#i really hope some people see when i post these asks so they know what to look out for when they get them

[joeyfranchise]

all tangled up in the moon

justin herbert x fem!reader

summary: you finally began feeling open to dating in your new home of sunny la, especially since your best friend didn’t love you back the way you loved him… unless he did? a telling double date begins unraveling feelings that you didn’t know were shared…

warnings: pining/mutual pining. expressions of feelings. a LOT of fluff. explicit sexual content, MDNI. 18+ only.

word count: 6.3k.

note: my first ever justin fic!! based on so many ideas from my bestie @joeyburrrow, also happy belated birthday btw 🫂 i’m sorry i didn’t get it posted yesterday! but, she and i have talked about so much of this and this fic truly is for her. ALSO— FOR THE PURPOSE OF THIS FIC ONLY— i made justin allergic to walnuts. idk if he is or not, but it’ll make sense when you get there. i hope you like this. love you all. 💗

the dating pool in los angeles was nothing short of horrible.

sure, there were tons of people, which meant tons of options… but that also lead to some problems. there was so much diversity around, which again, is great… but it often led to mismatched partners and having trouble finding someone with all of the same interests or morals or values as you.

that being said, while messing around on dating apps, you found yourself a date that ticked more of your boxes than anyone else had since you moved to the sunny city.

his name was damon, and he worked at a law firm that wasn’t too far from your own nine-to-five job. his profile said he was 6’2, in his pictures he displayed a beautiful smile, and his interests were similar enough to yours that you figured why not give it a chance?

when you swiped right he’d messaged you nearly immediately, which could’ve been a red flag, but he kept it sweet and professional. his personality shined through his messages and you found yourself genuinely laughing at some of his jokes, and that was always a good sign.

you ran into one little problem though. you didn’t really know anyone else in l.a. except for your best friend, therefore you didn’t have many people to trust. sure, you had coworkers and acquaintances in the office, but none of them were around you enough to be able to vet through suitors from your dating life to let you know who would work and who wouldn’t.

you were also afraid to go out with someone new alone, and you blamed that on being an introvert. you ultimately made the decision that either damon would have to be okay with your first date being a double date, or you just wouldn’t go. when damon agreed it was fine, you called justin worriedly - this was going to be the hard part.

he picked up after two rings.

“is this the krusty krab?” you asked teasingly, smiling as you heard him huff out a brief laugh. he lowered his voice before answering.

“no, this is patrick.”

“yeah, justin patrick,” you teased, “unless i called the wrong brother.” you chewed on your bottom lip as you heard him chuckle again.

“that’s my name! don’t wear it out.” he joked. you could practically see the dumb grin already etched across his face. you remained silent for a moment, the weight of the question weighing on you. when you didn’t respond, justin took the lead of the conversation again.

“hey, y/n? you okay? not that i mind you calling me, of course i don’t mind… but did you need something? is everything alright?” you appreciated his ability to talk you down in moments like this, it was like he could sense your nerves even from miles away, and over a phone call.

“i’m okay. but i have a tiny favor to ask. you know you’re my most favorite best friend in the wholeee world, right?” you laughed, trying to push past the anxiety of the question you needed to ask him. “i do. what’s the favor?”

“i have a date friday night and i’ve never met him before. i didn’t know anyone else to ask and.. i was hoping maybe you and chloe could come along? like a double date?”

justin and chloe had started seeing each other recently, and you liked her enough not to really worry about their relationship. sure, she was living your dream being with justin, but you practically knew he didn’t feel the same about you. while you were completely and utterly in love with him, he still saw you as his best friend, and you had learned to accept it.

when you first met chloe you knew she wasn’t his type, she was completely different from justin… but he seemed happy, and that’s all you ever wanted for him. she was excited to meet you too, and in the few times you’d seen her since she was always genuine and kind.

“i think we can make that work, i should be out of practice in time. i’ll let chloe know and then we can figure out where to go. there’s a new restaurant downtown she and i went to a few weeks ago, you’d love it. they have really good raspberry cheesecake!” he said.

“oooh my favorite!” you cheered, already daydreaming of the delicious confection.

“i know.” he agreed. you smiled on the other end of the line, the way he knew you from cover to cover made your heart ache. you only hoped damon - and if not him, then whoever was destined for you - could be such a wonderful lover to you. someone who truly cared to learn everything there was to know about you, just like you and justin did with each other, even if only as friends.

you and justin talked for a bit longer over menial things before you ended the call, bidding him a goodnight. you made sure to text damon about your plans, letting him know you’d get back to him about a time as soon as you could.

he was excited for your date, and also excited to meet justin. you learned damon was a big fan of sports, and even though he wasn’t a chargers fan, he still really liked justin and thought he was a great player. he didn’t believe you when you first told him justin was your best friend, you had to provide him with photo evidence. the whole ordeal made you laugh. after chatting briefly with damon you put your phone on your bedside table before rolling over and getting cozy under your blankets.

you went to bed with a smile on your face that night, excited for your date with damon and also excited for him to meet your best friend.

꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧

you sailed through the week on a high, and when friday night came you were still feeling ecstatic. you were still a little anxious about going out and meeting damon in person for the first time, but getting to know him through the week had helped you warm up a little and let your guard down.

you decided on wearing a simple black dress, classy yet not too-fancy. you curled your hair and applied a light layer of makeup before slipping on a pair of strappy black heels.

you planned on meeting justin and chloe at the restaurant at seven, giving everyone enough time to get ready and allowing justin to shower and freshen up after practice.

damon picked you up at six-thirty. he met you at your door with flowers which you graciously accepted, and you excused yourself to bring them inside and put them in water before locking up and going with damon to his car.

he opened your door for you and you slid in, buckling your seatbelt as you waited for him to get in and start the engine. it was a bit chilly out and you were grateful when damon turned up the heat before backing out of your driveway and heading to the restaurant.

you chatted with him on the drive and it was pretty pleasant, you were thankful that the conversation between you both flowed easily. you learned that his favorite football team was the los angeles rams, and you joked with him that he’d need to let you out of the car immediately because you wouldn’t stand for that nonsense.

he laughed heartily at your joke. he talked to you more about his job, you learned he was a paralegal and that he’d been in the profession for nearly four years. you told him about your experience working in human resources and you related over shared experiences.

when you arrived to the restaurant damon parked and came around to open your door, and you were quickly met by justin and chloe. damon and justin shook hands and introduced themselves to each other as you greeted chloe.

“i love your dress!” she smiled, you thanked her. “you look incredible too, chloe!”

she wore a light blue dress that came down mid-thigh and had long sleeves. she wore black heels as well, and you loved the glittery eyeshadow she had put on.

the four of you walked into the restaurant and justin spoke to the host about reservations he had so graciously called in - which you thanked him immensely for. the host led your party to a table toward the back of the restaurant and you all sat. damon made sure to pull out your chair, and justin did the same for chloe.

the waitress came by shortly after for your drink orders, you and justin both got water. chloe ordered a riesling and damon ordered a cabernet, which you found amusing. you didn’t say anything about it, though.

the waitress brought your drinks quickly and she also brought a basket of bread for the table, with little cups of cinnamon butter. you indulged in one as you listened to justin and damon begin chatting about football.

you and chloe began to chime in at times, and the atmosphere was nice. you and damon also engaged in your own quiet conversation every now and then, and you were starting to like it every time he’d flash you his award winning smile… until justin would smile at you from across the table. in those moments, you knew who your heart truly belonged to.

a few times during dinner the conversations would ebb off, or the input from chloe and damon would stop, leaving only you and justin talking to each other.

the waitress brought your food and you all began dining, while still chatting here and there about work and sports and things of that nature. the waitress came back around a bit later to take plates and your dessert orders. the men continued to talk while you and chloe ordered, with you asking for cheesecake and chloe ordering a fudgy brownie.

something damon said reminded justin of something he needed to tell you, and he turned his attention toward you quickly.

“y/n, i was meaning to tell you that my uncle had some students interested in trying to make a car run on vegetable oil.” you laughed at his statement before giving your input.

“so what, they want to install a second fuel tank i’m assuming? so the vehicle can run on diesel til it’s hot enough and then they’ll switch to the oil?” you ask. “yeah exactly. i thought it sounded pretty cool.” justin smiles. “sounds like a waste of time to me.” you say amusedly. justin tilts his head and gives you a questioning glance.

“it’s totally not a waste of time. if they can figure out how to do it, it’ll be pretty sick.” he disagrees. damon glances between you before chiming in. “i think it’d be pretty cool too!” he agrees with justin.

“do you know how many times they’d have to filter the oil before they could even use it? and they’d have to make sure to install a solenoid valve to switch between two fuel tanks. too much work.” you say, crossing your arms and looking back and forth between both men. chloe says nothing, you assume she has no idea what any of you are talking about.

you noticed damon checking the time on his phone before sliding it back into his pocket and rejoining your conversation, but mostly listening to you and justin bicker.

“it totally reminded me of that 70s show though, you know? when hyde says ‘there’s this car…. and it runs on water, man!’” justin laughs, doing a pretty decent impression of the character.

“i just feel like making modifications to your car so it could run off vegetable oil is a waste of time.” you say, leaning back slightly in your chair. justin’s girlfriend looks between the two of you with an odd look on her face, only breaking focus when she sees the waitress approaching again.

“here’s the double chocolate brownie with vanilla ice cream,” she says, placing the plate in front of chloe, “and here are the slices of raspberry cheesecake.”

she places the plate in front of you and damon is quick to grab it, sliding his piece of cheesecake onto one of the extra serving plates. chloe picks her fork up excitedly, slicing into the brownie and taking a small bite. her eyes roll as she tastes it, the richness of the chocolate has to be delectable. you watch as she cuts another small bite, this time more toward the center of the brownie where you can see it has small pieces of walnut in it.

she reaches over to cup justin’s jaw, squeezing a bit to get him to open his mouth so she can feed it to him. you ignore the slightly jealous feeling bubbling in your stomach as she brings it closer to his mouth, but you can’t get your words out. justin looks at her with a puzzled expression. he hadn’t been paying attention to her or what she ordered, so he has no idea what she’s about to feed him.

as if on instinct, your hand shot across the table and closed around her wrist, stopping her from feeding him. “s-sorry.. uh, justin is allergic to walnuts.” you say, lowering your gaze so you don’t make eye contact with her. she lets go of his jaw and he shrugs sheepishly.

“sorry baby.” she tells him, eating the bite for herself. “it’s okay.” justin replies. his eyes find yours for a fleeting moment, nervous energy is shared between you. damon watches the entire ordeal silently, passing glances between the three of you as he eats his dessert.

you pick up your fork and take a bite too, and the tartness of the raspberry dances across your tongue in a pleasant way. justin was right with his recommendation, this restaurant truly is amazing. damon and justin begin conversing again, and you stay quiet as you eat, listening attentively.

chloe chimes in a few times, earning laughs from both men with her unintentional humor. you slide the last bite of cheesecake on your fork and bring it to your lips, ready to enjoy it, when suddenly your fork is plucked from your hand. you look up to find justin eating the last bite straight off of your fork. yours.

while you’re on a double date. with other people.

your gaze quickly flips from justin to chloe and then to damon as you try to gauge their expressions. damon doesn’t seem to notice or care as he continues talking about football, and justin nods along with what damon is saying as if this ordeal was the most normal thing that has ever happened.

sure, you and justin are close enough to eat off each others forks and sometimes even drink from the same cup or can, but the fact that he did it on a double date baffled you. neither of the men at the table seemed to be giving it a second thought, but when your gaze shifts to chloe you can tell she’s perturbed in some way. her eyes are slightly squinted as she looks you up and and down, and then her gaze shifts to justin as she does the same to him.

you continue to sit quietly at the table, listening to the men talk. chloe stays quiet, too. the tension between the two of you feels almost palpable.

you would never want to come between her and justin, even if you did have feelings for him throughout all these years.

the rest of the time spent in the restaurant went by in a blur. eventually damon and justin stopped talking, realizing that you and chloe hadn’t shared a word, and they mutually decided that dinner should be over.

damon and justin split the checks and pay before each of you stand from the table to leave. when you make it outside you suck in a deep breath of the fresh air, you’ve felt like you were suffocating for the last fifteen minutes. all of you say goodbye to each other before you get into damon’s car, and chloe into justin’s.

the drive back to your house is quiet. you’re anxious, your throat feels tight and you know your cheeks must be incredibly pink. damon hasn’t even glanced at you and you’re afraid to say a word because if you do you’ll start crying.

he finally pulls into your drive and parks the car before looking at you for the first time since you left the restaurant. you wring your hands together before looking back at him, expecting the worst.

“that was fun, justin is a really nice guy.” his voice is genuine as he speaks to you, but you’re prepared for where this is going. “he loves you, y/n.”

you look at him with bewilderment as he continues speaking. you want to say something, but he holds up a finger to tell you to wait. “before you start with the whole ‘he doesn’t feel that way about me’ spiel, he does. i saw how you looked at each other all night. he doesn’t look at her like that.”

tears are pricking at the corners of your eyes as he speaks, and you turn your gaze from his so he won’t see. “you love each other, y/n. it’s okay. i had fun, i’m glad i met you.” he says, reaching over the console to grab your hand. he gives it a gentle squeeze and you look back up at him as he smiles at you. “i would like to be your friend, if that’s okay.”

“yeah, we can stay friends, of course.” you tell him. he lets go of your hand and gets out of the car, circling around to get your door and walk you up the front steps. before you can walk up damon pulls you in for a hug, which you reluctantly accept.

“it was nice meeting and going out with you, y/n. don’t be a stranger!” he says, and then he lets you go and gets back into his car, driving off down the street.

you let yourself in the house and lock the door behind you before collapsing on the couch. you don’t have the energy to move, to take off your shoes, or to even be worried about your makeup.

you just sit there, and you cry. you cry for all the lost time, if it is true and he does love you. and if damon’s wrong, and you do take the time to tell justin how you feel and he rejects you… well, you should go ahead and cry for that too. you cry for the only boy you’ve ever loved.

꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧

justin buckles his seatbelt and holds his foot down on the brake before backing out of his parking spot at the restaurant, ready to get home and into more comfortable clothing. chloe sits beside him silent, like she did for most of the dinner.

he spares a glance her way and notices her posture is rigid, her lips are pressed into a tight, thin line. justin reaches over to grasp her hand but she flinches away from his touch.

“are you okay?” he asks her, his tone concerned. “i’m okay. can you take me to my house, please?” she asks. her voice sounds small, she sounds upset.

“of course.” justin agrees. they hadn’t been dating long enough to make the steps to move in together, but chloe frequented his house often as long as he was home. he thought it was a bit strange that she wanted to go home, but he waited to question it.

when he pulled in her driveway and parked she was quick to jump out of the car and make her way inside. justin turned the car off and pocketed the keys before following chloe inside.

“um, is everything okay?” he asked, stepping into the living room. “no. we need to talk.” chloe said, sitting down on the couch. justin sat next to her and place a reassuring hand on her knee as he waited for her to speak.

“i think we should break up.”

justin is taken aback by her confession, but he doesn’t speak. he waits to hear her out. “i really like you, justin. and i think you like me. but you don’t love me. and you never will, because you love someone else.”

“what?” he asks, his tone incredulous. “you love y/n, justin. you know it, i know it, everyone on the planet knows it… except for her. i think you’re both idiots.” chloe smiles softly.

justin looks around the room nervously, waiting for chloe to speak again. “you’re both idiots because what you’ve been looking for has been in front of you the whole time. it was obvious you two should have been on a date. you both carried the conversation, you were doing silly impressions to make her laugh… you look at her like she’s your most prized possession, justin.”

he takes a deep breath before looking at chloe and finally speaking. “i’m sorry.” is all he’s able to mutter out.

“you don’t need to apologize. i’ll admit, i was upset at first. but on the drive i thought about it, and i just want you to be happy. and i figured someone needed to tell you that girl loves you, because if the two of you have been friends this long and you haven’t figured it out, i’m afraid you never will.” she laughs. “and god, i didn’t even know you were allergic to walnuts.”

justin laughs too before reaching over and pulling chloe into him for a hug. “thank you for telling me all that… and i am sorry. i really am.”

“it’s okay, justin. just get the girl, okay?” she says, shooing him out the door. he waves goodbye before walking off to his car and heading home.

when he arrives home he sits in the driveway pondering… did you really love him back? and if you have, how long? and what was he going to do?

he thinks of all the time he’s lost out on if it’s true, and you do love him back. he’d supressed the feelings for as long as he could remember because he never knew he had a chance - he never thought he’d be the one for you. and if he wasn’t he knew it’d break him, but all he wanted was your happiness.

all he knew right now was that he loved you, that you were the only girl he’d ever loved.

꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧

you don’t talk to justin for a week.

you’re afraid to. usually, he’s the first person you run to about anything, but since the subject matter is him, you feel like you’re stuck between a rock and a hard place. you spend the entire week sad, crying into your coffee or whatever dinner you’ve chosen to eat after work (usually cereal), and watching lifetime movies that are guaranteed to make you feel worse - they make the longing in your chest burn.

justin finally texts you on friday night, and you’re afraid to open it. you let it sit unread for half an hour before your phone starts ringing on the end table. it’s justin, you know it is, but you’re afraid to answer. you pick up your phone slowly and slide your thumb across the screen to answer the call.

“hello?” you sniffle, picking up a tissue to wipe your nose. “hey y/n, you okay?” justin asks.

“yeah, lifetime movie, sorry. what’s up?”

“just wanted to see if you wanna come over and hangout? i haven’t heard from you all week, i miss you.” he says. you miss him too. but are you ready to see him after what happened?

against your better judgment, you agree to go over. after all, he is your best friend. if anyone can get you feeling better, it’s justin. you hang up the call and slide on your slippers before grabbing your keys and phone and heading over to his house.

you didn’t bother changing, you didn’t care what you looked like in front of him. he’d seen you sick as a dog before, he even held your hair when you puked a few times, so he could handle seeing you in an old ratty tshirt and sweatpants that were a few sizes too big.

there’s also no way he could ever judge you for having greasy hair.

you make the quick drive to his place and you almost panic and leave before calming yourself down and walking to the front door. it’s just justin. this is no big deal.

you knock twice but you know he already knows you’re there, and he swings the door open quickly before pulling you into a tight hug. physical affection is something you both enjoy, and you’ve missed him. you wrap your arms tightly around him and squeeze back.

justin laughs as he looks down at you. “sometimes i forget how small you are.”

“or maybe you’re sasquatch.” you say, giving him a shove. he lets go and steps aside so you can get in the door, and you waste no time in sliding your slippers off plopping down on his couch. you notice his house seems a little… different, but you can’t put your finger on it.

justin closes the door and makes his way over to you, acting like he’s going to sit on your lap. “don’t even think about it.” you tell him, bringing your legs up to your chest. he sits next to you and leans into your side.

“how was your week?” he asks you innocently. “it was horrible.” you reply. you share the most miniscule details with him when he tries pressing you further, because you’re too afraid to tell him what’s really wrong. justin listens intently either way, hoping to find something he can do to make you feel better.

“well how’s it been with damon?” he finally asks, and you freeze. justin moves so he can lay his head on your lap, and he straightens out your legs before doing so. your hand naturally finds its way into his hair, your nails raking along his scalp soothingly. he shudders.

“damon um… well. he didn’t wanna go on another date. it wasn’t because he didn’t like me, though. he just said… he could tell u didn’t like him.”

justin hums softly. “interesting.” he says.

“what’s interesting?” you ask him. “chloe broke up with me.”

“WHAT?” you shout, startling him a bit. “sorry… i mean, what? why? i thought you guys really liked each other?”

“well, she liked me a lot. and i liked her but… i don’t love her. she really helped me realize a lot of feelings i had that i’d been holding back.” he turns his head to look up at you and smiles and - oh. oh.

the look he’s giving you seems to be full of pure adoration, pure love. and you realize that he always looks at you like this.

tears start to form in your eyes again and justin sits up, this time pulling you into his lap. “you okay?” he asks, soothingly rubbing his hand over your back.

that’s why it seemed different - all her stuff was gone.

“i don’t know. what’s happening here?” you ask him, burying your face in his neck. “chloe helped me realize that i love you, y/n. i always knew it, deep down. but… i don’t know. i never really thought you felt the same.”

“damon said the same to me. that he could, um, tell we loved each other. are we just stupid?” you ask him, pulling away from his neck to look in his eyes.

“apparently two idiots in love.” he says. his hand finds the back of your hair and smooths over it softly before he pulls you into his neck again, crushing you in another hug.

“so where do we go from here?” you ask, enjoying his embrace. “i guess forward.” he jokes, poking at your sides. “together, of course, if you want that. as a couple.”

you can’t help the giddy feeling bubbling up inside you as he speaks. of course you want that, it’s all you’ve ever wanted. “i love you, justin.” you finally say, and being able to tell him to his face is like a dream come true. “i love you back.” he says softly. you meet his gaze once again and he looks nervous, but you aren’t sure why.

“what’s wrong?” you ask him sweetly. you softly touch his cheek, smoothing over it with your thumb. he doesn’t say another word, but he leans in and kisses you.

you feel dizzy, your heart is pounding incredibly hard against your chest. justin is over the moon too. your lips begin moving in sync, neither of you able to catch a decent breath as you devour each other hungrily. justin's hands find your waist and he pulls you into him further, and your arms circle around his neck.

he pulls away for a second before jumping right back in, awkwardly bumping his nose against yours. you both laugh before kissing again. this is truly what euphoria feels like. you don’t know how long you both sit there taking each other apart, whether it’s minutes, hours or days.

what matters is it’s happening. finally.

your hands trail down his biceps as he continues kissing you, leaving a trail from the corner of your mouth down to the exposed column of your throat. your breath hitches when his lips meet one of your most sensitive spots, right where your neck meets your shoulder. “you okay?” he says, sounding concerned.

“i’m nervous.” you whisper. his gaze is soft as he looks at you, half smile spreading across his face. “it’s okay,” he whispers back, “we don’t have to take this any further until you’re ready.”

you hug him again and kiss his cheek softly. “i want to. i’m just nervous.”

“there’s no reason to be afraid.” he assures you. “do you wanna…” he starts, cocking his head to the side and motioning toward the direction of his bedroom. you nod a simple yes.

he stands with you and leads you down the hall to his room, although you know very well where it is. you’ve spent countless nights here cuddled up with him.

he twists the knob slowly and pushes the door open before guiding you inside, and meeting your lips with his again. the kiss is soft and gentle, and he walks you back toward his bed without breaking contact. once you’ve reached the side of the bed he pulls away and reaches behind himself with one arm, grabbing his shirt and yanking it over his head in one swift motion.

uou hop up onto his bed and get cozy against the pillows as he crawls onto the bed too, leaning over you. you rake your nails over the planes of his chest as he presses a kiss to your forehead. his fingertips find the hem of your sweater and his gaze meets yours, waiting for your approval. you nod, and he slides both hands under it before lifting it over your head.

you’re wearing a simple white bra, but justin is looking at you like you’ve just descended down from heaven. you know he won’t ask you to take it off so you let what little bit of confidence you have flowing through your veins take over, and you quickly reach behind you to unclasp it.

justin sucks in a deep breath at the sight of you. you’re easily the most breathtaking woman he’s ever seen in his life, you have been since he first laid eyes on you… but seeing you like this… he feels like he’s died and made it to the afterlife.

you don’t hide your gawking either, his toned body has always been something you’ve enjoyed staring at whether he noticed it or not. “you’re so beautiful,” justin tells you, leaning in to capture your lips again. as he crawls over your body you can feel his length through his sweatpants, it lays hard and heavy over your leg. you shudder at the thought of it.

justin’s hands slide up your torso and he caresses your breasts softly before tweaking both of your nipples with his thumbs and forefingers. you arch upward into him and your body is covered in gooseflesh as you await his touch again.

you’ve never felt such pleasure and satisfaction in your life, and he’s only barely started. you’re sure that you’ve soaked through your panties and sweatpants at this point. he continues to grab at your chest as he kisses you and you moan out his name softly, causing him to rut against your leg. he needs you just as much as you need him, you can tell.

“justin, i’m ready. i want you.” you tell him, breaking away from his kiss to look into his eyes. he smiles down at you and raises his eyebrow, making sure one more time. “i’m ready.” you promise him. his hands grab the waistband of your sweatpants before pulling them down your legs quickly, along with your panties.

he pulls his off next and your mouth falls open, gawking at the sight in front of you. sure… justin was 6’6, everything about him was big… but holy shit. he is huge.

he smiles at you nervously before reassuring you, “it’ll be okay, i won’t hurt you. i swear.” you almost think you could faint at how cute and sexy he his. you tell him you don’t need any prep but he won’t allow it, and he uses the pad of his thumb to circle your clit quickly as he enters two fingers into you to work you open.

after a few minutes you’re ready, you can’t take anymore and you’re practically begging him to fuck you. he blushes at the sound of your moans, but his chest fills with pride knowing he’s making you feel so good. he pulls his fingers from your soaking heat slowly before wrapping his hand around his cock and giving it a few strokes. you let him situate your body how he needs to and he ends up with your ankles right at his shoulders as he prepares to push into you.

he’s lucky you’re flexible. his lips find yours again as he pushes in and your thankful because his kisses swallow your gasps. he moves slowly, inch by inch until he’s fully seated, and he waits a few minutes before moving so he doesn’t hurt you. when he finally pulls out and pushes back in, he moans loudly at how amazing you feel around him. you moan too, you’ve never felt so full in your life - and you’ve never felt so fulfilled either.

he moves to kiss you again and bumps his nose against yours again sweetly as his hands find yours and he tangles your fingers together. his movements are calculated, slow and methodical as he takes you apart, and unravels you in the very best way.

the room is filled with soft moans and labored breaths and the sounds of you kissing each other anywhere your lips can find. it doesn’t take long for you to reach your peak and tears prick at your eyes when you do. this is all you’ve ever wanted, and it’s beautiful, it’s magical. justin feels the same.

you warn him that you’re close and he tells you it’s okay, you can let go for him. “cum for me, it’s okay. i love you, y/n.” and that’s all it takes. his admission of love knocks you straight over the edge and into the thrashing waters, your orgasm taking over your whole body. he cums soon after, his body enjoying the feeling of you squeezing him as he rides out his high.

when he pulls out of you he stand quickly, running off to his bathroom to grab a warm wet towel to clean you both up. he didn’t bother asking if you were on the pill, he already knows every aspect of your life anyway.

justin cleans all your sensitive areas with the warm rag before wiping himself off and sliding back into bed with you, pulling the covers over your bodies.

“that was amazing.” you admit.

“yeah it was. you know how long we could’ve been doing that?” he laughs, and you giggle too. “i love you.” you tell him. “i love you too, so much. can i tell you something stupidly embarrassing, though?” he asks, and you roll over to face him. “oh god, what justin?”

“remember after we graduated, right after you turned eighteen and we had that pool party?”

“yeah, i remember.” you say. it was one of your fondest memories, actually. “that little yellow bikini you wore… i just thought i should admit to you now that i thought about you in that so much when i was jerking it that i thought my dick would fall off.”

both of you erupt in laughter, the admission funny and embarrassing, although endearing too. “that’s okay, remember right before we went to college and you were teaching me how to drive but you kept getting frustrated and yelling at me? i thought that was the hottest i’d ever seen you.” you say. he pulls you into his chest and kisses you softly.

“you’re getting me all worked up again, baby,” he laughs, kissing at your cheek toward your ear. “looks like we’re gonna have to go for round two.”

- - -

taglist: @slimshiesty @joeyburrrow @starsinthesky5 @joeyb1989

photos and dividers used are not mine, all cred to owners.

[zara-renata]

So I had one holiday prompt that I couldn't include in the big holiday prompt fic I posted last week, and I also have been receiving some really sweet and cute ideas that weren't exactly requests, but the ideas were so nice that I wanted to write something for them. I've gathered them into one story that I hope isn't disappointing. I had intended to do separate, cute little drabbles, but I had a bad day the other day and somehow uh, really dark angst happened, and then I used the ideas people sent for the comfort half of the fic? So please forgive me for just... taking it as dark as you can go before including the sweet, cute ideas that people requested. I hope you like the result anyway, although please read the content warnings. Several of the people who sent requests/ideas apologized for doing so, as if sending the ideas was 'too much', but you don't have to apologize for sending asks. My requests are open, and I like seeing everyone's ideas even if I don't end up being able to write for them, or if I tweak them a little to make them work for the story that comes out of my brain despite my best laid plans to stick to an outline.

The river | ao3 | masterlist

It's Christmas Eve, you're at the end of your rope after an absolutely awful year, and you decide to end it all after pushing everyone in your life away. Sylus pulls you from the brink and convinces you to keep going.

Sylus x fem reader, Sylus x mc, hurt/comfort, angst, grief, banter, fluff. CW: attempted suicide, depressed thoughts, NSFW, Sylus penetrating reader (this is not sex ed, do not follow these idiots' example, no discussion of condom or birth control, this is fantasy and we're not going to worry about that in the fic)

Ask #1 You asked to keep sending silly little ideas for you to write so I thought I'd give my own request! After Caleb and Gran (supposedly) die it's pretty much canon that MC refuses help from their friends and isolates themself in certain ways. I always imagine MC sometimes sees Sylus as "the only one they have left" since he is the only one who goes out of his way to check up on MC. But MC kinda grows to resent this and has a moment when their drunk/really going through it and basically ask Sylus why he doesn't leave them be so they can just rot away in peace. Sorry if this is too lengthy or I'm overstepping! Brain worms are getting to me

Ask #2 Okay, so random thoughts here, but do you know that superstition that’s like, “the places where you have moles on your body show where your lover kissed you in a past life”? But like… can you imagine what it would be like if MC had a mole in the exact spot where Sylus bit her during Abyssal Mark (cus I have one there lol) and then that superstition randomly gets brought up, only for MC to show him that mole and Sylus is just s h o o k??? N e way that’s my random thoughts lol (sorry if this is a lot 💀)

Ask #3 I love the way you write the MC and I find myself relating to them at least 99% of the time. Sometimes I just imagine them giving Sylus one of those "Do you like me? Circle yes or no!" Love letters to Sylus because they are terrified of rejection -> i wrote the MC in this story really, really depressed, so if this didn't hit the spot for you in terms of fear of rejection, let me know, and I can include your prompt in another story idea I had before this one that's a lot lighter and sweeter before I got hit by the angst truck that this fic turned out to be. just let me know!

Ask #4 the last holiday prompt! -> idk if anyone sent it yet but from the xmas prompt list, i would love to see what you do with number 8 -> I'm so sorry that this is what I did with it, I hope you like it anyway😭

Thank you everyone who has sent me ideas! If you've sent me a request and I haven't answered it yet, it's because I'm still intending to do something with it.

Here you are. Again.

At the end of a long day. A long week. A long year. 

A long rope.

It’s the dark, this time of year. 

Maybe. 

You’re restless. You’ve passed through the Deepspace Hunters Association doors for the last time this year. Empty days of leave stretch before you.

Normally, it would still be light out, leaving this early. But not now, this deep into the year—it’s already full night, as you leave work early.

The bright lights of the building pour over your upturned face as you look back, just once. You don’t know what for. You’ve successfully severed most of the ties you had built before.

Before everything.

Tara, Xavier. After Caleb, Josephine—they reached out, over and over, and you bit their outstretched hands with your sharp, sharp teeth. 

You snapped enough times that they keep their distance, now. 

They’re still kind. 

Tara still comes, sits on your desk, shares tidbits of gossip during the workday. But she no longer invites you along to karaoke, to after-work drinks with other coworkers.

You and Xav work in sync, as you eliminate wanderers. He walks you to your door at the end of the day. But he no longer offers to lend you books. No longer invites you to the bookstore, or to try new restaurants.

You watch his broad back as he walks away from you, down your apartment building’s hallway. He feels as far away as a star in the velvet night sky.

It’s not their fault. You did this.

You wanted this.

You turn away from the warm light beaming from the Association as you leave early, the Christmas lights glittering in the windows, the holiday party you’re skipping still in full swing in the open, sleek company restaurant area on the ground floor. A division-wide shindig, to celebrate the end of the year, the holidays.

The night is cold. Fairy lights, nets of bright pinpricks in the dark night, cover the trees lining the sidewalk. Decorative light displays stretch across the busy road at periodic intervals, over the canals that parallel the streets, the gondolas and tour-boats festive under their own lights, red ribbons flapping in the cold winter wind.

You think about how they never recovered a body.

Only Josephine’s ashes fill an urn, sitting in a cold niche of a quiet columbarium. Caleb’s urn is empty.

You start walking, fast, along the busy sidewalk. People are out shopping, scurrying to tie up last minute errands before the city shuts down for the holiday tomorrow.

You want to unzip your coat. Unzip your uniform. Unzip your skin, your ribcage. Leave all these pieces of yourself behind, for others to puzzle over. To sweep up with the rest of the refuse left over from festive party goers on the street. You want to dissipate in the cold winter air like your breath with each cursed inhale, exhale.

You settle for beginning to jog to the metro station, your feet carrying you faster, faster, your boots heavy on the sidewalk. You see it lit in the distance, but you can’t stand the thought of being underground right now. Buried alive, with all the other people. You sprint past it. 

You’re graceful enough to duck and weave, not disturb anyone else, until the crowds thin.

You’re running, running, the city is streaming past, like the tears from your eyes. Wet from the cold, because you haven’t cried since waking up, your ears deafening, Caleb’s silver chain glittering in the firelight on the walk up to your grandmother’s burning house.

Tears won’t bring a body back.

You don’t know how much longer you can stand this.

The days, one after another. Alarm, moving through the dark to get to work. Moving through the dark to get back to your apartment at the end of the day.

The pain—your only constant, now. The only thing you expect, have to look forward to, day after blurred day. 

An echoing emptiness, like an urn without ashes. An emptiness that feels so full that your skin could burst with it.

You think about your apartment. The festive city outside its windows. The half-opened bottle of wine in the fridge, the only thing in it.

You veer from your neighborhood. Keep running. You’re sweating under your winter coat, your heavy Hunter uniform. It doesn’t matter.

You run, and run, and run, until you run out of streets, sidewalk.

Just the river, wide and black. There is a bridge, soaring over the water, in the distance. Its lights reflected in the water, along with the urban nightscape. Stars above, stars below.

You could drown in them.

You look at the bridge.

You could drown in it all.

There’s no one left, after all.

Who will miss you?

You slow. Stop.

Your breath is heavy in the quiet air. Fairy lights sparkle here, too. Pretty swooping light displays top each lamppost along the river path. 

You would have gone to identify the body, as you did with Gran. She didn’t look like herself. Not even a sleeping version of herself. They did their best, reconstructing her face. But it wasn’t the stitches, the bruising. It was that she simply wasn’t there anymore. Like a stranger’s body on display. An empty house after the residents have been forced to flee in a night of unimaginable violence. 

But running your hands through her hair, one last time. It soothed something in you. Enough that you could breathe in the cold mortuary air. Could nod. Could watch as they covered her again. As they escorted you out into the bustling hospital hallways, to stand under cold fluorescent lights. To stare vacantly at the wall, until you felt a strange, familiar feeling. You looked up, saw Zayne watching you, at the end of the long hallway. You stared at him, memorizing his beautiful face. His dark hair. His severe, cold loveliness. You let yourself look one last time, and he let you. Through the people filling the hallway, each walking with purpose, they were a blur and he was  across the world, across time, a part of your past that should never have reappeared in your present. It hurt too much, to look at his beautiful, distant face. He left you behind, once. He should have stayed gone. You can’t stand to experience the loss again, the loss you felt every time he listened to your heart, expressionless, a stranger with a beautiful, familiar face from your past, a past in which Caleb was still alive. 

You looked at Zayne one last time, across a bustling hallway in a place full of life, of death, and he let you. You then turned, headed to the reception desk. You switched doctors, hospitals.

You blocked his number, so you’ll never know if he sent you a text, tried to call and ask why, after. He let you walk out. Which is as it should be.

You wanted this.

The water churns under the whipping wind, the fast current. It looks so cold. Cold enough to numb. Cold enough to finally put out the fire that’s been burning in you, ever since you woke up, your ears deafening, Caleb’s necklace shimmering in the flames.

You think of running your hands through his hair. Something the fire robbed you of—it would have been your first time, your last time. He would pat your head. Call you pipsqueak. Ignore your protests to not mess up your hair, to not treat you like a little kid. But he would always duck out of the way anytime you tried to return the favor, tease him, tousle his hair. His pretty brunette hair that always looked so soft. Now you’ll never know how soft it really was.

You look at the water. You look at the bridge. The car headlights meteors streaking along their guardrail-gated orbit.

You think about going home. Waking up tomorrow, Christmas Day. The silence. You think about going back to work. Killing wanderer after wanderer. Wondering which one will be the one to finally kill you.

The days blur. The constant emptiness echoing inside your apartment, inside your ribcage.

You look at the water. You look at the bridge. You imagine running your hands through Caleb’s hair for the first, the last time. A tender goodbye you’ll never have, because they never found his body.

There’s no one left to miss you.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket. You fish it out.

Rafayel no longer calls, or texts you words. He just sends photos, every once in a while. Mundane details of everyday life, rendered extraordinary through his artist’s eye. Paintings he’s working on. A foreign landscape. Leaves glistening with dew. The moon, waxing full.

You haven’t answered in months. You look at each one, tuck your phone back in your pocket.

You look back at the water. Think about taking a photo of the reflected stars, the thin crescent moon in the black waves, think of sending him one last response. But even you’re not that cruel. You don’t want him to realize later, that he was the last one to say anything to you.

You don’t open his text. You block his number. Tuck the phone back into your pocket.

You start to walk toward the bridge. As you walk, you keep your eyes on the path, its edges. Decorative, smooth stones line the walkway along the river embankment. You pick them up, here and there, as you walk. Slip them into your coat pockets.

Eventually you run out of room in your coat pockets, add more to your pants pockets. 

You turn your eyes back to the bridge, looming now.

You think of your empty fridge. Josephine’s empty face. An empty urn.

You’re ready to scoop out what’s left of you, leave it behind on the sidewalk, smoldering as the cold night finally smothers the endless fire, the only thing left inside you. Maybe it will warm someone else, in passing. A last good deed, from you to someone in the world.

A metal staircase, leading up, up, into the black sky, mirroring the dark river, your heavy boots echoing. The cars are loud. If you close your eyes, they could be the rushing waves of an ocean, instead of a river of traffic, above a river of water.

You keep your eyes open. You’re not going to pretend that you’re not doing what you’re doing, now. You’re not at the ocean, its pure salt air drifting through your hair, now whipping around your face. You’re on a busy, exhaust- and oil-stained commuter bridge on the night before Christmas, having cut your ties with everyone you have always known never wanted or needed you in the first place. What’s the difference if a wanderer kills you tomorrow, or if something kills you today? Just empty time, blurry days, photo frames without pictures.

The guardrail isn’t so high as one would guess. It’s an easy step up. An easy step over. You stand, looking back over the city where you were raised. The city that contains all the past versions of yourself, from the moment you were pulled screaming into life from a mother whose face you’ll never know, through to now, an empty shell of a person. If your fellow hunters could see inside you, they’d mistake you for a wanderer and put you down, like the scientists who experimented on you, your own grandmother, did years ago.

Since learning that Gran was one of the people who fucked with your heart, you have often resented that she and her colleagues weren’t successful in finishing the job years ago, when they had the chance.

But now you wonder, standing over a dark, freezing river that reflects what’s inside you now, maybe they did finish it. You just didn’t realize it. Not till tonight, as you look down in the mirror of the rushing water, far below.

Even now, the tears won’t come.

What use are tears, when they can’t bring a body back. When they can’t wash it clean. When they can’t lovingly touch it, one last time, soft strands of hair under your fingers.

Your tears, your heart, your suffering, your existence—useless, for the entirety of a life you can only half remember.

You wonder if it’s the dark, tonight. Why tonight, and not yesterday? Why not six months ago? 

Because it took that long to sever the ties binding you here?

Now you are assured, no one will miss you. It will take days before anyone even notices your absence because of your holiday leave.

You hope that they’ll assume it was a wanderer. Bad luck. Wrong time, wrong place. A modest little plaque on the wall of heroes, even though you know you’re no hero.

In the end, it doesn’t matter why it’s tonight, and not any other night.

No need to be dramatic, pretending there’s meaning in the meaningless.

You put your hands on the guardrail, the metal colder than your freezing hands. You lift a heavy booted foot. Take a deep breath. 

It’s so cold. It will be over before you know it. You’ve read that from this height, it’s the impact, and not the drowning.

You’ve always had dreams of flying. 

You lift your other foot, arms thrown wide for balance, just for a moment. The world feels so big, here at the end. The stars above, the stars below, the doubled crescent moon. You’re ready to drown in it all.

You only have one hope.

I don’t want to be reborn.

You breathe, empty your mind of Tara’s earnest smile, Xavier’s soft laughter, Zayne’s steady hands, Rafayel’s flashing violet eyes. Josephine’s empty face. Caleb’s soft, untouchable hair.

You let yourself fall.

You’re flying. Your heart is soaring. Your heart is seizing. The relief, the terror, mingle. You can’t scream, even if you wanted to.

You’re flying and it’s everything you ever dreamt, until it’s not.

Your body jerks, abruptly. Your hair whips down, lashes your face. You grunt with the impact against… nothing. You’re suspended over the water, drifting in the air. The wind tugs at your stone-weighted coat.

You twist away from the water, craning your neck to look up, up, back at the bridge.

You have withstood the uselessness of tears for almost a year now. But now, you want to cry so badly the pain of the need steals your breath.

You knew he was cruel. You knew he was merciless. You knew that he hated you. You just didn’t realize how much, until now.

You hang suspended over a dark, rushing river, wrapped in scarlet and ink tendrils, looking up into the sneering face of the one person you refused to think about as you made your final decision tonight, at the end of your desolate, half-remembered life.

His evol begins to lift you, away from the merciful impact, the numbing water. You, your past, your heart, the memories and despair and stones filling your pockets seem weightless, wrapped in his power.

His usual mask of bored indifference is gone. He is finally showing you his true face, what he must always feel when he looks at you—fury and disgust.

He says nothing, as he pulls you from the depths, back into the world. As he sets you gently back on your heavy feet on the sidewalk in front of him. His evol evaporates, winter breath in the wind.

He looks at your face with his wine-dark eyes. Looks at the water. Flicks his gaze back to your face.

You will not cry in front of this man. This man who hates you so much he won’t even let you seek the peace of death. Death, which has always been too good for you, but not for the people you loved the most.

You clench your jaw as the fire re-ignites in your chest. The flames you had tried so hard to scoop out, to leave behind.

You don’t want to feel this much anymore.

If you speak, you know you’ll cry. You can’t stand it.

Maybe, with enough repetition, he’ll get bored. He gets bored so easily, after all.

You turn, try to launch yourself over the guardrail again.

This time, it’s not his evol, but his arms that wrap around you, pull you back from the fall.

You struggle, throwing your elbows, kicking, throwing your head back, hoping to catch his perfect nose, break it under the hardness of your stupid, useless skull.

He says nothing, just holds you tighter, wraps one arm around your waist, the other over your chest, his big hand cradling the side of your face, pressing your head back into his own chest, as he hunches over you, an immovable wall of warmth. As you fight to break free of his hold, you are wrapped in his scent—cloves, gun oil. 

Sylus.

Eventually, you tire yourself out—despite all of your strength, it is no match for his. He holds you against himself easily, as you pant, lungs burning with the effort, the sweat warm once again under your Hunter’s uniform. You become aware of a whimpering, the keening of a wounded animal.

It’s coming from your throat. Your eyes burn. You go limp in his arms.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. A voice like warm liquor in your veins. You think he’ll let you go. You prepare, hoping you can get to the guardrail again. Maybe this time he won't be so fast. But instead of releasing you, getting away from you as fast as he can, the arm around your waist moves up, cradling your upper back. He scoops his other arm under your legs, holds you against himself like you’re a delicate princess, if you were anyone else. But because it’s you, he’s probably just holding you like a useless sack of shit that would be too annoying to drop. He begins to walk, his stride steady, brisk.

He looks down into your face. “I bought a dress for you. Silk. A design like stars over a flowing river. That’s the only river you’re allowed in tonight, kitten.”

You stare at him. His breath puffs white in the cold air. The face of disgusted fury is replaced by his usual bored mask.

Why is he doing this to you? He wanted to kill you, just a few months ago. Why not let you do the job for him?

He is the only person in your life who didn’t take the hint. Who kept showing up, after you made it clear that you didn’t want their presence anymore. That you couldn’t handle the ties, because ties become nooses, snapping your neck when the other person leaves you behind.

When he showed up where you were, in a ‘coincidental’ meeting on the street, on a jog, you would turn, move in the other direction. He would match your stride, doggedly pestering you with questions, asking you about your evening or weekend plans, telling you silly stories from the N109 Zone, Luke and Kieran’s latest antics. Sometimes he’d just walk in contemplative silence, thumbs hooked through his belt loops, or jog quietly next to you, never losing his breath, never complaining about the pace.

When you would routinely see him at various restaurants you were headed to in order to pick up takeout, you’d leave your food, immediately turning and hurrying away. When the same food was delivered to your door half an hour later, you’d refuse to answer, letting the confused and irritated delivery man leave. A half hour after that, the same man would be back, yell through the door that he had instructions to leave the food even if no one answered, and then he’d make good on his promise. You were faced with the choice of either letting the food go to waste, or eating it guiltily at your kitchen island.

No matter how many times you told the delivery person of the almost daily packages you received with no return address that you didn’t want to accept delivery, they would always insist that their instructions were to deliver regardless of recipient response. You were welcome to bin the items after receipt, but if you didn’t accept, the packages would just pile so high outside of your door that you couldn’t reach your apartment anymore.

You would accept, and then donate whatever exquisite item was inside to women’s shelters, children’s homes, university museums, soup kitchens, fundraiser auctions. No matter how clear it was that you wouldn’t accept anything from him, Sylus never stopped sending you gifts.

When you were sick, he’d show up personally, barge into your apartment when you were too tired to look at the doorbell camera before answering, a duffel bag gripped in his big hand filled with fever reducing medicine, homemade soup from his home chef, painkillers, hot water bottles, cooling pads, muscle pads, vitamins. He’d lounge on your couch, manspreading, insisting that he wouldn’t leave until he saw you swallow the pills and drink a gigantic glass of water.

He’d wait until you lay back down on your messy bed, until you fell asleep. He’d be gone when you woke again, but your apartment would be clean and your fridge and freezer would be stuffed full of healthy pre-prepared food.

You were half-convinced he was just buttering, fattening his prey before getting bored and mercifully ending its life.

Tonight, you are now fully convinced.

“Did your tongue freeze in your mouth?” he asks, descending the stairs you had just walked up, thinking it was your last time ascending them. “Do you need mouth-to-mouth to warm it up again?”

You scowl at him, at how appealing the idea of Sylus’s tongue in your mouth is, even now. You hate yourself, your traitorous body for being drawn to him, even now. “What’s the point of talking, when you never listen?” you grind out, your throat sore. You hadn’t realized how much your animal wailing had wrecked your throat. At least the tears are no longer so close to the surface that they’re threatening to spill.

“I listen to every word out of your beautiful mouth,” he counters serenely, with that same inexplicable kindness that makes your heart hurt. So at odds with how you know he must really feel about you. “I just listen to more than your mouth in order to hear what you’re really saying.”

“What?” You stare at his beautiful face, the way the lamplight illuminates its sharp features for a brief moment, before the night swallows it again as he moves between lampposts on his way… somewhere. Back the way you just came from.

He spares you a glance. “Your mouth says one thing, while the rest of you is screaming something else.”

You feel the blood draining from your face. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

One corner of his beautiful mouth lifts. “Don’t play dumb, kitten. You’re too smart for it to be convincing.”

You were just falling into the river. You were just about to be free. How did you get here again? In this man’s arms, his smug, roguish smile filling you with the unease of being seen. 

“I mean, it wouldn’t kill you to be a little more honest about the fact that you want people to fight for you, right?”

You begin to struggle again, shame lancing through you, making your body unbearable to be in. You know it’s weak, to have wanted so desperately that the people you were carving from your life would see what you were doing and stop you, place their hands over yours holding the cleaver, gently push it down, down, until it dropped from your grasp—how desperately you wanted them to step into your space, hold you tightly, just like this man who sees right through you is holding you now. You wanted Tara to keep inviting you out with your ridiculous colleagues, to sing your heart out at shitty karaoke clubs, to forcibly drag you to sleepovers and arcade nights. You wanted Xavier to push himself into your apartment, try to bake something horrible in your oven, sheepishly offer to go to the bakery with you instead when the fire alarm inevitably went off. You wanted Zayne to walk through the crowd to reach you at the other end of the hallway after you identified Josephine’s body, to ask to take your hand, to ask how you were doing, even though you knew you wouldn’t have been able to answer. You wanted Rafayel to keep inventing excuses for you to visit his studio, to keep insisting that he needed you to accompany him to expositions and fancy lunches as his bodyguard. 

But none of them did in the end, and that’s okay. You kept pushing them away, because your terror of their leaving was apparently bigger than your need for their presence in your life, and at least if they were already gone, as they inevitably would be, you’d finally be free. 

But the last person you would want to see this utterly humiliating need inside you, exposing you like this, is the one looking down at you right now with deceptively soft, all-seeing eyes.

You know the feeling, this need, of pulling away and pulling away and then being heartbroken when people finally let you is weak, and pathetic.

You may experience weak and pathetic feelings, but you’re not weak or pathetic. Not at your core. You were prepared to do what was necessary, to save yourself from the pain of your emptiness, the fire raging inside your chest. You weren’t asking anything of anyone. You were doing it all on your own. 

Not a burden. 

Never a fucking burden. 

You clench your teeth, buck in Sylus’s arms.

He just holds you tightly, a straightjacket for the insanity that you’re feeling, the insanity of this man, out of all the people in your life, stripping you of your masks, flaying you so that all of your most tender, shameful parts are exposed to both him and yourself.

“Stop that. You’re just going to tire yourself further, when I need you tonight.”

Of course. The quid pro quo. He helped you with the auction, the Aether Core. Now you owe him. He doesn’t give a fuck if you live or die—he just can’t let one of his assets destroy itself before it fulfills his purpose.

You go limp in his arms. Turn your head away from him.

He continues his train of thought. “No, it wouldn’t kill you to tell the truth to your friends, so you decided to take matters into your own hands, huh? Telling the people in your life that you actually need them wouldn’t kill you, so why bother, right, when you can just jump off of a fucking bridge?” His voice sounds like the night you met him. Controlled anger. Disgust. Accusation.

Then there’s something wrong with her.

You thought you had killed everything inside of you already. The yearning for human connection. The kindness of a friend. Family holding you in their arms. You thought you had scooped out most of it, even as some of it rekindled when he pulled you back from the fall.

But the way you’re hurting now, at the memory of his hate, the reminder that the people you love won’t fight for you even if it would be fighting against you, and that this man, for all of his false generosity, never cared for you from the beginning, that his gifts and his visits were all what you knew them to be, all along—a bored predator toying with its prey before using it and consuming it. 

You let your thoughts drift back to the bridge, push your pain away. Feed it to the fire. When he’s done with you, maybe you won’t even have to jump.

“Just shut up, Sylus. I’ll help you with your problem tonight. Just promise me you’ll toss me over yourself, when you’re done with me,” you tell the night, because you still can’t bring yourself to look at him.

He stops walking. The wind is so cold against your face. You wish he’d snap your neck, right now. You’re so fucking tired.

“Look at me.” His voice is low. Menacing.

You watch the water. Wonder how long it would take if you just walked out into it, without jumping. Just walk in with your stone-weighted coat and let the cold paralyze you, the current pull you under.

“Look at me, my heart,” he whispers. The change in his tone, his bizarre endearment, has you turning your head, looking up into his face. “That is one promise I can never make you.” He looks like he’s in pain. You don’t know why. He leans down, rests his forehead against yours, hunching his big shoulders, lifting your body in his arms so he can meet you. His breath is warm against your lips. “Please don’t talk to me like that.”

You want to snort. It’s rich, coming from him—the same man who is telling you not to tell him to shut up, after all the things he said to you as he starved you, strangled you.

“Please don’t tell me to kill you. To hurt you. That hurts me.”

You stare up into his face. See the sincerity in his eyes. The wind whips your hair. He wasn’t upset that you told him to shut up, but that you asked him to kill you? “What does it matter? Aren’t you going to, in the end?”

“Why would I stop you tonight, if I wanted you to die?”

Of course he won’t answer outright. When has Sylus Qin ever answered a direct question?

“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying. Why bother stopping me, unless you just need to use me and then be done with me? I can’t be that irreplaceable. Just get someone else to put on the dress, and let me get on with my fucking life. Someone who you can train to say just the right things, at just the right time, who’ll look good in whatever fancy shit you want to put her in. There’s gotta be easier idiots than me to serve your purpose.”

He closes his eyes, breathes in the cold night air. When he opens them, you have to look away. You can’t handle whatever is in them. “I know I hurt you, when we first met. That I said cruel things to you. I’m sorry.”

You laugh, even as your heart wrenches at this strange apology. Of course he doesn’t explain what offended him so much about your existence at the beginning. Why he treated you exactly how you deserved. Probably just whatever he saw when he used his Aether Core on you. He saw the echoing chambers of your empty, fucked up heart and was enraged that it was you, and not someone worthy, who would absorb the Aether Core. “There’s never been any need to varnish the truth, Sylus. You almost choked me to death the day we met. You should have fucking finished what you started,” you sneer. “Why does no one ever finish what they start?” You think of Josephine, her researcher cronies. Think of Caleb, his promise to return, the last text he ever sent you. Your fucking parents, who you will never know.

You don’t expect an answer.

And yet, you’re surprised when Sylus wordlessly releases his hold on you. Lets you slip from his arms, sets you back on your feet. You settle in your heavy boots, the weight of your coat, the stones in your pockets, grounding you to the earth.

The lamplight shines in his silver-sheened, wind-tousled hair. His cheeks are red from the cold.

Of course. Of course.

No tool is irreplaceable.

You’re not irreplaceable.

You finally said the right thing, to push him away.

This is it. This is it. This is it. 

Your mind returns to the bridge. Your hand is holding the cleaver, dripping with the blood from the last unwelcome tether to your life.

You try to memorize his face, just as you did Zayne’s, but for some reason looking at Sylus’s face hurts you so much more despite having known him for so little time. Just a sigh, in the timeline of your life. The warm glow of his irises. The softness of his lower lip. The pride in his shoulders, his nose. 

Maybe you didn’t want to think of him before jumping because you had fallen in love with him, despite the fact that any affection he offered was counterfeit—the steady way he breathed next to you on a jog, the way he spread out on your couch, his dry humor, his intelligence, his piercing gaze, his kindness that was actually more cruel than if he had just tossed you out and never bothered to look for you again after the auction.

You knew it was fake. You knew it was calculated. You knew that the reality was, because he had told you from the very beginning—

Don’t tell me that you like me. Is this all so you can get my attention?

Clearly you’ve read too many fairytales.

And yet you had believed, in the bright moments of receiving his kind attention, in the fairytale. Just for a heartbeat. A raindrop, splattering on the ground.

You thought that you couldn’t bear to see what it looks like when Sylus finally tires of you pushing him away, and stops reaching out, as everyone else has. 

But with just a few words, you’ve finally managed to do it. He set the burden of you down, and now he’ll walk away, replace you with some other beautiful, breathing tool.

You learn in this moment that you actually can bear it. You can bear anything, as long as you know that very soon, you won’t have to bear anything at all.

“You wanted the truth?” you say, suddenly, the relief flooding through you that the worst has happened, that you’re now actually free. You think of the fabric of the dress, liquid stars over a night river, and wonder whose body it will caress, with Sylus’s big hand on her waist, his gentle fingers drifting across her collarbone, his forehead pressed against hers, for whatever ruse he needs to run tonight, on Christmas Eve.

He grows still. Watches you carefully, as if searching your face for a trick. You look back at him steadily, scooping everything inside you out, letting it splatter onto the sidewalk, here along this dark riverbank.

“Will you give it to me?” he finally asks.

“As a parting thank you gift, for cutting me loose.” You nod. Take a shuddering breath of the frigid air. “Here is me telling you the truth: you should treat the woman who ends up wearing the dress you got with more gentleness than you did me at the beginning. You could have the world eating out of the palm of your hand, if you skip the cruelty at the beginning and just treat people the way you treated me in the last few months. She’ll do anything for you, I think, if you do. Because somehow you made me love you, despite our beginning. I could bear to cut everyone else loose but you.” You laugh, and the sound is like icicles snapping, shattering on the ground. “Thank you for doing it for me, instead. It’s probably the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

You smile at him. 

You don’t know why you’re surprised that he just frowns deeply, brow furrowing. 

Well. That’s okay. You never expected him to be pleased to see your face, smiling or not.

“Good luck, Sylus.”

You turn, begin to walk back the way you came, for the second time tonight. Your thoughts are already at the bridge. You’ve been falling for months now. Soon you’ll finally hit the crystal water and shatter. 

You hope you won’t be reborn.

“You said you love me.” His deep, low voice is carried by the wind.

You stop, turn your head. “Stupid, huh?” you ask, wondering if he wants to pour salt into the wound you just willingly exposed to him.

“Why would you love someone who treated you the way I did?”

You turn fully, face him across the night, one last time. “You’re so fucking funny. I’ve always appreciated men who can make me laugh.” You shrug. “And I’m a pathetic fool. You pretended to be kind, and I lapped it up like the thirsty dog I am.”

He tilts his head, takes a step towards you. “That’s all?”

You take a step back. You don’t need him and his pretty face, his delicious scent any closer to torment you.

You offer him more truth. “Of course not.”

“What else?”

You sigh. “What does it matter? We’ll never see each other again.”

He shakes his head. “Indulge me.”

So salt, it is. You press your fingers into the most tender part of yourself, peel yourself wide open. “Your cleverness. How sweet you can be when you want something—strangely pliant, for such a big, powerful man. The self confidence you have. I could say, do anything and you did so well pretending to never be embarrassed of me. You made me believe, very briefly, that you really wanted to be with me, do anything, go anywhere, just because I was there. It’s quite impressive, really. I can see why you’re so good at business. You’re competent. You’re beautiful to look at.” You pause, shake your head in turn. “But you already know all that. You know why you’re loveable. You made me feel cherished in a way that no one ever has, even as I was pushing you away. But honestly, those are just parts of you. They don’t fully cover what it is about you that makes my heart ache when I look at you. I love you because you’re you. Even hearing your name makes my heart race. Seeing your shoes in my foyer, because they were on your feet. The curve of your wrist, because it belongs to you. I know it’s pathetic, and stupid.” You shrug again. “Can’t help it, though.”

He stares at you. 

You prod him. “Is that enough?”

“How can you ask if that’s enough, when it’s everything?”

You look at him in confusion. “Huh?”

He takes a step towards you, frowning. “Are you only telling me all this because you think I’ve finally given up and allowed you to push me away, because I set you back on your feet?”

You take a step back, as he takes another step forward.“What do you mean ‘I think’ you’ve given up?” You squint at him.

“Did you only tell me all this because you’re going straight back to the bridge to try again?”

You take another step back at the intensity of his face, his question. “What does it matter? You don’t have to worry about what happens to me after this.”

He takes two steps. “You tell me you love everything about me, and then you plan to fuck off and leave me alone again?”

Okay, this was a mistake. You don’t know why he’s mad, but he’s mad again. “I’m sorry.”

You don’t know what else to say. You’ve been sorry your whole life. This is yet another miscalculation. You should have just left. What did you think would happen if you told him how you feel? That he’d be happy about your pathetic heart bleeding pitifully for him?

He strides over to you, his long legs outpacing your own. “If you’re sorry, don’t fucking do it.”

“What?”

He looks down into your face, so close you can smell him again, you can see the fine lines around his eyes as he frowns. “If you’re really sorry for loving me, for ever meeting me—which are the only things you have to be sorry for, then make it up to me by staying. Don’t leave me. Don’t push me away anymore. Just stay, and love me.”

You huff. “Are you really that desperate for help tonight?”

He lifts his hands, places his palms on your cheeks, his long fingers dipping into your hair. “No, I’m desperate for you tonight. It’s Christmas—I don’t give a shit about the holidays, but I know you do. I want to spend it with you. You made me watch you jump off of a goddamned bridge. What would have happened if I hadn’t already been on my way to you?” He sounds so upset. You’ve never seen him like this. The fear is naked on his lovely face.

“What the fuck are you talking about? What does it matter? You said you could get someone else for the dress, for tonight.” You’re so confused. Why is he acting like this?

“I didn’t say any of that. You suggested that I replace you with someone else, I set you on the ground to make sure you were looking at my face, that you were listening to my words when I told you that you’re irreplaceable. That no one else will do. That after watching you almost die, I can’t continue being cautious and trying not to frighten you away anymore.”

“You… what?” 

“You love me. Right? You weren’t lying?” he looks uncertain, like he can’t quite believe it.

You can’t bring yourself to lie. The truth is out. You’re witnessing the fallout. There’s no point in backpedaling. “Yeah.”

He nods, once, decisively. “Okay. That’s enough.”

You sigh in relief. Maybe he’ll let you go, finally, finally.

He checks his chunky watch, the platinum flashing in the lamplight. “There’s still time.”

“Time for what?”

“For my plans tonight. Come.” He closes the distance, sweeps you into his arms again, cradles your body against him like something fragile.

“What plans? Listen—” you start to argue.

“No. Now it’s my turn to speak, and for you to listen.” he squeezes you tightly. “Today was the last day you spend alone. If you can’t live for yourself, then you can live for me, until you remember why you want to live for yourself again. No matter what you say, or what you do to get rid of me, it’s not going to work.”

You can’t even process what is happening. “What are you—?” you begin, but he cuts you off again.

His voice is strained, rough. “You love me. So you have to take responsibility. You have to stay.”

You don’t know what to say. 

I’m desperate for you tonight.

You can’t believe this. He hates you. He has hated you from the beginning. He was so kind to you because he wanted to use you for something he never bothered explaining to you. He needs you for your resonance, your amplification of his powers.

You’re irreplaceable. No one else will do.

Because of your resonance?

I don’t give a shit about the holidays, but I know you do.

He carries you along the wind-swept riverbank, through the frigid night. Stars above, stars below.

You made me watch you jump off a goddamned bridge.

You didn’t think anyone was left to care.

You were so careful, severing ties like arteries, so that you wouldn’t leave the world with more pain than you found it. It was already bleeding so much.

You just were so tired of bleeding with it.

As if sensing the turn of your thoughts, Sylus carries you to the edge of the river’ embankment, where the concrete falls away, drops into the water.

He sets you down again, but doesn’t let you go. His big hands slide down the outside of your coat, dip into your pockets.

He pulls out a smooth stone. Turns it in his hands.

“I’ll never understand how someone so light can weigh so heavily in me,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “But you’re a weight I’ll carry for as long as you let me.”

His ember eyes flick back to yours. He hands you the stone.

“This is your conviction that the world won’t miss you, if you’re gone. You will hold it in your hand, one last time. And then you will throw it in the water.” He wraps your cold fingers around the stone. Somehow, his fingers are still warm.

You grasp it, look up into his face. You see yourself in them. It hurts, to be seen so clearly. You’re so ashamed. “How did you know?”

He closes his eyes, shakes his head a little. Opens them. “I looked into your soul, the day we met. I know you’re too soft-hearted in this life to kill yourself if you thought it would hurt someone else. You don’t carry that spite, anymore.”

In this life.

Anymore.

You can’t bring yourself to ask him what he means. You only know that once again, Sylus Qin has seen inside you, has seen you, in a way no one else ever has.

“But I don’t think anyone would miss me. I made sure of it.”

He huffs. “You’re a fool, if you actually believe that. The people you’ve pushed away still love you. But if you can’t believe that yet, then you can’t pretend to yourself that you’re disposable anymore, if for no other reason than I’m standing here now, telling you that I would miss you.”

You think of Tara, sitting on your desk, nudging a steaming latte she got for you on her way to work toward you, asking if you’ve heard the latest about Simone and Andrew.

You think of Xavier, walking you to your door at the end of a nasty wanderer encounter, reaching out, brushing a bit of mud off your cheek, then smearing it across his own cheek. See, we match now.

You think of Zayne, waiting across a busy hallway, patient, letting you choose to approach him, and respecting you by letting you walk away.

You think of Raf, the beauty he shares with you with every photo, the funny strings of emoji that don’t demand an answer.

“How do you know, that they would miss me?” you ask Sylus quietly.

“I’ve been watching you for a long time, sweetie. Do you think I haven’t seen your friends’ faces when you walk away from them?”

You clutch the stone in your hand. “I don’t think I can change my thoughts, my conviction, just like that.”

“You love me, so you have to try. Throw it. Every time you try to drag it back up, I’ll remind you that you threw it away, and you can let it stay at the bottom of the river.” He reaches up, caresses your cheek with his fingertips.

You want to cry. You want to cry, because you’re so afraid. If you let yourself believe that people love you, you have to stay, for them. You have to feel, every day, the weight of grief, of existence, the pain of being alive, of being inside yourself, your body. The hollowness will return, even with your friends, even with Sylus filling most of it.

It’s like he can read your thoughts as his eyes devour your face, as his fingers tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. “I won’t let you pretend, anymore. You love me, and I will not survive if you aren’t here with me. So you have to stay. We don’t have to accept that life is a curse. We can fight back. Make it something better.”

“I’m scared,” you say.

His eyes are so tender, as he watches your mouth form your biggest truth, set it free in the night. “I will protect you, until you can protect yourself again. There’s nothing to be afraid of, if we’re together.”

You want to believe him. Your heart beats painfully behind your ribs. The moon is a sharp crescent in the sky. 

But you’re a weight I’ll carry for as long as you let me.

“You’ll really stay?”

He finally smiles, a faint Sylus smile that feels like a grin. “I told you. Today was the last day you’ll ever be alone. You can’t get rid of me now, no matter what you do, or say.”

You turn, holding the stone in your cold hands. You think of all the lies you’ve been telling yourself, about your friends, your place in their lives, because you were so tired of living with an unnameable grief, one you carried inside you long before Caleb and Josephine died, but whose loss compounded, made unbearable the original sorrow.

And I will not survive if you aren’t here with me.

You don’t know why he feels this way. Does he love you too? He hasn’t said so. Can he even love you, in the way you love him?

Does it matter? 

It’s enough, that he says he’ll stay. That he wants you to stay alive. That he’ll help remind you, when the whispers drift back in your mind, telling you that you’re just a burden, that no one actually loves you, would miss you when you’re gone. When the hollowness echoes so loudly it’s all you can hear.

You lean back, lift the stone, throw it as hard as you can, as far as you can, into the rushing river.

You don’t hear its splash over the wind.

You turn back to Sylus.

He dips into your pocket again. Pulls out another stone. “Your guilt, for having lived. For having been born.”

You take it from him. Let your mind drift. Feel along the contours of your memories, the jagged, missing pieces, all the way back to when it fades to black. You throw the stone.

You don’t see it sink to the riverbed.

He dips into your pocket again. “Your shame, for needing others. For being human, and imperfect. For not being able to do it all alone. For wanting to be loved.”

You take the stone. “Is it really okay?” you ask, helplessly. There’s no point pretending everything he is saying isn’t true. “To want these things, when I haven’t earned them?”

He steps closer to you. Places his hands on your shoulders, draws you in. “There is no okay, or not okay. There is no crime and punishment, no transgression, no sin. How can it be shameful, to want what you were born to want? Why does love have to be earned, instead of just given?”

You lean into him, press your face into his chest, his thick wool coat soft against your skin.

“I don’t know.”

He reaches into your pocket, places a stone in your other hand. “One for your shame, one for the idea that love must be earned. Throw them.”

You lean back again, and it’s already too far away from him. But you throw each stone, and they disappear under the cold water.

“That’s enough, for now. We’ll take the rest home.” He draws you back into his arms. Lifts you without effort, stone-filled pockets and all. The weight of all of you.  “When you have thoughts of shame, of guilt, of not being loved, we’ll come back. You’ll throw them again. Until they’re all gone. We’ll gather other stones, when other feelings make life unbearable. I’ll come with you, as many times as you need.”

Sylus carries you along the path back to the road that snakes along the river. His motorcycle gleams under a bright lamppost.

He settles a helmet on your head, checks to make sure it’s secure. Puts his own on. You sit behind him, cling to him. Rest your head against his broad back, close your eyes. The motorcycle is loud, and he drives it carefully through the busy, holiday bustling streets, until he reaches your apartment building. He holds your hand as he leads you through the front doors, as he stands quietly beside you in the elevator, his red, warm eyes never leaving your face in the elevator mirrors. He leads you to your front door, waits patiently while you unlock it with your cold finger.

In the hallway, he kneels at your feet, unlaces your tall boots while you look down at him, the soft fall of his silver hair, his big, nimble fingers working the laces.

He then removes his own boots. His coat. He’s wearing a garishly bright Christmas sweater, with prancing reindeer. He hangs his coat on a peg in the wall. He turns, slowly unzips yours. Eyes flicking between the zipper and your face. He gently lifts it from your body, again like it’s weightless, even though it’s still filled with stones. He pulls it from your arms, hangs it next to his.

He pulls you further into your place.

The first thing you notice is the warmth. It’s so warm, like someone came in while you were gone and turned on the heating.

The next thing you notice is the Christmas tree. The one you didn’t get this year, because the thought of the holidays without Caleb and your grandmother was unbearable.

Beautifully, tastefully decorated. Silver and gold, twinkling lights. Its pine scent fills your place.

Sylus moves to a record player on one of the cabinets along your living room wall. A record player that wasn’t here before you went to work today. He fiddles with the arm, and suddenly Joni Mitchell’s River fills your house.

It’s coming on Christmas

They’re cutting down trees

They're putting up reindeer

And singing songs of joy and peace

Oh I wish I had a river I could skate away on

He walks back to you. “Is this okay?”

I wish I had a river so long

I would teach my feet to fly

Whoa I wish I had a river I could skate away on

The music flows around you, paralyzing you. You stare into his face, into the warm glow of his eyes. How could you have missed this? The way he’s looking at you now? Through all the long months since the auction?

He tried hard to help me

You know, he put me at ease

And he loved me so naughty

Made me weak in the knees

Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on

The words wash over you, through you. The scent of pine warms you, memories without form filling you with the sense of home, safety, love.

I made my baby cry

I'm so hard to handle

I'm selfish and I'm sad

Now I've gone and lost the best baby

That I ever had

Oh I wish I had a river I could skate away on

He takes your hands in his, thumbs across your skin. “Is it too much?”

You think of how cold it was, standing on the guardrail of the bridge. 

You were running toward the bridge, while Sylus was filling your home with warmth.

What would have happened if I hadn’t already been on my way to you?

You think of him spreading out on your couch, as a fever raged through your body. You think of your freezer, filled with food. You think of the takeout boxes, still steaming, sitting in front of your closed door.

You think of him hanging delicate ornaments on a fragrant tree. 

I made my baby cry

You shake your head, the enormity of what almost happened filling you. The enormity of the choice you made, that you enacted, until Sylus pulled you back from the rushing dark.

You start to shake.

“Kitten?”

“It’s not too much,” you say, teeth chattering. “It’s wonderful. Thank you.”

He stares down at you, seems to make a decision. “Shower. Now.”

You nod, moving away from him, but he follows. 

Inside your small bathroom, he takes up the entire space. He peels off your hunter’s uniform, tosses it beyond the open bathroom door. His gaze flicks from your undershirt, your underwear, to your face. “Do you want me to leave?”

You think of the dark water, an impact that never came. Sylus plugging in the record player, choosing a record with one of your favorite Christmas songs on it. Placing it delicately on the turntable.

“No. You promised you’d never leave me alone again.”

He smiles a little. “I mean, leave the bathroom.”

“No. You promised you’d never leave me alone again,” you repeat.

He stares into your eyes. Nods. Lifts your undershirt. He reaches behind you, unhooks your bra with the same agility that he unlaced your boots. He lifts it from your body, watches you as he lifts it to his nose, inhales.

You shiver.

He tosses the bra behind him. Kneels. Pulls your underwear from your hips, down your legs. You step out of them. He stands again.

He leans over, his ridiculous, festive sweater soft against your cheek, as he reaches past you to turn on the shower faucet. As he messes with the knobs until steam begins to fill the small space. He nudges you forward, past the sliding glass door and into the small shower cabin, letting the hot water pour over you. You turn, watch him through the clear glass. He picks up your underwear, watches you as he lifts it to his nose, inhales as he did with your bra. His eyes close for a moment, and then open. He tucks the little slip of fabric into his pants pocket, sits on the closed toilet, rests his elbows on his knees, and continues to watch you.

You let the hot water flow over your tired, cold body. You stare at Sylus’s face, let it fill your vision, blot out the rushing river, the impact that never came, the idea of everything you would have missed, if he hadn’t pulled you out. Everything you would have missed, in such a short amount of time. What else would you miss, if he hadn’t caught you? If he could give you so much within an hour, how much would you have missed in a day? In a week?

What have you been fighting, this whole time? 

Just yourself. 

You think of the stones at the bottom of the riverbed, instead of your body. Your conviction that you’re not loved, your guilt, your shame, instead of you.

You stare at the man who handed you each one, and told you to get rid of them, instead of yourself. The man sitting in your tiny bathroom, filling it with his big body, his even bigger presence, staring at you, staring at him.

You stop shaking.

Reach for the body wash, lather your hands. Run your hands along your body, under your armpits. He frowns, eyes on your hands. You palm your breasts, dip between your legs.

He lowers his head, eyes still on your hands, rests his full lips on his long steepled fingers.

You finish lathering your body, let the water wash it away. He’s too far away, even this close, on the other side of the glass.

As you turn off the water, he stands, lifts one of your towels from the rack. Holds it out for you. You step into it, him, let him wrap it around you. He turns you both, so that you’re looking in the bathroom mirror, which is mostly fogged.

“Better?” he asks.

You nod, soaking in his warmth at your back, the steam of the bathroom. 

You have a question, a question you can’t bring yourself to say out loud yet.

You reach out with one hand. Trace a finger through the fogged mirror.

Sylus watches you, resting his chin on your shoulder. 

Letters, a question.

Do you like me? Circle yes or no

Sylus smiles again, lifts an eyebrow. He reaches out, takes your hand in his. He circles no with your finger.

You frown, heart sinking, but Sylus just whispers, “Patience, kitten,” and flattens your palm across like. Guides your finger again, just above the erased like, drags it through the moisture in an elegant script.

love

He then gently sets your hand down. Lifts his own, circles with one long finger, yes.

He watches your reaction in the mirror.

You had no idea.

This whole time, you had no idea, even though he was showing you, with every ‘chance’ encounter, his pestering you with questions about work, life, his silly stories about the N109 Zone. His packages at your door. Fever medication, a big glass of water shoved into your hands.

You think of the rushing water, what almost happened. What you almost missed.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you let me believe you still hated me?”

He looks down at you now, away from your reflection in the mirror. His eyes trail your face, down your curved neck. He palms the back of your neck, his thumb drifting along the side, over a mole there.

“Have you heard of the myth that where we have moles is where someone kissed us in a past life?”

Even if so much has changed between you in just the last few hours, you’re reassured that Sylus Qin still can’t answer a straightforward question with a straightforward answer.

You shake your head. “No, I had never heard of that.”

Sylus smiles, and it looks a little sad. He leans down, presses the softest of kisses against your skin, the mole there. “Like most human legends, it’s a pretty lie. Not quite true.”

You laugh. “I could have guessed as much.” You tilt your neck, enjoying the press of his warm lips on your skin for the first time.

He opens his mouth, runs his teeth over where he just kissed you. Bites, gently.

You shiver again. Press your neck into, instead of away from his teeth.

He bites harder.

You gasp.

“I was afraid I’d frighten you with the enormity of my feelings for you, when in your mind, we’d only just met,” he murmurs against your neck, his saliva, the indentation of his teeth hot on your skin.

He bites again, presses himself into your ass through the towel. You realize he’s hard.

You forget about the last part of his sentence. Had you not only just met?

You lift your hands, let the towel unfurl from around your body, let it drop to the floor.

You almost died tonight.

What have you been fighting this whole time?

Just yourself. 

He tried hard to help me

You know, he put me at ease

You turn in his arms. He’s breathing hard, cheeks pink.

“You love me?”

He closes his eyes. Opens them. Shakes his head. “Love isn’t intense enough.”

“Adore me?” You lift your arms, wrap them around his neck. Pull his face closer to your own.

He shakes his head again. “Still not enough.”

“You won’t survive without me?” You lift on your toes, his soft sweater almost unbearable against your sensitive nipples.

He nods. “You’re getting closer. Can’t breathe without you. When I saw you jump…” He swallows, thickly. “You might as well have pulled me down with you, beloved. If it ever gets to be too much again, take me with you. I’ll never leave you alone again. Promise me the same,” he demands, big, calloused hands running up your naked sides, the fabric of his dark jeans rough against your body, where your thighs meet, as he helplessly nudges against you again with his hips, his hard dick behind his zipper.

I'm so hard to handle

I'm selfish and I'm sad

“I wouldn’t have known, unless you told me,” you breathe against his lips. “Promise that you’ll tell me how you’re feeling from now on, and I’ll promise to take you with me if I can’t leave the stones in the riverbed, even with you here.”

His voice is deep, rough like the fabric of his pants against your sensitive skin. “Deal.” He closes the distance, presses his soft lips to yours. Licks into your mouth.

And he loved me so naughty

Made me weak in the knees

His hands drift down your sides as his tongue dips into your throat, as he swallows your noises of pleasure, just from kissing him, his hands on you. He grips your ass, urges your legs around his waist. He carries you out of the tiny, steaming bathroom, manages not to knock you against the doorway, or into any furniture on the way to your bedroom, even as he continues to kiss you, as your hands in his soft hair probably block his peripheral view. He lays you down on your bed, the puff of your duvet. It’s so warm in your place that you’re not even shivering. You watch as he pulls his cheerful sweater and undershirt over his head, tosses them to the floor. As he unzips himself, hastily yanks down his pants and boxers, his socks. He blankets you with his big body.

You wrap your arms around him, pull him tightly to you, arch your breasts into his chest. He leans down, runs his nose along your cheek, inhales the scent of your hair at your temple. You just feel each other, for a long stretch of time. His soft chest hair against your skin, the silken skin of his dick between your thighs where he just leisurely rubs himself against you, as your palms run down the muscles of his back, the line of his spine. You’ve refused to think of him like this, ever since he wrapped his hand around your throat. You couldn’t bear his beauty, through all the long months that followed. You fled, every time your heart raced at the flash of silver as he approached you, met you where you were, over and over and over.

But now he says he has loved you, through it all. That he’ll never leave you alone again.

You let yourself feel him, under your hands, under your tongue, as you lick into his ear, feel him shiver. As you squeeze your thighs together, offering him a tight, snug space for him to keep pleasuring himself, as you feel your own wetness begin to coat your inner thighs, his cock, the longer you feel him on top of you, inhale the scent of his skin, the ever-present gun oil, the cloves, his clean sweat underneath it all.

After a lifetime, or only a few minutes, he leans down, says softly into your ear. “I want you. Tell me you want me too.”

“Can’t you tell?” you ask, bucking a little, squeezing him with your legs again.

He makes a low, pleasured sound in his throat. “I want to hear you say it. You’ve gone through a lot tonight. I need to know you actually want this. That you’re not just—” his breath hitches, as you move your hips again, as his dick slips between your wet, soft places. “That you’re not too tired to say otherwise, not thinking straight.”

“Use your Aether Core on me. Then you’ll know that my body is telling you what my mouth would, if I said the words.” You smile at him, teasing. 

I wish I had a river so long

I would teach my feet to fly

You had wanted to fly. You had settled for flying for a brief moment, before shattering. 

But Sylus is offering you constant flight, under, over, along his crow’s wings.

You think of the rushing water. The tide of cars behind you, the wind whipping your hair. You almost missed this. You don’t want to waste any more time.

He lowers his forehead to yours, breathes, speaks against your saliva-slick lips with his own. “I don’t want to use my Aether Core on you. I want the words in your mouth, in your heart. I want your free will, your freely given consent. I almost lost you because I tried to force you, at the beginning. You believed I hated you, this whole time. Don’t ask me to force you again, my heart.”

You understand. You accept his request, his demand. “I want you, Sylus.”

He exhales, shifts above you, slips his wet cock between your legs, slides into your body with gentle, firm, graceful waves of his hips.

You whine, the feeling of fullness layering into the pleasure of the warmth of his skin, the taste of his tongue. For once, the feelings inside you threatening to burst out of your skin are so good, instead of painful, so pleasurable, that you can barely stand it. 

He kisses you, his velvet tongue big, heavy in your mouth. You suck, whine again as he lifts a hand, palms your breast, begins to thrust into you.

You are filled with him. His warmth. The size of him.

You widen your legs, wrap them around his thick ass. Urge him with your own body to move faster, to fuck you harder. He gives you everything you want. Just the pressure of his body against yours has you coming, the release bright, sudden—you shake with it.

Your pleasure seems to trigger his. He grunts, roots into you, buries his teeth in your neck, bites where he bit you before, over the mole on your neck. The sting makes you clench, and he whimpers, groans, comes with a jerk of his hips.

He slows, still filling you, still pleasuring you, as he lifts his head to look into your eyes.

You stare at each other, breath mingling, warm between you. 

You smile at him. 

He smiles at you. Nudges your nose with his.

“Can we do that again?” you ask.

He laughs, low and surprised. “Yeah,” he says, kissing you softly. “Just tell me, and I’m yours, anytime, anyplace.”

“I’m telling you.” You move your hips, feel his cum drip drown your ass. Feel him gasp at your movement.

“Now?” He’s surprised again.

“Problem?” you grin at him. 

“Fuck no.” He kisses you, hard. Slips out of you. Flips you over, lifts your hips with one big hand, pressing his other between your shoulder blades.

He presses his cock back between your legs, the slide easy and wet, and fucks you until you come again, until he blankets your back with his sweat-slicked, matted-hair chest.

“Was that enough, your highness?” he teases.

“I’m telling you,” you pant, wondering what he’ll do. 

“As you wish,” he murmurs, before flipping you again. Before watching your face as he slowly, leisurely works himself, his cum into you, makes you come again. 

In the morning, the sky through your windows is heavy, dark, gray. You wake slowly. Turn your head, find Sylus’s sleeping face next to yours on the pillow. He’s lying on his stomach. You take in the dark sweep of his lashes, his generous mouth, slightly parted.

You slip out of the bed, use the bathroom. You wander into the living room, gaze at the Christmas tree, its twinkling lights.

It’s Christmas.

Caleb and your grandmother are dead. 

But you’re still alive.

Your body aches from Sylus’s efforts, but it feels good. For once, it feels good to be inside your body. To breathe deeply.

You think of riverstones, sinking deep in the riverbed.

You know that the feelings tied to them will try to rise, clawing to the surface again.

We’ll gather other stones, when your feelings make life unbearable. I’ll come with you, as many times as you need.

Your eyes drift to the top of the Christmas tree. It’s empty.

“I thought we should finish it together.” Sylus’s warm arms wrap around you from behind. He leans over your shoulder, kisses your cheek softly. “Do you want to do the honors?”

You smile, wrapping your hands over his forearms around your waist. “You’re taller.”

“Use me as much as you like, kitten.” He turns, grabs a pretty golden glass tree-topper from your kitchen table, hands it to you. He lifts you up onto one shoulder, easily, and you fit it gently over the highest point of the tree. He holds you against him, as he lowers you. You slide along his body, until he sets you gently on your feet again.

You both stand, admiring it for a moment. It’s beautiful, like the rest of the decorations.

You hug him, look up into his face.

“Merry Christmas, Sylus.”

He smiles down at you, ruby eyes twinkling with reflected light from the tree. 

You would have missed this moment, and all the moments like it, if Sylus hadn’t stopped you last night. You shudder, hug him more tightly. 

You know your feelings will return. That no one person can solve a lifetime of wounds. But you promised him that you’d try. That you’d stay. You can only do your best.

You hear your phone vibrating, reluctantly pull away from him, head to your coat in the hallway where you thought you left it last night, but Sylus stops you. He points at your kitchen island. Your phone is lying on the counter. You look at him in confusion, but go to check it.

You’re shocked at how many missed texts you have.

From Tara.

Xavier.

Your eyes widen.

Zayne, who you thought you had blocked, months ago.

Rafayel, who you’re sure you blocked last night.

Each one is a response from a text you never sent. Telling them Merry Christmas. Telling them you love them. Telling them you hope to spend time with them soon.

None of them shame you, call you out on your behavior of the last year. Even Zayne simply suggests that you try a new bakery, that you’ve been in his thoughts, that he’s relieved you felt comfortable enough to reach out. Rafayel sends a bunch of firework emojis, suggests blowing shit up on the beach for New Year’s.

You turn to Sylus.

He looks steadily back at you, silver hair sleep-tousled, wine-bright eyes glowing.

Your eyes feel hot, and you realize you’re crying, the tears fat on your cheeks, dripping down your neck. 

This is the first time you’ve cried since you woke up, your ears deafening, Caleb’s necklace bright in the reflected fire.

Sylus walks over to you. Leans down, licks the tears from your cheeks with his warm tongue, one after the other. He kisses you, ignoring your suddenly snotty nose, your morning breath.

“If it’s too much, we can take it slow. We can throw more stones in the river. But please answer your friends. You need them. And you’re a fool, if you can’t see that they need you too, if that makes you feel better about your own need.”

You continue to cry as you wrap your arms around Sylus’s neck. As he gently sways with you, to music that isn’t playing. He hums, and you think it’s Joni Mitchell’s The River, but you can’t be sure. You smile against his chest.

A thought occurs to you.

“Last night, you said there was still time. That you had plans for us, a pretty dress for me. What did we miss?”

Sylus sighs, holds you closer against himself. “Don’t worry about it.”

You stop, look up into his face. “What did you have planned, Sylus? Are you sorry we missed it?”

He smiles at you. “Oh yes, so sorry I got to spend all night fucking you instead of going to a holiday concert featuring the organ.” His voice drips sarcasm. “But we can go tonight, if you’d like to make it up to me.”

You laugh, bury your face back into his chest. “And here I had planned to suck your cock while watching a black and white Christmas film marathon tonight,” you say forlornly. You smile into his chest as he chokes. “Oh well, the concert it is.”

He just laughs, rich and deep, and continues to sway you slowly in your living room.

“Merry Christmas, my heart,” Sylus says against your hair, in your pine scented apartment, as snow begins to fall outside your windows, as your phone continues to vibrate, filled with the love of your friends.

Here you are. Again.

You’re so grateful, to be here, again.

[reocidal]

stardust — r. itoshi

PAIRING: rin itoshi x fem!reader

CONTENT: actor au, fake dating, hurt/comfort, swearing, depressive spiral, might be ooc!!

WORD COUNT: 2.8k

NOTE: @choccorin i love u, enjoy!

it starts off pretty harmless, this agreement. you've known rin for a while now, the longest out of anyone he's in contact with in the industry these days, so it's obvious that he'll come to you when he needs help. in this case, the problem here is his fans.

rin itoshi shoots up to stardom out of the blue, all golden champagne and party streamers and hordes of screaming fangirls scattered (generously) around the globe. he's not a bad actor, not at all, but no one really expected him to be as popular as he is now.

not that he goes viral for his acting — not at first, at least. it's actually a low quality video posted onto twitter by a fan that does the trick; she doesn't expect her innocent six-second recording to break containment like this. but rin, with his pretty face and long lashes and perfectly fitted dark clothing, bathed in some gala's brilliant lighting, somehow manages to capture the hearts of a few million people that night. and when they find out that not only is he gorgeous, but he's also good at what he does? jackpot. the fame he's suddenly achieved is nothing if not terrifyingly overwhelming.

however, despite the massive growth of followers that he experiences overnight, you know that you'll always love him more. and that is precisely why you say yes to what he asks of you.

you remember that day embarrassingly well, down to the fine details, like how your phone's battery was at 37%, and how rin'd had a queer expression on his face, not really his usual deadpan look, but not really anything else either.

"date me," rin itoshi tells you.

"excuse me?" this isn't happening, right? you've been horrendously in love with him for a few years now; surely this isn't how things are going to go! but even then, you're not sure if fate is on your side or not, because he shakes his head and continues, and dashes all your hopes in an instant.

"i'm not in love with you or anything," he clarifies. "i just need a fake girlfriend so some of these crazy people leave me alone."

"ah," you manage to say. you should refuse, tell him to find someone else. you've read enough romance novels to know exactly how this plays out, and just how painful it'll be for you. not to mention the fact that he's literally just told you that he doesn't have any feelings for you, to your face. everything tells you to not do it, but when have you ever been able to say no to him? "sure."

his lips curve into the briefest of smiles as he hears your answer. "thank you. we'll discuss this later, okay?"

"sure," you repeat, ignoring the way your stomach does an unceremonious flip at his smile. he nods and gets up, and you watch him leave, leave you behind, just as he always has.

and so it begins.

the routine the two of you follow is easy to slip into; acting like you're in love with him isn't difficult either, especially when you are in love with him.

to his credit, rin treats you perfectly on his part. despite keeping you at arm's length off-camera, he treats you like a princess otherwise, apologising a few hundred times for the media outrage caused by the reveal of your "relationship". and while it does hurt to be so close, yet so far from the one thing you crave, the way you're getting to see a softer — although probably fake — side of rin, and how he's treating you almost makes up for it.

and inside, everything stays (almost) the same, perfectly platonic and unchanged.

and the fangirls (somewhat) die down out of respect for his new relationship, so that's good, too. keep winning, rin itoshi.

you're scrolling social media one day when you stumble upon a video that's slowly but surely gaining more and more traction. it's about you and rin — specifically, your relationship. the person speaking breaks down every (visible) aspect of it, and comes to the conclusion that the two of you must be gaking things. the thought of this assumption (although true) becoming more widespread terrifies you; the last thing you want happening is rin's career being damaged like this. he's barely in his twenties and there's still so much left for him to do. you can't let him lose just yet. so, with shaking fingers, you send the video to him. rin leaves you on seen, but the next time you're seen in public together he kisses you, and your relationship is viral again, and you question your friendship for the very first time.

another day, another rich-people party. it's the usual, really, for you and rin — even though neither of you are particularly fond of this setting — as the two of you linger in a somewhat secluded corner of the room. rin's hand rests lightly on your waist just in case anyone turns their attention to you, but his mind seems to be elsewhere as he stares into the crowd. a sudden flash of light catches your eye, and you whisper-yell at him urgently. "rin."

he doesn't react, eyes still blank and unfocused.

"rin!"

he blinks, realising that you're talking to him.

"yeah?" he leans down to hear you better, face dangerously close to yours.

"cameras," you hiss.

his brows raise ever so slightly in understanding. "okay. can i kiss you?"

"what?"

"for the cameras, obviously," he deadpans. "i saw the video; surely you sent it to me for a reason and not just for me to watch, right?"

"right."

rin's hand leaves your waist so he can cradle your face with both hands and angle your face up. there's a guarded look in his eyes, something you can tell he's hiding. you don't know what, though, and it's not like you get any time to even think when he finally, finally leans down to kiss you. every thought in your brain evaporates into stardust as he presses his lips to yours. in front of you, a camera shutter snaps, but you can't really find it in yourself to care when all you can think of, all you can feel is the press of his lips on yours.

it takes exactly twelve sleepless nights after this (you've kept count) and one (1) conversation with your best friend to realise that this whole fake dating thing is taking a — negative, obviously — toll on your mental health, even more so as the lines between platonic and romantic begin to blur.

you'd thought the relationship was just for show. so why does rin bring you flowers on a bad day, even when there's no media around to see? he treats you like his girlfriend at home too, now, and it confuses you. rin itoshi is not your boyfriend, so why are you always in his clothes? and what's with all the physical contact? not that you mind, of course.

he's just gotten too absorbed into this relationship, you tell yourself. he doesn't know what he's doing to you. but you don't speak up about it, either. you let it continue.

but regardless of whose fault this is, the uurt that grows within you stays raw and heavy. he just has to be the one thing you cannot have, and it really is impossible to not fall for his (unintentional) boyish charm and the quiet concern he displays — for you and you only.

it's a particularly rough day, even worse than usual — which is concerning, considering that almost every day in the past two weeks has been the exact same level of bad, when everything comes crashing down. it's been terrible from the morning and you haven't even gotten out of bed yet, even though it's almost three in the afternoon. you're drifting in and out of unconsciousness; everything around you and your thoughts and feelings are all coated in an uncomfortable haze.

a tentative knock on your door rouses you awake and you blink. why's there someone in your apartment? is this a break-in? who could it possibly— oh. rin.

your mind flashes back to a certain moment a few months ago, so fast it gives you whiplash. you're half-collapsed onto a bar stool by your kitchen counter, rin kneeling in front of you as he examines your bruised ankle.

"you should really be more careful," he murmurs, and your heart aches at the tenderness in his tone as he gently presses the icepack against the bruise.

cold seeps through your ankle as he holds it there, and eventually you wince; he must've gotten distracted and forgotten to pull away.

"i'm sorry, i'm sorry," he whispers, uncharacteristically nervous and breathless. the apology forces itself out of his mouth, words tumbling over each other in their haste. "did i hurt you?"

you shake your head, and although he sighs disbelievingly, he does not argue.

"how do i return your key?" he asks you as he's about to leave. you're a bundle of blankets on your sofa, unable to move, so he's locking your door for you. your best friend's coming to take care of you soon — she also has a key to the apartment, so you'll be fine. besides, it's an extra one, anyways.

so you take a deep breath and hope you won't regret it when you wave him away with a laugh and tell him to keep it. he nods, although expressionless, and says a simple, flat bye before he leaves. you wonder if you're delusional or if the tips of his ears really did turn red when you told him to take the key with him.

your best friend is halfway across the world right now; it's obvious that it's rin who's standing outside your bedroom door.

another knock. rin clears his throat, like he's about to speak; you narrowly beat him to it. "don't come in, i-i'm okay!"

"oh."

you cough a little as you speak, wincing at the dryness of your throat and how rough your voice sounds.

"you don't sound okay," he adds a moment later, painfully stiff. "you weren't answering your calls or anything so i got— i mean, i came to check up on you."

"i see," you respond quickly. why is it so awkward today?

rin clears his throat again. "are you sure you're okay?"

your throat tightens; you do not respond — you cannot respond. rin reads your silence perfectly, almost too well. he does not speak again, but you hear a single step (forward?) outside your door. and the doorknob twists, and the door creaks open.

you are buried in an unkempt mess of bedsheets and blankets. when rin finally sees you, his eyes widen.

you burst into tears.

rin has never been good at comforting people. today, he doesn't even know what's wrong. unsure of what to do, he just stares at you owlishly for a moment before taking a hesitant step in your direction. when you don't stop him, he moves closer. and when you nestle into his side as he wraps his arm around you, he deduces that he must be doing something right.

the warmth of his presence is unfairly comforting; you cannot help but lean into him, breathing slowly becoming calmer as his thumb rubs circles into your shoulder.

eventually you stop crying, though not without the embarrassment of having a whole entire mental breakdown in front of your beloved rin itoshi, about said beloved rin itoshi.

rin lets the silence stew for a second or two; you feel him swallow from where your head is now tucked in the crook of his neck.

"what was that all about?" he pulls back slightly, loosening his hold on you as you stiffen at his question.

oh. well, now or never, right?

"rin," you begin. "i don't think i can do this fake dating thing anymore."

"oh. why not?"

he's quiet, but there's no particular inflection or change in his tone.

you shrug. "it's not working for me anymore, i guess. too busy these days."

he opens his mouth to speak, then exhales slowly instead. "okay."

"cool."

"okay," he repeats. "then we'll end the agreement tonight."

"why tonight?" confusion colours your tone as you finally look up at him. when his teal eyes meet yours again, his lips twitch into a small smile.

rin works careful and methodical, starting the cleanup from one end of your room. technically he's still your (fake) partner, and you've done so much in the public eye — the amount of pictures of you and rin scattered across the internet borders on obscene — so surely you can let him do one little thing in private, right?

"let me do this for you, yeah? you've done so much for me these past few months, let me pay you back."

it's mortifying, but you let him fix up your room anyways. and when he leads you to your bathroom, you follow along obediently, watching as he fixes the water temperature and leaves you to clean yourself up while he prepares something for you to eat.

the hot water washes away a surprisingly large amount of the discomfort you've been feeling as of late, and it's like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders by the time you see rin again.

long-limbed 6'1" rin itoshi, dressed fully in shades of black and blue, rin looks incredibly awkward and out of place in your kitchen. it's a quaint little place, decked out in pink and brown hues, but a total contrast to him. it makes you let out a little huff of laughter, and you swear rin smiles when he hears it.

there's a plate of your favourite food placed in front of you; rin sits downon the chair opposite you.

"eat. there's something i want to talk to you about."

anxiety pools in your stomach — there's no way he knows, right? you should've never done this; you're no better than all those fangirls he'd been trying to get away from in the first place. and if he knows this, he— wait, is this his way of saying goodbye? it makes sense now — anyone would feel the same after a betrayal of trust like this.

he lets you finish eating before—

"i lied. to you. i'm sorry."

what?

he refuses to meet your eyes, gaze fixed on the table of front of him. the tips of his ears are very, very red.

"about what?" you manage to ask. this is not how you'd expected this to go.

"i, um." he's half-hiding his face with a hand; what you can see nonetheless is flushed, like he's running a fever. except he's not ill, just shy. really, what's happening? "i didn't need— fuck, i shouldn't have listened to shidou, i knew it was stupid!"

"rin?"

"ugh. i just— iaskedshidouforadviceandhesaidthebestwaytoknowifyoulikemebackisthisandi'msorryididn'tmeanforyoutogethurt—"

"wait, like you back? as in you like me?"

"oh." well, now that he's said that out loud now, what's next? he can't exactly take it back, can he? but to his surprise, you look pleased. like you wanted this. "um. yes."

"oh! rin, don't apologise!" you exclaim, much to his chagrin. (are you patronising him right now?) "i also have some explaining to do."

he cocks his head in confusion; you can see the question marks hovering above his head.

"you didn't exactly hurt me by fake dating me or whatever; i was sad 'cause you were sending me a bunch of mixed signals, y'know."

"huh? i was?"

"yeah? you said you weren't into me, but then you did all sorts of stuff that implied that you did like me."

"that's cause i do like you though."

you choke.

he seems to have regained composure again as he raises a brow at you. "you don't like me, though?"

"i do!" you squeak. "i've liked you this whole time— wait, you said it was shidou who told you to do this?"

"mhm, why?"

"he knows i like you, though!"

rin grits his teeth, pushing his chair back as he gets up. "no way, that fucking bastard… i'm going to go kill him right now."

"wait, rin."

he pauses. "what?"

"can you kiss me again, but for real this time?"

his eyes widen, just a little. "oh. okay. yeah."

when rin gets to your side of the table, he just stands there, staring down at you with unbridled adoration in his eyes, all the feelings that he no longer needs to hide. you recognise it now — it's that same look from the night he'd first kissed you. all of this almost overwhelms you, and in the end the only thing you can really muster up is a simple "hi."

rin smiles, fingers gently tilting your chin up. "hey."

and when he bends down to kiss you, it's even better than the last time. because this time it's real.

800 follower event.

© reocidal 2025.

[alwaysonthemend]

A/N: Happy belated new years, everyone! I hope each of you had a wonderful holiday season. Apologies for this being a day later than intended – I hope you all enjoy it.

Thank you for sticking with me even though I've been MIA lately <3

(and if you saw me accidently post this last night... no you didn't)

Warnings: 18+ ONLY / minors dni / typos, probably / cussing / unrequited love (but not really) / p in v sex / unprotected sex / fluffy smut / jake being amazing

Word Count: 7k

✧༝┉˚*❋ ❋*˚┉༝✧✧༝┉˚*❋ ❋*˚┉༝✧✧༝┉˚*❋ ❋*˚┉༝✧✧༝┉˚*❋ ❋*˚

There was really no one to blame but yourself. 

No matter how many times you had tried to logic your way out of this being your fault… well. You always came back to the same conclusion. This was entirely, irrevocably, and utterly your own fault. 

Holidays have never been the easiest for you – seasonal depression coupled with a healthy dose of loneliness has never been a mixture that makes the Christmas season particularly enjoyable for you. Not that you weren’t learning to be okay with being single; not at all. In fact, you would much rather be alone than settle for someone who doesn’t treat you right. But something about the holidays just seems to make all that hurt and loneliness more powerful than usual. 

Christmas day had been alright – you had spent the day with a few loved ones and exchanged gifts and shared a meal. Looking forward to seeing the people closest to you had been what got you through the dreary, cold days leading up to Christmas. But now that the day has come and gone, now that you’re stuck in the weird in-between of Christmas and New Years, you find yourself particularly lonely. 

So, when you had received an invite to a company New Years party, you had been less than thrilled at the thought of spending another New Year with nosy coworkers who cared more about getting to know someone for gossip than actual friendship. You were even less thrilled at the prospect of yet another New Year of being single. In fact, you’d been quite content with skipping the event entirely, but you’d made the mistake of mentioning the affair to your best friend Jake, who had been helping you with some home renovations the week before. He had promptly scolded you for being a spoilsport, insisting on an alternative way to spend your New Years Eve. 

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“I don’t want to go alone.” 

Jake grins and rolls his eyes playfully at you. “So dramatic. Just come with me to my family’s get together, then.”

“Oh Lord no.” You exclaim. “That’s even worse! I don’t know most of them, other than Josh. I can’t just invite myself to a family function.”

“You’re not.” Jake quips, plopping down beside you on your sofa. “I’m inviting you to my family function.”

“Absolutely not.” 

Jake looks at you unimpressed, narrowing his eyes the way he does when he’s thinking. “There’s only one alternative, then.” Jake continues to stare, waiting for you to ask what he means. When you don’t give him the bait he’s looking for, he continues on anyway. “I come to your office party with you, then.”

“How is that the only alternative? I do my thing, you do your family thing. That’s the alternative.” You can feel yourself growing frustrated the longer this argument goes on – Jake may mean well, but he’s like a dog with a bone sometimes and just doesn’t seem to know when to quit… and right now seems to be one of those times. You don’t want to go to someone’s else’s family function; you don’t want to go to a stupid office party – let alone by yourself; you would much rather just be alone at home. 

“I can’t let you spend New Year's Eve at a shitty office party or alone here. That would make me the worst best friend ever.” Jake leans backwards onto the sofa, dramatically tossing his head back to rest on the back of the couch. “Besides, it’s in the contract.”

“Jake, nothing is in that damn contract. You made it up.” The Best Friends Contract was something that he had announced was in existence a few years ago in order to explain away his reasoning for always paying for your food when the two of you hang out. “The Best Friend Contract states that a good best friend must never turn down being paid for when the other is more than happy to cover.” You’d called bullshit on the first utterance but it has unfortunately stuck as his go to excuse for anything he did that you tried to argue with him about. 

“Don’t you disrespect the contract like that.” He reaches up and pinches a bit of your hair at the ends with his fingers and tugs a little. “It clearly states in the contract that a best friend never lets the other spend New Years Eve alone.” He tugs again just to be a little shit and then grins widely at you. “I don’t make the rules, sweetheart.”

“Yes, you literally do.” You swat his hand away from your hair, fighting back a smile of your own. “And besides, even if you did show up at my office party, it would end up being awkward.”

“Elaborate.” He demands, reaching up to mess with your hair again and then pouting when you smack his hand away for the second time.

“You know how nosy my coworkers are. They’ll all be asking all night if we’re dating and I’ll have to explain: no, he’s not my boyfriend; no, he’s just my best friend; and yes, he’s a guy and yes, he’s still my best friend.” You huff dramatically – you’ve dealt with it all before with him at parties or events where people can’t seem to understand that a man and a woman can be best friends without it meaning more. “It’ll be awkward and annoying for everyone involved, Jake.”

“So we pretend.” He replies simply, shrugging as if it’s an obvious conclusion. “Just say we’re together and no one will be the wiser.”

“Jake… how on Earth do you think that will be less awkward?”

He just shrugs in answer, still grinning like an idiot at you. “It’ll be fun. Like a game.” He leans in closer, his grin turning a little wicked. “Unless you're scared.” 

“Of what?” You demand, trying to ignore the way your stomach feels like it’s doing back flips when he looks at you like that. 

“Dunno.” He leans back, looking completely innocent again. “You tell me.”

You sigh, knowing that he’s already won. “Fine.” 

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The thing is, you don’t know his siblings or the rest of his extended family very well, but you know how much Jake loves them. So why on Earth would he rather come with you as a fake boyfriend to a shitty office party instead of spending time with them? You’d asked him as much… demanded, even, why on Earth he wanted to skip spending the night with his family. He just smiled at you like he’d been doing for the entire stupid argument and said it was in the contract – a best friend never lets the other spend New Years Eve alone, even if it means pretending to be a significant other.  

So here you are, waiting anxiously for him to come pick you up. You had chosen a long dress for the occasion – just a little too tight in certain areas that you normally don’t like to draw attention to, but it was a little too late now to find something else. You’d styled your hair the way you normally do, though you had added a little more makeup than usual and a glossy lip to top off the look. You’ve been ready for the better part of an hour now since you always tend to start getting ready early when you’re nervous. 

I have no reason to be nervous, you keep telling yourself, it’s just Jake. But that last part is exactly why you’re nervous. You still have no idea why he’s so willing to do this for you – why he’s content with being a fake date at an office party where he doesn’t know anyone instead of spending a fun night partying with his family. Not to mention, the thought alone of Jake in a nice suit makes butterflies erupt in your tummy.

What if he’s only doing this out of pity? What if he’s miserable the whole time? What if it’s awkward pretending to be together and he regrets ever agreeing to this? What if-

The questions swirl through your mind at such a constant rate that you’re quite sure you may vomit from the nerves before he ever even arrives. You’re moments from texting him and calling off the whole thing but then comes the knock at the door – and you know that he’s the only person it could be. 

Steeling yourself and resolving to act like a big girl, you rise up from your seat on the sofa and open the front door. 

“Wow.” The word slips from your lips without your brain being able to fully process, yet you can’t think of anything else to say. Jake has always been attractive – going from being a cute young man when you first met to the handsome one standing before you right now. The all black outfit suits him; black always does. His hair is freshly washed, the ends delicately curling against his shoulders. His usual necklaces adorn his neck, with a few extra bracelets and rings added to the ones he usually wears. 

Chocolate eyes crinkle slightly as he smiles, his head tilting just barely to the left as he regards you. “I hope that was a good “wow” and not a bad one.” He glances down, a tiny hint of shyness to the action. 

“No. It-” you clear your throat, “it was a good “wow.” You look very handsome.” You’re quick to recover, mentally shaking yourself. 

“And you look wonderful.” His eyes give you a once over, making you feel both emboldened by your choice of dress and slightly embarrassed. “I’m a very lucky man to have you as my fake girlfriend.”

The joke breaks the slight awkwardness of the moment and you laugh softly. He’s always been good at that. 

“And I’m a lucky fake girlfriend.” You grab your bag from the hook on the wall and step out into the chilly night with him. He hovers beside you as you lock your door, and then the two of you walk side by side to the warmth of his waiting car. 

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Your pulse is racing as you and Jake enter your office building. It only gets faster still as the two of you get onto the elevator. 

“Nervous?” Jake asks as you press the button for the correct floor. The doors closing feels like a curtain call of doom.

“A little.” You shrug, but Jake’s concern for you is written all over his face. “Some of my coworkers can just be a lot.” You explain, hoping that will be enough explanation for him and he won’t go digging further into your other fears for tonight. 

“I’ll just use my natural boyish charm.” Jake grins and loops his arm with yours as the elevator dings. 

“Boyish? You’re almost 30.”

Jake gasps dramatically and then tugs you off the elevator and towards the party that’s already been started for a good 30 minutes. One of the TVs on the wall has been turned to a countdown for midnight. You recognize many of the guests, though there are several that you don’t – likely other people’s plus ones that you’re sure they’ve been dying to show off. Though there’s one woman that stands out… the one woman that you absolutely didn’t want to see tonight. 

“Who are you death staring at?” Jake murmurs into your ear, startling you a little. When did he move that close? 

“Her name’s Jess. And she’s a stuck up bitch.”

“Woah.” Jake's eyes widen at your harsh words and looks back towards her, his eyes giving her a once over. “She’s definitely, um..” Her dress is skin tight and short, barely covering anything. Big hair and high stilettos makes it so that she sticks out like a sore thumb. “She’s definitely got a style.” 

You giggle a little at his attempt to be nice – in all the time you’ve known him, you can’t think of a single time when he’s ever insulted a woman’s appearance or choice of dress, even when it’s totally warranted. 

“Aaand she’s walking over here.” Jake supplies, making you scowl at him. 

“Yeah, I fuckin’ noticed.” You say lowly, clenching your teeth in what you hope is a convincing smile. “Jess! Hey.”

She smiles widely at you, flashing her overly white teeth. “Y/n! I didn’t think you would show tonight.” Her perfume is so strong you’re pretty sure you’re already getting a headache by the time she makes it to you. You begin to explain that Jake wanted to come but she’s quick to interrupt you as soon as her eyes land on him. 

“Well it’s certainly lovely to meet you.” She purrs, stepping closer to him and practically turning her back to you. “I’m Jess.” She extends her hand, which Jake shakes just barely before dropping it again. 

“Jake. It’s nice to meet you as well.” His smile is tight, mostly forced, but she either doesn’t care or is too stupid to notice. 

“Now tell me how you managed to snag this handsome young man, Y/n?”

Already your heart rate is starting to pick up, anger and hurt at her apparent disbelief that you’re dating him making you want to reach up and rip her obnoxious strip lashes off her eyes. Even though it’s the truth, your brain not-so-kindly reminds you. 

“Well, I-”

“We’ve been friends for years.” Jake interrupts you, taking a side step closer to hook his arm with yours once again. “Naturally, I fell in love with her the very first time I met her.” Those chocolate eyes find yours, a comforting warmth in them that instantly makes you feel better. “But I only recently managed to work up the nerve to ask her out.” 

His tone is sickeningly love-struck, so believable that you have to stop yourself from openly staring at him in shock as he speaks. You find yourself nodding along, more than happy to play along that you’re both in love with each other. 

“Of course, I had feelings for him the whole time, too.” You squeeze his arm a little. “Just never thought he felt the same. Turns out we were both oblivious.”

“But here we are.” Jake turns to look at you again as he speaks, those warm eyes making you feel all melty and gooey inside. 

“Here we are.”

Jess, for her part, manages to seem utterly crestfallen as the two of you speak, as if she had known Jake for years and been in love with him, too. Eventually, she turns her nose up in the way she does when she feels offended and plasters a saccharine smile onto her painted lips. “Well how sweet is that?” She asks, though gives no time for either of you to speak further. “Well, there’s still plenty of people for me to see tonight so you two enjoy yourselves.”

She’s gone before either of you can reply, disappearing and leaving nothing but the smell of her sweet perfume. 

“See?” Jake asks, tugging you towards the refreshments. “Not so bad.”

“Sure.” You scowl but gratefully take the cup of punch that he offers you. 

– 

A few other coworkers come to say hello, with the two of you giving the same performance each time you get asked how the two of you met. It gets easier, and each time it happens you can almost picture the story that the two of you weave – Jake shyly admitting he’s been in love with you, you declaring you love him back, you kiss, happily ever after, blah blah blah. It’s too easy to imagine and you find yourself wishing that you were anywhere but here with anyone but him. 

Jake glances towards you, probably noticing that you’re standing there as stiff as a board, trying to look romantic and in-love while sipping punch like it’s a secret weapon against the sheer discomfort you’re feeling. 

“Hey,” he nudges your shoulder with his, “at least try to look like you’re enjoying yourself.” 

You turn to look at him, rolling your eyes at the teasing grin that awaits you. “I don’t know how you’re doing this. This is a nightmare.”

“It’s not so bad. It’s funny watching people try to act like they’re nicer than they are.” Your heart warms a little – Jake very rarely ever complains, no matter how shitty a situation, so of course tonight is no different. His suit is a little wrinkled now from almost an hour of milling about and mingling, and his tie slightly askew in a way that’s almost charming, but also makes you want to reach up and fix it. You hate that you notice things like that about him. “Besides,” he continues, taking a sip of his own punch, “you have plenty of practice with being around these people. You should be used to it.”

You snort at him. “Yeah, well, there’s a difference between working with people and pretending that we’re, you know, in love around them.”

Jake laughs a little. “I think you were doing just fine. But our little charade has become a bit lackluster.” He grins a little, the mischievous one that he does when he’s up to nothing good. “Maybe we could work on a kiss or something. You know, really sell it.”

Your eyes widen as you choke on your punch. “I– what?”

“Okay, maybe not a kiss.” Jake adds on quickly after your reaction. “But we’re barely convincing anyone right now. You look like you’re getting ready to ask me about the office coffee order, not like you want to whisk me away for a midnight kiss.”

Okay, so maybe he’s a little right on that one. You glance around, trying to think of anything other than kissing Jake, when your eyes land on the makeshift dance floor. 

“Come dance with me.” 

“Um.” Jake answers eloquently, “I don’t dance. You know that.”

“Actually,” you begin, already tugging him forward by the arm, “I’m pretty sure that it’s in the contract that you have to dance with me.” Jake opens his mouth to say something but you speak before he can. “And don’t say it’s not. You make shit up about the contract all the time. It’s my turn.”

Jake groans. “Fine.” He mutters, scowling at you as you tug him through the people who are already dancing with their significant others. It’s only 11 minutes to midnight now according to the countdown so you figure everyone is gearing up for the big New Year’s kiss. “But only for you.”

Your stomach does stupid little somersaults when he says that but you ignore them. The room had been filled with the chatter of voices but as soon as you press closer to Jake they grow silent, as if the world beyond the two of you completely disappears. Jake stands awkwardly, his hands hovering just barely above your waist, unsure of where to land. His gaze maps out every inch of your face except your eyes and a tiny blush dusts his cheeks. 

“Are you blushing?” 

Jake scoffs, his palms finally settling fully onto your hips. “No, I’m not blushing.” He stage whispers at you, though you’re pretty sure no one is paying enough attention to have heard him. “I’m nervous. I don’t dance.”

Although you feel equally as flustered – probably more so than Jake, you feel oddly at ease this close to him. You choose not to examine that feeling too deeply at the moment. “I can tell…” you tease, taking one of his hands off your waist with your own. “We hold hands with this one.”

“Oh.” He mutters softly, his gaze flickering to your shoes. He offers his hand for you to take, looking as if he was offering a fragile gift. 

Hyper-aware of every minute rise and fall of his chest with each breath and every flutter of your own heart, you take his hand. “Right.” You answer, smiling a little at him, noticing every single detail – of his warm fingers, of their roughness, of how perfect his hand feels in yours. 

The music shifts to something a little more lively as the countdown hits 7 minutes now, though you and Jake have yet to actually start dancing.

“So, um…” You begin softly, trying to fill the silence that is quickly becoming awkward. “I guess we just… move around a little?”

Jake’s eyes find yours, comedically widened and you can’t help but laugh at the fact that this is what finally has broken his cool demeanor. 

“Right. Moving. Moving is good.” Jake’s voice is a little higher than normal and it makes you feel better about your own nerves. “We can, uh, move.”

“You lead.” You remind him, starting to move slowly back and forth with him. “Right? You’re the guy.”

“I hadn’t noticed.” He answers dryly, making you giggle. 5 minutes to midnight. “I thought you were the one who knew how to do this…”

“I do!” You answer, a bit more enthusiastic than you’d meant. “I mean, I do know how to dance. But I’m not… you know, leading.”

He takes a breath, his hand sliding down a fraction to hover over your lower back. You stiffen for just a second before your body relaxes into the contact. “Okay. Leading. I got this,” Jake mutters, his voice carrying an unexpected determination.

Your movements start out a little awkward and timid, but soon the two of you find rhythm with each other, the nerves melting away bit by bit until it feels as if the rest of the world grows muffled – the two of you in your own little universe. 

“Not so bad, right?” You ask him, glancing up into those chocolate eyes of his and trying not to get lost in them. 

“Nah. Not bad.” He smiles at you, then glances at the countdown on the wall. “Three minutes.” 

You nod, your mind suddenly filling with thoughts of what this would feel like if it was real… what it would feel like to kiss him to bring in the new year. It makes your chest squeeze to think about so you say instead, “Thanks again for coming with me to this. I don’t know why you did it… but thank you.”

“Told you… the contract.” He grins but it softens after a moment. “But really, I’d rather be with you, anyway.” 

His answer gives you pause. He doesn’t mean… right? Surely he doesn’t mean anything other than that he just enjoys your company as friends. You want so desperately to believe that it could be more. “I feel the same.” You reply quietly. “I mean that- that I would much rather be with you, too. Even at a stupid New Year’s party.”

Jake smiles, a tiny huff of laughter escaping him. He’s so close that you can feel his breath on your face, smell his cologne. His eyes lock with yours and you can’t do anything but stare back. “Speaking of New Years.” His eyes cut to the countdown and then back to you. 

Everyone around you begins to count down from ten, their voices blending together – becoming muffled as you once again lose yourself in his gaze. 

9…. 

He wouldn’t be here tonight unless he really wanted to be. 

8…

He chose to be here. 

7…

With you. 

6…

His hand tightens its grip on yours.

5…

Your heart is pounding – so loud it’s like a drum pounding in your ears. 

4… 

The damn contract… years of wanting him. 

3…

God damn it, you’re tired of being afraid and he doesn’t move at all when you lean in. 

2…

His eyes flicker to your lips. Fuck it. 

1..!

Your lips hit his cheek as he turns his head at the very last second. Stunned, you pull backwards, whipping your hand from his. He looks just as surprised as you do – perhaps even more so. For a moment, neither of you move. The people around you cheer, their excited movements blurring as everything around you moves in slow motion. 

“Y/n, I-” Jake cuts himself off as you shake your head, taking a step back from him. Then another. The shame and embarrassment hits all at once, stealing your breath. “Y/n, wait-”

“No!” You shake your head again, walking backwards from him even further. “I- I can’t-” The words won’t come. Nothing you say could ever fix this. Letting instinct take over, you do the only thing you can think of – you turn and run. 

People complain and shoot glares as you shove through them, though you pay no mind to anything except getting as far away as possible from him. Distantly, you can hear him call your name again but you don’t look back. The elevator doors open and you practically throw yourself into it, pressing the close button over and over again as you see Jake making his own way through the crowd. In what you can only imagine is an act of pity from the universe, the doors close before he makes it. 

–

You manage to hold the tears in until you reach the dark street outside. Fireworks boom in the distance and you can still hear the excited chatter and whoops from inside. The hot tears burn as they run down your face, no doubt ruining your makeup. You must look a mess, but you don’t care. You glance around at the deserted street. He drove. You don’t have a car. But you can’t spend another second with him. 

“Y/n!” The building doors slam open and out he comes, his eyes wild and frantically scanning around until he sees you. “Y/n, please!”

You take off running down the pavement. Well… you take off running the best you can in the heels that you had spent so much time picking out because you wanted to impress him. Like a fucking idiot, you think bitterly. 

You barely make it 15 feet before his fingers wrap around your wrist, tugging you backwards and stopping you from going further. He looks so upset, so affected that you almost fall for it. Almost. “What?” You bite out, tugging uselessly at his grip. 

“Y/n… please. Give me just one fucking minute to explain.” His voice sounds just as wrecked as he looks. 

“There’s nothing to explain. It was a stupid mistake. I don’t- I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking.”

“Just one minute.” He begs and you feel your resolve crumbling. Of course it does. It’s him. 

You nod. “One minute.”

“I—” His voice breaks, cracking under the weight of his own panic. He runs a hand through his hair – the way he does when he’s stressed or upset. “I don’t know how to—god, I’m just—I don’t know how to say this.”

“I’m an idiot. And I—I’m in love with you,” he blurts out, the words tumbling out in a rush, like they’ve been stuck in his throat for years and now that they’re coming out too fast to control. “I know it—god, I don’t know why I never said it before. I don’t know how to… to keep pretending I’m just your friend when every time you laugh, or make a stupid joke, or chew on your lip when you’re thinking… it kills me because you’re my best friend and I’m not supposed to love you. But I can’t stop it. I can’t. I’m just—fuck, I’m in love with you.”

What feels like millions of emotions and thoughts hit you all at once, each one slipping away before you can pull a coherent thought together. “Then why… why did you do that?” Confusion, hurt, doubt – each one digging its fingers into the little tiny seed of hope in your chest and throttling it before it can form. 

“Because I’m an idiot.” He stresses again, his fingers tightening on your wrist. Without even thinking, you step closer to him, as if your own body is betraying you. “Because I’m scared of fucking this up or of losing you and I can’t-” he rubs his palm over his face with his free hand, his expression scrunching up in frustration. “I didn’t know what it meant. I’d made that stupid joke about us kissing and… and when I realized what was happening I panicked.” The chocolate of his eyes is dimmed, glazed over now with unshed tears. “I was afraid that maybe it didn’t mean anything. And I couldn’t- I wouldn’t survive kissing you and it not meaning anything.”

“But it did!” You insist, finally breaking free from his grasp. “It meant everything.” You wrap your arms around yourself, the chilled breeze finally starting to get to you now that you’re standing still.

“I know. I knew it as soon as I saw your face after and I knew that I’d fucked it up. I knew I’d just made the biggest mistake of my life because it would have meant everything to me, too.” His hands drop defeatedly at his sides, shoulders hanging low – the perfect picture of a man heartbroken. “Let me make it right.” The words are more of a plea, his eyes so sad that you want to reach out and comfort him. “Tell me I can make it right.”

There’s a part of you that wants to keep hiding it forever, to keep burying it deep in your chest where it can’t hurt you. But the louder part of you is tired of waiting, tired of burying it, tired of being afraid. 

“I forgive you,” you take a step towards him, closing the gap that had felt like it stretched out for miles, “and I understand why. And I- I love you, too.”

Your eyes flutter closed as his lips find yours at last, his hands finding your hips and guiding you closer to him. You can feel the heat of his skin, the heavy rise and fall of his chest. You can taste the fruity punch from earlier on his tongue, coupled with the taste of him. And you want more of it – more of everything. You want to touch every inch of his skin in the way you’ve always wanted but never been allowed. 

He pulls away after what could have been minutes, hours… you can’t tell. All you can focus on is the feeling of him. “I will spend a lifetime making up for what I did to you tonight.” He murmurs, resting his forehead against yours. “I will spend a lifetime making sure that I never see that look on your face ever again – by my own actions or someone else’s.”

“A lifetime?” You ask, loving the feeling of the word on your tongue. A lifetime. A lifetime of him, said so simply – as if he cannot fathom any other ending after this. 

“Two lifetimes,” he continues, “three, even. As many as it takes.” His grin turns a little wicked. “Starting with tonight?” 

The sudden wave of desire that hits you almost makes you dizzy – you feel yourself nodding, you feel the heat rising from between your thighs and spreading throughout your body like a wildfire. Years of waiting, of wanting. And now you have him. “Take me home, Jake.” 

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Your heart is pounding as the two of you tumble through the front door of Jake’s home, both sets of hands exploring each other as his tongue explores your mouth. The ride here is hazy, nothing but a blur as Jake kicks the front door shut behind you. You’ve been to his house plenty of times before so you pay it no mind as Jake starts leading you further into the house and towards the stairs, knowing that his bedroom lies waiting for the two of you upstairs. 

You both stumble at the top of the landing, nearly falling over and making you giggle. Jake grins, grabbing your hand and tugging you towards his room. He kicks that door shut, too – and then he’s on you once more, gently pushing you back to the wall. His body cages you in, the feel him pressed so closely making you feel weak in the knees. 

“Is this okay?” He asks lowly, his fingers delicately tracing your skin at the tops of your thighs, just barely dipping underneath your dress. Compared to the kiss the two of you just shared, it’s an innocent action, but it feels even more overwhelming because it’s him doing it. At your nod, Jake’s hands continue to explore, his rough fingertips moving higher up and hooking in the elastic band of your panties. “And this?” You nod again and he tugs them down your legs and you step out of them. “Tell me what you want.” Chocolate eyes, almost black, lock onto yours. 

“I want you.” You answer him, finding yourself just as breathless as a teenager during her first time. 

“As much as I’ve dreamt of hearing that,” he murmurs, “more specific.”

You feel your cheeks grow hot, the words that want to spill out seeming crude in such a delicate moment. But the unbridled want in his eyes makes you say them anyway. “I want you to fuck me.” 

He growls a little, a deep rumble in his chest, at that. His hands find your waist and he guides you away from the wall, gently pushing you to the bed. The edge of the mattress presses into the backs of your knees and he guides you to sit. 

“That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard in my life,” He answers, sinking down to his knees on the floor in front of you. Deft fingers wrap around your ankle as he lifts your foot slightly and begins to undo the straps of your heels. “But I won’t be doing that tonight.” He lifts your other foot and you glance down at him in confusion. “There’s a million things I want to do to you,” he continues, both shoes now off and placed neatly by the nightstand. “Kiss you, taste you,” he rises, stepping between your parted thighs, “but I won’t be fucking you. I don’t want to do that to you tonight. Ask me what I want to do to you.” He demands softly. 

“What,” you can’t help but stare at him, your heart beating so fast you fear it may burst from your chest, “do you want to do to me?”

He grins like a kid in a candy store. “I want to make love to you.” He slips his fingers beneath the straps of your dress and slides them down off your shoulders. “Is that okay?” 

Lifting your hips as he helps you out of the dress, you nod. “More than okay.” Summoning every ounce of bravery you have, you reach out and slide his jacket off his shoulders. It falls to the ground alongside your dress. You grab his tie and haul him closer, crashing your lips to his. Frantically, you help him undo the buttons of his shirt, then his slacks, leaving both of you in nothing but his boxers.

“Let me look at you a minute.” He breaks the kiss and pushes you backwards onto the bed. You do your best attempt at scooching backwards in what you hope is a graceful, sexy way, but he pays it no mind. His eyes roam your skin, lingering on your bare breasts, then down to your exposed pussy. You want to cover yourself, to hide yourself away from his piercing gaze but he stops you from moving away with his palms settling on your knees. “Don’t do that,” he whispers, spreading your thighs further, “don’t hide from me. You’re perfect. Stunning.” 

Jake lowers himself between your legs, his arms hooking under your thighs and pulling you closer to him. His eyes lift to yours. “Let me taste you? Please?” He begs, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. 

It’s the “please” that gets you, slick dripping out of you even more. You nod your head. He presses a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh. Then the other side. Then a little higher. Hips squirming, you mutter his name. “Don’t tease.”

“I’m not teasing.” Another kiss, this one closer to where you want him, but still too far. “I’m taking my time. I want to remember every second.” 

Finally, his tongue laps against your aching clit and you cry out, one hand fisting in the sheets and the other reaching down to tangle in his hair. Jake moans against you, his eyes closing in concentration as he circles your clit, toying with you, seeing what movements make you squirm the most. His brows furrow as he dips lower, his tongue pressing just barely into your entrance before swiping back upwards to your clit. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever done before – he’s unlike anyone you’ve ever had before. He’s paying attention, finding what makes you tick and using it to coax the warmth in your lower belly to spread. 

You feel yourself arching upwards, grinding your soaked pussy against his mouth. He groans into your heat, two fingers now prodding at your entrance as his tongue never lets up. His fingers press in deeper, stretching you out as you climb higher and higher to a peak that you know you won’t return from. Cracking your eyes open, you peak down at him again, and you can barely stand the sight that awaits there. His eyes are still closed, his brows drawn together with determination. His mouth attached to your clit and his fingers hidden inside you, curling so deliciously. But what really gets you – the final nail in the coffin that sends you so deep into pleasure you fear you’ll never return, is the way his hips grind desperately into the mattress, as if the very act of bringing you pleasure has rendered him unable to wait for his own. 

“Jake, I’m gonna come.” You warn him, and he only nods his head in answer, his tongue working harder and his fingers faster at your broken warning. Your orgasm is a steady build, starting deep in your belly and working its way outwards, engulfing every nerve-ending with white hot pleasure. Distantly, you hear him moan as your thighs tighten around his face, as your walls clench around his fingers. 

Your body is trembling when he finally pulls away, his fingers then instantly being brought to his mouth. He sits up, his eyes closing again as he licks your release from them before they open again and find your dark gaze. He gives you a lazy grin, his chest and face flushed. “I knew you’d taste sweet.” He tells you, climbing his way upwards towards you to kiss you. You can taste yourself on him and you already want more of him. 

“I need you inside me.” You demand, your hands mapping out every inch of his skin that you can reach before hooking in the waistband of his boxers and tugging them down. 

Every inch of him is just as perfect as you’d imagined it to be. A perfect length and mouth-wateringly thick. His swollen head is flushed and glistening with precum. Slightly bashful, he leans down and kisses you again. 

You reach between your bodies and wrap your fingers around him. He draws back and whines, his body going tense as you work him a little, smearing his precum over his throbbing length. “Fuck, Y/n.” He mutters, placing his forearms on either side of you. After a few pumps, you guide him between your legs, lining him up with your entrance. He starts to press in slowly, his lips wrapping around your left nipple and sucking softly as he sheaths himself inside of you. Both of you cry out softly, your quiet, panting breaths mingling with the other’s. He fills you perfectly, the stretch so delicious you never want to be without him inside you again. “You feel…” He never finishes, instead moving over to suckle at your other breast. 

“Move, baby.” You beg and he instantly obeys you, drawing out from you and then pushing back in, his pace slow but pointed and powerful. Your hands grip his shoulders, sliding down to hold tightly at his biceps as he rocks into you. 

He pulls away from your tit to look down at you, his pupils so wide his eyes look black. The bed frame creaks with each powerful thrust of his hips. “I won’t last with you looking at me like that,” he murmurs, seizing his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“You feel so fucking good, baby.” You fight to keep your eyes from fluttering shut – you want to see his face, to see the way it contorts and twists in pleasure. 

“You feel even better.” He brings his thumb up to your lips, dragging it across your bottom lip before pressing into your mouth. You suckle at it, moaning around it. He moans too, then pulls the digit from between your lips and drops his hand to rub your swollen clit in time with his thrusts. “Need you to come first, angel. Wanna feel you squeeze around my cock.” 

You can feel your second orgasm building, your body starting to tremble as he starts to move faster, his cock twitching inside of you as you both near the edge. His lips part, desperate little groans filling the air between you as he fights back his own release. “Please, baby.” He urges, and that’s all it takes. The band inside your belly finally snaps, your vision going white around the edges as your orgasm rocks through you. He thrusts into you frantically, working you through your release before pulling out of you, ropes of hot cum painting your lower belly as he finishes. 

Both of you are left panting, the meaning of what just happened and the weight of what’s been confessed tonight settling over the two of you like a weighted blanket. 

“I love you,” Jake offers, pressing his lips to yours for another kiss, “and I’ll keep kissing you as many times a day as you’ll let me to make up for the one I didn’t give you at midnight.” 

You can’t help but grin up at him, already knowing that no one could ever hold a candle to the man who’s gazing down at you with nothing but reverence in his eyes. “I love you, too.” 

✧༝┉˚*❋ ❋*˚┉༝✧✧༝┉˚*❋ ❋*˚┉༝✧✧༝┉˚*❋ ❋*˚┉༝✧✧༝┉˚*❋ ❋*˚┉

Fin

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[twopoppies]

Gina, I want to tell you I have been reading your blog for a couple years now. I’ve never sent an ask to anyone. I first came into the fandom when I watched Harrychella and I thought hmm this man isn’t just flagging he is screaming at the top of his lungs. Then I watched the Cosmic Leeds videos and I fell down a rabbit hole. I am not someone who believes “conspiracy theories”. I am however old enough to know closeting has been proven to exist in the entertainment industry. I’m also from a rural area of the U.S. where homophobia is the norm, so unfortunately I had no trouble believing closeting still exists. I went into full information gathering mode about Larry Stylinson, but it was more than that too. I fell in love with 1D and all the boys’ solo work, especially Louis. I loved his voice, his songwriting, and his ‘real’ personality (when he allowed it to shine through all the media training). I read through every tumblr I could, you and Daisie provided a wealth of information that can not be ignored. I feel certain that Larry was real and I hope they are still together. I’m not one of those people who never doubted. It would be hard not to second guess things in this fandom with all the gaslighting that goes on. I write all of this to say that I’ve never felt so sad and like there is no hope for change as I do right now. It feels like Louis’ fandom is falling apart. There is so much division, hate, and intolerance of any idea that doesn’t conform to someone’s own. Louis pr strategy honestly baffles me. A divided fandom is so tiring. It seems less like pr and more like intentional sabatoge, which I guess it could be. I just don’t see any way out for him or Harry. I think Harry’s extended break is partly because of this too. I think he was overworked and emotionally drained for many reasons, but closeting most of all is exhausting. If I’m feeling this way as a fan I can’t imagine how they must be feeling. It breaks my heart. Sometimes I hope I am crazy and Larry was never real because the story is just too sad. Don’t even get me started on bbg because it is the shittiest situation ever. I think I need to take a step back from the fandom for a bit. But this brings me to my point. I’m pretty resilient, I can not be the only person feeling this way. It makes me so worried for Louis’ career and for both Louis and Harry’s mental health. I guess I don’t really have an ask. I just wanted to say thank you for all the information you have provided over the years. And, I needed to get this off my chest. If I posted this on twitter I would be roasted and I’m not strong enough for that right now. I meant it when I said I fell in love with their music, so I will continue to support all the boys. I’m hoping there is a master plan that will eventually set them free. But, I just keep coming back to the line

‘Said I had a plan for us Time had came and changed it all We had to disappear 'Cause nothing gets through here’

I will add one more thing. I believe there are more Larries than people think, but we are tired of the gaslighting and the hate, so many of us step back or hide. This is why the industry wins most of the time. 😥

Hi, sweetheart. Thank you for sharing your thoughts. I'm sorry it feels so overwhelming right now. I do think taking a step back is probably really healthy for most of us. I've actually never seen the fandom in such shambles.

I don't know what Louis' plan is in terms of his fandom or his future plans. But I have dozens and dozens of sad, confused, and angry messages in my inbox, and that fucking sucks. I really don't see a way forward at the moment. I will say, though, that some of the upset stems from some people's tendency to lean into worst-case scenarios and amplify their own worries by jumping to conclusions. Then there are the shit-stirrers who try to make things worse by sending in fake receipts or theories. It's hard to stay grounded when there's insanity whirling around you.

As for Harry and Louis, I do tend to believe they're still together. I don't think their relationship has been as easy as many of us would like to believe – I don't think it could be, given their ages when they met and the conditions they've had to live with. I do think they're soulmates... soulmates don't always end up together, but I tend to think these two will make it. I certainly hope they do.

Our fandom never does well when the boys aren't active. I think if you want to get your sanity back, now is as good a time as any.

[kamisobsessed]

Happy New Year, Soldier Boy

Characters: Soldier Boy x F!Reader, Annie x Reader (platonic), mentions of Hughie, Butcher, Frenchie, Kimiko, MM, etc.

Summary: Annie and Hughie invite you and the other members of 'The Boys' over for a New Years Eve party. You and Soldier Boy don't always get along. When the New Year is about to ring in, you don't have anyone share a New Year's kiss with, but Soldier Boy changes that.

Warnings: Enemies/lovers (sort of if you squint), Soldier Boy (because he's definitely a warning), swearing, fluff, sexual remarks, alcohol, no use of y/n.

A/N: Sorry if this sucks, I finished it quickly because I wanted to post it. I was debating on a smut part 2, but I'm still not confident in my smut writing skills. Let me know what you think!

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

"Please you have to come, I don't care if you don't have a date, we have to celebrate New Years together," Annie said on the other end of the line.

You sat your phone down on your bed after pressing the speakerphone button. "Annie, I love you, but I really don't want to come to your party and be the third wheel between you and Hughie," you chuckled as you stood in your bedroom folding the laundry you just finished doing.

"No third wheeling I promise," she said "pinky swear."

"Fine, fine. What's the dress code?" you asked.

"Casual, whatever you are comfortable with, thank you for saying yes, how can I ring in the New Year if my best friend isn't around?" She teased.

"Yeah yeah, I'm sure you would be just fine with your boyfriend," you replied.

"Maybe, but I still want you here too," she said.

"Okay, I'll be there. Don't expect me on time though," you said.

"You're never on time to anything, I would never expect that," she joked back, "I'll see you tonight!" and with that she hung up.

You put your folded clothes away and decided to take a shower before the party.

The party starts at 8, but you have never been known to show up to things on time. Always the procrastinator.

After your shower, you stood in front of your standing mirror trying to decide what outfit to wear. Eventually you went with your favorite party outfit. It was already 7:45pm and you just finished changing into your outfit and fixing your hair and applying some light makeup.

When 8 o'clock rolled around, you were just leaving your apartment. You let out a soft sigh as you entered your car to drive to Annie and Hughie's place for the party. You were hoping Annie's promise would stick.

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

You pulled up to Annie and Hughie's and went up to their door and lightly knocked. The door swung open and Annie practically pulled you inside into a hug.

"I'm so glad you came!" She exclaimed, releasing you from the hug.

"Hope I didn't have to bring anything," you said, noticing the table of finger foods to eat.

"No, we got it all covered. Come on, we were gonna do karaoke," she said pulling you into the living room.

You scanned the room noticing Frenchie, Kimiko, MM, Monique, Butcher, and some other random people you didn't know.

And then you noticed him. Soldier Boy. Ever since he started working with The Boys, you and him constantly butt heads. He always has something to say about everything you do, or he's trying to get into your pants. He enjoys trying to get under your skin, so you give the same treatment back to him.

Sometimes you do find yourself wondering what it would be like, in bed with Soldier Boy. There's no denying how incredibly handsome he is. But the way he treats you and your friends, you could never do that.

Soldier Boy noticed you standing with Annie. He excused himself from the ladies who were gawking over him and made his way over to you.

"Why is he here?" You grumbled to Annie.

"We invited everyone, even him," Annie said. "Play nice."

"There is no playing nice with him," you said.

"Well look who decided to show up," he said, his infamous smirk plastered on his face.

"Piss off, Ben," you spat back.

"Have a heart, doll, it's almost a New Year!" he grinned, giving you a wink. You tried to hide the blush that began forming on your face.

"I need a drink," you sighed and you walked away to grab a drink from the minibar. You stood there taking a sip of whatever whiskey you poured yourself.

Annie called your name, "c'mon we're gonna start karaoke soon!" she said as she waved you over.

You headed back into the other room with everyone, standing with Annie. They put karaoke on the TV and people began taking turns singing songs.

Everyone eventually convinced Ben to sing Rapture. You just stood back against the wall nursing your whiskey, back behind everyone crowding around him. Everyone listened or danced along with Ben, but his eyes eventually found you. You noticed him staring at you, a smirk on his face. You rolled your eyes trying to look away from him, but his stupid little dance moves made the ends of your mouth slightly curl up. When he noticed your small smile, his smirk turned into a grin as he finished singing the song for everyone.

Ben made his way to you through the crowd of compliments on his performance. "You like the song?" he asked leaning back against the wall next to you.

"s'okay," you shrugged, looking anywhere in the room except at him.

"Back in the day that song was a hit, especially when I performed it," he said.

"Don't you have someone else to bother or some chick to fuck?" you asked, finally turning to look at him.

He smirked, "is that an invitation?"

Yes. No, no it wasn't, get it together.

You rolled your eyes walking back to the minibar to refill your whiskey. Ben followed you.

"I didn't hear a no," he said, "you know, with how bratty you are, you probably need a good fuck."

"You're insufferable," you said, "just leave me alone." you walked away again to go find Annie.

You tried to stay with or near Annie most of the night. It was almost midnight, you were standing back over by the wall like you were before. Annie was off somewhere with Hughie, and everyone else was getting ready to countdown the New Year.

A tall man walked over to you, "Hey beautiful, what're you doing over here all alone?" he asked you.

"I'm not interested," you say, trying to ignore him as he stood closer to you.

"It's New Year's, baby, everyone needs a New Year's kiss," he said, getting more and more uncomfortably close to you, no matter how much you tried stepping away.

Suddenly the man got yanked back away from you, "The lady said she's not interested, so fuck off," Ben said, pushing the man away.

The man walked away without a second thought.

"Wow, my hero," you said dryly.

"No need to thank me, doll," he grinned.

It was now 2 minutes til midnight, you and Ben were still standing by the wall as people watched the TV of the ball dropping in Times Square.

"I'm surprised you don't have some woman's throat you're ready to stick your tongue down," you said to him. In the back of your mind, you hoped it would be you.

"And leave you over here all mopey and alone?" he smirked.

"I'm fine on my own, I don't need you or anyone to keep me company," you lied. "Go find your New Year's kiss."

"I found it," he said looking at you.

10...9...8...7...

"What?" you said, as he reached his hands up cupping your face, "Ben..." you hesitate. You didn't stop him. Did you want this? Yes. Maybe? Too late now...Fuck he's so hot.

4...3...2...1...

He closed the gap between the both of you. His lips gently pressed against yours, you placed your hands on his chest as he held you close to him. Your lips moved together so in sync, you never wanted to let him go.

He pulled his lips away, leaning his forehead against yours. "Happy New Year, doll," he said.

You had a small smile on your face, "Happy New Year, Soldier Boy."

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

A/N: Well, that was...that. Side note, I fucking love Soldier Boy. Like, I know he's a misogynistic, egotistic, asshole, but like...yes please.

Taglist: @sl33pylilbunny

[myokk]

I love you all so much🥹♥️♥️♥️

@thingsmaygetalittlecrazy @n0va25 @ravenwind-75 @rypnami @okeydokeylackey @honeyed-blossom @light-of-the-room YOU ARE ALL SO SO SO SWEET FOR TAGGING ME🥹🫂🫂♥️♥️😭♥️😭😭🫂🫂🫂

When I joined the fandom in April/May of last year, I didn’t expect for it to become This. I’m normally just a lurker online, posting with 0 engagement and having a lot of fun seeing everytbing anyways, but leaving comments and seeing everything you all post while I drink my morning coffee has become the highlight of my day!!! I genuinely love talking and connecting with all of you so so so much♥️♥️♥️

Special shoutout to my Canadian alter-ego yapping gremlin @choccy-milky (im almost back🤭😈) you’ve made being in this fandom so much fun!!!

@thingsmaygetalittlecrazy IM TAGGING YOU AGAIN😤😤🤭 Dani why are you so sweet and amazing!!!! I LOVE YAPPING WITH YOU SO MUCH & YOUR ART IS INCREDIBLE♥️♥️♥️ I was already excited to see your art before you posted & then you blew me away with your talent🫨🫨🫨

@elliecutte AN ABSOLUTE ANGEL !!!!!!! I’m so happy you found my fic and my blog and that we started talking!!♥️♥️♥️ seeing notifications from you always makes me smile🥹🥹🥹

@latymerct the only girl here who understands that older music/rock is the BEST & Lyle is the only mc that is canon to Eloise for me🥰🥰🥰 I hope you’ve had an amazing time over the holidays!!♥️

@bassicallymaestra Kelly, you were my FIRST fandom friend & my first ever ask (about the pencils😆😆♥️) AND I ALWAYS LOVE TALKING WITH YOU WHEN YOURE ON HERE!!!!!!

@kay9leo THANK YOU for being you & for always being so sweet and supportive!!! I need to catch up on your writing, but I LOVE your writing style/voice so much & your art is so cute🥹 I may or may not have lots of little sketches with Iñaki and Eloise I need to upload soon🤭♥️

@sparxyv and @syaolaurant for some reason you two sweet artists came into my life at around the same time & I always love supporting you and seeing your AMAZING AMAZING AMAZING ART!!! & watching you both grow SO MUCH & experiment is literally the coolest thing ever🥹🥹🥹

@writing-intheundercroft for being my first writing friend♥️♥️♥️ idk how we started talking but I love it so much & you already know what a special spot your Theo & Sebastian have in my heart🥰🥰🥰 plus your writing is just so good & always scratches that itch in my brain🤌 plus all of the art you’ve been posting recently is SO CUTE !!!!

@holdmymallowsweet THE SWEETEST PERSON ALIVE !!!!!!!!!! ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️ I don’t know if iou know this, but you were the first person to actually leave comments on my fic (i’d been posting it for months to an audience of: me before you found it😆) & it really gave me a lot of motivation!!! Plus it started a friendship with one of my favorite people on here🥰🥰🙏🙏🥹🥹 I love all of your writing: oneshots, the long fic, and now, your art !!!!

@traceyc-uk one of my first artist friends here!! We joined around the same time & I always love seeing New Fifth Year (may he never have a different name), your comics, and how your art evolves so much🥹♥️🥹♥️

@heylorrain tía, tu arte es increíble y estoy muy agradecida por coincidir contigo en este fandom😭♥️♥️♥️♥️ flipo cada vez que veo tus cómics y Lorra es una mc MUY especial para mi🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

@espressoristretto-patronum DES I LOVE YOU SO MUCH😭♥️😭♥️😭♥️😭♥️ my Italian counterpart…you literally have NO reason being so sweet and supportive & the best person ever🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂

@light-of-the-room SUCH A SWEETHEART🥹♥️🥹♥️🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂

& a million other people, but I ran out of tags😫 I love coming on here & talking with all of you talented people and seeing what you post♥️♥️♥️ sometimes i feel guilty and overwhelmed bc my algorithm doesn’t always show me everything, or I don’t have the energy to leave comments. I always try my hardest to comment on everything i see & like from my sneaky main blog though, & I always want to make sure everyone feels supported here!!

At the end of the day I’m just one girl who comes on here when i have a bit of free time, in addition to writing, creating little fanarts, and doing a million other things that have nothing to do with this fandom (plus work boooooooooooo🥲). So I’ll always be here when I’m able to & support you all♥️♥️♥️🫂🫂🫂 I’m excited to see what 2025 has in store!🙏

[khaleesiofalicante]

Literally all it takes to make an author smile ^^^

I often see people saying things like “I’m sorry I don’t know what to comment”…you can simply say thanks for posting. Because this commenter is right. When you visit a fic much later and you see no comments, it’s often difficult to remember if people enjoyed or not.

It’s incredibly demotivating. It makes you wonder why you’re writing - and who you’re writing for.

I’ve received more asks about “when will you post next YBMF” than actual comments for the YBMF chapters I post. I find this kind of behavior very selfish. If you can send an ask asking when I will post, perhaps you can also take the time express gratitude?

I don’t think many readers understand how much writers depend on their audience to fuel them - especially for fanfiction where you write solely because you enjoy writing and you write for your community/fandom because you all love a story or a ship very much.

I don’t know why I’m ranting so early in the morning lol but writing has been feeling more like work lately where it’s “give give give” with very little appreciation and acknowledgement, and it’s made me want to write less. Like if I can sit and write for 5 hours to give someone a chapter, I can’t help but wonder why do people not take one minute (or less) to comment.

PS - this is not necessarily about me. I see this a lot in the fandom where creators aren’t appreciated enough and I don’t think you people understand just how much effort we put into our work and some of you really take us for granted.

Anyway, I hope this person who commented has a wonderful day.

[halitis]

I… need to know if you have more HalbarryOllie thoughts? Please and thank you!

HI OP. tysm for asking because i am actually Always filled with thoughts. they rotate in my mind like a microwave 24/7 :3

this is a mix of headcannons and observations, so i hope that's what you were looking for! sorry it's a billion long i got Invested...

hal and barry for some reason, love to carry each other. they will pick each other up just whenever, barry usually carrying hal in a bridal grasp or hal carrying barry either like a potato sack or creating s construct to carry him. ollie judges them heavily, what freaks. (the first and last time barry tries to carry ollie when it's not necessary, it ends with him taking a solid hit to the crotch. hal will not stop laughing.)

ollie and hal both have leftover habits and trauma from poverty. when one of them sees the other with negative food behaviour, or accidental hoarding they don't say anything because they know they behave the exact same way. another holdover they have, is the stubborn pride that you HAVE to do it yourself. a pipe bursts or something: cue hal and ollie covered in water, apartment flooded, water damage everywhere but Fuck if they aren't going to figure out how to do this! they are outraged when they realised barry called a plumber.

i don't think they will ever get married in anyway, gonna be honest. hal and his commitment issues go brrr and ollie i think just Doesn't like marriage (roy had to get this opinion from somewhere, see below). the only way i ever see them getting married, is because barry wants to (fucking midwesterner), but even then i don't think he actually would want it that badly. i think that paired with the fact that not all of 3 of them can be married, that they just dont bother. paper is not needed to make your love anymore real.

[continued beneath the read more]

ollie and barry at first, just get along for hal. like he is a child of divorce. i think they would start getting really close after a long mission. you know when you are just so bone tired you lose the will to fight? they are just lazing about, and someone says something that usually would start an argument and instead the other just laughs and it's history from there on. they still bicker and argue sure, but they both know it's playful.

another reason they might have to start getting along, is their kids! wally and roy are good friends and at the beginning, some of the only sidekicks. i think their initial dislike manifests in passive-agressive one upping each other. ollie buys the boys a full spread for dinner, barry takes them to europe to try authentic food. barry takes them out to a water park, ollie rents out a themepark for them. the boys probably encourage it, especially wally.

im not gonna start spewing roywally propaganda in this post, but just know that the parallels between them and ollie x barry have me in a deathgrip.

ollie is the Only cis person in this relationship. i hc barry as transmasc, and hal as either gnc or genderfluid. ollie's the diversity hire guys <3 (if you include dinah in this, she is also trans! its cannon dont @ me)

the first time there is ever a Proper Fight in the polycule, it's between hal and ollie. ollie's habit of calling people nazis and facists usually don't bother hal (he was in the army, he had to get over letting dumb insults bother him). but just at some point, he's having a Bad Day and he just loses it at ollie. logically he knows it's not targeted but calling the jewish guy a nazi just set him off. they are both too stubborn to break the silence after the fight, it takes barry dragging ollie like a misbehaving cat to hal's to apologise before they get over it. ollie is now very careful to censor himself like that around hal.

honestly if anyone wants me to expand on my thoughts on jewish hal, or transgender halbarryollie PLEASE ask. im a hairtrigger away at any given moment.

ollie and hal both LOVE boxing, they love going to matches and watching. at some point, they start trying to include barry and take him along to the fights. barry for the life of him Cannot enjoy this shit. somehow, at some point, they end up at a wwe match and they all become avid fans. date nights now include lazing on the couch with takeout and watching playbacks on tv.

barry runs so fucking hot, and ollie runs cold. leaving hal to fucking Despise sharing a bed with them. genuinely his worst nightmare. even the army was better than this. it is not uncommon to find hal on the floor asleep.

after hal's death, ollie doesn't cope with it very well. killing his bf fucks him up so greatly, he ends up really clinging to barry. barry also isn't handling well but he can't let himself fall apart, he needs to be there for ollie. they start living together basically full time, until one day barry's grief just builds up too much and he ends up saying something he regrets in the heat of an argument (probably something along the lines of blaming ollie for hal's death or he's only staying with ollie because of hal). ollie storms off and barry is just... Gutted. before they have time to reconcile, ollie dies. (if im getting my timelines wrong don't look at me, i will sob)

not a single one of these men have fashion taste. they all dress like the loser middle aged men they are. fucking fashion crimes against humanity! hal steals their clothes quite frequently, which is controversial considering he is the largest person out of the three of them and their shirts and stuff are definitely Too tight. (ollie and barry aren't complaining though, except for when they get their clothes back and they are so fucking stretched)

i love picturing them as cheerleaders. not like, in the actual getup, but just as them being the PROUDEST boyfriends. hal and barry bragging about how ollie is the best shot in the world (hes not but its fine :3), green arrow and lantern standing to the side on a mission and just watching flash adoringly because they know he doesn't need their help, ollie and barry smugly parading around hal like "yeah. this is my bf. hes so hot i know. he's so smart as well." none of them have any idea they are doing it though. they are gag worthy.

ollie's love language is gifts but not always monetary. more like making them food, taking them out places and stuff like that. its the thought and effort that goes into it, that's why does it. barry's is touch, this man LOVES hugs and draping himself over his bfs. hals is acts of service! he wants to help and just do whatever he can for them whenever possible. you could see that hal bases his selfworth off of how much he can do for others, which is so horrible and sad. so yknow. brainworms.

ollie's house accidentally becomes their usual meeting place, but only because he fucking HATES the zeta tubes. whenever he meets them anywhere, he will always whine about how they make him sick. barry does offer to pick him up, but it's a point of pride to him at this point, he can't just admit defeat to the zeta. barry and hal make a silent agreement to just meet him instead. (this was based off an actual comic panel, but i cannot for the Life of me remember which one).

none of them show up on time to dates. it actually becomes so incredibly common that when they miss them, no one takes offence anymore. cue one time where they all missed a date, and are sheepish around the others and keep trying to make it up to them. it takes 3 days before they realise that none of them were there.

and that's it for now! thanks for reading mwah maah

[poreyneel]

If you're comfortable sharing, what is Yirliyen's backstory?

FINALLY SOMEONE ASKED!! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU it's going to be a long post... also, there are A LOT of things I wrote for my Rook specifically even if it goes contrary with canon feel free everyone to ask something else!! so, let's begin

Yirliyen Mercar (he/him) city elf from Tevinter mage (evoker)

BACKGROUND

Yirliyen was picked up on the streets of Minrathous - he is the only child in a foster family of Soporati. Their relationship is very strained due to their differences (mage elf in a non-mage human family). His parents were military and devoted servants of the Imperium: disciplined, straightforward, demanding, and in fact they raised simply a very convenient and useful weapon for them to use. Yirliyen tries not to remember the past associated with them, because for some time he was engaged in dirty and menial work such as helping magisters in their rituals or cutting up corpses and disposing of the remains (mostly they were elven slaves). There were moments when he wanted to cut off his elven ears, or when he didn't understand “what was wrong with him” and why everyone, even his parents, hate him. Seeing elven slaves on the streets of Minrathous was horrifying - he was afraid that he can end up like that, too. It was around that time when the Shadow Dragons, one might say, saved him.

The Shadow Dragons did not become his family but they helped him to get through the darkness and escape his family's grasp. For Yirliyen, Minrathous is a city that causes a storm of internal conflicts. He doesn't hate the city, or innocent people - he hates rulers and authorities. Yirliyen wants to help making Tevinter better - at any cost, with which he has many similarities with Dorian Pavus. Dorian is kind of his role model or even father figure, I think, alongside with Maevaris Tilani being his beau ideal.

PERSONALITY AND CHARACTER TRAITS

wears a lot of masks and doesn't let people know his true nature (he has a hard time trusting others, so it's easier to him not let people too close to him)

humor as a coping mechanism

doesn't know what love, friendship, family, traditions or care are (with Veilguard it changes, but not that much - ask me and I will write an essay how Emmrich opened his heart he didn't know he had)

he knows Tevene only a little bit - from books and conversations

he often says what he thinks about people directly, in the moment

under the jewelry he hides a scar on his ear, also he has two scars on his neck

doesn't like excessive luxury - he believes that everything should be practical first of all. But he really loves works of art

he is very empathetic, despite the disdainful attitude towards him

hates violence, which is why he has a very strong internal conflict - he believes that by resorting to violence or blood magic he will be no better than the Venatori, but on the other hand, sometimes a radical path is needed for the sake of changes

he got a tattoo on his forehead and piercing during his adventures with Varric also he started doing makeup from these times too

THANK YOU AGAIN!! HOPE IT WAS INTERESTING It's still really new for me to write about my characters... I always feel like no one gives a shit... hope others will enjoy Yirliyen as I do

[fanficsbysteve]

Note: You can thank @weewoo911 for this idea not leaving my brain so I had to write it before I could continue on my other WIPs. Thank you for this and I hope you enjoy. I’m ignoring the Abby thing because that was BS, and I don’t like it. This will probably be multiple chapters. All from Tommy’s POV cause its more fun to write. Not sure how many chapters though. I'll keep you posted as I write them.

***

Tommy sat at the second floor table, his phone out, mindlessly scrolling through the various apps he had downloaded. Twitter, Tumblr, those kind of apps. The ones where you created a username and maintained some level of anonymity. He loved being able to spend time just looking at things he enjoyed without people knowing what he was doing or who he was. Lately all he had been doing though is reblogging images of actor Evan Buckley. Evan Buckley in “My Heart Yearns.” Evan Buckley in “Christmas in the Poconos.” Evan Buckley in “The Things That Ate You.” Evan Buckley in “What Happens Happened.” This man was currently the king of the B-Movies and Tommy loved every single one of them, owning many of them on DVD or Blu-ray so he could watch them over and over again.

Tommy was a gay man and was coming to terms with his homosexuality. He hadn’t told anyone in his life yet. That wasn’t any of their business. But he was slowly hating himself less as the days progressed. Maybe he would tell someone when he didn’t hate himself as much as he did, maybe Hen would be the best option. She was an out and proud lesbian with a loving wife, she wouldn’t judge him like he judged himself. He felt dirty looking at the pictures he did online. He felt horrible just thinking about the things that he wanted all those men to do to him. Particularly Evan Buckley. That man could do things that weren’t in any holy book to him, and Tommy would probably thank him for it. And it still made him feel dirty inside. Not nearly as much as others. Just a little. Nothing Evan Buckley did could make him feel completely like he was a horrible person going to hell.

So, Tommy was scrolling while they sat around the 118. It was quiet *knock on wood* and Tommy was enjoying the quiet time. They had finished all their various “chores” and Bobby was already cooking some dinner. Everyone knew to leave Bobby alone while he was in the kitchen, “Seen any good movies lately?” Chimney’s voice broke the silent revery that Tommy’s mind had taken. His real name was Howie Han, however everyone called him Chimney. Nobody really knows why, and Chim likes to keep it mysterious. Tommy thinks its because Chimney’s are tall and built well. However, their Chimney is anything but that.

Tommy looked up from his phone, “Nothing really. Just the usual B-movies that nobody really watches.”

“Why do you do that to yourself?” Hen asked looking up over the newspaper she had been reading, “They are always so painfully bad.”

“I know,” Tommy smiled, “But they make me laugh. You never watched Mystery Science Theatre 3000? They basically made a career out of watching the worst movies that cinema has to offer. And they are gloriously bad. Making up commentary for them is half the fun.”

“I’ll just have to take your word for it,” Chim replied, “I took Tatiana to see that new Marcel movie. Can’t remember what I was called but it was ok.”

“I’ll stick to my sappy RomComs and B-movies,” Tommy replied, “They never disappoint me to the point of forgetting a title.”

Tommy went back to his phone. He was on Tumblr right now, curating his queue, enjoying his timeline. It had taken him some time, but he had finally gotten it to the point where he enjoyed just spending hours scrolling, finding new posts for his own blog and queue. He admitted that he was a bit of an Evan Buckley stan account at this point. His posts were mostly either pics of Evan Buckley, gifs of Evan Buckley, videos of Evan Buckley, or stories written about Evan Buckley. He was just so handsome, and it made Tommy’s stomach turn itself over and over. From the tattoos that covered his body in special places, so that adorable little birthmark above his eye. Tommy wanted to plant a kiss on that mark so badly.

Tommy went to the kitchen to get another refill on coffee. He hadn’t slept much the night before but that was his own fault. He had gotten distracted by watching Evan Buckley movies and he just wanted to finish at least one. One lead to another and suddenly it was an hour before he had to get up and get ready for work. Tommy visibly yawned as he poured another cup, “Late night?” Bobby asked while he cooked.

“Just got distracted,” Tommy replied, “Didn’t realize what time it was and just didn’t end up sleeping much. Coffee is my best friend today.”

“I’ve had those nights,” Bobby smiled, “Usually they involved a beautiful woman.”

Tommy choked a bit on his coffee at the face that Bobby made at him, “um…uh…yeah…beautiful woman,” was all that Tommy managed to get out of his mouth before he hurried away, his face beet red.

He sat down in his chair and pulled his phone back out. He went back to his absent scrolling, smiling inside at all the new pictures of Evan Buckley that were appearing online recently. He had gotten a starring role in a TV show that hadn’t been announced yet, but Tommy was a premium member of the Evan Buckley fan club, so he got all the insider information. He admitted that it was childish to have that membership, but nobody knew who he was, and he was the only one who knew he had it, so why not. It got him all kinds of insider information, and he was a Millennial, so he was allowed to do this. Evan was supposed to be filming the pilot for this show he was cast in sometime in the next few months. Tommy would definitely be watching that show.

“Dinner’s ready,” Bobby announced as he put plates of food on the table. They always served family style, taking what you wanted from the plates and passing them along. It was a tradition that Bobby had started. It was never like this during the Gerrard Era or any of the other dozen chiefs they had since. Just Bobby wanted to make the changes that made working at the 118 better.

“So, I have an announcement to make,” Bobby said as everyone had plated up their meal and was starting to eat, “We will be having someone come and shadow us a little bit for the next few months. They will be filming a new show called HotShots soon. It’s a show about firefighters, and they want some of their actors to get some firsthand experience. To add to the realism. The higher ups have approved of this as they feel this would be really good PR for the LAFD. Several different stations have had different actors who have been cast in the show come shadow us for a bit.”

“Any idea who we got?” Chimney piped up, “Hopefully it’s Samantha Callens, I heard she was cast in something and maybe it was this. She can really learn what its like to be a female firefighter from our Hen here.”

“Shut it Chim,” Hen piped up.

“No, we have someone different,” Bobby said. He pulled out his phone to check his emails, “Give me a second here to find it. Ah yes, we have someone named Evan Buckley coming.”

Tommy did a spit take with the coffee he had just been drinking, sending it flying across the table. Nobody was sitting across from them so that was a blessing, “You know that guy?” Chim asked having dodged to the side to avoid the coffee, Chim was in the chair next to the spot opposite Tommy.

“No…not really…he’s just been in a couple movies I’ve watched,” Tommy stuttered, trying to wipe up the coffee he spat all over up.

“Well, he starts tomorrow,” Bobby said, “And I expect everyone to be on their best behaviour.”

Tommy sat down in his chair, his heart racing and threatening to burst out of his chest. Evan Buckley was going to be here, in the 118, with Tommy. Tommy silently took his phone out and looked at the top of his Tumblr page, staring at his username: kinardbuckleyxoxo was all it said. Tommy knew that it was going to be a long few months. Very pleasant. But also, very long.

***

Note: Chapter 1 complete. Chapter 2 the real fun begins. I usually try and make sure that I have at least a buffer of a few chapters going before I post but I wanted to get this out into the universe so that people can let me know if they enjoy it. So, leave me some comments and likes and give me any feedback you want. Also if anyone has a fun title idea, please let me know cause I'm at a loss. (I may have written this in an hour and a half after I woke up and saw the idea from @weewoo911)

[chasedeys]

bengals win today yes?

[something-about-sunflowers]

Your blog is 15 hours old.

You have ONE post about this 'issue' of yours.

This is a scam.

Fuck off.

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

I’ll have gone out and done something social one day and be like “I was so normal about everything today, I would get such a good grade in socializing, something that is normal to want and possible to achieve”

then when I’m in bed trying to sleep my brain will bring up every slip up of the day

[cy-cyborg]

So, there's a lot I want to say about the paralypics, but every time I try I just... can't articulate what I want to say without it turning into a monster of a post that puts my writing advice posts to shame lol. This includes in response to the anonymous asks I got on the topic btw. So I'm going to try and summarise my thoughts here.

As someone who was working towards the Rio paralympics - who was basically one of the people they were actively training to be the next paralympians and who got to go if their choice first athletes had to drop out, the Olympics and paralympics are a... touchy subject for me. I loved playing. I loved my sport. I loved the people I played with. I loved the people I played against. But the way the public and people in power treats disabled athletes sucks. It Really really sucks. and it hurts to talk about.

The vast, vast majority of us aren't paid. We are expected to train at the same intensity as the Olympians with none of the breaks and none of the support to do so, resulting in injuries that are disabling in and of themselves, while juggling normal jobs. many of the paralympians are also in school or at university as well. both schools and jobs see these elite athletes as dedicated hobbiests at best.

I had a friend who were fired from their job because they were denied time off to compete at the paralypics and well, if i had to choose between the paralympics or stay at a shit job paying minimum wage, I know which one I'd pick, and so she didnt have a job when she came back. I have friends who are still in the closet because their sponsors would drop them if they came out as gay, who ended years-long relationships to keep the funding that allowed them and their teams to compete - funding that just covered the costs of travel by the way. They never saw a cent of it themselves, but it was the difference between us having to pay $50 each for our plane tickets and accommodation and having to pay $2,000Aud + for every away game. I have friends who were supposed to go to Tokeyo but were kicked off the teams weeks before the games because of a rule change that decided they weren't disabled enough anymore, wasting years of work with absolutely no warning. They weren't even given the decency of an appology from the people who made the call. Several went through terrifying mental health spirals over it. It was their life's work, gone. I saw so many friends just give up because their disabilities were "too hard to classify" into the International Paralympic Commity's boxes and who were made to feel they weren't welcome by the system spouting off about its diversity and inclusion and empowerment of disabled people.

And then with all that, the best we can hope for is for the social media teams to turn us into a joke for ableds to laugh at or into inspiration porn to make them feel good about themselves - because at least theyre not us. Because obviously, there are no other options in how to show us/sarcasm.

My phone doesn't even have "paralympics" as a recognised word. I have a Samsung. The company that is currently at the paralympics using them as a marketing opertunity. We aren't even recognised as a word in the phones made by the company that is currently using the paralympics as a marketing opportunity. The phones they're giving the athletes won't even recognise the name of the event that they got it at. If I've spelt it wrong, it's because it autocorrects it every time I try to spell it right, and im dyslexic and can't see the difference until I stare at it for a minute or so.

I just... this isn't even scratching the surface of my thoughts. But I wanted to say at least some of it. It will be the last I'm going to talk about it, at least until the event is over.

[pomegranatesarchive]

PR nightmare | oscar piastri

paring: oscar piastri x singer!reader

summary: y/n is considered a pr nightmare. let’s watch her get into her first relationship.

notes: yet another repost from my old account, i tired to make it exactly the same, enjoy!

— y/n has posted new pictures!

liked by mclaren, f1, yourbrother, and 737,938 others!

yoursername: my manger told me to tell you guys that the illuminati is NOT real and i was just joshing around !! 😂👍👍😂

view comments below!

user1: ugh this is SO BELIEVABLE

user2: | WAS WAITING FOR THIS POST

user3: yeah let's all ignore the "i wrote songs about an f1 driver!!!!"

user4: the pictures 😭

yourmomsuser: pic credits?

yoursername: you're like 60 why do you know what pic credits are ??

user5: the illuminati is totally real 🙄

mclaren: 👀

yourusername: NO THIS IS SO EMBARRASSING PLS LOOK AWAY

user6: no offense, but how did you stumble across F2 oscar???

yourusername: my brother is like a HUGE f1, 2, AND 3 nerd and he always forces me to watch races with him 😣

yourbrothersuser: you literally ask me to tell you when oscar's back on the screen???

yourusername: okay kill yourself????

yourbrothersuser: @/yourmomsuser

yourusername: GOD YOU ARE SUCH A SNITCH

ynupdates: y/n and her brother; jacob, were seen at the airport earlier today, she later posted the picture on the right, on her story, confirming that she is in fact traveling. y/n has no shows coming up, and she rarely travels with jacob. thoughts?

view comments below!

user7: guys guys..the monaco grand prix in literally in two days.

user8: SHES GOING TO THE GRAND PRIX. I KNOW IT.

user9: why's her brother kinda??

user10: you can't even see his face 😭😭?

user9: I CAN JUST TELL

user11: everyone saying she's going to the grand prix are like getting my hopes up??????

user12: WATCH HER GO SOMEWHERE COMPLETELY DIFFERENT 😭

user13: okay guys..but we never talked about what songs could be about oscar

user14: IVE DONE SO MUCH THINK ABOUT THIS!!!

user13: GIRL PLEASE TELL

user14: OKAY OKAY!! one that REALLY stands out to me is "my love mine all mine" because, we all know y/n has never had a boyfriend before, SO when she writes love songs, obviously people speculate that she's in a relationship

user14: WHEN SHE WAS ASKED ABOUT THE INSPIRATION FOR "my love mine all mine" she said "i sadly do not have a boyfriend yet. but there is someone i've had my eye on for some time." SHE COULD HAVE BEEN TALKING ABOUT OSCAR AND WE DIDNT EVEN NOTICE

user15: istg if y/n doesn't show up in the paddock tomorrow, i will throw a fit.

liked by mclaren, f1, yourbrother, and 837,938 others!

yourusername: i could tell you where i am and what im doing, but its funny reading the theories

view comments below !

user15: are you going to a secret illuminati meeting user16: pls y/n pls just tell us

user17: this is cruel AND YOU KNOW IT

user18: pls lord, let y/n go to the monaco grand prix🙏🙏

user19: there's no way she ISNT going to the grand prix, i mean she's with her brother, and he's literally like the biggest f1 fan ever?? why else would they be traveling together

user20: maybe they're traveling together because they're siblings😭😭 ?? it doesn't have to connect to f1

yourbrothersuser: y/n pls put the phone down. i need a good nights rest for tomorrow.

user21: TOMORROW ???? IS ??? THE ???? GRAND ??? PRIX ??? ARE ???? YOU ??? GUYS ???? GOING ????

ynupdates: it seems like the rumors are true! y/n and jacob are currently at the grand prix!

view comments below!

user 22: 1 FUCKING KNEW IT

user23: everyone knew it...

user24: WHOO CAREEESSS oscar and y/n interaction WHEN ???

user25: ugh i NEED grid x y/n interactions RN

user26: y/n this, oscar that. WHAT I NEED IS TO SEE Y/NS BROTHER MEET MAX

user27: omg can you imagine how happy he is rn

— mclaren has posted new photos!

liked by yourusername, f1, yourbrother, landonorris, oscarpiastri and 837,938 others!

mclaren: monaco was a dream! thank you y/n for joining us view comments below!

view comments below!

user28: 1 SHOULVE BEEN THERE. I COULDVE METY/N. THAT SHOULDVE BEEN ME.

yourusername: thank you for having me🧡

user29: okay now make oscar and y/n kiss

yourbrothersuser: thank you for making my dream come true 🙏🙏

redbullracing: @/yourusername our garage next

yourusername: i think @/yourbrothersuser would enjoy that more then i ever could

redbullracing: he's always welcome to join 💙

yourbrothersuser: AHHHHHH OMG OMG

user30: okay now more grid x y/n content

user31: the way this became like a meet and greet for y/n was INSANE

user32: who would've thought there would be so many y/n fans at a F1 race??

user33: everyone's a y/n l/n fan.

— y/n has posted new photos!

liked by, mclaren, landonorris, oscarpiastri 763,928 others!

yourusername: do you think he'll try weed with me now that he's my boyfriend?

view comments below !

user34: EXCUSE ME BOYFRIEND???

user35: OMG Y/N GOT HER FIRST BOYFRIEND!! АННННН

user36: OSCAR AND Y/N??? HELL YEAH

user37: okay let's just pretend that doesn't say what it says 😭

yourmanger: y/n please change that caption.

yourusername: i don't know how ☹️

user38: WHO CARES ABOUT THE CAPTION!!! Y/N AND OSCAR SHIPPERS RISE

mclaren: in case that caption isn't a joke, y/n please refrain from getting our drivers high.

yourusername: YOU GUYS ARE NO FUNN

user39: i love how public y/n is. like she genuinely acts like she doesn't have millions of followers

oscarpiastri: love i already told you, we cant get high.

yourusername: YOU WOULD IF YOU LOVED ME.

maxverstappen1: i'll get high with you y/n 🙋‍♂️

redbullracing: no you will not.