#i have also not been compensated & the last word i had about possible compensation was in february but like.....

[openedskull]

yk this is by no means a novel experience to anyone who has worked hard on something and shared it online for other people to see/read so i by no means want to sound like i think i should fucking reinvent the wheel

but like. under a cut for length i am breaking my own rules by venting about the james somerton thing again

it is so strange to see people still yapping about james somerton when like. many of them were not affected. i say this with the caveat that obviously a lot of people felt very anxious and distressed when they were under the impression that he might have harmed himself in the wake of his behaviour coming to light. none of us wanted that.... except for the contingent of gleeful idiots (sorry, but they are) who did. who, frankly, are still finding glee in speculating about and harassing him. spoiler alert: i was affected. he stole from me. he stole, specifically, PAGES OF DIRECT WORDING. no careful rephrasing, no little tweaks. it's verbatim. for minutes and minutes at a time. and it's published under my government name, and his attempts to "credit" me were under my government name, which is not anyone's fault but it does make it, now, feel incredibly alien. like how do i even claim that when that is not a name i use in online spaces anymore, both for my privacy and gender reasons? i don't even look like that person. i don't feel like that person. and yet i was still stolen from. every time i have to look at new shit that james somerton is supposedly doing or not doing it's like, cool, you're thinking about it again, would you like some free dissociation before breakfast?

on top of the material harm, on top of the financial harm many of us experienced, on top of the opportunities i probably lost out on by trusting the wrong people (more on this below lol*) and by having someone with a larger platform than me claim my words as his own and ensure that no one would ever find me underneath him - i have this extra weight that i'm carrying around. and i largely avoid looking at or for what he's doing now because of how absolutely shitty that feels. but i can also pretty much guarantee, based on the groups of people that he stole from, that i'm not the only trans creator in this situation. it's so, so strange, and so uncomfortable and jarring, and i don't know what to do with it.

that's all this has been a weird vent post lol i'm getting breakfast now

*(the site on which i posted that article has also not responded to me when i advised them of the plagiarism, btw. they will remain unnamed but in retrospect did not have a good experience there. they overworked me and my partner and expected us - unpaid volunteer writers, several of whom had additional full-time jobs at that time - to churn out multiple articles over christmas while the editors got to take a break. they played favourites and tried to pit myself and my partner against each other by making heavy edits and redactions to my partner's work while leaving mine relatively untouched and blowing smoke up my ass. i sincerely hope that no other work on that platform was stolen, both for the writers' sake and the editorial team who did try to carve out a corner for themselves in a very busy online landscape. but i also cannot stress enough how little recourse i have from an entity that declined to respond to my concerns about the theft and was never going to be able to pay me despite insisting that i produce 3+ articles every week, on top of my full-time job, without pay, and without allowing me any input on the back-end editing of my work. they will not be able to compensate me for the time, energy, research and effort that was taken from me, but have also declined to so much respond with an "i'm so sorry that happened, thank you for letting us know, we will look into any other instances of plagiarism".)

[mcntsee]

— ★ tomorrow

↳ summary: “I wasted all those yesterdays, and now,—“ His words trailed off with a sigh, his eyes red-rimmed from hours of tears shed in the hospital, his gaze blurry as it searched for her face, “—What if I am completely out of tomorrows?”

↳ warnings: hospitals, mentions of gunshot wounds, pain, regret, not proof-read. No use of “y/n”

↳ author’s note: This is fluff, I promise the end is really sweet! This is also inspired by different, random, pinterest quotes my friends sent me. Enjoy!

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

No one enjoyed hospitals. The colors lacked vibrancy, the sounds became repetitive after a few minutes, the antiseptic smell was overpowering, the food tasted bland, and the anxious wait for news about a loved one was excruciating.

Unfortunately, the team was all too familiar with hospital waiting rooms, and even more unfortunate was their familiarity with being patients themselves.

Thankfully, the Federal Employees' Compensation Act provided some relief. Without it, they couldn't even begin to fathom the astronomical medical bills they'd be facing.

Tonight, however, finding themselves stuck in the uncomfortable chairs of the hospital waiting room had not been part of their plans.

The young genius's head throbbed relentlessly, a sensation he'd endured for weeks. The unimaginable pressure around his entire head, compounded with the bright light reflecting off the hospital's shiny white walls, the incessant beeping and the sounds of loved ones crying doing nothing other than intensify his discomfort.

The nurse they had bombarded with questions upon arrival had emerged not long ago to thankfully inform them that everything was alright. The surgery had gone well, and she was now in recovery. Soon enough, if they wished, they could stop by her new temporary room and visit her.

By now, most of the team had returned to the office. Hotch had been called back to work to tackle the pending files on their desks. Fortunately, he had allowed Rossi and Reid to remain behind. Ostensibly, their task was to update the team on her condition, but both of them understood that even if that hadn’t been necessary, there was no force on earth that could have budged Spencer from his spot, where he had been stationed for the last however many hours.

Spencer could feel David's gaze piercing through him. He wanted to snap at him, but he knew his current behavior had undoubtedly attracted more attention than just the older agent's. Clutching at his head, tugging on strands of hair intermittently, his leg bouncing up and down, with eyes tightly shut—his agitation was palpable.

“Kid, they said she’s alright. You need to relax.”

It was true, they had been told that, but it did little to reassure him. His mind raced through various worst-case scenarios. Her wound could become infected, or there might be undetected damage to internal organs. He fretted over potential complications like inflammation of the peritoneum, the formation of blood clots, or even damage to blood vessels leading to reduced blood flow to vital organs, potentially resulting in organ dysfunction or failure.

“The survival rate might seem high, but statistically speaking, complications can arise, even with the best medical care.”

“Spencer—“

��For instance, studies have shown that gunshot wounds to the abdomen carry a significant risk of infection, with rates as high as 20%. And there’s the possibility of peritonitis, which occurs in approximately 10% of cases.”

“Kid—“

“Organ damage is also a concern, particularly with injuries to vital organs like the liver or intestines. Even with the most advanced treatments—“

“Reid!”

For the first time since he sat down, his leg ceased its relentless movement. His hand, which had been tugging at the ends of his hair, relaxed and dropped to his lap, along with the hand he had been waving in the air to explain the statistics. His eyes unclenched, the worry in his brow disappearing as the rest of his facial muscles relaxed.

“What is going on, Spencer?”

The genius's eyes met the older agent's worried gaze with deliberate blinks, adjusting to the harsh fluorescent lights overhead while tuning out the cacophony of noise that surrounded them. “I just— I”

“I never told her and I— I don’t— “ His breathing was uneven, his words tumbling out faster than his mind could keep pace, his mouth struggling to articulate as his chest constricted with anxiety.

A gentle weight settled on his shoulder, its warmth grounding him as it gave a light shake, bringing him back to the present moment and prompting him to pause and take a breath.

“Rossi I- I devoted half my time since meeting her to loving her, only to spend the other half hiding it from her.”

With a sigh, the formerly retired agent settled down next to the much younger agent, his hands staying on the genius's shoulder as he shifted slightly to find a comfortable position.

Reid's gaze lingered on Rossi's face for a moment before he averted it, focusing instead on the bustling activity in the hallway where nurses and doctors hurried back and forth attending to patients.

“Every moment we shared, every laugh, every smile she graced me with, even in her unconscious gestures—“ His gaze returned to the hallway momentarily before lowering to where his hands rested on his knees. With a quick, almost imperceptible shake of his head, he cleared his throat. “Every time I looked at her, the words swelled in my throat. I longed to tell her how much she truly means to me, the happiness and peace she effortlessly brings into my world.”

“To tell her that I love her. That I have for a while now.”

David’s mouth opened, but before he could utter a word, Spencer's pointer finger shot up in the air, silencing any impending speech. It hovered there for a brief moment before his whole palm opened, effectively halting whatever words David had intended to say and then dropping back down to his lap.

“Every single time, I held back. I stopped myself from reaching out to her, from letting my true feelings spill out, from whispering all the things I desperately wished she knew.” His words cracked along with his voice as he, for the first time, admitted aloud feelings he had hidden for so long. “And with my heart pounding in my ears, I always just watched her, silently promising myself, ‘Tomorrow. I’ll tell her tomorrow.’”

“I wasted all those yesterdays, and now,—“ His words trailed off with a sigh that escaped his lips, his eyes red-rimmed from hours of tears shed in the hospital, his gaze blurry as it searched for the older man’s face, “—What if I am completely out of tomorrows?”

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of Spencer's admission hanging between them until the ringing of a phone shattered the stillness. With a sigh, Rossi reached into his pocket, retrieving the vibrating phone and glancing at the contact name.

“She’ll be okay, kid.”

With one final, reassuring squeeze to his shoulder, the older man rose to his feet, his knee cracking audibly as he turned to leave. Despite his efforts at reassurance, Spencer's profound anxiety remained largely unchanged.

He felt utterly helpless, his mind desperately grasping for solutions, for the comforting embrace of statistical analysis with its reassuring numbers. But instead, there was only silence. For the first time in his life, his mind was empty, devoid of answers, devoid of the usual cacophony of thoughts and calculations.

He couldn't recall the moment the nurse returned to inform him that he could visit her, nor did he remember following the nurse into the room and settling down beside her bed.

He cast restless glances around the room, his eyes darting from one piece of medical equipment to another, then flitting to the walls and ceiling. His gaze moved incessantly, pausing only briefly before moving on, taking in every detail. Except for her.

Alone in the quiet with her, he couldn't bring himself to meet her frame. To look at her now would make everything feel too real, and his heart was already heavy with pain.

His body felt like it was betraying him. Breathing became labored, thoughts fragmented, and the pain in his heart seemed insurmountable.

He wanted to tell someone— no, he wanted to tell her, but he knew she wouldn’t have a solution like she always did. So he sat there, his hands nervously tugging at strands of hair, eyes squeezed shut against the overwhelming cacophony of beeping machines surrounding them.

His heart weighed heavily in his chest, burdened by the weight of pain, regret, and fear. It was a sensation he never wanted to experience again, a darkness that threatened to engulf him entirely.

Throughout the night, nurses came and went. Some spoke to him, gave him updates on her condition but he didn’t listen. He tried, he just couldn’t understand it.

As the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, he reluctantly turned his gaze toward her bed. His eyes lingered on her hand, once so delicate and warm in his, now adorned with tubes and wires connecting her to different machines.

With a heavy sigh, his eyes remained fixed on her hand as he leaned forward, feeling the strain in his back from hours of immobility. With gentle care, he reached out and clasped her hand in his, his thumb tracing soothing circles over the back of it, mindful of the wires and tubes.

He remained still for a moment, relishing the warmth of her hand in his before allowing his gaze to travel up her arm, eyes tracing the patterns of the thin, cream-colored blanket that draped over her midsection when they got there. Then, his gaze shifted to her other arm, positioned protectively over her stomach where the wound lay, as if guarding it from further harm.

He studied the blue hospital gown draped over her body, its hue accentuating the sickly paleness of her skin. He traced every curve, every wrinkle, every wire, everything until his eyes finally met her bruised face.

She looked so peaceful and beautiful, devoid of worry. The furrows that typically marked her brow now absent, her closed eyes darting beneath her lids.

Tears welled in his eyes, the overwhelming emotions washing over him as he gazed upon her form. There was no smile, no gentle words escaping her lips, just a faintly parted mouth and serene countenance.

“Please wake up.” he whispered, his voice raspy from not being used in hours. “Please.” The desperation in his voice was evident in the way it cracked, in the way his chest tightened, in the way his throat constricted.

But she didn’t. Not for two weeks.

The medics reassured the team that she was showing positive signs and was going to be fine. They explained that in cases of severe internal bleeding within the abdominal cavity, it was common for patients to take longer to regain consciousness. "Sometimes, this can lead to hypovolemic shock and reduced blood flow to vital organs, including the brain," said the doctor they were currently questioning, one arm cradling a notepad against his chest while the other gestured towards her on the hospital bed, "which contributes to the prolonged unconsciousness she's experiencing."

Once the team's questions were answered, the doctor turned towards the door, his pen moving rapidly across the notepad as he scribbled something down. Upon reaching the door, he paused, pivoting back to face them. "While I can't predict the exact timeline for her awakening, I want to reassure you that we're doing everything we can to support her recovery." Tucking his pen back into his chest pocket, he scanned the room, meeting each person's gaze before lingering on on the genius’.

"Every individual responds differently to trauma and surgery, and it's not uncommon for patients to take some time to regain consciousness," he said, his tone gentle and reassuring, his kind smile directed at Spencer. "However, I want to emphasize that she's showing positive signs of progress, and her body is responding well to treatment. She should be waking up soon." With a final nod in the genius’ direction, he opened the door and disappeared into the flow of medical staff and patients outside her room.

The doctor's reassuring words and comforting demeanor provided Spencer with a small sense of relief.

As the days stretched on, nearing the two-week mark since her surgery, Spencer's exhaustion was becoming more evident. Dark circles underlined his eyes, his hair unkempt, and he felt the weight of fatigue settling into his bones. Sitting by her bedside day after day had taken its toll, leaving him feeling drained and with a sore backside.

It wasn’t until night, when he was alone with her again that he made a promise. “If you wake up tomorrow, I promise—“ He delicately released her hand, curling his fingers into a fist before extending his pinky finger to link with hers. “I pinky promise,” he whispered, a soft, trembling laugh escaping his lips as he recalled her insistence that a promise was only truly binding if sealed with a pinky. “If you wake up tomorrow, I’ll tell you everything.”

He had made up his mind days ago, swearing to himself that the moment she regained consciousness, he would lay everything bare. He hoped that verbalizing the promise would somehow penetrate her unconsciousness and draw her back to him.

As the night wore on and the room bathed in the soft glow of predawn, his senses awakened to a subtle movement near his head, his mind clouded with confusion as he remained still, trying to grasp his surroundings.

He found himself in a hazy state, unable to pinpoint the exact moment sleep had claimed him, yet the sensation of their linked pinkies lingered, his other hand placed gently on her leg, while his head rested on the bed.

It wasn’t until he felt his pinky being squeezed that Spencer’s senses sharpened, his back straightening with a crack as his eyes snapped into focus on her. The familiar furrow returned to her brow as she squeezed her eyes shut, her free hand instinctively reaching up to rub at her forehead.

His breath caught in his throat, his body frozen as he stared at her, his heart pounding loudly in his ears.

“Spence?”

Her voice was raspy, her tone confused as her eyes opened and scanned the room. Without hesitation, he rose from his seat, hands releasing hers as he hurried to the table with the water bottles. He swiftly grabbed one, unscrewing the cap as he returned to her side.

She struggled to lift herself up on her elbows, her eyes tracking his movements, fixated on the open water bottle as he presented it to her. With a gentle nod from her, he brought the bottle closer, tipping it carefully as it reached her parched lips, his other hand positioned beneath her chin, ready to catch any droplets that might escape.

After consuming almost half of the bottle, she gently pushed it away from her lips, taking a moment to swallow the last gulp before lying back down.

He remained in a state of shock, his mind racing faster than it had in weeks, attempting to process the moment as he observed her shifting, striving to find a comfortable position.

“Spence?”

“You—” he began, his words trailing off as he struggled to articulate his thoughts. “You are awake.”

At his words, a gentle smile, the one he had longed to see for weeks, graced her lips. She nodded in acknowledgment as she looked at him. Without hesitation, he moved forward, enveloping her in a tight embrace, being careful not to hurt her. "You're awake," he whispered softly, his face nuzzling into her neck.

He knew he was supposed to call a nurse in —something the staff had reminded him of repeatedly— , but in that moment, he couldn’t bear to let her go. So, he held her tighter, his arms enveloping her as if protecting her from everything, his hand gently cradling the back of her head, thumb tracing soothing circles as he drew her closer.

They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity before he released her from his embrace, his body reluctantly withdrawing from her warmth. His hands remained, tenderly cupping her face as he gazed into her eyes, memorizing every detail of her being.

"I have to tell you something," he whispered, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The familiar nerves and doubt flooded back, causing his heart to race so fast that he knew that if he had been the one hooked up to the machines, medics would have surely burst into the room thinking someone was having a heart attack.

He hesitated, his eyes lingering on her face, absorbing every detail illuminated by the gentle glow of the sun filtering into the room.

In his hesitation, his mind revisited every memory he shared with her. He recalled the moments he wanted to confess but held back, as well as his conversation with Rossi. Then, the memory of their pinky promise last night resurfaced, reminding him of his commitment. He couldn’t break a pinky promise.

“Spencer?”

“I love you.” There. He said it. His gaze lowered in fear of rejection, the nerves in his stomach growing, but he kept going, he had to. “I am so unimaginably in love with you.”

“Spencer—“

“No, I need—“ he paused, his eyes brimming with unshed tears, gazing still fixated downward as he cleared his throat from the imaginary knot that was beginning to form there. “I need you to know that every time you smile, every time you laugh, every time you talk to me, it’s like my whole world lights up.”

“And when you look at me, it’s like everything else fades away, and there’s just you.” With a deep inhale, he squeezed his eyes shut, colors swirling behind his eyelids from the pressure, before slowly exhaling and looking up to meet her gaze. “I can’t even scientifically explain how you make me feel. There is no book, or research article that explains what you make me feel.”

One of his hands left her face, gesturing through the air as he attempted to explain everything without the safety net of statistical knowledge. “Every time I’m near you, it’s like my heart speeds up so much that, scientifically speaking, I should be dead.” The quiet chuckle that escaped her lips reached his ears, easing the tight lines on his forehead as his lips formed into a gentle smile. “But it doesn’t matter, because being near you makes me feel more alive than I’ve ever felt before.”

“Every little thing you do, it just… it makes me fall more and more in love with you.”

“God, I’ve loved you for so long.” His hand halted its relentless movement and lowered to push the hair out of his eyes before running down his face with a grunt of frustration.

"I've fought multiple inner battles trying to tell you how I feel, only to back down at the last minute, silently promising myself that I would do it the next day."

Her eyes softened at his words, her lips pulling into a sad smile as his remained parted, eyes teary as they left her gaze and focused on his lap. “And then you got shot and I—“ The memories of everything that happened in the last two weeks rushing back to him. "I thought I had run out of next days.”

Her hand, which had been holding his against her cheek, shifted gently, cupping his cheek and wiping away the tear that had managed to escape his eyes.

With a sigh, he looked up to meet her eyes again, his own free hand coming up to hold the hand she now had on his cheek. He leaned into her touch, his head resting against her hand as she rubbed soothing circles against the stubble that had appeared after weeks of not shaving. “I adore you.”

His face inched closer to hers, resting his forehead against hers. "I’m fine with whatever you want as long as I'm able to have you in my life," he whispered, his warm breath brushing against her skin. "I love you so, so much. Always." With that, their foreheads separated and his lips moved up to plant a gentle kiss on her forehead.

The room fell silent, his words hanging in the air as she processed them. After another second, Spencer moved, standing up and letting her know that he was going to go get a nurse before quickly disappearing.

The nurses flooded her room with warmth and care, each one exuding kindness as they attended to her needs, explaining her situation, answering questions, and expressing relief that she was recovering well.

Spencer stood patiently by the door, his shoulder leaning against the frame as he observed the nurses with gratitude, thanking them as they left after ensuring everything was in order.

As the last nurse made her way to the door, she slowed her footsteps, casting a reassuring smile at Spencer. “I told you she’d be alright, sweetheart,” she said with a gentle tone.

Marisa, the lovely old nurse, had not only been concerned about his best friend’s well-being but also his. The genius could confidently say that, had it not been for Marisa, he probably would’ve starved in that hospital chair.

She would often stop by during her morning shift, offering reassurance that she would be alright, often bending a few hospital rules to make Spencer more comfortable, providing him with the comfiest blankets, or allowing him to take showers in the bedroom’s bathroom so he wouldn’t have to leave her side.

She also insisted on him taking breaks to get some fresh air, eat proper meals, and change his clothes, assuring him that if anything happened, she would call him immediately.

With a comforting squeeze to his arm, the nurse left, closing the door gently behind her and leaving the two of them alone in the room.

As he settled back into the familiar chair, their eyes met once more, exchanging a silent understanding. They sat in comfortable silence for a while, relishing each other's presence. Eventually, Spencer broke the quietude. "I should call the team," he suggested softly.

He rose from the chair, his hand diving into his pocket to retrieve his phone. With his back turned to her, he scrolled through his contacts, his foot shifting slightly as he prepared to step away.

Before he could get far, his movements halted by the touch of her hand on his arm, he lowered his phone and turned back to her, meeting her gaze with curiosity. "Wait," she said softly. With a nod, he returned his phone to his pocket, yielding to her gentle tug until he found himself seated by her side on the bed.

A grunt of discomfort escaped her lips as she struggled to sit up, reaching out for his hand for support. Once she was upright, she shifted closer to him. “What are- oomf—“ before he could finish, his question was cut off by the sudden press of her lips against his, her hands gripping the back of his head.

His body momentarily stiffened, eyes widening in surprise as he tried to process what was happening. When it finally clicked, the initial shock turned into a gentle surrender as he closed his eyes, allowing himself to be swept away by the warmth of her lips against his.

With a soft exhale, his hand instinctively rose to caress her cheek, pulling her face even closer to his and deepening the kiss.

If he had ever believed his heart couldn’t beat any faster than when in her presence, he stood corrected. Now, he was certain he was experiencing a heart attack.

His lips moved against hers so perfectly, as if they had kissed a thousand times before, as if their souls recognized each other instantly.

It was perfect, not because it was flawless, but because it felt so real.

He never wanted to stop; her lips were addicting, but when his lungs screamed at him for air, he reluctantly pulled his lips away from hers, resting his forehead against hers as they caught their breath.

“I love you too, Spencer.”

His head jerked back, eyes wide open as he looked at her, scanning her expression, looking for any hint that she was lying, only to find honesty shining through her eyes.

With a laugh, she took his face back in her hands, pulling him closer and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “You have, and will always be the one my heart searches for in a world full of everyone else.”

With a toothy smile, he pulled her lips back to his, chuckling inwardly, as their lips met, acknowledging that if he thought he reached the peak before, he was mistaken again. His heart was racing faster than ever before. A heart attack of a different kind.

A heart attack that he’d gladly experience a million times more.

[adventuringblind]

Entitled To You (3.6K words)

Norstaptri x Reader

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Summary: An incident with Lance sends the boys into a frenzy. She just wants to do what she loves.

Warnings: Explicit depictions of r@pe, injury descriptions, panic attacks, Oscar plots a murder, Lando throws hands, Car crashes, Author doesn't know legal stuff, Head trauma and blood.

Notes: This one is a request from @Lily234566 I know this wasn't the original pairing but I was struggling to fit the Ferrari boys in there so I had to scale it back... I'm sorry and I hope you still like it! T_T

Side Note: Sorry to the Lance girlies reading this. AND obligatory message of I don't know these people and this is purely FICTION! HEAD THE TAGS! DONT LIKE THEN DONT READ!

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

“Max!” She peeks her head into his driver's room. The bright beaming smile she receives in return after their 1-2 nearly kills her. “They want me for a media thing, apparently.” HIs smile drops into a pout. The sad puppy eyes might convince her to stay. 

“Again? Don’t they know we have plans!

“No, and why would they care anyway?” She looks him up and down and whines because he’s standing in front of her with no shirt on. “Just - I’ll meet you guys back at the room. It’s something to do with being a female in F1… again.”

“I’m starting to think they have nothing else to talk about.” 

She shrugs as she walks out of the hospitality, waving to Christian on her way by. The goal is to get past the Mclaren garage without seeing Lando because otherwise she is not going to the interview. His pout is worse (better?) than Max’s. 

To her pleasant surprise, Laura is the one conducting the interview. “I’m sorry about this being last minute! They said they wanted you to do it with someone else next week and I offered to do it now.” 

The interview passes with ease and thankfully doesn’t take long at all. The banter in-between is also entertaining. 

She’s exhausted when they finish. Ready to go back to the hotel and fall into bed with her boys. Hopefully They’ve ordered food - and dessert. 

The paddock is nearly empty as she makes her way through. Maybe, had she been paying more attention and not focussed on her aching body, she would’ve caught on to the footsteps behind her. 

They are heavy, she assumes possibly a mechanic still packing up to continue on their way to the next circuit. That’s what she still thinks when the hand on her bicep yanks her around the corner. 

If she weren’t as exhausted, then fighting would’ve been a possibility. However, that seems out of the cards as he pins her against the nearest wall. Her forehead hitting the surface hard enough to make her dizzy. 

“Not so confident now, huh?” 

The fuck- “Lance? What are you?-” He slams her head again and cages her body against his own. She flails, only to be slammed again. “Would you stop doing that please?” 

“Not after that stupid stunt you pulled today on track.”

“You mean the one where you showed you don’t know what brakes are?-” Again, her head is sent into the hard surface. She can feel her nose starting to bleed. “Must you?!” She decided to shut up when he does it again and everything starts to go fuzzy. 

His fingers dip beneath the waistband of her fireproofs. The cold evening air hits her bare skin and she panics more than before. Her head is too cloudy to fully comprehend what’s happening. 

“I feel like I'm entitled to a bit of compensation after that stunt.” 

“You’re entitled to nothing. You took yourself out!” She hisses through gritted teeth. Still, Lance continues to get her clothes lower. And slams her head again harder - you know - because she wasn’t disoriented enough already.

“Would you shut up?” She doesn’t say anything this time. Her mouth feels numb and her ears are ringing. Her exposed lower half is met with the bare hands of someone she doesn't want touching her. 

It's - well - it hurts. He's groping at her thighs, ass, even her tits which she isn't sure how he's managing. His hands are everywhere they shouldn't be. 

And then nothing. 

A vague awareness of what's happening seeps through her veins and invades her senses. She tries to scream. Attempts despite the sheer pain of the snap of hips she didn't ask for. 

His finger beat her to it. A hand encloses around her throat and cuts off her oxygen. The black spots dance around her vision. She wants them to stop moving; they are making her dizzy. Or was she already dizzy? 

“See, it's not so bad. Don't you feel less guilty for ruining my race now?” No, she doesn't. She wasn't guilty before. 

She blacks out. 

~~~♡~~~

Waking up with sore limbs and a killer headache is not how she pictured this night going. She tries to yell for help, but a mere creaky rasp escapes. 

When did she lose her voice? The thought makes her panic more. The sob she lets out hurts more than there is sound. 

Her face and hair is sticky. At least Lance had done her the courtesy of not finishing inside of her. 

Still - what the fuck even happened? The fragmented memory is trying to come back to her slowly. Each small piece remembered is another broken cry. 

She can't move. 

It's dark again. 

~~~♡~~~

The anxiety between the three boys is certainly not something they are used to. Oscar can pinpoint the exact moment Lando started overthinking and Max had to bear hug him so he didn't pace a hole into the cement of the parking lot. 

The fourth seat in their car remains empty and their messages have gone unanswered. It's getting more concerning with each passing minute. 

“Max, she always responds.” 

“I know Lando.” 

“She always calls if she's going to be longer.” 

“Lando?”

“Yes?”

“Would you feel better if we went and looked around for her?” 

The Brit nods his head in a fashion that might give him whiplash. It's better seeing him feel helpful then sit helplessly. Though Oscar can't help but agree with Max's original point. that they should wait there at the car just in case since that's where they were supposed to meet. 

Granted, it's only been twenty minutes. It's still long enough to be murdered. 

They Methodically peer around corners and wave at the mechanics who give them skeptical looks. They were supposed to be out for post race celebrations by now. 

Oscar freezes when he sees it. The human shaped lump lying on the ground. He rushes over with long strides. The closer he gets, the more familiar the person on the ground becomes. 

“Max! Lando! I found her!” The other two boys come sprinting in his direction. He's on the ground trying to clear her hair from her face only for it to get stuck in the sticky substance coating her features. 

“What the fuck?” 

Her fireproofs are still on, but it's obvious what happened. The handprints on her neck, the blood trickling down the sides of her face. “We need to bring her to a hospital.” 

Max hoists her up in his arms. Mainly because Lando is on the brink of tears and struggling to breathe through his panic. He loves deeply and with his heart on his sleeve. Oscar just hopes he can keep the Brit calm until they find more help. 

“Can we at least clean her up?” Lando pleads with him. Big Hazel eyes brimming with tears. 

It's always a struggle to tell him no. “We can't, not if it can help us figure out who did it.” The tears start right after that. 

“So that’s what happened then? Someone really-” Oscar has to maneuver the puddle of tears that is his boyfriend into the passenger seat of their rental car. Max tosses him the keys, opting to be with her in the back and keep her comfortable. 

The tricky drive to emergency is more because Oscar is too far in his own thoughts to pay attention to the traffic lights. He can hear Max moving her around, attempting to put pressure where blood still flows freely. 

Oscar doesn’t bother with parking. He pulls off into some empty area and helps Max shoulder her weight inside the doors while Lando runs ahead to find help. 

It’s fast after that. They take her away and start patching her up while the three of them are forced to sit in the waiting room. Oscar and Lando are left to their own devices while Max paces about on the phone with Christian. 

He feels like a knife is being driven through his chest each time his mind tries to come up with what could’ve happened. Who would do something like this? Unfortunately, a lot of people. The question is more of who could’ve done it and gotten away. Someone with access to the paddock this late. Security, perhaps? Maybe even a sleazy mechanic? A driver wouldn’t make any sense… right?

“When will they let us see her?”

“When she wakes up, most likely.”

He’s not sure when he falls asleep. The exhaustion finally hit him like a truck despite his persistence. He’s awoken by Max’s constant shaking and aggressive whispering of his name. 

“-She’s asking for us.” 

He’s up faster than Lando when Jon threatens an ice bath. They follow the nurse down the halls with an uneasy anticipation. They creep inside the sterile room and find her staring at the wall. 

Lando doesn’t hesitate to move further into the room. Always having been more in touch with his emotions then the other two boys. “Hey love, can I come closer?” 

She looks at him. The bandages plastered over the sides of her head and around her face now visible to them. She returns Lando’s gaze with glassy eyes. It’s damn near shocking when she tries to pull things off her body in a desperate attempt to reach for Lando. 

Lando gets to her before she can get everything off, specifically the IV, and catch her arms. Oscar and Max finally pull themselves together and manage to get her to lay back down with some coaxing. 

She’s shaking violently. Her grip on Lando’s arm is sure to leave bruises. “Who - who f-found me?”  

“We did, schat. We got worried when you didn’t respond.” Max drags the two chairs in the room closer and pulls Oscar down into one.  Lando, against all odds, manages to wriggle his way into bed with her. 

“I know who it was. I - well - does anyone else know?” 

“Just Christian and us.” Oscar can feel the fight Max is putting up to not ask her more questions. The way he’s grounding himself with a hand on Oscars knee instead. 

“You don’t have to tell us.” He attempts to reassure. Maybe calm her mind by giving her an option. “Just know we’re here, alright?” 

“I don’t want it to be a big story. It’s already going to be since I can’t be in the car for the next four weeks. Oh fuck - everyone is gonna know-” Lando hushes her; gets her to somehow hold him tighter.

“Christian said it’s up to you, whatever happens.” Max nods at her encouragingly. “We go at your pace.” 

“They did a rape kit. They’ll know who it is. It was all over so it couldn’t have been hard to get DNA - oh fuck” 

Her heart rate picks up. The nurses rush in. They send her back to sleep. 

~~~♡~~~

Max wants to know who it was who touched her. The rage simmering underneath her skin is almost too much to keep contained. 

On the more fortunate side, they were allowed to stay since she wouldn’t let go of Lando. Then when he did have to get up, they rotated. 

The doctors and nurses learned to approach her like she’s a scared animal. The heavy footsteps seem to set her off and there is now a sticky note on the door saying to tiptoe when entering. It’s endearing to see her doctors and nurses trying so hard not to startle her. But seeing as they’ve now had several incidents where she’s panicked, they are taking more caution. 

Oscar and Lando have meandered away in search of food. Max opted to stay put and made the promise to bring him back cheat foods. He’s too stressed to not eat something of comfort. 

Her physio is supposed to come by today with the stuff she left at the track and get an update from the doctors themselves instead of Max’s botched attempts at repeating back. It will also be nice to see her comfortable, as the one blanket that travels with her everywhere will also be dropped off. 

“Max?” He tightens his hold to show he’s listening. “It’s not fair… You, Lando, and Oscar make a mistake on track and nobody does that to you. I - It wasn’t my fault.” 

The thing is, Max is smarter than people give him credit for. The only incident on track was with Lance. An incident that was his own fault. “He’s at fault, not you. None of this is your fault.”

“They are going to say I was asking for it or something.” 

“In those fireproofs? The only ones asking for it are me and Oscar… for obvious reasons.” He chuckles proudly at his little self compliment. 

It also manages to get her to crack something of a half smile. “Are you complimenting your own ass?” 

“And what if I am?” 

She doesn’t eat anything despite it being sat in front of her. Soft foods are the only thing she’ll be eating. Her throat, albeit not as bad as it could've been (thank you F1), is still damaged and needs to rest as much as possible. 

They had to keep her for observation due to where the head wounds had been. It’s been a rough thirty-six hours, but they are managing.

Despite the hectic situation, Max has come to learn that the female lying in the hospital bed is a better person then the rest of them. Oscar was detailing a full proof murder plan while she was telling him not to make it a bigger deal then it is. To which Oscar politely put his ten step plan with four contingencies down and told her that it’s ‘what he had coming to him’. 

Max has not had to stop someone from assassinating a rival before, but Oscar seems like a reasonable guy. “Death is too good for him.” 

“Mm, you’re right, I’ll just make sure he doesn’t die then and can’t see my face.” 

“Or, we make his life a series of inconveniences! I feel like daddy’s money could get him good therapy. It can’t solve every minor problem.” Lando has a gleam in his eyes. 

Him and Oscar start pouring over ideas once more. The girl simply shakes her head and goes back to eyeing her pudding like it’s assaulted her. “I don’t want to leave here, Max.”

“Why not? I’d assume you want to go home? Sleep in a comfortable bed?”

“Out there, they can get to us. Here is safe.” 

He considers how to reassure her. Only, there is nothing he can think of. The truth is that outside of this hospital room, there is no guarantee they won’t run into trouble. 

“I can’t promise that we'll never have something bad happen again. But-” He looks to the McLaren duo brainstorming ways to make the Aston Martin garage regret existing. “We’ll be there for each other. We’re here for you. When you want us and when you need us, yes?” 

“Pinky swear?” She extends her pink to him. 

Max accepts and curls his pinks around hers. “Pinky swear.” 

~~~♡~~~

It’s not fair really, that they had to leave to go do things. Lando would prefer he at least stayed with her so she isn’t alone. Alas, they are preparing for her discharge and he had to run around getting things together for their trip back to Monaco.

He comes back to a partially opened door and smiles at the other two boys being able to get back before him. Then again, as he gets closer he can hear the angry tone. One that Max uses when he’s pissed off about something. 

Lando panics and rushes inside. Only to be met with the sight of the last person he wants around right now. 

Now - he wouldn’t say he’s prone to violence. Lando prefers to keep the peace when it comes to conflict unless he’s trying to piss someone off on purpose to get a reaction. This is not one of those times. 

Lando’s knuckles collide with the Canadian’s jaw faster than he can fully become aware of what he’s doing. Lance stumbles backward and holds his jaw, glaring at Lando like he’s the one in the wrong here. 

“Get out!” 

“We were just talking-” 

“I said. Get. Out.” He’s seething. The thudding in his chest becoming louder with each second Lance remains in this room. 

He’s not prone to violence. 

Really, he’s not. 

Yet the second crack of knuckles into Lance's chin gives him some sick satisfaction. Isn’t there something about equilibrium? Can he pin this on restoring the balance or something? Regardless, he isn’t going to dent the fact that it feels good. 

The nurses come running and start asking questions. Max and Oscar have to drag Lando away kicking and screaming. 

Worse is when they try to tell him that there are pictures out on social media. Christian has been calling Max non-stop. Oscar has been dealing with Zak. Their relationship isn’t a secret and neither is their current location.  

“They're sending us a different car to see if we can’t get out discreetly.” 

“What happened with Lance, Lan? Are you alright?”

Everyone is panting. Their eyes trained on the door. “I punched him. I restored the equal-brey-um… thing.” 

“Equilibrium.” 

“Yeah that!” 

He’s not sure how they get on the plane. He’s still amped up about the whole punching thing and running purely off adrenaline. 

They’ve been sitting in silence, mulling over their options. Creating statements they can put out. It’s hectic and they keep trashing them because nothing fits. 

The female has been apathetic. The last thing she wanted was for this to get out and now it has. Seemingly everything is flashing before her eyes. Her career will be gone soon enough, so what’s even the point? 

“Don’t post anything. We don’t have an obligation to confirm or deny the rumors. If anything, we can say that you were just driving me to the hospital and being good friends or whatever.” She won’t look at them. Still - Lando can hear how upset she is, the waiver in her voice. “I’m going to be kicked out anyway.” 

“Christian said-”

“Damn what Christian said! He knows this isn’t going to get any better and if I say who it was then Daddy’s Money is just going to pay his way through.” She's hyperventilating now. Her body collapses against her seat and Oscar makes an effort to get her to lean against him. “It’s not fair!”

lando Can’t help but share her feelings.

~~~♡~~~

She stays holed up in the Redbull garage the next weekend. The appearance is hard, people want to ask her questions. Her boys had been caught in the middle of the riptide and haven’t come back to shore yet. 

At least she’s here. She’s trying her hardest to look stronger than she is. On the inside things are falling apart. 

The team knows to give her space and not ask about the ordeal. She takes refuge in Max’s room when things are too much and the other drivers keep their distance. 

They know it was one of them. She’d been adamant on not saying who it was, but it’s obvious there are sixteen who it could have been, given her partners insistence that none of them go near her garage for the time being.  

She just wants this whole thing to blow over. She wants to lay in bed with her lovers and not flinch when they go to touch her. 

She knows, however, that until she deals with things that healing can’t happen like it should. Or at least, that’s what her therapist says. The one she is now required to see. 

Things get worse when she’s back in the car. Her media duties are limited so she can focus on driving and ‘listening to her body’ as her physio likes to say. 

She can’t hear her body over the sound of her mind going staticy as Lance closes in on her. The catalyst for everything. She panics and ends up in the wall. Not the worst crash ever, but certainly hurts her pride more than it has already.

The thing is, it keeps happening. Even as she’s able to let her boys back in. As her podium finishes start to come back. Her fireproofs (which they’d gotten her all new ones) start to feel comfortable again and she doesn’t feel the need to be out of them the second the race is done. Still, Lance is using this to his advantage. 

Finally, after he almost killed her on track (again), she’s had enough.

The trial goes better than she thought it would. Despite the money differences, Lance won’t be able to race anymore. It’s not some grand spectacle either, just an announcement like usual. It’s more the closure she needed versus the publicized drama it could have been. 

She wins the next race. 

“If I ever see him again, it will be too soon.” 

“It’s been over a year now, Lan. I’m getting better.” There is a genuine smile on her face. The car awaits to take them back to the hotel. It was here that it happened. She almost considered not racing because of it.

“Lando got a taste of blood and now he’s feinding for it.” Max has a comforting hand around her waist. A grounding presence. 

“I mean, I never threw away my murder plot…” 

“You’re a genius Oscar!”

She shakes her head. It’s not like any of this has been easy. It never is. Still - her boys are here and they’ve been so patient. 

“There’s her smile.” They all beam at her. 

She smiles back.

[bonniepop]

title: of rumors & wrong assumptions parts: 1 / 2 / 3 character: iwaizumi hajime words: 1,200+ warnings: violence towards oikawa's person. experiments in chem lab. notes: i think this is one of my funnier fics so of course i had to bring this back! (also i am not compensating for forgetting about this website at all!)

—

life would’ve been so much easier if you’d ended up having a crush on literally anyone else instead, but noooo. you had to go and have a crush on oikawa's best friend.

oikawa's probably gay best friend.

“i’m telling you—iwa-chan is not gay,” oikawa insists with a hushed voice, leaning over the beaker he poured water into earlier, his face so near the bunsen burner it was giving you anxiety.

“what the fuck, oikawa,” you nearly cry, shoving his face away from the open flame. “get your face out of there!”

your palm presses over the goggles on his face and he yelps. “ow!” he pouts and pulls away his standard chem lab goggles, running his hand through the red marks pressed against his skin. “that hurt!”

“would you rather i let your face burn off in case it exploded?” you shoot back, grabbing a pen and writing down your observations. “also can you get back to work? this is a partner lab report.”

“that’s just water,” he snaps.

"there's an open flame!" you practically shriek, but he ignores you.

"—and i’ll read your notes later.” he says the last part dismissively, and you had to stop yourself from launching your pen at his face—like a gladiator spear through one of his eyeballs.

life would've been so much easier if you'd fallen for literally anyone else, because their best friend probably wouldn't be an insufferably annoying volleyball captain that you'd ended up being partnered with.

at first, it made you giddy. this was your chance—be friend the volleyball captain, make friends with iwaizumi, flirt, fall in love, and live happily ever after.

okay, you're thinking too far ahead. but it was a great setup. until oikawa'd said, "i need to talk to you about something," with that something being... righting... his best friend's reputation.

is there any possible way to get run over by a truck? while inside a laboratory on the third floor of a building?

“anyway, he’s not gay,” oikawa brings up again, louder than the last time, and you sink down against the table and groan.

you can feel your table mates look back at you suspiciously, and you pray to every deity out there. someone, anyone. just open up the earth and swallow me whole.

“oikawa,” you bark, peering over your shared equipment with sharp eyes. “can we not talk about this here?”

he shakes his head quite vigorously. “no! we need to discuss this. because you are wrong, and i am here to tell you that you are wrong.”

your face wrinkles into a scowl. “i really don’t wanna talk about this,” you grumble, looking away.

you don’t even know how he knows. as far as you remember, it was a speculation you’d mentioned to your group of friends in jest, and two days later, oikawa—who had sweet talked your previous lab partner into switching out, apparently; if you think about it, this was all her fault for agreeing—started pestering you about it.

“add the iodine and stir,” your teacher says, and dutifully, you grab the smaller beaker and add the brown liquid, noting the color change when you stir.

“seriously!” oikawa insists, “he’s not. believe me.”

“wh—” you point your pen at him and glare. “you know what, i will remove your name from this lab report if you don’t work on anything in the next—”

you watch him grab his pen and, without looking, scribble quickly on his notebook. “there, done.”

your jaw unhinges, unreasonable, murderous irritation flooding your entire body. “you didn’t even—”

“now get your second beaker,” your teacher instructs, and you use it as a distraction to stop yourself from lunging at your lab partner. “add the remaining water, hydrogen peroxide and fabric starch.”

you take a deep breath and reach for the materials—which were near oikawa’s elbow. when your reach comes up short, you glare at him. “maybe you’d like to help me?”

“oh, sure,” oikawa goes, plucking the materials and placing them on the center of the table. “there you go.” 

you count to ten in an attempt to prevent yourself from hurling the second beaker at his head, opting to focus on the experiment instead.

“anyway, i—”

you nearly slam your hands on the table. “look, oikawa,” you tell him, leaning closer. “i don’t know how you found out about that, but it was meant as a joke. i didn’t mean it, and whoever told you that? give me their name. give me their name, so i can find them, break their phone, and burn their house down. end of story.”

he blinks. “so you don’t think he’s gay?”

you lean back. “if he is, it’s none of my business.”

“but he’s not,” oikawa whines. “what made you think that in the first place?”

you give him a bewildered stare. “what? why wouldn’t i think it? he’s obviously in love with you.”

his face morphs into one of complete and utter shock, and then he booms into laughter, which makes the class turn towards your seat at the very back. he sheepishly quiets down at the call of his name, your teacher evidently not as amused as he is at his new discovery.

“he’s not in love with me,” oikawa denies at a much softer, but not any less irritating, volume.

you ignore him. “he’s so scary but he turns sweet around you—”

“sweet? sweet?” he’s wide-eyed and appalled. he aggressively points to the back of his head. “is throwing volleyballs at my head sweet?"

you defend, “i don’t know what you’re into—"

"do you know how many almost-concussions i've had because of him?! i'm basically a fall risk at this point!”

“now, transfer everything in beaker 1 to beaker 2,” your teacher calls, interrupting your argument. “note the time.”

he stares and shakes his head. “anyway. well, that’s not the case. at all,” he declares, leaning forward to continue the rest of the experiment. “we’re just friends. you note the time.”

“sure,” you say, signaling for him to go once you track the seconds on your watch. you scribble in your notes when the liquid changes color. 

the bell rings, and students are shuffling to dump their liquids in the giant erlenmeyer flask at the back of the room.

your former lab partner smiles at you as you both dump your waste liquid. “seems like you and oikawa had a lot of fun,” she chirps.

not at all. “he’s okay,” you say before you part ways. when you get back to your desk, she notes that oikawa is waiting for you and that you walk out of lab together, bickering.

while the rest of the day went ahead as normal, for the next day at school, you were not granted that same luxury.

“hey,” one of your friends asks over lunch, “are you and oikawa dating?”

your fist clenches in surprise, and the juice sent ricocheting through the straw and into your throat makes you choke. “what?” you ask, coughing, and wiping at your mouth with the back of your hand. “where'd you get that?”

the rest of your friends meet gazes. “we heard you were really close in lab yesterday,” one of the girls says.

“yeah, like an old married couple,” another says.

your brain is going into overdrive. what? said who? “we are absolutely n—”

someone calls from outside your classroom. someone with very familiar and annoying voice, someone who you've, quite frankly, had enough of.

you look up to see oikawa, waving merrily at you. behind him, iwaizumi’s stony face is dark and threatening.

the girls around you giggle, and you flush, hunching over at your desk in an attempt to hide.

this cannot be happening, you think despairingly. not only was your crush probably gay, he also thinks you’re dating his best friend.

the best friend he was probably in love with.

“fuck me,” you groan into the wood grain of your desk. "fuck me so very much."

[notjustjavierpena]

First - Part I: Time

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Part of my “first”-series with dilf!joel! 

Summary: You go to IKEA to buy a new bed, but after getting Joel to assemble your new piece of furniture. it somehow also ends up being the first time you have sex. 

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 Smut (MDNI!), Joel hates IKEA, reader is overthinking, domestic fluff, Joel is lovely, pussy eating, creampie, unprotected piv sex, cute sex!!! Fluff!!! Filth!!

Word count: 4.6k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48689506/chapters/123842593#workskin

First: Time

Since the kiss on your front porch, Joel has taken every opportunity to press his lips against yours when nobody has been around to see. Making out is so easy, uncomplicated in the sense that it isn’t hard to find out what the other likes, but there’s always something stirring beneath the surface when you feel Joel’s cock start to harden against your stomach. It makes you pull away and come up with excuses, and Joel takes it politely when you reject him.

You aren’t inexperienced, but for some reason, Joel Miller, certified hot neighbor, and possible boyfriend, makes you nervous. 

Even more so when he suggests joining you on an outing to buy you a new bed like he has a say in which one you’ll choose. Your old one barely made it across the country in the moving truck, the old bed frame creaking so loudly that you were scared that it would splinter and land you in a claim of compensation with the moving company.

Additionally, it’s simply terrible to sleep in, and when it had finally broken its last proper spring, you’d settled for a month on something that resembled a military cot. Not ideal for you back. Not ideal for inviting Joel Miller over.

“Sarah ain’t home anyway,” he had said, “And with how that stepladder turned out… You probably need someone to assemble it, so ya don’t end up on the floor, sweetheart.” 

Sweetheart. Sweetheart sweetheart sweetheart. What easier way was there to get you to say yes? 

*

And so you find yourself in an IKEA not long after. Joel wants to play the gentlemen, pushing your cart around the furniture store, but he seems tired of it when you keep adding unnecessary bibs and bobs as you are forced to walk down the fixed path design. You ignore his tiny grunts, knowing that he would be more suited for powering through the halls than stopping every goddamn second.

“Ain’t this cute?” You ask as you show him a kitchen container that’s shaped like a flower. 

“Very,” he replies without the same enthusiasm. 

“What about this? I should totally get these,” you go on as you reach the cutlery and glasses, showing him a set of brass coffee scoops. 

“Sure,” he answers, but he isn’t really listening. 

Eventually, you reach the section of pillows, blankets, and bedding. He wants to go straight to the rows of beds along the wall and surrounding the path on the floor, but you grab at the end of your cart to steer him towards the linens. 

“I feel like I should get some new bedding to go along with the new bed, don’t you think?” You scan the different patterns and colors. Joel hums beside you, clearly lost in his thoughts despite being the one who suggested coming along. 

“Yeah, I really think this lilac set would look fantastic against my skin when you fuck me,” you say without any suggestive tone to your voice, then wait.

“Sure wou—“ Joel takes a second, nearly snapping his neck as he quickly turns towards you to look at you. He splutters, “Wait, what?”

“What?” You smile too innocently, “I didn’t say anything. I just said that these would look fantastic with my bedroom walls. Honestly, Joel, you should listen more.”

Joel narrows his eyes at you, parking your shared cart that he has nothing of his own in. He walks towards you again and God, you want to kiss him as he smirks at you, “You’re playin’ with me.”

“Not at all,” you say with a soft giggle as he looks around for other people, who, luckily, are nowhere to be seen, before kissing you in the middle of the store. You wrap your arms around his neck as his own comes around your waist. 

It only takes a moment for him to pull back. You miss him the second that he is gone, though instead of going back to your cart again, he scans the room once more and then grabs at the hem of your jeans. 

“What’re you—?” You look down with surprise and a pulsating feeling between your legs. 

“I’m so fuckin’ bored, let’s just go do what we’re here for,” he yanks at the front of your jeans and steers you towards the row of beds. Your head swims and your legs try to follow wherever he tugs you. 

“O-okay, yes, alright,” you stutter. 

Joel only lets go when you choose the first bed to try out. You try to concentrate on the design as you run a hand over the material, but the grasp Joel has just had on your clothes makes you wonder if it translates into the bedroom. Fuck, you need a bed. 

Unfortunately, you are also very picky; too soft, too hard, bad design, bad bed frame design, made of plastic, not convincing enough to look like wood.

“How do you like this one?” You ask as you lay down on the millionth bed with Joel. It’s the first one that has some potential. You wiggle to get comfortable, looking at him out of the corner of your eye. 

“No,” he simply replies, turning onto his side to face you. You turn your head, not daring to mirror his position. 

“Right, let’s hear it, Mr. Miller, what’s the verdict of this possible contender?” You sigh dramatically. 

“First of all, ’m not the picky one here. We’ve had some fine contenders,” he points out and makes you smile, “But this one? Wouldn’ trust that bed frame, the headboard.”

“And what has the headboard done?��� You roll your eyes.

“Nothing, but I’d for sure have you break it. We need somethin’ sturdier.”

Your breath catches in your throat and you’re sure that every drop of blood in your body goes down between your thighs. 

*

Eventually, you arrive home with a bed that has a name that you are unable to pronounce and a Joel who tells you not to disturb him as he assembles said bed with a difficult name. 

You try protesting against being left out of the project, but Joel reminds you of the stepladder massacre from the day that you had met, making you shut your mouth and pout prettily in your living room. 

He leaves your house briefly to get his power drill from his garage, and you practically froth around the mouth at the idea of him power drilling his way to fixing up a new bed for you. If only he’d allowed you to join him, so you could’ve at least silently watched and admired him from the other side of the room. The images that flood your mind are as relentless as Joel’s comment about your new bed’s headboard. 

When he eventually comes into the living room, he takes your hand and leads you through the house to show you his masterpiece.

“One new bed for the lady, even put the mattress on,” Joel says, stopping in the doorway to your bedroom. You look up at him with a smile and kiss him softly. He is warm, slightly sweaty after working in the August heat. 

“Thank you, Joel,” you say against his lips, and there it goes again. You wrap your arms around him and he cups your face, and then you kiss like your lives depend on it and stop just as things start to get heated. 

“No, don’t,“ Joel mutters quietly as you try to pull away, not letting you as he starts tugging a little at your hips, “Don’t run away from me again.”

“Mhmm… okay,” you hum and find his lips once more, but you pull away as soon as you can feel the hard bulge of his cock underneath his jeans. God, you want him, but he has no idea how much that scares you too. What if you lose him right after? What if you can’t be what he needs? Oh God, what if it’s bad? Nothing is better than disappointment. 

Joel furrows his brow in confusion and then takes a step back from you to look at you properly, “Is something wrong? Did I do something?” 

“What? No! No, of course not,” you run a hand over your forehead and through your hair, letting out a sigh that’s followed by an embarrassed chuckle, “I promise. It’s just...”

Joel has crossed his arms over his chest like he usually does when he is expecting bad news, probably a rejection in this case. You hate yourself for making him feel like he needs his guard up.

“I’m shitting my pants here, Miller, look at you,” you groan with brutal honesty at the tip of your tongue. He raises a brow at your choice of words, but doesn’t interrupt you, “Haven’t you ever wanted something so badly and then been afraid of getting it in case you’ve piled the expectations too high?” 

Joel shifts his weight from side to side for a moment. He doesn’t say anything to you for what seems like minutes but is, in reality, nothing more than ten seconds. 

“Can’t say I’m not jus’ a lil’ hurt that you think you’ll be disappointed by now,” he finally replies without looking at you, tapping his fingers on his arm.

“I just meant that I want it to be perfect and there’s no way I’m going to be perfect and then I’ll worry if I disappoint you,” you confess. 

You hear him scoff in disbelief at your postulate like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard, “Sure, I’m definitely gonna turn ya down after gettin’ in bed with you and knowin’ you probably wanna do it again in the near future.”

“I’m sorry, Joel,” it does sound pretty ridiculous. You step towards him again, tugging at his arms to uncross them until you can walk into them. You look up at him through your lashes with an apologetic smile, “I don’t think you know just how much I think about your hands touching me.”

Joel’s offense is gone from his face in mere seconds, “Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” you confirm with a little newfound confidence. There’s something good about having told him your concern, putting it out there for him to do with it what he wants despite how badly you want the ability to read minds right now. You decide to stroke his ego a little, “With your job? I bet you know how to use them.” 

“Then lemme show you, baby. I’m great with my hands,” he kisses your lips again, but only briefly, following it up with descending down your neck. You let him for the first time, tilting your head to the side to give him more access and shivering at the feel of his nose bumping along your carotid artery. 

You hold onto him as he backs you further into the room, shoving down the instinct, caused by anxiety, to make him stop once again. Just let yourself have this, you try to remind yourself, don’t overthink it. You’re cute. He is sexy. He wants you.

“Tell me whatcha like,” he says as he guides you across the floor that’s scattered with cardboard and tools, “Maybe decidin’ what we’re doing will calm you a little.”

“Uh, it’s been a while,” you suddenly feel the edge of your newly acquired bed hit the back of your knees and make you fall onto it. Looking up at him from this angle makes your pulse quicken, your blood going straight to your clit and making it throb behind your denim jeans. 

“Or not. Should I list suggestions?” He asks, sinking to his knees on the floor at the end of the bed. You spread your legs a little without thinking and he smirks at you as if you’ve lost a bet, “I could eat your pussy. Would ya like that?”

You moan at the mere words.

“Need to hear you say it,” Joel’s hands are on the hem of your jeans like they had been in the middle of Ikea. He does quick work of undoing them, but not pulling them down just yet, “Say yes, baby.”

“Yes, fuck, I want that,” you have to stare up at the ceiling again to keep your composure. You have a feeling that none of your expectations have ever been too high. 

“Will you then tell me what you like? Tell me how to suck your pretty little clit?” His fingers curl into the denim and start pulling until he needs to sit back to get your jeans all the way off. He accidentally pulls your socks off too, but it just earns you a kiss to your ankle before he crawls forward again and you feel like prey at the mercy of a predator.

“Go slow,” you say breathlessly. 

“Of course,” he reassures, hooking a finger into the waistband of your panties next, “Tell me if I’m too much.”

“No! I mean, this is good, I like your filthy words,” you suck in a breath as your cunt is exposed to him, cheeks burning up with shyness but he just groans. It feels very vulnerable to be naked from the waist down when he isn’t, 

“I can touch you?” His voice indicates a question. You nod slowly, tensing up quite a bit as he rests one huge hand on your left hip bone and reaches between your legs with his index- and middle fingers. He runs them through your glistening folds, earning a gasp. 

“Do you usually come from touching your clit or?”

“No, yes, but I like my g-spot stimulated too. Simultaneously,” you try to reply confidently. 

He hums and nods, taking it all in. It takes a few extra seconds before he gently rubs his fingers along the side of your clit, dragging his fingers up and down slowly to test out the waters and see how sensitive you are. He guesses very, because you let out a soft moan at the contact, so he keeps going.

“We’ll get to your g-spot,” he says matter-of-factly, and your eyes nearly roll back into your skull at the promise. It’s been a while since you’ve been in a position like this, too busy restoring the house and falling in love to even think about seeking out casual sex. Who knew that you’d end up with something so not casual? 

“When did you last do this?” You ask right before he leans down to taste you. 

“Eat pussy?” He asks with a smirk.

“I meant slept with someone in general,” your head swims. Joel may have halted his head’s movements down towards your cunt, but he still has his fingers between your legs. You prop yourself up on your elbows to look down at what his hands are doing.

“Don’t think I’d use in general about sex,” he replies smugly instead of giving you a proper answer. You realize it doesn’t matter as he rubs teasing circles around your clit, still avoiding any direct touch to get you properly worked up and wet. You cannot wait for him to follow through on his plan to eat you out, which you aren’t sure when you last had a guy do to you. 

“Fine, forget I asked,” you moan with a roll of your eyes.

Joel can sense the brat in you looming under the surface. He gets bolder, eyes changing to something hungrier than soft. He pulls you by your ankles to get you closer to him instead of the other way around. It makes you yelp, but he chuckles, “And there’s that attitude I like. Are you gonna let me now? No more interruptions?”

“No more interruptions,” you confirm.

Finally, he lowers his head between your legs and puts a stop to the noise in your head. You have been fantasizing about this position for months now, waited for the opportunity to lift your legs up to wrap them around his neck and shoulders. 

His tongue is warm and wet on you, trailing through your folds as if he is eating ice cream and it’s melting in his hands. He makes you throw your head back, makes you look up again as you don’t want to miss seeing him like this but only to have you force your eyes away because it’s too much. 

“Shit, Joel,” you swear when his nose bumps your clit. You try to lift your hips up into his mouth, but a big hand rests on your pelvis and aggressively pushes you down into the mattress again. That ignites something close to fire in your body, and Joel senses it immediately when your skin grows hotter.

“You like that, baby?” He pulls away from you for a moment, arousal dripping off his stubble, “When I get a little rough? Guess I shouldn’t be surprised with the way you like me to say filth.”

“I don’t want you to say anything right now,” you whine, “Not what your mouth is for.”

“And I told ya to guide me,” he retorts, replacing his tongue with his fingers whilst you are talking. He spreads your lips open, watching as another drip of slick runs down between your cheeks to pool on the mattress. 

“Don’t need any guidance,” you squirm as he holds your labia apart, clenching around nothing. 

“Then ya ain’t gettin’ anything,” he threatens, “I can watch your pussy jump under my touch for a long time. Ain’t gotta be home later. This is only to do it exactly how you want it, sweetheart. Needa know how you like to fuck.”

Your pulse quickens at the thought of him being a little mean if you don’t show a bit of cooperation. Your mouth parts as you pant in your compromising position. Joel looks up at you expectantly and you realize that maybe, as much as this is a bit of fun, it’s possible that he just wants to be reassured too. 

“I want you to pay more attention to my clit, use the flat of your tongue, and don’t suck until I’m close,” you explain while your head spins. Your elbows ache from holding yourself up. 

Another droplet of slick runs down. Without warning, Joel catches it with the tip of his tongue and it has you crying out. He remembers your demands, swiping his tongue through your folds and licking your clit expertly. 

“Need your fingers inside me,” you only just manage to let out whilst your orgasm burns low in your belly. He follows through but only after pushing your t-shirt up to expose your bra, cupping your breast with his left hand, and sneaking his right down between your legs.

Your nipples harden underneath his touch. Your pussy clamps around his fingers. And then he sucks your clit into his mouth, causing your hips to stutter and your thighs to twitch. He wiggles his head a little, goes rougher.

“Just like that, keep go— oh, Joel, you’re gonna—“ you flop down onto the bed again, elbows giving out underneath you. With the way that the pressure keeps building, you scramble to grab the sheets with both of your hands, “Gonna make me come, baby. Just— Ah!”

Everything fades as your orgasm begins. The flutters of your walls are intense, causing you to throw your head back into the mattress and concentrate on each pulsating contraction of your cunt. 

Joel pumps his fingers as he works you through it, sucking your swollen clit until you have to push him away to stop it from hurting. He lifts his head at your indication of wanting him to stop before removing your legs from his shoulders. He crawls into bed with you, hovering on top of you with his clothes still on and his legs hanging out off the edge. 

“Now how was that?” He asks despite knowing the answer. The warm and handsome smile that you love so much translates so well into the context of being in bed together, and with a little more confidence from just having climaxed, you cup his face and kiss him. He tastes deliciously of you. 

“Can’t complain,” you say with a little laugh and earn a little glare that Joel cannot keep on his face for long. He nudges your nose with his own and kisses you once again. The nervousness that you had felt earlier seems so far away now, so silly when he makes it so easy to forget. 

“Take your pants off, Miller,” you add, moving to crawl back on the bed. You start undressing yourself completely, pulling at your t-shirt, “Can’t just be about me as much as that sounds entertaining.”

“Confident after havin’ climaxed,” he says out loud like it’s a mental note for himself, removing his shirt. He laughs whilst getting out of his jeans, out loud at your outraged noise. 

You don’t know if it’s the comment that makes you the worst undresser in history, but somehow your bra becomes stuck in the sleeve of your t-shirt. Before you know it, the shirt simply won’t move anymore despite being halfway over your head, “Oh no.”

You can feel Joel moving on the bed. His attention is on you immediately, “What?”

“It’s stuck,” you admit but only after a long pause. Warmth creeps up your chest to your face as embarrassment fills you up, and even more so when Joel barks out a laugh at your eagerness getting the better of you.

“Sit still, you’re only makin’ it worse, we gotta start from scratch,” he says as you continue pulling at the fabric. He starts tugging your clothes back on until he has your face visible again and your body as dressed as before. 

“Hey you,” he says with a boyish grin, then slowly works your clothes back off the right way. 

“Hi,” you sputter when you’re finally completely naked, voice flustered. Joel is only in his boxers now, and God, he is tenting in them. It’s been on your mind a bunch of times; how big is he? Now that you see him straining against the fabric, you know that he is going to be the biggest you’ve ever had. 

After he has tugged off his boxers, and you’ve nearly passed out from the vision, Joel pushes gently on your chest to get you to lie down. He helps you to bend your legs, plants your feet flat on the bed, and then settles on his knees between them. 

“Condom?” He asks, stroking your thighs as he waits.

“I’m on the pill,” you reply, “And it’s been God knows how long, so I’m clean.”

“God knows how long,” he snorts, leaning down over you and holding himself up on his elbows, “We better fix that. Don’t ya think so?” 

“Mhm,” you look up into his eyes, “Definitely. Yeah.” 

“Wrap your legs ‘round my waist,” he guides you softly, can sense your hesitation or maybe it’s just how he can feel your heartbeat against his own chest. It’s rapid, beating like a scared animal.

You do as you are told. He is able to get even closer now, and when he is flush against your body, he kisses you slowly until he is allowed to slip his tongue into your mouth. You slide your fingers through the curls at the back of his head, and he hums into your mouth. 

When he needs air, he only pulls back inches. 

“I want you so much,” you breathe quietly, hands still at the back of his head. He smiles softly at you, reaches down between the two of you, and presses the tip of his cock against you. 

The whimper you let out as he pushes inside has him attentively moving slower. Inch by inch, he fills you to the brim and you can barely believe that just a few months ago, this had only been a brief fantasy. 

“Okay? You want me to stop?” He questions with genuine concern, but you quickly shake your head. That is the last thing you want.

“No, you’re just big … and it’s been a while,” you blush. 

“Okay, tell me if it’s too—“

You pull him into a sweet kiss, legs tightening around his waist to make him realize that you don’t want him to go anywhere. When you pull back to talk, he is on the brink of interrupting you again. You shake your head, “Joel Miller. Shut up and just fuck me.”

“Wow, yeah. Can do.”

The slow outwards drag of his cock is almost more intense, leaving you empty for the briefest moment before it fills you up again. You moan as your muscles squeeze around him, accepting him so easily as you finally relax into him.

He rolls his hips sensually, fucks you open till your new bed squeaks and you hope that he was right about its sturdiness. For show, and to test it out, you reach above your head to place your palm against the headboard. 

“Let’s see then,” he chuckles breathlessly.

“Wouldn’t even— fuck. I wouldn’t even be mad if you break my bed,” you pants, “Angle your hips a bit.”

You squeeze your legs around his waist to guide him, and when his cock nudges against your g-spot, you clench involuntarily around him. It pulls a groan from his lips, filth spilling from his mouth, “Yeah, you like that? Want it again?”

“Fuck yes, I want it again,” you whine, eyes falling closed and breathing rapidly, “Just like that! Fuck, Joel!”

Joel picks up the pace, leans further into you. He also adds more force behind his thrusts, making your eyes roll back when his pelvis aligns with your clit. The hand on the back of his neck slides down for more leverage, holding on for dear life as he pounds you into the mattress. 

“Keep going, I’m almost there,” you cry, heat continuously pooling at the base of your spine. Suddenly, you have both hands on his back, raking your nails down until they dig into the widest part of his back, “Faster!” 

“I know, baby,” he growls, but it sounds mostly out of breath. He gives you everything he has, seeking out your pleasure by making the bed slam into the wall, “Can feel you. Let go, baby, come on my cock.”

It is nothing but raw and hot pleasure in the next moment as he gets you to orgasm, causing you to release a breath that you do not know that you have been holding. You are taken aback by its intensity. A high-pitched cry leaves you as the first clench of your cunt hits you and Joel continues fucking you through it. 

“You’re fuckin’ incredible,” he pants, buries his head in the crook of your neck to chase his own reward. He comes after a few more thrusts, coating your walls in his warm come and saying your name. You don’t think your name has ever sounded so beautiful with a string of swear words following it. 

Time stands still after Joel pulls out. You expect yourself to be blissed out, sleepy, and quiet, maybe even annoyed at having to get up and clean yourself up, but instead, you find that you cannot stop grinning up at the ceiling. 

“We are definitely fucking doing that again,” you say despite being completely out of breath. 

“Was that perfect?” Joel teases, “Or did I disappoint ya?”

“Fuck you,” you giggle, still high on dopamine. You suspect you will be in the coming days, weeks, months, years. Hopefully.

“Just did,” he says proudly.

“You sure fucking did.”

“You always get so foul-mouthed after sex?” He turns onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow. He rests his free hand on the sweat-dampened skin of your stomach, “Or?”

“Only if it’s fucking good,” you respond but mostly to the ceiling. You want to cry, giggle, scream, and laugh out loud, but mostly you want to say that you love him. One thing at a time, you think to yourself, next time. Even if the next time is in a moment.

.

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[fantasyescapes17]

Wings (Part 5, Final)

Your debut in society was as spectacular as one could be, but nobody had prepared you for what came afterward. When you find yourself overwhelmed during your very first season and unable to keep up with the rat race to secure yourself an eligible husband, a curious mentor appears- in the form of notorious flirt and self-proclaimed rake, Mr. Kim Mingyu.

Genre: Mingyu x Female!reader. Regency!AU. You are Jeonghan's sibling so your last name is Yoon but the reader has no other physical characteristics.

Warnings: smoking (don't smoke kids, the characters in this story are from a time when they didn't know how bad it was for their health)

Word Count: 4.5k+

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Series Masterlist [You WILL need to read Patience, the earlier installment in this series first in order to understand the character dynamics in this story. Reading Candle before this is also strongly recommended.]

You had attended a handful of weddings in your life, but nothing could ever compare to your sister’s wedding to Mr. Choi. It was not the most lavish or spectacular event of the year. It was a simple ceremony in your local church with hardly twenty people in attendance. 

But no amount of decor or grandeur could have compensated for the utter devotion in the bride and groom’s eyes. The longing, the respect, the unconditional trust they both shared was too large to be contained within themselves. Their love was no game. It was an unavoidable truth. Every single person in the church felt it. Even, to an extent, your mother, who watched the ceremony in silence and did not make any attempt to ruin it. 

By the time the bride and groom departed for their long-awaited honeymoon, your handkerchief was soaked through with your tears.

“I think this has been an emotional week for all of us,” Jeonghan said to you as you both left the church. His voice was steady but you could see the mistiness in his eyes. “A lot of people were involved in making this wedding possible- not least of all, you.” 

You smiled up at your brother. “They had suffered long enough.” 

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow. “And your suffering?”

You turned away from him quickly, sensing the approach of a topic that you did not wish to discuss. “I must find Jiwoo-” 

“No. Jiwoo is perfectly fine, he is with his governess,” your brother told you firmly, determined not to allow you to escape. “I am not an idiot, sister. I have given up attempting to find out exactly what occurred between yourself and Mr. Kim but my acquaintances tell me that he is on a journey across the English countryside and has been drinking every inn and tavern in his path dry.” 

You flinched at the mention of Mr. Kim. You had been avoiding any news of him; you did not want to even think about the man. 

“Unfortunate,” you said coldly. “Perhaps someone should intervene.” 

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow. “So you have no intention of intervening yourself?” 

You stared at your brother in disbelief. “And what exactly do you expect me to do, Jeonghan? Do you consider me responsible for Mr. Kim’s health? Should I be following him around taverns and begging him not to imbibe? Please tell me how I could possibly prevent a fully grown gentleman from making poor choices with his time and money.” 

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow. “I expect nothing from you. But when you react so strongly to a simple suggestion, it makes it difficult for me to believe that nothing occurred back in London.” 

“I do not wish to talk about it-”

“You must at least tell me what he did-” 

“No, I must not. I love you, brother; but please, stop this line of inquiry.” 

Jeonghan’s jaw clenched. It was not anger- he was simply frustrated, being too used to single-handedly solving the family’s problems. Having been left in the dark was difficult for him, but it was not enough to convince you to talk to him about your experiences in London. 

You wanted to put them far, far behind you. 

“Jiwoo!” you called out to the young boy. He was walking with his elderly governess, looking rather tired and sleepy. “You look quite exhausted; shall we go home?” you turned to his governess with a smile. “I can take Jiwoo from here. Mr. Choi would have informed you that he will be staying with me at the Yoon estate until the couple are back from their honeymoon.” 

The governess nodded and handed Jiwoo over to you. “Of course, my lady.” 

Jiwoo blinked up at you. “When will father be back?” 

“In a week,” you promised him. “But we shall have lots of fun together until then. Are you excited?” 

Jiwoo grinned up at you, looking a little more awake. “Yes.” 

“Come along, then- the carriage is waiting for us. Let us go home.” 

Jeonghan and your sister-in-law were still conversing with other wedding guests near the church so you went ahead and climbed into the carriage with Jiwoo. The carriage could double back for the others- the church was only a few minutes from the manor. Jiwoo cheerfully told you about his studies and his new pet frog, Bernard during the short carriage ride to the Yoon estate. 

You sensed that something was wrong as soon as the carriage door opened. There was a strange horse munching on the immaculate lawns near the manor entrance, and a servant-maid came running up to you, looking somewhat agitated. 

“Miss Yoon,” the maid said hurriedly. “Mr. Kim Mingyu arrived earlier this morning. I tried to tell him that everyone was at the wedding, but he insisted on waiting in the drawing room! He said he wanted to speak to you in particular, and I did not know if that was appropriate-” 

You took a deep breath. Your chest felt tight. You had known that you would have to face Mr. Kim Mingyu again, but you were not prepared for it to be right after your sister’s wedding while your emotions were still raw. You had expected that you would have more time to prepare for that particular encounter. 

Then again- Mr. Kim had never been so easily predictable. 

“I will handle it,” you told the maid calmly. “Please take Jiwoo upstairs. He is quite tired from the wedding, I am sure he could use a nap.” 

The maid took the young boy away and you allowed yourself a brief moment to regain your composure before walking into the drawing room. 

Mr. Kim was seated in an armchair, but he leapt to his feet as soon as you entered the room. He looked almost worse than he had the last time you saw him in London. He did not reek of whisky anymore but his bloodshot eyes, pale face and dry lips told you that his last drink had not been very long ago. Mr. Kim's handsome face was marred by fear, and his dark eyes looked anxious.

“Miss Yoon-”

“Mr. Kim,” you greeted him coldly. “I must assume that you were not aware of my sister’s wedding or you would surely have not come while the family was busy celebrating an event that you were not invited to.” 

Mr. Kim stared at you for a long moment in absolute silence. His hands were shaking and he bowed his head. 

“I-I was not aware of your sister’s wedding, allow me to offer my congratulations,” he said finally.

“The couple has already left for their honeymoon. You are too late to congratulate them.” 

“Ah.” 

“Was there a reason behind this unexpected visit?” you demanded. 

“I-I had to speak to you.” 

“Then speak.” 

There was a long silence that ensued. Your heart was beating at an unnatural rate. You could see the agony in every inch of Mr. Kim’s posture and as he bit his lip and ran his fingers through his hair. A part of you- the part of you that had fallen in love with him- ached to see him like this. But there was another part of you that remembered your own wounds and pain, and swiftly suppressed any sympathy that you could feel for him. 

The large grandfather clock in the corner of the room was ticking loudly. 

“Do you have anything to say?” you asked after an entire minute had gone by. “Or is it your intention to make me wait in silence all afternoon?” 

Mr. Kim cleared his throat. He was avoiding your gaze. “I am sorry. I-I had planned what to say to you, but somehow the words felt…” 

“Empty? Rehearsed?” you demanded. “Or perhaps you thought that your mere presence would be enough to move me, and that words were not necessary? Was it not you who taught me some vacuous nonsense about the art of silence?” 

He looked pained. “No, of course not-” 

“If you are struggling to find something to say, Mr. Kim, then allow me to spare you the effort. There is nothing that you could say that would ever make me forgive you."

His eyes snapped up to meet yours, wide and horrified. "Please don't say that-"

"I am not in the habit of lying."

"I am not here to lie to you," he insisted hotly. 

You clenched your fists and glared at him, almost challenging him to try and manipulate you again. 

"Then go on, Mr. Kim. Prove that you are not merely the rake that the world sees you as. Say one thing to me that is not some attempt to contrive or manipulate me. A single sentence that is not rehearsed, and that truly comes from your heart."

Mr. Kim took a deep breath and stepped closer to you. "I-I have been thinking about what I said to you, and-"

"No, try again," you said coldly. 

"I never meant to hurt you-"

"That is clearly a lie. Try again."

His face was beginning to turn red. "I was overwhelmed by my emotions and-"

"Excuses, excuses."

"I love you!" he burst out finally. His face was red and he was breathing heavily. "I love you, Miss Yoon, I love you so much that I cannot contain these emotions inside of my heart and this love overwhelms my thoughts, feelings, self-respect and every rational part of my mind. I love you more than I have ever loved anything in this world."

The confession was loaded. It hit you like a train- even you could not maintain your strong facade in the face of those heated words and Mr. Kim's dark, passionate gaze. 

"The right words," you said quietly, your voice cracking. "If only you had said them two weeks ago."

Mr. Kim's shoulders fell. 

"I know that I have no right to stand before you like this," he said passionately. Mr. Kim stepped closer to you and reached for your hands, grasping them tightly. "I have been a monster. I have hurt you and manipulated you, and wronged you. I am sorry."

You pulled your hands away from him sharply. 

"A simple apology cannot fix this mess, Mr. Kim."

"I know-"

"This is not some unintended mistake. You did not step on my foot or mispronounce my name. No- you manipulated me and played with my emotions over a period of months. Was any of it real? Or was it all a game to you?" you asked, your voice cracking. 

He looked torn. "It started as a game- I was so used to the thrill of the seduction. I saw a chance to woo the reputed Miss Yoon. The belle of the ball, the jewel of the ton, the most sought-after young debutante of the season, it was just such a tempting challenge…"

You felt sick. "Of course. It was a game to you. As I was warned so many times by everyone around me- I was young and naive, the ripe target for a rake."

He stepped away from you and took a deep breath. 

"There was a thrill," he admitted shamefully. "In getting to know you and discovering the little things about you, your vulnerabilities and strengths, how I could use them to make you fall in love with me. I showed you a side of me that I hoped you would fall for."

You said nothing. 

"But I never meant to hurt you," he insisted hotly. "You are blinded by your insecurities so you don't see certain things… I don't think you're aware of how beautiful and desirable you are. The whole ton was in love with you. You were the season's jewel, renowned for your beauty and approved by the Queen herself. It was a competition for your heart. You had so many suitors, and you could have had any bachelor you chose in a heartbeat. I never really expected you to fall in love with me. I thought you would marry someone else by the end of the season as you'd planned and it was a game, a harmless little game…"

"Harmless?" you demanded angrily. "Harmless for who, Mr. Kim?"

"I was wrong," he insisted. His face was red and he had turned away from you to pace the room. "I did not see that you were falling in love, I did not realise how dangerous my own feelings for you were becoming. Until the day we kissed in the gallery and I was forced to accept that this game had gone too far and gotten completely, utterly out of hand…"

You said nothing. Your throat felt heavy and you swallowed. 

Mr. Kim came over to you suddenly. He kneeled in front of you and his dark eyes met yours. You could see the pain, the love, the emotion that bubbled underneath the surface of his gaze.

"I made a mistake," he whispered. "Many mistakes. But I love you. I need you in my life. Nobody else- nothing else in this world can make me as happy as you make me. That is my truth."

You looked down at him. "And me?" you whispered. "How am I to be happy, Mingyu?"

"I will do anything in my power to make you happy," he promised vehemently. 

You shook your head. It was not enough. It would never be enough. Declarations of love and words of affection were quick to sway but you had been manipulated by this man before. You loved him- loved him with your entire heart but it was not enough. 

"I watched my sister getting married today," you told him shakily. "Do you know how long she and Mr. Choi have been waiting to marry?"

Mr. Kim blinked. "A few years?"

"Almost five years. My sister gave up her prime years in society for him, destroyed all her other prospects and waited for so long. I never understood how she could take that risk and wait so patiently for him without a shred of regret. I think I finally understood it today. That feeling they share… it's something more than just love, Mingyu."

He waited silently for you to continue. 

"It's trust," you finished. "And it doesn't matter how much I love you, because my trust in you is broken."

He recoiled as though you had slapped him. 

"Of course," he said quietly. "I understand."

"Then we are done here."

"No," he said firmly. "No, we are not done. I have not come here to give up so easily. If I have broken your trust then I will repair it. Even if it takes a year, or five or ten…"

You shook your head. "You can't be serious."

"I will prove to you that what we share is nothing less than what your sister shares with Mr. Choi," he promised. "I will wait until your trust in me is restored, I will show you the parts of me I was too ashamed to show you before. I will fix this."

You swallowed. "A bold promise."

"I know you don't believe me," he said quietly. "You do not need to. I will prove it to you."

"You can't-"

"I will," Mr. Kim said firmly. "I will tell you and show you how much I love you every single day until you choose to believe it."

"And if that day never comes?"

"Then let them engrave it on my tombstone."

You shook your head in disbelief. "Mingyu, really…"

"I love you."

—------------------------------------------------------

Joenghan was confused and wary when he discovered Mr. Kim had arrived uninvited during the wedding. But  since nobody would tell him exactly what was happening, he hesitantly extended an invitation to Mr. Kim to stay at the Yoon estate as long as he was in town. Mr. Kim accepted gratefully. 

You awoke the next morning to the sound of loud laughter; Mr. Kim was teaching Jiwoo how to ride a pony in the gardens. You quickly dressed and went downstairs to tell them to be quiet, and that it was far too early to be waking up the entire town. 

"Look; I am riding!" Jiwoo cried excitedly as he managed to control the pony without help. You could not resist a smile. 

"I see you and Jiwoo are having fun," you said to Mr. Kim drily. 

Mr. Kim smiled. "You speak of Jiwoo often; I thought befriending him might be useful. He promised to do anything for me if I taught him to ride one of the ponies, so I am simply keeping my promise."

You stared at him in disbelief. "And this does not seem manipulative to you?"

"It's hardly manipulative when I am being completely honest about what I am doing," Mr. Kim protested with a charming smile. "I do have to use some methods to win your heart, my dear Miss Yoon. I cannot simply sit here and expect my handsome face to do all the work."

"So this is your new tactic?" you demanded. "You will tell me what you are doing as you attempt to manipulate me?"

"One might call that honesty."

"One might call it brazen shamelessness."

"Call it what you will," he replied lightly. "I believe the arrangement benefits everyone involved. Jiwoo! Come back here!"

Jiwoo rode the pony back and dismounted before running over to you. Mr. Kim quickly took the pony's reins and calmed it down. 

"Did you see me riding Chocolate?" Jiwoo asked excitedly. 

You smiled at the boy. "I did. You did an excellent job! You must be very hungry after all that riding. Go inside and have breakfast- I will join you in a moment."

Jiwoo nodded before reaching into his pocket. 

"Mr. Kim asked me to give you this," the boy added before running away. 

You unfolded the sheet of paper that Jiwoo handed you. You were not sure what you had been expecting- but certainly not the words 'I love you' scrawled in Mr. Kim's familiar penmanship. You went over to him and raised an eyebrow.

"What is this?" you asked him. 

Mr. Kim blinked. "A love letter."

"Rather low effort, don't you think?" you asked. 

He chuckled. "Well, I had no choice. You are already familiar with all my flowery prose and poetry- you have my notes on the subject. I was worried you would see anything taken from there as ingenuine; therefore, I have chosen the path of simplicity and honesty."

You could not bite back your smile. "I see."

Mr. Kim turned his attention away from you and gave the pony an apple that he was carrying in his pocket. "I thought it would be best to befriend Chocolate the pony as well, seeing as he is one of your happiest memories. Luckily he is not much harder to sway than Jiwoo- he just needs a few apples."

"Don't overfeed him," you warned. 

"I will be careful. Let me put him back in the stables and then I will join you for breakfast. Speaking of which…"

You looked at him. "What?"

"That stableboy of yours doesn't still work here, does he?"

Your eyes widened in horror. "Mr. Kim!" you scolded him, appalled.

He grinned. "All right, all right. I had to ask."

"Unbelievable."

Perhaps it was because you knew how weak Mr. Kim made you,  you tried harder than necessary to resist his ensuing attempts to win your trust back. You were not going to make it easy for him to hurt you again. 

Your heart was already his- there was never a moment where it belonged to anybody but Mingyu. But your head was cautious, suspicious, ever-doubting his words and actions and intentions. 

Mr. Kim spent most of the winter either at the Yoon estate or nearby. He was always near you- his attention devoted to you, hanging onto your every word and making small gestures to win your heart. It soon became clear to your entire family that Mr. Kim Mingyu was desperately trying to woo you. Even once he returned to his own estate, he wrote long letters to you multiple times a week. 

Then came the season. 

—-------------------------------------------------------

Your second London season was far less exciting, but far more enjoyable than your first had been. The absence of your mother (she had chosen to stay in the countryside) and your newfound confidence made things easier and less stressful.

There was also a new set of nervous, pretty young debutantes for the ton to fawn over. You were not surprised to find yourself no longer one of the most desired young ladies of the ton. But Mr. Kim was not deterred. He continued to court you openly and while he was around, it was difficult not to feel like the most beautiful woman in the room. 

Mr. Kim was determined to make you fall in love with him all over again, and he succeeded. He accompanied you to every ball, promenaded with you when the weather was nice, and made it known to the ton that Mr. Kim was no longer a rake- he was now a much reformed man in love. 

He also showed you things that he claimed he would never have shown anyone else. One interesting evening was spent with both of you going over his finances, where you discovered just how much money Mr. Kim had invested in his art gallery, and how much he had lost over cards to your brother. 

"You do have a gambling problem," you scolded him. "No more cards for you, Mr. Kim."

He proceeded to sit miserably and empty-handed at the edge of the card tables in the assembly room for the next week, until you finally told him that you did not mind him playing a little. He was promptly made fun of by some of the other gentlemen but it did not seem to bother him- he only beamed at you across the room as they laughed about how you were not even married and controlled his finances already. 

As the weeks and months passed, you fell in love with Mr. Kim a second time. It was the same, and yet also different. 

He was still an excellent dancer, a charmer and could still make your heart skip a beat with his playful smile and dark twinkling eyes. But this Mr. Kim was more clumsy, more honest and less sure of himself than the suave rake you had fallen for the previous season. 

You were now privy to the less perfect sides of Mr. Kim. His frustration that the art gallery was not doing as well as he had hoped, his gambling habit, the hesitation that sometimes appeared in his eyes when he was unsure of himself. He confided in you about the struggles he had faced when his parents passed away while he was still young. You fell more in love with him when he shared these parts of him with you. 

The Mr. Kim you had initially loved was only an image, a small slice of the Kim Mingyu you had now grown to love and understand and even trust. 

"So," he said to you one evening as you both shared a Cuban cigar on the balcony of the Duchess of Graham's manor. There was a large celebration happening inside that you had both snuck away from. "We find ourselves back on this fateful balcony where we first met."

You smirked up at him and snatched the cigar from his fingers before taking a drag. "You mean where you found me crying on the floor."

Mr. Kim shrugged. "I didn't want to bring it up…"

"I think I've changed a lot since then."

"You have," he said quietly. He gave you a small smile. "I know I only made things more difficult and it's not my place to say, but… I am proud of you."

You bit your lip. "I am proud of myself too."

"Good," he said with a nod. 

"But I should probably stop smoking."

"Probably."

"Shall we quit together?" you asked him. "We've only been doing this as a way to spend time with each other, and I think we are rather past needing to find excuses to be alone together."

Mr. Kim looked amused as you put out the cigar on the railing. 

"If you think we should quit, then I am not going to argue," he said lightly. 

You nodded and hummed. "And perhaps we should stop meeting on other people's balconies like this."

"Now you are making me worry."

You reached into your pocket and pulled out a small book- it had been entrusted to you by Miss Ella Williams, who had gifted it to you for your use since you were one of her few unmarried friends. You showed Mr. Kim the pages with his name and the lengthy list of ladies he had courted. 

He winced. "I feel a sudden urge to defend myself by pointing out that yours is the last name on that list- but I am sure you would not be standing here if it wasn't."

You giggled. "True," you said. 

Then with a swift move, you ripped Kim Mingyu's page out of the book and pressed the end of your cigar against the page to light it on fire. The paper smouldered and slowly burned into a small pile of ash. 

Mr. Kim was watching you closely with his dark eyes. 

"I am scared to ask why you just burned my page," he said warily. "Should I be worried?"

"This book will probably get passed onto one of the newer debutantes," you replied simply. "Not only is the information outdated, I wouldn't want any of them to think you were an available bachelor."

The corner of his lips curved upwards. "I see. I take it that I am no longer an available bachelor then."

"Are you?" you challenged him. 

"Absolutely not."

You kissed him. Mr. Kim stumbled backwards in surprise but his back hit the balcony railing and he embraced you firmly before returning the kiss. His lips were clumsy yet eager as they covered yours and one of his hands slid into your hair. 

"Marry me," he whispered hotly against your lips as you pressed your body against his. He seized your waist and held you tightly as he whispered again, pushing you for a response. "Marry me, please."

You pressed your forehead against his and nodded, breath mingling as your own fingers slid into his hair and caressed his neck. 

"Yes-yes, of course-"

"Come closer, my love-"

The door to the balcony opened suddenly. You pulled back- but Mr. Kim's arm stayed around your waist and you could only turn awkwardly in his grasp to see who had discovered you. 

It was the Duke of Graham, eyes wide and his ears turning red as he realised what he had walked into. 

"W-we're engaged," you blurted out quickly, in explanation and a desperate attempt to convince the Duke of Graham, a man you had never even met, that you were not creating a scandal in his home. You could hear a small chuckle from Mr. Kim over your shoulder. 

"All right…" the Duke said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Erm, Congratulations?"

Oh god. 

—----------------------------------------------------

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Could you possibly do something like reader is typically a bottom, and she wants to try to be a top, but fails miserably because she just can’t resist Donna’s dominance. (G!p Donna)

Yessss!!!! Thank you for your request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!! :)))))

Not to be a doll

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem!! Reader

Warnings: G!P Donna, smut, Minors DNI, fluff,

Word count: 6,723

Summary: You were always too submissive...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!!I love you all!!!

Panting, whispering, the incessant creaking of the old bed… All of them were sounds that accompanied you every morning, sensations that, together with the pleasure you were receiving, drove you crazy.

Her nails scratched your hips while her hands moved them at will, your body twisted with each of her fierce thrusts. You were in paradise.

“Donna,” you moaned without being able to avoid it, your head resting against the pillow, your body at her mercy. Pleasure was, as always, the protagonist in the dark bedroom.

“That's it, tesoro, say my name, say it…” the brunette murmured, with a dangerous whisper, with her voice taken by the obscene movements of her body against yours.

“Donna,” you repeated with a smile, closing your eyes to feel her body inside of yours even more, her shaft deforming your walls, pleasure taking over each and every one of your senses.

She laughed, satisfied with the fulfillment of her request, compensating you with slower movements, with her hips dominating yours hopelessly, with her hands pulling them, holding them so they didn't dare to escape.

“Così stretta…” she whispered, letting herself be carried away by your moans, by the unconditional obedience you showed when offering her your body, letting her do with it what she wanted.

One morning like so many, a game of power as always. In your life you never imagined feeling loved in that way, having a hot body that was dying for yours, that melted for it, for you.

A shy and insecure girl, that was you, a girl born in a village of shadows, in a dark place, without hope, without a future.

Nothing you did or said could change your destiny. Your life was already to the Black Gods. Your prayers were to Mother Miranda. There was no room for love or feelings in that place. At least that's what you thought.

But in all the darkness of that place, there was some light, some metaphorical light that made you remember you were alive, that you were not just another soul at the service of the Gods. Meeting and loving Donna Beneviento was the last desperate move of your existence.

She was a sick, dark and lonely woman, a woman who covered her face, a woman who only seemed like a legend, a woman who was easy for you to love.

Reluctant to give in to the feelings of a simple villager, the path to love was difficult for her, feeling comfortable with someone like you seemed impossible for the lady in black. A deformity on her face, a change on her body… Donna had suffered the punishment for pretending to be more daring than the Gods, for having been blessed by them without wanting to.

None of that mattered to you. Maybe that infatuation you already felt long before discovering her beauty was what made the doll maker trust you, that made her allow herself to love you, just as you did with her.

Sick, dangerous, dark, sweet, kind, beautiful. You didn't know what adjectives to use with her. You had seen her light, and also her darkness. She saved you, protected you when you walked alone through that forest, prevented some villagers from taking the only thing that was yours, and didn’t belong to the Gods: your innocence.

After that, loving her was inevitable, finding in your life a call of destiny, a hope to live differently, to love differently. You would always love her, you would always be with her, you would never abandon her. For Donna, those words, that declaration of intentions, of almost blind fidelity, were enough to let herself go, to dare to do something she never did, she was never interested in: love.

“I’m, I'm close,” you moaned, grabbing the sheets with your hands, pulling at them to suppress the excess of pleasure you always felt. The Lord stopped slowly, laughing sinisterly. No, with her it was never that easy, and you didn't want it to be either.

“No, amore mio... If you want to release yourself, you know what you have to do,” she whispered in your ear, leaning over you, stopping moving in that way you adored, letting your body abandon the feeling of an impending orgasm.

You writhed and moaned at the sensation, at having to obey her whims at such a critical moment for your nervous system. Her dominant attitude drove you crazy.

“Please...” you whispered, biting your lip, moving your hips to resume the frenetic rhythm of her movements.

“Please? Come on, tesoro… You know how to do it better,” Donna said, amused, leaning your body so yours wouldn't stop caressing her erection, so she wouldn't stop feeling the pleasure you were giving her while she was depriving you of it.

“Please, Donna, please…” you said again, hitting the mattress, fearing that the feeling of being about to release would disappear.

“Mm, better,” she whispered, grabbing your hips again, pressing you against the bed and panting as she continued the frenetic rhythm of her thrusts.

Your body was quick to respond to that sensation, your mind could only think of her. There was no taste, touch, smell, hearing, sight, just Donna, just her, just her image, her skin, her heat… Your mind had become hers. Your body was already hers.

You were hers, and you would always be. Your back disobeyed her hands, her movements, arching as your walls played with her shaft, squeezing it with intense spasms, as moans came out of your mouth, as your body writhed.

“(Y/N)…” she moaned, releasing herself in response to your own movements, filling you with a soft gasp, her hips shaking against yours. The heat of her body invaded yours, conquering it like every day, making it her territory, hers, and no one else's.

Catching your breath was an easy task. A tender smile had formed on your face as the brunette gently pulled your body to reach your lips, to kiss them slowly while her body was still inside of yours. The best feeling of all, her kisses.

Donna slowly pulled away, caressing your back, lying down beside you with an exhausted sigh. The smile that formed on her lips was different. There was no trace of darkness, of mischief. Lust had left her and with it, that dominance.

“Good morning…” she whispered, kissing you again, softly, embracing your naked body with hers, caressing you gently as if her hands were issuing an apology on your skin.

Yes, Lady Beneviento may have been dominant. When she let herself be carried away by passion her only task was to claim you as hers, to make it clear to you who you belonged to. But that was only during those moments.

The rest of the time, Donna was a kind woman, even shy, she dedicated words of love to you, she pleased you, she made you happy. It seemed like a contrast that made no sense, a change too radical but amazing at the same time.

Losing you was her greatest fear, you leaving was the reason for her nightmares. Assuring you, and herself, that it would never happen was surely her motivation to dominate you in the bedroom, to say everything she thought without fear of scaring you, to make you hers, to claim her right to have you without being the dark monster everyone said she was.

It was a curious, strange contrast. Donna was strange and you, you could only love her, never judge her, you could only let yourself be carried away by that wild passion and then let her fingers play with your hair and your skin and your heart be covered with flattery.

“Hi, my love…” you sighed, with that same tender smile, kissing her lips slowly, enjoying your relaxed breathing after an overwhelming ecstasy.

“Did you sleep well, my princess?” she asked, playing with your hands, with her eye shining in a different way, with an expression that apologized for her abruptness, even though there was no reason to do so.

“Yes, because I’m with you,” you sighed, hugging her chest, with your head dancing to her soft laugh, with her lips resting on your ruffled hair. “Do you want to have breakfast?”

“Mm, okay,” she murmured, always keeping you against her skin, not forgetting the feeling of the softness of your body lying relaxed with hers. “I'm going to take a shower and I'll make it for you right away…”

“No, wait, I…” you interrupted, when Donna had already gotten out of bed, when the heat of her body left you again. “I'll make it for you.”

“(Y/N)…” she sighed, combing her black hair, letting you delight in seeing it loose, shiny… “It's not necessary.”

“Yeah, well, but I want to do it,” you said, lying face down and resting your head on your hands playfully. Donna laughed again, shaking her head.

“Fine,” she said, looking for her black dress around the room, looking at you with a warm light. “Do you want to join me in the shower?”

You shook your head, getting up from the bed as well.

“No, if I do it, I won't have time to prepare everything I want,” you said, kissing her quickly and leaving the room.

Coffee, toast… A breakfast like the one you prepared every morning, with which you thanked the lady in black for loving you, for having ended your absurd and boring routine.

“Okay…” you said, preparing the table, observing every detail, placing a small flower in a vase. “Perfect…”

“Good morning, stupid!” a shrieking voice made you jump on the floor, bringing a hand to your chest.

Of course, your life was not solitary. You were not the only inhabitants of the mansion. The Angie doll, Donna's inseparable companion, always roamed around the house, ready to make fun of you. It could be jealousy, or it was simply her personality. It didn't bother you, you knew how important was her to Donna.

“Angie…” you sighed, still upset by the scare. “Don’t, don't yell, please…”

“Did I scare you? Good,” she said triumphantly, climbing onto the table you had set.

“Get down,” you said in a serious tone, pointing to the floor. “Come on.”

“No,” the doll said, laughing amused, playing with the flower you had left in the middle of the table. “Is it for me, silly?”

“It's for Donna,” you said seriously, taking the vase from her wooden hands, avoiding another disaster that was not uncommon. “Come on, behave…”

“Donna, Donna, Donna, Donna,” the puppet mocked, with an even squeaker voice. “How disgusting, can't you think of anything else?”

“Does it bother you?” you asked ironically, putting away the things the doll messed up. Angie shook her head, finally getting off the table.

“You bother me,” Angie scolded you, laughing amused.

You rolled your eyes and freaked out again when soft hands surrounded your waist.

“Donna, you, you’ve scared me,” you said, sighing, letting the brunette, already dressed, with her hair up as always, rest her head on your shoulder, slowly kissing your cheek.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to,” she whispered softly. “Is everything for me?”

You nodded amused, joining your hands with hers, closing your eyes to enjoy the gentle rocking of your bodies.

“It looks great,” Donna murmured, kissing you before moving away and walking towards the table.

“Wait, wait,” you said hastily, offering her the chair in a gentlemanly manner. She smiled at you a bit blushed, letting you accommodate her. “That's better.”

“You're very attentive, (Y/N),” the brunette commented. “Will you sit with me?”

You nodded, pleased by the compliment, sitting in front of her, ready for a silent breakfast, as always.

The glances met and with them, the smiles. Your cheeks got used to always being blushed, to always being warm in her presence. Your heart was beating hard, but calm. You were in the place you wanted to be.

“Raspberry jam,” Donna commented, spreading it one of the toasts, looking at the food, studying it, as she always did. You smiled, leaving your cup of coffee on the table.

“Yes, I, I’ve made it…” you said shyly, with a satisfied look. Donna smiled back at you, taking a bite.

“I see… It's delicious, tesoro… It's my favorite jam, did you know that?” the lady in black said.

You nodded, sighing in relief because, as always, breakfast had been a complete success.

“Well, a little bird told me so,” you whispered amused, causing a soft laugh to fill the dark room.

“No, not a little bird! It was me, it was me, Donna!” Angie protested, moving in an exaggerated way, jumping on her owner’s lap, causing her to sigh in annoyance.

“Angie, leave us alone, will you?” the lady said, looking coldly at her doll, who, of course, shook her head, standing on top of her, shaking Donna by the shoulders.

“The fool interrogated me! She spends all day asking me things about you! It’s torture!” the doll shrieked, almost forcing you to cover your ears.

“Really?” murmured Donna, winking at you.

“Yes, well, I like to know everything about you,” you said in a low voice, a bit embarrassed.

“Silly,” Angie whispered, getting off the lady and moving away from you, you assumed she was muttering something that weren’t especially nice words.

Silence returned to the house again, only the sound of cutlery seemed to want to interrupt that moment.

“You're very quiet, tesoro,” Donna murmured, looking at you passively. You woke up from a little dream, one in which you lived, and shook your head.

“Oh, well... No, I didn't feel like talking,” you lied, knowing that what you wanted was not to bother her, not to disturb her.

“Mm... I haven't hurt you, have I?” she asked with a slightly more serious voice, studying your gestures.

“Oh, no, no,” you said hastily, shaking your head and your hands at the same time. “No, you haven’t, Donna.”

The lady sighed, nodding slowly. Your attitude seemed to disturb her. She wasn't comfortable with your eyes looking into hers all the time. You knew it, but you never did anything to change it. You loved looking at her, she was everything to you.

“Are you uncomfortable?” you asked cautiously, seeing her obvious discomfort.

“Not exactly,” she said, with a more relaxed expression. “I’m just wondering what you're thinking about.”

“Oh, well, you know, a little bit of everything,” you said, lowering your eyes to the table.

“Tell me, I like to hear you talk,” Donna said, with a nervous but soft tone.

“Do you, do you like it? I, I didn't know that,” you stammered, glancing at Angie out of the corner of your eye, who met your gaze, laughing sinisterly. “Angie told me that…”

“Angie says a lot of things, doesn't she?” the lady in black joked, bringing her cup to her lips.

“She said you preferred silence,” you said, a bit nervous, embarrassed by having one of those awkward moments, one of those moments when it seemed like you were doing something wrong.

“Well, she's not wrong,” she said, amused, reaching out to take your hand. “But it's different with you.”

You sighed at her soft touch, at that knowing smile she gave you.

“Okay, okay,” you stammered, hiding your shyness in a glass of juice.

“Not knowing what you're thinking about makes me uncomfortable,” the doll maker commented, with a different tone, more serious, predicting another of her stupid worries.

“I'm, I'm sorry,” you apologized, letting her hand go as yours was starting to shake. “I'll try to change that.”

“It's not necessary,” Donna whispered, shaking her head. “I just want to know what's in your mind, if I can do something for you.”

“You already do a lot of things for me,” you joked with a shy smile, with a velvety tone. “I live here with you without giving you anything in return.”

“That's not true,” Donna whispered, sighing tiredly. “We've talked about it many times, tesoro, you being here with me is more than enough.”

“But, but,” you interrupted, playing with your shaking hands. “I, I don't know, I think, I think I could do something else. Maybe, maybe I could clean the house and…”

“(Y/N),” the lady said, with a stern voice, with a cold look, very different from that usual shy smile. “I've told you a thousand times that you're not my maid, you're my girlfriend.”

“Yes, but…,”

“Taci, if you want to do something for me, stop acting like a servant,” she snapped at you abruptly, making you back down in your chair, embarrassed.

“I'm, I'm sorry…” you said with a trembling voice, with your eyes shining wetly from that failure, from having felt you had failed the love of your life. It was an exaggerated, but recurring feeling.

Donna sighed, passing a hand over her forehead, closing her eye and breathing deeply.

“Forgive me, tesoro, I shouldn't have spoken to you like that,” she said softly, getting up from the table and approaching you, caressing your cheek. “Can you forgive me?”

“Of course,” you said relieved, kissing the back of her hand. “I just, I just want to… Make you, make you happy.”

“You already do,” she replied softly, leaning down to kiss you briefly. “Today it's a beautiful day... Do you want to go for a walk in the woods?”

You nodded enthusiastically, a smile shining on your face again.

“Do you want to go for a walk in the woods… With me?” you asked, biting your lip.

Donna frowned, but nodded slowly.

“Yes, that's why I'm asking you,” she said amused.

“I really want to, Donna,” you sighed, getting up to kiss her again, hugging her waist. She laughed shyly, slowly pulling away.

“I'm going to pick this up and work on my dolls,” she said, letting your hands go and heading to the table. “I won't be long.”

“Okay,” you nodded. “What do I do in the meantime?”

“I don't know, why don't you read for a while?” Donna commented as she stacked the plates, disappearing from the living room.

You sighed uncomfortably at that little argument, but you obeyed, you always obeyed, picking up a book and letting yourself fall on the couch.

Time passed slowly without Donna by your side, but luckily, you had ways to entertain yourself.

“So…Sono di Romania… Ho… Veintitré anni… Il mio nome è…” you murmured slowly, repeating the same thing over and over again, trying to improve.

“Please, stop it,” Angie protested, scaring you again and peeking out of the book you were pretending to read. “Do you want to offend my dead family?”

“Hey,” you complained with an angry expression. “Come on, be nice, I'm learning.”

“Learning? What For?” Angie mocked, sitting next to you, not leaving you a moment of peace.

“Well… Because… Because I feel like it, okay?” you defended yourself, shaking your hands to push the puppet away.

“Yeah, sure, I'm sure you feel like it…” Angie joked. “You know what I feel like? You, Shut up.”

“It’s funny, I feel like the same,” you said mockingly, turning your back on the puppet. “Don't you want to go with Donna to the workshop?”

“Don't you want to go?” she asked back. Of course, it was difficult to face that puppet.

“I don't want to disturb her,” you said, looking at the sheet of paper on which you were practicing those new words.

“Of course… Of course,” Angie mocked again. “She already has enough dolls down there, why one more?”

“Seriously, I'm trying to concentrate, leave me alone,” you said with a serious tone, a bit cocky. “Or would you rather I tell Donna how badly you behave towards me?”

“Silly,” she sighed defeated, she couldn't attack that.

“Okay, keep destroying our language… I'm going to play with my dolls.”

“Fine,” you said when the puppet went to the floor.

It might seem like you could be calm now, but quite the opposite.

“Of course, I'd do anything for you,” Angie said, waving a small doll. You groaned, looking over your notes. “I'll be happy to jump off the cliff if you ask me to, my lady.”

“Speak lower,” you whispered. Of course, the doll didn't listen.

“Should I clean your house, my lady?” Angie continued. “Should I sweep the floor where you walk, my lady? Do my clothes bother you, my lady? I'll take them off… Is that okay with you, my lady? Would you like to read while I suck your dick, my lady?”

“Angie!” you shouted with a frown, finding in those unpleasant phrases a horrible coincidence. “Are you laughing at me?”

“What? I'm playing Lady and the Dumb. Don't you like that game?”

“No, of course I don’t,” you said furiously, closing the book abruptly. “What's wrong with you?”

“No, what's wrong with you? You kind of dumb human with a submissive doll kink…” she hissed, climbing back onto the couch. “You make me sick.”

“What? What are you talking about?” you asked, pushing the doll away from your lap, frowning, your cheeks blushed.

“Oh, Donna, my omnipotent Goddess, tell me how I can make your day perfect,” the doll began, imitating your voice unpleasantly. “Do you want some tea? Is it too hot? Oh, I'm sorry, forgive me. I didn't know you didn't like orange…”

“Do you have a problem with the way I behave with Donna?” you asked, clenching your fists tightly.

“No… You're the one with a problem… Just look at yourself,” the puppet scolded you, pointing at your dress. “You always wear that dress.”

“I like this dress, Donna made it for me,” you said, holding the fabric, nervous.

“Of course, and since she made it for you, you can't wear anything else, right?” Angie said, dropping onto the couch.

“To see me wearing it makes her happy,” you said, crossing your arms with a furious gasp.

“Do you know who she makes dresses for too? Her dolls... Every day I'm more certain that you are just one of them... Are you sure you're not made of porcelain?”

“Well, well, if she's happy that, what's your problem?” you said, stammering, thinking seriously about the doll's words.

“You don't get it, do you? Donna doesn't want a submissive and stupid servant like you,” the doll whispered, looking at the hallway in case the lady returned. “If that was what she wanted, she could have gone to the castle and picked up a bunch of maids to have fun with.”

“But, but...” you stammered, confused. “She loves me the way I am.”

“You think so? Stupida…” the doll hissed. You shrugged, looking for an answer to that impudence, one you didn't have.

“So…? So…? What does she want?” you asked with a broken voice, trembling from those accusations.

“To begin with, someone who isn't always agreeing with her, showering her with compliments, doing everything she asks…” the doll explained, in a calmer tone. “Donna is stupid too, and she's in love with you, but I bet my wooden arms that she's looking forward for you to change that disgusting attitude.”

“I like being accommodating,” you protested, listening to Angie more attentively. “Is that disgusting?”

“Not… Especially,” Angie whispered. ��But I assure you that you're not going anywhere like this. Donna is stupid, but not as stupid as you.”

“Okay, great,” you sighed, shaking your head. “Thanks for the advice.”

“You don't get it, dumbhead,” Angie said, standing up and hitting your head with her wooden hand.

“Uh… Stop…” you protested.

“Donna has been a Lord for many years, everyone is afraid of her, she’s afraid of everyone,” Angie said, with a calmer tone, as if, for once, she was serious. “The Black Gods please me with their presence, Lady Beneviento, don't kill me, Lady Beneviento… You know, all that shit.”

“I don't understand what you want to tell me, I think you're making fun of me…” you whispered in a threatening tone.

“No, silly! I'm trying to help you,” the doll said.

“Why would you want to do that? You hate me,” you said, arching your eyebrows, smiling ironically.

“No... Well... I, the truth is... I like you,” the puppet whispered, looking away from you when she said something so unusual for her. “I want you to keep making my Donna happy. I don't want to see her crying alone again.”

“Wow, Angie, how thoughtful of you,” you said with a more serious voice, shaking your head.

“That's your problem, you silly village girl, appearances deceive you,” the doll snapped at you. “Donna doesn't need a bootlicker following her all day. She wants a girlfriend, a girl who isn't afraid of her, who dares to be herself, do you understand?”

“Why... Why hasn't she told me?” you asked curiously, starting to think that maybe the doll was right.

“I already told you, because Donna is stupid, and she doesn't want to lose you.”

“What should I do? I want, I want to know how I can be what she's looking for. I don’t want to lose her, Angie, I, I love her so much…” you asked the doll, who shrugged, getting off the couch.

“Yeah, yeah…” the doll sighed. “Well, then lift that huge head of yours, look her in the… Well, in the eye, and tell her no sometimes, assert yourself, give your opinion, don't let her dominate you in everything you do.”

“I thought she liked that,” you murmured, remembering that morning of passion, which, of course, you weren't going to tell Angie about.

“Who doesn't like to be served?” the puppet joked, raising her arms. “Just let her know that you're a person with tastes and concerns, that you're not a doll at her command.”

“I…” you stammered confused, interrupted by the sound of the elevator and Angie's small steps moving away from you. Your mind wandered through those thoughts, through that attitude of yours that you thought was right, when it wasn't.

You loved her, you wanted her to be happy, to please her, but, maybe Angie was right, maybe a submissive villager, like any other, wasn't what Donna was looking for.

“Tesoro…” the lady in black sighed, leaning down to give you a kiss on the lips. You pretended to read, with that conversation with Angie running through your thoughts. “I hope I haven't taken too long.”

“No, not at…” you said hesitantly, with a different sparkle in your eyes. “Well, the truth is that you have, why have you taken so long, Donna?” you asked with a frown, making the lady in black back away confused.

“S…S… Scusami, (Y/N),” she said, a bit nervous about your reaction. “The dolls have made it difficult for me today.”

“Yes, as usual,” you murmured with a haughty tone. “Someday you should take a break.”

“Um… Yes, well, I guess,” Donna sighed, scratching the back of her neck. “I guess you're right, tesoro. I'm sorry you had to wait so long for me.”

“It's okay,” you said with a more sincere smile, evoking your true feelings. “If you give me a kiss… I think I can forgive you,” you joked with a mischievous smile. Donna returned it, leaning down to kiss you again, like you asked her to.

“Do you want that walk?” Donna asked, sitting next to you, stroking your hair romantically. You had to make an effort not to nod. Angie was right, you were a submissive doll, and you had to change that.

“Not really,” you said firmly. Donna didn’t make any strange gestures. She simply nodded, studying your clumsy gestures. “I always get covered in leaves and… Well, the snow getting in my shoes is so annoying...”

“Oh, wow, I didn't know that,” the lady in black said, amused, frowning with a curious smile.

“I have secrets,” you joked, feeling strangely comfortable with that new casual attitude.

“I see, tesoro...” she whispered, kissing your cheek. “Well, tell me, what do you want us to do?”

You remained thoughtful, not knowing what it was that you really wanted. Saying: I want you to see me as a normal girl and not as a submissive doll, didn’t seem like an adequate phrase. Yes, you had to be yourself, something complicated for anyone, something that would be difficult for you to change.

You could ignore that advice and please your beloved, but you didn't want to, deep down you knew that it annoyed her. Fleeting memories with the doll maker began to appear in your head, tired sighs at your silence, at your lack of refusals. Could it be that Angie was really telling you the truth?

She would never abandon you, Donna would never stop loving you for your attitude. During that short period of time you thought about all your hobbies, everything you liked to do. Unfortunately, there was none that didn’t coincide with Donna's. You had very similar tastes and hobbies. You were made for each other.

That made your attempt to get noticed quite complicated, but, like a revelation, a different idea appeared in your head. When was your submission more evident? When did she completely dominate you? The answer made you tremble: under the sheets.

Yes, it could be a good starting point, showing her that you were not a submissive doll meant stopping submitting to her during sex. It was an idea that sounded better and better in your head.

“I feel like…” you whispered, moving closer to her ear. “…Fucking you.”

The lady stepped back upon hearing you say those words. Her cheeks red, but she shook her head, her eye wide open.

“(Y/N)… You, you never talk like that… You know I don't like it,” she said in a nervous whisper, placing a hand on your shoulder. You nodded, ignoring her words, biting your lip.

“I know, but I do…” you scoffed, tilting your head, fighting that part of your mind that told you to shut up. “At least from time to time.”

“I'm leaving…” Angie sighed, disappearing from that scene, discreetly raising her thumb towards you.

“Are you okay?” Donna asked, confused, obviously, by your attitude.

You nodded, shrugging and moving around the couch, climbing onto her lap.

“I’m fine…” you hissed in her ear, not giving her time to respond, kissing her lips deeply, differently, far from that tenderness you used to have before  your body went out of control.

Donna gasped in surprise, grabbing your back, holding you against her body as your hips danced in an exaggerated way, while your hands held her face so her kisses didn't dare to leave you.

“Do you like this, honey?” you asked, rubbing yourself against the bulge that was already evident in the black fabric of her dress.

She nodded confused, releasing the pressure between her legs, stimulating herself gently with her hand, surprised but pleased by your behavior.

“Shh, no, Donna,” you said in a honeyed voice, moving her hand away from her shaft, something she protested. The new (Y/N) was starting to act up. “Don't do that.”

“Why? I like to touch myself while you kiss me…” she whispered, with a pleading tone, attacking your neck, biting it, sucking it, causing an anxious moan to come out of your lips. You laughed, enduring the pleasure that was already beginning to haunt your nerves.

“Because I don't want you to do it…” you whispered. Donna stopped, looking at you with a frown and a suspicious smile.

“Then do it yourself, come on,” she ordered you, with that dark glint that excitement caused in her gaze, one that you already knew. She abruptly took one of your hands, taking it to her trembling erection, forcing her to surround it with your fingers.

“What if I don't want to?” you said, pulling away your caresses after a few brief movements.

“What?” she asked confused, mouth agape, without stopping kissing you. “Do it now.”

“No,” you refused, stopping the movement of your hips, playing with her trembling body, with her confused but amused look at the same time.

“No?” the lady in black asked, with a threatening look and tone, grabbing your hair with one hand, pulling it just enough to get your attention. “What do you mean with no, tesoro?”

“You haven't asked me nicely…” you joked, letting that soft tug turn into an excited gasp, making that expensive domination much more pleasurable for you.

“Do I have to ask you?” Donna said, with a dangerous tone, putting her free hand inside your dress, doing on her own what you didn't do, running her hand between your legs, running her hand over your wetness with soft caresses.

You nodded, your body moving involuntarily at her soft touch, at those intense caresses on your underwear.

“If you want something, do something,” you mocked, playing with your hand on her shaft, caressing it in a painfully soft way, almost without feeling it, something that made the brunette moan in frustration, pulling your hair harder.

“Very well, then… Get on your knees, your mouth will do the work,” she whispered, pushing you off of her body, guiding your head down, with the sinister smile that showed her excitement, that her desire to dominate you was becoming more and more unbearable.

You wanted to refuse, but you couldn't. You launched yourself towards her with a voracious appetite, you didn't protest, you kissed her erection just as she wanted, your hand played the same way, with an intense, harmonious rhythm, in time with her sighs and moans.

She may have won that little battle, but the war wasn't over yet. The thoughts continued in your head, the desire to want to be something more than a doll for her. But Donna always played with the advantage, she knew how much pleasure to be at her mercy gave you, how you enjoyed kissing her body, running your lips wetly over it.

Well, you could take advantage of that too.

Your movements became more intense, your tongue played with her tip, your hand held tightly to her erection, not letting it go. The brunette's body trembled from those caresses, from those much more daring kisses, from the almost frenetic rhythm of your lips.

“Keep going... Keep going, (Y/N)... Che brava bambola...” the brunette murmured, playing with her hand on your head, guiding you to the points of greatest pleasure, correcting your movements, dominating you again.

But no... No... You were no longer a good girl, and above all, you were not a doll.

You moaned from that whisper, from that terribly sensual hiss. You could notice the increase in her moans, in their frequency, you knew she was close, you knew it and you thought you would use it to your advantage.

“Is everything okay, Donna?” you asked mockingly, moving away from her, but continuing to stimulate her with your hands, slower and slower, more and more specific.

She growled, pushing your head back to its place, to the place she wanted. You sighed, but obeyed. Nobody said it was going to be easy, especially when that attitude of the doll maker also caused you an immense pleasure.

“Keep going… Finish what you started, ragazza…” she hissed darkly, but with her voice broken by pleasure, by the moans that were dying to leave her lips. “I’m… I’m going to…”

“Mm, no,” you said sighing, moving away, standing up, leaving a stupefied Donna, who looked at you with a fiery eye.

“What are you doing? I told you to keep going,” she asked with a frown, while you, gently pushing her by the chest, laid her down on the couch, beneath you, the first time you did it.

“I think it's time for me to take charge, don't you?” you hummed, playing with your underwear, tilting it to slowly lower you hips over her shaft, so it would brush against your latent wetness.

“You?” she asked, watching how she entered you at your pace, not at hers. She seemed disoriented, but the embrace of the caresses of your walls on her erection silenced any kind of protest.

“Shhh, shut up, darling,” you said, putting a finger on her lips while you danced slowly with your hips, letting yourself be carried away by the pleasure, by the intensity of her shaft in your body, by the stretching of your wet interior, welcoming the intruder. “If you don't shut up, I'll stop moving.”

“How daring,” she whispered, amused, bringing her hands to your hips to control your vague movements. “You're not being a good girl, mm?”

“You don't want a good girl,” you said among moans, moving slowly, dancing on her shaft, going up, down in an intense way, but so subtle that it made her moan with desire.

“I don’t? You seem to make a lot of assumptions, (Y/N)…” Donna murmured, leading your body to her rhythm, letting the pleasure make you forget your intentions for a moment, moaning in a crazy, uncontrolled way.

With a sinister laugh, Donna pushed you away roughly so your back rested on the couch. You gasped in surprise for having lost control so quickly, for having let yourself get carried away by the pleasure and failing in your attempt to be on top, at least for once.

“You forget one thing, tesoro…” she whispered, dragging you on top of you, brushing your entrance with her erection, but not indulging your desire for her to enter you again, just playing, making you shudder. “You forget that you are mine.”

“I’m... I’m yours...” you repeated, blinded by desire, by lust, by those dominant words coming from such a tender woman, from a woman tired of flattery, tired of being feared, wanting to be loved for who she is, not for what she is.

“That's much better, mm? Don't forget it, doll,” she whispered in a serious voice, pulling your hair so your head would lean while she kissed your neck.

With a sharp, anxious gasp, the brunette grabbed your hips, turning you on your stomach, lifting them while your head rested on the couch. You didn't want to resist, your vague attempt to dominate her had disappeared and the truth is… You didn't care too much.

Donna approached you, scratching your skin, lifting your dress so she could contemplate you, so she could rub her shaft against your entrance again, entering it little by little, but with desire, with hunger, with eagerness.

“Do, Donna,” you said, moving erratically to the rhythm of her hips, her thrusts. The pleasure was unmatched. The feeling of having made her nervous, of having challenged her was joined by the wet touch of your walls, their constant embrace, their desire to not lose contact.

“Silence, doll…” she whispered, grabbing your neck gently, speaking in your ear while her body moved on its own, unburdening itself with yours faster and faster.

Your fists hit the couch when the sensation was too much for you, causing your back to arch, to tense irremediably as you screamed gutturally with your trembling body, squeezing that shameful orgasm to the maximum. Donna did the same, hitting you harder, stopping when her release conquered your territory again, when her wet caresses claimed you again.

It was an unexpected passion, different, but a passion, after all, romantic, lustful, loving passion…

“Donna,” you whispered, pulling away, turning around and pulling her towards you, staring at her. She nodded, catching her breath, with the wet sensation of her orgasm still in your body. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry for being a stupid submissive.”

“What?” she asked confused. “Why do you say so?”

“I know that… I'm too accommodating and… Well, I want you to know that I'm not doing this because I'm scared of you, or because… Because of who you are…”

“Mm,” the lady nodded calmly, leaning on you while caressing your hair.

“I do it because I love you and… Nothing makes me happier than seeing your smile,” you said, looking away. “But, but I promise you that, I'll try to be a little less… Doll, you know what I mean.”

Donna laughed shyly, capturing your lips in a kiss.

“Oh, so that was it… Don't worry, tesoro, I love you just the way you are. But…”

“But?”

“In bed you're mine, (Y/N),” she said in a dark voice. “In bed you'll still be my doll.”

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

The C file & her reverse psychology

She's a reflection, a shadow of the past and that was graphically depicted by Storer with the very first image we had of C on the show:

She showed up like that, not like this:

Carmy was blindsided when C showed up unannounced and uninvited.

Syd walked into his life right in front of him and knocked first, they were face-to-face, after calling for the sous position and scheduling an interview.

C was always represented as a mirage.

An unwanted figure in his life, that's why he gave her the wrong number to begin with.

The fact that later she forced herself into his life.

And he ended up giving in and even enjoying it, as I mentioned in this previous post → He let her take the wheel, is beside the point because in this case, the point is his real intention behind that behavior all along because he was compensating - projecting - sublimating and masking with her, as I thoroughly pointed out:

Here

So what was behind all that or underneath, what was he trying to cover with C?

His real feelings → More about that here and here.

The haunting

The haunting feeling Carmy described, is nothing but ruminating thoughts based on guilt, which is rooted in his own omission and irresponsible behavior and the fact that that relationship lacks closure, and that is what is keeping him stuck till he faces the consequences of his actions and turns the page but not just unilaterally as he did here and here, it has to be agreed upon or at the very least briefed. All parties should be in the loop for "the haunting" to end, the unfinished business is what's causing it, and giving it closure is what's gonna end it.

Reverse Psychology

What in this case triggered the ruminating thoughts was not just Carmy's inaction but also Claire's.

In the past C did the chasing now she's no longer doing that and the reactive nature of Carmy is reacting to that change of pattern C initiated. Since he noticed, his haunting began.

Typical reactive nature. If she had kept the chasing pattern they had going on, he would have either apologized and continued going out with her or apologized and ended things, but no "haunting" would have happened. One way or the other he would have "reacted" to her actions but since she halted all efforts he has no way to react, so he is stuck as I explained above.

This will end when they finally have a conversation and he reacts to her words.

As far as I know, that scene has already been shot, so we are cool.

Catalysis

C is a catalyst character as I explained here.

That being said her role can't be fulfilled unless Carmy is ready to realize what she's gonna show him.

Meaning: Claire shows him what he needs to heal because she's a healer, what he needs to change because after her he will be very clear on what not to do. And with her he will also learn to do what needs to be done, to use his words, to open up about what he wants and what he doesn't want, and also who he wants it or not with. She enables all of that in him. But not if he doesn't react.

So right now her role is unfulfilled because they are yet to have that conversation and that will enable Carmy to make a final decision. At that point, the catalysis will be complete and her role will no longer be necessary in the story. I'm not sure how they will go about this, therefore IDK if she will definitely break up with him after that conversation, or the other way around, or even if they will agree to give each other another chance, which is a possibility. What I do know is that when Carmy goes through this catalysis with her, she will no longer be necessary for his redemption arc because after that all those feelings that he keeps in his BOH, will move to his FOH, more details on that metaphor → here. This catalytic process will enable that.

Bonus track: The L Carmy already made a decision about his priorities, which are the restaurant, and the star, in that order. That leaves no room for C, and that decision was confirmed in the last scene where symbolically he was being "signaled" by the L to Loop back → The Loop. If he'd loop back to C, assuming she'd still have him, that is, he couldn't focus on the star, because he has always seen her as a distraction and he has already vowed not to leave Syd alone again:

And regardless of how Syd feels, in his head, he hasn't broken that promise because the one who is haunting him is actually → Sydney.

Remember to follow my tag #Gingerpovs 💋

[tofuxtea]

𝐍𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐍 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐇 | 𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘱 + 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 — negan smith x fem!reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — age gap (around 15 yrs), authority kink, ‘sir’ is used in joking context, choking, aggressive negan, flirty reader, light humiliation, reader is pushed against a wall unsexily, very light dub-con if you squint (no precise ‘yes’ from either parties), just negan saying negan shit tbh

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 — i am barely on season 2 of walking dead i really hope i captured at least SOME of canon negan’s essence, otherwise i’m going off of what i think he’d be like in this situation. also this is a tad late. shhh. ALSO NOT PROOFREAD SHHHHHH I HAVE HOMEWORK DUE TN — 2.9k words.

the night was still fairly young, the last orange streaks of sunset against the sanctuary’s high walls slowly deepening to a rusty red. a majority of the saviors had already begun retiring to their rooms on negan’s accord — do not leave after sunset. it was a rule, sure, but it was also common sense in a world run by walkers.

you had common sense. sometimes. you knew it was an awful idea to venture out to town for medicine at a time like this, especially when you knew a group would likely be sent out the next morning to one of the trade groups, but the infirmary was running dangerously low on painkillers and first aid supplies.

while you never considered yourself to be the hero without a cape type, you needed the hike to clear your mind. negan seemed to be paying extra close attention to you over the past couple of weeks and it made you feel like you were a blood sample under a microscope.

you had no issue with negan but something about him breathing down your neck like his life depended on it made you feel odd. he was well older than you — possibly fifteen or so years older — but there was something about his sadistically arrogant dimpled smile whenever you pointed his closeness out that had your cheeks dusted pink. which was the last thing you wanted.

negan was no romantic nor was he one to easily take likings to people. he gutted people like it was breathing. sure, he had a close eye on you whenever you were within sight but you figured it was more of a cautious motive he had; like making sure you wouldn’t steal or conspire against the saviors. he would probably smear your brains on the cement you stood on without a second thought if you gave him even a hint of a reason to believe you were.

in simpler terms, he was an attractive douchebag. a dangerous attractive douchebag—

“the hell do you think you’re going?” the sharp, gruff voice that had been looped in your wandering mind seemed to summon the devil himself, his presence popping the bubble of tension that surrounded you. your spine stiffened, but you didn’t dare turn around to face him. you didn’t need to to know he was staring daggers into your back. there was a soft shuffle — he crossed his arms over his chest — and he blew a wry chuckle out of his nose. “you runnin’ away?”

any trace of accusation from his first question had vanished and he actually sounded amused. you stuffed a switchblade into the side pocket of your backpack with a scoff of your own. “‘course not.” you prayed that the firmness in your tone compensated for your shaky hands. it was all you could do to hope negan wouldn’t bash you in from behind with lucille.

“well, care to enlighten me, sweetheart?” he taunted and you could hear the smirk in his voice. unfazed, you zipped your backpack up and went to sling it over your shoulder when you finally came to terms with the fact that negan wouldn’t let you out. and you couldn’t lie your way out of it.

you met his empty, gently lidded eyes, thick dark eyebrows set in a stern line just above them. “i’m making a quick stop into town. we’re running low on meds and i’m not sure if they’re gonna last til morning.” negan’s expression hardly shifted, only his lips turning downwards with the slightest interest in your brave plan. for a sliver of a second you thought he just might be in support of it.

“alright, i’ll play along. how are you gonna get there with just that little knife of yours?” his finger jutted towards your side pocket. a jolt of distaste shifted your features and you knew negan noticed. at least, if he did, he didn’t care.

“you offering to come with? or do you just wanna protect me?” the way his eyebrows shot up made you think your playfulness didn’t make it across to him. but then the corner of his mouth slowly tugged into an impressed smirk.

“that’s all you’re going for? meds?” he reiterated, not a hint of confusion laced in his words. it sounded like he was pushing for a second answer you had yet to give.

you eyed him warily, ignoring the few steps he took into the room, shutting the door in the process. your brows pinched together for a second of suspicion. “why? you need me to get you something?” your gaze wandered off to the side while you pursed your lips with thought and hummed. when you met negan’s eyes again, he had gotten a decent amount closer to you and he actually winced at the mischievous look in your own. “condoms? viagra?”

he let out a breathy laugh, pearly white teeth showing from under a curled lip. “oh, don’t start something you can’t finish, sweetheart.” the genuine lightheartedness coming from negan scared you more than the dangerous proximity. “put the bag down. i’ll send a group in the morning.”

there was no challenge in his features and you knew he expected you to listen like an obedient little dog. when your fingers wrapped securely around the straps of the backpack and hiked it further up your shoulder, his little smirk faltered. “i’m going into town, negan. it won’t be too long.” you pushed lightly. praying to whatever god there was left, you hoped negan would simply shrug his shoulders and allow you to leave. he took a step forward.

“did i ask you?” an unsettling grin set his lips straight and it made you feel tiny. he definitely had the ambiance of a respected leader — if you could even call what people felt for him respect. his expression twinged with a mocking expectancy like he actually wanted a reply. “did i?”

your tongue swiped over your molars and your jaw jutted to the side. “no, sir.” the honorific held no sincerity. negan seemed satisfied with your answer nonetheless but he didn’t let the sarcasm slip by so easily. in the brief moment of tense silence you shared, a curiosity that hurt your brain begged to be debunked. “why do you care?”

negan’s eyes went scarily blank but the beginning sparks of a fire could be seen in the pits of his pupils. “excuse me?” there was hardly any venom on his tongue but it was enough to make you wince.

you flung the backpack onto the barely clothed mattress with a soft rustle and met negan’s stare with one that screamed really? “you think i don’t see you staring me down every time i’m doing my job? at first i thought it might’ve been because you were waiting for me to screw up but if that were the case we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” negan’s tightly pressed lips gave you no direction towards the truth. he had a knack for that. “would we, negan? so what is it? are you scared of me runnin’ away or do you actually care enough to not let me go?” the scrutiny behind your tone made him veer his gaze off to the side. he returned it moments later, possibly wanting to regain his composure.

“you done?” he asked flatly. for a moment you were glad he wasn’t lashing out at you for even assuming he’d care about somebody but it quickly bubbled over into exasperation.

“the hell i am!” you snapped, daring to bare claws at him. they were clipped down in a second, his palm catching your throat and viciously hurling you backwards until the backs of your thighs dug into the tiny bedside table behind you. negan still pushed, the back of your head meeting the wall with a gentle thunk.

it shut you up. eyes wide and fingertips scrambling to find footing on the table you were awkwardly hovering over, you feared negan. his eyes were scarily void of any readable emotions. he was completely cool, even with his leg nudged between your thighs and his wrist being softly clawed at by your nails.

“i said you done?” the heat of his breath hit your face and you gulped hard. his palm pushed against the center of your throat and there was no sign of letting up. not until you forced yourself to nod did he grant you a sliver of freedom by taking the pressure off of your windpipe. the calloused pads of his fingers still held your jaw firmly in place but at least you could breathe.

“you want me to add a ‘sir’ to that?” even while pinned to the wall you managed to adorn an arrogant smirk in between labored breaths. “who told you i was into this? arat? swear i can’t tell her shit—”

“that fucking mouth of yours.” negan cut in sharply. you would have assumed it was because he was genuinely disgusted until his tongue darted out and wet his lips. then the deep pits of his pupils finally became eligible and your brows leveled with shock. “do you remember who you’re talking to?”

you nudged against his hand, challenging the very man who could take your life with a clean swipe of his fist. unless he wanted to take the extra minute to grab his barbed baseball bat. “‘course i do, negan.” voice dropping an octave, you could see the strain it put on his hardened demeanor. he blinked quickly and shifted on his feet, the crease in his forehead showing his inward debate whether to give in or beat the shit out of you. it was decided for him when one of your hands that had stiffly held onto the table experimentally prodded at his side. negan’s breath went sharp but he made no attempt to get away. “you do care.”

“i could fuckin’ kill you.” the man seethed. his fingers grasped your jaw with ferocity and you choked on a gasp as he pressed you into the wall once more. his other hand hooked underneath your thigh and hoisted you onto the table, its contents rattling and tumbling onto the ground with alarmingly loud crashes. “i’m old enough to be your damn father and you wanna fuck me?”

negan had your cheek almost flush with the wall, his nose brushing against your tensed jawline. you could sense the taunting narrowing of his eyes and smirk on his lips without even seeing them. he had slipped between your legs, the hand that had aggressively lifted you now gently feathering over the front of your thigh.

“that’s what you want?” he held your mouth shut like a muzzle. your nostrils flared with anger and you shot him a dangerous glare out of the corner of your eye. “oh, you’re fucked up.” he barked out a laugh when pathetic surrender flooded your dilated pupils.

he whipped your head forward and released you. your first instinct was to slap him across the face, hierarchy be damned. you had your palm raised, ready to be brought down when negan caught your wrist into his large hand and pinned it to the wall along with you. his lips crashed onto yours with malicious fervor, the tickling sensation of his salt and pepper beard on your skin drawing a shudder from you.

your free hand curled a finger into his belt loop and pulled him impossibly closer. you wrapped your legs around his hips, gently grinding into his significantly hardened cock in his black jeans. “shit, don’t get too hasty, sweetheart.” he warned, tearing your wandering arm away from him and yanking it behind your back. you chuckled wryly, gently wincing at the roughness, but it crumbled as soon as his lips found your neck. your back instinctively arched and you kicked your head back a little to allow him access, though the tug he gave the hair at the nape of your neck did that for you. he was greedy yet smooth, carefully working down to the low neck of your tank top.

“negan,” you whispered shakily as his large hands slid up underneath your top, the sudden contrast in temperature bringing goosebumps to your skin. he groaned softly, the hum of his voice vibrating against your chest. in a second he had it pulled over your head and threw it mindlessly to the side. his eyes dragged down your torso, fueling the fire in his pupils. “oh, and you call me fucked up?” you teased as you swiftly unclipped your bra and theatrically slid the straps down your arms, noting the way negan’s eyelids went scarily low.

“shut up.” he shot back, hands molding to your hips, slowly slipping down to the waistband of your tiny shorts that he wanted gone. the needy glint returned to your eyes and your lips curled up.

“make me, sir.” it was a corny line that asked for a hell of a time, and negan bought right into it when he stole a long, sloppy kiss. while he skillfully worked the clasp on your shorts, you peeled his grey shirt over his head like your life depended on it. next was his belt buckle, then the button on his pants.

you let him shimmy your bottoms down your hips, his satisfied smirk growing when your black panties came into view. they were a little treat you snagged for yourself when you found a decently stocked department store a while back. it was just your luck that you decided to wear them today.

the thick pad of his finger found your clit through the thin fabric, slowly circling it. your hips softly bucked in response as a cry ripped from your throat. negan took the opportunity to latch onto your chest, teeth nipping at a mark he’d already planted. “fuck, you’re already so damn wet.” he panted, not wasting another second to slide your panties to the side and run his middle finger teasingly up your soaked cunt. he dipped his fingertip in, watching how you writhed at the sensation.

a broken cry met his ears and he smiled sadistically, continuing until he was knuckle deep. “ne—negan, fuck,” you couldn’t form a single sentence when he began thrusting his finger inside of you mercilessly.

“what happened to ‘make me’, hm?” what he said refused to process yet you still managed to land a soft slap to his shoulder. he quickly pulled out, with an irritated whine from you, and popped it into his mouth, holding your eyes until he took it right back out. your lips parted, calming breaths beginning to pick up at the sight.

your nimble fingers found the waist of his boxers first, clumsily nudging them down his sides until his cock was freed. negan watched through sex-doped lids as you wrapped your hand around him and began pumping him. his head lolled back and his eyes screwed shut with an open-mouthed groan.

“fuck me, negan, please,” you whined, shoving your pride down your throat for the first time all night. you teased your folds with the tip of his dick, your heels nudging the back of his legs greedily.

he snaked his hand around to the back of your neck, pulling you into a deep messy kiss. the feeling of his tongue on yours and his beard softly scratching your face made you whimper. his other went between your thighs, keeping them wide as he slowly pushed his dick inside of you. you moaned against his mouth, steadying yourself on his shoulders. “negan,” your knuckles turned paper white from how tightly you were holding onto his arms, grip getting impossibly tighter when he started moving.

“fuck,” negan cursed when he felt how tight you were, practically squeezing around his cock. both of you knew you wouldn’t last long and if you kept knocking the table against the wall and the volume, you had about that long until someone walked in.

he hooked the backs of your legs underneath his arms and pounded into you, the angle hitting a spot that made your body go completely slack. your head slid on the wall behind you, kicking back out of pleasure as pornographic moans tumbled past your lips. “shit, negan, don’t stop.” you managed in between heaving gasps, needily pulling at his neck until he leaned down to meet your lips with an animalistic passion. he pressed one hand to the wall next to your head, the other holding your thigh almost flush with your chest.

his thrusts went deep and slowed down so subtly you almost didn’t notice, abusing the sensitive spot that had you seeing white. “that’s it, let go.” negan’s voice rumbled in your ears, nearing a low growl.

strings of curses left your mouth as your high crashed into you. hard. it rocked your body all over, momentarily numbing you. negan’s thumb roughly circled your clit once more, intensifying the electricity that shot through your body. you spasmed around his cock and your back gently curved, hips meeting his thrusts.

he didn’t last longer than you did, barely pulling out in time to cum on the insides of your thighs and lower stomach. his chest heaved as he came back down. neither of you moved, except for your palm as it slid down to the tattoo on the right side of his chest, the tips of your fingers brushing over the navy ink.

“next time you’re in town, get some condoms.”

the first half was better imo BUT ANYWAYS ENJOY negan lovers pls follow me ♥️ —rin

[yiling-laozu-is-loml]

For the danmei fanfic nightclub: XiXian angst possibly prisoner of war canon divergence.

How dare you make me inspired to write ten minutes after waking up? Suffer now!

Cw/Tw: warnings, heavy angst, psychological torture, isolation, self-loathing, suicidal thoughts, near-death experience. Hopeful ending because I am not entirely a monster!

Word Count: 3.2K

“The Lan Clan’s losses can never be compensated, even in a hundred years which is why the Jiang Clan has come up with something. We only hope this formal apology serves to restore the relationship between YunmengJiang and GusuLan. We also wish for Hanguang-jun to have a smooth transition and a better life in his next reincarnation.” Wei Wuxian would joke about how he was proud that Jiang Cheng managed to stay civil and formal at the same time and for such a long time-

“What is it that you’re offering?” Trust Lan Qiren to never waste time with skippable formalities.

“Wei Wuxian, Hanguang-jun’s murderer as a prisoner of war. This will be the last time we will do anything related to Wei Wuxian again. He is under your care now and you may feel fit to do whatever,” he spat the last word towards Wei Wuxian.

-if only he weren’t being sent to his slaughter amidst the internal cheering of the cultivation world.

“We accept, but instead of a prisoner to be tortured, I would like to take Wei Wuxian as my lawful spouse. I would love to live a long life with him. There is no resentment in Cloud Recesses to cloud his mind after all,” Lan Xichen spoke evenly but even from a distance Wei Wuxian could see the gleam of hatred in his eyes. Oh yes, he understood what the Lan Clan Leader was doing. Torture and killing him wouldn’t last as long as a marriage and captivity in the clan would. He would be proud of Lan Xichen for finally showing his true emotions if he wasn’t in danger.

“Lan-zongzhu is most merciful.” He bowed, trying not to clench his fists. There was nothing more he could do. He was Lan Xichen’s to do with as he wished and from the look in his future husband’s eyes, Wei Wuxian would suffer for years. But that’s alright. It’s what he deserves and worse. For being the reason Lan Wangji died. For telling him he was going to destroy the Yin Hu Fu and the mechanics behind it and for letting his guard down around a man so determined to stick around him.

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

He finished his three bows without fanfare the next day and moved into the Hanshi a few hours later. With everyone he cared for dead and everything important to him having been burned in Lotus Pier years ago, it didn’t take long. He only had to bring himself.

“You’ll sleep on the floor near the brazier,” Lan Xichen informed him and Wei Wuxian gulped before offering a small bow. “The Clan leader needs to look like the paragon of the Clan as such, I must take care of myself before anyone else. I am sure you understand how politics and gossip work, Yiling Laozu.”

He didn’t, and on the off chance he did, he didn’t care about what people thought anyway but he nodded to show he understood.

“Well, I hope you see him in your dreams tonight because I am sure he would’ve loved to see you in his.” It was said lightly but Wei Wuxian understood it for the curse it was. Not even half a day had passed since his sham of a marriage and his husband had already cursed him to nightmares.

“Have a pleasant rest, Lan-zongzhu,” he responded, settling his tired body near the brazier.

The next few weeks were a blur of doing nothing, getting sneered at by everyone and thinking of Lan Wangji. It always got worse if he would look in a direction and remember what Lan Wangji had done in that area years ago. He could picture him stomping around in that elegant manner of his in his mind and it never got easier, knowing he was never coming back.

Because he had learned to be a self-sacrificing fool from staying with him. Wei Wuxian would cuss him out if he wasn’t worried about how every one of his actions could affect his reincarnation. He probably thought too highly of his influence with fate but it was better to be careful.

The constant ache of feeling like something was missing, something was wrong, the nightmares and the bland GusuLan fare that was surprisingly not poisoned caused his health to decline steadily. He lost weight, his body ached constantly and his mind was in tatters, warring with immense guilt and self-hatred at all times of the day. So it wasn’t a surprise when the thin line between his guilt and lack of self-worth finally snapped. Frankly, he was surprised it took two months.

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

“Excess emotion is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses,” Lan Xichen reminded, as he found his husband with tears streaming down his face again. He didn’t even seem aware he was crying but didn’t look surprised as he wiped his face free of the residue of his guilt.

“Why are you being so cruel to me? You won't let me die and now you don’t want me to feel,” he whispered listlessly, the rays of the setting sun making the harsh lines of his face more pronounced. He had known his husband wasn’t eating but surely a cultivator of his calibre could practice inedia for weeks, couldn’t he?

“Every Clan member has to abide by the rules and you are part of the main family now.” He pointed out.

“I didn’t take you to be so skilled at torture, Zewu-jun, but I was wrong. You’re so good at this, aren’t you? Ordering the kitchens to send me food Lan Zhan used to like better, not stopping anyone from whispering and jeering and taunting my dead family, letting everyone remind me how I failed at being a father before I could ever become one… before I could ever save my A-Yuan.” He choked on a sob and Lan Xichen was surprised. Yuan-er, dead? Who was telling him such lies? “I really despise you.”

“That’s alright. The last person in our clan you seemed to like was my brother and we all know how that went.” It was instinct, lashing out at a husband who never fought back because the guilt of having a hand in his brother’s death was too much for him. If he hadn’t whipped Wangji. If he hadn’t left him unsupervised. If he hadn’t underestimated the depth of his brother’s feelings for Wei Wuxian… It was no wonder Wangji overexerted himself and reached the Burial Mounds before the siege did.

The pain on Wei Wuxian’s face made him stumble. The guilt on his face had left its mark on his once-youthful face. His eyes were dull, and his smile, ever-present in his teenage, was twisted into a loathing grin. One directed at himself.

No. Lan Xichen won't sympathize with that man. Doing so was the cause of his brother’s downfall. He needed to hate him forever and needed to ensure Wei Wuxian got what he deserved and more.

“I didn’t come here to talk to you, I came here to tell you we’re having tea with the elders today. Make yourself presentable. Your Lan robes are there, wear them.” Lan Qiren had gotten Wei Wuxian an ill-fitting –more now than before because of all the weight he had lost— set of robes, plain white to signify that while he was married to the leader, he was nothing more than a prisoner. An unwanted.

Lan Xichen should hate him, he really should. It’d make things easier. So why then, did hearing Wei Wuxian’s heart-wrenchingly agonized sobs make him want to cry too?

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

“You are a disgrace upon this clan and to every cultivator alive! How dare you look at me with such an accusatory expression?” Elder Zhou yelled, breaking half a dozen rules about composure. Lan Xichen looked at his husband and realized the elder was right. Wei Wuxian was glaring at him. Could it be that he realized who argued with him the most to make sure he punished his brother with the discipline whip?

“You’re only lucky Xichen wanted you alive. Your status as his legal spouse is the only thing keeping us from seeking justice! You don’t deserve to take a single breath of Gusu’s air with all the crimes you’ve committed!” Elder Wang spoke up too and was it him or the Elders had invited them to tea solely to take turns hurling accusations at Wei Wuxian. He had thought this was a formality, yet there seemed to be a reasoning behind every carefully worded barb. And it was working. Wei Wuxian’s clenched hands were shaking, his lower lip was bleeding from how hard he was biting it and there was an unmistakable wetness in his eyes.

“I think that’s quite enough.” He stood up, offering Wei Wuxian his hand. His husband quietly followed his lead. “Don’t forget in whose presence you are because you all have broken two dozen rules so far. Submit yourself for punishment tomorrow.” And then he was leading Wei Wuxian out and away from the Elders. Should’ve done this earlier, a voice in his mind grumbled and he was tempted to agree.

But the damage was done because as soon as they were in the Hanshi, Wei Wuxian fell to his knees, clutching his robes. His surprise made him speechless.

“Kill me, please. I can't do this anymore. Everywhere I look, I see him, I remember the lives I snuffed out and I feel the guilt. It's been getting worse, Zewu-jun, I can no longer take a single breath without feeling weighed down by self-loathing, deserved as it is.” His voice was hoarse from the tears, his form bony from starving himself, yet the grip on his robes was unyielding and spoke of someone who used to have so much power. And now he had been reduced to begging.

“It's killing me, I know that was the purpose but the soul-crushing agony I feel is unbearable. I am going insane and I don’t want to become a danger to the Clan. I wouldn’t forgive myself if I hurt another soul again. So please, please kill me. End this farce and free yourself. Shatter my soul too after so I can never reincarnate again. I don’t have a golden core so it’d be easy and I know I don’t deserve to ask this of you but please make it quick. I want to have one last moment without pain-“

“Wei Wuxian, calm yourself!” He fell to his knees and grabbed his husband’s hands. “Take a deep breath and explain what you mean.” Because he couldn’t have heard that right. Wei Wuxian was the strongest cultivator alive, how could he be that without a golden core?

“I would if it’d make a difference but… I can't, I can't breathe I can’t-“ Lan Xichen realized too late. Wei Wuxian looked dead, his outward appearance reflecting on his mind’s condition. He was right because Wei Wuxian was on the brink of insanity and begging him to kill him so his people stayed safe.

“He’s good, he’s one of the best people out there, Xiongzhang, so please help me bring him to Gusu.”

Ah. So this is what Wangji meant back then. This is why his brother wouldn’t budge in his defences of the Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation.

I see it, I see it now, Wangji. But am I too late?

His eyes were a dull, lifeless grey. They seemed to be seeing through him. Wei Wuxian was dying. And most of it was his fault. He did this, he tortured the man his brother cared so deeply for with every member of the Clan. He should’ve felt happy, proud of breaking the feared Yiling Laozu. So why then, did the sight of Wei Wuxian almost dead make him feel like scum. Like a murderer. Like someone who killed an innocent.

Because that’s what his husband was. An Innocent. The pieces clicked in his mind. The rumours of Jiang Wanyin losing his core but coming back even stronger. The Demonic Cultivation. The pushing people away. The desire to stay away from Wangji yet be helpless to resist his light. The lack of Yin Hu Fu. The desire to keep one more person safe from his hands if that was the last thing he did.

Wei Wuxian had been innocent and Lan Xichen had committed a heinous, unforgivable crime.

“A-Ying, husband, I am here. I am here.” His hands were clutching at bony shoulders, pulling the man into his arms for a tight embrace. He held him as he shook, body wracked with sobs and unintelligible sounds of grief and guilt and he held him as his own eyes grew misty. He realized how every horrible thing that had happened to this poor, innocent man had his hand in it. He wasn’t any better than the things he was punishing Wei Wuxian for, was he? What was the purpose of being a Clan Leader, someone said to have infinite wisdom, both theoretical and real, if he was going to be blind in the face of his own guilt? He was a disgrace, he had tortured a man whose only crime was caring for others, and he had let others take part in his depraved schemes.

He was a monster.

“I am sorry, I am so sorry, please stay with me. Stay with me!” He couldn’t disguise the desperation in his voice as Wei Wuxian went slack against him. Would he be able to live with himself if Wei Wuxian died? Would he ever be able to face his brother with his hands tainted in his most cherished person’s blood? “A-Ying, A-Ying I am so sorry please don’t leave me, please! I’ll do anything you ask for, give you anything, please don’t go too, please please-“

He heard shouts in the background, he heard the word Qi Deviation being muttered and felt the oppressive feeling of untamed panic as the door to the Hanshi was kicked open. Yet his arms never let go of his husband, even when the world went dark.

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

He sat up with a harsh breath, wondering where he was. Looking around didn’t tell him anything. He tried to remember what happened, where he was… It was then he noticed a weight on his left hand and turned to look at what had him in such a death grip.

Wei Wuxian slouched on the floor, seemingly asleep. But the grip on his hand was unyielding. It was also warm. Warm with life. Warm with proof that his husband was alive and that he had time to make amends and be a better person for him and Wangji.

“A-Ying,” he whispered, and Wei Wuxian sat up with a grumble, eyes red with interrupted sleep.

“Oh… I should call the healers since you’re awake,” he muttered and moved to get up. Xichen wasn’t having it, so he pulled Wei Wuxian towards him, making him stumble and fall onto him gracelessly.

“Don’t go yet, stay with me, A-Ying,” he whispered in his hair as his arms tightened around his husband. His husband. Wei Wuxian was his husband. How had he never realized how significant that fact was?

“I- alright?” And then he climbed into the bed and wrapped his arms around Xichen, offering him comfort he didn’t know he needed so badly.

“You’re alright. I didn't lose you…” He shuddered at the thought and felt Wei Wuxian look up at him. “You’re here…”

“I am.” Lying was forbidden in the Cloud Recesses after all. “Where am I?” He still felt disoriented, as if he wasn’t quite feeling or seeing everything around him yet. His head hurt and it made him realize he couldn’t feel his spiritual energy.

“I had to seal your spiritual energy so it wouldn’t harm your meridians. You were qi deviating and I didn’t know what to do. Turns out it was a good idea because Xiansheng told me I just saved your life. It’s a little fascinating, he said he had never thought of stopping a qi deviation fit before it killed or permanently rendered someone from cultivating by sealing the energy and forcing the disruption to contain itself and-“ He tuned out the rambling in favour of staring at his husband’s face. For the first time in years, he saw the passionate interest reminiscent of a scholar again.

The war had taken so much from them all. He had forgotten it had been taken from Wei Wuxian too. His core, his family, his standing in the world, the reputation of his deceased parents. It had taken the spark, the warmth that had made Wei Wuxian Wei Wuxian and none of them had realized.

Seeing him now, so alive and only because he had gotten over his pain and guilt to save Xichen’s life. Watching him gesturing minutely with his hands as if he could draw him a picture of every genius thought that crossed his mind to explain his thoughts better, Lan Xichen realized he was alright. Wei Wuxian was alive and so was he. Their relationship had been riddled with pain and guilt, doomed from the beginning. But maybe, just maybe, they could make something beautiful out of it.

Beautiful… It was the same word he could use to describe Wei Wuxian now, with his eyes full of life and his voice going hoarse from the constant rambling. His cheeks were flushed and he was panting as he stopped his tirade and looked at him with a look full of so much indignance he giggled.

“You’re not even pretending to listen to me!” He wailed dramatically, a triumphant smile touching his lips as Lan Xichen laughed again. So this was Wei Wuxian, the real Wei Wuxian. Someone who was so smart, not just in mind but in action. Someone who was kind and selfless. Someone who found joy in making others happy regardless of who they were and what wrongs they had committed in life.

Lan Xichen didn’t blame his brother anymore. He could see it. Feel the first dregs of infatuation coursing through his veins as Wei Wuxian pouted dramatically at him. Feel a stirring in his heart that could only be the foundation of love as he tightened his hold on his husband. Feel the warmth of a blush as it spread on Wei Wuxian’s cheeks and his ears as he leaned forward to kiss his forehead, whining about how unfair he was being, taking away his thoughts just like that.

“A-Ying,” he sighed and Wei Wuxian’s flush darkened as he looked away from him, a shy smile touching his lips as he hugged him back harder with utmost nonchalance.

“A-Huan…” It was Xichen’s turn to freeze, his face beginning to burn and Wei Wuxian cackled inelegantly in his embrace.

They would be alright. There was a mountain of hurt between them, unanswered questions, withheld knowledge, the grief of losing Wangji, and the lingering effects of war, too. But for once, Xichen was convinced, his optimism not unfounded.

They would be alright and they would be happy. It would take time but he was sure of it, surer than he had ever been of anything.

He smiled down at his husband and pulled him to rest against him, a hand moving to stroke his hair. Wei Wuxian sighed softly and began the process of lecturing him about being reckless and following in his example of idiocy. And as those lips moved against his neck, reprimands falling from them against his skin, he wondered what it’d feel like to kiss them.

[brainworms-all-night-long]

please tell us more about babyfied nine

Ok so the thing is that Nine grew up in a totalitarian metrocity under algorithmic supervision done by giant intimidating hunks of metal that have zero room for negotiation 24/7 instead of a small village who's people were kinda assholes, so he's even more skittish and alert than baby Tails would be

Hes also quiet, like scary quiet like Sonic considered giving him a little jingle bell quiet because he jumpscares people with his sudden presence and dissapearece so much, and also rarely talks. And when he does it's either the most imicitly heart breaking shit imaginable or his cassual sass

I am never going to give him a break so I thinks the sudden change in size of his body and brain development by couple of years and the fact he didnt have his matal tails back then they're kinda awkwardly too big for him and cause some severe nerve issues 👍

Also since this ask took so long to answer because my brain jumped through fifty other things since then, have a little drabble as a compensation :'D

[676 words]

———

He gathered himself from the ground, hand trying to rub off the physical pain of sudden blinding light, and eventually managed to get back to his feet.

The second he felt in control of his senses he whipped around to assess all the damage done by that explosion and immediately noted a worrying lack of one fox in particular.

"Is everyone ok?!" Sonic called out with worry pricking his voice, while still trying to spot anything that vaguely resembled Nine.

"What do you think you rodent. Our magnum opus was blown to smithereens!"

Aaand the hedgehog immediately deadpanned when the starchy voice of Dr.Done It entered his ears he flattened against his head

"...Everyone who didn't try to kill me and I actually care about?"

He got his answers soon enough when the resistance was back at the eggheads' case and he heard a piece of plastic from the Way Back machine clatter to the ground.

"Um, Sonic..?" Tails called out for him but too late as they were both looking in the same direction. And unmistakably, both of them spotted something moving in the rubble near the still smoking remains of the machine.

"Nine?"

At least he hoped it was. There was a possibility that for whatever reason the fox would want to play a smart-ass — since he did try to kill him at one point, and for the love of him doesn't want to accept the fact he's cared about — but even if it's in the past and all that, Sonic needed to go check on him.

Any catastrophic ways in which the fox could've been hurt in a way leaving him physically unable to actually respond running through his head came to a screeching halt once he rounded the corner and stood face to face with a tiny fox kit.

After the millisecond he had to get over just how utterly adorable he was, the hedgehog quickly registered the vwey clear terror displayed on Nine's little face. And he could tell it was Nine if by anything else than the depressing gray attire, a painfully fresh-looking cuts under his eye, and most importantly, the seven mechanical tails laying uselessly around him.

First quickly making sure everyone was too busy with the fight elsewhere, Sonic outstretched his hand to stop Tails in his place when the other it froze like a deer in the headlights and obviously prepared to bolt it out of here. (Through Sonic wasn't sure he could with those metal appendages holding him down. They didn't exactly seem responsive because otherwise he was sure they'd be treatening pointed his way.)

And as taken aback as Tails was, he complied and decided that just discreetly peeking over the metal frame would have to suffice.

"Hey there buddy..."

Sonic tried with a low tone while rising both of his hands in front of him slowly. The last thing he wanted was to apprehend the little guy and scare him even more.

However the way his scared blue eyes jumped all over the place in search of an exit wasn't exactly reassuring against that.

"Don't worry, I don't want to hurt you."

The terrified face was replaced by a deep scorn as Nine pulled himself as far away from the hedgehog as possible. The thing stopping him from going further being the dreadful realization he has seven deadweights of metal stapled to his waist.

"Then what do you want."

Ok, Nine didn't only look tiny, he sounded the part too. The usual cold edge in his voice, which pretty much everyone grew accustomed to at this point, was gone and replaced with a tired rasp.

Sonic's features dropped at that and the the adorable-angry face morphed into confusion because of course it would.

Sonic, like an idiot, wondered why this felt so familiar and just why every single one of his moves was so instinctual when the realization he'd done all of this already hit him.

Well, either way he needs the little guy to trust him now, and Tails can figure out the technical side of how this even happened.

[mycenalucentipes]

You Won't Understand || Draco Malfoy x GN!Reader

Summary: Where, you stumble upon Draco mid breakdown in a secluded part of the library. Draco hisses for you to go away, believing that you’ll never understand his problems. You scoff, saying, “try me”, thus starts a newfound companion. 

Word count: ~2.5k

Warnings: Swearing, angst, some comfort towards the end?

a/n: Hi, I just wanted to write a fic in where, the reader also struggles with not being good enough, and finally, maybe, someone will understand what they’re going through. I might’ve self projected all of my worries and trauma from my high school days lol. There's a longer explanation for that at the end if anyone wants to read xD

But anyways, please enjoy

A deep sigh escaped your lips as you made your way to the library. It was lunchtime, and you were supposed to be in the Great Hall with your friends. However, earlier that day, you received a Howler from your mother. 

“Y/N L/N. YOU HAVE BEEN SLACKING OFF IN YOUR STUDIES AGAIN HAVEN’T YOU!? YOU ONLY RECEIVED AN EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS ON YOUR LAST EXAM. HOW COULD YOU!? DON’T EXPECT TO COME HOME WITH THOSE GRADES. IF YOU RECEIVE ANYTHING LESS THAN AN OUTSTANDING ON THE REST OF YOUR EXAMS, DON’T EVEN BOTHER COMING HOME.”

Thankfully you were in the privacy of your dorm room when you received this. Everyone had already left for the day. Your mother, a proud Ravenclaw, was deeply ashamed that you were sorted into the Slytherin house instead of hers. So to compensate, she relentlessly tortured you to always achieve the highest marks possible. After graduating Hogwarts, she attended the University of Oxford and ended up working for a different prestigious university as a researcher in neurology. 

Your father on the other hand was not a wizard. He was a muggle that your mother had fallen in love with while she attended regular university. He was also a neurologist, a man of science. He despised the magic part of you. It was a rude awakening when you got your letter from Hogwarts and your mother had to explain everything about her world. She fought him hard and long to send you to Hogwarts, so you couldn’t completely despise her. However, since they both wanted the best of their worlds for you, their expectations were too high in the sky for a mere sixteen-year old. Your father wanted you to attend the most prestigious university for med school while your mother just wanted you to be the top of your class. She figured you could become a healer at St. Mungo's or gain a high position in the Ministry of Magi. (She might be trying to live vicariously through you, as she gave up any jobs involving magic.)

As a result, you weren’t sure what you wanted anymore. For now, since you and your father weren’t exactly on speaking terms, your mother was the only one who even seemed to care. Thus, you focused all of your attention on your studies within the past month. Often skipping meals or falling asleep during them. Your friends began noticing the toll it took on you–your face grew paler and more tired, your hands shook, and dark circles formed under your eyes from countless all-nighters. Needless to say, you were incredibly freaked out for your next exam.

 If you didn’t receive an Outstanding, you would not have anywhere to go for the summer. Maybe you could spend it with the Weasleys? You managed to befriend Ginny, Fred, and George. Ron was a little harder to get him to come around, just because you were a Slytherin. 

On your way to the library, you nearly ran head first into Ginny. Oh, how coincidental. Before you even had a chance to apologise, she started rambling. 

“Oh hey, Y/n! I was just looking for you, I haven’t seen you at any meals today,” She said with worry evident on her face, “Are you alright? Please, come back to  lunch with me. I miss you, Y/n. We're all worried about you.” You cast her a guilt-ridden look. 

“I’m just heading to the library. I need to perfect my knowledge for the next exam,” You sighed defeatedly with a small chuckle. 

“But, Y/n–” Ginny began, concern lacing her voice. This time, you wore an apologetic expression. 

“I’m sorry Ginny, I just can’t. I–uhm, can I ask a favour from you though?” Avoiding eye contact out of shame, you looked away, unable to hold her gaze any longer.

“Of course Y/n, anything.” Ginny reached out and rubbed your arm in an attempt to comfort you.

You let out a heavy sigh. “Could I possibly stay at your place over the summer?” You hung your head down, eyes filled with unshed tears. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet Ginny’s gaze. “My mother owled me to say: If you don’t get O’s on the rest of your exams, don’t even think about coming home, child!” Ginny gasped softly, eyes widening at the words that stammered out of your mouth. 

“Oh, Y/n, of course you can stay with us. I'm sure you'll be alright, but you're always welcome to stay with us,” She replied, her voice brimming with sympathy. You gave a short nod of thanks, unable to speak or your tears would escape your eyes. “I suppose I’ll see you later then? Please, come to dinner at least.” You once again nodded, giving her a small smile. She smiled back as well, then turned and left you once again. 

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. The exhaustion and tiredness from it all was creeping in, eating away at you slowly. 

You were so tired. When would it get better? When would it end?

As you entered the library, your eyes scanned the endless rows of books, searching for a quiet place to study. That’s when you noticed a figure hunch in a cushioned chair by a window, their shoulders shaking and trembling.

It was Draco Malfoy. A boy that you weren’t really on any terms with. Occasional waves from you and small nods from him were the extent of your communication. 

Forgetting about your own woes for a moment, you cautiously approached him, uncertain if he would react kindly to your presence. Once you were about five feet away from him, his head snapped up. Then you saw his face. Tears pooled out of his eyes every few seconds, his lips trembled, then his brows narrowed. 

“What are you doing here?” Draco spat out, his voice a little hoarse. 

You hesitated for a moment, taking in the situation you just landed yourself in. Despite the venomous sounding tone, you could detect that he really hadn’t meant it that way. Ignoring his question, you stepped closer, concern etched on your own features.

“Are you alright?” You asked softly, your voice filled with genuine worry, “I–Is there anything I can do?”

Draco averted his gaze, trying to hide the pain and tears in his eyes. “It’s nothing. Just go away, please. You wouldn’t understand,” he muttered, his voice laced with frustration. You narrowed your eyes at this. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t? Why, because I’m not a pureblood? Because I 'don’t have any expectations placed onto me'? Hmm?” You retorted back, unsure why you spat back such a defensive response. He looked slightly taken aback at your words. 

“Yes, precisely. Wow, you're so smart,” his voice dripping with sarcasm, he rolled his eyes, then slumped back in the chair.

You folded your arms. “Try me, then. I won’t tell anyone, I swear it," you challenged him, not budging.  

He narrowed his eyes at you once again, unsure if he should open up. After a moment of internal struggle, he sighed with defeat. “If you really must know, There’s just–just so many expectations weighing on me. If I’m not good enough, it will be a disaster for my parents and me. I don’t want to risk anything, and the pressure is so... suffocating. I feel like I’m losing my mind,” he reluctantly started, but soon couldn’t stop, he didn’t know why he was sharing all of this with some random classmate.

“I’m not good enough for him. I don’t even feel that I’m good enough for my parents. My father always says: Malfoys do this, Malfoys don’t do that. Then my mother is already trying to arrange a marriage for me. I wish everyone’s expectations of me would just disappear.”

“But how would you ever understand that type of pressure?” He sighed in frustration as you just nodded along. muttered quietly, but you still heard him.

You didn't know who 'he' was, but you sure as fuck knew about pressure from parents.

“Sorry to interrupt your little pity party, Malfoy,” you sighed, meeting his glare with a calm gaze. “But let me tell you, I do understand the feelings of pressure and not being good enough for someone. I’m going to get kicked out of my home by my mother if I don’t get Outstandings on every single last assignment. She's dead serious about that. My father and I aren’t on speaking terms because he thinks being magical is stupid. He wants me to attend muggle medicine university. My mother shames me everyday for being in Slytherin and not her perfect little Ravenclaw house. They both expect me to do what they want without giving me a choice. If I’m not their perfect little daughter, I’ll just get shunned and kicked out. Disowned. I'm just their disappointment,” you rambled out, “but I suppose this little talk shouldn’t be about me. Sorry, didn't mean to spin it like that. Just forget it.” 

Maybe your family's reputation wasn't as important as the Malfoys, but nonetheless, you were sure you would become disowned by them. They had set unrealistic expectations out of you. Your mental health was rapidly declining, if it hadn’t already hit rock bottom, your feelings were valid and you won’t let anyone tell you otherwise. However, your parents didn’t seem to care about your feelings. 

"I definitely know how it feels. Like someone is drowning or suffocating you. There's no breaks. And it's all ridiculous because we are just teenagers. So what the fuck, life?" You angrily whisper out.

Draco stared at you, momentarily speechless. “I… I had no idea,” he murmured out, “it seems you are capable of understanding this more than I thought.” You mirrored the speechlessness, unsure if you should be insulted or relieved by his admission. He looked away from you, staring out the window for a brief moment. 

“It’s alright, Draco. No one really notices anyways,” you laugh awkwardly, trying to brush your feelings away again. Even though you pushed for Draco to share his feelings, you felt like a burden doing the same thing. 

You went to approach him, stepping into the rays of sunlight that beamed in from the windows. It wasn’t until now that Draco took in your full appearance. He never paid you much mind, as you weren’t a pureblood or in his friend group, but friends with the Weasleys. You truly were a beauty. You had godly features that rivalled any of the most attractive students. Your hair cascaded softly around your face, accentuating your facial features. It was also then, he realised just how malnourished and exhausted you were looking. The sunken eyes, pale face, bloodshot eyes and slightly trembling form. He was sure a gust of wind would knock you over. 

“You look like shit, L/n.” Draco said flatly, instantly realising the bluntness of his comment. Your eyes widened at his comment.

 “I–I’m sorry, that was uncalled for.” He apologised? Who was this imposter and what did he do with Draco Malfoy? 

“Gee, thanks. It’s nothing I can’t handle though.” You rolled your eyes, a small laugh escaped your lips. Attempting to brush his concern off and divert the attention away from yourself, you shot back, “Have you seen yourself though? I could say the same.” Draco just shook his head with amusement on his face.

“Yeah, yeah. But, it’s clearly not ‘nothing’. A gust of wind could knock you over,” he retorted back, though his gaze softened. You scoffed at him. He couldn’t explain why he suddenly cared, why he wanted to reach out to you. Maybe it was because you made him feel calmer? The gentle aura you carried around when others were there was relaxing and a good change of pace. Maybe it was the fact that you also shared the same feelings of struggle as him. Not being accepted or feeling good enough for everyone. You tried to help him (in your own challenging way), now he wanted to help you, at least just a little. 

You hummed a little, shying away a little for the first time. “Well, perhaps we could both use a break from trying to meet everyone’s expectations. Maybe we can help each other out,” you suggest, “though I don’t know how to help out with the whole pureblood traditions thing, I’ll be around for you if you need some support. Or just a friend to hangout with or vent to.” Draco nodded along with your plan, not feeling too opposed to this.

“And I can help you with your studies,” he offered with a soft tone. You nodded as well, giving a genuine smile this time. 

+==+==+

Over the next few weeks, you and Draco spent more and more time together. Sometimes it would be hardcore study sessions. Where it felt like the questions he quizzed you on were never ending. Other times, it would be ranting about everything and nothing. It helped both of you get some weight off your chests. A couple times, you took trips to Hogsmeade to chat over a butterbeer or three. 

You could say it was a friendship. You weren’t sure how he felt, but you could feel yourself falling for the Slytherin boy. Though you knew it might not end well, with him being a ‘pureblood’ and all. Such bullshit that is. You often told him that was your opinion on the pureblood traditions, he would just chuckle, sadness laced in it occasionally. 

“Y/n, how do you feel about your grades?” Draco asked casually as you both walked down an empty hallway. Your face paled and your body froze in your steps. The feeling always haunted you, no matter how much you talked it over, it would still haunt you. Draco came to a halt and turned towards you, voice laced with genuine worry, “Y/n?” He could see the inner turmoil your brain shoved you into, and it pained him more than it should have to see you like this. 

You tried to shake yourself out of anxiety’s grip. “I’m not too sure to be honest. I’m waiting on three exams and two homework grades still…,” you trailed off, drowning in your worries again. 

“Hey, hey, you’ll be ok, alright?” He said with a much softer tone while placing his hands on your arms. Over the weeks, you both became immaculate at reading each other’s signs of worry or anxiety, knowing exactly what to do. 

“You don’t know that, Draco,” you sighed, “although, maybe staying with the Weasleys would be better for my mental health anyways.” At this thought, you felt a little more relieved, but no matter how much you tried not to care, these feelings would forever haunt you.

“A–anyways, how about you? How’s your whole… family thing?” You asked, deflecting any more concern that came your way.

“It’s uh… still not great. Mother called off any preset engagements, however she still wants me to at least try going on the dates.” He grumbled. It was a little progress. You encouraged him to express his feelings with his mother, maybe it would change her mind. You knew it was a long shot to be able to change the traditions of hundreds of years, but why not try now? 

“Oh! Well, I suppose that’s… a little good then?” You tilted your head a little, becoming lost in thoughts again. You wondered if her mind would ever change enough to let you potentially date Draco. No, you haven’t confessed anything to Draco, but your feelings weren’t dying. 

Draco scrunched his nose and gave a slight nod. “Yes, I suppose so. Maybe, someday, she’ll let me date whoever I want, without worrying about blood status…” Your eyes widened, a blush spreading across your cheeks and to your ears. 

“That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” You stammered out. You didn’t want to get your hopes up, but you could’ve sworn that was implying he wanted to date you. Little did you know, you were correct. Maybe someday it would work out, but for now, both of you were content with your ever growing friendship. Though, can you really call this a friendship? You were sure it dug deeper than just that. 

looong a/n: So, I might’ve self projected all of my worries and trauma from my highschool days. I went to a public hs, but good god, the standards were high. Anything less than an A was a failure. I had friends crying over 94%’s… I had a couple friends that would get locked out of their houses for the day if they brought home C’s. I, myself, never felt smart enough either. My friends always scored higher than me.

I maintained a solid 3.8 GPA, but it just wasn’t as high as my friends’ with their 3.9’s and 4.0’s :’). So I spent my whole grade school career, never feeling smart enough. I cried myself to sleep most nights from the stress of it all. My parents would get onto me and had really high expectations for me as well. It took my dad forever to realise I'm going to sometimes get C's because some subjects just don't click and I crumble under pressure. No matter how hard I study, I cannot always get A's. That should be okay, but my parents....hhhhh. It’s taken me a little bit of time to start undoing the feeling that if I don't get A’s, I’m a failure.

Though, I’m finally realising that grades aren’t everything in life, and it’s ok. I’ll still aim for the top, but I’m not sacrificing my mental health for it again. (I still have a 3.8GPA at uni, but now I’m studying smarter ;) and uni has been slightly easier than high school, wtf.) I’m not trying to sound stuck up or snobby, I promise and I apologise. That was just the school mindset I was raised in. In which, I’m trying to undo some of those more painful mindsets. 

I’m trying to learn that my efforts are enough. I’m putting my best work in while not sacrificing my sanity this time. I’m enough, you’re enough, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. 

Thanks for reading if you did!

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

What's your take on the "destroying evidence" thing? Are there any rumours about what that potential evidence was or could have been?

I'm curious since the court said it was messages between Harry and his ghostwriter. I think it may have been drafts of chapters or notes of interviews about the phone hacking scandal, and Harry's take on why he didn't do anything back then. I know Harry said inspare that the palace dint let him do anything but I think there's more to this.

I think he just didn't want to do anything back then, but then saw the compensation that other people got and decided to use this case to make some money and for his fake white knight crusade against the media.

I havnt read spare, so I don't know what's been said there. But you have. So what's your take? Do you think it's possible, for logical and legal reasons, that a ghostwriter would simply delete messages and notes with such a high profile client about such a high profile project?

Do you think NGN is right in saying that Harry did have knowledge that he could aue them earlier and yet did it later for PR? I don't understand that argument though. Are they saying Harry is taking advantage of his special status as the kings son to sue them whenever he wishes about whatever he wishes to sue them for? Even though the period that he could do so legally has now lapsed?

The accusations that Harry destroyed evidence and/or is obstructing the court by refusing to hand evidence over to NGN (which is part of a legal process called discovery, if you're not familiar with it) are very serious. That the judge himself called it out in his ruling is equally serious. But will anything come of it? I doubt it. I think Harry, much like Meghan when she was found lying to the court, will get a slap on the wrist and forced to apologize, and his team will spin it as "he didn't think the communications would be relevant all this time later" or some other feeble excuse that everyone also sees through.

I have a few theories about why Harry deleted everything from/with Moehringer:

Harry's obsession with privacy meant he's paranoid someone will hack into his email/apps so he deleted everything to keep that from happening. After all, if they hacked his phone, they can hack his email/laptop/apps.

There were discussions about people and events that were considered for Spare about Meghan or people Meghan doesn't like Harry knowing (but ultimately not published) and he didn't want her to find out.

Like anon, suggested, there were discussions about all of the lawsuits and when Harry (or Meghan) realized that it could fall within scope of discovery and blow up his case, deleted it.

There actually wasn't a lot of correspondence between Harry and Moehringer to begin with and Harry deleted it all to hide that.

The correspondence was actually between Meghan and Moehringer and Harry deletted everything to hide how heavily edited his memoir is.

I think theories #1 and #3 are probably the most plausible. It'll be really interesting if there are any details about when the messages and communications were deleted - i.e., if they were deleted when the Spare contract ended on its publication or if they were deleted after the discovery request from NGN was received. If it's the former, then it's not that bad because Harry's team can spin it as Harry being concerned about his privacy and wanting to eliminate the risk of being hacked. But if it's the latter, that's serious trouble.

And if it is the latter, then I have a feeling it's going to be a Paul Burrell situation. (Paul Burrell was being charged with theft after the police found many of Diana's personal items in his possession after her death. At the last hour, The Queen remembered she had consented to Paul taking these things, sent word to the court, and the court dismissed the case.) Since two of Charles's most senior aides have been dragged into the lawsuit, I feel like Charles might come to the rescue in a similar way to get Harry out of trouble.

So turning to your questions:

Do you think it's possible, for logical and legal reasons, that a ghostwriter would simply delete messages and notes with such a high profile client about such a high profile project?

Personally, I don't think a ghostwriter would delete anything. Most writers I know - my novice self included - have a very hard time getting rid of their research, drafts, and correspondence or communications. They might get rid of it years later, but not immediately after a project, or a contract, has finished. Now, it's possible that the contract may have included Moehringer turn everything over and/or delete everything concerning Spare and Harry so I'm not sure, but I've no idea how ghostwriting works so this is all speculation.

But given what I know about writers and how it's hard to part with their works, I have a feeling Moehringer has a lot of work and correspondence still and that's freaking Harry out. Because after all, the Sussexes did force ESPN to announce the ESPY service awards much earlier than planned.

Do you think NGN is right in saying that Harry did have knowledge that he could aue them earlier and yet did it later for PR? I don't understand that argument though. Are they saying Harry is taking advantage of his special status as the kings son to sue them whenever he wishes about whatever he wishes to sue them for? Even though the period that he could do so legally has now lapsed?

Yes, I do think they're right. Harry wrote in Spare that William (or the palace - I'm a bit fuzzy on the specifics now) negotiated with Murdoch/News of the World that they could resolve all the other lawsuits and claims from other people suing for the phone hacking first and that he/the royals would be last to settle. As Harry discusses in Spare, he was getting increasingly distressed by how long it was taking to get "his turn" (for lack of a better word) and when he and Meghan got engaged, he wanted to go harder and force a resolution before his wedding in May 2018.

I'm pretty sure those are the records and the evidence that NGN wants to discover. Because it's pretty close to a confession - Harry has known there was a case since 2011/2012 (when the royal deal was likely struck), he started chomping at the bit in 2018 when he was getting married, then quit the royal deal in 2019 to file his own lawsuit.

I don't know that NGN is accusing Harry of taking advantage of his royal status to sue beyond the statute of limitations. That could very well be what they're saying, but if they are, then they're only saying what the rest of us are thinking.

[yellowbunnydreams]

Mechanised Devotion (Part 8) ~Steve Raglan/William Afton x Female Reader~

~I am staying up stupid late to write more for the big-man fan-club and I have ZERO regrets. Except maybe that paper I'm procrastinating on. I'll be making a masterlist soon so there won't be so much clutter on these posts linking to all the parts. Also, changed the title so that there was more clarity for people picking out this story~

Word count so far (all parts:) 14,593

Tag List!: @ruh--roh-raggy @likoplays

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

CW: Minors DNI, (18+ ONLY), Female Reader, afab reader, legal age gap (Reader- 20's, William - 40's), mention of crimes and violence, blood, mentions of child death (it's FNAF, what did you expect?), past trauma; abusive relationships. Trophy taking, panty stealing (never thought I'd write that), William being a perv, masturbation, voyeurism if you squint?

The weekend had been long and somehow all too quick after Steve dropped you back at your house. Handing you an envelope with your pay check in cash, apologising that it had taken so long to get to you, but there had been some delays since he had reported the Spring Bonnie animatronic supposedly moving and the owner needed to investigate. The pay check came with some elegant handwriting that apologised for the inconvenience, but that you should be made aware that the animatronic might possibly roam around still. Precautions would be taken to try and assure your safety however.

You scoffed as you read it, and put it down on your bedside table as you thumbed through the cash, eyes widening as you counted. There was almost two hundred dollars more than you expected, and you felt as if you were going to faint as you realised that the money was probably compensation of some sort. Silence money about what had happened at the restaurant.

Smiling to yourself, you wondered if you should treat Steve to a meal like he had done for you when you got the job. Thinking that that would be a nice thing for him. You touched the top of your head, patting it slowly as if trying to get the same feeling from where had patted your head so affectionately but your smaller, lighter hands couldn't replicate it.

Steve had handed you your uniform back as well, seeming sheepish as he apologised, it seemed that his old dryer had taken your delicates and eaten them, or possibly slipped in-between the drum and the motor in the back, which would basically mean that they were more than likely shredded up at that point. You'd laughed about it, telling him not to worry about it, it wasn't like it was your only pair after all. Raglan had laughed with you, despite the fact that as he spoke, he knew exactly where they were. They were in a little box on his bedside drawer, your name attached to a little tag tied carefully onto the cotton fabric. The date they had been 'collected' too. He wanted something of yours to recall that initial assault vividly with. A shudder had passed through his body as he wondered how many he could possibly take from you. How many firsts of yours would he end up being if you continued to feed his dark desires by being so naive about the intentions of the old killer.

It was with a great reluctance that you had pulled on thick work trousers and a blouse, the Freddy's jacket over the top as you got ready to go back to work. Steve had almost begged you to keep going, the owner clearly liked you enough to investigate the complaint, and having received a lot more money than you anticipated, you felt some obligation that you needed to return to Freddy's and continue being a good employee.

The walk felt longer than usual, but you supposed that they last time you had walked it, you had feared for your life. Tonight was slightly different to the last time you walked there, as a cop car pulled up and flickered the lights for a moment, forcing you to pause and wait to speak to the officer.

The tinted window rolled down and revealed a young woman who didn't look too much older than yourself. Her blonde hair pulled back in a severe ponytail and her grey eyes tired with bags beneath them despite the warm and friendly smile she gave you.

"Well I apologise ma'am, but you were speeding." She joked, making you laugh as you realised it was probably more a friendly check in than anything else. Relaxing slightly, you shrugged your shoulders and held up your hands in mock surrender.

"Sorry officer, I'll walk slower and more depressed next time." Watching as the cop cracked a smile before nodding over to the passenger side of the car.

"You work at Freddy's right, jump on in. I was heading there actually, it's on my rounds and I wanted to check in."

At the thought of not having to walk the rest of the way, you eagerly climbed into the car, clicking your seatbelt into place and allowing the cop to drive off towards the pizzeria. Glad you were out of dying sunlight and able to save your legs, especially since you would have to carry two bags back with you. A small pack with a toolkit inside it as you decided you were also going to take your own security precautions against the violent bunny.

"Hey, what happened to the back of your head? You're all bandaged up." The woman besides her frowned, glancing at you and staring as you reached up and touched the bandages on the back of your head. You were luckily mostly healed after a weekend of rest, but you felt self-conscious about it still.

"Oh it was um..an accident at work, don't worry, I promise I'm fine." You smiled reassuringly, adjusting your hair to try and hide the bandages a little better. Feeling your cheeks burning in shame as the woman made a non-committal hum before turning her attention back to the road.

The drive was mercifully short and you couldn't escape the car fast enough, hoping that the drive was informal introduction to the local law, but your stomach sank slightly as you watched the woman climb out too and lock up her car. Gesturing for you to lead the way in, she seemed confident as she moved through the hallways, knowing exactly where she was headed, which you supposed that she would considering she said Freddy's was part of her rounds.

"Have you seen them yet?" The blonde asked, making you raise and eyebrow quizzically and shrug your shoulders, that cold feeling in your stomach growing as she spoke vaguely.

"If you mean the guys on stage, yeah, you could say that." You sighed, heading into the office and feeling a little surprised as you noticed your possessions that you left in a neat pile on the desk, organised in a meticulous pile and your bag sat on your chair compared to the dusty flood where you had left it fleeing.

"The 'guys'." The blonde laughed, shaking her head and leaning against the desk as you flipped the breaker. Watching the monitors as you always did to see them power on, glad to see the camera that was down was also fixed whilst you were away. "wow, did your mom not take you to Freddy's growing up?"

"I'm not from here, so no, I had never heard of it until I got this job." You answer slightly curtly, anxious to see if the animatronics would move. Wondering if you would have to deal with a freaking out cop who was armed as well as things like Foxy deciding to try clawing down your door again. Pulling out a piece of paper and some crayons that you kept in the drawer, you began to doodle, making the woman raise a curious eyebrow.

"I'm Vanessa, by the way." You paused your movements and answered her with your own name, receiving a nod of acknowledgement from Vanessa as you continued drawing.

"So, what on Earth are you doing doodling on the job?" She asked, wondering what your answer was, recognising a crude picture of the animatronics, what she recognised as you and a crude picture of herself too. All with smiles and holding hands together. On another piece of paper, you drew another Foxy and a sad looking security guard, making sure to give Foxy red eyes and an open mouth with lots of sharp teeth.

"You'll see, potentially." You answered, looking up at the monitors and noticing that Freddy had decided to move from his spot on stage. Soon hearing the familiar 'thunk' of his footsteps and watching as he came into view of your door. Pausing quizzically outside with his ears wiggling, seeming surprised that your door was open and that there was another person inside.

Holding up the drawing of all of them, you showed it to Freddy, who seemed to look at it intensely before raising his eyebrows and doing his silent laugh and ear-wiggles. A sign you had interpreted as the animatronic being happy with some relief.

"You...You know about them?" Vanessa asked, looking shocked towards you, paling slightly as she glanced between you and Freddy in the doorway, leaving it your turn to frown suspiciously at the cop and cross your arms across your chest.

"And so do you by the sounds of it." Raising an eyebrow and trying not to crack a smile as you noticed the bear from the corner of your eye mimicking your expression somewhat.

"Uh... Yeah, I um.. I've known for a while, most people just...leave...when they find out about this though."

"Apart from Foxy and that creepy fucking rabbit, I've not really had any issues." You explain, shrugging your shoulders and taking a seat back at the desk, chewing at your lip as Freddy decided to wander back into the restaurant, seemingly content that you had company for the night.

"Bonnie is not that creepy." Vanessa said, scuffing her shoe across the floor, looking out down the hall and glancing up at one of the hidden cameras she knew her father had installed to keep an eye on the place.

"No, that spring Bonnie thing, the yellow one? Creepy as hell and a violent shit too." You laughed bitterly, reminding you to reach into your bag and take out your tool kit as well as some thick grating that you had picked up from a supply store.

Vanessa froze as you mentioned the yellow rabbit, her heart beating quickly in her chest and stomach sinking as she glanced over your injuries once more. The fading pattern of bruises across your throat making her feel sick to her stomach as she realised that it was all too familiar to her. And the fact you had a small scar across your cheek, she guessed it came from a blade, taking a deep breath and trying to steel her own nerves as she realised you had met her father.

At least, you had been convinced it was an animatronic, and not a person inside the suit.

"I'm surprised that thing still moves." She laughed nervously, biting her lip as she watched you working before she stood up, slapping her thighs and making you jump as you attempted to fit the new vent cover. "Hey, I got other places to check, but it was nice meeting you, stay safe you hear me?"

You smiled at her, and watched as she dug into her pocket, pulling out a business card with her number on it, handing it over and smiling with something like nerves making her eyes betray her concern for you.

"How about we meet in a few days, I can try to get you some more info on this place and you can possibly give you some tips?"

"Sure, that sounds nice Vanessa." You said, a little surprised at the offer, but accepting, watching the woman leave your office and heading towards the front doors your had both entered by. Shaking your head as you continued with your work after she had gone.

~~

Raglan had taken out the box from his nightstand as he watched the cameras on his laptop again, listening to your conversation with Vanessa with a frown. But he knew that his daughter had enough braincells left in her head to realise betraying him wasn't a great idea, smirking as he thought of you falling further into his tangle of lies and deceit. His fingers brushed over the box and he opened it cautiously, thick calloused fingers brushing against the delicate fabric that made up the panties he had taken as a little trophy, taking them out of the box, he couldn't held as his thumb ran over the thin fabric that would have laid against your sex. Feeling himself twitching in his pants with groan as he tried to imagine if you were wet for him as his fingers had wrapped around your throat.

He pawed at himself slowly, trying to get some relief from his rapidly hardening cock as he thought about how you had cried for him on the Friday night. Called his pretend name like some whispered prayer and fell asleep against him, oblivious to the knife being played with above your head.

The delicious way you had tried to fight against your own body as he drew that very same knife up the inside of you leg. How you had trembled like a scared little thing as your mouth hung open uselessly, a silent scream as he had felt his own heart threatening to beat out of his chest. He gripped himself through his slacks and stroked slowly, savouring the shivers that went through his body and biting his lip to stifle a growl. Steve could only imagine how pretty you would look choking on him, tears in your eyes and fighting to breathe around him. Maybe he would be kind to you and grip your shaking body close as he explored all the marks and scars he could imagine inflicting on your practically unblemished skin.

Growling frustratedly, he squeezed himself before reluctantly removing his hand and feeling himself throbbing hungrily. Glancing at the screen where he watched you taking a seat at your desk and throwing your head over the back-rest, making him hiss in delight as he ached to have his fingers back around your throat.

As much as he wanted to continue the fantasy in his head, he looked at his trophy longingly before running his lips over the fabric, imagining how you would flinch away from his hot breath. Or maybe how your soft thighs would squeeze around his head and let him listen to your racing pulse in your femoral artery, how easy it would be to turn and bite, letting the warmth spill across his sheets.

The throbbing in his slacks made him groan as if in pain, shakily putting back the delicate prize and letting the faint smell of you linger against him, focusing on the screen again to watch you through your shift. Licking him his lips as he let his hand wander across his groin again, breathing a little ragged as his fingers twitched around him despite the fabric separating him from his own skin. Still refusing to give in to the promise of release.

Steve Raglan was a patient man after all. And the thought of waiting in anticipation to ruin such a sweet thing made the wait all the more bittersweet for himself.

[yourangel137]

Wanderer comforting reader who is going through very bad depression/self harm

Last but not least, I have to repost this one 100%. I'm just also very proud of this one! Sorry not sorry :3

Pairings: Wanderer X GN!reader (Using of both Scara and Kuni in this story)

Warnings: Mention of blood, very bad self-harm, descriptive depression symptoms, descriptive suicidal thoughts

Genres: Angst + Comfort

Type: One-shot

Word count: 1025 words

POV: First part: reader pov, second part: Wanderer pov, third part: reader pov

Summary: Reader feels the urge to give up thinking Scara left them for good

For anyone with suicidal thoughts, selfharm thought. Please!!! Get help!! Call for help!!

Suicide hotlines

It’s not like he wanted to be busy, it’s not like he wanted to leave you alone, it’s not like he wished for you to leave, yet it seems to feel that way to you. Sometimes his harsh words can make you feel insecure or his harsh words seem to make you overthink at certain moments. Like today.. you haven’t seen Scara for at least 2 weeks now and it’s been extremely lonely for you. What if he doesn’t actually come back? What if he actually doesn’t want to come back? You’ve read his letter, you’ve read how he will come back as soon as he can and how he promises to bring you your favourite flowers as a compensation for leaving you for so long. But after that letter, you didn’t hear anything from him for so long.

Even if it’s only been 2 weeks since he left, it feels like an eternity. Your brain works overtime, thinking about possible negative outcomes, something your brain seems to do a lot whenever you are alone. Worry fills your brain, what if he’s hurt? But it’s also filled with disgusting comments about yourself because maybe... you really aren’t good enough after all.

You get up from your couch and walk towards the table where the letter you read still lies. Your heart aches, tears form in your eyes. “What do I do? He could’ve at least.. said goodbye to my face instead of leaving a letter. What if.. you never come back.” That’s when your eyes focus on the knife on the table. You placed it there for when you need to eat dinner, but right now your thoughts wander to a different reason for using the knife. Your brain fills itself with dark thoughts, darkness fully covering up the light you managed to create in your brain before. Your hand grabs the knife handle, lifting the sharp small knife and inspecting the sharpness by sliding your finger over it.

Your breath starts breaking it’s usual calm breathing pattern, blood rushing to your brain while you do the one thing you had told yourself never to do again. It hurts, it hurts to feel the wounds you created, it hurts to feel the blood gush out of them.. But nothing hurts more than your brain punishing you for just trying your best. The blood drips down onto the floor, painting the floor with the red drops of despair and sadness. What do you do now? Yet panic is the last thing you think about as dizziness starts to overtake your body instead. You drop the knife, shaking uncontrollable as reality starts to hit you slowly. Quickly you grab the table to stay stable. ‘What do I do now? Is this the end?’ You think to yourself. You didn’t even hear Scara opening and closing the front door and calling out to you. The last thing you see are his eyes filled with shock and disbelief and the flowers he had promised to bring along falling on the ground, before you passed out from the blood loss.

--

Before you could fall on the ground, Scara catches you and slowly drops you down to the floor with him. His eyes tear up, not being able to know how to reply to the image he sees before him. The person he loves is unconcious in his arms, bleeding like crazy.

‘what do I do what do I do what do I do?!’ He starts to panic. Why did you never tell him about your relapsing?! He wouldn’t have left otherwise.. “This is all my fault..” Tears fall down and drop onto your cheek. Immediately he thinks he lost you, thinking you died in his arms and he couldn’t do anything about it. But then the moment he sees your chest still rising and falling, is the moment he lifts you up and carefully brings you to bed. He has to do everything now to keep you alive and he’s willing to sacrifice anything. He stops the bleeding, getting it all over himself and the bed but he really doesn’t care. Then he bandages the wounds and keeps a very close eye to you while waiting for you to wake up.

“Please.. just wake up.”

--

The moment you open your eyes, you’re met with your lovers eyes. His eyes still teary and his cheeks still damp from the amount of tears he cried out while waiting for you to wake up. You wanted to speak to him, you wanted to apologize, you wanted to tell him that it’s not his fault, but he started speaking first. “Are you dumb?! Why didn’t you tell me you were relapsing?! I wouldn’t have left! This is all my fault.. You scared me! I thought I lost you!” Tears fell down his eyes again, showing you a vulnerable state he always wants to hide from others. You watch him hesitantly reach out for your hand, you eventually grab his hand the moment he got close enough to yours. “I might not say it a lot but I do love you.. I don’t.. want to lose you.”

You didn’t think it would hurt him so much to see you like this, but you can clearly feel him tremble a bit. “You.. were scared of losing me?” You hear him curse under his breath before giving your hand and soft squeeze. “Yes! Why wouldn’t I?!” He answers, his voice having a slight tremble as well.

“I’m sorry Kuni. It’s not your fault, please-“

“I love you.” He cut you off.

You open your mouth again to say something but instead you decide to shut your mouth instead. You watch him get up and soon enough you feel him softly press a kiss against your forehead. “I’ll get you some more help, I don’t think I bandaged you up very well. Take rest.” He let’s go of your hand and showed you a small smile. You simply nod before opening your mouth again to speak. “I love you too, Kuni..”

“I know you do. Now shut up and sleep, you’ll feel better soon I promise.”

Thank you for reading, I'll always be here if you need someone to talk to <3

Much love,

Angel

Made on: 15-03-2023

[dreamsgazer]

A Bit Closer

Anon requested this fic (my answer here), and I don’t dislike how this turned out!

Hope you all like it, and if so, please comment and reblog, it’s always so appreciated! If you have a request, feel free to send an ask !

Masterlist | AO3 here

Warnings: swearing, mention of blood, murder

“No.”

“Bro-“ Lemon sighed pinching his nose.

“Absolutely not!” Tangerine reiterated, rebelliously lifting his chin.

“We need her.”

“The fuck we do!” the man hissed back, ice-coloured eyes sparkling with outrage “The last thing we need is a rookie to fuck up with the assignment!”

“I’m right here, asshole!” you pointed out from the couch where you had been sitting for the last ten minutes, done with being ignored by the Twins.

Tangerine scoffed, glaring at you, but you firmly cut whatever foul reply he was going to spit “You are right, I’m not as seasoned as the two of you when it comes to killing people. However, this mission requires someone smart enough and subtle enough and discreet enough to infiltrate that mansion, retrieve the envelope, and get out as quickly as possible. Neither of you can do that without leaving a trail of corpses behind.”

“Hey, come on now!” Lemon’s outraged voice didn’t stop you “Also, your last mission was such a clusterfuck that I’m surprised someone is still willing to hire you.”

This last part wasn’t exactly true, and you were aware that things in Dubai went south well before the Twins appeared in some sheikh’s palace, but you couldn’t hold back your resentment at being treated like an incompetent child by Tangerine.

“Ok, ok, calm down now. Both of you!” Lemon interjected, pressing a hand on his brother’s chest “I would say to try working together just this once. I dunno about you two, but I could use the money.” Tangerine huffed and cursed before accepting, and he made sure you knew he was agreeing only because the job was ridiculously well compensated. You rolled your eyes at that but refrained to underline you all worked that kind of job for the exact same reason. “And I’m no rookie when it comes to stealing stuff and information,” you added tightening your lips, still offended “Just because I stir away from corpses and troubles doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m doing. Which is why I was contacted as well for this operation!” Despite the rough start, the mission went incredibly well, all considered – sure, Tangerine had to help you at a certain point, but while retreating from the opulent estate, the envelope full of compromising photos of a very prominent political candidate enjoying himself a bit too much was safely in your hands.

The Twins escorted you to the place agreed for the exchange, and an hour after the photos were gone and your trio was a bit richer.

Lemon grinned “Well, I don’t want to say I’ve told you so, guys-”

“Then don’t,” Tangerine huffed, arms crossed over his chest and a frown barely hidden by his Versace sunglasses.

His Twin tutted “But I did tell you two that it was worth a try!”

“Agreed,” you conceded because not doing so would have been both rude and dishonest, especially towards Lemon. Tangerine could go fuck himself, but his brother had been nice to you for the entirety of the mission. You were just too stubborn to admit that Tangerine was there as well, when you needed a quick way out from that party, having heard someone approaching the studio you were in. He hadn’t left the villa until you both could walk away unnoticed, his arm on your back guiding you outside as if you two were just a couple of bored guests at a normal party.

Lemon beamed at your words snapping you back to the present. He had insisted to give you a lift to the airport. It had been a surprise that Tangerine wanted to tag along.

After that mission, you interacted with them a bit more often. You sold the Twins some intel for a task in Bucharest, then accompanied them to a quick negotiation with some gang about a ransom, and once you flew to Canberra to help them deal with a “fucking authentic Diesel” according to Lemon. The Diesel was dealt with before the day was over, and you found yourself patching up both in a tiny safehouse in desperate need of a cleaning. Truth be told, you expected Tangerine to fuss more about your doing when you pressed a cloth against his ribs, but the massive blood loss and possibly some exhaustion made him quiet and almost… collaborative. As quickly as you could you cleaned his wounds and stitched them, noticing for the first time that his skin was warm, and his muscular torso littered with scars and tattoos. Some of them were nice and others had been clearly done after a job. You wished you had the courage to ask him about them.

“For how long have you been doing this job?” you heard yourself asking, instead. An answer wasn’t really expected, but he surprised you “More years I care to remember. Got my first assignment when I was 18.”

Your eyes widened and he almost challenged you to say something. Which you did, and from his expression, it was clear it wasn’t the reply he wasn’t expecting “It must have been hard. But no wonder you are such a skilled hitman, after all.” A beat of silence, and then he snorted “Are you going to make us pay extra for the nursing service?” You looked him in the eyes, noticing a mischievous grin dancing on his face. Repressing your equally wide one was hard “Of course. And if you don’t stop moving, Tangerine, I’ll double the price.” Tangerine’s laugh was unexpected. It was nice and warm, boyish, in a certain way. You scolded yourself for thinking something kind about him. You berated yourself even more in the weeks after that chat when you finally admitted to yourself how enjoyable it had been to have him pleasantly talking to you, and how nice his skin had felt under your fingers.

You weren’t utterly surprised when the Twins recruited you for another mission. Nothing too big, they said, but they needed someone expert in recognising a counterfeit document. You weren’t sure what to expect from Tangerine after Canberra, but it was disappointing to see he had retreated again into his shell, barely talking to you.

You flew from London to Paris, and he seemed lost in thought, leaving you and Lemon to chat and occasionally glancing at him. They had booked an elegant hotel suite near the Tour Eiffel, and you couldn’t contain your enthusiasm about it. The enthusiasm slightly faded after dinner, when Lemon out of nowhere asked you if you ever carried a gun with you. Tangerine and he had already had a first contact with the gang boss who had the document they needed to inspect, and when they returned to the hotel where they left you the Twins were clearly annoyed and wary.

“No,” you replied, pulling your eyes away from the enchanting view of Paris at night “I don’t usually need a weapon, so I don’t have one. As you could see, my style is more… a sneaky one.” “Did you ever hold one, though?”“Of course, I held a gun before!” you replied, indignantly, hands planted on your hips. Lemon nodded “Cool, and did you ever shoot anyone?”

You hesitated and Tangerine scoffed from behind his book. Your cheeks flushed in annoyance and a hint of embarrassment. Lemon was kinder to you “That’s alright, I’d say you have been lucky if you never had to kill anyone. However,” he said while taking out a second gun from his holster “you’ll need to learn. Just in case.” “I thought this was going to be an easy job.” Tangerine’s voice intervened calmly “It will be easier if we don’t have to worry about you strolling around without protection. Lemon has a fucking “bad feeling” about it.” Lemon didn’t seem to care for his brother's sceptical attitude and just nodded in agreement.

You weren’t too pleased that their afternoon meeting risked putting you in a situation where you were going to need protection. Shooting was not definitely something you were eager to do. Killing, even less.

There was a precise reason you had decided to stick with theft, spying, and selling information here and there, and that was because you didn’t think you had in yourself the will to end someone else’s life. Destiny may had forced you in this peculiar field, but you had sworn to yourself you would stir away from troubles as much as possible.

Maybe collaborating with the Twins was a terrible idea, after all. Troubles seemed to like and follow them, and you knew – you feared – it was only a matter of time before you got involved in a situation you were unequipped to handle. Not that it was your intention to say that out loud. Tangerine would probably mock you forever and possibly gloat at finding out you were so scared at the mere thought of shooting. Apparently unaware of your internal conflict, Lemon brought you to the other side of the suite. A good chunk of time passed before he declared his satisfaction after teaching you how to properly hold a gun and keep the correct pose “You are not bad at this. I think you could actually hit a possible target, if they don’t move too much.”

You nodded, not trusting your voice, and handed out the weapon to him.

“Keep it,” he shrugged “just in case.”

Your thanks were sincerely grateful, but you so much hoped the gun wouldn’t be needed.

Except that you ended up needing it. Someone snitched on your trio, possibly one of the many enemies the Twins had made in the field. The meeting set up to allow you to inspect this infamous piece of paper was a trap, and guns appeared everywhere.

Tangerine pushed you beyond a staircase, shouting at you to not move from there, before running to help Lemon. It had been when you thought that the worse was passed that you saw a man getting up from the floor, grabbing a shotgun laying next to him. Your hands moved before your brain could process the thing. One moment that man was aiming at the Twins, and the moment after you were pulling the trigger of the little gun Lemon had given you.

The sound was so loud it hurt your ears.

The man fell on the ground with a sinister thud. The blood slowly started to spread under him. He was dead. You had killed him. Someone was talking to you and you swallowed the bile in your throat, trying to focus on the voice suddenly so close to you. “It’s okay, darling. Give me the gun now, it’s over.” You ignored Tangerine’s voice could be so gentle. He quickly grabbed the weapon from your frozen fingers, passing it to Lemon and not letting your hands go “Good girl. Look at me. We gotta move, alright?” You nodded once, your head spinning, and Tangerine’s free hand cupped your face “He deserved it, I promise. You did well, so, so well.” Unsure of what answer would be appropriate, you followed him when he gently tugged you, his arm resolutely holding you against his side, his body shielding your eyes from keep staring at the corpse on the floor.

Lemon’s smile was as gentle as his brother’s grip around your shoulders when he opened the car door for you “Tangerine is right, you did nothing wrong. You saved our lives!”. The drive back to the hotel was unnaturally silent and keeping your body’s trembles at bay was the only thing distracting you from the thought of what you did.

Lemon proclaimed he needed a shower as soon as you set foot in the suite, and with great surprise, Tangerine didn’t go to his bathroom. Instead, he forced you to sit on the velvety sofa and gave you a glass of whiskey. His hands around yours, he helped you drink a sip of two. It was disgusting, but the warmth it spread in your limbs was welcomed. Tangerine smiled at you, tentatively “I need to shower as well. I suggest you do the same. It… helps, trust me.” It helped a bit, but the echo of the shot was still in your brain and the sight of the dead man planted in your brain when you reached them in the living room, seeing they had the room service deliver a dinner you barely touched. Nobody talked much and you felt their eyes checking every single movement. Lemon called your name “We are sorry things went shit like that.” You nodded, sipping a bit of water “It’s ok, I should have expected that sooner or later – well, it was meant to happen, right?”

That night you couldn’t sleep. Clearly. Maybe crying would have helped, but your throat felt dry and constricted, your eyes even worse. You were frozen in shock and fear. The bedroom seemed too little and the ceiling too close. With a gasp, you threw your covers away and quickly walked in search of fresh air. Tangerine was laying against the balcony’s railing in the living room. You hesitated, but he turned sensing your presence and motioned for you to go to the terrace with him.

“Can’t sleep?” a flicker of light sparked in the night and he lit his cigarette with expert gestures “Want one, love?” You didn’t know if it was his unexpectedly kind voice, or the fact that he used a pet name, or the fact that it felt as if the two of you were the only ones awake in the entire city, but you couldn’t answer, a painful lump of tears forming in your throat. You just hoped that the relative darkness of the terrace was enough to hide your distraught state.

“Perhaps I should go – I should go back inside,” you murmured, clearing your throat and clasping together your shaking hands. It was not a surprise, but a real shock when Tangerine took a step closer to you, his hands gently enveloping yours to steady them. You felt everything at once, your eyes finally swelling with tears, your lip wobbling, cheeks flushed in mortification and a not little amount of pleasure in having him so close, despite everything.

A huge sob escaped your contracted lips regardless of your valiant efforts to compose yourself.

Tangerine paused the tiniest fraction of a second before taking you in his arms. Pressing your face in the gentle curve where his neck met his shoulder, you wept and sobbed for what it felt an hour. Only when your sobs started to slow down enough for you to take a quivering breath, you realized Tangerine’s hand was moving in slow circles on your back, the other one lightly holding the back of your head. You knew you shouldn’t have lingered against Tangerine letting him softly cradle you, let alone closed your eyes focusing on your heartbeats.

Surely, he was going to recover from that moment of weakness soon enough, pushing you away and hurting your feelings. Feelings that you are too tired to hide anymore, at least to yourself. Pressing your forehead against his shoulder, you wondered when it happened, exactly. When did you develop feelings for him? When did you start hoping he would text or call about a job just to have the resemblance of a contact?

You should have known you were heading in that direction the moment you jumped on an airplane to Australia just because he was there. You should have suffocated whatever you felt but you couldn’t, and now your heart was at risk to be broken. You sighed against him. It was stupid, but oh you were so ready to take the risk.

“Better?” His voice was tender, tickling your temple. You straightened your shoulders, gently pushing against his body “A bit, yes. I’m sorry.” His hands slipped from your nape and your back, just to lend on your elbows, not really allowing you to go too far away from him “What the fuck are you sorry for, love?”

You laughed despite yourself at his quizzical face and choice of words, a solitary tear dropping down your cheek with the movement. Tangerine caressed it away with his thumb, following an imaginary path util he could reach your lower lip, slowly stroking it. The fire under your skin roared alive, making you feel giddy and tingly.

He slowly bent over, clearly giving you time to stop him, to walk away as you should have done if either of you had an ounce of common sense.

Tiptoeing, you instead surged forward, quickly mimicking his previous gesture, and grabbing his nape with shaking fingers.

His pleased laughter died against your lips, when you opened them for him, swallowing his thrilled groan, your doubts, the horror of that day. Every caress of his hands had you feel more centred again. Every swipe of his tongue against yours had you moan and push away bad thoughts. You wanted everything he could give you, and he felt so willing to indulge you.

Tangerine backed you up against the wall, keeping you pressed between the marble surface and his body, squeezing you so tight you weren’t sure off where he started and you ended.

“I’m so fucking sorry I pulled you into this mess,” he panted, his lips kissing every inch of your face he could reach “and you shouldn’t be around us. I can’t guarantee you it won’t happen again, love.”

“I know,” you replied breathlessly “I know. But you didn’t pull me, I decided to -”

He kissed you again, almost ferocious and then he breathed his confession against your swollen lips “I did it. Lemon didn’t want to get you involved this time, he suspected something was off before we arrived here. But -“

Tangerine stopped, his moustache twitching with the nervous movements of his lips “I wanted to see you and I didn’t want to simply pop up at your home and ask you out. Couldn’t risk embarrassing myself if you told me to fuck off, could I?”

You couldn’t hide your surprise and he grunted “I understand if you don’t want to have anything to do with me ever again. If I had listened to my brother... but you know how I am, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do,” you nodded slowly, hands caressing his handsome face “you are stubborn and have the mouth of a sailor, and care for the ones you love more than you care for yourself.”

“A pretty flattering portrait,” he smiled, grasping your wrist and pressing his mouth there.

“What happened wasn’t your fault. Or Lemon’s. You were right to mock me because I don’t usually carry a gun with me. I’ve been naive for too long, for someone working on this kind of job.”

“I wasn’t mocking you. I was laughing at myself, because you are too good for this life, too innocent, and I’m a dangerous man who does terrible things, and I should just tell you to fuck off and never return, you know?”

You nodded “Yes, but I wouldn’t listen to you if you tried.”

“Yeah, I feared that much.”

You hugged him, needing to let him know that you wanted this - him - as much as he did. Things weren’t going to be easy all the time, but you genuinely thought you could build something glorious together.

“Tangerine?”

“Yes, love?”

“As soon as we are back home, you are going to properly ask me out, ok?”

“More than ok.”

He sealed the promise with a kiss. You were in this together.