#i haven’t in any way been Trying to lose weight

[fingertipsmp3]

Diet culture is actual nonsense to be honest. People in my life keep telling me “oh you look like you’ve lost weight!” I’ve literally only lost 3 kilograms since the doctor weighed me, calculated my BMI and told me I was obese. It’s just that I run now and eat a lot more protein and am building muscle

[luveline]

Hi, if you have time and any interest, would you write bombshell!reader comforting Spencer after the Maeve arc? Like maybe she’s the only one he lets in, and she just holds him and lets him cry and puts him first.

Will totally understand if you’d rather not/don’t reply!

ty for requesting!! <3 —You come home from months away to find Spencer in love and grieving, so you do what you can. fem, 2k

You didn’t expect Spencer to fall in love while you were gone, but you can’t begrudge him. Not for having feelings for someone who isn’t you, and certainly not for losing her. 

You love him, and you’re his friend first. 

Your shoes make sharp but steady sounds on the stairs up to his apartment. His building is old but not rundown, lacquered wooden bannister smooth under your hand, his front door immaculate, though the hallway is busy with baskets. There’s ribbon and cellophane everywhere. It’s a sorry sight. 

You haven’t brought Spencer anything besides dinner. Unlike yourself, you take in the offerings of his friends and worry you aren’t as caring as you think you are. 

Not that he seems in the mood to accept it. 

You look down at your mary jane’s and wonder if you’re doing any of this stuff right. Spencer doesn’t even know you’re back in the country, let alone the state. Perhaps he has no interest in seeing you after this long apart, and after such a tragedy. Who wants to see their too flirty friend when they’ve just lost a real love? 

You hike the tote up your shoulder. In a chequered skirt and a simple white t-shirt, you’re underdressed. The pasta you’d made and hurriedly wrapped up burns your hip where the bag rests against you, and you have to make a choice now. Let it burn you, standing and staring morosely at Spencer’s door, or face rejection. 

You only need to hear his voice. He can leave your pasta out here on the floor if he likes. What’s important is that he’s still alive in there. 

You knock on the door. 

Nothing. Complete silence. 

Nudging aside a basket of dried fruits, you try again. A simple rat-tat-tat. 

“Hey, Spencer?” you ask too quietly. 

He won’t hear you through the door. Your voice might as well be a whisper if he’s in his bedroom with the door closed. 

“Spencer, are you okay, my love?” you ask, louder.

You wince at yourself. My love couldn’t be more raw. 

“Sweetheart, I’m just here to see if you’re okay,” you say, knocking again, before leaving your hand to rest on the door. You lean forward, forehead kissing dark wood. 

You can’t hear anything on the other side. 

“Spencer,” you say with a reluctant swallow, “if you’re home, can you tell me? You don’t have to let me in. Just come to the door.” 

Penelope said he hasn’t texted her back for days. Derek said he’d answered the phone once or twice, but beyond that he’s silent. You had a nightmare on the plane home that you’d come back to find him as he’s found his poor girl, or that he’d turn to old vices, or that he’d finally give up. He’s been strong through every horrible thing thrown his way, and now he’s all alone again—

The door opens slowly. You stand up straighter, your surprise a whack to the chest as your heartbeat picks up. 

Spencer stands at the door. He looks more tired than you’ve ever seen him, his dark circles bruised like wine stains under his eyes, even his eyelids red and sore looking. His lips are almost colourless, they're so chapped, and his pyjama pants have deep, deep wrinkles at the knees. 

“Hi,” you say. “Spencer, how are you?” 

His voice rings with disuse. “You’re here.” 

“Came straight home when they told me,” you say softly, honestly. “I knew I had to see you. To make sure you’re okay.” 

“I’m not okay.” 

“I know.” You don’t know if it’s okay to ask to come in, if he’ll close the door at the suggestion, so you don’t. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” You put weight in the wrong places, too much on I’m, not enough on so. “I can’t imagine it. I would never wish this for you, never.” 

“You were in Brazil.” 

“I was.” 

He must be tired of people asking if he’s okay, yet it wants to be asked. You bite it down, and instead offer what may be the key to getting in, or a quick dismissal. 

“I made dinner for you, angel,” you say. You choose the pet name more carefully. He used to call you angel to make you feel better. “It’s just pasta, I tried not to make it too heavy in case you're nauseous.” 

“I feel so sick,” he says. 

Spencer’s curse is that he probably knows why he feels sick, and he probably knows a hundred different remedies or medications or prayers to get rid of it, but nothing can get rid of this feeling. You can be the smartest man alive and you’ll never outfox grief. 

“Will you come in?” he asks.

You breathe a short, unbidden sigh of relief. He steps aside to let you in, and you gaze around at his shock of mess, books and blankets and furniture all in the wrong places, but it’s to be expected, and it doesn’t bother you beyond that empathetic hum of hurt tucked under your ribs. You approach his couch covered in books and put your tote bag atop them, turning to tell Spencer you’ll just quickly move these aside, and stopping dead when you see him. The door closed, his face pale, Spencer looks like everything is crumbling down around him. He looks horrified to have to watch, and he looks as sick as he’d confessed. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” you say, meaning it at its surface value. You’re sorry you were in a different country while he faced this alone. Beyond everything you’ve shared, you’re supposed to be his friend, and in a way you’ve let him down. “Please forgive me if you can, Spencer.” 

He nods tightly. 

“Let me move some of this stuff and we can sit down together, is that okay? Or do you need to go back to bed?” 

“It’s okay.” 

You do it without the grace his precious books deserve, lugging armfuls of them onto the floor, no time for tidying. You make spacious room for him and you, and your gesture gently for him to come and sit, fingers moving through the air slowly with the suggestion; he doesn’t have to listen if he doesn’t want to. 

What is it about you that Spencer would let you in before anyone else? That he’d sit and watch you until you sat down, that his shoulders relax ever so slightly when you settle, your thighs aligned? 

Maybe he needs someone who wasn’t there to watch it happen, and maybe you’re like family. You and Spencer may not be in love, but you love one another. Seeing him like this has you wishing you could fix it for him so keenly it’s like your hands are bruised. Pins and needles eat your fingers as you hold a hand to his elbow. 

“What can I do?” you ask, murmuring so as not to disturb the quiet room. 

“Nothing, I’m sorry. I don’t have anything for you to do, I just…” He squeezes his eyes closed. “I just wanted to see you. You’re the only person who– who–”

His voice lifts to a strangled high pitch as he covers his eyes with one hand. 

“Can I give you a hug?” you ask. 

He nods into his hand but doesn’t move. You have no qualms with making yourself big, wrapping him up, and guiding his hand away from his scrunched up face to hold you back. 

You’re pretty pristine with hugs, as they go. You’re a soft touch. So Spencer holds you tightly and you cradle the back of his head, aware that you’re not who he really wants to be hugging, but okay with it nonetheless. “I’m so sorry,” you say, mouth to the top of his head, your hand stroking with light touches against the nape of his neck. “Spencer, it’s not fair.” 

He starts shaking in your arms. 

“The only time I got to talk to her face to face was with a gun to her head,” he says, his eye hot where it’s squished to the bottom of your cheek. 

“Honey, you had something special,” you say, sort of guessing, because you had no idea Spencer was even talking to someone. Everything you know about the situation you learned from Hotch, but you can read from his level of distress how much she meant to him. “You don’t need to have been face to face to have shared something like that. Love is about connection, and I’m so sorry you don’t get to see her, but you– I’m sorry. You didn’t get all the time you deserved.” 

You’d been trying to say that it doesn’t matter if he saw her or not, that their relationship was just as real no matter what, but you know he’s not just mourning her, but the possibility of a life with her he won’t get now. 

“I tried everything I had to save her,” he says. 

“I know you did. Sometimes we can’t do anything. It’s not your fault.” 

He makes a low sound. He’s a quiet crier, sniffling and shaking against your neck. 

You love him. Finding out he had a girlfriend was like being stabbed in the chest, an instant sickness, but finding out that she died? To see him in this much pain cuts deeper than a split second of thinking he’d moved on. 

“You did everything you could. You did the best that you could. Spencer, you could’ve done everything right and she still wouldn’t have made it, because the world is cruel. This isn’t your fault.” 

“It’s always gonna be my fault,” he says. 

“No, it won’t be.” 

“It will! I’m like a curse, we all are.” 

You don’t know what to say. You consider offering placatives, but they’d be empty, and Spencer would know. Instead, you scratch a hand through his curls and try your best to be gentle. 

“Well, I’m here for you. I know you know you have a whole team of people who want to be there for you, but I mean it, Spence. You can tell me everything. I’m here for you and I’m not leaving again.” 

“You don’t have to go back?” 

“I’m staying here.” For as long as you need me goes unsaid. 

Spencer should rely on the kindness of all of his friends, and not just you. He needs love. Grief is going to eat him alive, just like it did with Emily; he’ll need everything from everyone, and, no offence to your friends and coworkers, you’re the most committed to giving it to him. 

“I never should’ve left,” you say quietly, “but things are different now. You’re my best friend, Dr. Reid.” Your tone turns more playful. “I don’t cook for just anybody, you know?” 

Maybe it’s a bit cringeworthy, but you really want him to stop crying. 

He laughs weakly and wetly into your collar. “I don’t think I can eat it. I just throw everything back up.” 

Aw, honey, you think. “How about a thin soup? I can make you something without any heavy creams. I make the best chicken soup around.” 

“Do you?” he asks. 

You want to kiss his cheek as you would’ve before you left, but things really are different now. You settle for patting his shoulder. “I do. We’ll have chicken soup, and some fresh bread, and– and you won’t have to pretend you aren’t miserable. Promise. You can be as sad as you want, honey, I just wanna sit with you and make sure it doesn’t get too much.” 

“Thank you,” he mumbles. 

“It’s okay.” You don’t want a thank you. “I’m glad to be home. Do you think you can get dressed? Let’s go get some stuff for dinner.” 

Spencer, to your relief, gets up to get changed without complaint. He checks you’re still on the couch a few times from the doorway of his room. You have no plans on straying far. 

[verstappenverse]

Not Over Yet

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: In the heat of a painful argument, you declare that your relationship with Max is over, leaving him desperate to hold on.

1.3k words / Masterlist

The deafening silence of the Monaco apartment was suffocating. The echoes of the fight still rang in the air long after the words had been spoken. Max sat on the edge of the couch, his fingers gripping the fabric so hard his knuckles were white. You stood across the room arms wrapped tightly around yourself, as if trying to hold everything together.

“We’re over, Max.” The words hung heavy in the room, each one feeling like a stone dropped into a deep well.

He looked up, his blue eyes wide with shock and disbelief. “What?” His voice was low, barely above a whisper, as if he couldn’t believe what he had just heard.

You turned away from him, unable to face the hurt in his eyes. The hurt that mirrored your own. “I said, we’re done. I can’t—” You struggled to keep your voice steady. “I can’t keep doing this.”

The argument had started hours ago—something small, something insignificant that had spiralled out of control like it always did these days. The never-ending travel, the constant pressure. You knew what you were signing up for when you fell for him, but lately, it felt like everything else in your life had taken a backseat. There were always missed dinners, cancelled plans, and nights where you felt like the third wheel to his love affair with the track.

Max’s eyes hardened for a moment, his pride kicking in as he stood up and paced the length of the living room. “You think I don’t give enough to this relationship?” He snapped, his voice rising. “I work my ass off every day, trying to make sure we have everything. I’m always thinking of you, even when I’m on the track. I—”

“It’s not about the money or the success, Max!” you interrupted, your voice breaking. “It’s about us. About how I feel like I’m always second to everything else in your life. Like I’m not as important.”

Max stopped in his tracks, his back to you as he exhaled sharply. He raked a hand through his tousled hair, trying to calm his emotions. “That’s not fair,” he muttered, his voice quieter now, but still laced with frustration.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, feeling the tears threatening to spill over. “What’s not fair is me feeling alone when you’re standing right next to me.”

He turned to face you, the anger in his eyes replaced with something softer. But it was too late. You couldn’t bear to look at him any longer. The weight of your decision pressed down on your chest, and you took a deep breath before you spoke again.

“We’re over,” you whispered. The finality in your voice made it feel real. “We have to be.”

Max’s face went pale. He took a step toward you, but stopped himself his hands twitching at his sides. He looked at you, really looked at you, for what felt like the first time in weeks. “You…you don’t mean that.”

“I do.” You choked on the words as soon as they left your lips. You didn’t mean it. Not really. But you couldn’t keep living in the shadows, couldn’t keep pretending like everything was fine when it wasn’t.

Max’s heart hammered in his chest the fear of losing you clawing at his throat. He had faced impossible races, gut-wrenching crashes, the pressure of the world’s expectations—but nothing compared to the panic that gripped him now. The thought of losing you of truly being without you, was something he couldn’t handle.

He shook his head slowly, refusing to accept what you were saying. “No. No, we’re not over.”

You blinked back the tears, confused by the certainty in his voice. “Max, you can’t just—”

“I’m not letting you go,” he interrupted, his voice firm but low, almost pleading. “I know I’ve been…distracted. I know I haven’t been there the way I should. But you don’t get to decide we’re done. You can’t just give up on us. Not like this.”

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The apartment felt too small, too full of emotions that neither of you could control.

You felt your defences crumbling, your heart aching at the sincerity in his voice. But the hurt was still too raw. “It’s not that simple, Max.”

Max closed the distance between you in a few quick strides, his hands coming up to gently cup your face, forcing you to look at him. His touch was warm grounding you in a way only he could.

“Listen to me,” he said, his voice softer now, desperate. “I know I’ve made mistakes. But I love you. You. You’re not second to anything. You never were. I’m an idiot for making you feel that way, but please…please don’t give up on us.”

You wanted to believe him, wanted to let the walls you had built around your heart crumble. But the fear was still there—the fear that things wouldn’t change, that this would be your life forever, always wondering if you were enough.

Max’s thumb gently brushed away a tear that had slipped down your cheek, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hope. “I can’t lose you,” he whispered, his voice cracking just slightly. It was rare to see Max like this, so raw, so open.

You closed your eyes trying to steady your breathing, trying to find the words to say. “Max, I just… I don’t know if I can keep going like this.”

He pulled you closer his forehead resting against yours as he took a deep, shaky breath. “Then tell me what to do. Tell me how to fix it. I’ll do anything.”

His words were sincere, and you could feel the desperation in his voice. It wasn’t like Max to beg, to be so vulnerable, and it only made your resolve weaken further.

“I don’t want us to be over,” you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I don’t want to feel like I’m always competing for your attention either.”

Max pulled back slightly, his hands still gently holding your face as he looked into your eyes. “You’re not competing. I love what I do, but I love you so much more. There’s no competition.”

It was the first time he had ever said it so clearly, so bluntly and it took your breath away.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I forgot about what really matters. You. Us. I swear to you, I’ll do better. I’ll make time for us.”

His sincerity was undeniable, and for the first time in a long time you felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe things could change. Maybe you could find a way to make it work.

You let out a shaky breath, leaning into his touch. “I don’t want to lose you either Max.”

Relief washed over his face and he pulled you into a tight embrace, holding you like he was afraid you might slip away if he let go. “You won’t. I promise you won’t.”

For a long moment you stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms the weight of the fight slowly lifting as you both began to breathe a little easier. The future was still uncertain, and there would be more challenges ahead, but for now you were both willing to try.

And for the first time in a long time, it felt like the two of you were on the same team.

Max pulled back slightly, his lips brushing against your forehead. “We’re not over,” he said softly, as if he needed to hear it out loud.

You nodded, resting your head against his chest listening to the steady beat of his heart. “We’re not over.”

[lottiies]

ALL THAT GRACE, ALL THAT BODY

→ you wash the grime off your boyfriend’s body after he returns from a mission!!

CW: x gn!reader, fluff, established relationship, i think that’s it!!

WC: 800+

NOTE: i didn’t really imagine this with any leon in particular ˃ᴗ˂ just a short fic hehe i haven’t really written anything in a while…let there be no typos

MASTERLIST

Kissing and sex can be casual, in some cases. Hook up culture and games like seven minutes in heaven and truth or dare allow for them to be. In the heat of the moment, specks of unique imperfections are completely missed.

There is nothing casual, however, about the act of running your hands through someone’s skin and hair with the intent of cleaning them and nurturing them back to a better state. It’s the exact scene that played behind a particular shower curtain.

A chaste kiss was pressed against the mole on his neck, and another one landed on the healed up scar tissue on his shoulder. Steamy water washed away your gentle touches, leaving a blank canvas for you to adorn with affection over and over again.

For the most part, Leon didn’t speak much during this unless you voiced the thoughts in your head, he was too caught up in enjoying your caresses. The only think he requested was for there to be no talks about his missions and work while in the shower, he wanted to focus on you and not the hell he just returned from. Thankfully, he didn’t return too battered up this time. Just a couple nips and bruises, nothing fractured or broken like other unfortunate times.

His skin was already reddening just a tinge from the temperature, similar to the shade he turned whenever you littered gentle nips against his neck. But he always asked for the water to be turned up high, he was used to it. Before he met you he had felt so lonely and hot water had always been a comfort for him. Plus, colder water just reminded him of when he’d try to sober up after some drinks, terrible terrible times.

“You know the drill! Close your eyes for me.”

His eyelashes fluttered as he followed your instructions. Hands perched themselves on your hips so he wouldn’t lose his balance. You began threading your shampoo lathered palms and fingers through his hair, gently rubbing his scalp.

“Mm…” He purred contentedly, his tense shoulders relaxing. Leon was almost tempted to slump against you, would you hold him until the end of times? He’d like to think the answer is yes. “You should work in one of those uh…what’s the name? Those…head spa places? You’d put others out of business.”

“Yeah? Does it really feel that good?”

“Y’know, you ask me that every time, hell yes. Feels like my brain is turning to mush. Careful sweetheart, I might just topple over you.”

“Pfft.”

You pushed all his hair back. He looked otherworldly. One look at him, and no one would believe that he’s a man keeping the world safe with a mountain’s weight of survivor’s guilt on his shoulders. How could he look so tranquil?

It was no use, you shook the thought away. You’d ask him another time.

“It kinda pisses me off how good-looking you are.” You whisper to him, washing the residue of shampoo off your hands before cupping his face. Once upon a time, his cheeks had been more sunken in. But they had gotten fuller being in a relationship with you.

“When did you become such a flatterer?” He asked, the corner of his lips twitching into a smile. Just a subtle one.

“I dunno, maybe the moment I laid eyes on you.” You tug him more towards the water, washing away the shampoo from his hair as he lowered his head. “I’m pretty hard to please y’know…got really high standards.”

“No way I met all of them.”

“Passed with flying colors. You raised the bar a bit, actually. Think you’ve got me wrapped around your finger for eternity.”

With a washcloth, you cleaned the expanse of his skin, leaving it smelling faintly of rosemary. Your water bill is begging you to hurry your pace, but you went as slow as a snail.

Thank God he could finally open his eyes again, there was nothing he loved more than having his sight on you.

If only you could see yourself from his perspective. He saw everything. The way you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth while you did your best to wash around one of his wounds, you didn’t need to be so gentle with him but you were anyway, and the glimmer in your eyes when you took a brief peek at his face.

“Sorry, baby…” Your murmur was accompanied by a wince when you thought you rubbed too harshly. It felt like a tickle to him though, nothing more, and he reassured you of that.

One minute turned into five, then five into ten, then ten into fifteen. Ten of those minutes were dedicated to cherishing the body that belonged to the recipient of your adoration.

The white noise of running water came to an end with a twist of your wrist. He pulled you close, curling his fingers under your jaw as he leaned in to kiss your lips. It was a small token of appreciation for how tender you always were with him. Droplets from his hair fell onto you, for some reason it felt intimate. “Thanks…I feel as good as new.”

“You should get some shut eye after this, when’s the last time you slept?”

“Been a while.” God, he didn’t even remember. His assignment had been long and frankly he hadn’t had the luxury of resting.

Leon shook his head before scrunching his hair with a smaller towel that hung from the curtain rod, some of the water on his hair went flying.

“Bad dog!” You couldn’t help but giggle.

He shot you an amused huff. “Yeah yeah, my bad.”

Accepting love had been hard, but you were full of it and oh so willing to give it that Leon had grown to depend on you.

Maybe you and him were meant for one another.

[makethemhoesmad]

love you till my lungs give out

paige bueckers x reader

word count- 2k(lord)

notes: this fic was such a great write for me, as it focuses around eating disorders, which is something i’ve personally struggled with. i know this is a sensitive topic, so please, if this makes you uncomfortable, scroll away, or read at your own risk.

thanks to: literally the biggest thanks ever to @melpthatsme for dming me your idea and helping me work through it, i really could not have done this without you, so everyone thank them

also thanks to @imaginespazzi and @bueckersstrap for reacting to my random messages about this

—

the first time it happened, i barely realized i did it.

“paigey, my head hurts so bad right now. like, im gonna die right here,” i groan, hiding my face in the fabric of her hoodie, trying to lock out any stray amounts of light coming from the covered windows. she runs her hand through my hair, and starts to ever-so-gently massage my temples. i sigh in quiet relief, and then she tries to pull me up to lay on top of her.

“uh uh, paige, no,” i say. i try to shake my head at her, but a bolt of pain flies through me, forcing my head back down.

“jus’ tryna help you get comfy, ma,” she whispers, bundling me up in a blanket and pulling me back into her side. she moves her warm hands up and under my t-shirt, but i squirm about, complaining that they’re too cold, even though i’ve never felt anything more soft and warm, so she moves them back over my shirt. but i don’t notice it, not really. and neither does she.

the second time, i know what i did.

“so, what should we order to eat?” paige asks, scrolling on her phone for different options. 

“mm, what if i cooked here, for something different! i can make you a grilled cheese,” i joke, nudging her arm with my shoulder. “that’s all i know how to cook anyway.”

she giggles, standing up with me and following me to the kitchen. she hoists herself onto the counter, and watches me intently as i pull out the things for a sandwich. i grin at her, moving to step in between her legs and take her face in my hands. 

“you’re so cute,” i say, pressing a kiss to her nose. she hops off of the counter and follows me to the stove. paige is just too sweet to me sometimes. i’m cooking dinner for her, the least i can do, really, and she’s cozied up behind me, arms around my waist her hands are barely touching, she can barely fit them around me and her chin is resting softly on my shoulder. she’s pressing light pecks to whatever area she can reach, and i feel at peace, in the kitchen, for a few moments. then it stops.

“why aren’t you making one for yourself baby?” she asks, spinning me around to lean me against the countertop, forgetting her sandwich beside her.

“i’m feeling, um, nauseous,” i stutter, stumbling over the excuse. she lets me go, though she looks skeptical.

“cmon, just have a bite of mine then. baby, you really need to eat more, that’s probably why you haven’t been feeling very well lately.”

i allow her to feed me a small bite, then quickly use my fingers to silently add that to whatever else i ate today. i read somewhere that to lose weight, you need to burn more calories that you eat. tomorrow, i need to burn around 800. Well, 804 now. 

the third time, i think paige noticed something was up.

“ma, this is literally the fourth time you’ve said that you’re cold. just take my fucking hoodie, i’m actually begging you,” she pleads, taking it off and offering it up to me. i shake my head, again, and press myself further into her chest, rubbing my arms to try and make the goosebumps disappear. she pulls me into her, then moves her mouth to my ear.

“is everything okay baby? do you wanna go home?” she whispers, nuzzling my neck with her nose. i shrug, not wanting to make her leave if she wasn’t done chatting with people yet. she makes the decision for me, standing up and tugging me with her. her hand finds its way to the small of my back, and she guides me towards the door. i sway slightly as we stand, blood rushing to my head. i take it as my lack of protein, or anything really, catching up to me. she stops walking, lurching to grab me by both shoulders and bend to eye level with me.

“darling, i want you to be honest with me. what have you eaten today?” i shake my head, feeling my cheeks going red at the thought of her confronting me. i look down, trying to avoid eye contact with her as my eyes fill with tears. she wraps me up into a hug, planting a kiss to the top of my head. she pulls me to the car and helps me in, then climbs into her own door, but makes no move to turn the car on. instead she pulls out her phone and asks me “so, where do you wanna stop and pick up food on our way home?” 

“paige, i’m really not that hungry, just tired and need to be with you in bed for the night. can we please just go home?” 

she nods, but looks at me skeptically out of the corner of her eye. she must know that all i’ve eaten today is half an energy drink and a piece of gum. i’ll eat something with her tomorrow, i guess. we can go out to lunch together and then when she goes to the gym ill go on a run. then she’ll see that im okay.

the fourth time, or probably the fifth or sixth, really, i don’t notice it, so i don’t think she does either.

“cmere pretty,” paige mumbles, reaching her arms out to me from where she’s laying on the bed. i slowly move to lay next to her, but roll away when she tries to take my sweater off.

“hey, baby, what?” she whines, apparently frustrated by the lack of contact.

“i wanna leave it on, paigey,” i tell her, moving my hand into the waistband of her shorts.

“but i wanna see you, please baby,” i don’t like saying no to her, but this is one thing i very rarely back down on.

“uh uh, sorry. lemme taste you, though,” i respond, moving to tug her shorts down.

“nah, come and sit on my face, cutie.” she smirks at her own words, but i’m not laughing. i scramble off the bed, standing up to black spots in my vision. i stand still, squeezing my eyes shut to get rid of the feeling. i stay there for im not sure how long, when i feel strong arms loop around my shoulders and help me onto the bed. paige helps me lay down, placing my head in her lap, then starts to comb through my hair with her fingers. she doesn’t say anything, and i’m grateful for that. obviously, she just thinks im tired. she knows im okay.

this time, im sure she noticed. it would be hard not to.

i’ve just come home from a run to the gym, dripping in sweat. it’s part of my new routine. i jog a mile and a half to the gym, i walk on a stairmaster or inclined treadmill there, then run home. normally i leave when paige leaves for practice, and come home just as she’s getting home, if not a little before so i can shower before she gets here. today, i must’ve done a little too much, because by the time i walk in the door, my head is spinning. i walk into the kitchen, sitting down at the island and resting my head in my hands, trying to clear my vision. i don’t hear when the door opens.

“baby, are you okay?” i hear. i sit up quickly, startled, then put my head back down immediately, because my vision goes nearly dark again.

“mhm, just tired you know? just got back from a run.” 

“you’ve got to take a rest day sometimes, darling,” she coos, taking my face into her hands and pressing a kiss to my nose. i nod, knowing i won’t do it.

sometimes i don’t realize it, but she knows exactly what to do.

i’ve just finished cooking dinner, just some simple spaghetti and a salad. i place her bowl of noodles in front of her, then settle down with my salad. when i stand up to get a glass of water, then come back, i can’t help but notice she’s switched our bowls.

“paigey, could i, possibly, maybe, have my bowl back?” i ask, trying to seem lighthearted.

“oh, yeah, sure,” she answers, sliding it back towards me. but when i try to slide hers back, she stops me. 

“nah, you eat that too. seems like you forgot to serve yourself noodles, so ill go make myself a new bowl.” she stands up, but i scramble in front of the stove quicker, blocking her way. 

“why would you do that, when i made you a whole bowl? eat it,” i tell her, pointing back to the countertop. she lunges at me, lifting me easily and placing me on the countertop. why would she pick me up? she definitely thought i was too heavy. i bet she leaves after this. she drags her my bowl over, twirls a few noodles onto the fork, and begins to prod my mouth with it. 

“cmon honey, just a bite. it’s not like it’s poison, you literally just cooked it,” she presses. i start to shake my head, so she moves the fork and instead swoops in for a kiss. i return her advances eagerly. hoping it distracts her. she moves her head down, pressing open mouthed kisses to my neck, and my mouth falls open. i don’t realize she’s noticed that until she’s setting the forkful of food between my lips and lightly closing them.

“it’s one bite, ma. let’s get it eaten, then you can be done.” i chew, not really having the choice to run and spit it out. once i swallow, she beams at me.

“such a good girl, baby. i’m so proud of you.”

at some point, she wins

“come here now, baby,” paige demands, grasping me by the waist and yanking me in front of her. i’d been about to climb into the shower when she spotted me through the bathroom mirror, stripped down to nothing. she’d grabbed me, pulled me into my room, and positioned us in front of the full-length mirror to the side.

“you see how perfect you are? how pretty?” she mumbles into my ear. i let my eyes flutter shut as she snakes her hand down my body, stopping to circle her finger over my clit. a groan slips out from my lips, and she stops.

“alright, i want you to keep on looking right in the mirror, ma. want you to see how perfectly you take my fingers.” i writhe against her, trying to keep my eyes open and hold myself up at the same time. she plunges three fingers into me. i cry out, locking eyes with her in the mirror, she smirks, the same way she always does when drawing a climax from me. i go boneless. if she hadn’t been holding me so tightly, i would be on the floor.

“now can you see how amazing you are? you don’t gotta change anything about you, i’ll love you no matter what. you should stop listening to what others say, because people that love you, like me, want you, no matter what you look like. i, personally, think you’re perfect. i’ll love you till the day my lungs give out, and even then, i’ll use my last breath to say it again.”

after that, it happens less often. some days, i still forget to eat, and some days even looking at a scale makes me want to throw up. but paige is always there. she’s always there to hold me, or help me eat just a little bit, or to help me lay down and relax after i’ve panicked so hard ive puked into the toilet. one day, looking at her from across the couch, i realize that when she told me she’d love me no matter what, she was telling the truth.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Can you do Conrad with ‘’Is that my shirt?’’

This was the only gif I could find with this shirt...

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

It had been thirty minutes since you, Taylor, and Belly settled in front of the TV, yet the three of you couldn't come to a unanimous decision on which movie to watch. Well, truth be told, the indecision was mainly between you and Taylor. Belly was happily munching on popcorn, seemingly unfazed by the movie debate.

‘’Mamma Mia,’’ Taylor exclaimed, advocating for the musical movie choice once again.

However, you were quite tired of musicals and Taylor's less-than-perfect singing renditions, especially after enduring La La Land the night before. 

You shook your head. ‘’No, let’s watch 10 Things I hate about you.’’ 

It was one of your favorite movies. You weren’t a huge fan of rom-coms, but the romance was not too cheesy and the soundtrack was immaculate. Kat’s character was also iconic. You’ll never get tired of watching it.

But Taylor persisted, insisting that Mamma Mia would be a perfect summer movie. She looked to Belly for support and the look on Belly’s face told you you were about to lose this debate.

‘’I haven’t watched Mamma Mia in a long time…’’ 

Feeling somewhat defeated, you let out a sigh, realizing you were outvoted. ‘’Mamma Mia it is then,’’ you reluctantly agreed.

Taylor happily set up the movie, grinning and singing along to all of the songs. 

You were half way through it when the front door opened and the boys returned from their party, making a lot of noises as always. 

‘’Seriously, can you guys keep it down? We're trying to watch a movie here,’’ Taylor scolded them, clearly irritated by their untimely return.

‘’What movie?’’ Steven asked, making his way into the living room, seemingly eager to pester Taylor further.

‘’Oh, is that Mamma Mia?’’ Jeremiah’s face lit up, going off and belting one of the songs as he poured himself a glass of milk in the kitchen. 

You couldn't help but laugh at Jeremiah's enthusiasm. He truly was the life of the party. 

‘’It’s girls only, get out,’’ Taylor asserted, determined to keep their movie time uninterrupted.

‘’I want to watch it too,’’ Steven and Jeremiah protested, plopping themselves on the couch next to Belly and attempting to snatch the popcorn bowl from her.

‘’Absolutely not,’’ Belly retorted, holding onto the popcorn tightly, not willing to share.

Steven's attempt to mockingly tease her was met with a sharp comeback from Taylor. ‘’Did you grow tits while you were at the party, Steven?’’ 

Everyone burst into laughter at Taylor’s witty remark, even Conrad who just entered the living room, walking over to the other end of the couch where you were sitting. 

He sat on the length of the chaise, stroking your bare legs as he leaned in for a quick kiss. 

‘’Did you have fun with the boys?’’ you asked, your attention no longer on the movie.

Conrad shrugged. Being the designated driver sucked…and so did that party. No wonder they came home so early. He would have prefered to stay here and hang out with you, but you had already made plans with the girls. 

You stretched and laid your legs over his lap, settling comfortably into the couch. Conrad shook his head, but didn’t say anything. He liked the weight of your legs over his, the casual intimacy of it. 

Your attention was brought back to your friends when Jeremiah and Taylor began dueting ‘Lay all your love on me’ as if they were part of the movie. Taylor still couldn’t sing, but Jeremiah wasn’t too bad. You smiled at them, amused by their antics, and Conrad smiled back at you, his eyes full of affection as his fingers traced gentle patterns on your skin. 

A few scenes later, his attention was drawn to the navy Cousins rowing shirt you were wearing, and he raised an amused eyebrow. ‘’Is that my shirt?’’ he inquired with a grin, realizing it belonged to him.

You hummed. It was slightly oversized on you, but incredibly comfortable. ‘’We went swimming and I wanted something comfortable to wear after.’’ And it smelled like him. ‘’I hope you don’t mind.’’ 

Conrad shook his head. ‘’It looks good on you.’’

—

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[ervotica]

strange fascination

warnings: dark!ellie williams + dark!abby anderson x reader, noncon, DARK, smut (18+ only), threesome, ellie refers to her strap as a ‘cock’, drugging, tribbing, throat fucking, almost somno, r is fucked with a strap, cunnilingus, fem!reader, 1.5k words

kinktober masterlist

It’s slow at first; the way the world slowly starts to tip on its axis. Your vision swims, halted still only by Abby’s hulking presence in front of you on the ragged couch. You sniff and bat away the blunt in her hand, though your movements are disjointed, like your limbs are filled with molasses, heavy and sticky. One of her thick, calloused hands coasts the length of your arm, an action which would soothe you under normal circumstances. But you don’t feel right.

It’s an uneasiness settled in the pit of your stomach, a churning for which the cause is undetermined.

“Abby,” you mumble; your voice won’t stretch any further.

“Yeah, hon’?”

The door to your shabby one bedroom apartment creaks; your heart ticks, loud in your own ears.

You regain some awareness as Ellie latches the door shut and comes to crouch in front of you on the couch watching amusedly as you tilt your head, legs dangling from the edge of the worn fabric.

“Hi, gorgeous,” she smiles, all teeth and dimples. It’s unlike her to be so chipper.

You’re frowning. You don’t realise you’re even doing it before Ellie’s reaching a slender hand out and smoothing the creases in your forehead out.

“She’s quiet.”

You almost answer before you realise she’s not speaking to you.

The bigger girl’s hand settles on the back of your neck and squeezes. She taps your chin, settling the blunt between your lips once more.

“Have some more, baby.”

You cough and gag around the paper, trying to expel the smoke from your lungs even as the two girls encourage you to take more of it in. By the time she lets up, you’ve slumped, glassy eyed against Abby’s side.

You’d never noticed how she towers above you before now; you’ve never felt so small, so vulnerable in her presence, even more so with the other girl to your left. Ellie’s sidled in now she knows you’re still and compliant, the very point of her nose nudging at your jugular with a fervour you haven’t seen before. She nips at your earlobe and you squirm.

“No, stop,” you slur through your honey sticky mouth and slack jaw. “Don’t wanna.”

“Lift her for me, Abs,” Ellie murmurs; her voice suddenly has an edge that makes you uneasy. You moan in protest, too far away to form any words, let alone stop them. Abby’s fingers curl around the back of your neck, drawing you up and into her chest, her other hand against your bum as she lifts you into her lap.

“I know, honey,” she coos, breathless between rough kisses and nips to your exposed neck. “You wouldn’t let us take care of you sober. You should’ve made it easy for yourself. Silly girl.”

Your eyes grow hot and well, tears gathering at your waterline. How could your best friends do something like this to you? Cold hands grope at your ass, Ellie’s fingers fumbling with the button on your jeans and tugging the taut material down your legs.

“Oh, fuck,” she moans. “You’re so hot, baby.”

You grow hot and clammy with nausea. Your eyes feel like they’ve been superglued shut as you blink, peeling your eyelashes from each other.

“We’re losing her, Ellie,” Abby murmurs, undeterred in her mission to free your tits from your tank top. When they spill free, she twists a nipple meanly and grunts.

“‘S okay,” the slender girl laughs, “Don’t need her awake for this part.”

Your head falls limp, dead weight on Abby’s shoulder as she wrestles the tank top up and over you; she balls it up in her fist, discards it on the floor somewhere. Despite your weakness, you’re painfully aware of what they’re doing to you. You’re a prisoner in your own body.

You’re slumped against the muscular girl somewhat unceremoniously, eyes forced shut as Ellie finally pulls your panties aside to get a good look at your dripping cunt.

“Little whore is a liar!” She grins, triumphant. “She’s fuckin’ soaked. You like it.”

You can’t so much as lift your head to answer. Ellie draws your hips back and pushes between your shoulder blades to create a beautiful arch. You feel her thumbs against the crease of your cunt, spreading your petal soft lips to reveal your dripping hole.

“Attagirl, knew you wanted this,” Ellie murmurs.

Your mind goes blank as two of her fingers disappear, engulfed by your swollen lips. “So wet.”

You want to cry and scream and push them away but no movement will come from your body. Abby hooks her hands under your armpits and lays you flat on the couch.

“Don’t be greedy,” she snaps. “I wanna feel her pussy.”

She crouches, dragging your bare lower half until you’re hanging over the lip of the couch with your legs firmly settled over her shoulders. Her biceps bulge where they’re curled round your thighs.

She wastes no time in licking a broad, flat stripe up the entire expanse of your cunt, nosing at your clit and inhaling deeply.

“Fuck, she tastes good.”

Pleasure lights your every nerve ending on fire despite your protests to the situation. If you could kick her, you would.

She eats you out like she’s been starved of it her entire life, slaking her thirst on the almost constant drooling of your cunt. Despite your limited movement, you’re drawing to your peak with a weak cry, the coil drawing tight in your abdomen until Abby slips two fingers into your fluttering hole and you snap.

She grins like she’s the one going mad with pleasure and Ellie, who was previously pinching and twisting at your nipples until they darkened and swelled, dives forward to kiss you.

You lift a wrist in protest and can’t do much else in your current predicament; her tongue invades your limp mouth, your lips numb as hers glide over them. She pulls away gasping.

“Gonna put my cock in you, sweet girl.” She heaves a breath, unbuttoning her own jeans to reveal the silicone strap at her pelvis. You’re like a fish out of water, squirming and choking back a sob as you try to push her away. Abby hooks an arm under your back and you slump, eyes rolling as the effects of the drugs only increase.

The muscular girl sits and spreads her thighs on the couch to situate you with your back to her chest. Ellie looms, menacing over your helpless body as she drags the tip of her strap through your cunt, catching it on your still sensitive button.

When she pushes in you think you black out. Her forehead beads with sweat, nose inches from yours and breath hot as she immediately locates your sweet spot and pummels it with a force you’re not used to. It’s bruising on your cervix, painful in a way that only increases the pleasure they’re forcing onto you.

Abby reaches forward to tweak at your trembling clit, her other hand clasped firmly around your throat as your head lolls against her shoulder with every thrust.

Your body seizes as white hot pleasure shoots through you; you’re frozen with it, limp as an orgasm unlike any one you’ve ever felt before rips through you.

Your eyes flutter closed with a small cry as Ellie pulls out, spreading your lips as your hole gapes and shrinks at the absence of the strap.

Abby throws you to the side as though you’re useless as she strips herself of her bottom half of clothes; once she’s bare, she’s lifting your thighs to slot her own between them, her clit bumping against yours. It burns, the way she rubs against you so forcefully, still raw and swollen from the last two orgasms the girls have pulled from your slack body.

“Make her suck it,” she grunts, motioning for the slender girl to open your mouth. Ellie does just that, prying your lips open to feed her strap, slick and wet with your juices, down your throat.

Your throat bugles at the intrusion; you gag softly around it, and then with more force as you realise she’s not letting up.

“Fuckkk, look at her face!” Abby moans, pressing her clit to yours even harder as she creeps up on her peak.

Your eyes grow heavier as your vision blacks out at the edges; Ellie only pushes deeper into your throat, thumb pressed to the protrusion it makes.

Abby’s thighs tremble around your own and she soaks you, white knuckled where she’s clutching your knees.

You retch and gurgle around Ellie with one final fight to pull away before she takes pity on you. The spit that’s pooled at the corners of your mouth starts to leak down your face.

“That’s enough.” Abby’s tone is final.

The two girls retreat and pull on their clothes so fast you’d think they were being chased. Ellie crouches next to your ruined body and tips your chin up. You vaguely register a glob of spit hitting you in the face.

“Fuckin’ whore,” she spits. Abby’s eyes darken.

“Have some fuckin’ respect, Williams. Let’s go.”

They leave you there, passed out in a puddle of cum and drool, naked and exhausted.

They’ll be back before you know it.

[srslyblvck]

destined heart, five hargreeves [requested]

pairing: five hargreeves x gn!reader

synopsis: You and Five hated each other, everyone knew that. You both bickered like children. So what happens when he’s injured?

genre: fluff

warnings: blood, injuries

word count: 1.7k

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ YOU ALWAYS THOUGHT FIVE was an insufferable jerk. From the moment you met him at the Commission, he got under your skin like no one else. He was arrogant, always had a sharp retort, and acted like he was the only one who knew what he was doing. Unfortunately, he often did. But that didn’t make him any less intolerable. The two of you bickered constantly, throwing insults like daggers, yet when it came to missions, you were unstoppable. The IT duo, they called you. A title that, though you would never admit it, you wore with some twisted pride.

But outside of work? It was a different story. Every moment spent together was a clash of wills, a battle of egos that never seemed to end. You were convinced you hated him, and you were sure he felt the same.

But no matter how much you bickered, you both knew how to get the job done. And that’s what mattered—until it didn’t.

This mission should’ve been routine—track down Cha Cha, take her out, and get back to HQ. But it went horribly wrong. She had the upper hand from the start, and before you knew it, the mission turned into a fight for survival.

You were panting, trying to catch your breath as you glanced around to make sure Cha-Cha was truly gone. A smirk tugged at your lips as you turned to Five, ready to throw out a snarky comment about his reckless fighting style. “Honestly, Five, if you keep fighting like that, I might—"

Your words died in your throat when you saw him. He was hunched over, one hand pressed to his stomach, blood seeping through his fingers. His face was pale, a sheen of sweat on his brow, and his usual sharp eyes were dulled with pain.

“Dammit, Five!” you cursed, rushing to his side. You dropped to your knees beside him, ignoring the way he tried to push you away.

“I’m fine,” he muttered through gritted teeth, his voice tight with pain. “It’s nothing. I can deal with it when I get home.”

“Shut up,” you snapped, swatting his hand away from the wound to assess the damage. He winced as you touched the area, and you could feel him trembling. “You’re barely able to stand, Five. Stop being an idiot.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but you didn’t give him the chance. “I said, shut up,” you repeated, your tone leaving no room for discussion. You weren’t about to let him die on you just because of his stubborn pride.

With no time to waste, you slipped your arm around his waist, helping him up. He was heavier than you expected, and you could feel the strain as you supported his weight. His breathing was labored, and you could tell he was barely holding on.

Your place was the closest, so you half-carried, half-dragged him there, praying you’d make it in time. By the time you reached your door, Five was barely conscious, his body leaning heavily against yours. You managed to get him inside, laying him down on your bed as gently as possible.

“I’ll be right back,” you murmured, rushing to grab your first aid kit. When you returned, Five’s eyes were half-closed, his breathing shallow. Panic tightened your chest, but you forced yourself to focus. You couldn’t lose him—not like this.

You carefully unbuttoned his shirt, trying not to cause him more pain. As you worked, you heard a faint voice from him, barely more than a whisper. “We haven’t even kissed yet, and you’re already undressing me.”

A blush crept up your cheeks, but you didn’t let it distract you. “Shut up,” you said softly, refusing to look him in the eyes. You couldn’t afford to get distracted now.

The wound was deep, just missing his ribcage. You cleaned it as best as you could, working quickly to stop the bleeding and bandage him up. Every few seconds, you glanced at his face, his sickly pale complexion making your stomach twist with fear. Five was never this quiet, never this still. It scared you more than you wanted to admit.

Finally, the wound was bandaged, and you breathed a small sigh of relief. But you knew he wasn’t out of the woods yet. You needed to keep him warm, to make sure he didn’t go into shock. You remembered the sweater he had left at your place—one you had planned to burn out of spite.

You found it quickly, bringing it back to him. With careful hands, you slipped it over his head, guiding his arms into the sleeves as gently as you could. He didn’t complain, didn’t make any snarky comments, and that scared you even more.

Once he was settled, you sat beside him, checking his pulse to make sure he was still alive. It was faint, but it was there. You stared at his face, so pale and unlike the Five you knew. The urge to protect him, to keep him safe, overwhelmed you.

Your mind wandered to Cha-Cha, the one who had done this to him. Rage bubbled up inside you, cold and fierce. You were going to make her pay for what she’d done. No one hurt Five and got away with it. No one.

You stayed by Five’s side until his breathing evened out, and his face regained a bit of color. The bleeding had stopped, and his pulse, though weak, was steady. Relief washed over you, but it was tinged with something darker—an insatiable need for vengeance. Cha-Cha had crossed a line, and you weren’t about to let that slide.

Gently, you slipped a glass of water onto the side table beside him, making sure he had everything he needed before you stood. He was still unconscious, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. For a moment, you allowed yourself to pause, your eyes tracing the sharp angles of his face—the stubborn line of his jaw, the curve of his lips. It was strange seeing him like this, so vulnerable and quiet, without that usual sarcastic edge that made you want to throttle him.

Without thinking, your hand reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. The soft contact made your chest tighten, a feeling you weren’t prepared for.

You quickly pulled your hand back, your brow furrowing as reality crashed down on you. What the hell were you doing? This was Five Hargreeves, your so-called enemy, the person who drove you insane with every word that came out of his mouth. You were supposed to hate him.

Shaking the unsettling feeling off, you straightened up, steeling yourself. There was no time for this, no room for confusion. You had a job to do, and you needed to focus. With one last glance at him, you turned away and left, determination hardening in your chest. It was time to finish this.

The streets were dark as you moved through the shadows, your steps silent but purposeful. You knew where Cha-Cha was hiding; she wouldn’t have gone far, confident in her victory. That confidence would be her downfall.

You found her in an abandoned warehouse, just like you expected. She was cleaning her weapons, humming a tune to herself as if she hadn’t just tried to kill you both. Rage flared in your chest, but you kept it in check, focusing on the task at hand.

“You should’ve stayed down,” Cha-Cha’s voice echoed in the empty space as she noticed you. She didn’t seem surprised, just mildly annoyed. “But I guess I’ll have to finish the job.”

“Not if I finish you first,” you shot back, your voice cold as ice.

She lunged at you, and the fight began. It was brutal and unrelenting, both of you pushing each other to the limit. You dodged her blows with practiced ease, your movements sharp and precise. But she was strong, stronger than you remembered, and every hit she landed sent shockwaves of pain through your body.

You fought through it, every ounce of your being focused on one goal: making her pay. The sound of metal clashing against metal filled the air as you parried her attacks, your heart pounding in your chest. She was relentless, but so were you.

The fight dragged on, your body aching with exhaustion, but you refused to give in. Cha-Cha was grinning now, enjoying the challenge, but you could see the cracks forming in her facade. She was tiring too, her movements slowing just a fraction.

That was all you needed.

With a burst of speed, you managed to disarm her, sending her weapon clattering to the ground. Her eyes widened in surprise, but you didn’t hesitate. You slammed your fist into her face, feeling the satisfying crunch of bone beneath your knuckles. She staggered back, blood pouring from her nose, but she didn’t fall.

“You’re tougher than I thought,” she gasped, wiping the blood from her mouth with the back of her hand. “But it won’t be enough.”

She reached for a hidden knife, but you were faster. You closed the distance between you, grabbing the knife from her hand and driving it into her side. Cha-Cha let out a choked gasp, her eyes wide with shock as she stumbled backward.

“This is for Five,” you hissed, twisting the knife.

Cha-Cha crumpled to the ground, her blood pooling around her as her breaths became shallow. You stood over her, your chest heaving with exertion, but you didn’t feel victorious—just cold. You watched as the life drained from her eyes, the fight leaving her body until she was nothing more than a lifeless corpse.

It was over.

You pulled the knife from her body, wiping the blood on her jacket before sheathing it. You were covered in blood, your clothes stained with it, but you didn’t care. You had done what needed to be done.

As you walked back home, the adrenaline began to wear off, leaving you with a bone-deep exhaustion. You barely registered the stares of those you passed on the street, too focused on putting one foot in front of the other. By the time you reached your door, you were practically on autopilot.

The apartment was quiet when you entered, the only sound the faint rustling of the curtains as a breeze blew through the open window. You made your way to your room, where Five was now awake, sitting up in bed and drinking the glass of water you had left for him.

He froze when he saw you, the glass halfway to his lips. His eyes widened, taking in the sight of you—your face speckled with blood, your clothes drenched in it. “What the hell happened?” he demanded, his voice sharp with concern.

You met his gaze, your expression unreadable. “It’s not mine,” you replied nonchalantly, brushing past him to set the bloody knife on the table.

Five’s eyes narrowed, his concern deepening. “Then whose is it?” he asked, his tone more cautious now.

You waved him off, not wanting to talk about it. “It’s nothing,” you muttered, heading for the bathroom. “I’m going to take a bath.”

Five watched you go, clearly bewildered, but too tired to press further.

When you emerged from the bathroom, your hair damp and a towel draped over your shoulders, you found Five trying—and failing—to stand up. He was clearly still weak, but the stubborn idiot was determined to move around on his own.

You scoffed, knowing how futile his efforts were going to be. “Seriously, Five? You’re not going to make it two steps.”

As if to prove your point, you saw him lose his balance out of the corner of your eye. Without thinking, you sped over to him, catching him just before he could fall. Your arms wrapped around him, holding him steady, and you couldn’t help the exasperation in your voice as you snapped, “You’re such an idiot, you know that?”

Five grumbled something under his breath, but you cut him off with a glare. “No, shut up. You’re not moving until you’re better. I’m not dragging your sorry ass around the house.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re not my mother.”

“And, thank God for that,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “If I were, I’d have kicked your ass a long time ago.”

Five smirked, despite his obvious discomfort. “And I’d have run away ages ago.”

“Well, aren’t you the rebellious type,” you muttered sarcastically, settling back down beside him.

Five glared at you, though it lacked his usual bite. “I’m not some invalid. I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, right,” you shot back, settling him down. “Because you were doing such a great job of it earlier, huh?”

His eyes flashed with annoyance, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest, stubborn as always. “I don’t need your help.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you retorted, rolling your eyes. “You can barely stand, Five. Just… stay put, okay?”

He huffed, turning his head away from you. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

“Oh, trust me, I know,” you replied with a smirk, leaning back against the wall. “But I’m also right, and you hate that.”

Five shot you a sideways glance, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth despite his obvious discomfort. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re a pain in the ass,” you countered, crossing your arms. “But at least I’m not the one who got himself stabbed.”

Five rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of amusement in them now. “You really don’t know when to shut up, do you?”

“Not when I’m right, no,” you shot back, your voice lighter now, the tension easing between you both.

For a moment, there was silence, the usual bickering replaced by something softer, more familiar. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, making sure he was comfortable. He was still pale, but there was color returning to his cheeks, and the fact that he was able to argue with you was a good sign.

“You’re lucky I’m here to save your ass,” you said, breaking the silence with a teasing grin.

Five scoffed, but the smirk on his face was unmistakable. “I guess I am. Not that I’d ever admit it.”

“Too late,” you quipped, settling into a more relaxed position beside him. “You just did.”

He rolled his eyes again, but there was no real annoyance behind it. “Whatever.”

“Whatever,” you echoed, a small smile playing on your lips.

The room fell into a comfortable silence, the tension from earlier dissipating. After a moment, Five spoke again, his voice softer this time. “Thank you.”

You looked at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. For a moment, you just stared at each other, the usual animosity between you replaced by something more genuine.

A small smile tugged at your lips, and you nodded. “Don’t expect me to save you every time.”

Five let out a small laugh, shaking his head. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

That was a lie, of course. You would save him every time, without hesitation. You would fight anyone, take on any danger, to protect this infuriating, arrogant boy. You’d bring him back from the dead if you had to. Hell, you’d fight the devil himself for Five Hargreeves. Because, as much as you hated to admit it, you cared about this idiot, this arrogant, infuriating boy. And you always would.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Broken Heart Mender

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Summary: After hearing Tim tell Angela why he's not in a relationship with you, you pull away and make yourself sick with a broken heart. After too long without hearing from you, Tim finds you and promises to make everything better.

Warnings: reader gets sick (vomiting, headache, losing weight, crying), slight miscommunication, angst to fluff & hurt/comfort

Word Count: 2.4k+ words

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Picture from Pinterest

“You know, you’re here a lot for someone who doesn’t work here,” Smitty points out.

“And you’re here a lot for someone who doesn’t work at all,” you argue playfully.

“She’s got a point,” Tim adds, shrugging at Smitty’s offended look.

You smile at Tim as you walk out, needing to return to your own station after spending too long on paperwork (to visit Tim). He’s been your friend since you were a rookie, and now he’s so much more.

You and Tim are safe places for one another; whenever one needs it, the other becomes an unlicensed therapist, a no-strings-attached hugger or cuddler on bad days, and a good listener, no matter the time or problem. Part of why you’re so willing to do such things for Tim is because you have feelings for him, a long-harbored crush that grows each time he’s kind to you or asks for your advice.

Tim, however, will happily listen to your problems and provide a shoulder to cry on, but he prefers to show his care by being what some (Angela) might call a ‘protective menace.’ He’s had feelings for you for as long as he can remember and shows it by staying close and keeping you out of harm’s way.

Whenever you run into each other at work, you find a way to stay together, and while Tim protects you, you try your hardest to make him smile. You like doing small things for him to make him happy because he deserves it. Likewise, he stays close because you deserve more than anyone can ever give you.

The only problem is that you’re both scared to let your feelings show, so you disguise it as friendship, a special bond that no one can break. Only a few people, those willing to look, can see that there’s more to your actions and words than a time-tested and bulletproof friendship.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim sighs when he sees Angela sitting at his desk.

“Don’t you have work to do?” he asks.

“You have questions to answer,” she replies, moving out of his seat and blocking the door. “I want to know about you and your friend.”

Tim rolls his eyes at her tone and air quotes. She has asked him about you before, but she’s relentless.

“Why aren’t you in a real relationship? Why haven’t you asked her out?” Angela inquires.

“Not your business, Lopez,” Tim answers.

✯✯✯✯✯

You slow as you near Tim’s office, his voice and Angela’s drawing your attention as your smile drops.

“Just tell me why you won’t let her in that last little bit,” Angela demands.

“Not that it is any of your concern, but we won’t work. We’re not made for each other, we’re not soulmates, and we will not be good for each other, not like that,” Tim snaps.

Swallowing, you feel like your heart physically drops into your stomach, making you nauseous as you fight tears. You leave before Tim or Angela notice you’re outside, unwilling to see Tim after learning how he feels.

✯✯✯✯✯

“What does that mean, Timothy?” Angela asks, quieter as she digs for the real reason.

Tim shakes his head, not ready to admit that he doesn’t consider himself relationship material. Regardless, you deserve someone better than him, though he has never considered it the other way around: you are too good for him and always have been.

“You’re right, it’s not my business. But it is hers,” Angela reminds him before leaving.

✯✯✯✯✯

Distancing yourself from Tim is hard, but after his comments to Angela, it’s what you have to do. Tim doesn’t have feelings for you and thinks you aren’t good enough, which hurts. More than your feelings, you are mentally distraught. Your emotions are all over the place, swinging aimlessly from anger to denial to an overwhelming sadness that makes it impossible to do anything but cry.

After a long night of fighting with your emotions, you try to eat breakfast and realize that the hurt is physical, too. Rushing to the bathroom, you empty your stomach before moving to the floor as your tears continue. Losing Tim is the worst pain you’ve ever experienced, and this is only the beginning.

The alarm on your phone goes off, and you pull yourself off the bathroom floor and get ready, ignoring the pain building behind your eyes and the churning sensation in the pit of your stomach. It will be a long day, but if you can power through, you will take some time off next week.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim is neck-deep in paperwork for a Metro case, but every spare second he has is spent calling and texting you. You don’t answer, and Tim can't do anything as his worry increases. He realizes Angela was right, and you deserve to know how he feels and why he keeps you so close, yet not close enough.

✯✯✯✯✯

By the end of the day, you haven’t been able to keep a single thing down, and you’re not sure if the emotional or physical pain is worse. Collapsing onto your couch, you let the tears begin anew as your week of PTO begins and your life as you know it ends.

Each day seems worse than the last, as you get sicker and sadder with each passing moment. When you summon the courage to step on the scale on Sunday morning, just three days after hearing Tim’s comments, you’ve lost a concerning amount of weight. You know it’s dangerous, but between the constant crying and the anxiety and sadness eating at you, there isn’t much you can do. There isn’t much you want to do except find a way to make yourself good enough for Tim Bradford.

✯✯✯✯✯

It’s been days since Tim heard from you, and he’s worried. When Mid-Wilshire gets called to assist your station, he hopes to see you. Tim searches the crowd of blue until he finds your partner.

“Bradford,” your partner greets.

Tim asks where you are, curious as to why you aren’t together, and your partner explains that you’ve been off work since Saturday, sick with something.

“Do you know if she’s okay?” Tim asks.

“All I know is it has to be bad for her to take this much time off,” your partner explains with an apologetic shrug before being called away.

Tim’s protectiveness kicks into overdrive, his worry keeping him from being able to focus on anything else. He finds his captain and tells him what's going on before asking if he can go check on you.

As he drives to your apartment, Tim hopes it’s not as bad as it sounds while beating himself up for not coming to visit you sooner. The ignored calls should have been a sign that something was wrong, but he let work get in the way. Though you aren’t there to hear it, Tim promises he will never neglect you again.

✯✯✯✯✯

It takes a minute to realize that the pounding sound is someone knocking and not an effect of your headache. Stumbling to the door, you answer it without checking who it is. When you see Tim’s face, you try to close the door, but you’re too weak, and Tim is too quick.

He rushes inside, looking at your pale face, unruly hair, and how your clothes hang off of you: an indicator you're unhealthily losing weight. It’s enough to push his protective side to action even as he fears the worst.

“You should go,” you tell him.

Tim ignores you, walking to your kitchen and setting water on the oven to boil. While he waits, Tim straightens up your apartment, moving quickly from room to room. He hasn’t spoken to you yet, and as you watch him, your emotions take over again.

With a few tears running down your face, you raise your voice and say his name. “You need to go.”

“No,” he answers simply. “You need help, you’re obviously sick and you’re not answering my calls.”

Tim's presence and how he acts like nothing has changed, and he’s still the protective friend he pretends to be, hurts you.

“Tim, get out!” you demand.

“Let me help,” he argues.

Shaking your head, you walk to your room and close the door, curling around your pillow as you cry. Each noise Tim makes in the kitchen feels like he’s laughing at you, and you don’t know how much more of this you can take.

He lets himself into your room after knocking, setting a mug of tea beside your bed, and rubbing your back. He notices how you stiffen but thinks it’s because you’re sick.

“What do you want to eat?” he asks.

“I want you to go.”

Tim nods, more to himself than you, and walks out of your bedroom. 

You hear the door close behind him and roll over, unable to decide if you want to drink the tea or throw it at the wall.

✯✯✯✯✯

The following morning, you wake, and the first thing you remember is Tim leaving yesterday. Yes, you asked him to, but it still hurts. The cold mug beside your bed is a cruel reminder of everything you’ve lost. Rolling out of bed, you reach for the water on the nightstand. After the first drink, you race for the bathroom, wondering how long it takes for a broken heart to heal.

Someone pulls your hair out of your face, a kind hand pressed to your back as you cry. When you feel able, you lean back against the tub behind you. Tim moves back, wetting a washcloth before he kneels beside you. As he wipes your face and neck with the cool rag, you wonder what he’d do if you gave him an out.

“I heard what you said,” you admit quietly. “That we wouldn’t be good together.”

Tim slows his movements as he listens to you.

“It hurt.”

Fresh tears break over your waterline, tracking down your cheeks. Tim realizes that he’s the reason you feel so bad; that one comment made to protect his feelings, to hide them, made you feel so bad that you’re now physically sick.

“Hey,” he begins, moving to sit before you when you turn away. “Listen, I know you don’t want to believe me, but I only said that to get Angela to leave me alone, to protect myself. I don’t think that.”

“But you said it,” you point out tearily.

“I know, and I’m sorry. The truth is we wouldn’t be good together, but not because of you, never because of you. It’s me; I am not made for relationships and I’m not good enough for you.”

You choke on a sob, leaning toward Tim. He extends his arm, letting you move against his side.

“Since we met, I’ve wanted more,” he whispers against your hair. “But I was scared you’d realize I’m broken and leave… like everyone else.”

Shaking harder against his side, you cling to him as all your emotions mix. There is a chance this is a dream, but if you have to lose Tim, this seems like the best way to say goodbye.

“C’mon,” Tim urges gently, pulling you with him as he stands.

With a gentle hand on your back and one on your shoulder, Tim leads you to the couch. Covering you with a blanket, he promises to come right back. When he returns with a glass of water and a pack of crackers, you turn toward him.

“Are you going to leave?” you whisper.

Tim shakes his head. “Never.”

Nodding, you accept the crackers. After you eat a few and drink half the water Tim gave you, you sit back.

“I cleaned your apartment last night,” Tim tells you. “You want to change and clean up?”

You take a deep breath, and Tim senses your apprehension before adding, “I’ll help you.”

Taking Tim’s hand, you follow him back into your bedroom. After you change into the clothes he hands you, you sit on the bathroom vanity and let him wash your face and secure your hair.

“When’s the last time you ate? More than a few bites, I mean,” Tim asks, laying a hand on your thigh.

You shrug before admitting, “Last Wednesday.”

Tim’s jaw clenches, but he hides it with a quick nod. “I’m going to make you some more food. I know you probably don’t want to eat, and you don’t have to eat much, but you need something.”

Moving your hand onto Tim’s, you interlace your fingers with his. He leans in, releasing a chuckle when you throw your arms around his neck. Wrapping his arms around your waist, he pulls you to the edge of the vanity.

“I missed you,” you whisper in his ear.

“I missed you too,” he responds.

✯✯✯✯✯

As you dry the ends of your hair while you exit the bathroom, you feel like a new person.

“We need to talk,” Tim says when he sees you. Your smile falls, and Tim takes your hand. “Not like that,” he promises.

“Like what?” you ask, curling your legs under you as you sit beside him.

“I meant what I said, but I need to make sure you know that. I have feelings for you, I have for a long time, I’m just terrified to show them because I’m not good enough for you.”

Boldly, you press your finger to his lips to stop him. He raises his brows at your movement, smiling with you.

“Yes, you are. You’re more than good enough. That’s why I fell in love with you.”

Tim pulls your hand away from his face, kissing your finger as he does so. “Even though I broke your heart and made you sick?”

“Broken heart sickness is curable, and you’re a pretty good doctor,” you tease, leaning toward him.

“I promise to make it better, and never do it again.”

You nod, trusting him entirely. Now that you’ve had a shower and heard that Tim feels the same, your stomach growls.

“It’s working already,” Tim says.

“I’m hungry again,” you marvel, smiling at Tim.

“I’ll offer a trade,” Tim begins. “A home-cooked meal for you, and a kiss for me.”

You nod, but Tim adds, “And I promise never to lie to protect myself again. I’ll tell you exactly how I feel, as long as you do the same.”

“I feel like I love you, Tim Bradford,” you reply, pulling him in for the promised kiss.

Your kiss is better than he expected, and Tim loses himself in the feeling of you until your stomach growls again, and you laugh against his lips. Tim broke your heart, but he put it back together with a piece of his; the best-broken-heart-mender in the world was by your side all along.

[piastrisun]

let me go.

pairings: charles leclerc x fem!reader.

summary: when love becomes a battleground of dreams and unfulfilled desires, sometimes letting go is the only way to find yourself.

genre: angst.

word count: 2.6k.

warning: none.

notes: inspired by s1, ep22 of how i met your mother, ‘come on’. no use of y/n or any names at all. enjoy !! (maybe you won’t).

PART ONE.⠀ ⠀ PART TWO.⠀ ⠀ ALTERNATIVE ENDING?

charles is at the desk you two share in your office, casually typing on the laptop you both share from time to time, when his face tightens in confusion. his eyes scan the screen, eyebrows furrowing as he scrolls through an email. the realization hits him like a wave. your name is in the subject line, followed by the words ‘congratulations’ and ‘art program.’ his heart pounds as he reads further: three months, starting this summer, in new york.

you, unaware of the storm about to hit, stand in the kitchen. the hum of the kettle rising to a boil fills the air, and you mindlessly pour yourself a cup of coffee. your fingers absently trace the rim of the cup, lost in thought. you don’t notice him stand up, the air between you shifting with tension.

“did you apply to an art program? in new york?” his voice is controlled, but you can feel the edge to it, like he's trying to stay calm.

you freeze, the water nearly spilling over the rim of the cup. turning slowly, you meet his gaze. “i just wanted to see if i’d get in, that’s all. i wasn’t going to go.”

he shakes his head, pacing towards you. “but... in new york?” his tone is incredulous, staring straight at you.

“i wasn’t going to take it, anyway,” you respond quickly, the words rushing out, as if saying them fast enough will make them true. you set the cup down on the counter, the clink of ceramic sounding louder than it should.

he takes a step closer, voice softening. “that’s always been your dream, and you’re not taking it, mhm.”

“but there’s a lot of things i’ve wanted to do… and i haven’t done any of them, so” you reply, your fingers gripping the edge of the counter as if grounding yourself.

his eyes search yours, frustration laced in his next words. “and now? you decide to do it now? with everything we have lined up in the future? we’re about to get married.” his voice lowers, pausing for a moment. “no, you can’t.”

the mention of the wedding makes your chest tighten, a wave of guilt creeping in. “are you forbidding me from going?” your voice is calm, but the hurt is beginning to break through the surface.

he rubs his hand over his face, exasperation clear in his posture. “i never said that,” he mutters, pacing a little, his footsteps heavy on the floor. “but i don’t know, we have a wedding in a few weeks, and i was hoping you would be free that day."

silence stretches between you, the weight of his words sinking in. you feel the heaviness in your chest, like you're stuck between what you owe yourself and what you owe him. finally, you look up, your voice steady. “i’m not asking you to understand. or to be happy about it. i’m just asking for your support.”

his gaze sharpens, and he shakes his head again, frustration mounting. “support you? how can i support you when it feels like i’m losing you?”

your heart skips a beat, and for a second, you’re unsure of how to respond. “you’re not losing me,” you say quietly, but there’s a tremor in your voice, betraying the uncertainty you feel. “i’m still here.”

he lets out a bitter laugh, running his hands through his hair. “you’re still here? you’ve been accepted into a program in new york, for three months. that’s a whole summer. and you didn’t even tell me. you applied without saying a word.”

you bite your lip, guilt flooding through you. “i didn’t want to say anything because i told you, i wasn’t planning on taking it.”

he looks at you incredulously. “then why apply? why even put yourself through the process if you weren’t going to follow through?”

you look away, feeling the pressure of his gaze on you. “i don’t know. maybe i wanted to see if i was still good enough. if i could still be the person i used to be.”

“the person you used to be?” he repeats, his tone a little softer now, but still confused.

you rub your arms, trying to ease the tension in your muscles. “it means... i feel like i’ve built my life around you. around what we’ve built together. i haven’t chased any of the dreams i had when we first met.”

“i never stood in your way,” he counters, his voice quieter now, almost pleading for you to see things from his side.

you take a deep breath, the truth burning on your tongue. “i know. but i’ve settled for the fact that we have a home, and that i got a stable job—one that’s almost mediocre. it sucks, but that’s what i’ve been going through.”

his brow furrows, his voice strained. “i want to understand. i swear i want to understand. but i don’t.”

your throat tightens. you remember the younger version of yourself, eighteen and full of hopes. “do you remember when we met? i wanted to travel the world, study in different countries, learn everything i could. i wanted to be someone, charles. i haven’t been able to be that person anymore.”

“i love you, no matter what. you know that, right? i’ve always loved you.” his hand finds yours, holding it tightly.

you pull your hand away gently, shaking your head. “it’s not about that. i know you love me. i just— i don’t love myself. and i hate that i haven’t done anything for me.”

the silence is crushing until he speaks, his voice small, vulnerable. “but what if you decide that you want to keep pursuing art? and you realise i don’t fit into that world anymore? what if those three months turn into forever?”

you stare at him, your heart sinking. “charles...”

his gaze hardens as he leans forward. “because if you can’t promise that we’ll still be us after this, then maybe we should end it now. i’m not waiting three months just to have my heart ripped out.”

you feel the sting of tears in your eyes, your breath catching. “charles, i love you,” you whisper, your voice breaking as the tears finally fall.

he’s silent for a moment, his expression softening as he watches you, but the pain is still there, clear in his eyes. “can you promise me that won’t happen?”

you freeze. everything feels like it’s slipping through your fingers. your chest tightens as the words catch in your throat. “pause,” you plead, needing to stop, needing a moment to think.

he closes his eyes, shaking his head. “no.”

“pause!” you cry out, louder this time, desperate to hold onto something, anything.

he looks at you, hurt and frustration etched in his features. “why do you want us to pause?” before you can answer, you pull him in, kissing him with all the desperation, fear, and love you’ve been holding back. for a second, he hesitates, but then his arms wrap around you tightly, holding you close as if he’s afraid to let go. he kisses you back, but there’s a sadness in the way his lips move against yours—like he’s trying to hold onto something that’s already slipping through his fingers.

as he pulls away from the kiss, your breath comes in shallow, uneven gasps. you don’t let go of him, your forehead resting against his. his hands stay on your waist, fingers digging in lightly. his eyes are closed, and there’s a tension in his jaw that you can feel, even in this closeness. the silence between you is heavy, filled with things neither of you know how to say.

“unpause,” he whispers, voice rough, his breath warm against your lips. “you can’t just kiss me and expect this to go away,” he murmurs, his voice low but firm, as if he’s forcing himself to break the fragile silence.

you pull back slightly, just enough to look into his eyes. the desperation in them mirrors your own, but beneath it, you see the fear too—the fear of losing what you’ve built together, the life you’ve shared, the future you’ve imagined. the moment feels unbearably fragile.

“okay.” you nod, wiping away a tear that has slipped down your cheek. “what makes this different from your job, charles? you travel every week for training, races, events. you’re gone a lot. and i’m with you almost every single time.”

he opens his mouth to respond but hesitates, the weight of your question settling heavily. “that’s different. that’s my career, i’m chasing my dreams.”

“and i’m not?” you counter, your voice rising with frustration. “you think i’m just working at a kindergarten because i want to? i love kids, yes, and i love teaching. but i have dreams too. art has always been my passion.”

his eyes flash with uncertainty, but he presses on. “but that’s a commitment. you would be living in another country for three months. we have our lives planned together. our wedding.”

“exactly,” you respond, feeling your heart pound. “you’re pursuing your career while i’m stuck here in a job that doesn’t fulfill me. i wasn’t even going to take the program, but now... it feels like i need to.”

he shakes his head, anger flaring again. “so you’re saying you would rather leave everything behind, including us?”

you take a step back, the pain of his words cutting deep. “i’m not leaving you, charles.”

he runs a hand through his hair, visibly frustrated. “and if it changes everything between us? what if you decide you want to stay in new york?”

“i wouldn’t know until i try,” you argue, desperation creeping into your voice. “you’re not giving me a chance to explore who i am outside of our life together.”

his expression hardens, and you feel the air thicken with tension. “then maybe we shouldn’t get married,” he says, his voice cold, an edge of betrayal slicing through the words.

the words strike you like a blow, and you stare at him. “maybe we shouldn’t,” you reply in a firm voice, as if you were sure of what you were saying when in reality you are not. both of you realise what you said and fall into a deep silence, staring into each other's eyes for a couple of seconds.

he clenches his jaw, anger burning in his eyes. “you want to throw everything away just like that? when i’m willing to build a life with you?”

“willing? you’re saying it like you’d do it out of pity!” your voice rises. what at first started as confusion had turned into rage. any word made them both burn inside. “you act like you’re doing me a favor, like my dreams don’t matter unless they fit into your plans.”

“it’s not pity! it’s because i fucking love you.” his fists clench at his sides, desperation flickering in his gaze as he tries to bridge the chasm forming between you.

“love shouldn’t feel like a compromise,” you snap, the heat of the moment fueling your anger. “you’re treating this like a transaction instead of what it really is—a partnership.”

“because it feels like you’re choosing this over reality!” he shouts back, the words slicing through the air. “i can’t stand by and watch you run away when we’ve fought so hard for what we have!”

“fought for what? a life where i can’t even be myself?” you retort, tears of frustration welling in your eyes. “we’ve been together for nine years, and we got together when we were eighteen. of course i don’t know anything but you!”

his eyes narrow, hurt mixed with fury. “so because of that you’d rather chase your move kilometres away than build a life with me?”

“building a life with you doesn’t mean i have to give up mine!” your voice rises, the fear and frustration spilling out. “i want both!”

silence hangs between you, charged with emotion, and the reality of your words feels like a dagger in your chest. the weight of what’s unsaid presses heavily on your shoulders. both of you just stand still there.

“you know you can’t,” he says finally, his voice trembling but full of raw intensity. he takes a step back, the hurt in his expression deepening. “and i know i can’t understand how you want to risk everything we’ve built, everything we are.”

“charles, i’m not risking it! i just wanted to reclaim myself before i lose everything, including you!” the desperation in your voice feels palpable, the stakes higher than ever.

he stares at you, pain twisting his features. “you think this is easy for me? seeing how you can’t choose me the one time i’m asking you to. you think i’m just going to accept that?”

“i didn’t choose it over you! i just want a chance to be myself again. is that so wrong?” you’re pleading now, your heart racing as you see his resolve falter.

his expression hardens again, a wall slamming down between you. “maybe you should have thought about that before you applied. you think it’s all just a game?”

the discussion was taking place in every room, until finally you reached yours. the one you cuddled in, slept in, where you told each other your dreams and talked about how wonderful your life would be when you finally got married.

“don’t you dare put this on me!” you shout, your voice breaking. “you’re the one making me feel like i have to choose! i can’t keep living for you while losing myself!”

“if you’re having these doubts, maybe you don’t really want this life with me at all.” he snaps, each word dripping with anger and betrayal.

the words hang in the air, a finality that feels suffocating. your heart shatters at the thought, and you can feel the walls closing in around you. “i didn’t have any trouble with this engagement until now,” you whisper, the weight of the decision crushing you.

he shakes his head, disappointment etched on his face. “i won’t pretend everything will be okay when you’re clearly not sure about us.”

without thinking, you start to gather your things—clothes, sketches, the remnants of a life shared. each item feels heavier in your hands, a tangible reminder of everything you’re about to leave behind.

tears spill down your cheeks as you try to grasp the reality of the situation. “i love you, charles. but come on.” but even as you say it, you know the truth: you need to find out who you are without him. the realization makes each movement feel like a betrayal, yet you can’t stop packing, each item a piece of your heart that you’re reluctantly setting aside.

“i love you, but—” his expression hardens, anger and hurt merging. “but if you walk out of that door, and we’re done. no second chances. you’ll have everything, but not me.”

“then this is where we end.” you nod slowly, feeling the gravity of his words. “i just needed to figure out who i am outside of our relationship. i’m really sorry you couldn’t even bother to understand it.” you add, voice steady but filled with pain.

as you zip up your suitcase, you turn to take one last look at your flat, your gaze lingering on the photos of the two of you that decorate the walls. smiling faces frozen in time serve as bittersweet reminders of what had just a couple of hours ago.

he doesn’t look at you, unable to meet your gaze, the silence between you heavy with unspoken feelings. you open the door, the cool air rushing in to meet you, a stark contrast to the warmth of what you’re leaving behind. with one last look at the man you thought you’d spend your life with, you step outside, the door closing behind you with a finality that echoes in your heart. as you walk away, the emptiness he leaves behind feels like a gaping wound. you stand in the hallway, your heart heavy, knowing everything has changed in a heartbeat. the future you once envisioned together now hangs by a thread, and all you can do is hope that, in time, both of you will find your way back to each other—or at least to the pieces of yourselves that have been lost along the way.

©⠀piastrisun original work. please don’t translate, claim or repost any of my writing, 24’.

[gladiatorcunt]

Literally begging you to please write more Patrick Zweig x Reader fics 🥵🥵

cw: 18+ MDNI, afab reader, hints of patrick x art / patrick x reader x art, consensual and accidental somno, gross patrick, hint of breeding kink, college era ish, mention of ass play, unedited

Tired Loser Bf!Patrick who hikes one of your thighs over his, pressing up against you and sinking back into your already wet pussy. It’s so early in the morning, but sometimes he gets in a mood where he just needs to go lose himself in your cunt even if you’re not contributing. You hum and snuggle further into the silk pillowcase, relishing in the too tight grip of your plush love handles and the sloppy sounds his balls make against your ass. You hardly spend any time together due to his career rhat’s been on a bit of a decline, so you’re more than happy to be his toy if that’s what makes him feel like he’s worth anything. Like he can only find meaning in the warm walls of your pussy, and ass, on occasion.

It’s either this or quick fucks on the counter or kitchen table, both of you nearly clawing at each other in desperation to all but consume the other. Sometimes it’s softer, slow thrusts angled to perfectly hit the right spot every time as he trails open mouthed kisses along your collarbone. Patrick offers to take a shower after coming home sweaty and disgusting but you always say that you prefer him like that anyway. He whines pathetically for a kiss for you and for him from a best friend you’ve never met into your neck and pounds you harder. Your eyes flutter half open at the impact, the grunts behind you and the thick weight moving in and out of you being the only things you can comprehend.

“Glided right in, didn’t even have to finger you or anything.” He moans too loudly for sleepy sex at 5 in the monring. “Always so ready for me, just how i like you.”

“Uh! Uh huh-“

You sigh and nod into the pillow, lazily throwing your ass back on his cock as he fucks you. His pace is so fast that you’re worried he might throw his back out, it’s so frantic and desperate, like he’s trying to stab your guts and leave a permanent mark on you from the inside. You zone in on his heavy breathing, he grinds his length deeper inside and lifts one of your ass cheeks just to watch it fall and jiggle back into place. It’s almost like he’s on the court, eyes watching the ball like a hawk and giving you the most toe curling punched out sounds when he hits it. His precision and raw enthusiasm has you gasping.

The sun’s not far off from rising, so you give up on getting anymore meaningful rest and drown in the intense smell around you. Sweat, slick, old almost acidic cum from when he bred you in his sleep, take out containers from last night that haven’t been thrown away, sharp and piercing autumn air, Patrick’s horrific axe body spray, your much more pleasant cherry blossom body wash. His thrusts send you rocking up the bed, tits swaying back and forth in the mess of tangled thin sheets. Your still half concious but he fucks you like he’s been awake for hours, eyes wide and crazed and brow furrowed like he needs so much more of you than he thought. He moans two names after quick sucks to both of your nipples, one for each. Yours and that same best friend’s.

The red cap Patrick has stashed away in the nighstand collects dust like a skeleton in a closet. There are sessions where he won’t, or maybe can’t, cum unless you cry and whine for that best friend too. You don’t even know who you’re begging for another cock to steal your voice and ravage your throat, but you do it and take note of the euphoric shout that rattles all the way out of Patrick’s chest, the all too pleased sigh into the valley of your breasts. You don’t ask in the shower or in bed, the buried sadness he carries like a chain gives the impression that the abscence is not his choice. Might be a nice birthday present, a reunion.

You wake up more as he goes insane with his fucking, his arm restrains your thigh and pulls it up so high you can feel the muscle stretching. He doesn’t communicate beyond feral grunts and something primal between a growl and a whimper, making sure you can really feel his thick cock bullying your poor pussy beyond repair. You never mind, in fact some days it’s you who wakes Patrick up by bouncing on him like a cock starved slut. You like when you can’t forget what he’s done to you, when you can raise your head to admire the new necklace of bruises. It’s not like he’s never gentle with you, but you don’t feel ashamed for loving him how he is. The jagged edges and aching need to belong somewhere, to someone.

Sometimes all a relationship needs to work is for the people involved to be the same, deep down or surface level. You take whiffs of his pubes that are too deep to be normal apprection for your partner’s body and he eats his own tangy cum out of your puffy pussy like it’s God’s gift to humanity, spitting the left over jizz and additional saliva into your ass hole and slurping that up too. But in the here and now, he’s fucking you without a goal or an end in sight, heavy balls wetly kissing your lower body with no assurance of being emptied. It could be hours before Patrick lets either of you cum, like it’s one of his games that more closely resembles a heated battle to something that looks and acts like death. Evenly matched, no one being stronger than the other.

So you give him the point and drift off, messily tongue kissing him back and lulling yourself to the chaotic rhythm of his thrusts. Outside, it starts to softly rain, the ambience of the moment softening both of your hearts. You put effort in a real kiss, only for a second, whisper an ‘I love you’ and wait for a resounding ‘I love you too’ before shutting off your brain for the time being.

[iluvapplesxh]

⧽⧽Time Slows⧼⧼

❀ pair: billie eilish x fem!reader

✰ summary: Nothing you did ever seemed to be enough, and you felt helpless, falling down lower with each passing moment without help, but all you needed was Billie. She'll always be there. And she'll help you back up whenever.

✯ warnings: eating disorders, cursing, vomit, bulimia, purging, I beg you, if any of this triggers you do not read, comfort, !ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE!

✒ a/n: I love writing requests sm. Also, I recommend listening to this song, sets the mood lol. still kinda feel like I didn't give this request my all but 🤷‍♀️.

Aren’t you hungry?

Have you eaten yet?

Didn’t you also skip lunch?

Haven’t you eaten already?

Again?

Nothing was ever good enough, you guessed. If you ate, it was too much. If you didn’t, it wasn’t enough. Nothing seemed to satisfy the people around you, or yourself either.  You tried everything, you worked out religiously for weeks, nothing, you did several stupid diets, nothing, you distracted yourself from your boredom, but not long enough to not go out for a snack. Then another one. And even though your chest felt heavier and heavier with each bite, you didn’t stop the routine. Not when the bites became harder to swallow with the tightness of your throat while your eyes burned with tears.

So, this was your last resort. Eating, rushing to the bathroom and making it all come back up.

Deep down, you knew it wasn’t the right way to do this and it will probably do more damage than good, both to your mental and physical health, but it felt too good. The numbers on the scale flying down, seeing your body shrink, feeling a sense of satisfaction when you stood in front of the mirror and the lines of our ribs stared back at you with a manipulative grin, hearing the people around you say those words.

Wow, look at you! You’ve lost so much weight!

Damn, you look so much better like this. No offense.

(...)

Right. No offense but every time you even dared to think about food the thought of losing this newfound satisfaction, the compliments, pushed right back against it and somehow always won. You knew you were a goner when you’d eat, and you wouldn’t even have to try to make yourself gag on your fingers for it to come back up, you just had to be fast enough to run to the bathroom and it came right back up without argument.

And, somehow, you didn’t stop there. Not until the compliments turned into small frowns of concern and worried words.

I don’t think losing weight that fast is healthy.

Hey, you okay? You seem pale.

“Are you okay, baby?”

Your head snapped up from the spot you were staring at, eyes locking with your girlfriend’s worry-filled blue ones and you shot her a confused look. 

“You haven’t touched your food” Billie spoke again, her own hand had stopped mid-air, holding a fork with her food on it. You blinked and looked around the table briefly, seeing the worried gazes of Billie’s family.

Of course, when you had started this addictive ‘habit’ of yours, you didn’t exactly think about what would happen in a public setting. With people who actually cared about you, and had been there to try to soothe you with assuring words when they picked up on your sudden weight loss, which you excused to ‘gym exercises became efficient’ to ease their worry. 

And when Billie excitedly invited you to have dinner with her family for her brother’s birthday party or something, she hadn’t really explained, but the way her eyes sparkled with excitement at the thought of having dinner with her loved ones after such tiring long weeks of press and work, you just couldn’t form a proper excuse.

You cleared your throat and glanced down at your still full plate of…something. Then you looked into Billie’s eyes again and sighed before sending her a comforting smile. “Oh, yeah. I guess I got lost in thought, huh.” Chuckling half-heartedly, you straightened up and held your own fork firmer, gathering some of the food on it.

Billie’s eyes burned onto your form, watching with furrowed brows as your hand shook the slightest bit when it grasped at the fork, or how your eyes clouded with something of a fearful look while your eyes watched your own movements. 

Your hand slowly lifted and brought the cutlery up to your lips. You swallowed your saliva harshly before your mouth opened and you placed the metal against your tongue, the food sliding off the fork before you pulled it away. A sudden sick feeling in your stomach almost made you spit it right back out but you swallowed with a hum, smiling at Billie.

Her eyes narrowed in skepticism as she watched you eat and swallow the small amount of food, the paleing skin of your face contracting for a mere second before the smile took over, but Billie caught it and her heart sped up.

She’s been watching you, like a hawk since you started to lose the ‘extra’ weight you thought didn’t make you any more beautiful than anyone else. She knew you had struggles, but didn’t want to push when she didn’t have anything to reason with. She also just didn’t want to believe her own head. She wanted it to not be true, but when you suddenly got up literally not even five minutes later and rushed towards the bathroom, it was the last straw and she quickly bolted after you, face etched with worry and her bottom lip pulled between her teeth as she neared the bathroom.

She pulled the door open and when the sounds of gagging and coughs between groans hit her ears, her pulse picked up as well as her steps. The moment she reached the stall with the door wide open and her eyes fell on your hunched over figure, her own face paled and a small gasp left her lips before she hurriedly marched forward, hands gathering the silky strands of your hair and one of them held it in a makeshift ponytail while the other rubbed your back.

When you finally stopped gagging and coughing, her gaze dropped to the toilet bowl and her chest tightened at the sight of the small food you’ve just eaten, drenched with the acids of your obviously empty stomach and she felt herself getting sick before she tore her gaze away and helped you up, catching you when your feet gave you and guiding your body to the sinks.

“Come on, baby. Let's wash your face” She whispered sweetly, letting you lean against the marble sink with one of her arms still around your torso and the hand of the other reaching to open the tap. Her fingers shook as she held her hand under the streaming water before she lifted it up to your face, wiping it gently. She repeated the action but her hand stopped on your cheek when she felt hot tears hit her cold hands. 

Her eyes met your blurry ones and she shushed you tenderly, but her own heart stung in her chest when your head dropped. She shook her head and tilted your head back up with her hand still on your cheek. 

“I’m-...I’m so sorry, Billie. I-...” A choke cut you off and Billie quickly turned the tap off, pulling you into her. Your chin rested on her shoulder as her arms circled your trembling body. She held back her own tears when your waist felt strangely small and a shaky breath left her.

“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. Shh, shh” One of her hands moved up to your head, caressing your hair gently.

It took a while for your sobs to die down, and even when they did, you stayed clinging to Billie while her arms held you tightly. Guilt was all you felt. For eating, for vomiting, for lying to Billie, for not talking to her.

“Can you look at me, please?” Her voice was soft and melodic against your ear and you reluctantly pulled back enough for your eyes to meet and yours welled with tears again at the look in Billie’s. She shook her head and shushed you again, rubbing your sides with her hands. “Talk to me, baby. I need you to tell me what is it you’re feeling” 

You swallowed, feeling your throat dry up when you tried to speak. “I-...” You started, trapping your bottom lip between your teeth for a moment before letting go. “I’m tired, Billie.” Your voice cracked mid-through her name and you took a deep breath. “I-...I’m so fucking tired of everything. I-...I want to be perfect, so bad, and I’ve tried and tried but nothing is ever fucking enough” You pulled further away and rubbed your face with your hands. “I’m hungry, then I’m sick and guilty and then I’m crying and I’m exhausted. I don’t want to live like this” You spoke, sadness and desperation laced into your voice like venom. “I just want to be normal and pretty and not hating myself but the more ‘satisfied’ I become from…this, the lower I fall and it feels like I can’t get myself up no matter what” 

Billie listened with a small frown on her face, her throat burning as she felt the need to cry crawl up in it. She didn’t want this for you. She didn’t want you to feel like this. Like you weren’t enough. It was a really big, harsh punch to the gut and she felt like she failed as a girlfriend because how were the signs not obvious? How did she push her worry away for you so easily? 

She reached out again, her soft, now warm hands cradling your face and your breathing calmed. “I know, I know” Billie murmured in a small voice, pulling your body close to hers again. “I’m so fucking sorry for not getting you up when you fell down the first time, baby.” Her own voice cracked this time and your lips parted, ready to speak but she shushed you. “I’m here now, okay? And I’m gonna help you back up. I promise, I’m not going anywhere, love” 

Your eyes brinked with tears again and a lump formed in your throat as you nodded. A small, whispered ‘Thank you’ left your lips in a choked back manner and the feeling of Billie’s forehead leaning against yours made the chaos in your head still for that moment. 

“I love you. So fucking much and I’ll never leave you alone again, you hear me?” 

All you could do was nod again, but that was more than enough for her. You were more than enough for her. And that was all that mattered. You would learn to not care about being enough for anyone else, because the only person who really mattered was here and she was holding you. There was no fucking way she’d ever let you go again.

✒ a/n: so I do feel like I didn't quite capture the meaning and the seriousness of an ed but I want you to know that if you are going through of any kind I love you and it's going to be okay, even when everything around you tells you otherwise <3

REQUESTS OPEN ♡

[hoakaikapo]

wanna be yours - clarisse la rue x fem! child of athena oc

A/N: this is a rush draft. i’m tired. just take it as it is. i mentally can’t fix it right now because i need sleep. also, this might be multiple parts but idk yet. okay goodnight!

warnings: implied mention of sex, kissing, fighting, teasing, uh i can’t think of anything else, but lmk if i missed any please!!

_______

It was a mutual understanding between you and Clarisse, one that neither of you spoke about. Why should anything be said when you both were tangled up in hot kisses, hands roaming throughout each other’s bodies like lost explorers whenever you saw each other. There was hardly any room for talking in your guys’ heated exchanges, and even if there was room for talking, neither of you knew how to bring it up.

However, you figured maybe something should be said sooner than later. Clarisse was starting to become more frequent with her midnight visits to your cabin, more jealous whenever someone flirted with you, more riskier in public.

In fact, just a few days ago, one of her half-siblings almost caught you two making out in her bed in broad daylight. You took it seriously, honoring the understanding you two had, whereas Clarisse muttered careless statements about being caught as she kissed your lips again.

You figured there was something there now. You had always sensed it between the stolen glances, the slight finger touches when Clarisse walked past you, the way your body simply melted into hers. The unspoken attraction was there. Maybe it was real. You could only hope it was.

A part of you started to hate running and sneaking around just to keep this “relationship” - your secret affair - a secret. But, you would tell yourself otherwise, because you never knew what was truly going on inside that beautiful head of hers.

———

Capture the flag was one of those games that you couldn’t stand to miss out on. The intensity, the atmosphere, the energy between all players. You loved the game, especially since it involved strategizing.

You lay low among the tall grass of the forest, eyes scanning your surroundings, ears listening for any sounds, the grip on your dagger was tight. Your breathing was steady, almost quiet, because you were afraid that someone could hear it.

A twig branch snaps. You bring your dagger closer to your chest, waiting to attack whoever was incoming. Your breath hitches once you noticed the red plumes emerge from behind the trees.

Stay low, be ready, attack when they’re near. That’s how you rolled.

Once they were close enough, you lunged first, making sure to tackle your opponent to the ground. However, it’s a battle of brute strength. Your opponent was resistant, determined to not lose this sort of wrestling match going on between you two.

As you’re both rolling back and forth on the ground, you feel your opponent grab your dagger and toss it somewhere out of your reach. They shift their body weight so that they’re on top of you on the ground, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head. You squirm, trying to slip out of their grip, but it’s tight and firm on you.

“You know, for a child of Athena, I was expecting a bit more of a challenge,” a husky yet familiar voice said. You could recognize that egoistic tone anywhere.

Clarisse removes her helmet, still keeping one hand on your wrists, her curls perfectly intact as if you guys didn’t just spend almost five minutes wrestling each other. She looked down and a sly smug came across her face once she realized you were the one beneath her.

“Well, hello, angel,” Clarisse says, bringing her face closer to yours. “Been avoiding me much? Haven’t seen you in this position in a while.”

You scoff. “As if I have ever been beneath you.”

“You were last week Saturday,” the Ares girl reminds you. You bite your lip, knowing it’s the truth.

An evil look is in her eyes as she guides them down your body. You feel her gaze on you, admiring you in this position. Her face mere inches away from yours once she made eye contact with you again. Clarisse’s free hand has moved to your waist, causing you to gasp slightly at the touch.

Every part in your body began to crave her, craving her lips on yours, craving her hands on your body, craving her. Your body is practically screaming for her. You could tell she felt it too. The glint in her eyes was all too familiar to you.

As Clairsse’s face slowly leans into yours, the grip on your hands begin to loosen, allowing you to slip out from under them. She’s nervous, it seems, as she hesitantly licked her lips. You wrap your arms around her neck, pulling her closer, her lips lightly grazing yours-

Your brain stops you from kissing her. In fact, it reminds you that you still have a game to win - and as much as you want to kiss the Ares girl, winning came first. Surely, she’d understand that.

You use your weight against hers, pushing her off of you and slamming her onto the ground with you now on top. The look on Clarisse’s face showed surprise before it turned into frustration.

Clarisse got teased badly by you. But, you teased yourself as well.

After grabbing two blue bands from your pocket, you tied one around each of her wrists, now implying that she was a prisoner of your team.

“Got you, La Rue,” you cheekily say, hovering your lips over hers once again.

———

Clarisse was pissed at you, maybe a bit beyond that.

The entire time at dinner, all she could do was glare at you. One of your half-siblings noticed and stated that if looks could kill, you would’ve been dead the moment you walked into the mess hall. You shook it off, pretending that the Ares girl was just mad that she was taken prisoner for the first time ever, but you knew it wasn’t entirely that.

A part of you felt guilty. Actually, no, you as a whole felt guilty for playing Clarisse like that earlier. As much as you loved your win later on, you also wanted Clarisse in that moment. If you were able to have both, you would’ve.

Later on that night, you waited outside the Ares cabin, making sure to stay hidden in case Chiron was doing rounds tonight. You sat for what seemed like forever until Clarisse finally came out.

You wasted no time. You grabbed her hand and pulled her to the side, instantly pressing a quick kiss on her lips which caught her off guard.

Clarisse’s eyes were wide in shock, trying to comprehend what just happened.

“I’m sorry, Clarisse,” you apologized, a hint of nervousness in your tone as you weren’t sure how she was going to react. “I-I shouldn’t have done that to you. It was rude, and I want you to know that… I really wanted to kiss you too, but then I reminded myself that we were in the game and I didn’t want to lose. So, I made that stupid decision, and I’m so sorry-“

Clarisse smashed her lips onto yours, causing you to stumble a little bit.

“You think too much. No wonder you’re Athena’s daughter,” she mumbled between your lips before pulling you back in.

It was like a million fireworks being set off at once. That burning feeling of desire in both of your chests was now gone. Clarisse’s hands made her way down to your waist and she held you firmly, as if she never wanted to let you go. You felt your body melt into her touch, wrapping your arms around her neck to pull you closer, even though the space between you two was already minimal enough.

You pulled apart from each other, both out of breath. Clarisse looks at you and smiles before pulling you into a warm embrace.

Despite her rough, aggressive, almost murderous side to her, Clarisse was sweet, gentle, and actually super affectionate.

This side of her was only reserved for you, and you quite liked it that way.

“Tease me like that ever again, and I’ll make sure you taste my blade,” Clarisse mutters into your ear before placing a kiss on your cheek.

“Put a single scratch and I’ll make sure that you’ll never get to see me again,” you whisper in a serious tone. “I mean it, Clarisse.”

Clarisse nods her head. You find it cute that she almost always agrees to everything you say, as if she’s a puppy.

The sound of Chiron’s hooves could be heard just around the corner. As much as you two wish you could have this moment together for just a little longer, dish and stall duty didn’t sound pleasant to either of you.

Clarisse pulls you in for another quick kiss, both on your lips and your hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow, angel.”

[starryevermore]

i will go to secret gardens in my mind ✧ tamlin

angst city™ library | send in a request (consult request faqs first)

pairing: tamlin x archeron!fem!reader

summary: you have always been a wallflower, but to tamlin, you are the finest rose in the garden. 

word count: 7,676

warnings?: angst with a happy ending, unrequited feelings, pining, multi pov, plot twist perchance??, not proofread 

PART TWO

The Spring Court had been rebuilt. What would have been a joyous occasion under any other circumstances, for perhaps any other court, left your family scowling as they looked over the invitation that landed on Rhysand’s desk this morning. An invitation to all courts—to come to Spring and celebrate the burgeoning court. No one, it seemed, wanted to go. It was understandable, of course. After everything that Spring’s High Lord, Tamlin, had put Feyre through—had put your entire family through—it almost felt like walking into a trap. But call you naïve, or perhaps a tad too optimistic for your own good, but you wanted to believe that Tamlin might have truly turned over a new leaf. Sometimes, it took someone losing everything to learn the value of all that they hold dear. No one wanted to go, it seemed, except for you.

Well, and Lucien, but he often fought in Tamlin’s corner. “Tamlin is a far cry from what you remember him as,” he said. “What he did to Feyre was horrible, but he’s trying to make amends. Isn’t the point of the Night Court to offer second chances?”

“We don’t owe that worm a second chance,” Nesta snarled, her eyes narrowing at Lucien. 

“It might be good for Feyre to close this chapter of her life,” Lucien continued. 

Rhysand rolled his eyes. “Because you care so much about Feyre’s wellbeing. Remind me, what were you doing while she wasted away in that manor?”

“All I’m saying is, you should consider hearing him out. We all were troubled after Under the Mountain. His actions were, are, shameful, but that doesn’t mean he cannot regret what he did.”

You noticed the tension in Feyre’s shoulders and reached out, placing your hand on top of hers. “You don’t have to go. I just thought it might be fun. We haven’t just gone out in so long.”

Rhysand’s narrowed gaze turned on you. “Then we can go to Rita’s, or take a walk down the Sidra. Hell, I’m sure if we asked Tarquin, we could have a nice trip down to Summer if you’re wanting to go somewhere warm. We don’t have to go all the way to the damned Spring Court for fun.”

A sigh escaped your lips. You rose from your seat, turned to leave. “Forget I said anything.”

Feyre looked up at you. She said your name, standing to follow after you. “If you want to go—”

You waved her off. “It’s alright. I didn’t want to go that bad. I only thought it would be fun, but Rhys is right. We can do something else instead.”

She said your name again, but you ignored her. You understood why she of all people would be apprehensive of going to Spring. Trust and believe, you understood. Tamlin was hardly the most wonderful person in Prythian in your eyes. He let Feyre waste away, he sold you, Nesta, and Elain out to Hybern in a vain attempt to get Feyre back…At every turn, it seemed like he was dead set on humiliating her. But when it was all said and done, he still gave up a kernel of his power to bring back Rhysand. “Be happy, Feyre,” he’d said. It was nothing groundbreaking, it was not even close to an apology for all he’d done, but it seemed like a step in the right direction. 

As you retreated to your room, you didn’t have to look to know you were being followed. Ever since Elain had accepted the mating bond with Lucien, Azriel always trailed so close behind you, he was like a second shadow. When you reached your room, you left the door open, allowing him to slip inside. The door clicked shut behind him. 

You took a seat in the bay window, looking out over the city of Velaris. “Whatever you have to say, I don’t want to hear it.”

The cushion sank underneath Azriel’s weight. You moved over, avoiding your knees knocking into his. “I just want to know what’s going on in your mind.”

“Does it matter? Rhysand has made his decision clear.”

“Of course it matters. It matters to me.”

It should’ve tugged at your heartstrings to hear him say those words. But all you were reminded of was how Azriel pined after Elain for so long, and for Mor for centuries before that. You were all too aware that you were just the latest object of his affection. “I don’t know. I just…It feels like something is calling for me to go there. Something trying to tug me along until I finally cross over Spring’s border.”

When you spared Azriel a glance, you noted the way his jaw clenched and unclenched. “You should tell Rhys that. He might be more amenable.”

“Rhysand is hardly amenable to anything that isn’t already in his favor.” You shrugged. “It’s not as if I’m Elain, with some vision about why we need to go to Spring. I just…I don’t know. I have a feeling it’s somewhere I should be.”

Azriel looked you over. Perhaps he was trying to ascertain if you’ve lost your mind. And maybe you had. You could hardly explain the feeling, deep in your chest, that pulled you towards the Spring Court. The feeling only intensified when you learned of the invitation to come to Spring’s celebration. “I’ll talk to Rhys for you. He’s been wanting to forge alliances with the other courts. If he’s able to extend a hand to Spring, other courts might be willing to work with him.”

You shrugged again. “Do as you please.”

He reached for your hand. You allowed him to take it. At least you found a modicum of comfort in the gentle squeeze. Azriel’s mouth opened—to say what, you weren’t sure, for a knock sounded against your door. It opened shortly after, Feyre slipping inside. Her eyes fell to your joined hands. The corner of her mouth quirked upwards. You pulled away. One of his shadows trailed after you.

“We’re going to Spring,” she said, smiling. But it didn’t reach her eyes. 

You stood up, crossing the room in a few strides, then took Feyre’s hands. “We don’t have to if it’ll cause you pain. I don’t mean to dredge up those terrible memories.”

“I am High Lady. I can set aside those feelings for one night, if it might end in an alliance that will benefit my people. Besides, Lucien might be right. It might do me some good to speak with Tamlin under better circumstances.”

“Are you sure?”

She offered you a smile. “I’m sure.” She squeezed your hands. “You haven’t asked for much since you’ve come here. The least I can do is give you this.”

You shook your head. “No, Feyre, you’ve already gave up so much for our family—”

“Hush. If I didn’t want to do it, you know I wouldn’t.”

“Fine. But the second you’re uncomfortable, we all leave, okay?”

Feyre nodded. “Okay.”

Rhysand was certainly giving you the cold shoulder since Feyre insisted that you all go to the Spring Court, but you could hardly find it in yourself to care. Not when you finally got to trade in the darkness of Night for the blossoming life of Spring. You couldn’t wait to finally leave Night’s borders. You couldn’t quite remember the last time you had the opportunity to leave, save for the war with Hybern. Other than that, though, you had bounced between Rhysand’s many homes, going to whichever place made you least likely to pick a fight with the High Lord. These days, that was primarily the House of Wind, since he had given it to Cassian and Nesta. That, of course, left you with even fewer chances to go out. If you didn’t have an Illyrian to fly you down, you would have to brave the 10,000 stairs. And you were no Valkyrie—you were sure you wouldn’t even make it down a few dozen before throwing in the towel. Of course, you were certain that Azriel would be more than pleased to be at your beck and call. 

After all, he sat on your bed now, watching as you rifled through your dresses, trying to pick something out to wear. 

“You look beautiful in anything,” he said. “Why are you putting so much effort into this?” A hidden question was on the tip of his tongue—Were you trying to impress someone? Perhaps him?

“My mother always said, when you go outside, you look your best because you never know what will happen.”

Azriel stood up, crossing over to your wardrobe. A scarred hand wrapped around yours, stopping you from flicking through the dresses. His voice was husky as he asked, “And what do you think will happen?” 

Your face grew warm. Even if you knew that he was only pursuing you because you were an Archeron, for a male to be so close to you…Well, it was easy to get you flustered. Stuck between Nesta’s vivaciousness and Elain’s sweetness, it was easy for you to fade into the background. When your family was better off, everyone flocked to Elain. After your family became rich again, Elain garnered so many men’s attention. Even Feyre, when your family was its lowest, found herself with someone, if just for the pursuit of pleasure. But you…You were a wallflower through and through. 

“Anything. Nothing,” you said. 

Your breath stilled as Azriel pulled a dress from your wardrobe. It was a beautiful blue tulle dress. Silver stars littered its entire body. There was a tasteful slit up one side. Somewhere in your chest of drawers, you knew there was a matching pair of long, sheer gloves. You had gotten it for Starfall, but found yourself tucking it away in favor of a simpler gown. It, however, wasn’t lost on you that its color complemented Azriel’s cobalt siphons well. 

“You should wear this,” he said. “In case something does happen.”

You found yourself nodding. 

A soft smile crossed his face. It took everything in you to not look away, lest you give him the wrong idea. You may have been a wallflower, but you were not a demure female. “I’ll let you get ready then.”

You nodded again. 

Azriel placed the dress in your hands. You expected him to leave, but he lingered still. His hand grasped yours, pulling it up to meet his lips. He made eye contact with you the entire time, hazel eyes twinkling, before he pulled away. 

When he was finally gone, a sigh escaped your lips. A part of you, you recognized, should have been delighted at Azriel’s attention. He was an attractive male. He had so many qualities that you admired—protective, loyal, kind. But anytime you looked at him, you were reminded of his past history with females. How he pined after Mor for centuries. How he fixated on Elain. In both cases, each made it clear in their own ways that it would never go further. And here you were, certain that you were sending clear signals that you were uninterested, and yet…There he remained. Where was Rhysand, telling him to leave you be? Could you only be left alone if you had a mate?

Perhaps it would be easier, you mused as you changed into the dress, if this tug in your chest was for Azriel. That, by going to Spring, something would happen that would make the bond snap for him. At least if he was your mate, you could convince him to get a home of your own, far away from the busybodies occupying the Inner Circle. At least you would finally feel free enough to breathe on your own. 

You spared a glance in the mirror, satisfied with your hair and makeup, before leaving your room. It shouldn’t have surprised you to see Azriel waiting on the other side of the door, shadows swirling around him. His face brightened as he saw you. An arm was extended toward you. You took it. 

“Beautiful, just as I expected.” Azriel smiled at you. “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

All eyes were on the Inner Circle as you entered the manor, but you were too busy looking at everything else. Spring was…Mother, it was more beautiful than anything you had ever seen before. Not even Elain’s gardens held a candle to the beauty housed here. It was difficult to imagine how a Court so ethereal could have been in ruins just months before. It was easier, though, to see how Feyre could fall in love with this land. 

It was even easier, you mused, to fall in love with Spring’s High Lord as he stepped into the Inner Circle’s path. It was the first time you really got a good look at him. When you were taken, you hadn’t dared look at your captors. And when you came out of the Cauldron, you cried so hard you couldn’t see. But the male before you now…Wow. 

“Welcome,” he said, extending a hand to Rhysand. As Rhysand shook it, he turned to Feyre. “Thank you all for coming. I cannot imagine it was an easy decision to make.”

Feyre tilted her head in your direction. “Thank Lucien and my sister. It was their convincing arguments that brought us here.”

Tamlin’s emerald eyes fell to you. Something in your chest tugged harder, but you couldn’t dwell on it as Azriel took a subtle step in front of you. A charming smile passed across the High Lord’s lips. “Well, thank you, too,” he said. “And if I may, I must offer the utmost apologies for everything that transpired the last time our paths crossed. There is no excuse for my actions.”

You tried not to flinch at the mention of the Cauldron. The memory of being submerged as a human, reemerging as a fae…How everything was so different, too intense. It was, perhaps, the darkest part of your life thus far. You prayed it was never so dark again. “It wasn’t all bad,” you found yourself saying. “At least now I can live a long life with my sisters.”

“That is a generous way to think about it,” Tamlin said. He took a step toward you, a hand outstretched. His eyes flicked to Azriel as a growl escaped the Spymaster. Still, he reached for your hand. When you slipped it into his, he lifted it toward his mouth, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. Something, something akin to joy, swirled inside of you. A tendril of a shadow pulled your hand from Tamlin’s. “Would you be so kind as to share a dance with me?”

“I—” The Inner Circle tensed around you, though you caught Lucien rolling his eyes at their antics. A dance didn’t seem so horrible, but you hated the way Feyre looked so uncomfortable at the prospect. You wished you were a daemati and could see what she was thinking. “Perhaps later. I should like to spend some time mingling.”

Tamlin seemed disappointed, but he still smiled as he said, “Of course. Have fun.”

He nodded at Feyre and Rhysand before disappearing into the crowd. 

“It was like he disappeared the moment he laid eyes on Y/N,” Mor remarked, plucking a glass from a passing waiter’s tray. 

“Don’t,” Feyre warned. She looked at you, her eyes wide with worry. “Don’t fall for his charms. Dance with him if you so wish. But…I don’t know how much I believed him to have changed.” 

“I won’t. I haven’t forgotten what he’s done to you. It will take more than charming smiles and offers for dances to win me over,” you said, turning away from her. Your heart clenched at her distrust. Well, perhaps it wasn’t distrust. To be here, to be in Spring again, must have been extraordinarily difficult for her. But you were her sister. You knew her struggles, her pain, better than most. You weren’t going to throw all that away because Tamlin was kind to you. You weren’t that sort of female. 

A scarred hand caught your wrist before you could slip away into the crowd, perhaps find a nice corner to hide in and people watch. “Would you? Like to dance?” Azriel asked. 

“I see Kallias and Viviane. I would like to say hello.”

You could feel the Inner Circle’s eyes on you as you disappeared into the throng of fae. Though you were no daemati, you could practically hear their collective thoughts: You would be better off with Azriel. But what did they know about you?

Coming here was a mistake. You’d decided so hours ago as you could see various members of the Inner Circle keeping tabs on you from the corner of your eye. Despite hardly making a move from the corner you resided in, save for trips to the refreshment table or conversations with the few friends you had made from other courts, they still hovered. You wondered if it was under Rhysand’s orders, or perhaps Feyre’s. To make sure you didn’t slip away to dance with Tamlin, become the next pretty thing trapped in his gilded cage. 

You sucked your tongue against your teeth as you watched Azriel approach you from across the room, Nesta and Cassian slipping off onto the dance floor. The changing of the guards. Your eyes rolled. Of everyone, Azriel’s presence was the worst. While the others would linger, he would stay by your side, trying to coax conversations out of you or pull you over for a dance. It might have been sweet if you weren’t all too aware that it was a vain effort to keep you from Tamlin. And unlike the others, who would have been merely following orders from the High Lady and Lord, Azriel had his own ulterior motives. 

When you lost sight of Azriel, dancing couples blocking each other’s view of the other, you took the opportunity to slide out a nearby door and into the hall. They would be furious to learn you left—especially when it was because of you that they were even here. But you couldn’t handle the hovering any longer. 

The music from the ballroom soon faded into the background as you walked down the hall, searching for some sanctuary. There were groups of fae lingering around the hallway, but none paid you any mind. It was refreshing, if you were being honest. They had no idea who you were, who your sisters were, of what they had done to save Prythian (or doom this court). You smiled at one couple, wrapped up in each other’s arms, blissfully unaware of all that happened around them. 

You spied an open door and slipped inside. It was far smaller than the ballroom, but still grand. Paintings hung along the walls—a few you recognized to be in Feyre’s style. The thing that caught your eye, though, was the handsome piano in the middle of the room. A smile tugged at your lips. It had been so long since you’d had a chance to play. During your family’s dark years, you of course didn’t have access to any instruments, much less one so expensive. When you arrived in Velaris, straight out of the Cauldron, you had clung to the instrument, letting all of your pain flow out of you until there was nothing left. These days, though, you had strayed away.

You took a seat at the bench and ran your fingers along the ivory keys. You tested a few notes to see if it was still in key, but you didn’t make it very far. 

“Do you play?”

Tamlin stood in the doorframe, watching you curiously. Panic settled in your chest. If the Inner Circle, if Feyre, found out that you were alone with Spring’s High Lord, you knew they would be less than pleased. But that tug in your chest—it pulled harder than it ever had before, and that brought you an odd sort of comfort. 

“Yes.”

“May I hear you play something?”

You eyed him, trying to ascertain if this was some trick. As much as you wanted to believe your family was being overdramatic, you did wonder if they knew something you didn’t. When you sensed no ill motives, you gave a nod. 

As you pressed down on the keys, it felt like everything melted away around you. There was no inter-court politics to be wary of. No Shadowsingers following close on your heels. No sisters whose heart would surely break if she knew you were letting him in. Just you and the music that flowed out. 

“That was beautiful,” he said as the final note rang through the room. He took a few steps closer to you. Tamlin extended a hand. “I wish, though, that I could still hear it while we danced. If you would like to, that is.”

You stared at his outstretched hand. 

“Just say the word if you don’t wish to. I know you didn’t dance out there, but I thought, perhaps, without all those eagle eyes watching you—”

You took his hand. “I’m not the best dancer.”

“That’s alright. Neither am I.”

Tamlin was a right liar, he was. As he spun you around the room, you clumsily just missing his feet, you knew he was a liar. But the awkward dance made you laugh, harder than you had in a long time. The tug in your chest pulled more than it ever had before. 

“If this is you at your worst, I would hate to see how skilled you would be after a few lessons,” you teased. 

“We could take lessons together,” Tamlin suggested. The thought made your smile grow, though you weren’t entirely sure why. “Maybe after tonight, your High Lord will let you visit more often.”

“Perhaps—” you began to say. 

“That will never happen.”

Shadows swirled around you, tugging you out of Tamlin’s arms. You gasped, a chill running down your spine. Large wings kept Tamlin out of your view. When you tried to look around Azriel, his hands came to rest on your hips, holding you in place. 

“Did he do something to you?” Azriel asked. 

“What? No!”

“You just disappeared. Everyone’s in a panic. Feyre looked ready to kill, Nesta ready to hide the body. We didn’t know what happened to you. We didn’t know if you were hurt or—” He glanced over his shoulder, eyes narrowing at Tamlin. “—or worse.”

“I’m fine! I’m not some damsel in distress—”

“Of course not. But you have to understand—”

“No! You have to understand that you are not my knight in shining armor, Azriel! I am not so stupid to just waltz headfirst into danger. If I ever found myself in such a position, I would have screamed or called out for Rhysand and prayed he was listening. I do not need saving, especially not—” You caught Tamlin’s eye over Azriel’s shoulder. Something snapped into place, a golden thread tying you to him. “—especially not with my mate.”

Azriel’s eyes flashed. Hurt, maybe? Or anger? “He can’t be—”

“He is. He is the reason I felt the calling to come to Spring, Az. He’s my mate, and you have to respect that.”

Behind you, you heard a flurry of footsteps as the room quickly filled. Your eyes squeezed shut. Fuck. Was it not enough to have to deal with Azriel? Did everyone else have to come, too? 

Feyre’s voice rang through the room. “Y/N, come here, please.”

“I should be allowed to make the choice to come, shouldn’t I? Isn’t that what the Night Court is all about?” You looked at her, a solitary tear dropping down your face. “What? Are choices not allowed when it goes against your wishes?”

“Please,” she repeated, her hand reaching out for you. 

Tamlin stepped around Azriel, stood by your side. “I would not hurt her, Feyre. I have given you every reason to distrust me, to hate me, but I wouldn’t do anything to her.”

Feyre closed the distance between the two of you, Rhysand hot on her heels. She snarled at Tamlin, “I have every reason to not believe a word that comes out of your mouth.”

“I understand—”

Her finger jabbed at his chest. “Don’t. Don’t you dare give me any honeyed words or false promises about how Y/N—my sister—being your mate changes things. A skunk still stinks even when it hasn’t sprayed.”

“Feyre, please, can’t we just talk this through—” you tried. This was going horribly wrong. You hadn’t imagined any of this would happen just by following the tugging in your chest. A mate, you might have suspected. But all of this—

Her head snapped toward you. Her eyes glazed over as Rhysand spoke into her mind. When they cleared, she spoke with the authority of a High Lady but with none of the love of a sister.“You said we could leave if I became uncomfortable. I would like to leave,” Feyre said. “Rhys, please, get her out of here.”

Rhysand’s hands were on you, winnowing you away, before you could even dare to make your protests. But you didn’t miss the pain in Tamlin’s beautiful emerald eyes. 

Feyre had made a terrible mistake. Since that horrible, awful ball, you were moved into the River House so she and Rhys could keep an eye on you. While you might not have been able to leave the House of Wind without an Illyrian to fly you down or otherwise brave the 10,000 steps, that didn’t mean that you wouldn’t try to go. At least here, they could make sure you remained in place. Anyone who wished to see you, save for Spring’s Cauldron damned High Lord, could. They just needed to make are that something horrible wouldn’t happen. 

But you hadn’t left your room in weeks. They would send food up to you, but would find only small bites taken out of it when they came for the next meal. You had said scarcely a single word. The only time you would move from your bed was to take a bath, where you would sit for hours still. Once, Feyre had gone to check on you, to make sure that you hadn’t hurt yourself, and found you staring at the bubbled water, unblinking. You hadn’t even realized she was there.

The only person you seemed to respond to was Azriel. He would go to your room, crawl in your bed, and play with your hair. Sometimes, Feyre would linger in the doorway, watching you and him. Azriel would talk to you, try and convince you to leave your room. You would only cry.

And now, Feyre paced the length of Rhys’s office, chewing on the corner of a fingernail. Rhys sat at his desk, his face leaned against his palm. 

“I don’t know what to do,” she said. “I don’t know how to make this better. She, she’s wasting away in there.”

Rhys let out a sigh. “There is an obvious solution to the problem, though not the preferred one.”

Feyre spun on her heel, narrowing her eyes at her mate. “You know perfectly well that I can’t just let her be with Tamlin. It would be safer sending her into a viper’s den.”

He rose and crossed the room, took her hands in his own. “You don’t mean that. You and Tamlin were not right for each other, especially after everything that happened Under the Mountain. You no longer wanted the same things as him. Was his actions wrongful? Of course. He could have tried to help you, but you also pushed him away. It was doomed from the start.”

“And I should let her go into a doomed relationship with him?” Feyre poked her finger at Rhys’s chest. “She is too good for that. She deserves a better mate.”

“I agree. But the Mother found reason to bind their souls together. You once thought I was something straight out of a nightmare, but look how far we’ve come.”

“I recall you hating Tamlin for everything he did to me.”

“And I do. I still do.” A sigh escaped Rhys’s lips. “But I also look at Y/N and remember having to leave you behind in Spring. I remember collapsing in Mor’s arms, begging for just a chance with you. I was a shell of myself then. I worry that if we keep them apart, we’ll lose her either way.”

Feyre turned away. She looked toward the door. For a flicker of a moment, she wished she could go back to that horrible cottage, when she was still a human. Even if survival was a struggle at best, she didn’t have to worry about your sweet soul being taken advantage of. 

“Send a letter to Tamlin,” she finally said. “Tell him he is welcome to come here. If Y/N so wishes to leave with him, she may. But make clear, if a single hair on her head is harmed, if we receive a single word that she is being treated as anything less than what she deserves, it will constitute an act of war.” 

Tamlin stared up at the River House. He had moved faster than he had ever moved before when the invitation to come to the Night Court was extended. So fast, he realized with a glance at his feet, he forgot to put on shoes before winnowing away. He hoped you wouldn’t mind. Ever since Rhysand had winnowed you out from under his nose, he had been a mess. If Tamlin thought losing Feyre was him at his lowest, it paled in comparison to losing you. Worse yet, he had the previous experience to know he couldn’t give into his desperate impulses and expect everything to go smoothly. No, he had to tread carefully. 

Still, he found himself sending you letters over the last few weeks. Tamlin never received a response, but he never expected one. He wasn’t sure how well you were being surveilled, if the Inner Circle were taking active steps to keep you from contacting him. But he hoped his words brought you some modicum of comfort. 

The door swung open before he had a chance to knock. Rhysand looked him over. “You didn’t have time to at least make yourself presentable?”

“I thought if I took too much time, the invitation would be rescinded.”

Rhysand’s brow raised. “I wasn’t aware you could have such intelligent thoughts. You know, since you had sided with Hybern so readily in the beginning.”

Tamlin bit back a snarl. It would not end well to pick a fight with Night’s High Lord. He knew good and well he was out-powered, and he was sure that Feyre’s threat should also extend to any threat her own mate faced. Instead, he said as diplomatically as he could manage, “It was a terrible mistake, but one I would make again if it would give me a chance to live a long life with my mate, should she so have me.”

Feyre appeared, pushing Rhysand out of the doorway. She, too, scrutinized his appearance, nose wrinkling at the sight of him, but at least had the courtesy to say nothing about it. “You came quickly.”

Somewhere in the distance, Tamlin could hear Cassian chortle and mutter something about “that’s what she said.” 

“I did not know how long this invitation of hospitality might remain open.” Tamlin searched Feyre’s eyes, searching for a sign of your wellbeing. “Is she alright?”

Tamlin watched as Feyre swallowed, her hands subtly shaking. She had always cared deeply about her sisters, perhaps you more than Nesta or Elain. Where Nesta could hold her own and Elain was sweet enough to charm any potential suitor, she worried that you were too quiet for your own good. Too willing to slip into the shadows and be forgotten. 

“She has hardly eaten since that night. We…We have fixed dinner. We thought she might be more amenable if you brought a plate to her room?”

“Of course, of course,” Tamlin said. Feyre moved out of the threshold, motioning for him to step inside. He did. “Has she…?”

“She hasn’t said a word. She just sits and stares. I thought females were able to suppress the bond. I don’t understand why she is so afflicted.”

Tamlin suppressed an eye roll. He had to play nice, at least until he could see you again. Until he could find out if you wished to be his mate. “You took her choice away, Feyre,” he bit out, weighing his words carefully. “Anyone would be heartbroken by such a betrayal. Wouldn’t you agree?” 

Rhysand snarled, but Tamlin ignored him. He maintained eye contract with Feyre until she looked away, gesturing to the dining room. “Take a plate to her room. Just up the stairs, third door on the right.”

He gave a curt nod and did as directed. Every step weighed him down. Tamlin was grateful, at least, for the plate in his hand, to distract him from the sinking feeling in his chest. Neither you nor him had closed off the bond. Tamlin felt every bit of your anguish and he had done everything he could to send comfort down the bond. Every day, he prayed to the Mother that it helped you. Now, as he stood on the other side of your door, he wasn’t sure it did.

The door was ever so slightly ajar. Tamlin pushed it open. The sight nearly made him fall to his knees. You were laying in bed, back to him, staring out the large window overlooking the gardens. If it wasn’t for a subtle rise and fall of your chest, he might have thought you dead. Tamlin stepped inside, walking around your bed, until he faced you. He set the plate on your nightstand and knelt in front of you. 

“Have my dreams begun to torment me, too?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“No,” Tamlin whispered back. He reached out, cupping your face in his hand. His thumb run over the swell of your cheek. “I am here. I am real. Feyre allowed me to come.”

“I cannot even trust my subconscious now,” you said. You rolled over onto your back and stared up at the ceiling. Your comforter moved with you, revealing the papers you kept clutched against your chest. Your eyes fell shut. 

Tamlin sat on the edge of your bed. He reached over and brushed your hair from your face. “Open your eyes, please. I am here. Feyre had Rhysand send me a letter, inviting me here. I can show you if you like?”

An eye opened. “I doubt you could. Everyone knows that written word in dreams hardly makes sense.”

He pulled the letter tucked away in his pocket. Carefully unfolding it, he pressed it into your hands. Your other eye opened. Slowly, you sat up, dropping the other letters—his letters—from your grip. Your eyes scanned over the page, once, twice, three times. Slowly, you looked up, as if seeing him for the first time. 

“You’re here?”

“I am.”

“Feyre allowed it?”

“She did.”

Your hand moved to your mouth. You chewed on your thumbnail. “She would hate me if I left.”

“She would not. And, even if she did, that is her burden to bear. Feyre cannot keep you sheltered here anymore than I could her.” Tamlin grabbed the plate and held it out to you. “Could you eat first, before we talk about this? Please?”

You stared at the plate for a long, silent more. Tamlin nearly thought you hadn’t heard him. He was ready to ask again, the words on the tip of his tongue, when you looked up at him. “Could we go to the gardens to eat?” 

“Of course.” 

Tamlin extended a hand to you. You slipped yours into his grasp. Joy soured through him. He bit back his smile as he helped you to your feet. His hands were quick to move to your waist, steadying you as you swayed. How long had you been laying there, in that bed? Had you even left it? A part of him, a territorial part he worked hard to keep at bay, had half a mind to scold Feyre for waiting this long. He, of course, would be a hypocrite if he did. But you also deserved someone in your corner. 

Slowly, the two of you moved out of your room and down the stairs. At the creak in the wooden steps, all conversation in the dining room ceased. There was a scrape of a chair. Feyre appeared in the doorway as you reached the bottom step. You didn’t make eye contact with your sister as you turned for the exit. 

“Y/N wished to eat in the gardens,” Tamlin said and followed after you. He did not wait for Feyre’s response. 

You stared at Tamlin, chewing on the bread that Elain had made. He made no protest when you plopped yourself on the dirt path. He only sat across from you and watched as you slowly ate your food. It nearly made you sick, if you were honest. You hadn’t experienced this level of hunger since you were human. You remembered when Feyre would bring food home, how you would have to eat slowly so you wouldn’t vomit it all up. There was something about such extreme hunger that it almost felt like food couldn’t save you from the gnawing pain. 

“I still do not quite believe you’re really here,” you said. 

“I can promise you, I am.” Tamlin reached for your hand, and you allowed him to take it. His thumb stroked over your knuckles. “I have missed you. If I wasn’t concerned that an unprompted arrival would have waged a war no court could surely handle, I would have come sooner.”

“It was not right what they did…” You trailed off. 

Tamlin’s emerald green eyes twinkled with curiosity. “But?” he prompted. 

“I am not sure I can find it in my heart to leave them,” you said. His face dropped. His hand started to pull away, but you tightened your grip. “Feyre and Nesta are still here. While Feyre may have given the order to take me away, she is my sister. She sacrificed so much for our family. I feel like I would be throwing it all back in her face to go to Spring with you. At least when Elain left, she was going with Lucien to Day. People she could trust, you know. I worry that if I leave with you, she would never see me again.”

He straightened. “I would never keep you from your sister. Any of them. I have done little to prove such, but I have learned from my mistakes with Feyre. I have grown, am still growing, from them.”

“Not because of you,” you corrected. “You know how she feels about you. Even if I extend an invitation to her, she still may never come. And she may never extend one back. I could never forgive myself if I damaged our relationship so.”

Tamlin’s eyes searched yours. For what, you couldn’t be certain. 

“If she does so, she would be the one to damage the relationship. I have hurt her greatly, I understand. But, if she chooses to plant herself between you and I, that is her choice to make and her consequences to bear.” He reached over, cradling your face in his hand. “You are a grown female. If this is a mistake of its own, then it is your mistake to make. She cannot keep you here any better than I tried to keep her in Spring.”

You looked away. You pushed the plate away and began to rise. Tamlin followed after you. As you began to walk down the path, he trailed after you. He kept a distance between you, far enough that he wasn’t on your heels but close enough that he could be at your side in a few long strides. 

In your heart, you knew he was right. But you couldn’t shake the feeling of betrayal, no matter how hard you tried. After everything Feyre has done, after all she has suffered, staying with her was the least you could do. Yet, why would you sacrifice your happiness for hers when she was so quick to rip it from you without even listening to what you had to say? You could not yet forget  the cold look in her eyes as she ordered Rhysand to winnow you away. She was not your sister then. She was anything but. 

“Come to Spring,” Tamlin said from behind you. You paused in your step. You did not turn, but you listened. “It does not have to be permanent. Come to Spring, see if this is worth it. If you decide that it is not, then I will not stop you from returning here. I will respect whatever choice you make, but I would appreciate it if you could give us a fair shot. That is all I ask of you, I swear it.”

You turned. You looked past Tamlin at the River House. You were certain that Feyre and Rhysand were trying to listen in on the conversation. You were sure they were waiting for your answer. But, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care what they thought. After all, they hadn’t cared to ask if you even wanted Tamlin as a mate. 

“One chance,” you said. “One chance, and if I decide to that I would rather a relationship with Feyre, you must not follow.”

“I promise, whatever you decide in the end, I shall respect it.”

Feyre watched as you gripped Tamlin’s arm, an apologetic smile on your lips. She had a million things she wished to say to you—a hundred warnings, a few hundred thousand promises to have her door open to you if you ever want to come back, and an acceptance to the offer to visit Spring in a month’s time. Instead of saying any of those things, she mouthed a goodbye while Tamlin winnowed you away. 

Rhys’s hand fell to her shoulders, steadying her as she swayed on her feet. Somewhere in the distance, she could see Nesta and Cassian hovering. Elain and Lucien busied themselves with clearing the dishes. 

“She’ll be alright,” Rhys said. “He is not so stupid as to make the same mistakes again.”

Feyre hummed. “Is this where you say it's different with mates?”

Rhys rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen too many awful mated couples to say that with any ounce of sincerity. But, I will say, he does seem different with her.”

“And if he isn’t,” Nesta said, stepping toward her, “he will pay tenfold for any pain he causes her.”

Feyre nearly laughed as she watched Cassian nod enthusiastically to Nesta’s threat as he bounced Nyx on his hip. She could only hope that you knew how protected you were—that you had the entirety of the Night Court to support you should trouble ever make its way to you. But any laughter she had, any words she wanted to say, died in her throat as shadows flooded the River House. 

Azriel. 

Shit. Rhys had sent him off on a mission a few days prior. Azriel had been reluctant to go—one of the few times she was certain that Azriel would fight her mate to the death on an issue. But it was Feyre’s promise to keep you safe in the River House that gave him leave to go. She had forgotten that when she had the letter sent to Tamlin, when she bid you goodbye. You were gone now and, worse, you hadn’t said goodbye to him. 

“Where. Is. She.”

Feyre turned, looking at Azriel’s towering form darkening the doorway. His wings were flared out behind him, beating furiously as his shadows continued to search the home for any sign of you.

“She has gone to Spring, with Tamlin.”

Azriel growled. His nostrils flared. The shadows began to swirl around Feyre. Rhys took a step in front of her, ready to block any attack sent her way. Would Azriel attack her? Why would he be so upset about not being able to say goodbye to you? She knew he pined after you, but she thought it was like Mor and Elain. Something one-sided. Had she missed something? 

“It was her choice, brother,” Rhys said. “We are welcome to visit her whenever we so please. If you would like, we can go now, just so you may have a chance to talk to her.”

“If I go to Spring, I’m bringing her straight here. This is where she belongs. Not with that swine of a High Lord.”

“She has every right to choose to be with her mate—”

“No!” Azriel snapped. “I am her mate!”

It felt like time froze. Everyone stared at the Shadowsinger. Even Elain and Lucien came out from the kitchen, concern about his antics. Feyre blinked. No, that couldn’t be. Tamlin was your mate. You had felt the bond with him, and he you. 

“Triads are a thing of legend,” Rhys said slowly. “They haven’t existed in millennia…Cauldron, no one has ever been sure they were ever truly real. You aren’t suggesting…”

“All I know is that the bond snapped when I found her crying after Nyx’s birth, so certain she’d lose her sister, brother-in-law, and nephew in one fell swoop that all three of you surviving overwhelmed her. It snapped as I held her, trying to reassure her that all was right. That no one would hurt her or her family.” Azriel took a step toward them, glowering. “You have sent my mate into a lion’s den. Lesser males have killed for lesser slights.”

“Azriel, I’m sorry. I didn’t know—” Feyre tried. 

But he was already gone—wings rustling against the wind as he flew away. To where, she couldn’t say for certain. 

PART TWO

[drluvsick]

𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒 — 𝐠𝐢𝐲𝐮 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐨𝐤𝐚

a person who’s lost those close to him and a person with trust issues— two close friends put on a mission together where a nightmare draws your relationship closer. 📝 gn! reader. you have a nightmare and giyuu comforts you, basically. just some mild hurt to comfort with a lotta fluff <3

word count : 1.1k

giyuu tomioka. the one who thought so poorly of himself. the one who’s blocked everyone from his heart. safeguarding it. just so that he’d never have to experience the pain of losing those he loved again. locking it from everyone, except for you.

if there was someone he’d want to stay with for eternity, it’d be you.

on the other hand, you had issues from your past. the betrayals. the backstabbing. your trust in people had deteriorated across the years, until you met him.

he was never too vocal, and he never tried to initiate anything with you in the start. but something about the other’s personalities made the both of you gradually gravitate towards each other, eventually accepting the person like the click of a magnet once they’re attached.

he let you into his heart, and you trusted him with yours.

but one day, after a mission that you had been assigned to with him, things changed.

it was nighttime. the demon had been dealt with, but you and giyuu were instructed to stay in the village for a few days to monitor the people who had been infected by the demon’s blood art just in case any side effects called for your attention.

apparently, your room had already been chosen by master ubuyashiki himself— a two beds one room to share with giyuu. you were secretly looking forward to it, and unbeknownst to you, so was he; although he didn’t fully recognize it as a fact at the time.

maybe it was because he knew about your frequent nightmares. maybe his intuition called for someone you trusted to help you through them. either way, it was happening.

you did your nightly rituals (as did giyuu), conversed with him a bit, and then retreated to your bed to sleep.

sleep, which really meant participate in a lucid dream distorted to remind you of everything over and over again.

“good night, giyuu!” you called over your shoulder; facing the wall as to not creep him out.

“good night to you as well,” you heard him shuffling a bit before he faced the other wall himself, thinking that it’d probably make you uncomfortable if he just stared at your back as he was drifting to sleep.

and then once you nodded off, it begun.

you woke up abruptly, hyperventilating and forcing back your tears. you were not going to cry while he was in the room.

“(y/n)?… ” giyuu mumbled, turning to face you after a few seconds of adjusting to waking up. “are you… oh.” he immediately sat up and went over to your side, the futon dipping as his weight dropped onto it. the single tear that fell down your face alone made his heart ache.

“s-sorry. i didn’t mean to wake you up.” you quickly wiped it away, trying desperately to control your breathing.

“it’s okay,” he responded, “bad dreams, i’m guessing?” he inched a little closer to you before you nodded.

“… is it okay if i hold you?” he asked, uncertain, but determined to make you feel better. he recalled tengen pulling one of his wives in to comfort her after she’d made some sort of mistake and she started bawling. maybe him hugging you would have the same effect as tengen had on his wife.

you allowed it, gratefully putting your arms around his shoulders— a small shudder running down your spine at the warmth he provided that contrasted against the cold and dull aftermath the nightmare had left you.

“i’m sorry, i’m so sorry—” you’d said as the dam broke, tears beginning to wash down your face. you haven’t cried like this in so long— feeling the comfort of someone near you as the feelings of not being enough or loved racked through your body, the thoughts of both fighting each other as giyuu rubbed your back through it all.

you didn’t usually cry after your usual nightmares. not after you’d experienced them enough to get used to them. but this was different.

because giyuu had been in it. brutally murdered as you stood from afar, watching the scene without being able to move. the agony, the pain, the fear— as what happened so many years ago.

he called your name, so broken that you wished to just take the onslaught yourself if it meant that you’d die in his arms, looking into those eyes or succumbing to the end as he’d vainly try to alleviate the situation.

but he was here, with you. he was whispering small words of encouragement, letting you pour yourself out to him as you held onto him for dear life.

“it’s okay, it’s okay. it’s going to be alright…”

you had said no to wanting to talk about the dream, shaking your head back and forth as you recognized that if you were to tell him, you might accidentally spill your true feelings to him.

you couldn’t lose this thing you had with giyuu. not after everything, not over some silly confession.

soon, your heavy breathing slowed down as the tears ceased. you got a tissue as you turned away from him and cleaned yourself up, opting to clean your hands before going back to face him again.

and once you did, he welcomed you back with open arms. “it’s still pretty late… do you want to head back to sleep?” his voice was so soft in your ear, a melody that lulled you closer to wanting to go back to bed. but you were reminded of why you were awake again in the first place.

“i don’t want to— not with… well… the nightmares.” his neck was so warm…

“i… could sleep holding you like this, if you’d like? i don’t think it’ll help, but… ” giyuu immediately wanted to sink into the earth at that moment, why did he say that?

“i’m definitely okay with that.”

“are you sure?”

“plenty.”

moments like these are ones that you can’t capture by memory alone, not the feeling and not the experience.

not the way he hugged you under the covers as you held onto him, both sides feeling that warm fuzzy feeling in your hearts. not the way his head was positioned on yours as he shielded you, making you feel protected from the world. and definitely not the way he held you tighter and closer, whispering a small, “i love you,” which could’ve easily been mistaken for your own imagination.

but you heard it and murmured a small “i love you, too.” back.

in the end, things definitely changed. and for once in quite a while, your dreams were filled with nothing but happiness and hope for a better future.

“i… you WHAT.” you gaped in disbelief.

tanjiro apologized over and over. “i'm sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry! i just— he asked! and i couldn’t lie to him because he has these senses and i knew you liked him and—!!”

as he rambled on and on, you looked over at giyuu. “so you knew, and you waited that long to tell me??”

“i wanted to wait for the right moment, that’s all.”

“like…?”

“the day we first had a conversation together.”

“…forgiven.” 😍😍😍

overluvsick | please do not repost, translate, and/or claim my works as yours !!

[tiredmetalenthusiast]

I want you, I love you (SimonxF!reader)

Here’s one for @glitterypirateduck’s challenge for our big boy Simon! I used 7.”Accidental confession” and 25.”Ghost and reader have to dress up for an event”.

Warning: Language.

Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He didn’t want to go. He hated going to Galas or really any event where money and politics were being discussed, the big spenders and supporters of the military with their almost carbon copy wives. He hated having to pretend that he cared about what the old men were talking to him about, asking always how many men he’s killed for “the greater good”. Ignoring their salacious wives’ advances to simply walk off to the bar or track down Johnny.

That was before you though. You, who somehow wormed your way into his head and his heart, long since thought cold and dead.

You’d been with the team for 2 years now, seamlessly integrating yourself into their everyday. Formed a fast friendship with Gaz and Johnny, looked to Price for guidance, and never shied away from talking to Ghost himself like you’d known him for ages.

He approved of your snarky attitude and the way you operated on the field, watching his back (and saving his ass a couple times), being able to hold your own in a fight. He still goes back to the day he watched you take down Price, a man twice your size and weight, he’d never been hotter under the collar.

Now as he gazes blankly into the abyss thinking of you, ignoring the droning of the old man and his idiotically annoying wife, he catches sight of deep, sparkling blue fabric. His eyes trailed the fabric up to strings of black pearls clinging to curvy, plush hips. Up higher to more pearls hanging and clinging to a soft stomach and ample breasts, shoulders bare save for a black fur coat.

A low whistle came from his left, Johnny showing up from the corner of his eye. ”Well, never thought I’d see the day we got to see Bonnie all dressed up.” “Don’t even think about it Mactavish.” Johnny chuckled, “Aye not looking to die tonight L.T. Would nae make a move on your woman.”

”Oh are we giving Simon shit about his crush?” “Fuck off Garrick.” Gaz chuckled and patted Simon’s shoulder, “Aw Simon, give it a rest. You’ve been drooling over the bloody woman for the whole 2 years she’s been with us.” Simon looked down before following your figure again, glaring at any man that even dared to approach you, let alone try to flirt with you. You were popular among the male recruits unfortunately.

”Are ye gonna tell ‘er?” “No. Best not to.” The three men shook their heads and rolled their eyes, “Simon, I’m gonna give it to you straight.” “I expect nothing less.” “Stop being a bloody fucking muppet and go talk to that poor woman before you actually lose her to a worse muppet.” He turned to stare at Price in disbelief.

He sighed and rubbed his temples. “Migraine?” He looked up to find you holding out a glass of bourbon to him as you take a sip of your own and sit. He gladly takes the glass, moving his mask to take a sip. “Always luv. Never stops when you’re around idiots all day.” You laughed and shook your head, “Aw Johnny’s not that bad L.T.” “Not talkin ‘bout Johnny sweetheart.” “Mmm, the recruits giving you a hard time?” “Bloody infants. Every single one of ‘em.”

His heart sang with joy at the sound of your full laugh,  he tried his hardest not to stare but he couldn’t help it. You were so beautiful. “Hahaha tell me about it. They complain so much about literally everything. Gets annoying havin to hear it day in and day out.” He nods in agreement. The silence stretched on for a bit as you both took sips of your drinks. “Care to dance? You’re the only one I haven’t danced with yet.”

”Don’t dance luv.” “Can’t be any worse than Johnny. He tried to dip me and I almost fell.” Simon chuckled at the image of Johnny doing just that, the image making him grin under the mask. “We don’t have to. Just wanted to dance with someone that didn’t wanna stare at my chest or comment on my body.” “Shameless pigs. You deserve a proper dance then.” He watches you excitedly put your drink down and link your arm with him.

It was then he got a whiff of your perfume, light and delicious with a touch of cinnamon and vanilla. Your arm and hands were warm wrapped around his arm and he puffed up when you subconsciously groped his bicep and laid your head on it.

The two of you danced for a few songs, you leading him slowly. As the last song ended he found your face flushed and hair a bit disheveled. Eyes bright and lovely, smile radiant against your glowing skin. “You’re so beautiful luv. I want you.” ‘Fuck’. Your eyes widened as you looked up into his. “W-what?” Simon sighs, he’s done it now.

”I want you, lovie. I want your body, your smiles, your laughter. Want all your love for myself everyday. I love you.” He watched your face, anxiously waiting for your answer. A smile spread across your features and you giggled, “Took you long enough Simon.” “That mean I can kiss you now?” You nodded, smile wide as he lifted his mask slightly, arm sliding around your waist, a hand at the back of your head.

The kiss was passionate, all consuming, and delicious. Ghost never wanted to part from your lips, but the look of love shining in your eyes made him happy he did. “Wanna get out of here?” “Fuck yes. Tired of these pompous assholes.” Somewhere close by Gaz, Price, and Johnny look on, happy for Simon.