#i hope paris sinks soon

[sepangcircuit]

fuck paris olympics i fucking hate every single officials who fucked up dato azizulhasni’s race yesterday AND relegating shah firdaus when it is the japanese athlete’s fault

[heartsforvin]

Hi!! id love a hurt/comfort type fic. maybe reader hears Vin saying reader is too clingy or sees him flirting with someone else and they have a huge fight but make up at the end (i hope this makes sense lmao) <3

TOO CLINGY

thank you for the request !! i hope you enjoy <33

pairing: vinnie hacker x fem!reader

warnings: hurt/comfort, cussing, arguments, use of pet names, lmk if i forgot anything !!

summary: you overhear vinnie tell one of his friends that you’re too clingy, which results in an argument between the two of you

the night was going just fine until you overheard your boyfriend say something that completely ruined your mood.

you and vinnie were out at one of your guys’ friends house for a little get together. it’d been a bit since everyone got to hang out, so you decided to all get together again.

you were standing off to the side, chatting with one of your friends while vinnie was not too far from you, talking to his.

you don’t know how this subject came up, seeing as you could only hear parts of the conversation over the music.

when you did though, your whole body shut down and you just felt like crying.

“yeah lately she’s just been extra fuckin’ clingy, i don’t know what it’s about but it’s getting old real fuckin’ fast.”

anxiety ran through you faster than ever, and all you wanted to do was go in your room and hide from absolutely everyone and everything.

the only reason you’d been so clingy lately was because vinnie’s been in paris for a few days, not being able to see him.

so yeah, you’d say you have a pretty good reason.

pushing past people in the crowded house, you make your way to the bathroom, shutting the door and locking it before going over to the sink.

you grip it harshly as you try to hold yourself together.

splashing water on your face you hear a knock come from the door behind you.

“occupied!” you shout, hoping whoever on the other side can hear through the loud noise.

when another knock came soon after you groaned and shouted again, only to be followed by an all too familiar voice calling out your name.

“let me in, sweetheart.” his voice, although a shout, sent instant serotonin through you.

you open the door just enough for vinnie to see your eyes, head barely peaking out.

“see, ‘m fine.” you say as if you didn’t just almost cry over his words.

vinnie though, knows you better than that. “let me in, please.” he says, just enough for you to hear.

opening the door wider, vinnie steps inside and shuts it behind him. you go to sit on the closed toilet seat while vinnie leans against the door.

“what’s wrong?” he asks, breaking the silence between the two of you.

sighing, your head is in your hands as you squeeze your eyes shut, trying not to let a tear slip.

you feel a hand on your knee and that’s when you move your hands from your face and see vinnie is now eye level with you.

“i heard you,” you say, making vinnie’s brows furrow. “heard what you were saying to adam and jett.”

vinnie sighed when he finally realized what you were talking about. he thought he was far enough out of earshot for you to hear.

“baby i— no, don’t try and excuse this, vinnie!” you shout at him.

vinnie stands and backs up, giving you space even though it’s a small space.

“i’m not gonna fuckin’ give you an excuse!” he shouts back. “maybe it’s true! maybe you have been a bit to clingy lately!”

you just sit there, taking his words in as he shouts at you. hearing it a second time is just as bad as the first.

he hasn’t been too busy lately up until he went to paris, so the two of you did spend a lot of time before then.

still didn’t excuse the fact that words hurt. clingy or not, you just loved spending time with vinnie.

“i haven’t seen you in days vinnie!” its just a screaming match at this point, hoping no one can hear your words to each other.

vinnie sighs as he rubs his hands over his face, listening to you speak. “you’ve been in europe for days, vin! sorry i’ve just wanted to spend time with my boyfriend.”

vinnie rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “you won’t leave me alone for five fucking minutes!”

his voice gets more stern which only spurs on tears faster. you want to let them spill, to let every tear that you have out, but you won’t.

he was right, you have been kind of up his ass lately, not letting him be. that’s only because he’s spent all his needed time in europe, now it was your time with him.

“all i want is five minutes to myself,” he sighs. “even when i stream, you’re standing right there, breathing over me.” he tells you.

your eyes become watery and suddenly you can’t hold them in anymore and you just let the tears fall.

with your head in your hands again, you silently cry as your body shakes, vinnie watching this all unfold.

“i’m sorry i just miss you!” you scream at him through your cries, voice straining as you do. “all it ever is, is work, work, work. i just want five minutes with you!”

vinnie gets down to your level again and places his hands on yours. he hears you, truly does, but you need to to understand one thing.

“this is my job, baby. you know this,” he says. “you think i like working, going out of the country this much?”

he does, don’t get him wrong, but he also loves to be home with you.

however, when you’re always up on him when he does come back from a five to seven day trip, that’s when he get irritated.

you shake your head at his question, he wipes your tears with the pads of his thumbs, making you smile.

you kiss his hand when he moves them to your cheeks. “there’s that pretty smile.” he says.

“i’m sorry for yelling, i just get so frustrated sometimes,” vinnie sighs. “i love you, you know that.”

you smile weakly at him. “i’m sorry too. i just miss you so much when you’re not with me, and when you finally are, i just like to be with you every second.”

vinnie caresses your cheek and smiles at you. “i know, sweetheart. you know i love our time together, but some things you do have to let me do on my own.” he chuckles.

you reciprocate with another smile, but finally leaning in to give him a proper kiss. tears are still on your cheeks, so he wipes them away as the two of you share this cute moment.

“are we good now?” he asks, pulling you up off the toilet seat.

you hug him tightly, nuzzling into his chest as his arms wrap around your waist.

“we’re good.” you smile up at him.

he kisses you once more before opening the bathroom door and the two of you join the others again.

hi hi !! thank yo for the request again !! i hope you loved it !!

tags: @cosmicanakin , @anqeliclust , @sturnioloshacker , @khackerr , @bernelflo , @louloulemons-blog , @leqonsluv3r , @kriissy4gov , @kayleighh , @slvthrs , @0strawberrysorbet0 , @defnotayonna , @supabhad , @hallecarey1 , @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom , @khxna , @skye-44 , @jpg3 , @eddieslut69 , @miilzzy ,

[dira333]

When I felt like I was an old cardigan - Kenma x Reader

thanks @missalienqueen for the character choice

Your head’s pounding, the sliver of sunlight peaking through the blinds too bright for your eyes. You press them closed again, sink further into the bed. 

What happened last night? What day is today? Where are you anyway?

You’ve always been a deep sleeper. The kind that forgets everything the minute your eyes close. 

So you’re not that surprised to find yourselves out of your depth at first.

But you quickly realize that this isn’t your bed. Your bedding is not that expensive and your mattress is not that soft.

Did you spend the night at a hotel? 

You curl further into the pillows, your memories still a little foggy but at least past you has shown some taste in finding a place to sleep.

“Good morning.” The voice is soft and gentle and you need a second to realize that it’s not in your head.

You turn your head. There’s a door not far from you, a man leaning against the frame.

You swallow thickly. Hotel rooms normally don’t come with handsome strangers.

Wait, you were on a tinder date last night. Could it be-?

“I usually don’t sleep with someone on the first date.” You blurt out before you can stop yourself. 

“I know.” He says, dark hair falling into his eyes. Even from this distance you can tell that they are big and bright, cat-like and captivating. “You told me that last night, over and over.”

“And we still did-?” You can’t bring yourself to say it.

His eyes widen at your question. “No, no, nothing like that. Don’t you remember? You didn’t seem that drunk.”

You groan and rub your temples. “I have early morning dementia. I’ll need a cup of coffee to get my memories back.”

He chuckles softly, the sound rich and warm. It sends shivers down your spine.

“Follow me then.”

You follow him, the floor cool beneath your bare feet. You’re wearing an oversized shirt that’s definitely not yours over what appears to be your underwear. You wonder where the rest of your clothes ended up and whose shirt it might be. It can’t be his, he’s not that much taller or broader than you but the shirt hangs off you like a dress, generously covering your bare legs.

“What’s your name again?” You ask when he leads you into the kitchen. You’re normally pretty good with names and faces, but he’s not in any of your college classes, as far as you’re aware. And he’s got recognizable features, pretty eyes, and an interesting hair color, his long dark hair bleached at the ends, held up in the back in a messy bun that looks effortlessly pretty. You never get your hair to look like that.

“Kenma. Kenma Kozume. I know you from College.”

You blink. Could you have really missed him? With looks like that?

“I’m not in any of your classes.” He points out, his voice now quieter, his eyes moving across the kitchen as if looking for something to hold on to. “I just noticed you on campus, that’s all.”

“Oh.” You blink again. “That’s…” Your voice drowns in the noise of the coffee maker. Kenma seems uncomfortable with it too, flinching when the whirring gets a little too loud. 

Soon the distinct aroma of fresh coffee fills the room, waking your brain up a little more. Kenma puts the first cup in front of you, smiles apologetically, and restarts the machine.

You take tiny sips and close your eyes as your brain boots up like an outdated computer. 

-

You remember getting ready for your date, phone set up to film you as you twirl in your new red dress. 

“What do you think?” You ask and your best friend gives you a double thumbs up.

“You look so cute! He’s going to be head over heels for you!”

“I hope so. It’s my first time dating over an app, I have no idea how this works!”

“I hate that I can’t be there to stalk you. I’d sit behind a plant and spy on you and make sure he treats you well.”

“I know, I hate it too. But I can’t wait for you to come back from Paris to start dating. Are you still on with that Tendou Guy for tomorrow night?”

“He hasn’t ghosted me yet, so I’m hopeful. He sent a few memes over and he’s either had help or he’s the best kind of funny.”

“Aww, I hope it’s the last. Well, I have to go in a few minutes, so I’ll log off. I’ll send you updates through the night, okay?”

“Okay, have fun!”

…

“Have you decided yet?” The waitress is not much older than you. You wonder if you’d feel better or worse if she were older. She’s giving you a sympathetic smile and you know what she’s thinking. After all, you’ve been sitting at this table for two for over thirty minutes, clearly waiting on a date that’s not going to come.

“I… I’ll have a glass of wine.” You start, your voice a little shaky. “What entree would you suggest?”

There’s a business meeting on a table to your right and an older couple having dinner to your left. You’ve never felt so alone like you’re doing right now and even though you know it’s not your fault and that alcohol isn’t a solution for a problem like this, you can’t deny that the first glass makes you feel a little better.

The second glass makes you feel a little warmer too, something you welcome after wearing a dress that looks incredible on you but is nowhere near warm enough for a rainy night in early spring.

By the time the waitress hands you the dessert card you’re ready to order your third glass of wine. But just as you open your mouth, the chair that had been vacant ever since you came in, is pulled back.

“I’m sorry I’m late.” The man is pretty, tailored suit and bright, cat-like eyes, dark hair pulled back into a bun. “My meeting ran late.”

“I-what?” You eye him warily. He’s gorgeous, there’s no denying it, a 10 out of 10 whereas your date had been a solid six or maybe seven, at least that’s what you could tell from his pictures alone.

“You can leave the menu with me.” He turns to the waitress with a smile, taking the menu from her before taking a seat.

“I’m sorry.” He leans forward, whispering over the little candle burning in the middle of the table. “I noticed that you were eating alone and you seemed a little lost. I hope I’m not intruding, this isn’t… I normally don’t do stuff like this, but I’ve seen you around College before, so I thought… I’m Kenma, by the way. Kenma Kozume.”

“Oh…” Your voice comes out a little too loud and he blushes, lowers his head in a way that tells you more about him than his previous words had.

“What were you doing here? At the restaurant, I mean, when you saw me?”

“I was part of that business meeting. It went on for way too long but I couldn’t just get up and leave, I’m sorry.”

“Ah, sure. I mean, your boss would probably fire you, if you did. But he picked a nice restaurant for a meeting. The food here is good.”

“It is.” He smiles, just a slight quirk of his lips, but your heart responds as if he’d just confesse his love for you. He really is unfairly pretty.”

-

The coffee machine falls quiet again and you blink, refocus on the moment again.

“That was really nice of you.” You say, “To keep me company like that.”

“It was reckless, more likely. You were nice enough not to chase me away.”

“No, I had a good feeling about you.” You smile up at him, still standing next to the coffee machine. He seems so much easier to fluster now, at daybreak, than he was last night. Or maybe you’re just noticing it now that you have a steady gaze and a clear mind. 

“Who knows how much more wine I would have had without you.”

“You don’t handle your liquor well.” He points out, blushing as if realizing belatedly that that was rude.

Shame burns through you as you remember stumbling out of the restaurant as if your body had only registered all the alcohol the moment you’d stood up - late and all at once.

You must have looked a mess, and truthfully, you’d been one. 

You hadn’t even been able to remember your address, hanging off Kenma like a dead weight on the way to his car.

-

“I still owe you,” you remember, guilt coiling in your stomach. He’d paid for everything.

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“I can pay for my food. I mean, you let me sleep here too and the clothes-” You pick at the collar, a sudden realization flashing through you. “Your boyfriend will be horrified I slept in his clothes.”

“My boyfr-” Kenma stares at you, wide eyed, face paler than before. “What are you talking about?”

It’s a miracle he understands what you’re trying to say from the way you’re rambling now. You’ve lost sight of the point you were trying to make a while ago.

“I…” He’s glaring at the coffee machine now as if it had murdered his family or caused some other tragedy. “I’m not gay. I don’t have a boyfriend. Truth is I’ve noticed you. At College, like I said. I’m not that good at making friends but you seemed kind and interesting and… well, I didn't know how to approach you until I saw you at the restaurant. I couldn’t leave you there looking all pathetic.”

You snort. His eyes fly over, the sight of them - on you - making you breathless again. He really is unfairly pretty. 

“I don’t mind you making an ass of yourself. I’m as socially awkward as they come. I just…”

“Do you wanna get coffee together?” You ask. You know you’re getting ahead of yourself, but he’s cute and if you’re hangover brain isn’t reading everything wrong, he’s not against being friends with you.

Kenma blinks, holds up the coffee he made himself. It’s a question and an answer in itself.

You laugh.

“I mean a planned thing. Where I can dress up before and make sure I look presentable instead of looking like I’m trying to cosplay a Scarecrow.”

“You mean a date?” He asks, a faint blush on his cheeks.

Warmth bubbles in your chest. You lean your head to the side. “If you want it to be a date, it can be a date.”

He smiles, the motion lighting up his face. 

Your stomach flips a little at the sight and you wonder, really, just how you managed to turn a night around like that.

“Would it be terribly forward of me to ask you out right now?” Kenma asks. “I kinda like the Scarecrow Cosplay. Just don’t tell my best friend, I stole that shirt from him.”

…

Somewhere in Tokyo Kuroo sneezes loudly.

“Better take some Zinc,” he mutters to himself. “Don’t want to get sick.”

My Kofi if you want to tip me

[fayes-fics]

When The World Is Free: Chapter 4 - Le Rideau Tombe Avant La Fin

MASTERPOST PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: none.

Word Count: 2.6k

Author’s Note: Multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl! Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. This is reader and Eloise's farewell to Paris. Thanks to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy!

Paris, September 1939

The next three days are a blur, fleeting but at once memorable, lived on borrowed time. 

Knowing the inevitable is happening - that you will need to leave Paris soon - you give notice at work; so sad to have only been there for a matter of weeks rather than the planned months. On a brighter note, however, you are able to spend the days with Benedict, showing him all you have learned about art in the city in the short time you have had. Many a happy hour is spent in galleries. Both of you tripping over your words to share what you know about the art and the artists in a breathless, excited fashion. Kindred spirits in your appreciation of the works. Sometimes lost in a reverie as you stand in front of a canvas as large as your entire living room, the scale and complexity literally dumbfounding. 

And, of course, a little of your heart is stolen with each moment together - the first person you have ever met who truly seems as enthused as you about the subject matter. That it's all wrapped up in that handsome face adds more complexity and confusion. You can't deny the skip in your pulse when he looks at you, weighted, a touch of reverence, so focused as you speak passionately on the subject you love. And you are certain your face is a picture of devotion as he waxes lyrical, too. You know you are getting swept up into the almost cliched romance of it all - the city of love, a handsome stranger, the no doubt impending invasion giving a sense of urgency and finality to every hour- it's a powder keg that feels dangerous as it is intoxicating. 

—

Early evening of the second day, as you wander back from the Louvre, you pass by the offices of the cruise company you came from America with. 

“Oh! I should speak to them about swapping my return ticket,” you comment, seeing the men standing outside in the smart red livery of the company, speaking in English to crowds of people inquiring about escaping France.

“See if you can move it to the day after tomorrow,” Benedict counsels. “That is the day we are due to set sail. We can all go to the coast together on the train.”

“That would be nice,” you admit, realising it will be lovely to have someone to wave farewell to, even if there is a little stab in your chest at the idea you may never see Benedict again. Or, of course, darling Eloise.

So, a couple of hours later, after an early dinner, you are back on this same street, your ticket in hand, waiting patiently to speak to one of the young men in uniform. 

“Mademoiselle?” he beckons you forward.

“Good evening. I have a ticket to New York for eleven months, hence, 12th August 1940. I am hoping I can swap to a sailing in a few days? Ideally, the day after tomorrow?”

The men exchange glances, and there seems to be a swirl of excitement as they crowd around you.

“A real ticket?” one of them pipes up, an excitement in their tone which strikes you as rather odd.

With a nod, you hand it over, and they all seem to confer, then grab a pad of tickets and transfer some details. 

“Not a problem at all, Mademoiselle. Here, this is for a sailing two days hence. Thank you for travelling with us!”

They seem inordinately pleased as you walk away clutching your new ticket, a mix of emotions swirling. The finality of your time in Paris suddenly so real, the date on the newly issued ticket, ink still drying, sinking in.

—

When you push open the door to your apartment, still with a tinge of melancholy, you are taken aback by the whirlwind you encounter.

“How did I amass this many mugs?” Eloise decries, standing amidst a complete bomb of possessions scattered all over the surfaces of your apartment.

“Well, you can't take them all home,’ Benedict points out wearily, “you have your case, and that trunk there, Eloise, and that is all.”

Eloise rolls her eyes. “Well aware of that brother…” holding a blue and red mug in each hand, assessing which she likes more.

“I suppose I'm lucky I've only been here a matter of weeks,” you pipe up as they both turn to look at you, Benedict shooting you a lopsided grin as Eloise barges forward and loops your arm in hers, dragging you across the room.

“Just the person I need!” she declares. “Help me! What mug screams, ‘I had a life in Paris once, and it was amazing’?” She gestures to the array of drinking vessels she has pulled out to the cupboard.

You ponder the question with a thoughtful pout. “Why not just leave them all for the next tenant? I'm sure Solene would appreciate the ability to rent out the apartment with kitchen supplies?” you try to be diplomatic.

“Yes, I know that,” Eloise sighs, “there were mugs when I got here. That, of course, got mysteriously broken after a few days, which is a blessing as they were all hideous…”

“You broke some perfectly good mugs?” Benedict frowns disapprovingly.

“Do you live here?” she shoots back pointedly, raising an eyebrow, “I am only seeking the counsel of those who live here… not a squatter,” she sniffs.

You share a look with Benedict -  yours contrite, his bemused - as if this is just another day with Eloise. Which, to be fair, it sort of is.

“If I had to choose one…” you point to the cherry red earthenware mug that looks French in a way you can’t quantify; it just does.

“You’re right as always,” Eloise grins, seizing it. “Much better help than that one,” she adds, sticking her tongue out at Benedict as she wraps the chosen item in yesterday's newspaper.

“Packing going well?” you breeze, your eye again meeting Benedict’s as he pulls a face that makes you giggle hard.

“You try cramming nine months of freedom into a teeny trunk,” Eloise grumbles, heading towards her bedroom.

“I am just taking my clothes…” you admit. You only have a few additional items you purchased since you arrived in Paris that should all fit if you pack smart enough.

“That’s yours, by the way…” Eloise gestures to Benedict’s painting on the wall before she disappears out of sight. “I have no room for it, and it seems strange to carry a picture of a house I'm headed to…” she calls out down the corridor.

“I would love it…” you inhale, looking at the artist imploringly as if somehow you need his permission.

“Y-you want it?” Hesitant, disbelieving almost. 

“If you will permit me,” you confess, clasping a hand over your heart.

“It is yours,” he replies, his face a mixture of pleasant surprise and humble acceptance.

You rush forward and take the painting off the wall, reverentially cradling it between your hands. 

“Thank you, Benedict,” you sigh, a little fizz in your stomach at the idea he wants you to have it. Like you will always have a piece of him with you once you are apart.

“I can paint you others...” he offers quickly, in a rush of exhaled breath. “Whatever you want…”

Something in the tumbling sincerity of his words has your heart beating fast.

“I can think of nothing more appealing than a wall full of your works…” you confess while trying not to think that room would be thousands of miles away.

He blushes adorably, casting his eyes down until suddenly, his head jerks up again. “Wait I…I have something I want to give you, actually,” He scurries across the room and gathers a sketchbook. “I'm sorry it's not framed, but here…”

He carefully tears out the page from his pad. And your heart stops.

It's you from two days ago. Sitting on a bench overlooking the Seine, the Eiffel Tower over your shoulder as you read a book. You wondered what he was doing sitting a few feet away that day as you took a lunch break. Now you know. It's a perfect pencil rendering of the scene, each sketched line a wondrous recreation of that sun-soaked afternoon.

“Benedict….” all other words fail. 

“I want you to have it,” he murmurs, “your time in Paris may have been unexpectedly brief, but you deserve a memento of the happiness you found here, however fleeting it had to be.”

Tears prickle in the corner of your eyes; you want to rush to him, to throw your arms around him, thank him profusely, but you are scared to. Scared that in the moment you would get carried away, press your lips to his…

“Thank you...” is all you can struggle out, inadequate and awkward.  

“De rein…” Again, that perfect accent has you practically swaying

But the spell is broken when Eloise reappears, complaining loudly about the size of her trunk, and part of you is grateful for it. Guilt floods your being as you think how bad of a person you must be to covet your best friend’s brother when you have a fiance back home. One you will, in fact, likely see in a matter of days now… tamping down that disquiet, you excuse yourself to your room, placing your ticket on the mantel and refusing to look at it as you pick up a book to read.

—

Solene’s hug is so tight you feel like she is crushing your ribs. Or perhaps it's that you feel a little too fragile today.

“I shall miss you, ma cherie,” she mumbles into your hair before pulling back and seizing your jaw. “You will come back when this is all over, oui?”

“Oui,” you agree, knowing it’s more of a wish than a promise.

Once again, she pulls you in for a tight hug before turning to Eloise and clinging to her just the same, lingering longer.

“Souviens-toi, ma sœur,” she reminds Eloise, having told you the previous night that her sister lives just outside the port city of Le Havre should you need a place to stay for any reason.

It's two days later, the day of your departure, and your eyes ping around the now-tidy apartment, only furniture left where once there was a jumble of life. It looks much less like home, making handing over your key a little less painful. One final wistful glance at the Eiffel Tower out of the window is all you can manage before picking up your case and walking out, scared to look back.

Benedict is loitering in the corridor outside and shoots you a sympathetic glance as you exit, eyes glassy.

“You will return,” he offers solemnly, even as you both know it's just a platitude, before turning his attention to the apartment door. “Hurry up, Eloise, we need to get to the train…” he calls.

You start to move towards the sweeping staircase, preferring a long amble down its winding loop than the lift, your case feeling much heavier than when you arrived mere weeks ago…

—

You watch the puffs of steam float past the window as the train picks up pace, pulling out of Gare Saint-Lazare. Perhaps aptly, it begins raining soon after, streaks of water lashing the glass as you rest your head back into the seat.

“I can't bear to look at it,” Eloise sighs, closing her eyes so as not to see Paris slipping away.

You reach over the table between you and grasp her hand, and her eyes open to give you a nod of thanks before closing again. 

“Why do you have to be American?” she whines. “I would do anything to have you come to England. We could get a little place together in London…” She winds her feet around yours like a vine, needing the connection in your last few hours together.

“If only…” you agree, a weight akin to a heavy boulder settling in your stomach at the idea you will soon be back on Long Island, a world that seems so…. staid to you now.

Benedict shoots you a sympathetic look across from his seat next to Eloise on the aisle but says nothing, going back to reading his book as it's your turn to sigh, the city now a blur outside the window as you speed towards the end of your time in France.

–

Half an hour later, Eloise is sleeping, her head lolling lightly on the glass with the gentle rocking motion of the train, now following the meander of the Seine just outside Poissy.

“She didn't sleep well last night,” Benedict observes, looking up from his book and following your line of sight. “I don't think she wanted her last night in Paris to ever end.”.

His words take you back to just hours ago, a rousing evening in your favourite local bistro filled with wine, camaraderie and song. Benedict didn't accompany you and Eloise, preferring to stay home and read, he said, but part of you wishes he was there to help commiserate and toast your final night chez Paris.

“You should have come out,” you opine with a slight pout, which makes him chuckle.

“It's not me who had to have the fitting farewell,” he points out with a sympathetic smile.

“Still, it would have been nice if you were there…” The idle thought is out of your lips before you can think about how that might sound, and you know you are blushing when his mouth opens a fraction in surprise, a dot of colour on his cheeks, too.

“I'm sure you still had a wonderful time,” he placates demurely.

You smile and nod, feeling a little twinge in your ankle from all the dancing you have done.

“Are you excited?” he asks, changing the subject.

You frown. “Why would I be excited to leave Paris?”

To be reunited with your fiance?” he answers slowly, a look of puzzlement on his face that it had not occurred to you.

“Oh…” you pause, your mind recalling Stanley’s smile, although somehow it seems faded now, like an out-of-focus photograph, as if you cannot wholly remember it now.  “I… I suppose…”

His face is a picture of concern again. “You do not sound certain…” he hedges.

“I am not, to be honest,” you sigh for what seems like the hundredth time today. “These few weeks have… shown me so much of the world,” you explain, “I have had so many novel experiences, met so many wonderful new people…” you can't help but let your gaze meet his as you say it. “It makes my life before seem… small? Parochial?” you are clutching for the right words as his hazy eyes track your every facial move.

“Like an old shoe that used to be comfortable but now suddenly feels too tight?” he offers a metaphor that is so apt you can't help but nod.

“Exactly!’ you agree, enthusiastically waving your hand. 

There is a quiet moment where your eyes meet again, a tingle over your skin, a pulse of energy so enlivening.

“Do you feel there is perhaps something out there better for you?” his ask feels loaded, a quiet murmur that carries so much hidden meaning but is nearly lost in the rhythmic sound of the train clattering over the tracks. So much so you could likely pretend you didn't hear, but you don't. 

“I just might…” you answer softly, even as you are unable to look away. Something about this man makes you daring, unwilling to do anything but be bold.

Long, elegant fingers reach out over the table and are about to brush the back of your hand when Eloise suddenly startles awake between you. His hand disappears rapidly, pulling back as if burned. All you can concentrate on is the ashy taste of regret at your best friend’s timing.

Benedict taglist: @foreverlonginguniverse @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies @balladynaaa

[msbigredmachine]

Sugar & The Chief - A Roman Reigns One-Shot

Reader is a best-selling erotic author reflecting on the success of her newest novel, which is based on her secret affair with the man who became her muse.

PAIRING: Roman Reigns x OC

Warning: A LOT of smut

Word count: 5.7k 

A/N: I started this goddamn fic in late 2021! 😭 I'm so glad it's finally out. This one is a little different and I hope you enjoy!

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

It took you approximately three years to finish it. At first, you didn't want to, because through the smoke of mirrors of the raunchy literature was hands down the most personal piece you’ve ever done. But your team insisted that you go through with it. Your publicist Sheree told you it was one of the best works she’s ever read. On top of that, the dividends from your last book were starting to dry up, so you didn’t have that much of a choice.

You finally relented, and soon after it was published, the novel exploded. Your rabid readers had been waiting impatiently for your next offering and they gobbled it up. Your face and the novel were all over social media, TV, magazines and even on the huge Times Square billboard just down the road from your multi-million dollar penthouse in the Upper East Side. It wasn’t long before you were doing interviews and signing autographs in bookstores, malls and libraries all around the country. You were scheduled to be in London, Paris and Madrid next month promoting the book. It was a comeback for the ages.

And you had him to thank for that.

Sugar & the Chief was an erotic tale about an intense love affair that ended in disaster. Critics viewed it as Fifty Shades of Grey with better writing and much better sex and found the protagonist, Erica, relatable and three-dimensional. Erica was an ambitious albeit mentally unstable escort in an illicit relationship with Roman, a married Hollywood superstar she codenamed ‘the Chief’. This wasn’t your bland Mills & Boon romance tale...This was so smutty and so nasty you couldn’t read the first few paragraphs without wanting to masturbate thanks to Roman and Erica’s graphic sexual antics. It was so detailed that some theorists believed the Chief was based on a real person. When asked about who ‘Roman’ was, you played him off as a completely fictional character. No one needed to know the true identity of your muse. But you were one hundred percent sure that if he read this book, he would know it was about him. After all, you had incorporated some real-life dialogue between you in the novel. Without a doubt, he would know. You wondered, not for the first time, what his thoughts were if he had indeed read it.

Your fans did not hesitate to relay their own thoughts. Tonight, you were busy reading quite a number of them. Sheree had collated readers’ reviews, emails and feedback and sent them to you for your entertainment. Each one had you smiling from ear to ear. Women from all walks of life gushed about Erica and Roman. Housewives, attorneys, college students, septuagenarians, book club members; all of them had something to say and you felt all warm and fuzzy inside to know you still had it, that the magic hadn’t left your pen yet. Of course, they all wanted to know who the Chief was. They were so impressed with how he fucked you, dominated you and yet doted on you…They all wanted a man like him.

They all love you so much, Leati…just like I loved you…love you…

Closing your MacBook, you stood up from your desk with a smile. You stared out the ceiling-to-floor window and kept sipping from your Olivia Pope-sized glass of red wine, sinking deeper into your thoughts. 

Truth be told, you should have known better than to fall in love with Joe Anoa’i. Your first meeting all those years ago on a week-long vacation should have ended on the island between the soft rumpled sheets of his bed. What happened in Hawaii should have stayed in Hawaii. But then, you couldn’t stop gravitating to him and he couldn’t stop gravitating to you. You went running whenever he called and he came running whenever you called. It was wild, passionate, addicting, exciting…too good to last, really. And it wasn’t long before the fantasy came crumbling down. 

So many factors came into play. The demands of his job as the face of WWE. The meteoric level of his fame. And then, his discovery of your coke habit, your discovery of his wife Nicole and his three children, your increasing jealousy, his decreasing interest in you. After five tempestuous years, your relationship came to a bitter end, and the difficult healing process put an end to the writer’s block you’d been suffering from for a while. 

You missed him deeply, and wished the dull ache in your heart would go away. As morally questionable as it had all been, what you experienced with him needed to happen to every woman at least once in her lifetime - indulging in forbidden fruit and all the delicious things that came with it; the danger, the thrill of secrecy, the earth-shattering sex, the emotions of love, lust, possession, and of course, the inevitable pain and heartbreak…

You captured all of that in Sugar.

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

Chapter 22

Erica pushed the button, shuddering out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. The elevator doors clunked closed and the cables began to whir. She ascended, floor by floor. Light goosebumps littered over her arms as she was filled with a morbid mix of dread and anticipation.

Their big fight from three weeks ago kept playing over and over in her head like some kind of evil loop. He didn't want to leave Gaelle for her and she'd taken her frustrations out on him. However, after what she'd just discovered, he was going to have to change his mind. Because of him, she had broken the ultimate rule in this treacherous line of work. This little game between them has been turned on its head, and tonight was the last time she would play by his rules.

The door opened before she knocked, and she felt her pussy purr involuntarily as they locked eyes. That big, sexy ass body of his leaned against the doorframe, his huge arms crossed over his equally huge chest. His dampened long hair flowed past his shoulders, and he smelled fresh, like he'd just had a shower. It didn't matter how long they'd been apart for; he always took her breath away every time she saw him.

"Well? You gon' stand there or you comin' in?" he sassed, that smooth country-boy drawl of his making her body temperature rise. Shaking it off, she walked through the door, right past him and into the open layout of his new, lavish penthouse, the night lights illuminating her brown skin through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows.

"Nice place," she commented, looking around with mild interest. He had found another hideaway where he could fuck around behind his wife's back. It didn't matter, because Gaelle was never going to leave him no matter what he did and he knew it. She could feel him trailing behind her, his bare feet moving catlike and silent on the cool hardwood floor. He had a prescence like no other, that was why he was the biggest movie star in the world today. And you so happened to be the mistress of the biggest movie star in the world today.

"Champagne?" he offered.

"No, I'm fine," she answered, her crossed arms pushing up her already generous cleavage. Roman's gaze longingly raked over the A-line trench coat concealing her curves, traveling down to the sinful looking high heels adorning her feet. Her hair fell in luscious, tempting waves down her shoulders. A deliberate move, surely, as she knew he loved her hairstyles down. His dick hardened as he imagined bending her over, pulling her tresses and spanking that fat, juicy ass of hers as he pounded--

"I'm not stayin' long, so talk." Her statement yanked him out of his lurid daydream.

"You got all dressed up for me, beautiful," he asked, scanning her up and down again.

"Not everything's about you, Roman," she scoffed.

Not her giving him more lip. He would do something about that later. "I called you a buncha times last week but you didn't pick up. You left my texts on read," he accused with narrowed eyes. "You ignored me."

Erica tilted her chin, her stance defiant. "And why does that surprise you?"

He raised an eyebrow at her biting response and chuckled at her audacity. Sugar was quite the firecracker and honestly, he couldn't get enough. Walking towards her, he smirked as he caught on to her struggle to keep her eyes on him and not on his thick dick print, clear as day in his gray sweatpants. He reached out and rubbed her arm with his hand before tugging her closer to him.

"Sweetheart, don't ever ignore me again. Especially when you know that pussy belongs to me."

"Does it? Funny, I thought I was 'just another pricey whore'. Did you forget you said that to me?"

He rolled his eyes with a huff. "Sometimes I say shit I don't mean, baby girl, you know how it is."

Taken aback by his dismissive, nonchalant attitude, she yanked her arm away. "Are you fuckin' kiddin' me? After everything we've been through? That shit was foul as fuck!" she said incredulously.

"I know. That's why I texted you to come over so I could apologize in person, but you refused to answer me. I hate it when you shut me out, Erica."

"You shut me out, too! For weeks! And now that you're bored you summon me like I'm your fuckin' toy. I am not your toy, Roman! I don't give a damn that you're a Hollywood star, there's plenty of other A-listers out there who will take care of me and not treat me like shit."

"And yet, you come back to me every time," he pointed out, the smug curl of his lip just as panty-wetting as the rest of him. "None of your other clients take care of you like I do, make you feel the way I do. That's why you dropped 'em all, for me."

Erica started to retort but stopped herself, realizing that this was in fact, the truth. But she'd be damned if she let him have the last laugh. "Ya know what? This was a mistake. I should go. I had something to tell you but I dunno why I even bothered to come here."

She turned around but he grabbed her before she could go far, drawing her back to him. Seeing her getting worked up always seemed to fuel his desire for her. The angrier she was, the hotter the sex, and he was horny as fuck for her right now.

"Look at you, gettin' all riled up," he drawled, his tone tinged with amusement. "I love it when you're mad, that shit turns me on, baby."

This man was as infuriating as he was sexy. "Fuck you! Everything is a joke to you!"

"This feel like a joke right here?" he demanded, snatching her hand and pressing it against his throbbing length. The little whimper she let out as she cupped him sealed her fate.

"Feel that? Feel what you do to me?" His voice was rough and needy, matching the look in his eyes. "I need you, Erica. It's been weeks and I've been goin' fuckin' crazy without you."

"Go home to your wife, then," she bit back with a lot less conviction than she aimed for. The pull was much too strong, quite literally too as he wrapped both arms around her slender waist, his face nuzzling her neck and making her hiss as his soft beard tickled her skin.

"She don't make me feel like you do." His voice was needy and almost pathetic as his mouth pressed her throat. "Let me make it up to you, baby. I wanna kiss you. Can I kiss you?" His tongue was warm, his breath hot and heavy on her skin, and her arousal flared against her will.

"Roman..."

"Come on, baby, kiss me," he murmured, his lips sliding over hers. It was a slow but deliberate assault, and Erica felt her body yield as a soft gasp escaped from her. She sagged against him, gripping his shoulders for balance as their mouths smacked oh so sensually together. Fuck, she missed this, missed his delicious kisses and his assured touch as he grabbed her round, fleshy ass, kneading and caressing in his hands and pressing himself harder against her.

Roman growled softly as he released her mouth, his tongue snaking out to lick his lips as his eyes flitted down to her chest. "Take your clothes off," he commanded.

Wordlessly, Erica's hands slid over the leather belt on her waist to slowly unbuckle it. Then, she opened up her coat, eased it off her shoulders and let it fall to the ground, leaving her in nothing, absolutely nothing, but her heels. Roman's darkened orbs blazed to an onyx black as they scanned her naked body, drinking in every smooth, delicate, voluptuous curve. Grabbing her by the waist, he backed her up against the nearest wall, his hardened dick straining against her exposed center. A shiver ran through her as he crashed his mouth back to hers, his huge hand squeezing her throat briefly before tracing the valley between her breasts, and she finally let go of the groan she was holding back as his hand came in contact with the intimate spot between her thighs.

"Damn..." he smirked as he found nothing but wetness, pushing his palm against the slick mound and sliding his fingers along her slit. She moaned in response, her hands gripping his tattooed bicep as his thick finger pushed into her, her pussy quivering around the digit as he thrust it at a maddeningly steady pace.

"Mmm-hmm you like this, don't you baby?" he said, nipping at her bottom lip, coaxing yet another moan from the back of her throat as he slipped a second finger home with deep, languid thrusts. She whimpered helplessly, her vision blurring as her walls dripped and tightened around the invading digits. Her forehead dropped onto his chest, battling to hold on to her sanity. "Fuck..."

Buoyed by her whines and soft cries, he pumped his fingers more earnestly, hissing softly when her walls rippled around them again, signaling her end. "You 'boutta come already, huh? I told you this my pussy. Squeeze my fingers Erica, come for me."

Damn him and his ability to control her with just his touch. Her eyes squeezed shut, and her shout of pleasure came from somewhere inside her soul as she spasmed uncontrollably. She could hear his triumphant snicker as her juices flooded his fingers, brushing his mouth against hers as she leaned into him to regain her tenuous balance. He scooped the round, soft flesh of her breast into his eager palm, with his other hand leaving her pussy to suck her juices, humming pleasantly at the familiar sweet taste.

"Remember what I told you in my text?" he breathed, his gaze trained expectantly on her.

"Mm-hmm."

"Tell me," he insisted, now massaging both her breasts. "Tell me what I said to you. I made you a promise. What was it?"

Erica fought through the thick haze of passion to recall his exact words from the raunchy text message. "You promised to make me come at least three times before we ever make it to the bed," she recounted.

Roman smiled smugly, satisfied with her response. "Uh huh. And Daddy always keeps his promises, don't he? That was the first. Two more to go. Now, let me show you around my new crib."

He showed her around, alright. First, on the plush sectional in the living room area, with her on her back and her head hanging off the edge as he slowly thrust his dick in and out of her mouth. She let his groans wash over her as her jaw relaxed to take more of his intimidating length down her throat. Even upside down, her gag reflex was superb, so each time he thrust inside her, her tongue lapped at the base of his cock, soaking his balls with her spit. Willing to give as much as he was receiving, he leaned forward and rubbed her clit in quick circular motions, making her moan around his cock with the vibrations causing his neck to extend, looking up to the ceiling as pleasure licked his spine.

"Unnnh fuck, suck my dick, take it all down your throat, baby," he encouraged her, sliding his other hand over her breast and toying with her nipple, all while fucking her face. His knees weakened at the sight of his length bulging her throat, she always knew how to take him well. "Shit, Sugar, you look so fuckin' hot like this..."

Erica moaned again through her stuffed throat, waves of heat washing over her as her pussy pulsated beneath the pleasure of his long thick fingers. In all her time under the bright lights and the seedy bowels of Hollywood, she had never been captivated by any one human being. Until him. Their escort-client relationship had long since grown into something more. She had given up on resisting him and let him do anything he wanted to her in bed. But tonight she craved some semblance of control, and this time, his famed charms would not stop her from getting it.

Pushing him away so he slipped out of her mouth, she sat up straight and tugged him onto the massive couch with her. Straddling his hips as he sat up, she placed one hand on his barrel-like shoulder while using the other to curl her fingers around his pulsing dick. He groaned and bucked his hips as she flicked the head of his dick along her slit just to torture him a little. Then guided him against her opening and slid down.

The moment felt heavy and tense, like a tightly twined coil as her wetness opened up for him. At the end of her slow descent, she stopped to adjust to all the emotions and sensations wracking both their bodies. Unconsciously rocking her hips into him, she gasped as the pressure immediately started to build. Their hands and mouths were all over each other. Roman ran his hands up and down her back, rubbed her tits, squeezed her ass. Erica raked her nails over his nipples, sucked on his neck, bit his shoulder. Fuck, it felt so damn good already. Ass rested comfortably on his thighs, chest to naked chest with his dick lodged inside her, it was clear they were not going to last very long.

Leaning back slightly on her other hand placed on his thigh, she began to ride him. Slow and steady at first, making him absorb every drop of her ass, every crevice, every sensation. The lust and pleasure consumed them both, their mouths colliding with hot, sloppy kisses, her moans pitching higher as the tension thickened. His own groans grew heavier and gruffer, his hands leaving her hips to slide underneath her ass and lift her up and down. Exquisite torture, with his strong grip on her making her wet pussy take every inch of him. The angles of his upward thrusts as he bounced her on his dick had her making noises like a bitch in heat. He was so snug and warm and deep inside her, it was as though she could feel him in her soul.

"Oh my fuckin' god," she half-groaned, half-cried, throwing her arms around him and burying her face in his neck as he bounced her even harder. Up, down, up, down. His dick stretched her walls, his fingers deep into her ass cheeks enough to leave a bruise or two. The dizzying sensations spiraled her into another orgasm, and she sat all the way down on his dick and rolled her ass desperately, literally riding out her nut. She couldn't stop herself from biting into his sweaty, salty skin as she came, making the big man growl in reaction and smack her ass hard.

"That's your second nut," he declared.

He flipped her onto her back, still deep inside her. He looked down at her with hungry, blown pupils, letting his hands dance along the meat of her thighs and her calves. Throwing her legs onto his shoulders, he leaned forwards, folding her in two as he fucked her into the couch. Her hands clawed the back of his head only for him to grab them and pin them above her head. The sweat clung to their skins as he steeled his thighs and grinded himself into her wet heat, his face lowering to suck both of her nipples into his mouth, his tongue swirling around each peaked bud. Her groans snowballed with his groans as he drove his dick impossibly deep inside her with primal intensity. When she managed to speak, her voice was unrecognizable. "Oh fuck, I'm coming," she moaned hoarsely, her toes curling behind his head as she exploded again, "Oh my god, Roman, ohhh..."

"I'm 'bout to come too, don't fuckin' move," he panted, holding her down to piston his hips and pound into her. Erica basked in the sound of his tortured groan when his big body tensed up and she felt him pour into her warm confines, his hips stuttering as he found sweet release.

"Got you to three quicker than I expected," he said when he caught his breath, kissing her cheek. "We just gettin' started, baby. I'ma remind you why this pussy is mine."

He gave her an up close and personal view of the city's remarkable skyline, her breasts crushed against the glass window as his juicy lips ravaged her from behind. She could only imagine how she looked right now. Her legs wide, ass spread open, her battered pussy wet and swollen and pulsing for more of his oral onslaught. Nobody ate her out the way he did, with so much passion, covering all the bases, her clit, her inner lips, and even her asshole. The warmth of his breath had her walls clenching as he licked and sucked and kissed everywhere, painting her slickness with his spit. The relief she felt as he finally detached his mouth from her center and got off his knees was replaced with his heavy cock tapping her pussy lips before breaching her entrance with the thick girth. Each thrust dragged her sensitive nipples across the cool, hard surface of the glass, but Erica was so lost in the moment that she didn't care.

"Mmmph, fuck me, baby, fuck my pussy," she exhaled another pining moan, her nails scraping against the glass where he had ordered her to place her hands. Her mouth fell open when he slapped her backside, that deliciously dangerous dick of his pounding into her in full view of the bright lights of Los Angeles. His dick slid in deeper and deeper, his hips circling each time he was buried inside her, making her knees buckle as her climax inched ever closer. She tried to speak again, but words failed her, reducing her to a whimpering, shivering mess as her pussy clenched greedily around his dick. Roman merely chuckled arrogantly, reveling in his handiwork.

"You sound so fuckin' sexy, baby girl, keep moaning for me like that," he purred, his hands clamped on her shapely hips to make her take his lethal strokes. He was a man on a mission, punishing her for assuming she had any sort of control over him. Tears sprang to her eyes as he slowed down his thrusts, his pelvis mashed up against her soft backside as his cock worked inside the sensitive walls of her pussy with a more tender rhythm. He filled her with stroke after long stroke, making them both moan as she squirted all over him this time, her orgasm breaking her into a million pieces.

He showed her the stripper pole next to his bed. He had it installed specially for her, he said, so she could show off her elite lap dancing skills for him and him alone. Watching that itty-bitty waist and all that ass bounce on his dick like her rent was due would be the end of him; He couldn't resist massaging the soft cheeks in his palm, one after the other as she gyrated back and forth on him like a professional.

"Uh huh, go off, baby, pop that pussy on my dick," he drawled from his spot on the pouf he lounged on, his sturdy thighs spread wide apart to give her all the space she needed to ride and grind while she held onto the pole for balance. He watched the streaks of his cum trickle down her gyrating ass, and it made for quite the visual, slapping against the mixture of her juices smothered over his groin. He rubbed in the remnants of his seed on her cheeks, biting his lip as the skin glistened and made her big booty look even bigger. "Mmm, damn baby, this pussy so good, I should throw a dollar at your fine ass..."

"Fuck!" Erica had the pole in a death grip as yet another orgasm rocked her body. She had to get off his dick because she was shaking so hard. The tremors had her mewling pitifully as she bent over, gifting him with the sight of her pink pussy quivering as her cum ran down her inner thighs.

"Get back down here," Roman ordered, smacking her leg and then her ass as he stroked his dick in his hand, "You ain't done. Sit your ass back down on this dick."

He'd been wanting to break in his new California king bed since it'd been installed, so it was apt that he was breaking her back in it. He had her on her stomach, her asshole stuffed with a purple-colored butt plug as he stuffed her pussy with his hard, long cock. She moaned and gasped beneath him, clutching the comforter with her fists as he fucked her like a savage, her plump ass trapped in his possessive grasp.

"Daddyyyyy..." Her moan was loud and long and desperate. It became too much. Roman's dick seemed to double in size inside her and both her holes felt too full to the point of another explosion. A sob tore from her chest.

"Why you cryin'? Huh?" He slapped her ass. "Don't cry. You wanted this dick. Ain't that why you came over? Daddy told you to come and you listened like a good bitch, Daddy's sexy ass bitch. Come here." He hiked her hips higher to force a deeper, more painful arch in her back, and rammed his dick into her sweet spot over and over, demolishing her pussy. Too spent to throw her ass back, she could only lay there and take it, and her eyes squeezed shut, certain she was about to pass out from pleasure.

A big square mirror stretched across the ceiling directly above the bed. His hand slithered into her hair, tugging her head back, almost hyperextending her neck to make her look up. Her mouth dropped open in a moan as she watched that big thick shaft glide in and out of her, the soft skin of her ass rippling against the smacks of his pelvis. Just the sight of him and her together in such an erotic moment had her leaking again, soaking the silk sheets on the bed. He was fucking her so good. She hadn't come this hard and this many times in a long, long time.

Sitting back on his heels, he brought her off the bed and flush against him, assaulting her neck with his hot mouth. "You make me so fuckin' crazy, Erica. Don't nobody else make me lose control like this," he whispered, his grip tightening around her throat as the other hand gripped her breast, making her whimper. "Love this pussy so fuckin' much. You love this dick, baby?"

"Yes Daddy, I love it, I love you," she choked out.

"Mm-hmm, I love you too, baby. You gon' make me come all up inside you, girl," he grunted, his brain growing fuzzier as his end neared. He wrapped her up in his big arms, engulfing her with his heat, lavishing her panting mouth with tongue kisses as his hips rocked upwards, teasing her g-spot. Erica found enough strength to rock with him, grinding back against him, the lovers moving together in the most intimate, sensual dance. Roman groaned with pleasure when he felt her incredibly tight pussy pulling on his cock. It was almost difficult for him to continue thrusting inside of her, but her warm slickness eased the way for him. His hand left her breast and slid down her sweat-slick body to play with her clit, dragging her weak body over the edge.

"Unnnnhhhh..." Erica moaned out, her eyes rolling in the back of her head. Roman moaned with her, his soft lips trailing wet, frenzied kisses along her throat as his balls tightened, craving fresh release. "Come, baby girl, come for Daddy," he whispered shakily.

His wish was her command. Her body went limp as she detonated one more time, creaming all over his dick in the process. Roman let his head fall forward, his groan muffled against her throat as he came hard, smearing his warm cum all up in her walls. Erica murmured incoherently as she felt him pulse inside of her, giving her everything he had like he always did. When it was all over, he grabbed hold of her hair and planted yet another searing kiss on her lips, before releasing her to collapse on the mattress. Admiring her thoroughly fucked disposition, he massaged her backside tenderly before slowly easing the plug out of her, watching her wince from the pain. Running a hand over the back of her head, he brought her face to face with his groin. "Suck all this shit off my cock," he ordered.

Erica licked her lips at the sight of his thick member, semi-erect and slathered in a milky cocktail of her juices and his semen. Grasping it obediently, she lowered her mouth onto it, moaning softly at the taste of herself on him. Roman looked on with a bite of his lip, stroking her hair as she licked him clean. Afterwards, he lay on his side and pulled her into his chest. Erica sighed happily as he kissed her gently, soothing all her pain away. This feeling right here was the reason she could never let him go. Their connection was too deep, too special. No man had ever made her feel like this and she didn't want to lose it; the high of having him, the euphoria of belonging to him. It was why she was willing to quit today, right now even, and start a new life with him. She needed him to be with her forever, and she wasn't sure she was going to take no for an answer this time.

After what she was about to tell him, she doubted he would say no...not when the life they had created together was done out of the love they shared.

"Baby?" she whispered softly to him, watching him closely.

"Hmm?" Lying flat on his back, his eyes were shut and he was in a state of complete relaxation.

"Look at me," she said, waiting for him to meet her eyes before speaking. She needed him to understand the words coming out of her mouth.

"Roman, I'm pregnant, and the baby is yours."

End of Chapter 22

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

Erica's unexpected declaration spelled the beginning of the end of her relationship with Roman. His behavior took a complete 180, having security drag her out of his new apartment, denying all ties to her unborn child and cutting off all communication with her. A distraught Erica terrorized him, stalking his family, poisoning his wife Gaelle and getting him fired from a lucrative film project. It all came to a head when Erica took Gaelle hostage in Roman's vacation home where he had fled to escape her rampage. She forced him at gunpoint to have sex with her in his marital bed while his wife watched, but died when he deliberately strangled her in the middle of her orgasm. It also turned out that Erica was never pregnant, and the positive test she'd shown Roman belonged to her friend and fellow escort, Tiffany. Erica's story made headline news all around the world. It was an incredibly shocking end and it worked well with the dramatic plot of the story.

You were glad for the artistic license, and though what really happened with you was less chaotic, it was not any less heart wrenching. You never even got to break the news to Joe. In fact, he was gone from your bed before the crack of dawn, vanished like a thief in the night. Never returned your calls or messages until three days later, when you received a text message from him that put your heart in a blender.

Nicole and I have decided to work things out. For good this time. I hope you understand. Thanks for always being there for me. Take care of yourself. ❤

How you recovered from that blow, you would never know. How you dug yourself out of the hole of darkness he dumped you in was still a mystery to you sometimes. It really was a testament to your mental strength, because not many people would have survived the unimaginable pain he inflicted on you. The sinister side of you wished you had been brave enough to do exactly what Erica did, to take out your rage on him and make him hurt like he hurt you. But instead you redirected that energy to your work, pouring every second of your anguish into the book. It took a long time for you to get to this point of fulfillment and success in your life, and the book had been your therapy. Now, you were at least making good money from your pain and it softened the blow a little bit.

When you thought about Joe these days, it wasn't with as much resentment. It seemed he had a few problems of his own anyway, as his beloved Nicole was reportedly threatening to upgrade their separation to a divorce and take his kids with her. How the tables turned. Nonetheless, you wished him the best. You still had love for him. You would always miss him. He changed your life, and there was no doubt that you would forever carry him with what was left of your heart.

"Mama?"

You heard her little voice before you heard the shuffle of her tiny feet. Quickly placing the wine glass in the sink, you turned as the love of your life came into view, her favorite blanket dragging behind her as she searched the room for you.

"Shouldn't you be sleeping, little lady?" you asked, fighting back a big smile to look as serious as possible. She was in her "I wanna stay up late" phase and you couldn't afford to fold, not this time at least.

Her little dual Afro puffs jiggled as she rubbed her hand over her eyes, "Come sweep with me, Mama," she pleaded, staring up at you with her big, expressive brown eyes and a pout that was the spitting image of her famous father. She was starting to look so much like him.

Your heart swelled as she padded over to you with her arms outstretched. You lifted her up and held her small body tightly, absorbing her innocence and unconditional love. She smelled so fresh and delicate, like roses, sunshine and baby powder. Her scent has filled your life with joy and purpose since the day you brought her into this world two years ago.

And to think you had almost taken those pills to snuff out this beautiful life in a fleeting moment of weakness. Now, you would give your own life to protect hers without question. Always.

"Okay, kiddo, let's get you back to bed," you cooed softly, kissing her chubby cheek.

"Read me a stowy, Mama?"

"Of course, baby."

As you retreated to your daughter's bedroom, your phone vibrated beside your MacBook. Three letters you had not seen in years flashed on the Home Screen, cutting through the empty room and calling out to you.

❤️Joe❤️

THE END

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

Alternate Sugar & The Chief book cover

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[waldau-archived]

it's just us — boo seungkwan | 1,672 words | fluff, hurt/comfort

uri boo :) title comes from his lovely cover of as it was by harry styles. sometimes you need to realize that there are people who actually want to listen to what you want to say, as i learned the hard way. also, seungkwan 💞

gender neutral reader. warnings: none.

seungkwan's hands are almost trembling when he slots the key into the lock of his door. they are trembling, but he doesn't want to let himself believe it. because if he does, he's going to have to acknowledge the fact that he can't get through tonight without seeing you in some way or the other. he doesn't want you worrying over him because he always wants to be taking care of you, not the other way round.

with a deep inhale, he opens the door of his house and prepares to spend another lonely night by himself. maybe you'll be free just long enough to talk to him on video call for a while. that has to suffice till you get back.

seungkwan doesn't expect to see the lights on, or smell something delicious on the stove.

he doesn't even have the time to worry about an intruder in his house because you walk out into the living room from his bedroom, towelling your hair dry. you're supposed to be in paris, for work. you're not supposed to be here, in his place, looking like everything he needs right now.

"hey, kwannie," you say, dropping the towel on the back of a chair and making your way to him. "i know this is sudden, but we wrapped up the conference earlier than expected. i thought i'd come here and stay the night. i hoped you wouldn't mind."

of course it's okay. it's more than okay. but seungkwan can't believe you chose to come to his place after what must have been a tiring week. he doesn't trust himself to speak, but you're still speaking.

"...something for you, i hope you like...kwannie? you okay?"

you're there when he takes shaky steps forward, unsure of what to do with himself. he wants to hug you, kiss your face a million times till you push him away with a laugh, wrap you in his arms and just exist with you, breathing in and out.

instead all he does is kick off his shoes and collapse on the couch. he doesn't want to talk about it. can't, not when you've come back to him after a week away. surely you don't want to listen to why his day was bad. you've even made dinner, for crying out loud.

"kwannie?"

"i'm fine," he says. he thinks you know how untrue it is.

"anything i can do for you?"

"no." he wants to be held by you, but he's scared the facade he's put up is going to come crashing down the moment he's in your arms.

"you sure? are you hungry? do you want me to pick your favourite movie with dinner? run you a bath?"

"i said no."

"but—"

"please, can you not?" he snaps. he doesn't mean to. he regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, given that they do little to dispel the burden in his chest. and now he's ended up hurting you, too.

you say nothing, simply walking away to the kitchen. fuck, seungkwan thinks. he shouldn't have said a word. he's wanted you all day long, and he's so lucky you're here, but the first thing he's done is snap at you?

he sinks sideways to hide from you, and before he knows it, there's tears streaming down his face. he's been holding them in for long enough that they don't stop even when you come out of the kitchen, sitting next to him and resting a hand on his thigh.

"kwan," you say softly. "come here?"

seungkwan lets himself be pulled into your embrace, his head resting on your chest while your arms pull him closer. he wants to sink into you forever.

"is this okay?" you ask, pushing his hair from his face. he can finally see you clearly. you don't look upset, or annoyed, or anything he feared you'd be.

"yeah."

one of your hands comes up to wipe the tears from his face. "bad day?"

he nods. "i'm sorry i—"

"shh. i know. want to talk about it?"

"not now."

"that's okay. do you want to hear about my day instead?"

that's what seungkwan loves about you — you always manage to find a solution. whether it's working out what to do when the lights go out, or when you run out of something you should have bought from the supermarket last week, you're level-headed, and he really needs that right now.

he settles himself more comfortably in your embrace, blinking out the rest of his tears while your fingers catch them and wipe them off, your hands still around him.

he listens to you talk about the weather in paris, your weird colleague who wouldn't stop singing during the board meeting, the food you had — it's all mundane stuff, but it helps to ground him. you're here for the night, and you're not going anywhere.

"i missed you every single day there," you sigh, your chin resting on his head. he can feel the slight drip of water from your hair, but he doesn't mind. "every time i took a picture i thought of you."

"really?" he asks, rhetorically.

"yeah. maybe we should go to paris the next time you're free. there's so many things i think you'd like. also, i got you some croissants, but they're probably rock solid by now," you say with a grimace. "maybe the oven can help."

"maybe."

there's silence for a while before you murmur his name in a questioning tone. seungkwan buries himself just a bit more into you, not wanting to have the conversation he knows is inevitable.

"i'm not...asking you to tell me what happened, but i want you to know you can, okay? you're always there to listen to me and it's kind of unfair if i can't be the same person for you."

seungkwan breaks a bit at that. you're not pushy; you just want him to be fine. he's anything but a hypocrite. he thinks of all the times he opens his arms to you, wanting to listen to everything that's bothering you till you feel better. so he shouldn't shy away from being like that with you, right?

"do you really want to hear me talk about...stuff?"

"yes." to emphasize your point, you push your leg under his and curl it towards yourself, effectively trapping him in place on top you. "i'll not let you go."

he feels a giggle come up. "then don't."

and you don't. you reach for the throw near the armrest of the sofa and drape it over the two of you. it's like time stops for seungkwan — all he's aware of is you underneath him, your breath even. he tries to match your breathing.

"have you been sleeping well?"

seungkwan could lie, say that he has, but he thinks you know the answer. "no," he says, refusing to look at you. "missed you."

you sigh, running your hand through his hair. "kwannie, you have to. you know i can't always be with you, right?"

"then move in with me," he says, before he can fully think about it. "i'm sorry, i didn't think—"

"i'd love to," you say, pressing a kiss to his head. "but i want you to say it with a clear mind, okay? i don't want this to feel like you're forced."

"i'm not...i want you to move in. but not right now."

"ask me again later?"

it's not the first time seungkwan marvels at how lucky he is to have someone like you in his life. you're his, and while he's gotten used to the permanency of you in his life, topics like moving in and getting married are still there on the far horizon. he hadn't given them much thought until now, but he can see them happening with you.

he finds his words. "i will. it's just...i'm tired. i'm out there all the time, you know? always working. sometimes i feel like i work too hard to get people to really see me."

"you wish you didn't have such an active role sometimes?"

"yeah. i just want to take a break, but i can't. sometimes i feel nothing i ever do will be enough."

you don't say anything, simply rubbing his back. he feels better already, letting it out, because he knows what he's saying isn't really true — it's just that one part of him that keeps popping up from time to time.

"you know it's not true, right?" you ask when he shifts. "you've done so much you should be proud of yourself for. hell, i'm so proud of you every single day. and the fact that you're my boyfriend is possibly one of the best things that's ever happened to me. you've made me realize there's so many things i can improve about myself, and i can't thank you enough for that, kwannie. if your day's been bad you should know i'm always here for you, even if it's through a phone. i love you. always."

seungkwan nods. i love you, he means to say. thank you for everything. he presses a kiss to your neck, and then another, revelling in the warmth of your skin. you understand his silent words, like he hoped, pulling him closer. you rest like that till your stomach grumbles, which is when you push him away embarrassedly and sit up.

"let me plate dinner," seungkwan says, glad to find his voice is steady. he gets up, but you catch his hand before he leaves.

"i know you have work tomorrow, but when you're done, do you want to come to my place so we can spend the weekend together? we don't have to do anything. just...live. for two days. forget everything outside. maybe actually talk about moving in together."

he feels a smile come up. "i'd...really like that."

he knows it doesn't get easy in just a blink of an eye, but the weight on his shoulders is always less when he's with you.

[touteslespetiteschosess]

Love To Hate Me || Kylian Mbappé

GIF by kykygif

Chapter 3 : Unfortunate Circumstances

Chapter 2

Plot: Just when she thought things couldn't get worse, y/n's car breaks down and only Kylian is on hand to help.

Word Count: 1771

"Shit, shit, shit!" y/n yelled, slamming her palm into the steering wheel several times.

No matter how many times she twisted the key, her car's engine refused to start. It kept revving up, giving her a snippet of hope, before the rumbling noise died out again.

For a little while, she sat, her forehead against the wheel. It was dark outside, which since it was July, was saying something. After Kylian's backhanded Instagram story yesterday, she'd been dying at the office and had only managed to escape her ever-mounting workload at this late hour.

Now, thanks to her stupid, ten-year-old car, her entire night was ruined as well as her evening and her day. Besides the night security team, nobody else was at the facility. She'd have to order an Uber, which would take forever to come, given that the facility was miles from the city. Plus, paying for an Uber would bankrupt her, on top of the mechanic fees she was going to have to pay.

One final time, she placed her hand on the key, "Come on, baby, you can do this."

No, it couldn't.

For the second day in a row, she sat alone and let out a loud yell, a roar really, except this time she received a response. There was a loud knock on her window and she glanced up, a frown immediately descending on her features.

Right outside her window, Kylian Mbappé stood, a self-satisfied grin on his face. When she just glared at him, he raised his hand and waved condescendingly.

Mortified, she wound down her window, the fact that her window was manually rolled down only adding to her embarrassment. Inch by inch, it slowly squeaked down, while she twisted the handle, and she glanced back up at him, sucking on her teeth awkwardly.

"You okay in there?" he asked peering down at her.

"Peachy." she declared, "Can I help you?"

"Car trouble?"

"No. I just like sitting in here, don't worry."

Unimpressed, he frowned, "Do you need a lift?"

"No, thank you." she cleared her throat, "I'll just... be fine, thanks."

"Get out of the car; I'm giving you a lift. Which arrondissement do you live in?"

"I don't need a lift, thank you, Kylian."

He frowned, folding his arms over his chest, "Get out of the car."

Sinking down in her seat, she stared straight ahead, out the windshield, arms folded over her chest, "I'm perfectly happy here."

"You can't sit in your car all night to spite me. You need to get home."

"I'll be fine." she declared, getting back to work winding the window up, "Goodnight."

As soon as she finished the window, he swung her door open, "Come on." he declared, sternly.

"Do you always demand random women get into your car?" she asked, refusing to stare anywhere but out of her windshield.

Grabbing her arm and pulling her out himself, he murmured, "Seulement les jolies."

A scowl rested on her face but she followed him to his car, well aware that he was right, she really did need a lift home- not that she'd ever tell him that. His car was nice, a large, blacked-out Mercedes, the kind of car a soccer mom would drive, which she found quite amusing. Hesitantly, she climbed into the passenger seat, relaxing into the comfortable leather.

As he started the engine, she mumbled, "Thank you."

He glanced out the window at her beat-up little car, as he drove past it in the parking lot, "Why do you drive a toaster?" he asked, not looking over at her, "Enrique been skimping on your paycheque?"

"I'm yet to get my first paycheque. Besides, I just moved to Paris, do you know how expensive that is?"

As much as she had a point; his car made hers look like a horse and cart. Besides, her lump of metal on wheels probably should've been scrapped before she was even born. She settled into his heated seat, watching the GPS on the screen.

"What, did you waste all your money on pantsuits?" he asked.

"I'm wearing a skirt."

Why did she say that as though he hadn't noticed?

They both settled into awkward silence, as he pulled out of the facility. After a few minutes, he quietly said, "Where am I taking you?"

She leant forward, typing her address into the car's GPS. He watched her and commented, "You live in the 18th?" At first, he looked a little puzzled, maybe concerned, though she highly doubted that as she wasn't too sure he experienced emotions besides horny and amused. However, when his face morphed into a smirk (an amused smirk), she already knew what was coming, "Are you a-"

"No, I'm not a fucking prostitute." she finished for him.

He grinned widely as she scowled furiously, "I was joking, jeez. That's a rough neighbourhood."

"Unfortunately, not everyone in this city can afford to live ten metres from the Eiffel Tower in a twenty-bedroom penthouse."

"You're the head of PR at PSG, I don't think you're exactly on minimum wage."

"Well, until two weeks ago I was just some PR junior at Chelsea." she paused, "This was a big promotion but I know how temporary these can be. I'm living below my means because I know my means can change like the wind."

He puffed out air, "Do you never wanna treat yourself though?"

"Easier to treat yourself when you make 2 million euros a week."

"Only if you round up." he muttered, "What were you doing at the office that late anyway?"

Flatly, she asked, "Do you really want me to say it?"

"Dealing with me?"

"You know, I relaxed for all of five seconds last night. It was so blissful until I saw your Instagram."

He contemplated apologising for maybe five seconds before remembering that it was a she-devil trapped in a supermodel's body, who sat in his passenger seat. "You follow my Instagram?"

"Literally my job."

"I'm not going to follow you back."

"Didn't ask you to."

"But you want me to, secretly. I mean, how cool would your little brother think you are?"

"I don't have a little brother." she shook her head, "Every time I think you have any redeeming qualities or you seem the least bit likeable, you just wreck it all."

"I can be very likeable." he shrugged.

"That doesn't mean you're likeable or nice. Anyone can lie."

"But I am likeable and I am very nice." he declared.

"I see, so it's just me who gets this side of you?"

"Yep." he popped his 'p'. She didn't reply.

After a while, he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. She turned, casting a glare in his direction. Her eyes dragged down to his biceps, bulging out of his tight t-shirt and- No. She wasn't drooling over his muscles, no matter how big they were or how much she wanted to touch them. No! Sure, he was handsome, but he was a complete ass! He'd just admitted that!

She sighed, "I don't hate you."

"Well, hate is a very strong word." he conceded.

"Okay. But I don't hate you."

"Apology accepted."

"It wasn't an apology."

"Well, if it was I would accept it."

She shook her head, turning to look out of the window to hide the slight smile creeping onto her face, "I have nothing to apologise for."

"You ruined my reputation."

"You brought it on yourself, really. Besides, you'll recover."

He hesitated, "The old head of PR never cancelled me."

"The old head of PR got fired for a reason, and you're not cancelled."

"I feel pretty cancelled."

She rolled her eyes, as they approached the city, leaning her head on the cold window. They cruised through Paris, the street narrowing more and more the further into the urban landscape they grew.

As they neared Montmartre, she quietly said, "You can just drop me here if you want, you don't need to go out of your way."

Dryly, he laughed, "No." he softened his tone, "You shouldn't be alone at night here, it's not safe."

"It's fine. I'm a black belt in kung fu."

"What, really?"

"No. But I'm fine."

"What, have you got someone waiting to protect you at home?"

"Nope, but it's not the 18 hundreds, I don't need a chaperone."

"So there's no boyfriend in the picture or-"

"Are you seriously trying to flirt with me after lecturing me for cancelling you?"

"No, I just thought you would. You know, a good-looking woman like yourself, who knows the Kylian Mbappé. What guy wouldn't be interested?"

"Well, I don't officially know you. You don't follow me back on Instagram, after all."

Without even thinking about it, he laughed, leaning back into his seat He shrugged, "Hey, if you release a statement displaying PSG's adoration of me, maybe I'll consider liking a couple of your posts."

"Have you ever spoken to a woman before?" she asked.

"I'm not flirting." he huffed.

"So you're just asking me if I have a boyfriend because I'm good-looking and you're curious?"

"Yeah. I'm just being friendly and sociable." he hesitated before adding, "And nice and likeable. Your name is y/n... something, you don't have a brother, you don't have a boyfriend, you're not very good at kung fu, you're wearing a skirt, you make less than 2 million euros a week, you used to work at Chelsea, and you now live but don't work in the red light district."

She was a little taken aback but she didn't let it show on her face. After a moment or two, she declared, "I have a brother."

"You said you didn't?"

"I said I didn't have a little brother. He's two years older than me."

"And he's a big Kylian Mbappé fan?"

"Nah, he thinks you're-" she cut herself off, clearing her throat, "No, not really."

"He thinks I'm what?" he asked, glancing at her.

She hesitated before admitting, "A conceited prick who causes his sister week-long stomach aches."

"Oh."

"You asked," she mumbled.

"Maybe he has a point. But I can be very nice."

"You keep saying that. I'm still waiting on the evidence."

He pulled the car over, "You'll see."

She glanced out the window, up at her apartment block, then turned back to him, "Thank you for the lift, Kylian."

"You're welcome, y/n."

She opened the door and climbed out of the car, a satisfied grin on her face as her back was to him. Then, she headed inside, unaware that his eyes were fixed on her until her front door closed. He watched her leave the car and cross the street, just to make sure the freaks that hung around in her dodgy neighbourhood didn't try anything with her. Then, even once the door had closed, he watched for a couple more minutes, just to be sure.

Not because he cared about her of course. Because he didn't. He made that very clear in his mind. Just because he was a nice person. He'd do the same for anyone. Even y/n.

[ladylooch]

a fic where the reader face rides nico?

A/N: Babe, say less.

Part of What My World Spins Around AU because I really needed some Nico fluff. Hope you don’t mind!

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: SMUT 18+ Content

I’m in the kitchen on a random Thursday night in the middle of the season. Nico is with Lucie in her room, feeding her a bottle while I load the remaining dishes from dinner into the dishwasher. I can hear my husband on the monitor, soothing Lucie’s distressed noises. 

“Baby.” Nico sighs to her, exasperation beginning to lace his voice. He’s been trying to feed her for the last fifteen minutes but she’s fighting tooth and nail between eating and falling asleep. “Do you just want to sleep then?” Nico asks. I pop a detergent tab into the dishwasher, then press the start button. I move to watch as Nico sets her bottle on the dresser to his right, then pulls Lucie tight against his chest. His feet begin to sway the rocker a bit faster, rubbing at her back and placing his lips against her forehead. “I get it, Lu. I’d rather have mama’s boobs too.”

An amused smile pulls at my lips.

He looks so sexy being a dad to our daughter. Has since day one when he held her against his bare chest.

I begin to wipe down the kitchen counters, listening to Nico quietly whisper to our daughter. Most of the time, he relay hockey plays to her from his pervious games, but tonight is different. Nico will leave on his longest road trip of the year tomorrow afternoon and his girls are more than a little sad about it. It’s been awhile since he was gone for more than a few days at a time. This ten day trip will feel like a lifetime due to the number of miles and time zones between us.

A heavy sigh falls from my lips as I imagine our goodbye tomorrow. 

“Oof. That was a big one.” Nico murmurs, coming behind me, guiding me into the front of his body.

“Yeah.”

“What’s up?”

“You know what’s up. You feel the same way I do about tomorrow.”

His fingers come around my waist, pressing into the faded stretch marks. He stokes across them, leaving thrilling waves rolling in my stomach. What used to be an insecurity, Nico has turned into foreplay.

“I already miss you. You know that, no?”

“I do.” I respond, turning the light off above the gas range.

“Can I help?”

“Yeah, if you could put the leftovers from dinner away that would be great.”

“Sure. I’ll switch the laundry too.” He murmurs, reaching into the cabinet to pull out a stemless wine glass. He grabs the bottle of Pinot Grigio from the fridge, pouring me a large glass. After he puts it in my hand, he turns my hips towards the hallway. “Now go to our room. I’ll be in soon.”

“I still need to wash the bottles that wouldn’t fit.”

“I will. Go. Do all the skincare.” He waves his hand at me, heading to the sink to begin filling it with hot water. I take a few steps out of the kitchen, then turn, leaning against the wall. I cross my arms over my chest, watching as the muscles of his back and arms work on cleaning our daughter’s bottles. This is when I love Nico the most- doing small things for our little family. “Baby, go.” He calls back to me after a few moments.

“How do you know I’m still here?” I ask, pushing off from the wall.

“I just do.” He still doesn’t turn, just keeps scrubbing bottle pieces.

I roll my eyes teasingly at the back of his head then make my way down to our bedroom. I do the full skincare like Nico suggests, taking the time to do a calming mask and smear all my creams and serums on. My skin is glowing and happy as I pull on one of Nico’s shirts for my pajamas in our large closet. I flip the light off, pausing in the doorway when I see Nico sitting on the end of our bed, staring at me.

“Hi?” I question, holding the trim in the doorway, looking at him with cautious eyes.

“Hi.” 

“What’s up?” I ask as I walk towards him. 

“Remember when we were on vacation in Paris?” He starts as I step between his wide-set thighs. 

“Which time?”

“Media tour time.” 

“Ah, yes.” My eyes widen a bit at him.

“What did you immediately think of?” 

“Our hotel room.”

“Where we were doing what?”

“Nico.”

“Babe.” He smirks up at me, fingers brushing along the backs of my thighs. He grabs two large handfuls of my ass, squeezing. I fall forward and his lips press against my abdomen.

“When I sat on your face.”

“Yeah. I was thinking… we should do that tonight.” My eyes close as he removes one of his hands from my ass to lift his t-shirt on me. “Wanna taste you before I go on the road.” I was honestly exhausted before I came in here, but his touch and words are awakening a need in me. His fingers move up to the waistband of my panties, hooking through and nudging them off my hips. They pool on the floor at my feet. Nico encourages my right leg up, then my left until I’m straddling his lap.

I slowly lower my face to his, pressing our lips together in a soft kiss. He sucks my bottom lip into his mouth. His hands go to my hips, rolling them into where he is hard against my inner thigh.

“Maybe I want that instead?” I whisper against his mouth.

“Maybe you’ll get it later.” 

“If I’m good?” Nico smiles into our next kiss. Then he breaks it by laying on his back. I move to take my shirt off but he pauses my hands, shaking his head.

“No. I want that on you.” It’s a shirt I wore all the time when I started staying over early in our relationship. Back when we didn’t have a baby or a million responsibilities and we forgot the world in Nico’s apartment. Some things have changed, but how much we want each other really hasn’t. It just takes a little more planning these days, except tonight.

Tonight, it’s spontaneous combustion.

Nico guides my hips up his body until I’m over his face. He grins up at me as he moves the shirt to bunch around my hips. I grab a fistful of the fabric to keep it up. I admire the view of him. He looks so good down there- an NHL captain ready to feast on his last night in town. I think of the women who wait in his hotel lobbies across North America, hoping for a piece of him. His tongue comes out, connecting with my clit and I exhale in pure joy. They’ll never have him like this. He’ll never worship the ground they walk on like me. Because I gave him his whole world four months ago.

My confidence is high. I moan loudly, letting my head fall back, hair dancing down my back. It’s long enough that it brushes Nico’s hand on my right hip. He release it, giving the ends of my hair a gentle tug. His tongue swirls into a steady circle, putting the right kind of pressure to build. 

“Mmm.” I hum appreciatively. I lick my lips, looking back down at him. His brown eyes are liquid goo. I rake my right hand through his locks, holding his scalp for balance as I gently roll my hips into his mouth. His cheeks tighten as he encloses his mouth over my clit and begins a light suction. Our eyes stay connected, making everything hotter. “I love you.” I moan as his tongue separates my folds again, swiping along my clit in the right way. “Damn, Neeks.”

His hands on my hips encourage them to roll along his face. I do so, moaning at the delectable pressure of it all. My muscles clench around the emptiness. A whine comes out of my lips as Nico notices then works two fingers into my entrance. I roll my hips again, fucking his fingers and his face. Nico groans encouragingly as I lean back, groping at his hard erection. 

“Fuck baby. You’re so wet.” He tells me, then attaches his lips back onto my bundle. I rotate again and again, working myself to the ultimate release. I come loudly against Nico’s face, shuttering and shaking while wetness glides down his fingers, dripping onto his bare chest. Nico places open mouthed kisses on my folds, gently working me down from my high. Eventually, he releases my hips to let me sit on his chest. His fingers trail gently over my butt and up my spine to my mid-back then down again.

“That was better than Paris.” I admit with a satisfied smile on my face.

“Way better.” I put my hand in the bottom of my t-shirt, then wipe it across Nico’s mouth to take me off of him. We both laugh, then separately bite our lips.

“Wish you could come on the road with me. Have you this way after every game…” He trails off, fingerprints perusing the top of my thigh.

“Me too. Room service every night… Waking up to your face every morning.” I work my butt off his chest so I can lay next to him instead. He rolls onto his side, guiding our legs to tangle together. His lips come to mine, pressing feathery, tender kisses there until my eyes close and I sigh into his mouth. I reach down to his shorts to give his erection a squeeze.

“I’m good tonight.” He says. “Only about you.” These nights are rare, but I accept his choice, moving my hand to his hip instead. “I can’t imagine living without this.” He repeats what he has consistently told me since the early days of our relationship. “Every day it gets better with you, babe.”

I nod in agreement, pressing my cheek to his chest so we can settle into a bit more quiet. His fingers weave lines along my back, bunching up his shirt on me as he does. Nico is falling asleep quickly. His hand stops moving against my lower back as soft breaths fill the space above my head.

I stay up longer, listening to the slow thumping of his heartbeat knowing everything is perfect.

[ghostsbimbo]

Labour - Simon Ghost Riley x OC

A/N: This is extremely short because it's actually a story - specifically flash fiction unit - for my Creative Writing class. I haven't even done anything with this OC that much tbh. I just decided to write fanfic for this thing. Painfully obvious that it's inspired by Labour by Paris Paloma. Word count: 752. Angst to Fluff. Limited on word count for what it is [ could only go up to 750 ] so it's not the best.

Maisie let out a soft huff, closing her eyes. She flexed her fingers before gripping the edge of the sink, taking a deep breath as she tried to relax. She knew something like this was going to happen. It always did when he returned from deployment. She turned around, looking up at him as she did. The 6’4” man in the skull mask should’ve scared her, should’ve made her tremble in fear especially with all his tactical gear and being covered in head to toe, but after working with him for years and dating for only three with a child, she wasn’t phased by his persona anymore. She was quite sick of it really - how he hid behind the tough guy exterior and more walls than a castle to keep people out. 

She wanted out of the relationship. She should’ve listened to everyone’s warnings prior to getting in a relationship. She should’ve listened to her brother when he told her it was a bad idea to get involved, but here she was years later, retired from being a medic for the task force and living in Manchester. She dried her hands with the kitchen rag before shoving past him, even though she knew he’d just grab at her, stopping her from leaving his presence. 

As if she called it, his gloved hand reached out and grabbed her shoulder, turning her around. 

“Don’t leave when I’m talking to you.” He demanded, looking down at his smaller partner. She quickly tore herself from his grip. She couldn’t believe the audacity he had, but considering he was used to people bending to his every whim and being afraid of his size, she understood why. “Don’t be an asshole every time you come home from deployments or whatever fuckin else the task force has you do now.” She stated bluntly, glaring up at him as she did so. Simon immediately rolled his eyes, removing his mask, his eyes being covered in the god forsaken eyeblack he always wore under his mask. He tossed his mask onto the counter, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Maybe if you weren’t so lazy while I was gone I wouldn’t be.” Simon stated bluntly. Maisie immediately looked up at him, and he was sure if looks would kill, he’d most likely be dead in that moment. It was safe for him to assume he fucked up. 

“Lazy? I’m Lazy?” Maisie questioned, before chuckling darkly. “I’m raising our daughter, Simon, and with that, every time you come home, you get to come home to a spotless house, hot meal, and whatever fuckin’ else!” She yelled. “You come home to me, ready to bandage you up and wait on you hand and foot, but god forbid I don’t wanna have sex with you as soon as you get home though.” She walked past him, hoping he wouldn’t follow. Of course, the thud of the man’s boots are quick to follow after her. God she was thankful her daughter was at a friend’s house. 

“Honestly, I’m your therapist, maid, a baby factory even though I can’t get pregnant, nurse, servant..You name it Simon Riley and all those roles are filled by me, including taking on a fatherly role for our daughter because you’re never here like you promised you be.” Maisie stated, venom dripping from each word.  She couldn’t hold it in anymore, she had been keeping it bottled up with the exception of her weekly therapy appointments. Thankfully, her therapist was a saint who helped her build up this courage to talk back to him. 

Simon just glared at her. He wasn’t used to her snapping at him, or really standing up for herself against him. Usually, she was pliant. He easily molded her into what he wanted in a spouse, despite the fact that he was barely home to even benefit from all the work he put into making her what he wanted. Sure, they didn’t start out that way, but the little ideas in his head had fully bloomed to turn him into an even shittier man than he already was, and it was too late to change that - he knew he’ll probably just get more shitty anyways. 

Simon let out a soft huff, running a hand through his hair. He wasn’t one to express his emotions much, but this certainly made him realize he had to stop being emotionally constipated all the time. “Let's talk about this, yeah?” He questioned.

“Fine” Maisie agreed, knowing she would regret this.

[jujutsubaby]

Hello my dear! Congrats for your achievment!✨

I’d like to play and I say:

Cafè Heaven and Hell.

I’d like to order a white mocha and take away a Macha Latte.

I’ll eat a mochi donut!🍩

Thank you very much! 🤗🌸

a/n: thanks for your ask 💓 yours was super fun to write and i hope you enjoy it hehe~ also guys i swear i don't hate gojo he’s just a male thot to me. also btw when i went to paris last year there was a male thot that served me at a cafe and so he’s just all i think about when i think of gojo and cafe au’s

✨ WELCOME TO CAFE HEAVEN & EARTH ! ✨

🤍 PAIRING. gojo

🤍 WORD COUNT. 1.3k (sorry i just love writing about male thots)

you can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief as you enter your favorite cafe. work today had been complete hell, and you need a caffeine and sugar fix to give you the will to live this evening.

the cozy ambience of cafe heaven and earth instantly soothes you - the romantic low lighting, the smell of eucalyptus and coffee beans, and the low jazz music playing in the background settles over you. 

after ordering your white mocha (as well as a mochi donut as an extra treat — you really deserve it today), you wander to your usual counter seat by the window and lean back with a relaxed sigh. 

you had been so excited to start work at the prestigious zenin law firm, but just three months in, you were already feeling the first signs of burnout.

you usually like to go over documents from work during your coffee runs, but today, you just need to savor the moment. as soon as you sit back down, you close your eyes and take your long awaited sip of white mocha. as the sweet, rich liquid hits your tongue, you can’t help but almost moan in satisfaction. 

your moment of calm is immediately ruined by an unfamiliar voice. “wow, that good, huh?”

you crack one eye open in annoyance to see a tall and muscular white haired man sitting a couple seats away from you. you’re taken aback by just how blue his eyes are - one glance and you find yourself sinking into its ocean blue. the next thing you notice (and you do feel a bit embarrassed about it but c’mon, you had a long day at work!) is how muscular and lean his arms are, his fingers playing his phone on the counter absentmindedly. it’s a wonder you didn’t notice him as soon as you got here. 

remembering that he just interrupted your peace and quiet to ask a question, you respond, “the white mochas here are always the best.” in spite of how astoundingly handsome the stranger sitting near you is, you’re not really in the mood for a conversation, so you hope your tone dissuades him from continuing.

“yeah? can i get a sip?” he asks, a bit too fast for your liking.  

 “what??” you’re taken aback by his forward question and brash manner. how old is this guy, anyway? this is the kind of behavior you expect out of your ten year old nephew yuji, not a grown ass adult!

the man pouts in response. what was his deal?! model-worthy good looks or not, he was starting to wear on your already limited patience. 

“maybe you could get your own drink?” you ask, trying to remain polite. “i’m kind of a germaphobe,” you lie. you don’t really care too much about sharing cups, but you really want this guy off your back. your precious relaxation time is limited!

“pleeease!!!!” he starts begging loudly, earning looks from surrounding cafe patrons. he notices you looking around self-consciously, and scrambles to the seat next to you so he can talk more quietly. 

“please!” he repeats at a more socially acceptable volume. “i’ll drink from the other side, promise! you won’t even know my mouth was there!” god, was he irritating! (it certainly didn’t help that he was making you think about his mouth now, too.) 

 desperate for this stranger to leave you be, you decide to let him have what he wants. then he’d leave you alone, right? you kind of doubt it, but it’s worth a try anyway.

“ok, ok! fine.” you slide the ceramic mug towards him, and he has the audacity to look smug as he clasps the mug between his hands. you absolutely do not notice how long and elegant his fingers look curled around the drink. 

“down the hatch!” he chirps as he lifts the mug to his lips.

you soon find out that the two of you have radically different definitions of the word “sip”. to him, a sip means gulping down half the mug, apparently. you watch wistfully as the drink you had so been looking forward to begins to disappear before your eyes. 

 when he puts the mug back down, his smug expression is replaced with an exaggerated grimace. “ewww, how do you drink that stuff?? it’s so bitter!” 

as you seethe to yourself, he darts his tongue out to swipe away at some foam left on his lips (which you are pointedly not paying attention to), before continuing. “i’m gojo, by the way.”

“it’s not bitter,” you say through gritted teeth. “it’s the best espresso in town, and one of the sweetest drinks they offer. besides, couldn’t you have decided that you hated it before you drank half the damn thing? what’s your problem, man?” 

“i told you, my name’s gojo!” the man starts to whine again, but seeing your animosity, he changes his tune quickly. “ok, sorry, sorry! i didn’t mean to annoy you! listen, why don’t you get yourself another drink on me?” he reaches into his pocket and pulls a shiny credit card from his wallet, handing it to you with an air of penitence. 

“really? thanks, gojo. that’s surprisingly decent of you,” you reply. you start to feel a little guilty for almost losing it at this complete stranger. his guilelessness, while annoying, is maybe almost even starting to charm you. 

“uh, maybe while you’re up there, you could also pick me up a drink that’s not a complete pukefest too?” he asks, fluttering his fluffy white eyelashes at you. upsettingly, your stomach does giddy somersaults at the sight, which you studiously ignore.

you sigh and roll your eyes. “all right, pretty boy, what’s your drink?” 

“oh, they’ll know,” he replies with a wink. “the gojo special — hot cocoa with strawberry milk mixed in. best drink on the planet.” 

you wrinkle your nose. “that sounds disgusting, but sure.” you head to the order counter for a second time, looking down at the card he entrusted you with as you wait in line. 

damn, a black card? he’s annoying AND rich? pick a struggle. nonetheless, you weren’t one to pass off another drink, especially at his expense. you go up to the counter and decide on ordering matcha latte and his wretched drink order. the barista looks at you with distaste after ordering it, before sighing and ringing you up. great, now you can never come to this place ever again. 

it doesn’t take long for your drinks to come out carefully make your way to the seat. you notice he’s dusting his hands on his thighs.

“alright, you weirdo, here’s your-” you stop mid sentence as you place the drinks on the table and notice there’s a huge bite taken out of your mochi donut. your precious mochi donut. you glance at gojo, then back at the donut, and then back his hands which still had remnants of frosting on top. 

“did you…did you just take a bite out of my donut while i was gone?” you say incredulously. 

“what?”

“i know you heard me.” your fingers pinch the bridge of your nose in annoyance. “do you just always take bites out of random people’s food? who raised you?!” you’re in awe of someone who has social skills like this.

“don’t worry about it, kitten,” he purrs, and you hate that your heart beats faster at his nickname for you. “i’ll just buy you another one. i’ll buy you a dozen right now.” 

you sigh. “okay, fine.” you end up ordering a box of mochi donuts against your better judgment. even worse is that you…actually had a good time with him? you can’t remember the last time you were this annoyed but laughed this much. 

“by the way, you gonna be here tomorrow?” he asks with his mouth full of the last mochi donut. ugh, you shouldn’t find this attractive, but you do. 

“yeah.” you say, before you have time to change your mind. you take out a pen from your tote and quickly scribble your number on a napkin. common sense be damned, you think to yourself on the bus as you find yourself yearning to see that color blue again.

[sequinsmile-x]

Movie Night

Emily doesn't remember the last time they watched a film that wasn't their daughter's favourite, so Aaron hatches a plan.

-x-

Hi friends,

This is some nice family fluff for you all on this Friday evening <3 this all came from a conversation with @eobangingwhen, so I'm dedicating this to her.

I promise I will write something more than pure fluff very soon haha

Hope you all enjoy this, and as always let me know what you think <3

-x-

Warnings: vague spoilers for Frozen and Star Wars VI I guess??

Words: 3k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

There were moments when she found it hard to believe this was her life. 

It was strange to think that only six years ago she was in Paris, convinced she’d never feel safe again. That her penance for her actions which had led to a gravestone with her name carved into it was the loneliness she’d felt there. The fear she would have once believed would never fade a punishment from a God she wasn’t entirely sure she had ever believed in. She wished she could go back and talk to that version of herself, that she could assure her that life would get better than it ever had been before, that she’d end up with a family of her own. 

The idea of it always made her smile, because she knew even if it was possible she’d never believe herself anyway, especially when she would reveal her husband was Aaron. 

She’d had a crush on him for as long as she could remember, a flipping in her gut whenever he was near that had morphed into something more powerful as time went on. A feeling she knew was love the moment he was missing after Foyet had attacked him. Their timing had never been right, feelings she now knew he’d had for her growing at the same rate as hers that had to be ignored because of circumstance. For a long time, it felt like they’d never get a chance, so she’d convinced herself it would never happen. An attempt to protect herself from any more pain, sure that if she attempted something that wasn’t reciprocated would leave her with a brand on her heart more painful than the one Ian had left on her skin. 

It made her grateful for this, made the difficult moments of parenthood and marriage easier to swallow when she reminded herself she could have missed out on him, on them. Her life a quilt made of ordinary moments, memories stitched together and laid over her like a comfort blanket that she relied on in her worst moments, when her monsters snuck out of the shadows and convinced her she would somehow lose all of this. 

She smiles as her daughter presses herself in the small space between her and Aaron, the three-year-old insistent on being as close to them as possible at all times. Alice smiles at them both as she rests her head on Aaron’s arm, sinking into his embrace when he wraps his arm around her, his hand coming to rest on his wife’s thigh. He smiles at Emily and winks before he looks at their son, Elliot, curled up on his mother’s chest, his hand tangled in her hair as he tries to fight off sleep. The 18-month-old always wanted to be involved in everything, his focus always on his older siblings, and very often Emily and Aaron had to hoist him up into their arms, lifting him off his feet so he didn’t follow them to the roundabout at the local park and get too involved with the bigger kids rougher games. 

“Mommy, can we watch Frozen?” Alice asks, her sweet voice drawing her attention to her and Emily has to suppress a sigh. 

Alice loved Frozen. She wanted to watch it all the time, the movie one of the few things that would hold her focus. They’d watched it so often that Emily was sure she could recite it word for word, her disdain for Olaf the snowman enough that she’d planned his death in more than one way. 

She never thought she’d loved Aaron more when she quietly admitted that to him one evening, shame dripping from every syllable as she told him just how much she hated their daughter’s favourite character, and his only response was to say he’d done the same thing. 

“Sweetie,” Emily says, taking one hand off of Elliot’s back and tucking some of Alice’s hair behind her ear, “Maybe Jack wants to pick the movie for once.”

Alice pouts a little, and frowns at her, but any comment from the little girl is cut off by Jack from Emily’s other side.

“It’s okay, Mom,” he says, smiling at her when she turns to look at him, “I don’t mind if we watch it again.” 

She reaches out and ruffles his hair, smiling when he dives out of the way, the pre-teen on the cusp of being constantly embarrassed by his parents. 

“Are you sure honey?” 

He nods, smiling as his little sister beams at him, and he shrugs as if it’s no big deal, “She loves it.” 

Aaron squeezes Alice closer to him. He looks back and forth between Jack who was sitting at the other end of the couch and then at his watch. Jack was endlessly patient with his younger siblings. He loved being a big brother and always went with the flow, but he could see the flash of horror going through his son's eyes as he thinks about spending another evening watching the animated movie. 

“How about we watch it now,” Aaron suggests, looking up at Jack, “And Jack can play his game whilst we do,” he smiles when his eldest smiles and nods, already walking over to the Nintendo Switch they’d bought him and turning it into handheld mode, “And then when you go to bed Mommy and I will watch something Jack wants to watch.” 

Alice nods enthusiastically and Aaron grabs the remote, well aware the Frozen DVD would already be in the player, and he starts the movie. Alice is enraptured for the start, her eyes fixed on the screen as she sings along.

“I don’t remember the last time we watched a movie that wasn’t made for children,” Aaron eventually says quietly so only Emily can hear, Alice too lost in the movie, as if it was the first time she’d ever seen it, and Jack in his handheld video game to hear their parent’s quiet discussion.

She hums and raises her eyebrow at him, running her fingers through Elliot’s hair, the toddler now fast asleep against her, “I don’t remember the last time we watched a movie that wasn’t Frozen.” 

He smiles at his wife and leans in to kiss her cheek, only to be immediately chastised by Alice, who turns to look at him, a glare Emily would say was all him on her face from where she’s sitting between them.

“Daddy - watch Frozen!” 

“Yeah, Daddy,” Emily says, winking at him over Alice’s head, a promise for later hiding in the action that makes his stomach swoop, just as enamoured with his wife as he was on their first date. “Watch the movie.” 

Time alone was rare these days, even rarer than it always had been and all of a sudden he found himself desperate to just spend time with his wife. To watch a movie that they picked and snuggle on the couch the same way they did when they were first dating and Jack had gone to bed. 

He watches the movie but doesn’t pay any attention, his focus instead on planning a date night as soon as possible. 

___

Emily sighs to herself as she shakes her head, unable to focus on the paperwork in front of her. It had been a rough night. Elliot had barely slept, his shift from two naps a day to one having an impact it hadn’t had with Alice. He’d been fussy all night, crying out for Mama even when Aaron went in to try to settle him. Eventually, he’d woken up Alice and she’d crawled into their bed and fell asleep in between them. 

She blinks blearily, massaging her fingers into her temples as she desperately tries to pay attention to her work, and she smothers a yawn. She smiles tightly at Spencer as they catch each other's gaze over the divider between their desks and then she looks back at the paperwork, determined to get at least some done today. 

“Emily, do you wanna-”

Later, she’d blame her exhaustion for how she replies to Specner, her brain automatically taking over her mouth because they’d yet again watched Frozen that morning, the movie on in the background to keep Alice and Elliot happy as she and Aaron desperately sucked down coffee and half-cold oatmeal.  

“Honey, Mommy really doesn’t have the energy to build a snowman right now.”

Her eyes go wide as soon as she says it, her brain finally catching up with her surroundings and she groans when the moment of shocked silence is filled with laughter, Derek’s the loudest. She covers her eyes with her hands and curses under her breath.

“I think somebody should go get Mommy a cup of coffee,” Derek says, and she looks up and narrows her eyes at him, her glare doing nothing to stop his smirk. 

“That’s actually what I was going to ask,” Spencer asks, his cheeks burning with embarrassment as he stands up, “I’ll go get you one.” 

“Alice still obsessed with Frozen, huh?” JJ asks, turning to look at them and Emily nods, groaning again as she thinks about it. 

“It’s all she ever wants to watch. I never thought it was possible to hate an animated snowman as much as I do,” she narrows her eyes, “I’d melt the son of a bitch if I could.” 

JJ chuckles sympathetically, “For Henry it was Cars,” she says, shaking her head as she crosses her arms over her chest, “I actually once dreamt that I cut Lightening McQueen’s break line.” 

Emily laughs, any guilt she may have felt for disliking her daughter’s favourite movie as much as she did fading, “You have no idea how much better that makes me feel.” 

Derek clears his throat, his smile getting wider as he gets her attention, and he leans back in his chair, his hands on the back of his head, “So, Mommy what are your and Hotch’s evening plans?” 

She rolls her eyes and actively ignores the use of the moniker, “The usual.” 

Spencer walks back over and places the coffee down on her desk, smiling at her before he returns to his own desk. The smell of it alone is enough to reinvigorate her and she picks it up and immediately takes a sip.

“Thanks, Spence,” she says, smiling gratefully at him, “I appreciate it.”

He shrugs nonchalantly, “No problem.” 

“Yeah,” Derek says, “We’ve got to be nice to our Momm-”

“Derek Morgan if you call me Mommy one more time I will make sure you never have kids of your own,” she says, cutting over him. She purposely holds her glare, suppressing her need to laugh, when his eyes go comically wide, clearly very aware that she’s serious. 

“Why are you threatening Morgan, sweetheart?” Aaron asks, and she looks up, smiling softly when she sees him standing on the walkway, leaning on the railing above their desks. 

She knows he’s tired too for two reasons. Firstly, because he used a nickname for her in the office, a tiny piece of their personal life slipping free, the sharp line between the two parts of their lives slowly getting blurrier. Secondly, he had an Elsa sticker on the lapel of his jacket.

It was something Alice frequently did. She would carefully select a sticker and place it diligently on his jacket, she did the same for Emily too, claiming it would protect them as they fought the bad guys. She knew that usually, Aaron would remove it the second he got to the office and shrugged off his coat. He would place it on a photo frame on his desk, the picture inside of it one of Emily and the kids, a collection of brightly coloured cartoon characters surrounding a photo of his family. A much needed contrast to the usual horror that crossed his desk in their case files, a reminder of all the good there was in the world. 

She had a similar collection too, although she placed her stickers on the inside of one of her drawers, safe and protected from any unsub that might be brought through the bullpen, not wanting to give them any access to something they might consider a weakness. 

She smiles at her husband and taps her own lapel, “Honey…” 

He looks down and clears his throat, pulling the sticker off of his jacket with more tenderness than his hands should be capable of. A smile flashes across his face that she knows he can’t control, and he nods briefly at them all.

“I’d better go put this away,” he says as he turns and walks back into his office. 

“You guys are so cute-”

She turns and looks sharply at her friend, “Derek, I swear to God.” 

The rest of the day drags by, minutes feeling like hours as her exhaustion slowly returns. When it’s time to go home she immediately jumps up, smiling at her husband as he exits his office exactly on time. He takes her bag from her the moment he makes it to her side, ignoring her playful eye roll. 

“Ready to go home, sweetheart?” 

She hums, “God yes,” she says, checking her watch and hissing, knowing if they didn’t leave immediately they’d hit traffic. “We have to go get the kids.” 

“Actually,” he says, waving goodbye to the team as they step out through the glass doors and towards the elevators, “Jess went to get them. And right now they will all be very excited to have a sleepover at hers.” 

She smiles, narrowing her eyes at him as he reaches for her hand, linking their fingers together, “What are you up to Mr Hotchner?” 

He winks at her and squeezes her hand again, a silent promise pressed into her skin, “That’s for me to know and you to find out Mrs Hotchner.” 

___

He takes her home via their favourite pizza place, refusing to tell her anything else about his plans for the evening as they drive home. 

It’s only once they’ve eaten, talking softly over slices of pizza, the house so much quieter than usual it makes her ache a little, that he tells her they are going to watch a movie together just the two of them. They call the kids and talk to them over FaceTime to say goodnight, and Emily can’t help but smile at the sight of all three of them squished together as they fight to get their faces in the frame, each of them desperate to see their parents despite their excitement to be at Jessica’s. 

Once they are done speaking to the kids, she smiles widely at Aaron as he tells her to settle on the couch and that he’ll go get them some wine as he clears the pizza boxes, an instruction he signs off with a gentle kiss stamped against her lips. She chuckles when he brings in the wine. He’d served it in plastic Death Star shaped cups they’d got at DisneyWorld the year before. He waggles his brows at her as he hands her one and she laughs again, leaning in to press a kiss against his lips as he settles on the couch next to her. 

“I don’t need many guesses to know what film we’re watching,” she says, kissing him again before she pulls back to take a sip of her wine, “You thought of everything.” 

He shrugs as if it’s nothing, as if the gentle way he loves her wasn’t the thing that kept her afloat, and he places his cup of wine down on the table, “I just thought it’s been a while since we did this just the two of us.” 

She hums and nods, putting her wine down next to his before she snuggles into his side, sighing contently as his warmth immediately starts to leach into her. He reaches for the remote and starts the DVD player and she smiles when she sees the menu for A New Hope already on the screen, and she idly wonders when he got the chance to put the DVD in the player, a small part of her hopeful he’d somehow lost the Frozen one in the process. 

“Are you sure you want to watch Star Wars, honey?” She asks, tilting her head to look up at him. She rakes her fingers through his hair, love for him threatening to burst out of her chest, “We could watch something more grown up, who knows when we’ll next have the chance?” 

“It’s your favourite movie, Em,” he says simply, stamping his lips against her forehead as he presses play, “I wouldn’t want to watch anything else.” 

She shakes her head at him and kisses him, her hand on his cheek to hold him in place as she sighs into his mouth. When she pulls back she rubs her nose briefly against his, unable to stop her smile even if she wanted to, “I love you.” 

“I know,” he replies, his voice deadpan and she playfully glares at him. He laughs and leans in to kiss her again, “I love you too,” he says, kissing her once more before the scrolling text appears on the screen, “Now pay attention.” 

She chuckles and rests her head on his shoulder, content and relaxed as she snuggles further into him as he lays a blanket over their laps. She wraps both of her arms around one of his and hugs it, safe and happier than she ever thought possible as she sits next to her husband. Snuggled up on their couch in their home, watching a movie she probably knew by heart. It was achingly ordinary, and she would never stop being grateful that this was her life. 

He notices she’s quieter than she usually is when they watch this. She’d normally whisper lines half a second before the characters said them or tell him a fact about the behind the scenes, not embarrassed about her self-declared nerdiness around him, but she’s silent. He looks down and chuckles to himself when he sees her eyes drifting closed and he kisses her forehead, shifting her gently so her head is resting on a cushion in his lap. He runs his fingers through her hair, scratching gently at her scalp as he does so, and she hums contentedly. 

She’s asleep before Princess Leia is captured. 

-x-

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[1waveshortofashipwreck]

hi! i’m here again for the love letter haha.

my name is lara and i would really LOVE a letter from dick winters or joe liebgott, whichever boy you feel like writing for! :))

i don’t have any huge ideas of what i want in the letter, whatever you write i’m sure i’ll enjoy! maybe i’d like us to be married, and i could even have a kid or two! i think that would be kinda cute. if you do decide to add that in, some children’s names i like are

-jesse or robin (for a boy)

- maeve or eloise (for a girl)

anyways other than that i have no ideas, i’m just super excited to read whatever u come up with!! thank you! 🩷🫶🏼

LARA MY LOVE!!!! Here's your letter from a certain lovely ginger!!! Thank you so much for your patience lmao 🫠 also this wound up longer than I had anticipated 😂 I love you and I hope you enjoy it!!

30 November 1944

My lovely Lara,

I’m writing to you from Paris. Apparently, Colonel Sink and the rest of the higher-ups decided I needed a “little dose of civilization.” It’s so quiet here - even with the buzz of the busy streets and crowded cafes, all I hear is your absence. All I hear is the lack of Robin and Muave’s little feet running around the house. How can I relax when I’m constantly reminded I am not with my family? I would give anything to be back in the States with you and the twins.

How is everything going for you? Is school going okay? I’m so proud of you and all the effort you’ve put into your studies - I still remember Robin looking at your textbooks and trying to help you! He is such a sweet boy. Do you remember when he tried to make you breakfast for Mother’s Day last year? I can’t believe he woke up before both of us! It was absolutely worth the cheerios and milk all over the bed. Robin will do anything to see you smile, he is such a sweetheart.

What about Muave? Is she doing okay? I still remember needing to pry her off of my leg before shipping off to Toccoa. That’s how she’s always been though, hasn’t she? Even when I was in bed with the flu, she was convinced that if she kept hugging me I would feel better. Our girl has one of the kindest souls I’ve ever seen.

The only thing getting me through this war is knowing that, when all this is over, I will be coming back to you and the twins. We can finally have our hectic mornings, you getting the kids dressed while I cook us breakfast (and they beg for chocolate chip cookies for breakfast!). We can go to the park again and finally teach the twins how to ride a bike. We can have our quiet nights after the twins go to bed, and it’s just you and me. You always calm every storm in my head, no matter how violent. You make me feel more loved and safe than I ever have felt before.

You are in my thoughts every minute of every day. Your focused expression when you’re doing your art, the way you tilt your head back when you’re laughing, the loving look in your eyes when you’re with Robin and Muave. I have never met anyone so loving, compassionate, and gentle. Thank you for being my wife - I promise when I return home, I will spend every day doing everything I can to make you happy.

Please tell Robin and Muave I love them and can’t wait to see them. I love you more than anything, Lara. I will be home as soon as I can.

All my love,

Dick

[tropes-and-tales]

Hiiiii! I would like to request <<person b trying to cook person a's fav dish>> with Max Lord please. I can see that flashback scene in WW84 with his business Blacc Gold Cooperative, trying to make everything perfect. Get well soon! Thanks so much!!

A rare Max Lord ask in the inbox!

Maxwell Lord knows he’s worthless.

He hides those feelings underneath a glib façade, a blustering bravado.  He talks a good game.  He schmoozes with the best of them.  And yet, when he goes to sleep each night, he knows that he’s nobody special.  He’s nobody of substance; he’s just an empty shell in a slick suit.

And if he was nobody before the Dreamstone, before Black Gold went bankrupt, then what is he now?  

He’s less than nobody now.

He lives in a shitty apartment in Baltimore, and he works a shitty job in a grey cubicle.  He sees his son every other weekend.  His nice cars, his private plane, his fancy suits and giant mansion?  All gone.  

Despite it all, he found you:  his neighbor in his shitty apartment complex, a sweet, gorgeous woman who teaches at the nearby university.  You know who he is, what he’s done…and you still seem to like him.  You haven’t broken up with him yet.

Which is why he’s struggling right now.  It’s your birthday, and the old Max would have taken you on a shopping trip in New York, or flown you to Paris, or taken you out to the most exclusive restaurant on the eastern seaboard.  New Max doesn’t have that option, so he tries his best and plans an entire evening in.

The plan?  Cook your favorite meal.  Use your favorite flowers as a centerpiece.  Open a bottle of your favorite wine.  Then watch your favorite movie on VHS before taking you to bed.  It’s all supposed to be a surprise, but when you walk through the door that evening, the plan is in shambles.

Your favorite meal is a charred mess smoking in the sink.  Your favorite flowers—wildflowers he picked along the river—are limp and already shedding pedals.  He punched through the cork in your wine and ruined it.  And Blockbuster was out of their only copy of “All About Eve.”

When you walk through the door that evening, you find Max sitting on the floor of your kitchen, his head in his hands.

He waits for you to break up with him.  He waits for the words—stupid, worthless—to fall from your mouth the way they’ve fallen from everyone else’s mouths.  He waits for cruel laughter at his pitiful attempt to make your birthday special despite having no money, no talent.  It’s just like those pathetic early days with Black Gold, how hopeful and naïve he’d been, how stupid—

“This seat taken?” you ask quietly, and you don’t wait for him to respond before you sink down onto the linoleum beside him.  

“Rough day?” you ask, and your voice is still quiet, but you’re right beside him.  A beat later and he feels it—your hand brushing his hair away from his face, then a gentle press of your lips to his temple.  Then you settle your head against his shoulder and just…sit.  You just sit with him, neither of you speaking for a long moment.

“Just wanted to make it special for you,” he finally says, and his voice is rough with emotion.  Frustration. Sadness.  Everything bubbling up at once, everything he’s pushed down…it’s all threatening to come out now.

“Who says it isn’t special?”

He scoffs, gestures helplessly around you.  

“You know, my last boyfriend never even thought to make me dinner for my birthday.  So, if I say it’s the thought that counts…that’s the truth,” you tell him.

“The thought means nothing,” he snaps.  “It’s action, results…thoughts are worthless.”

This should make you break up with him too:  him getting snippy and edging against an argument.  But you don’t rise to the bait.  You settle your head against his shoulder again, and you tell him a story about your childhood, how your mother had been in the hospital for your eighth birthday, how your father was away for work.  How it seemed that no one remembered your special day until a girl in your neighborhood—older than you, far cooler than you—saw you crying on your front porch.

“She was a high schooler,” you explain softly.  “Literally the coolest girl in the neighborhood.  She dressed like Stevie Nicks and had a voice like Blondie.  I was just a little dork that no one noticed, but she did.  She was driving past in her beat-to-shit Beetle and saw me sitting alone and crying, and you know what she did?”

“What?”

“She asked me what was wrong, and when I told her, she drove away.”

Max scoffs again.  That sounds right to him.  The world is a cruel place.

“And then ten minutes later, she came back,” you continue.  “She went to Dairy Queen and got me a banana split.  Remember those giant banana splits they used to make?  She bought one and sat on my porch and we ate it together.  She didn’t have a candle, so she held up her lighter and made me blow it out.”

“That’s really sweet,” he tells you, begrudgingly.

You shift your head from his shoulder and you reach out, grip his chin lightly.  You turn his face and make him look at you.

“It’s the thought that counts, Max,” you say, and your voice is more stern now.  “Being seen?  Being remembered?  That means more than any gift or whatever is smoldering right now in the sink.” 

“It’s a soufflé.  Or was.”  As bad as he feels, he can’t help but smile at you.

You roll your eyes.  “Why on earth would you try to bake me a soufflé?  You can barely boil water.”

“I thought—” he starts, and then he catches himself, realizes what he’s saying.  You catch it too, and you grin back at him.

“See?  You thought of me.  You see me.  That’s all I need from you.”

He wants to say that you deserve so much more—diamonds and designer dresses and expensive purses and luxurious trips to exotic locales—but you don’t let him reply.  You lean forward and kiss him, and the feeling of your mouth on his does what it always does:  it pushes the anxious thoughts away, makes the self-doubt melt under the ardor with which you kiss him.

“Now c’mon,” you say once you break away from him.  You stand up and offer your hand, and you help him stand too.  “There’s a Dairy Queen three blocks from here.  You’re buying me a banana split, and you’re gonna eat the pineapple bits because I hate pineapple.”

[aalissy]

Break Down

Andddd here's the second chapter for today :). I hope that you liked both of them today <3. Lemme know what you thought of either. I'll see you tomorrow w/ another chapter :)

AO3

Ladybug's heart pounded in her chest, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps as she swung through the streets of Paris. The night was eerily quiet, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside her mind. Monarch had struck again, and this time, it had been too close for comfort. 

She had always known that had the kwamis been stolen, she needed a plan. And though she had hoped, prayed even, that that day would never come, it had. She had lost them. All of them. But, even still, she had devised a way to get them back since she just knew Monarch would use their ability to tell the truth against them. 

And yet, her plan hadn’t worked. She hadn’t managed to save any of the kwamis. And the worst part of all was that she had been close. So close. Close enough to have touched them. 

But Monarch had done something that she hadn’t expected. He had pulled Chat’s hand towards him, purposefully cataclysming himself which Ladybug had never imagined anyone would willingly do. And, the saddest part was that she had no remorse over the fact that he had been cataclysmed. She had only focused on the fact that all of her kwamis had disappeared back into a portal.

And so, like always, Ladybug swung in the hopes of quieting her deafening mind. Unsurprisingly, she realized that she was slowly heading over to the exact place she would probably always end up. Adrien’s house. He had been the only one to console her when she had first lost the kwamis, and she desperately hoped he’d be able to do the same now.

Hovering by his bedroom, she hesitated before tapping lightly on the glass window. A moment later, Adrien Agreste opened it, his green eyes widening in surprise.

"Ladybug?" he asked, concern etching his features. "Is everything okay?"

She shook her head, unable to speak, and Adrien stepped aside to let her in. As soon as she crossed the threshold, her composure shattered. Sinking to her knees, Ladybug buried her face in her hands, her body trembling.

Adrien knelt beside her, his hand hovering uncertainly over her shoulder before gently resting on it. "Hey, it's okay," he murmured softly. "You're safe here."

She took a shuddering breath, trying to gather her thoughts. "It's Monarch," she managed to say between gasps. "I... I lost them all. Again. I had them, Adrien, and I-I just lost them all over again. I-I don’t know what to do!”

Adrien’s grip tightened on her shoulder and she leaned into the comfort of his touch. "Ladybug, look at me," he said gently. She lifted her tear-streaked face to meet his gaze. "You did everything you could. You're the strongest person I know. Just because things didn't go as planned doesn't mean you've failed."

"But I did fail," she choked out. "The kwamis... they're all gone. And Monarch... he was willing to hurt himself to stop me. I don't know how to fight someone like that."

Adrien shook his head. "Monarch is desperate," he said, his voice firm. "He's willing to go to any lengths because he knows how close you are to defeating him. That means you're doing something right. You can't give up now."

Her eyes searched his, desperately seeking reassurance. "But what if I'm not strong enough? What if I can't save them?"

Adrien cupped her face gently, his touch grounding her in the moment. "You are strong enough," he said, his voice unwavering. "I've seen you overcome impossible odds time and time again. You're Ladybug. You always find a way."

His words began to pierce through the fog of panic and self-doubt clouding her mind. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "I just... I feel so helpless, Adrien. Every time I think I'm getting closer, Monarch finds a way to push me back."

"Then you’ll just have to push back harder," he replied with a determined smile. "You’ll find a way, Ladybug. I know you will. You’ve always been able to do anything you set your mind to."

The conviction in his voice, the certainty in his eyes, it was enough to reignite a flicker of hope within her. She took another deep breath, feeling the tension in her body begin to ease. Adrien's presence, his unwavering support, it was like a lifeline pulling her back from the brink.

"Thank you, Adrien," she said softly, her voice steadier now. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Adrien smiled, his hand still resting on her cheek. "You don't have to thank me. I'm just glad I can be here for you."

Ladybug felt a warmth spread through her chest at his words. She leaned into his touch for a moment longer, drawing strength from his presence. Finally, she pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze with renewed determination.

"Chat Noir and I will get them back," she said firmly. "We'll stop Monarch, once and for all."

He nodded, his eyes shining with support. "I know you will."

As she prepared to leave, Ladybug gave him one last, grateful look. "Thank you, Adrien. Truly, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. You’re the only one who seems to know how to cheer me up.” Her lips lifted slightly as she scrubbed the last traces of tears from her red face.

He watched as she stepped out onto the balcony, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. "Be careful, Ladybug," he called after her. "And remember, you're never alone."

With a final nod, Ladybug swung back into the night, her resolve fortified by the boy who unknowingly held her heart. She knew the road ahead would be difficult, but with Adrien's unwavering support, she felt like she could conquer anything.

No matter what challenges lay ahead, Ladybug knew she could face them with Adrien by her side. And as she soared through the Parisian skyline, she felt a renewed sense of purpose. She would save the kwamis. She would stop Monarch. No matter what.

[uptoolateart]

If I Let Myself Love You - Ch 3

My fic for @mlbigbang 2022!

PREVIEW from Chapter 3:

Someone touched her arm, and she looked up. Hope against hope, it was Adrien, smiling down at her, messenger bag slung over his shoulder. She stopped immediately, sinking once more in his green eyes.

No. He’s not the storm. He’s the sea. I’m drowning.

Even with Alya beside her, it felt like Marinette was in a private time bubble with this boy she ached to know better while also desperately wishing she could shove him away and forget he existed – a bubble in which everything stood still, while the rest of the world whirled around them.

Adrien, would you like to walk home with me? I mean…with us? She willed the words to form on her lips, but he spoke before she could get the sounds out.

‘My father only agreed to let me come to this school if I’m chauffeured to and from my aunt’s house.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘So, I guess this is goodbye for the day. But I wanted to give you this, before I run off.’ He handed her something.

She dragged her eyes from his and looked at his hand – his long, elegant fingers, holding a folded piece of paper. She took it and unfolded it. ‘Is this…your phone number?’

He winked at her – winked at her. ‘Text me later, so I have yours, okay?’ He said this like the arrangement was obvious. Handsome boys who got chauffeured to school gave her their phone number every day.

‘Oh…okay.’

His face fell. ‘Unless you…think this was too forward of me? I really don’t know much about normal interactions with people my age.’ He scratched the back of his head.

‘No, no!’ She put up her hands. ‘I’m just…surprised. But I don’t know why. I mean…friends text each other…right?’ Please let him agree that we’re friends, or I’ve just made a fool of myself. But why else would he….

Adrien’s smile returned, sending a delicious shiver up her spine. ‘Right! Okay, I really have to go. My aunt actually has to send my father an update as soon as I get home, so he knows I got back on time. But text me, okay? You won’t forget?’

Marinette gave a jerky shake of her head. She seemed to have lost the feeling in her body. ‘I won’t forget.’

He grinned. ‘Bye for now, then!’ And he rushed away, through the exit doors and down the steps. Presumably, his car was waiting at the bottom, where it had dropped him off that morning.

Was that really only this morning?

Keeping Reading at Ao3

It’s hard to be a normal girl with a normal life when your mother has terminal cancer. And when fashion model Adrien Agreste moves back to Paris and wants to be Marinette’s friend – or maybe even more – her life is turned upside down again. How can she risk opening her heart to love when her whole world is falling apart? Especially when Adrien is hiding a dark secret of his own….

*** No kwamis AU - 100% Adrinette. Half funny / fluffy and half heavy but with a happy ending. Please read tags. *** Rating: Teen and up

[little-miss-understood]

Dame Violette, Part One

This may look familiar! The old versions of this story will be taken down soon. I feel comfortable enough now to restart it, especially in light of that Season 5 finale.

-

Hi, my name is Marinette! I'm just a normal girl who lives with her two baker parents in Paris. There's nothing special about me, nope, nosiree.

...Unless you count the weird psychic visions I get. I mean that has to be normal, right?

They're like “mental shocks”. To be honest I'm not really sure why they happen or how they come to me, or even if I'm the only one who gets them. Maybe others do as well and no one wants to share it with the world? But that seems unlikely. The shocks seem to be steering me in life, hopefully away from bad things though I never know for sure. Like a shock I got when considering fashion as a career choice, which led to some weird visions of a blonde-haired woman yelling about how something wasn't exceptional and about a man who looked old and stern, how the world of fashion seemed very competitive and not easy to get to the top of, at least not without losing parts of yourself along the way. Because of that I figured maybe engineering would be better for me, I seem to have a knack for designing neat things, like diaries with unique locks. I still make clothes occasionally! But they're more for myself or my close friends.

Another shock came when the first class representative elections came up. I thought about running, but memories of a girl who seemed to be overrun with responsibilities for her classmates filled my mind, along with a figure who took advantage who looked very, very similar to Madame Bustier, my homeroom teacher. Because of that it led me to always sit at the back of the class rather than anywhere near the front, not wanting to be noticed. Someone else can take that particular burden. There are only two other people who knows about me having such thoughts...having met them both through shocks, I figured they'd understand it if I explained the whole thing outright. Considering how well read one of them is I had hoped maybe she could have had a rational explanation but she just laughed and said it was probably some kind of “gut magic”. The other simply said it was “Awesome”. I might have been offended but they both wholeheartedly believed me. I don't know why a person believing in me feels so...important, but it does. Like I know my parents do but having someone else besides them is great. I have just this small group of two best friends, and that's more than enough for me. Having too many would be spreading myself thin and my downtime is important; I hate being run off my feet. Plus quality is better over quantity, and both of these girls are quality without a doubt. We might as well be sisters now for how entangled our lives have become.

- In a schoolyard, a five-year old Marinette looks around anxiously. It's a brand-new school to her, what with the move her mama and papa had done to a new and larger bakery, and she had to leave behind the friends she made in the previous year. Her papa however had done what he always did, and set her up with a box of macarons for her first day. “Just be yourself, offer one to a classmate. You're going to be fine, my sweet.” But there was a sinking feeling in her stomach. Marinette was expecting something to come her way, something horrible. Something brash. But little did she know, that on the other side of Paris, a decision was made to send a blonde girl of similar age to a private school, along with a boy of a prominent fashion mogul. It was over the objections of her father, a councilman who was hoping to rise to the position of mayor. “It's out of the question, Andre!”, shouted the mother. “She needs to learn what it takes with the right kind of teachers! Besides, this might seal the deal between ourselves and the Agrestes for marriage!” So, one fate was avoided. It was at this point Marinette felt the mental shock. A view into another universe, one were the blonde terror came to the school and immediately started to berate her as low-class, that her macarons were tasteless, and screaming for a young bespectacled red-haired girl to follow her during recess. It was said girl that Marinette saw near the entrance of the school, looking just as lost. The vision of the other universe fresh in her head, she walked over and opened up the box her father had provided. “Hi, my name is Marinette! Would you like a macaron?” The girl seemed to hesitate for a moment, almost as if she was questioning Marinette's motives and if this was, in fact, real. But then she looked down into the box, back towards her, and smiled. “I'm...Sabrina. It's nice to meet you! Um, do you have any strawberry ones?”

- We were inseparable from that day forward, best friends forevermore. Where would I be without Sabrina? Probably some stuttering mess. We each seemed to calm different parts of ourselves; her stopping my anxious “spirals” before they even start, and me encouraging her to stand up for herself. There's a strong mutual respect and understanding between us both; she's smart in the areas I'm not, and in turn I make up where she may falter. While I'm thankful for a lot of the “shocks” and their guidance, that one in particular has a special place in my heart as it gave two souls support and friendship. And two we were, until five years later a shock gave us our “missing” sister. -

Friendship Day. An annual scavenger hunt across all of Paris. Usually Sabrina and I don't participate, but a shock a few days ago convinced me to have us both take part this year. The celebrity we were supposed to try and find was Jagged Stone, and that's kind of cool, but at the same time we couldn't work together to try and do it. The rules of the day meant that a new “friend” would be assigned to us at random.

Which is a shame, because Sabrina and I probably could have made short work this whole thing.

My phone buzzed with the first clue, “With one turn of a handle, I can raise the level.” That was easy enough, the Canal Saint-Martin. That wasn't even very far away, maybe a few blocks. I thought back to what was shown to me in the shock while walking towards the canal lock. It was of a girl with black and purple hair and a boy with teal hair. Both of them had their backs turned, so I had no idea what they looked like, but...

...it seemed I was going to meet one of them today. The girl on the bridge looked almost the same as the one in my vision, though shorter somehow? But the hair was a dead giveaway, along with the fact that her clothing also seemed similar.

And that she had her back to me. I guess the best approach would be direct?

“Um, hello!”

That seemed to startle her more than anything, though she slowly turned around. Her face was covered by her hair, and her expression was one of fear. But we briefly locked eyes, and something in her seemed to calm right away. Enough for her to haltingly mumble something out. I barely caught it.

“Hello. I'm Juleka.”

-

In the end, it turned out she was more scared about searching for Jagged Stone than meeting me; apparently her mother had something against him and she didn't really want Juleka to take part, but was free to do so anyways. Though we kept following the clues, we both eventually gave up the hunt and started to talk more about our lives. It turned out we had a few similar interests, and by the end of the day when we met up with Sabrina I had grown used to Juleka's unique way of speaking French.

It took Sabrina more time to get there, though.

-

“I couldn't believe it Nettie, all she kept going on about was how “utterly ridiculous” I was! Everything from what I was wearing to if I couldn't get one of the clues right on the first try! I guess I drew the short straw on this whole thing.”

“It's alright Brina, you don't ever have to see her again at least.” I said, putting a supportive arm around her at the same time.

“I hope not. You know how I feel about bullies. But...” She turned her attention to the raven-haired girl sitting on the other side of me. “At least it looks like things were brighter on your end?”

“They were for sure! Juleka, this is Sabrina!”

Juleka's eyes darted up and down Sabrina, as if looking for some kind of hidden intention. After a moment, she breathed a small sigh of relief before letting out a mumble that was similar to what I had heard earlier in the day. Judging from the look on Sabrina's face, she hadn't quite caught what the other girl had said, so I served as a translator.

“She said it's nice to meet you.”

-

From then on, we were a trio. Three Musketeers, all for one and one for all. I wasn't sure how Juleka would influence us at first, it was only later I realized that her tastes ended up seeping into Sabrina and I unnoticed, enough that all of us were wearing darker clothing by the time we hit our teens, not to mention a nose piercing (for Sabrina) and hair dye (for myself, which more than surprised my parents the day I showed up at home from a sleepover with pink highlights in my black hair). But none of that was a bad thing, if anything we embraced it all. We understood Juleka when very few would bother trying; her accented French could come out sounding low or in mumbles to others, but we knew what she saying. Juleka could be as chaotic as her mother around the right people, and it seemed as though we were her people.

The three of us were together enough that a language was taking form among ourselves; an unholy mix of French, Scottish Gaelic, English, and some Mandarin. Every weekend a sleepover, either at my place, Juleka's houseboat or Sabrina's apartment. Sabrina had in fact been over more times than I could count, largely because her father, Roger, trusted my parents and knew she was in good hands. He worked long hours as a police officer but took a step back from front-line duties as Sabrina got older, not wanting to be in danger and leave Sabrina without a parent. It took Roger...longer to get used to both Juleka and Anarka, her mother, but in the end was won over by a weird shared taste in rock music. Sabrina had told me when he was younger that Roger upheld the law to the letter but had significantly mellowed out over the years, which was good as Anarka didn't exactly park her boat in entirely legal areas. Our first combined sleepover on the Liberty also caused him concern as the boat had ended up in another place entirely overnight, but seeing his daughter happy must have helped warm things over.

Not to mention my own parents helping in that respect, too. I dearly love my papa and my maman; both of them work so hard to keep the bakery running, which means long days and nights, but they always also find ways to make time for me. Occasionally I pitch in, there have even been periods when Sabrina has as well, and they get along with Roger and Anarka. They've even taken on Juleka's brother, Luka, as a delivery driver! Anarka had come back to Paris so that Luka could attend a prestigious music school. Juleka was offered the same but she wasn't quite sure what she wanted to do yet, so of course Sabrina and I jumped at the chance to have her in our class, though it did mean she had to go down a grade because of odd timing.

We were now getting ready to enter our third year of school together. It seemed as though we wouldn't be switching classes, even with the addition of some new people into the school; I didn't pay attention to any of that but Sabrina had found out that not only was the daughter of the Mayor going to be in our school this year, but also the son of some famous fashion designer. Ag...something. Agreste maybe? That name had sounded familiar.

It didn't matter; nothing would change my year too much. Nothing exciting would happen, nothing out of the ordinary. I'm happy being normal, I'm happy in my life, with my friends.

But as I travelled to school, before meeting up with Sabrina and Juleka, little did I know my life would change in a big way. All because I picked up a small butterfly brooch that was lying in a puddle of water. I didn't even notice it at first but a purple jewel caught my sight. Bending down to pick it up, a terrible shock came to me, one of the worst I've ever experienced.

A vision of a girl in a ladybug outfit, a boy in leather made to look like a cat. Some figure calling himself “Hawkmoth”. A box that seemed to be filled with random jewellery. A bunch of mysterious figures that were guarding over said box, but it was stolen from a Temple-

“Nettie!”

I looked down the street and saw Sabrina calling out to me, with Juleka standing next to her. I couldn't just leave the broach, it seemed far too precious for that. Besides, if it gave off such a strong mental vision, maybe that meant that I was supposed to have it? I could always give it up later, and maybe someone was out looking for a piece of lost jewellery. Stuffing it into my pocket, I ran down to meet my friends. After school was over, maybe then I could figure out what to do with it.

For now, my last year at Collège Françoise Dupont was about to begin.