody’s got a weird kink or two that they can’t explain, right?

He knows that one day, you’ll discover his secret. That he can’t hide it forever and even though he justifies his vile actions by giving it a noble cause, he must earn your forgiveness. He deliberately kept those who hurt you mostly alive. Whether it’s a bully, the shittiest ex known to mankind, or an abusive parent. He knows he has no right to kill them. But he can bring them to your basement, gagged and tied up. The best birthday gift ever is to let you have your revenge, right? Or maybe he just wants somebody as irredeemable as him, like he’s undeserving of anything nice in life so he must break it, tarnish it, ruin it. The world is a such a cruel place for kind spirits, he feels the need to corrupt them. Bring them down to his level.

He lined up a bunch of tools, a wooden bat, scissors, knives, razor blades, a hatchet, a hammer. He transformed the basement into a makeshift rage room. You don’t dare to cry, run, or scream at him, the person before your eyes makes you freeze completely, your features are distorted in dread. An old response got triggered, your nervous system remembers those years, you’re flooded with memories. You feel yourself regressing back to the victim you once were and that’s the process that Geto wants to stop once and for all. It’s so strange that you find safety in his presence and his firm hold above your elbows. He’s looming over you like a shadow, a shroud. Like the devil on your shoulder. Cooing in your ear to pick up something and have fun, let your rage cloud your mind, make them relive your pain. Don’t worry about a single thing because he will do all the clean-up. And you have no idea why, but you accept.

It’s strangely comforting. You feel in control, all-powerful, accomplished. It feels better than it should. It feels so right but it shouldn’t. There’s no guilt in you, only endorphins running rampant in your veins. The dopamine rush enslaves you, fills your brain with white noise. The pain does fade a little or something just irrevocably breaks in you. Maybe you’re just as fucked up as him and you managed to bury it in the deepest corner of your psyche. All bottled up for years like the most exquisite French wine, chained just like a beast but now it’s freed. Your reward is a bloody pile of flesh and guts that once was a person, and utter devotion gleaming in Geto’s eyes.

Your consciousness gets clearer, you notice the sensation of being drenched in blood and sweat when the realization hits you that there’s no going back. Now, you’re sticked together for life. You know his dirty little secret and now you’ve forged your own that he can blackmail you with if you ever want to get away from him. But why would you do that? You’re everything he needs and he’s all you have.

[whiskeynwriting]

MBFD - Chapter Ten: Even When Apart

Dave York x Female Reader

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Word Count: 5.9k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI)

Mentions of separation/divorce, reader descriptions, dirty talk, sexting, male masturbation, spanking, praise kink, mentions of oral (m and f receiving), unprotected vaginal sex.

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A/N: soooo we planned out this chapter a hot minute ago, and expected it to be way longer. But I hope you enjoy it anyway my babies <3 I feel like having 14k chapters and then 6k chapters is a running theme in this series lmao

Also, sorry for the late post lovelies. But if you know me, you should know it’s a regular thing 😂😭

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“John,” He nods, walking down the hall. Just barely, the coffee in his to-go cup swishes inside, the contents still boiling. 

His coworker returns the friendly gesture with a smile on his face, asking briefly, “Dave, how’re the kids?” 

All he does is shrug, putting on a brave face. “Can’t complain.” But that’s the end of it. 

As he expected, life’s been shit since you left again. But he understands, he can’t exactly live at your apartment forever. At least, not yet. He has considered it, though. Over the past few days, he’s been researching homes, mainly condos and townhouses. It’s not likely that he’ll be sharing a home with Carol and his daughters for much longer, and maybe you’d be willing to move with him. But Dave’s waiting to bring all of this up. He thinks it will be best to do so toward the end of your trip. Which is in about… shit, three days. He can’t fucking wait. 

David is well aware that he’s living in a fantasy land. The two of you living together? Officially? It blows his mind to even think about it. At that point, Molly would have to know. There’d be no hiding it. But for now, he’s ignoring all of that. He’s choosing to bask in the peace you bring him. 

Settling in at his desk, he releases a heavy breath. Honestly, he doesn’t need to be here this early - he hasn’t needed to stay so late, either. But it gives him time away from the anxiety surrounding his family, and in turn, helps him relax. He’s good at his job and truthfully, figuring out how to quietly and expertly remove people from their own lives is easier than dealing with his current familial stress. It does, however, have one downside. It takes time away from you. 

“Oooh, who misses you?”

Immediately, you’re snatching your phone out of Angela’s hand, staring down at the screen to see the text Dave sent. Eyes widening, you feel a sense of heat run through your cheeks, and Molly notices, too. 

“It’s probably just Anthony.” Rolling her eyes, she moves into her next stretch, preparing for today’s warm-ups. 

“No, it’s not. I told you I’m done talking to him.” Trying to dull your annoyance, you turn back to your screen, smirking ever so slightly. He misses me? 

Frowning, Molly leans upright once again. “Well then who the hell is it?”

The quiet that follows seems to infuriate your closest friend, because she’s immediately trotting over to snatch your phone from your hand.

“Molly!”

“Miss you, princess.” She reads out loud, raising a brow. “How come I don’t know about this?” It’s easy to see now that Molly isn’t angry, she’s sad. She assumed you’d tell her about your next relationship. And all at once, the guilt you’d been pushing down for weeks bubbles into your throat again. 

“I, well, I just… I’m…” 

“That’s funny,” She cuts in, staring at the screen. “My dad’s name is Dave.” 

At first, you feel like an idiot. You really couldn't have changed his name? But as soon as Molly starts giggling, you release all your anxieties in one breath. 

“That’s so weird, is he my dad’s age, too?” She jokes, tossing your phone back to you while returning to her position. 

Chewing on the corner of your lip, you close your phone, shoving it into your backpack. “Maybe.”

“Wait, really?” Spinning on her heels, she darts back over, sitting on the floor in front of you. And a few other girls scooch in, too.

“Of course you’d be the one to go for older men.” Nora chimes in, causing you to turn your head.

“What? Why?” 

“Maybe it is Molly’s dad.” And now, everyone is turning to Lexi. “What? It could be!”

“Yeah, right.” Molly snorts, rolling her eyes. “Like that would ever happen.”

“It’s not her dad!” God damn, this is frustrating. 

“Whatever,” Molly groans, patting her hand on your knee. “Just tell us about him!”

Side-eyeing her, you grin, quickly glancing down at your hands. You almost can’t keep it in, your relationship with him. Not when everyone is so eager to know. Hell, you can do this, you can still keep this a secret. 

“Well… he is older. And, I don’t know… we’re still kind of… new.”

“Have you said I love you?”

“Well, yeah…”

“Awe! Wait, who said it first?” The girls seem ecstatic, but you can tell Molly is still pretty hurt. 

“Um… he did.” Your heart beats a little harder, thinking back to that night. 

“So it’s definitely not new.” Lexi adds with a few of your girls agreeing. 

“So, his name is Dave?” Molly inquires further, trying to ask the important questions. If you’re telling this guy that you love him, she should know more about him. “How did you guys meet?”

“Oh my gosh, what does he look like?!” Angela unexpectedly butts in. 

“We have a… a mutual… friend.” It’s all you could come up with. “And he’s tall, way taller than me. He has light brown hair and dark brown eyes…” Trailing off, you find yourself caught up in the thought of him. “He’s pretty strong…”

“You said he’s older, right?”

“Mhm,” Nodding, you shake yourself out of your thoughts. You just had an overnight trip with him not too long ago, you should be able to focus on your personal life. 

“Does he have a dad bod?” She’s grinning wildly, and now, every head is turned toward you. “Is he big?”

“Angela!” You scoff, still smiling. “Yeah, he has a dad bod…” Replying with a laugh, you turn away. 

“And?”

Raising a brow, you turn to face your teammates. “You think I’d be with him if he wasn’t big?” 

Everyone is giggling like little school girls, but Molly still can’t shake the feeling of being lied to. Why haven’t you told her about this? Are you not as close as she thought? 

“Go stretch!” You demand with a grin, shaking them off. “We have warm-ups in ten.” 

On the other side of town, Dave smiles down at his phone. Once you’d gotten a moment to yourself, you responded to him. I miss you too. 

He hasn’t seen your pretty face in days, not in person, at least. But he’s been thanking the lord for SnapIt. Wait, no… Snapchat? Whatever it is, it’s been his only way of actually seeing you. At home and in the office, he can forget about personal calls and video chats. But cute selfies and quick videos easily make up for all of that. 

“Jesus,” Giving his head a quick shake, he sighs, staring down at the video you just sent. 

You’re in the bathroom, the camera fixed on your reflection in the mirror. That smile lights up his entire life, and prompts his own to form, too. And while the short clip might seem sweet, it’s less than innocent. What you’re wearing immediately sets him off. 

“Remember this, daddy?” Comes your cute, girly little voice. 

With one hand on your phone, the other finds the edge of your skirt, twirling it slightly. Of course he remembers it, how could he not? The last time he saw you in your cheer outfit was when he came on it. 

His response is pretty simple, a picture of his work pants. Well, a specific spot on his work pants. With his hand holding his semi-hard crotch, he captions it with, think I’d ever forget? 

“Hey,”

“Shit!” Nearly jumping out of your skin, you turn, seeing Molly. “Oh, h-hey, hey Goof.”

She smiles sheepishly, “Texting Dave?”

For a split second, your eyes widen. But then you remember, she now knows your boyfriend’s name. How… strange. 

“Um, yeah.” It comes out as an awkward chuckle, quick to close your phone and put it away. 

“I… I was wondering.” Staring at the floor, she swallows, unsure of how to start this conversation. “Why haven’t you told me?”

“About Dave?”

“Yeah.” She nods, finally returning her gaze to you. “Did I, I mean… have I done something wrong?”

“What? No! No, not at all, Molly!”

“It’s just… I don’t know. You’re already saying I love you to each other, and… I just don’t know why you wouldn’t tell me about it.” 

Jesus Christ, what the hell are you going to tell her? Is this when it happens? When everything just comes out? When your insides spill out of your mouth like word vomit? Every single secret you’ve been hiding, now rushing to the surface?

“Honestly,” Laughing away your anxieties, you shrug. “I thought you’d think it was… too fast. After Anthony.” Okay, that was good. That was smooth. 

“Really?” Raising a brow, she shifts her stance. “I hate that guy. You being with literally anyone else is better than you being with him.”

You chuckle, eyes wandering. Not anyone else.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide things from me.” Shrugging, she steps closer to you. “That’s all.”

Offering your best smile, you wrap her in a big hug. “Thanks, Goof.” 

And you want to stay true to your friendship, you don’t want to lie to her. There are days where you’ve thought about the outcome of your secret relationship, and it’s really torn you to pieces. In the end, you figure it’s best if she doesn’t know. Maybe it’s best if she never knows. 

A few buzzes from your phone end your brief moment, with Molly now back away. Pulling out your phone, you glance down, watching the screen light up with Dave’s name. 

“Well… I guess I’ll let you get back to it.” She chuckles, acknowledging the notifications. 

It’s weird, her finally knowing about this. And although she doesn’t know everything about this, her knowing some of it sort of… normalizes it. But you’re not exactly sure that’s a good thing. 

Before you can get a response out, she’s walking away. “Tell Dave I say hi.” She grins, shutting the door behind her. Now that comment, makes your insides twist tight. 

Doing as he says, you open the app, seeing another notification from him. And inside, you’re already full of butterflies, thinking about what he’s sent. 

This time, it’s a video. It starts out in the same position as the photo he sent, directed at his covered lap. But now, his hand is moving, slowly undoing his belt before pulling it open. Thick fingers then move to his zipper, pulling it down to reveal the pretty periwinkle underneath. But then it abruptly ends. Frowning, you close the app to message him, wondering if he’d intended to send more. But just before you can, another video loads. 

Groaning, David sighs, pulling himself out of his light purple boxers. He’s red, already dripping down the sag of his foreskin. Pulling it back, you can hear him gasp, a quiet noise as he holds himself in hand. 

“I miss you, baby.” His voice is low, but sweet. Gliding his thumb over the tip, he sighs again. “Miss the way you feel around me…” 

You’ve already spent at least ten minutes in here, so you’ll need to do this quick. And be creative. It’s not like you can just get naked in the middle of the bathroom, and you definitely don’t have the time for that. But Dave isn’t exactly a hard man to please. 

“Fuck me.” 

He thought the two of you were just having fun together, sending these messages back and forth. Sure he’d touched himself in a video for you, but he had no real intention of actually getting himself off. That is, until you sent an upskirt picture of yourself to him.

Your cheer uniform is clearly visible, and with your panties tugged to the side, he can see you perfectly. The smooth pinkness of your skin, just barely glistening for him. Jesus, he misses that, misses how it feels and tastes and smells. Fuck, he’ll have to convince you to give him your panties again, especially if you’re not sure when you’ll next see him.

Making sure to screenshot the image, he pulls it up in his photos, no longer having the Snapchat timer on it. Spitting into his palm, he stares at the screen, at the beautiful picture of your sweet, tiny pussy. It’s his, it’s all his, the entirety of your body. Your gorgeous tits and smooth thighs, the plumpness of your ass. All he wants to do is touch you, feel and grab on your most sensitive places. He loves your hips, loves digging his fingers into the thin skin, especially when he’s fucking you. Jesus Christ, it’s all he can think of, bending you over and taking you from behind, fucking you in his car, in the basement lounge of his home, anywhere secluded enough for him to have you.

Tugging on himself, he releases a rough sigh. Even though he has an entire office to himself, he still wants to keep quiet. He has absolutely no idea who could be walking the halls. Truthfully, though, it’s hard to do so when he has a woman half his age sending pictures from between her thighs. 

His head tilts back, resting on the upper portion of his chair as he spreads his legs further. Thrusting up into his palm, he gasps, continuously brushing the flat of his thumb over his leaking head. He just loves how you play with it, how you tug his foreskin back to suck and lick on it. The next time he sees you, he’ll demand it, shove you down onto your knees until you’re gagging on him. It’s what he’s wanted for days, it’s what he needs. 

Spit isn’t enough to be an adequate lubricant, nowhere near as slick as your cunt. It’s amazing to him, just how slippery you get, just how desperately you want for him. And he knows if you were here, you’d be doing this for him. 

Slamming the phone down on his desk, he finds his breaths becoming ragged, using his now free hand to cup his scrotum. He fondles the softness of it, imagining it to be you while he jerks off into his hand. Internally, he’s thinking about your mouth, about the way you swallow him. Even when he cums, you’re sucking it down, urging it to the back of your throat and Christ, just the thought of it is enough for him. 

It’s incredible how sensitive he gets, especially when he cums. He has to bite into his lower lip to keep himself at bay, to keep those whimpers from slipping out. Thrusting up into his own hand, he groans, eyes pitching shut with his brows furrowing just above. His mouth hands agape, unable to think about anything other than your pretty face. He can feel it oozing down the side of his hand, seeping into the cracks between each fingers, leaking over his knuckles. He never used to cum so much before you. 

“F-Fuck,” He grunts out, eyes shooting open to look down. 

Slowing his pace, he takes a breath, staring at his mess. Some of the warm, white goo is on his boxers, even his work pants, too. But he’s not frustrated about that. He’s annoyed about something else entirely. 

“Should’ve filmed that.” 

It’d be for the best that you accept her offer, you want to reassure her that your friendship is as strong as ever. But you just can’t bring yourself to. Dave’s presence is nowhere in that house, but Carol sure as hell is. She’s always complaining, whether it’s about Dave, or her work, or her friends, it’s always something. It’s never-ending. And you just don’t feel like dealing with that right now.

“I think I’m okay today, but thanks for askin’.” Is your final response, alongside a grateful smile. 

“You sure?” Molly inquires, shifting her bag on her shoulder. “You don’t want to hangout today?”

“Not today, babe. But we will sometime this week, I promise.” 

Honestly, you’d like to get home and eat. It’s been a long day, with an early practice and then another after your classes. You’ve barely had time for a latte and some crackers, and you’re starting to feel woozy from it. 

“I need to get home and eat. Talk to you later!” And with that, you’re hopping in your Jeep. 

Some days, it’s easy to get caught up in the world around you. With school and work and cheer and pom, Dave occasionally falls to the wayside. Even though you’ve been missing some classes and practices lately… But while these days come and go, he always wiggles back in somehow. Today had been busy, you weren’t able to respond to him after your flirty morning messages. But now that you’re driving home, finally on your way to relaxation, your head is full of him again. 

“Hey, baby.”

“Hey!” You’re giddy all over again, just hearing his voice. You’d decided to call instead of text, you missed his voice. “How are you?”

“Tired,” He groans, staring down at the paperwork he’d been tasked with. “How are you?”

“Tired, too. But I'm finally on my way home, think I’ll take a day off tomorrow. This week has been draining me.” 

“Just remember, we’ll get a break soon.” Smirking, he traces an imaginary shape onto his desk, sighing. 

“What do you mean?”

“Our trip, we’re leaving on Thursday.”

“Holy shit, I completely forgot! Fuck, I need a break.”

“You’ll get one soon, princess.”

The way he says it makes you sigh, releasing the stress of your day. His voice is smooth and reassuring, deep and just a little bit gravely. 

“I miss you.” 

“I know, honey. But I’ll see you soon.” 

“Tonight?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart. I’m pretty busy, I’ll probably be home late.” 

Immediately, you have the thought of visiting him. You’ve never gone up to his work, you haven’t really had a reason to. But maybe you could surprise him today. 

“Okay, babe. Just get some rest, okay?”

“Sure, baby.” He chuckles, checking the time on his wrist. “We can talk more later, okay?”

“Okay,” Pouting, you pull into your parking lot, wishing the call didn’t have to end. 

“I love you, sweetheart.” He says it with intention, like he’s apologizing for your time apart. 

“I love you, too.” And while your response isn’t said as sweetly, he accepts it, promising to text you soon. 

As soon as the call ends, you’re scurrying inside to see what food you have. Instead of just visiting him, you figure you’ll bring him some dinner. He did say he was busy, maybe he hasn’t had the chance to eat yet. 

Thinking back to the first time he stayed in your apartment, you remember one of his favorite meals. Easily enough, you find noodles and alfredo sauce in the cupboard, and some frozen chicken in the freezer. 

“Who?”

“Dave York… does he, does he not work here?” It’s the third time you’ve had to ask for him, and everyone’s been acting super strange. 

“No, he does, he does. I just… are you one of his daughters?” And now, you freeze up. “I haven’t seen you before.”

“I’m… a friend. Can you just tell me where to find him, please?” Did it have to be that big of a deal?

Though, you suppose it should be a big deal. This isn’t just any office, it’s the office for the Central Intelligence Agency. Maybe you should’ve thought this through. 

“Sure… just let me give him a call. What was your name?”

Sighing, you hand your ID to the man at the front desk, watching him eye it while picking up the phone. He dials a quick number, Dave’s voice heard on the other end almost immediately. 

“Yeah, I’ve got a younger woman here that’s asking for you.”

At this, he sounds flustered, though you can’t quite make out what he’s saying. But then this man is repeating your name, and he goes silent. Shit, is he upset that you’re here? Maybe this was a bad idea. Shit, shit. 

“Ma’am?”

“Hm? Yes?” Startled out of your worried haze, the man says, “You can go in. He’s right down that hall, and to your right. Office number twenty-nine.” 

Raising your brows, you feel a surge of adrenaline burst inside. “Oh… okay, thank you.”

You’re very suddenly intimidated by your surroundings. Everything looks so… professional, monochrome colors and sleek lines, engraved name cards and security surveillance at every turn. Regardless, you make your way down, albeit with timid steps. And when you’re at his door, you take in a deep breath. Gulping, you lift your hand, knuckles knocking shyly against the door. 

“Come in.” His voice is deep, loud, demanding that you enter. 

Slowly, you twist the knob, urging the hunk of wood forward. Peaking your head inside, you’re met with an abundance of dark wood and grays. Wooden side tables and shelves, and further in, a dark wooden desk, too. 

“H-Hey, hi.” Grinning sheepishly, you fully make your way in, closing the door behind you. 

“Hey…” Standing from his desk, you’re not quite sure how to read his expression. Both hands fall to his shirt, fiddling with his buttons. “What…” Walking toward you, he exhales a nervous breath. “What’re you doing here?” 

“I, well…” Lifting the tupperware in your hand, you glance down, explaining, “I wanted to bring you dinner.” 

As soon as he sees it, his eyes are wide, lips parting slightly. “You… brought me dinner?”

“Mhm, I made it. It’s chicken alfredo, I… I thought you’d like it.”

“Baby,” And the way he says it prompts your eyes to return to him. “Thank you.” 

He takes the container so gingerly that you’d assume it was glass if you didn’t already know better. Spinning on his heels, he sets it on his desk, just as quickly turning back to you.

“Oh!”

“Thank you, baby.” Reaching out, he pulls you tightly into his arms, heart beating out of his chest. You can feel it against your own, your hands sliding up to wrap around his neck.

“Of course,” You’re flush from his reaction, beyond happy to see him this way. “I’m so glad you’re happy to see me.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He asks, loosening his grip to kiss your forehead. And then he’s turning, walking back to his desk.

“I don’t know, I’ve just never been here before and I got… nervous.” 

“You’re cute when you’re nervous.” He’s chuckling, opening up the container and grabbing the silverware you brought with it. 

Slinking into one of the chairs before his desk, you grin, watching him dig in. And in this brief lull, you take a look around his office, having wondered what it’d be like in here. All the lights are warm-toned, his shelves full of novels and his desk incredibly clean. Usually though, it’s quite messy. He’s lucky his secretary called first, it gave him time to hide a few things before you came in. 

“Did you eat?”

“Yeah, I ate at home. Don’t worry about me.” 

All he can do is stop and stare at you, smiling sweetly. No one’s ever been so thoughtful toward him before. In all their years of marriage, Carol never thought to do this. And if she did, she never followed through on it. 

“You’re so sweet, honey.” 

“Yeah well I try.” You respond, rolling your eyes with a grin. 

With an ounce of confidence, you stand, making your way behind his desk. Wrapping your arms around him from behind his chair, you lean down, kissing his cheek. 

“I was a little bit nervous, if I’m being honest.”

“Why?”

“Well, everyone knows I’m married, baby.” He laughs, thinking that was obvious. “And now I have some young girl bringing me food.” 

Shrugging, you grin. “Maybe they’ll be impressed.” 

Setting down his fork, he grins, turning a bit. “C’mere.” Grabbing hold of your hips, he pulls you into his lap, your back pressing against his chest. “I’m impressed.”

“With what?” You giggle, feeling his lips dragging over your neck. 

“How caring you are, baby.” Kissing your neck, he grins, hands unwilling to move from your hips. “I’m lucky to have you.” 

Tilting your head back onto his shoulder, you sigh. “I’ve missed this.”

“I know…” Dave groans, “I can’t wait to take you on this trip, do whatever I want with you for days.” 

“You could do whatever you want with me right now.” You return, eyeing him from the side. 

As if the sound was meant to directly ruin your moment, his work phone rings. And then, a notification pops up on his laptop. A work meeting.

“Yeah, not while talking to my bosses.” 

Frowning, you release a pouty huff. “Could I maybe… stay? I’ll be quiet, I promise!”

At first, he’s inclined to say no. He isn’t sure what this meeting is about, but… he could always take it on his AirPods, too. 

“Sure, baby. Just keep quiet, okay?”

Your face lights up at his words, nodding enthusiastically. Darting to the side, you grab a chair, pulling it up beside him. It takes all but two seconds for him to connect the call, popping in one of the small, white earbuds. 

It’s cute, really, how sweetly you cuddle up to him. But can you help it? Going days without him feels like a fucking crime. And since he’s not on camera, you really can snuggle him, looping an arm around his and nuzzling into his shoulder. 

Smiling, he enters the chat, happy to hear it’s about the upcoming trip. “Yeah, the tickets are set. Resnik checked into the hotel already, I’ll be meeting him early Friday. Yep, leaving Thursday night.” 

He’s going through the facts, just running over the plan, but even though the conversation is mundane, you couldn’t be more entertained. The smooth melody of his voice lulls you into relaxation, that baritone sound rumbling in his throat. 

Something about laying on the sturdiness of him, listening to him converse nonchalantly with his coworkers, it’s healing your inner child. Even though he’s at work, clearly busy, he still wants you here. He still does his best to make sure you know you’re loved. 

“Come here.”

“Sh!” You giggle, moving with him. “We have to be quiet!”

“I know that.” Dave grunts in response, pulling you into his body again. 

It all happened so quickly, him waking you up before leaving the office. You’re shocked that you fell asleep in the first place. Thinking back, you weren’t even that tired. Maybe he just made you that comfortable. 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t have my fun with you.” He finishes, biting into your neck. 

After he woke you up, he suggested that you come back to his home. Truthfully, it’s become far too easy for this to take place, for you to fuck Molly’s dad just down the hall from her bedroom. Coming home past midnight, he’s certain that his family will be asleep. And as long as you’re out before six the next morning, you’re in the clear. And anyways, he’d missed having you in his bed, beneath his body and hands. There was a point where you’d told him that you wanted a home, a home to share with him. And after that, he kind of lost it. 

At first, it was innocent, the two of you snuggling in your undies together. He locked the door after you were both inside, releasing a contended breath once he finally got to hold you. Dave wrapped the covers around the two of you, settling into his bed. But then you were shifting, trying to get ‘comfortable’, all while grinding back against him. 

“You know what I can’t stop thinking about? Your gorgeous fucking mouth,” Reaching up, he covers it with his palm, hissing into your ear, “And all the sexy sounds it makes.”

He’s holding you from behind, having shoved your panties to the side. Slipping himself out of his boxers, he slides along the slickness of your sex, grunting hot breaths directly into your ear. 

“Jesus, baby, you don’t understand. You can’t do that to me, you can’t grind that perfect ass against me. I just, fuck, I cum so fucking easy with you.”

And while he’s talking, only riling himself up, you’re still doing it, shoving yourself back against him. Both of your hands are clinging to his forearm, lungs doing their best to release quiet breaths. 

“Every time you leave, I think about you, baby. I think about you every goddamn second of the day. Think about your beautiful lips, tapping the head of my dick against them.” And that’s when you release your first, true moan, eyes fluttering just above his hand. “You want it, princess? You want me?”

It’s a smile whine, one accompanied with a nod, that you give in response. And with one small slip, barely adjusting the angle of his hips, he’s sliding in. It feels like it’s been forever since you felt him, the thickness of him splitting you open from behind. 

“Talk to me,” He finally gives in, taking his hand away. “Talk to me, baby.”

“Baby,” You nearly squeal, feeling his hips thrust into you. All at once, he’s forcing you to take him, every inch. And it burns but it feels just right. “Fuck, I need this.”

“C’mon,” Dave grunts, teeth dragging along your neck. Sliding one hand down, he smacks your outer thigh, demanding, “Grind yourself against me.” And like always, you give in. 

“More, daddy.” Already, your breaths have turned heavy, feeling his hips rotate against your ass. The sting of his slap still radiates along your skin, his fingers now pressing into the plump muscles he can’t seem to get enough of. 

“I can’t wait to give you more, I’ll give you everything.” He promises, huffing out a deep moan. “When we’re on our trip, I’ll taste you everyday, every goddamn day.”

“David,” He’s pumping himself into you, meeting the smooth rotation of your hips. 

“Fuck, I can’t wait to have your mouth on my cock again. Shove it down your throat and make you look up at me while you swallow.” He can’t even begin to tell you about the fantasies he’s dreamt up about this trip. “I can’t wait to take you with me.” 

“I…” Sighing, you smile. “I can’t wait, daddy.”

“Daddy’ll give you whatever you want, okay, baby? Whatever you need, it’s yours, it’s yours, princess. Fuck.” Sliding his hand down, he fondles your chest, gripping you in hand. “Maybe I can show you off, take you to some beaches and clubs.”

“R-Really?”

“Fuck yes, you think I’d pass up that opportunity?” You hate to say it, but feeling like a prize to him is making you drip. “Let everyone see the sexy little thing that’s with me… Fuck, you can be so dirty, can’t you, baby? Sending me pictures of your pussy, huh? Letting me see up your cheer skirt?”

“I, I want that. Want you to do that.”

“I already have.”

“No, baby…”

“What?” Pressing his nose into your cheek, he groans. “What do you need?”

“Want you to do that at our next game.” And you almost can’t help the wicked smile that forms on your face. 

“Yeah? At halftime? Just like how we first met?”

“Yes, baby.” The feeling of his cock dragging along your walls is almost too much when coupled with his words. And before you even realize it, your hips are stuttering in their motion.

“Did I tell you to stop?” Another harsh spank, one loud enough for you to worry. 

“Daddy,” 

“You like that?”

“You know I do.”

You can feel his stubble scratching along your jawline and cheek, his lips insistent in their kisses. But then he’s lowering himself, finding and then sucking on your neck.

“Do you like it, daddy? You like being inside me?”

“Fuck,” It’s a growl, one vibrating over your throat. 

At this point, he’s slapping his hips against you, diving deeper every time. 

“I loved sitting in your lap, daddy. Maybe I can do that more often at your office.”

“Maybe you can do a little more than that.”

You’re pulsing around him, trying to quiet your shrill gasps. Molly and Alice are just down the hall, and so is Carol. And to think you’re fucking their dad makes you hot all over again. It’s become so exciting. Hell, who are you kidding? It’s always been exciting. 

“I love you, sweetheart. You were meant for this, you were made for me. Even when apart, I still want you. I still need you.”

“I need you, David.” Clinging to his forearm, you release a soft moan, feeling his tip punch against your most sensitive spot. “I love you.”

“B-Baby,” He suddenly stutters, holding you tighter in his grasp. And you almost can’t breathe from it, can’t think of anything else but him. 

“I know, daddy. Will you cum inside me?” 

“Jesus,” Eyes rolling back, he grunts. “You’re perfect for me.”

The sloppy sound of your meeting sexes makes your face burn, and if it weren’t for the loud fan in David’s room, you’d be worried. It makes you grateful for the times you get at your apartment, where you can be as loud and sloppy as you want. And you’re sure this vacation won’t be any different. 

“I’m gonna take you with me,” He promises breathlessly, eyes pinching shut. His tongue is laving over your neck, lips kissing your jawline and cheek, moaning sweetly, desperately into your ear. “I can’t wait to take you with me.” In less than three sharp thrusts, he’s spilling into you, feeling the hot liquid rush out of his tip. It shoots into your center, the gooiness of it coating your insides white. His muscles turn to jelly, his once steady breaths now faltering, especially when you shove your hips back against him. 

“I love you,” He proclaims through his high, his voice and chest straining as he speaks to you. “I love you, sweetheart. You’re mine.” 

“I know,” You promise in return, nuzzling back into his barely-covered body. “I know, baby. And you’re mine.” Reaching around, your fingers find that soft, light brown hair, finding gentle purchase with it. 

“You’ll always be with me, I promise.” Kissing the shell of your ear, David sighs, basking in the sensation of your fingers in his hair. “Princess, I’ll take you everywhere.” 

[boobabietch]

Like I Would | Abby Anderson x fem!reader

Warnings: I could say mdni but they are going to do it anyways so just be mindful that this is +18 and I’m not responsible of the things you watch on this godforsaken site. SMUT, Sub!abby, thigh riding, oral sex (Abby receiving), afab!reader, teasing and I think that’s it but tell me if I missed something

A/N: oh my fucking god this took ages to writeeee, but anyways, hi there!! This is the first time I write for Abby so please excuse me if this is bad (hopefully not because I really liked the result) and also I haven’t wrote smut in ages so excuse that too. I’m not an English native speaker so any mistakes I’m not aware of please tell me so I can change them asap. If you like this you would help me a lot with a like, comment or reblog. Love Sof :)

Word count: 2.1k

"So... are you telling me that he went in dry?" You said this in clear distress to your best friend, Abby.

 "Yes?" she said with a little hesitation in her voice.

 "And you're still seeing that guy? No wait, let me rephrase that, you're still letting that guy fuck you?" You were astonished by the information Abby just shared. She was so damn perfect, yet somehow she was never properly satisfied in her many experiences with sex.

 

Why am I not the one in your bed every night?

 

"I mean, he had a nice time, and that was definitely hot." Oh, fuck no, she did not just say that.

 "Shut up, Abby; that's fucked up, dude."

 "I mean, what can I say? I take pleasure in seeing people get pleased by me."

 "I mean, that's valid! Of course, but that is very different from just letting a guy use you as a sex doll without even making you cum! That's just bad sex, Bibi." You know it; you know that if you just had a chance, you could show her how fucking good she can feel.

 "Ok, stop bothering me. Owen is like that. He's rough. It's fine. I can take it." Of course Owen is like that; he’s an idiot.

 "Abbyyyy, that's not the issue, and you know it."  

Come on, a chance, just one single chance, Abigail, please.

 

Let me fuck his name away, please

 

You begged, you literally begged in your mind, to be the one to show Abby that release she was desperately looking for.

 "Well, miss know-it-all, if you're going to roast the shit out of me, at least tell me what I'm doing wrong."

 "Abby, you're choosing the wrong guys. They can't please you."

 

They are not me.

 

"They can't?" The cockiness in her voice could be heard a mile away.

 

Shit, what game are we playing?

 "Of course they can’t, I'm telling you! They just don't know what to do with you. They don't know how to properly treat you, Bibi."

They don’t know, but I do and you know it

 "Oh, lord, then who knows? Who knows how to treat me? You?" That fucking giggle she let out after voicing the question...

You were taken aback by it. You had the thought before, every damn night, of Abby all over you, kissing her hungrily like you were starved, your lips biting and sucking every inch of her body, marking her as yours, screaming your name like it was a fucking prayer, like she wanted God to be a witness of the sin happening between you two. Of course you had the thought before...

 

Fuck it, I’m fucking you.

 

"Yes."

 "Yes?"

 "I said yes; I'm pretty sure I can do it."

 "Then do it; make me fucking cum."

There was something in Abby’s eyes that told you how much she wanted you, how much she craved you, and how much she needed you.

With little to no hesitation, you aggressively pulled her lips into yours, the couch creaking with the sudden movement of your body towering over her. Straddling her hips, her hand traveled to your neck while yours got entangled in her hair, pushing her face impossibly closer to yours.

Her scent makes you dizzy even to remember; your whole senses were full of her; you were breathing her, touching her, and hearing her; she was being engraved in your mind like stone; her body warmth was surrounding your body, making you feel hot and heavy.

Your lips left the comfort of hers to travel to her neck. "Please, just, fuck, just..." she mumbled.

Abby’s head was empty; your body was caging her between the couch, and the way your lips were kissing her soft, velvet skin made her sigh dreamily and made your core ache in agony.

But this wasn’t about you; it was about her.

You started spreading little bites that made her whimper, just so you could smooth out the ache on her red and burning skin afterwards with your tongue, licking on the spots where a mark would be noticeable tomorrow.

 You guided Abby to your bed, stumbling into the furniture of your little apartment, and then kicking open the door of your bedroom. Abby sat on your bed, her lips only leaving yours just to tear her shirt and pants away, leaving her only in her fucking black boxers.

 The thing is, you’ve been fantasizing about that slutty piece of clothing since the first time you saw her waistband peeking over her jeans, just there, resting and calling you to tear them apart and make her yours there and then.

 She lays on your pillows, watching you discard your shirt on the floor. Your nipples perked up because of the sudden cold air that hit them.

 "You are so fucking beautiful," she said with her hands traveling to your hips, guiding you to rest on top of her again, now being her the one pressing kisses all over your chest and toying with the hem of your pajama shorts.

 "I know pretty one, but let’s focus on you, shall we?" And with a sudden move, you made Abby straddle you while you rested with your back on the headboard.

 You kissed her, and a long whine came out of Abby’s lips. Ready to give her some relief, you grabbed her hips, guiding her to grind her clothed cunt on your bare thigh.

 "Holy fuck!" It was sparkling; it literally felt like the sparks that come out of a lighter before the flame comes out to burn everything on its path.

 "You like that, huh? You desperate little thing, you love this." Abby never felt more turned on by someone; it was like heaven—like a perverted, hot, and burning heaven—shit that sounded more like hell, but if hell felt this good, she would be the biggest sinner of all just so she could feel you again.

 Her movements started to become erratic; she moved faster and harsher; her mouth started to let out little moans and profanities; and your skin was now soaked and dripping just from Abby’s fluids.

 "You want to cum pretty one? You deserve this one bibi come on," and with that, a long moan came out of her mouth, your hands guiding her to ride her high.

 "Shit, shit, shit, you are so fucking hot," she said, leaning for more kisses, but you dodged her face.

 "No uh, lay for me, Abs. Be a good girl." She watched you with doe eyes as she complied, slowly laying in your mattress below you once again. You swear that you have never seen her like this, so compliant and at your mercy. You swore that if you struck a knife on her stomach right now mercilessly, she would accept it and thank you for it. She was in awe of you.

 Her mind cleared again when the cold air hit her soaking cunt, and she became aware that you had just removed her boxers and were now staring at that pretty and glistening pussy she had.

 "Is this okay?" you asked, seeing how she looked at you like a deer in headlights.

 "Yes, just do it, please." The agony in her voice became visible when she stuttered the confirmation. You came closer to her face, leaving some soft and slow kisses all over her face

 "Okay, Abs, what do you want me to do?" You said it with the most innocent and indecent tone of yours.

 "Wha- what?" She stumbled over the words because, holy fuck, you were unreal.

 "Yes, Abby, what do you want me to do?" You said slowly parting her legs with your knee, pressing it in her cunt, and start grinding it slowly just to tease the whiny mess you had underneath.

 "Your mouth, your fingers, I want you; please, I want you in me," she finally said, rushing the words out of her mouth.

 "Your wish is my command, pretty girl." With that, you kissed your way down, sucking a little bit her nipples and leaving hickeys all over her chest. You made it to her cunt, slowly kissing the inside of her legs.

 "Fuck, please y/n, please just do something." God, she was so needy.

 You licked a line from her entrance all the way to her clit. She was squirming, so you grabbed her hips aggressively, pinning her to the bed. A loud moan coming from her mouth was your cue to start devouring her cunt like a starved woman, your hands applying bruising strength to her hips to keep her steady while you ate her out in the most ungodly way you knew.

 Feeling how wet she was, you slipped two fingers into her, knocking the air out of her lungs. You began curling them at her spongy spot, playing with the pace, and then you added your mouth to the equation.

 It was too much, but also not enough, and also perfect. Abby’s hand found its way to your hair, gripping it tightly as the other one covered her mouth to muffle her loud moans.

 "Hey no, I want to hear your beautiful sounds, ok? So loose the hand or I’ll have to tie it to the headboard" you said, not liking a little bit how hard she was trying to not make a sound. It was your fucking apartment; if your neighbors had any complaints, they could shove it up their asses. Hell, even if it was God and Satan themselves, they could religiously go suck a dick if they were bothered.

 Your unholy pace kept going alongside your delirious way to eat cunt, and hearing Abby moan your name like she was trying to carve it in the walls was a fucking dream come true

 And then she felt it—the knot forming in her stomach, begging to be untied. The sweat made loose strands of her hair stick to her forehead, the reflex of her hips buckling upwards towards the stimuli, begging for more. The primal instinct to let out the most beautiful whines and moans you'd ever heard, and the urge to bury your face deeper into her cunt just so she could let all that pressure in her core out in that sweet and strong release she was hoping for.

 Your eyes traveled upwards, and you saw Abby's face, eyes completely shut down with tears threatening to fall out, all her face contorted with her brows furrowed, and you knew she was there.

 "It's okay, pretty one. You can just let go; it's fine," you said. Abby gasped at the sudden loss of contact while you spoke, but then this sudden feeling of pleasure traveled from her body to her core, making her legs shake and the grip she had in your hair become even harsher. "It's okay, Abby. You can let go," and with this came the orgasm she was begging God to have.

 Her cum dripping all over your chin, you helped her ride her high, slowly decreasing the pace your fingers had at her now-abused hole until you saw her visibly relax all the muscles in her body, flopping onto the mattress.

 With a last kiss on her puffy clit, you made your way up her body, scanning all the marks you left in her hips from the strength you were using to hold her down and the purplish hickeys forming all over her breasts, proving how good you made her feel.

 You kissed away all those tears, showering her face with kisses while whispering sweet nothings and compliments. And then, finally, you kissed her lips with such tenderness, as if she were made of porcelain and you were afraid of breaking her, a complete contrast to your first kiss of the night.

 Abby's hand traveled to cup your cheek, while the other wrapped around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. She had just experienced her first orgasm during sex, and the entire time, she felt loved and cared for by you, making her weak in the knees.

 You pulled away, looking expectantly into her eyes. "So, how was it?" you asked, a little grin forming on your lips.

 Abby was so enamored with the view of you on top of her, breathing heavily, blushing cheeks, all sweaty and perfect, that she couldn't speak. She tried your lips just today, and just as quickly as it sounds, she became obsessed with how perfectly your entire existence fit with hers, making her feel complete and incredibly good.

 After cleaning up, you lay facing upwards with Abby nestled beside you, burying her face in your neck. Abby was a big, intimidating, and dominant woman most of the time, but sometimes she just wanted someone to take care of her, just as she took care of everyone else. And you were that someone. Tonight, with her whole body pressed into you and your digits tracing shapes on her bare back, you thought while pressing your lips to her forehead.

 

Hell yeah, I could get used to this.

Tags: @cvqii @akinui

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