#i spent so long on these expressions help

[burningembers91]

The Beauty of Vulnerability - Choi Su Bong (Thanos) x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Follow up Piece to: Not Who I Want to Be

Synopsis: Thanos is ready to show who he really is

Warnings: Alcohol and drug misuse/addiction, p in v, oral, 18+ only!

Your phone buzzed once, twice, three times before you finally picked it up. Thanos had sent you a selfie of him posing on his balcony, the Seoul skyline in the background. He had his usual goofy expression on his face, his tattoos visible on his shirtless body. He’d followed the selfie up with several emojis and a plea to join him on his balcony. You couldn’t help but smile, couldn’t help but zoom in on his abs visible in the lower lefthand corner of the screen. It had been six weeks since your meeting in the nightclub, and as much as you’d tried to resist, he’d charmed his way into your life.

Thanos was unlike anyone you’d ever met. He was so vibrant, so full of life and yet so broken. His eyes were filled with such sadness, a sadness that never quite went away no matter how hard he laughed, or how many jokes he told. He was the classic class clown, always striving to make you laugh. You hadn’t believed him when he told you he was a famous rapper, not until you’d Googled him the next day. Your friends didn’t believe you’d met him either, not until you showed them the message you’d sent him. you’d listened to his music, and although it wasn’t entirely to your taste, there was no denying the man had talent.

You’d met a few times since then, mostly at Thanos’ apartment. You’d once made the mistake of heading to a restaurant for dinner and spent the entire time fighting off screaming girls armed with iPhones and killer glares in your direction. You hadn’t quite got a feel of who this man was, didn’t quite understand what made him tick. He was a wildcard, but there was an underlying sweetness about him.

While you were reserved with your feelings, Thanos was head over heels for you. You gave him a reason to wake up in the morning, gave him purpose on days that without you would have been filled with drugs and booze. He hadn’t quite managed to quit the narcotics, but a lifetime habit was hard to break. But you’d inspired him to write music again, had given him an entirely new lease on life. The day after he’d met you, he spent all day messaging you on Instagram. The next day, he removed the parasites from his apartment, the ones who only came round when they wanted to party, take drugs or cling to his coattails. He deep cleaned his apartment, tipping bottles of booze and pills down the toilet. He sat at his piano for the first time in years, penning a song that was so different to anything he’d written before. The music seemed to flow through him, the words coming so naturally. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d written something sober, the melody overwhelming him until he was reduced to tears. He’d spent so long pretending to be someone else, it was nice to have a piece of the real him shine through.

He understood you wanted to take things slow, and he’d be a fool to rush into this headfirst. That had always been his mistake. Thanos usually acted first and thought later, but he didn’t want to fuck up whatever this was that he had with you. There were a few times when he slipped back into his old habits, taking a pill when the world got a little too much, drinking himself to sleep when his racing thoughts wouldn’t let him rest. He hadn’t told you about his addictions, but you knew.

You saw it in his eyes, saw the ways his hands shook when he was starting to withdraw. You’d seen friends addicted in the past, and it hadn’t ended well. That’s why you were taking things slow; you were waiting for the moment Thanos would inevitably break your heart. Your head screamed at you to leave, but your heart told you this man was worth fighting for.

You joined him later that evening on his balcony, just as the sky turned candy floss pink as the sun began to set. He handed you a glass of champagne worth more than your monthly salary, kissing you softly on your cheek. His days were long and lonely without you, counting down the hours until he saw you again. You were the anchor that kept him grounded to the world, the woman who stopped him from floating away into the clouds. His fingernails were painted black today, the colour matching the thickly tattooed line that snaked from his middle finger to his neck. you liked to trace that line, smiling as he shivered against you. you hadn’t slept together yet, but every day you found it harder to find a reason not to. His lips skimmed your cheek again, making their way down to your lips. Thanos loved kissing you, loved the way your lips felt against his. You were impossibly soft, your tongue meeting his as you wrapped your arms around his neck, the glass of expensive champagne long forgotten.

“I wrote a song for you,” he whispered, playing with them hem of your skirt. “Can I play it for you?” You nodded, tilting your head back as his lips continued to kiss you, trailing across your jawline and down your neck. He was so crazy about you, so head over heels he felt like he might go insane. You made his entire body tingle, from his scalp to his toes, and he found himself constantly getting lost in your eyes.

Pulling you from the comfort of his outdoor sofa, he led you to his music room, offering you a seat on his plush leather stool. He sat at his piano, nerves wracking his body as he took a deep breath. Usually, he’d pop a pill to calm his nerves, or down a few shots of tequila. But not tonight. Tonight, he wanted to sit with those nerves, to show his vulnerability to you in a way he’d never shown anyone. As he began to play, his voice singing in perfect harmony with the notes, you watched in silence. Every inch of you was covered in goosebumps, the tune on the piano so beautifully encompassing his feelings towards you. Never had a man treated you the way Thanos had; he made you feel like a Goddess.

When the song was over, Thanos stayed at the piano, his bottom lip trembling. You watched him for a few moments, your heart aching as a lifetime of emotions bubbled to the surface. He was so tired of being someone he wasn’t, of surrounding himself with people who didn’t give a shit about him. Until 6 weeks ago, he had no one to call when he was lonely, no one to hug him when he was feeling sad. He’d had no one to turn to when the world got dark, but you were here now. Sitting across from him, your eyes brimming with tears, he didn’t know how to convey his feelings towards you other than through song.

Nothing about him was real; nothing was authentically him. His name wasn’t even real; he’d modelled it on a fucking purple CGI villain. A single tear fell from his eye, landing on the ivory keys with a splatter. A deep, wracking sob escaped him and his closed his eyes as he felt the darkness closing in. He longed for a release, longed to feel the numbness that came with the pills he popped like candy.

Your arms encircled him, pulling his shaking body into yours. You stood there for a while, stroking his shock of purple hair while he sobbed into your chest. He’d never cried in front of a woman before, had never shown any emotion other than unabashed confidence. “My name isn’t even Thanos,” he choked after a while. “I know,” you smiled, “I doubted your parents named you after a Marvel villain.” You wiped his tears away with the pad of your thumb, placing a soft kiss on each of his eyelids. He looked so fragile, so broken as his head slumped against your breasts, his body still shaking with the occasional sob. “What is your name?” He looked up at you. He hadn’t said he real name for years; Thanos had become his brand, the crutch he used almost as much as the drugs and alcohol. “Choi Su-Bong,” he whispered. “My name is Choi Su-Bong.”

You kissed him, pulling him down onto the soft carpet of his music room floor. “Choi Su-Bong,” you smiled, “My Choi Su-Bong.” He made love to you right there on the floor, the sounds of your moans melting into the sound-proof walls. Su-Bong had never felt like this with anyone before. He was usually completely numb when he fucked someone, if he remembered fucking them at all. But with you, he was sober, perhaps for the first time in his life. He felt every touch, every thrust so deeply. He let you take charge, straddling him as you lowered yourself onto him. Your fingers traced his abs, the sensation overwhelming him as your nails dragged gently across his skin, tracing the tattoos that littered his torso and chest. He’d never known something could feel this good, had never realised that your entire body could feel like it was on fire in the best way possible. He was desperate to touch every inch of you, to feel every part of your exposed skin. He guided your chest towards his mouth, his lips locking around your sensitive nipple as he took it gently between his teeth. Your moans were heavenly, more beautiful than any song he’d ever heard. He came with an earth-shattering groan, his fingers gripping the skin on your thighs as he finished inside of you. He carried you to his room after, laying you down on his silk sheets before drawing out your pleasure again and again. Your body shook for him, your breathy moans spurring him on. You tasted like heaven, your slickness coating his mouth and tongue as he devoured you again and again.

You weren’t sure when you fell asleep, waking up as the sun broke over the horizon. Thanos was gone, but Choi Su-Bong had replaced him. His arms cradled you as you watched the sun rise, his lips peppering kisses along your shoulder and neck. Finally rousing from bed, he padded through to the kitchen. He was no chef, but last night had worked up quite the appetite. He ordered breakfast from a local café, spreading out the food across his expansive kitchen. He wasn’t sure what your favourite was, so he ordered one of everything. You sat and ate together, smiling at each other over your coffee mugs.

There would be hard days ahead, but Choi Su-Bong was determined to start fresh. New music, new friends, a new perspective. He’d never had anything in life that made him want to be a better person. But now he had you, and you were worth fighting for.

[cherryxbooo]

I’ll do anything to make you happy

Summary: You were excited for winter break to start because it meant one thing: spending more time with Lando. But little did you know, that was the one thing you wouldn't be getting.

Reader x Lando Norris

Genre: fluff/angst

Winter always held a special kind of charm for me.

The frosty mornings, cozy blankets, and steaming cups of cocoa had always made this season my favorite.

But this year, it held a different promise: Lando finally had a break from racing.

After months of hectic schedules, jet-setting across the globe, and stolen moments in between races, I was looking forward to having him all to myself.

At first, it was everything I’d imagined and more.

We spent lazy mornings tangled in bed, with me teasing him about his messy hair while he pulled me closer, claiming I was his personal heater.

Breakfasts turned into brunches because we couldn’t stop talking or joking around.

We watched movies, baked cookies that turned out terrible, and played endless rounds of Mario Kart, which I always managed to win.

“You’re only winning because I’m letting you,” Lando said one evening, his grin teasing as he tossed the controller onto the couch.

“Sure you are,” I replied, laughing as I grabbed my victory snack from the table.

Those first few days felt like we were in our own little world, where nothing else mattered but us.

But soon, reality began creeping in.

It started innocently enough.

“Babe, Max just called,” Lando said one morning, leaning against the counter with his coffee mug in hand.

“He’s organizing a karting session. Shouldn’t take long.”

I smiled, my heart swelling with pride.

Racing was his passion, and I loved seeing him happy. “Go have fun. Just don’t let him beat you.”

“Never,” he said with a wink, kissing my temple quickly before heading out.

That day, I didn’t mind the quiet. I worked on some projects, caught up with friends, and even took a long bath.

By the time he got home, his cheeks were flushed with cold, and he couldn’t stop talking about how much fun he’d had.

But karting soon turned into golf.

Golf turned into poker nights. And poker nights turned into outings that stretched late into the night.

“I’ll be back soon,” he’d text, always with a heart emoji. But “soon” became later and later each time.

I told myself it was fine. He deserved this break.

He’d worked so hard all year, and if spending time with his friends helped him unwind, who was I to complain?

But as the days wore on, the house began to feel emptier, and so did I.

One evening, I decided to surprise him with his favorite dinner.

I spent hours in the kitchen, setting the table with candles and dimming the lights for a cozy atmosphere.

When Lando walked through the door, his expression softened as he took in the setup.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he said, wrapping his arms around me.

“I wanted to,” I replied, smiling up at him.

“You’ve been so busy, and I thought it’d be nice to have a quiet night together.”

“That’s so sweet,” he said, leaning down to kiss me.

“But the guys are waiting for me. I promised I’d meet them for drinks tonight. Let’s rain check this?”

My smile faltered, but I nodded. “Of course.”

He kissed me again and was out the door before I could say anything more.

I sat down at the table, staring at the empty chair across from me.

The candles flickered, their light reflecting off the untouched plates. I took a deep breath, telling myself it was okay.

But deep down, a tiny crack had formed in my heart.

Days turned into weeks, and the cracks only deepened.

Lando’s absence became more noticeable, and I began to feel like a ghost in our own home.

One evening, after scrolling through endless photos of him with his friends on Instagram, I called Mia, my best friend.

“What’s wrong?” she asked the moment she picked up.

I sighed, the weight of my emotions pressing down on me.

“It’s Lando. He’s been spending so much time with his friends lately, and I feel like I’m… invisible.”

Mia was quiet for a moment before saying, “Y/N, you’re not invisible. But you need to talk to him. He’s not a mind reader.”

“I don’t want to seem clingy,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re not clingy. You’re his girlfriend. He should want to spend time with you. Talk to him.”

Her words gave me the push I needed. That night, when Lando came home, I gathered my courage.

“Can we talk?” I asked, my heart pounding in my chest.

“Of course,” he said, sitting down next to me.

I took a deep breath.

“I’ve been feeling… neglected lately. I know you’re enjoying your break, and I want you to have fun, but I miss us. I miss you.”

He frowned, reaching for my hand.

“Babe, I’m sorry if it feels that way. But I’m here now, aren’t I?”

I nodded, but his words didn’t ease the ache in my chest. Before I could say more, he kissed me and stood up.

“Max needs help with something,” he said, grabbing his keys. “Love you!”

And just like that, he was gone. Again.

I tried my best to push away all negative thoughts until I thought about the positive ones.

Our second anniversary was just days away, and I held onto the hope that he’d make it special.

I told myself the late nights didn’t matter. He was probably planning something incredible for our anniversary.

The next day,

The morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in soft golden hues.

I stretched lazily, a content smile curling my lips as I reached across the bed.

My fingers met cold sheets. The space beside me was empty.

I frowned, the giddy excitement I had woken up with faltering.

Today was our second anniversary.

I had imagined waking up wrapped in Lando’s arms, whispering sleepy “Happy anniversary” wishes before sharing breakfast together.

Instead, he was gone.

I also realized that I hadn't heard him come back last night.

He told me he was just helping Max out with something, but he probably went out partying with his friends afterward, again.

I tried to shake off the disappointment as I climbed out of bed, brushing my hair out of my face.

Maybe he had planned a surprise and needed to step out early.

A flutter of hope lifted my spirits as I grabbed my robe and headed toward the kitchen.

The scent of coffee greeted me, but there was no sign of Lando.

Instead, on the counter, I found a note written in his familiar scrawl:

“Gone golfing with the guys. Be back later. Love you.”

My heart sank. Golfing? On our anniversary?

I swallowed the lump rising in my throat, trying to focus on the fact that he had said he’d be back later.

He wouldn’t forget our dinner, right?

We’d planned this evening together weeks ago, and I’d been looking forward to it ever since.

I folded the note and placed it aside, telling myself not to overthink it. He would be back in time.

He promised.

After a quick breakfast, I set to work preparing for the evening.

My heart thudded with a mix of excitement and nervousness as I laid out my plans.

Lando had been so busy lately, and this was my chance to remind him how much I loved him, despite everything.

I spent hours in the kitchen, cooking all his favorite dishes: his go-to pasta, a roasted chicken dish he always requested, and even the dessert I’d failed at three times before finally perfecting.

The smells of herbs, garlic, and chocolate filled the apartment, making it feel warm and inviting.

Between stirring pots and chopping vegetables, I took breaks to set up the dining table.

I draped it with a soft cream tablecloth, adding candles and a scattering of rose petals for a romantic touch.

Fairy lights hung along the walls, casting a cozy glow that made the space feel magical.

On the counter, I carefully placed his gift, a sleek watch he had admired months ago but never bought for himself.

Not forgetting to attach a handwritten note to the box.

With everything ready, I checked the clock.

It was almost evening. So I had to hurry up to get ready.

I slipped into the dress I had chosen weeks ago, a soft, fitted number I knew he loved on me.

My makeup was simple yet elegant, and I added the finishing touch, a spritz of the perfume Lando had gifted me for my last birthday.

I felt beautiful, excited, and nervous all at once as I sat on the couch, watching the clock.

Five minutes passed. Then ten.

By the time twenty minutes had gone by, I grabbed my phone, texting him a quick, “Hey, are you on your way?”

No response.

An hour later, I texted again. Then called. Still nothing.

My excitement turned into a gnawing worry that sat heavy in my chest.

Where was he? Had he forgotten?

Two hours passed.

The candles on the table had burned down halfway, their flickering flames reflecting off the now-cold plates of food.

The fairy lights, once magical, now felt like mockery.

Finally, three hours later, I gave up.

Tears stung my eyes as I blew out the candles, packed away the food, and removed my dress, exchanging it for soft pajamas.

My makeup was smeared with tears by the time I climbed into bed.

I grabbed my phone one last time, and my heart shattered when I saw the Instagram story.

It was one of Lando’s friends, showing a clip of him laughing, drink in hand, surrounded by his friends.

He looked happy. Carefree.

And completely oblivious that tonight was our anniversary.

The tears came faster, hot and uncontrollable. I buried my face in the pillow, the ache in my chest overwhelming.

I had been so sure he’d come back, that he’d remember. But I was wrong.

Later that night,

The apartment was cloaked in silence when Lando opened the front door, the click of the lock echoing faintly in the stillness.

He stumbled inside the weight of exhaustion and faint traces of guilt tugging at his chest.

The soft glow of the streetlights outside illuminated the darkened space just enough for him to make out his surroundings.

Something felt… off.

He reached for the light switch, and as the room was bathed in warm light, his eyes landed on the dining table across from him.

He froze.

The table was beautifully decorated, candles placed strategically, now melted into small stubs, surrounded by rose petals that had been artfully scattered.

Plates of food were neatly covered with lids to keep them from going bad, but even from a distance, Lando could tell they were his favorites.

He took a tentative step forward, his stomach sinking further with each movement.

Resting near the center of the table was a small, wrapped box with a note attached to it.

The sight made his chest tighten, a creeping realization clawing at the edges of his mind.

His fingers trembled as he picked up the note. Unfolding it carefully, he read the words in her familiar handwriting:

"To my Lando, the best thing that ever happened to me. Thank you for being my partner, my love, my everything. Happy anniversary, baby. Love, Y/N."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. His heart sank as the full weight of the evening’s significance crashed over him.

Anniversary. He’d forgotten their second anniversary.

Lando stood there, the note still clutched in his hand, his throat tightening as shame washed over him.

He thought back to the past few weeks, to the times he’d brushed you off or come home late without so much as an explanation.

He couldn’t even recall the last time you two spent real, quality time together.

You had tried to talk to him about it, about how you felt neglected, and he had dismissed your concerns every single time.

Now, standing there amidst the evidence of your effort and love, he felt like the worst boyfriend in the world.

Lando exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair as regret threatened to overwhelm him.

He couldn’t blame anyone but himself.

He glanced around the room, noticing how quiet it was. He knew you were asleep.

His eyes landed on his phone, dead from the night’s events.

With a heavy sigh, he plugged it into the charger, pacing nervously as he waited for it to turn back on.

When it finally lit up, the screen was flooded with notifications, missed calls and unread messages from Y/N.

The time stamps told the story of your evening:

“Hey, are you on your way?” - 8 p.m. “I’m waiting for you… everything’s ready.” -8:30 p.m. “Lando, please call me.” -9 p.m. “Are you okay? I’m starting to worry.” -10 p.m.

The last message was hours old, her tone shifting from hopeful to concerned.

Each notification felt like another jab to his heart, the guilt almost unbearable.

He dropped his phone onto the counter and made his way toward their shared bedroom.

Pushing the door open quietly, he stepped into the dimly lit room.

His gaze immediately found her curled up under the covers, her face half-buried in the pillow.

His breath hitched when he noticed the faint streaks on her cheeks, traces of tears she hadn’t been able to hide.

The sight made his heart clench painfully. She’d cried herself to sleep, and it was his fault.

Lando approached the bed slowly, kneeling beside her as he took in her tear-streaked face.

She looked so peaceful yet so vulnerable, her chest rising and falling softly with each breath.

Guilt swirled in his chest as he reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, thick with regret.

Leaning down, he pressed a gentle kiss to her temple, lingering for a moment as if hoping it could somehow convey all the apologies he couldn’t say while she was awake.

His thumb grazed her cheek, and he sighed deeply.

“You didn’t deserve this,” he murmured, his voice breaking.

“I’ve been such an ass… the worst boyfriend. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I love you so much.”

She stirred slightly at his touch but didn’t wake.

Lando watched her for a moment longer before standing, his mind racing with plans to fix what he’d broken.

Tomorrow, he vowed, would be all about her.

The next morning, I woke up with a dull ache in my chest, my body heavy from the night before.

My eyes were sore and puffy from crying myself to sleep.

I glanced at the empty side of the bed, already prepared for the familiar sting of disappointment.

Figured he’d leave again before I woke up, I thought bitterly.

Dragging myself out of bed, I moved to the bathroom to freshen up.

The cold water on my face didn’t do much to wash away the exhaustion or the emotional weight from the previous night.

With a sigh, I tied my hair back and made my way downstairs, expecting another day of hurt to unfold.

Halfway down the stairs, though, something unusual stopped me in my tracks.

The smell of coffee, rich and inviting, wafted through the air.

There was another scent too, pancakes? My brow furrowed in confusion.

"That can’t be right. Lando doesn’t cook... does he? Who am i kidding he can't even boil eggs."

I cautiously descended the rest of the stairs, each step filling me with equal parts curiosity and hesitation.

As I rounded the corner into the kitchen, I froze at the sight before me.

There he was, standing by the stove, flipping a pancake with a focused but slightly clumsy determination.

Plates of food lined the table, croissants, fresh fruit, juice, and what looked like store-bought pastries.

It didn’t take long to figure out most of the spread wasn’t homemade, but the effort was unmistakably his.

“Morning, love,” Lando greeted me, his tone soft and tentative, his lips curling into a nervous smile.

I raised an eyebrow, my arms crossing instinctively. “What’s all this?”

He put the spatula down and stepped closer, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel.

“It’s breakfast... and an apology,” he said, his voice earnest.

My eyes flickered between him and the spread on the table.

I could see he was trying, but the hurt from last night still lingered like a heavy cloud over my chest.

“Come sit,” he said gently, pulling a chair out for me.

I hesitated for a moment before sitting down, my arms still crossed defensively.

Lando grabbed a plate, placing a pancake in front of me before adding a small pile of fruit and a croissant on the side.

I eyed him suspiciously as he poured me a cup of coffee, then sat across from me.

“What are you doing, Lando?” I asked, my voice tinged with a mix of confusion and frustration.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he met my gaze.

“I messed up, Y/N. Big time. And I need you to know how sorry I am.” His voice was steady but filled with regret.

I stayed silent, waiting for him to continue.

“Last night,” he began, his brows furrowing,

“I forgot our anniversary. I forgot the one day I should’ve been making you feel like the most important person in the world. And it’s not just last night, I’ve been neglecting you for weeks. You told me how you felt, and I brushed it off like an idiot.”

His voice cracked slightly as he spoke, and I could see the weight of his guilt etched into every line on his face.

“I’ve been selfish, caught up in my own world, and I didn’t see how much I was hurting you. You deserve so much better than that, Y/N. Better than me.”

I felt my throat tighten as his words sank in. The sincerity in his tone chipped away at the walls I’d put up.

“I was so hurt, Lando,” I said, my voice trembling.

“I waited for you all night. I planned everything because I thought… I thought you’d come home and we’d celebrate together. I stayed up, hoping you’d walk through that door with a smile, ready to tell me how much you love me. But you didn’t.”

Tears pricked my eyes as I continued.

“I saw that video of you and your friends. You were laughing and having fun while I sat here, alone, on what was supposed to be our night.”

Lando’s face fell, his hands gripping the edge of the table as if grounding himself from the weight of my words.

“I know,” he whispered.

“And I hate myself for it. Seeing what you did for me last night, the decorations, the food, the note. I realized just how much I’ve been taking you for granted. I never want you to feel that way again, Y/N. You’re the most important thing in my life. I need you to believe that.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box, sliding it across the table to me.

“What’s this?” I asked, my voice softer now, though my heart still carried the sting of last night.

“Open it,” he urged.

I carefully lifted the lid, revealing a delicate necklace with a sparkling pendant.

The intricate design caught the morning light, making it shimmer.

“Lando…” I trailed off, overwhelmed.

“It’s not enough to make up for what I’ve done,” he said quickly,

“but it’s a start. And today, it’s all about you. Whatever you want to do, wherever you want to go, we’ll do it.”

I stared at the necklace for a moment before meeting his eyes.

“It’s beautiful,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “Thank you.”

“But,” I added, my tone firm, “this doesn’t mean I’ve fully forgiven you yet.”

“I know,” he said, nodding.

“And I don’t expect you to. But I’ll spend every day proving to you how much I care, how much I love you. I won’t stop until you believe me again.”

The determination in his voice made my chest tighten.

I wanted to hold onto my anger, to make him feel the depth of my hurt, but seeing him now, vulnerable, regretful, and desperate to make things right.

I couldn’t help but feel the smallest crack in my resolve.

As the morning unfolded, Lando’s sincerity shone through.

He insisted on clearing the table and cleaning up, stealing small glances at me as if trying to gauge my mood.

I wasn’t ready to let go of all the hurt just yet, but for the first time in weeks, I felt a glimmer of hope.

Maybe, just maybe, we could find our way back to each other.

The morning's heartfelt apology set the tone for what became one of the most memorable days Lando and I had spent together in weeks.

While I was still guarded, I couldn’t deny that he was trying, really trying, to make things right.

As I got ready to leave the house, he was already by my side, holding my hand, his other arm slung casually around my shoulder.

“I promised today would be all about you,” he said, giving me that signature soft smile.

“So, where to first?”

We started with a trip to the mall. At first, I felt a little awkward, hesitant to fully enjoy the experience.

But Lando was like a lovesick puppy, following me from store to store, holding my bags, and insisting I buy anything that caught my eye.

“Do you like this dress?” I asked, holding up a flowy sundress against myself.

“I love it,” he said without hesitation. “But I’d probably love anything on you.”

I rolled my eyes at his smooth comment but couldn’t help the blush creeping up my cheeks. “You’re just saying that.”

“Nope,” he replied, grabbing the dress and adding it to the pile of things he’d insisted on buying.

From clothes to accessories, he didn’t say no to anything.

When I protested, saying he was spending too much, he brushed it off.

“I’d spend everything on you, Y/N,” he said with such sincerity it made my heart ache.

Afterward, he took me to my favorite café for lunch.

The cozy little place was one we often went to in the early days of our relationship, and the nostalgia hit me hard as we sat down.

“I missed this,” I admitted as I sipped my coffee.

“Me too,” Lando said, reaching across the table to hold my hand.

“And I’m going to make sure we never lose this again.”

Next, he surprised me with a visit to a local pottery studio.

I couldn’t help but laugh when Lando struggled to shape a vase, the clay slipping through his fingers.

“Okay, you’re supposed to keep your hands steady,” I teased, leaning over to guide him.

“Oh, so now you’re an expert?” he joked, though his grin softened as I showed him how to shape the clay.

It was messy, chaotic, and perfect.

By the end, we both had clay smudged on our faces, and we were laughing like we hadn’t in weeks.

From there, we stopped at a flower shop.

Lando picked out the biggest bouquet of my favorite flowers, holding it out to me with a boyish grin.

“For you,” he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re really pulling out all the stops today, aren’t you?” I teased, though my heart swelled as I buried my nose in the fragrant blooms.

“Only the best for my girl,” he replied, his tone playful but his eyes serious.

For the rest of the day, he didn’t leave my side.

He held my hand as we walked through the streets, his arm draped protectively around me whenever we stopped to rest.

He peppered me with kisses at every opportunity; on my cheek, my forehead, my temple.

“You’re being extra clingy today,” I said with a small laugh as he pulled me into another hug.

“Making up for lost time,” he murmured, his chin resting on the top of my head.

Bit by bit, the walls I’d built around my heart began to crumble.

His efforts felt genuine, and I found myself smiling more easily, the hurt from the night before slowly fading into the background.

By the time we got home, the sun was setting, painting the sky in soft shades of pink and orange.

We were both tired but happy as we curled up on the couch together.

Lando tucked me under his arm, his fingers gently tracing patterns on my shoulder.

“Y/N,” he said after a long moment of silence.

His tone was serious, and I looked up at him curiously.

“Yeah?”

“I need to say this again because you deserve to hear it,” he began, his voice steady but filled with emotion.

“I’m so sorry for everything, for neglecting you, for forgetting our anniversary, for making you feel like you weren’t my priority. You are my priority, Y/N. You’re the best thing in my life, and I hate that I made you feel otherwise.”

His words hit me straight in the chest, and I felt tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.

“I know I hurt you,” he continued, his hand cupping my cheek as he looked into my eyes.

“But I swear, I’ll spend every day proving how much I love you. I’ll never let you feel like that again.”

My heart felt full as I reached up to hold his hand.

“You’ve done a lot for me today, Lando,” I said softly.

“And it’s helped. I can see how much you mean it.”

“So... does that mean you forgive me?” he asked, his tone hopeful but cautious.

I smiled, leaning up to kiss him. “Yeah, I forgive you.”

The relief on his face was almost comical, and he immediately began peppering my face with kisses, my cheeks, my forehead, my nose, even the corners of my lips.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he murmured between kisses, his joy infectious.

Just when I thought the day was over, Lando suddenly sat up.

“Wait, I have one last thing,” he said, standing and disappearing into the other room.

I frowned, confused, as he returned with a small envelope in hand.

“What is this?” I asked as he handed it to me.

“Open it,” he urged, a playful but nervous glint in his eyes.

I carefully tore open the envelope, and my breath caught as I pulled out two plane tickets.

My eyes widened as I read the destination: Maldives.

“Lando… are you serious?” I asked, my voice trembling with disbelief.

He grinned. “You’ve always said you wanted to go. So, I booked us a two-week stay. Just you and me. No distractions.”

Tears welled in my eyes as I looked at him, overwhelmed.

“You didn’t have to do this…”

“Yes, I did,” he said firmly, pulling me into his arms.

“I’ll do anything to make you happy, Y/N. Anything.”

I hugged him tightly, burying my face in his chest.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“I love you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

“I love you too,” I replied, my voice muffled but sincere.

We settled back into the couch, cuddled up together, the weight of the past few weeks finally lifting.

After a long silence, I broke it with a playful smile.

“If you ever neglect me like that again, I’m breaking up with your ass,” I teased.

Lando laughed, his arms tightening around me. “Fair enough. But don’t worry, I won’t. Not ever again.”

And for the first time in weeks, I believed him.

The end

[starkenobi]

Stupidly in Love | Bucky Barnes x reader

masterlist — warnings: mcu; avenger!reader; misunderstanding; idiots to lovers; romcom; fluff.

Summary: Y/N agrees to help Bucky win Natasha's heart. No problem, right? Except for the fact that Natasha is her best friend and Bucky is her crush. Where the hell had she gotten herself into?

Y/N didn’t know how she ended up in that situation. Okay, frankly, deep inside she knew. She had dug her own grave. Just didn’t imagine it would be so damn deep. Who’d have imagined that approaching her crush would automatically result in that kind of misfortune? It sounded way too much like those awful teenage movies. But here she was, agreeing to help her crush to go out with her best friend.

Look, in her defense, she panicked. She should have confessed right there, but she chickened out. C'mon, it's Bucky Barnes she's talking about. The famous Winter Soldier, Captain America's best friend and one of the greatest Avenger's spy. Of course, she could hold her ground just fine too, even getting the nickname of Avenger's golden wildcard. But was it enough? Sometimes she didn't think so.

She was doomed.

It all happened so fast. She was in the library studying for her next mission when Bucky appeared in all his glory, approaching with determined steps. And then there was her, with doe eyes, trying to assimilate the whirlwind of words that escaped from Bucky’s lips. She was caught off guard, with her crush before her speaking so passionately... What should she do, say no? Probably, unfortunately, her brain crashed, and fifteen minutes later, she was running toward the shooting range, where she knew her best friend was. But when Y/N came on the range and saw Natasha practicing with some shield agents, she felt completely lost. Y/N could imagine what Natasha's reaction would be, but the broken brain and the heart hammering in her chest made her believe that she should keep to herself.

Of course, the secret didn’t last long. She couldn’t hide anything from Natasha, in fact, she’d never be able to hide what was happening even if she could. Bucky was even closer. He started to dedicate his spare time to her. Y/N thought it was strange, but Bucky never asked about Natasha's preferences and tastes. In fact, they spent their time together talking about her and Natasha's early friendship before the Avengers. Sometimes it was even possible to forget the reason the two became closer. But after a week, Natasha confronted Y/N. Slamming her hands on the table and pushing Y/N's book aside, Natasha stared at her with narrowed eyes.

“What the hell is happening? Are you two together? What are you hiding from me?”

Y/N swallowed hard, feeling her heart drop as she stared into her best friend's eyes. But as soon as she understood Natasha's questions, she frowned in utter confusion.

“What? What are you talking about?”

“C’mon, it’s me! You don’t have to lie to me.”

“But- Wait, is this about me and Bucky? We’re just friend-”

Natasha groaned, cutting her off. “Everyone is commenting on the fact that you two are glued to their hips!”

“What?”

“Don't “what” me. Am I your best friend or not, dude?”

Y/N nipped her lip, averting her eyes from her best friend's intense expression. This is it. Now was the moment that she’d have to confess the real reason Bucky had officialized their friendship, that her long crush was actually into her best friend. That she was utterly fucked up. Natasha raised an eyebrow at Y/N, folding her arms and waiting impatiently for an answer. The tension between them was palpable and Y/N, hanging her head low, whispered.

“Bucky asked for my help so he could ask you out.”

After a minute of silence, Y/N looked up confused by the lack of reaction. Only to watch Natasha burst into a fit of hysterical laughter.

“Fuck, that was a good one. For a moment I thought-”

Y/N's voice boomed. “I’m serious!”

Casting an accusatory glance toward Natasha, Y/N got up and disappeared into the hallways before Natasha could follow her. Over the next few weeks, Y/N did what she thought was best: avoid both Natasha and Bucky. But speaking the truth, after her fight with Natasha, her best friend made no effort to look for her either, staying by Clint's side. During the first days after the discussion, Bucky tried in all ways to approach Y/N, but after receiving several cold shoulders, he stopped trying and decided to just watch from afar. She felt like a fool, but at the same time, was completely confused and afraid to have a broken heart. Y/N realized that it wasn’t just a simple crush. She cursed herself, how could she fall in love when the situation was clear enough? Right in front of her fucking salad.

The compound was big, and over the years it became even bigger. But that didn’t stop the story from spreading faster than fire. Everyone was talking about the turmoil between the three greatest spies.

“Wait.” Y/N frowned, interrupting Tony's gossip. “What do you mean by three greatest spies?”

Tony looked at her as if she had grown a second head. “You really don’t know what's happening, do you?”

“What should I know?”

Tony gaped at her. “Dammit, wildcat! What have you been doing in the last two weeks and a half?”

“Honestly? I have no idea.”

As an excellent observer, Tony chuckled “You’ve been trying to avoid those two so hard that you closed yourself to the rest of the world.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but deep down she knew her friend was right. Slumping her shoulders, she sighed. “I'm an idiot, Tones.”

The thing is, Y/N was so determined to avoid everything, that she didn’t know of the fight during the last mission. More precisely, the fight between Clint and Bucky. And unlike the rumors, yes, Bucky didn’t accept very well all the gossip, but people who were there claim that Clint punched Bucky while howling something about him being a player.

“And if your little head is thinking that Clint was defending Natasha's honor. You're wrong.” Tony said smugly, a huge smile on his lips as he watched Y/N’s reaction closely.

“Oh?”

“It was because of you.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “What? But we're not even close!”

“So Natasha didn't tell you?”

And once again, after long weeks, Y/N was running toward the shooting range. With red ears and an annoyed look, she marched across the place until she was in the seating area. Clint was the first to notice her presence but not fast enough to stop Y/N from knocking Natasha down. No one knew how to react, watching in silence as Natasha pushed Y/N off, but only to throw a punch against her. They didn’t know why they were fighting, but with all the energy and lack of communication, the others had to step in.

“Enough!”

Clint's order fell into the void, Y/N struggled trying to get away from the other agents.

“You're a hypocrite, Romanoff!” Y/N roared with an accusatory glare.

“So that makes you a chicken!”

Natasha hissed back, but before things got worse, Clint's voice boomed. “I said enough!”

Ten minutes later, Y/N and Natasha were sitting on the avengers’ louge. Clint stared at them with his hands at his waist, a slightly annoyed expression on his face. He didn’t like to see the two best friends fighting over nothing.

“So?” realizing that neither of them would speak, Clint sighed exhausted “Look, Y/N, we’re not close friends but I like you. You're a good person. And that’s why I did what I did.”

“Thanks, but I know there's more than that.”

Natasha grunted displeased, running her hand through her hair before facing Y/N. “We’re together, I mean, Clint and I.”

Y/N scoffed. “Tell me something I haven’t found out through someone else.”

“I didn’t say anything before ‘cause we were just secretly fuck buddies.”

After a few minutes in silence, Y/N broke the tension with a burst of laughter, making Natasha and Clint exchange confused looks. But at the same speed as she began to laugh, in a heartbeat she was serious again and got up from the sofa.

“I can’t believe you said all that shit, when you were the one doing something behind my back!” Y/N hissed, pointing an accusatory finger towards Natasha.

“Well, what did yoy want? You were spending all your free time with him!” Natasha hissed right back, getting up as well but being stopped by Clint's hand on her shoulder.

Hearing the Natasha's words, Y/N’s angry expression quickly softened. “Wait, you're jealous?”

With a pinkish hue to her cheeks, Natasha scoffed. “No? No!”

“Yes, she’s totally jealous.”

Natasha glared at the archer. “Clint!”

“What? I’m tired of this fight.”

So, the power duo was back again. And Y/N started to explain in detail the day Bucky sought her out for help, the free time they spent together talking about everything and at the same time nothing. Clint and Natasha exchanged glances, everything making more sense. In the end, Y/N was completely oblivious and Bucky, and Winter Soldier was a damn coward.

Natasha and Clint decided that they wouldn’t say anything, for the time being, preferring to let Y/N vent and then get some dinner together. But after a few days, Natasha noticed that although things had returned to normal with Y/N, the idiot she calls best friend continued to ward off Bucky like a plague. A little uncertain, Natasha decided to talk with Steve for advice - the Captain was away for a long three months mission. But it didn’t take long to get a response from him, unfortunately, the message contained only two words: ask Sam.

Natasha sighed in defeat as Clint took the phone of her hands to read. Of course, Steve would push the problem (Bucky being stupid) to Sam, he was the best to solve this kind of bullshit (even if he didn’t like to admit it out loud).

Clint returned her phone, stole one of Natasha's toast and took a big bite before teasing his girlfriend. “You're o cute when you're worried.”

“Now isn’t the time to flirt and that’s my toast!”

Clint waved his hand dismissing Natasha. “Whatever, I'm already two steps ahead of you.”

Natasha scoffed. “How so?”

“I talked to Sam yesterday during our recon mission, we already have a plan.” the archer smiled smugly, stealing a sip of Natasha's coffee. “We locked Bucky and Y/N in the old lab on the east wing.”

“You WHAT?”

Y/N didn’t know how she ended up there. Sam invited her to see an old lab he had found that it could become hers, or so she thought. And to say that Sam Wilson could be 100% trustworthy. Now she's stuck in a room... With Bucky. A fucking cliché. And, maybe, a terrible nightmare. The two remained silent, avoiding eye contact and trying to dissociate from the awkwardness. They were embarrassed, but for completely different reasons. The words Sam said before leaving echoed in Y/N's head: If you wanna get out, better start talking. And it seemed that the more she thought about it the harder it seemed to be. Y/N nibbled at her bottom lip, sitting by the window, she could see Bucky's reflection sitting in one of the tables behind her. She wanted to tell everything to Bucky, but she didn’t have the guts. It had been 30 minutes, and Y/N could only imagine the worst scenarios.

She didn’t want to have her heart broken, no matter how much it hurt her to deal with what she felt for Bucky. Natasha was right, she was a chicken. But it wasn’t fair that her friends joined forces to put her in that situation.

“Y/N I need you to stop overthinking for a bit.”

Bucky's voice sounded so smooth, almost a whisper if it weren’t for the quiet room. Y/N looked up and turned slightly to glance at the tables, but instead, she found the super soldier standing closer, a shy smile on his lips.

Having the attention he wanted, Bucky sighed. “Hello.”

“H-hey, I'm sorry for-”

Y/N started nervously, wincing slightly for stammering, but Bucky quickly interrupted her. His voice softer, if that were possible. “That’s fine. Actually, huh, Tony warned me.”

She stared at him with big eyes, feeling her ears warm, she scoffed in disbelief. Sam and Tony were so dead. But none of that made sense. Why would her own friends do something like this? And warn Bucky about it but lie to her?

“You're overthinking again.”

“Why?” Bucky frowned, but Y/N didn’t wait for answers and pressed on. “Why did you agree to their plan?”

Bucky didn’t say anything immediately, deciding to kneel so he could look her better in the eyes. “Isn’t that obvious?”

She replied in a small voice. “No?”

He breathed out "cute" before moving closer and resting one hand on her knee. They were both so nervous, but now they couldn’t back down. Bucky could no longer ignore what he felt, not after knowing Y/N felt the same.

“I fell in love with you.”

She gasped at those words, her lips parted like she wanted to respond and finally gush everything she felt for Bucky. Y/N shook her head trying to form a coherent sentence, but she got distracted by Bucky's huge smile, eyes shining with adoration.

“I know.” Bucky whispered softly, taking Y/N’s face in his hands as if it was the most delicate flower. Then he inclined his head slightly so their lips were close enough that Y/N's warm breath mixed with his. “You can say it later, but I really want to kiss you now.”

Y/N felt as if her heart was going to explode, she nodded her head but quickly pressed her mouth to Bucky’s soft lips. It was better than she had dreamed. And she had dreamed way too many times about kissing Bucky.

The spell was suddenly broken when the door opened abruptly, slamming against the wall. She jumped slightly trying to pull away, but Bucky thought otherwise, deciding to wrap his arms around her waist in a half hug. And when they looked at the intruder, it was none other than Sam.

“That’s enough PDA for today, kids.”

Bucky groaned. “Fuck off.”

”No can do, the others are waiting.” Sam chidded, making no effort to hide his own smile. “Don't wanna be skinned alive by Romanoff, y'know.”

Sam headed toward the door, allowing Bucky to get up off the floor and bring Y/N with him. The two smiled secretly, she took initiative and held Bucky’s hand, wrapping their fingers together as if they've done it for years. Both smiling from ear to ear. Maybe they wanted to do it for so long that it just seemed natural. Bucky kisses her forehead tenderly, walking side by side as if there were no one else in the world. Y/N squeezed Bucky’s hand before finally saying the words with her heart on her sleeve.

“I love you too, in fact, I have for a long while.”

Bucky couldn’t stop smiling. “Yeah, I think I noticed.”

“Oh.”

“And sorry for coming with that terrible excuse. I kind of panicked.”

“What do you mean?”

Bucky stopped walking, turning on his heel so he could face her. “You're really oblivious, huh? I was going to ask yoy out that day.”

She frowned for a moment, but soon wrapped her arms around Bucky's neck, squeezing him. “I hope you take me on several dates and kiss me a lot.”

Bucky laughed at her teasing, noting her flushed face. “Everything you want, but with one condition.”

Y/N pulled away a little so she could look into Bucky's eyes. “Yeah?”

Bucky gave a peck on her lips before whispering. “Be my girlfriend.”

“Hey, lovebirds, can you leave it for later?”

The couple groaned, yet Sam remained unbothered. Maybe he was right and that was enough hot stuff for the curious eyes. But in the end, they didn't care. So, hand in hand, they entered the lounge. All smiles. Why? Well, they were stupidly in love.

comments, likes and reblogs are welcome and appreciated! thank you for reading and supporting my writing 💜

note: english isn’t my first language, and i don't mind if you call me inbox or dm to point out errors or typos. but please be kind!

[illbegottenfaith]

...and a bruise underneath

you can't help becoming distant as your relationship with theo starts feeling like an open wound (theo nott x reader)

Part 1 | Part 2

a/n - idek what this is anymore 😭 but I will say writing this had me giggling and kicking my feet every five minutes 🙈🙈🤭 this fic may or may not have been inspired by how crap my magnesium intake is :( college resumes in like a week for me and I get very cranky on less than 6 hours of sleep (i am a very light sleeper!!!) chat am I cooked

tropes/warnings - angst, happy ending (yayyy), suggestive but not explicit content, fluff, theo being befuddled, bamboozled, astonished, even; wholesome bickering

word count - 2.2k

taglist (everyone who asked to be tagged for part 2!) - @justaproudperson @pumpkinchee @lorenzozurzolocanruinmylife @smithieandy @augiemyers79

Once Theo returned from his trip, you somehow managed to minimise the little time you spent together, making barely convincing, half-baked excuses whenever you could. Still, he never commented on it. Perhaps he would have if he actually cared. You weren't sure if you were shutting him out to punish him or yourself.

Still, even you couldn't get out of spending time with your boyfriend entirely, which was how the two of you ended up in your dorm on a Thursday afternoon, working through your homework. You were sitting propped up by your numerous cushions, proof-reading an essay while Theo leaned against on the bed posts at the foot of your bed, reading a Potions book to help with his project.

The two of you worked in silence, equally absorbed in your work - or so you assumed until you heard Theo close his book and set it aside. Without warning, he shifted towards you, and before you could flinch or put more distance between you, his arms were encircling your waist and his head was resting on your abdomen.

You froze. This was the closest he had been since before the trip. You weren't sure if you had even hugged him when he returned.

You shoved down the stab of amusement in your gut. Theo was hardly the playful kind, but every once in a while, when your schedules allowed for it, he would be in a good enough mood to fool around with you in a manner that did justice to the expression. The two of you could lose entire afternoons to whispered giggles, frisky hands, and smothering kisses. Even now, your hand twitched with the instinct to comb through his soft, silky curls.

But while you normally found it endearing, today it was irritating, because you were in a fight with him, albeit one-sided.

"What...are you doing?" you asked in a bored monotone.

He shifted his head like he was getting comfortable. "Taking a nap."

You refused to pull your eyes away from your essay when Theo failed to elaborate. "With me?"

Theo sighed, like he thought you were being purposely difficult. "Yes, you."

Too thrown off to keep up the act, you finally looked up, watching the tiny shadows his long eyelashes cast against his face tanned from one too many summer Quidditch practices. "Why?"

He cracked an eye open and smiled lazily at you, half-drowsy. It wasn't fair how seductive his perpetual bedroom eyes typically were, let alone when they were laced with actual exhaustion. Despite yourself, you felt a flicker of satisfaction over being the only one who got to see him like this - uninhibited and free.

The satisfaction didn't last long. Without any warning, Theo plucked your essay out of your hand, casting it aside as he sat up with a teasing glint in his eye.

"Why? Would you prefer I take a nap with Mattheo?"

He was so close, you were sure he could hear your heart racing. Your mouth went dry. Days of subtly dodging his kisses or making excuses to sit away from him had gone down the drain. The thing about Theo's gaze was that it carried an intensity that demanded answers and explanations. Even as your pulse flickered under his relentless stare, you rolled your eyes without any real heat. "No, of course n-"

Theo leaned in, backing you up against your headboard. Your hands clenched in your sheets restlessly, aching to reach out to him. You struggled to focus on the words coming out of his mouth, dizzy with the proximity. "Is this your way of getting me to sleep with my best friend?"

You could feel it - your face was fully scarlet by now. Honestly, how on earth were you meant to come off calm and collected with a face that gave you away at the drop of a hat?

You shivered as he ran a hand up the skin exposed by your top riding up. You finally caved, settling your hands on his collar. "You're a real comedian, you know that?" you muttered, trying and failing to play it cool as your hands slithered into his hair, dragging him closer.

Theo obliged, hovering over you, broad-shouldered, not half the mess you were underneath him. Not yet, at least. "Next you'll be telling me you want to watch, you little perv."

Your lips twisted into a poorly suppressed smile. "It's why you love me."

"Your voyeuristic tendencies?"

You hummed as his lips finally connected to your pulse. As one of his hands started creeping up your ribcage, you were starting to remember why you put up with him. "Exactly."

You didn't hear what he had to say after that, blissfully distracted by the exhilarating feeling of his skin on yours.

"Cara..." Theo sighed, his breath ghosting the shell of your ear.

"Hmm?"

All too frustratingly soon, he pulled his hands away. He pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. You fought the overwhelming urge to cry. Moments like these proved that he was soft and pliant underneath that rough exterior. As he leaned back, you tenderly brushed back a lock of hair falling in his eyes. Why couldn’t he love you the way you loved him?

"Do you want to tell me why you've been freezing me out?"

The giddy feeling in your stomach died almost immediately. Maybe he wasn't as oblivious as you had thought. Your teeth dug into your swollen bottom lip. You hadn't expected a confrontation, especially not half-naked, though you were beginning to realise it was an oversight on your part. The direct person that he was, Theo was never one for playing games or beating around the bush. You felt your head start to pound, suddenly feeling far too exposed in more ways than one. You distractedly started rebuttoning your shirt before he stopped you.

"Tesoro..." he prompted softly. You heard the firm message hidden in his tone - no more deflecting. You bit the inside of your cheek, gaze fixed on the strong, slender fingers covering yours. It was the closest you had gotten to holding hands.

You felt the absurd urge to laugh. It was laughable, wasn't it? How tragically ironic the whole thing was? You had liked that Theo was low maintenance, but somewhere along the way you decided that low maintenance wasn't enough for you.

You shook your head, finally accepting defeat. How long did you think you could keep up the charade? How long did you think you could tolerate this misery? Indefinitely? Of course not. As soon as you had watched him step off the carriage, still as fresh-faced and only a little quieter than usual, you had known - you were going to have to tell them, and after one awkward conversation, the two of you would part ways, and he would fade into obscurity over the years, only to be remembered as some guy you had dated when you hadn't known any better.

This was it. The beginning of the end.

"Why didn't you tell me about Katherine?"

You thought saying that would be much harder than it was. But then again, you had nothing to lose - not that you ever had anything to lose.

Theo raised his eyebrows slightly. "Ka-"

"Katherine Sawyer," you hissed. After weeks of avoiding bringing it up, it suddenly felt unbearable, having to wait one moment longer for the answer. "You know, the one you've been cosying up with every other night?"

"I only know one Katherine," Theo started irritably. "Just the one. And I haven't spoken to her since we wrapped up our Transfiguration project before I left for my trip. You remember, the one worth half our grade?"

"...oh." Oh, indeed.

"This isn't like you, Y/N," Theo pressed. "You've never cared about who I talk to. You've always trusted me."

The implication stung. "I don't care who you talk to," you protested. "I still trust you."

And it was true - you had only very briefly, if at all, entertained the idea of Theo having an affair. Even then, it was a notion borne of weeks of exhaustion from catering to your aconite's every little need. But it had been the spark for your brooding resentment.

"I just wish you had told me about her or mentioned her some time. It feels - " Your breath caught. "It felt like you were keeping secrets from me."

Theo's jaw ticked. He let out an exasperated sigh.

"Then why didn't you just ask me?"

You dropped your eyes.

"Dunno. Just...didn't want you to get mad."

His eyebrows disappeared into his hair.

"Didn't want me to get mad?" Theo echoed incredulously. "Honestly, L/N," he said sharply, looking more than a little peeved, "what did you think I was going to do?"

"I don't know," you wailed, closer to tears than ever, "break up with me?"

Theo opened his mouth to respond before closing it again. He furrowed his brow, mouthing indecipherable half-words as if trying very hard to wrap his head around what you were saying. Then, without warning, he pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you.

"Right," he finally said, with the air of someone washing their hands of some uselessly challenging task. You could barely focus on his words with the thrill running under your skin. Theo didn't mind being hugged - it was one of the frills he indulged you in - but he wasn't exactly the hugging type. "Next time something's bothering you, I want you to stop what you're doing and come find me."

You twisted your head out of his chest with some difficulty. "What if you're-"

"No - no exceptions," he continued, tightening his hold around you. "No letting it spiral into - whatever this was-"

"So," you interrupted shakily, "you're not breaking up with me?"

Theo glanced down at you, looking like he was going to have a coronary.

"No," he said, with some effort, staring at you like you'd grown a third head. "I'm not." He tilted his head, still squinting at you. "Are you sure you've been growing your aconite properly? It seems like it's been screwing with your head."

"Hey," you scowled, wriggling out of his grasp and giving him a dirty look. "I'll have you know Professor Sprout thinks my mandrakes are -"

But you never got to what Professor Sprout thought about your mandrakes, because you had spotted a familiar teasing glint in Theo's eye.

"About time you started taking it out on me," he laughed, blocking your spirited yet ineffective efforts in shoving him off your bed. You flopped onto your pillows once you gave up, flushed with bedraggled hair. Served you right for dating a 200-pound brute of a guy. "I was starting to think you were going to keep that all bottled up forever."

"Yeah?" you panted, embarrassingly out of breath. "Just you wait. I'm not...finished. It's going to be two more weeks of...of this...once I-"

"- catch your breath, darling?"

You glared at him. Theo could make anything sound salacious while looking perfectly innocent, a trait that was especially inconvenient during some of your shared lessons. You debated giving him the finger, but that would only further amuse him.

Besides, you were feeling very comfortable lying on your mountain of pillows and cushions. You closed your eyes for just a minute. "Dead man walking, Nott," you mumbled, pushing back the hair that had plastered to your forehead.

You opened your eyes when you felt him rest his head on your abdomen once again, his arms coming up around your hips.

"I'm serious about the nap, though," Theo said. "Jet lag is a bitch and Mattheo's going to take the piss out of me if I'm too tired to show up for practice."

You softly carded your fingers through his hair, your fingernails barely grazing his scalp. "Yeah, yeah, sure, you're sleepy. You're always sleepy." You tapped his face insistently as he already looked halfway to dozing off. "You realise that?"

"'M not," he mumbled out the corner of his mouth, relaxing under your touch. "It's the jet lag."

You rolled your eyes. "Yes, you are. All I have to do is get you to stop thinking for two minutes and you'll nod right off, jet-lagged or not. It's because you're always drinking that damn coffee at all hours of the night." Your hair-raking turned somewhat fastidious. "What's your magnesium intake like?"

Theo huffed. "You're so bossy, you know that?"

"Avocado, spinach, almonds, quinoa-"

"I eat plenty o-"

" - less coffee -"

"I like the taste!"

"You could always take decaf."

Theo choked, eyes flying open.

"You take that back."

You eyed him sternly but relented. He couldn't help his Italian roots. "Well, you still need enough magnesium to get a proper night's rest-"

Theo groaned, burying his face into your stomach once again.

"Enough with the magnesium." He sucked in a breath between his teeth, grumbling to himself. "Merlin, I forgot how bothersome you could be."

"It's not my fault you need someone to bully you into taking care of yourself," you retorted.

"Whatever," Theo muttered, and it was something so comfortingly familiar you couldn't hold back a smile.

"Honestly...you and your...fucking magnesium..."

[iseos]

SHE LOVES ME NOT

─── sim jaeyun x f!reader s. not saying “i love you” back 1130 words g. fluff | © iseos library

you had been scrolling on tiktok when you came across a video that made you laugh out loud. it was one of those harmless pranks: not saying "i love you" back to your boyfriend just to see how long he could go without getting upset. the boyfriend's confused reaction was too funny, and you couldn't help but grin at the thought of trying it on jake. after all, he loved saying "i love you," and he always expected to hear it in return.

the prank started innocently enough. that morning, as jake left the bedroom, turned and said "i love you," with a casual smile. however, you didn't answer, pretending to be engrossed in your phone.

you felt a tiny pang of guilt as he paused, waiting for your words. but when you didn't respond, you could see his shoulders slumped a little as he eventually walked out.

throughout the rest of the day, she continued. jake would say "i love you" in his usual affectionate way, and you would ignore him. sometimes you'd mutter something else, sometimes you'd stay silent. he'd give you a questioning glance, but you kept your face neutral, avoiding his eye contact.

at one point, he tried to catch you off guard by saying it when you were cooking, his voice light and playful. "i love you."

you stirred the pot without looking up, "mhmm."

jake blinked, his lips pressing into a thin line. you could feel his gaze burning into your back, but you refused to break. you had to keep going.

you could feel him watching you, a subtle sadness setting in. every time you ignored him, he seemed to get a little quieter, a little more distant. it was working, you had to admit, it was kind of adorable how much it seemed to affect him. but quickly, it began to feel...wrong. the last thing you wanted was for him to feel hurt or unloved. you found yourself distancing yourself from him just a bit, trying not to be in his presence too much, but if you looked into his eyes for too long, you knew you'd cave.

so, when jake told you he was heading to the corner store to buy more snacks, you gladly welcomed the space.

"okay, ill be here!" you said with a forced cheerfulness, glad for the temporary break from the prank.

jake nodded, "ill be right back." then, as he reached the door, he turned and said it again, a little quieter this time, "i love you."

you didn't even look up from your phone. "mhmm."

you heard the familiar sound of the door opening, but his footsteps abruptly stopped. you glanced up, slightly startled. jake was still standing in the doorway, his hand on the door handle. his back was to you, but he wasn't moving.

you felt a rush of guilt and couldn't help but smile to yourself.

"don't keep the door open, you're letting cold air inside," you said, trying to sound casual as if it was nothing unusual. jake didn't reply, his silence louder than anything. you sat there, biting the inside of you cheek to stifle the laughter threatening to escape. hidden by the back of the couch, you covered you mouth, trying your best to keep from laughing out loud.

without saying anything else, jake pulled the door closed and left. when you heard his footsteps getting farther away, you couldn't hold it in any longer.

when he returned, he was carrying multiple filled bags of snacks—way more than they needed. he dropped them onto the kitchen counter, his expression slightly sour. you glanced at him from the couch, your heart racing, but you stuck to your plan.

"got your favorites," he muttered, almost as if he was talking to himself. but still, no "i love you."

the evening went on, and when it was finally time to go to sleep, you finished getting ready first and got into bed first, trying not to look guilty. you had spent the day dodging his glances and avoiding too much physical closeness; you didn't want to break, you didn't want the prank to end too early.

jake climbed into bed after you, his body feeling a little heavier than usual. he rested his bed on your shoulder, wrapping his arms around your waist, still silent sulking.

you were trying so hard not to laugh. he was so cute when he was upset, but you couldn't let him know the truth just yet. you tried to focus on the tv, but you could feel him sighing dramatically against you. the deep sighs, each one louder and more exaggerated than the last, were obviously intended to get your attention.

after a few more, your resolve started to crumble. you couldn't help but lightly pat his back, though you were desperately trying not to laugh.

jake sighed again, this time practically groaning as he moved so his whole body was laying on top of you, obviously expecting a response.

trying your hardest not to crack, you barely managed to keep a straight face, "what's wrong?" you asked, your voice soft but far from serious.

"did i do something wrong? are you mad at me? because if i did, please just tell me," he whined as his arms tightened around you.

you shoulders shook as you tried not to laugh. his voice was so sincere, and his little sighs were so exaggerated, that you couldn't hold it in anymore. finally, you let out a burst of laughter.

jake lifted his head from your shoulder to blink at you with a confused frown. he briefly glanced at the tv but it didn't show anything to warrant this type of laughter from you, "what? what's so funny?"

you struggled to get the words out through your laughter. "it was just a prank!" you managed to say between fits of giggles, "i was messing with you. i didn't mean to make you so upset, i just thought it'd be funny."

jake's face dropped, "you—what? i thought i did something wrong!" his face went slack for a moment before he groaned. you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pulled him flush against you again as you continued to laugh. he dropped his head back to your shoulder with a groan. his arms tightened around you even more, squeezing you in a way that was almost too tight.

"never do that to me again," he muttered into your shirt, his voice muffled but sincere. you couldn't help yourself, laughing even harder.

"i'm sorry! i didn't mean to make you so upset, but—your reaction was so funny! i promise i won't do it again," but even as you said that, you knew deep down, you definitely would.

[please-destroy]

You'd Like That

Elizabeth Olsen x Reader

Word Count: 1K

.

You’d thrown her off. You could tell. 

Lizzie’s smile was dimmed. She leaned her chin against her hand, watching you from the other side of the small party. Her forehead was furrowed, her finger touched her lower lip without her realising.

You looked down at your drink. It was all your fault.

.

You’d been close friends for years. For a long time, you’d floated around in the same social circles, never really saying more than a few words to each other. 

Then, there’d been a slightly too drunk get together organised by a mutual friend. 

That evening quickly became something unexpectedly perfect. You’d spent hours talking with her in someone else’s backyard, wrapped in old blankets that you’d found when she’d started shivering. You talked for hours about every subject, laughing more than you’d ever laughed with someone before. 

When you left that party in the early morning, you’d wondered if this was one of those magic nights. Or, if Lizzie might really become a friend. 

She called you the next afternoon and answered your question with her nonchalant greeting and conversation.

Her friendship quickly became the best part of your life. 

Life doesn’t follow the routes you expect. This was one of the good unexpected turns. 

Lizzie was not lowkey. That was a common misconception. 

You remembered the first time she called you from a Whole Foods. It had taken a ten minute ramble about grocery choices until you realised the subtle anxiety in her voice. The fear of making a mistake, the many ways it could manifest. 

She apologised after the call. A line of texts, where she made fun of herself. 

The world shifted on its axis and you saw Lizzie clearly then. 

‘Call me whenever, I’ll never mind.’ You’d replied simply.

Lizzie didn’t trust easily. That was true.

It’s how you knew you were special. It was so easy to find a rhythm with her, to live on the same wavelength.

Every year for her birthday, you spent the day together. Every year, you told her that you loved her. That she’d made your year better.

Lizzie would smile, roll her eyes and wrap you in a hug. 

You knew that you were special to her but you’d been careful not to jump to conclusions. 

Until, of course, you’d said something stupid. Something honest. And Lizzie had left. 

.

Now, at the party, as you refilled your drink and tried to ignore the loud music, you realised that you’d likely ruined everything.

The thought settled on your shoulders like a heavy weight, a ready nausea filling your throat. You left your untouched drink on a side-table. You craned your neck, scouting for Lizzie in the crowd.

You saw her dim silhouette on the small balcony and headed over. 

Her pale face turned towards you as you slid open the french doors. Lizzie was sitting on an ancient wicker chair that looked close to collapse. It creaked as she moved to face you.

‘We should talk.’ You suggested softly.

Lizzie’s long hair shifted over her shoulder as she nodded in agreement. Her fingers trailed the edge of the balcony railing. 

‘Did you always like me like that?’ She asked abruptly. ‘Is that why you started talking to me?’

Her cool tone made you nervous. You wondered if this was pointless, if everything had already unravelled.

‘No.’ You answered slowly, careful in your honesty. ‘Just a little bit more every day.’

Lizzie’s expression faltered. You could tell it wasn’t what she’d expected. She crossed her legs and you couldn’t help but notice her bare skin.

‘Since I got bigger movie deals?’ Lizzie asked, accusation barely hidden. 

A flash of hurt ran through you.

‘No.’ You tried to keep a level tone. ‘Since the day you called me at Whole Foods.’

Lizzie shook her head.

‘That doesn’t make sense.’ She said quietly.

You shrugged, staying silent as sadness rolled through you. This felt pointless, you’d already lost her. You’d already made the confession that you couldn’t undo. A wave of grief was burgeoning. You wondered if you’d drown. 

You slipped your arms out of your sweater and pulled it over your head.

‘Every year, I spend Valentine’s Day excited that your birthday is only two days away.’ You told her quietly. You handed her your sweater and nodded down to her bare legs, hoping she’d use it as a blanket. She always got cold on nights like these.

‘I’m sorry I fucked it up.’ You told her softly. Lizzie’s eyes reflected distant stars back at you. 

You walked back into the party with the distinct feeling that you were no longer yourself.

.

With no alcohol in you, you decided to leave and walk the few streets back to your place. The cold air countered the twisted grief burning up your insides.

You walked with a mind full of Lizzie. 

Valentine’s Day was tomorrow. You couldn’t care less, not anymore. 

You thought about her birthday in three days. You tried not to think about her smile, about how quickly a person can become a memory. You hoped Lizzie wouldn’t be alone for it.

.

You turned the corner of your street. 

Lizzie was stepping out of an Uber at your front door. She was wearing your sweater, her hair was caught beneath it. She straightened at the sight of you, raising her hand in a tentative wave.

You walked closer, heart in your mouth. Unfiltered surprise was running through your veins.

‘Why Whole Foods?’ Lizzie asked when you were in hearing distance. ‘Why did it start then?’

You laughed suddenly, at the most obvious unanswerable question in the world.

‘Why not?’ You countered. ‘It had to happen some time.’

Lizzie watched you like you were something brand new. A silence fell between you before she spoke again.

‘Valentine’s Day is tomorrow.’ Lizzie told you seriously, fingers playing with the sleeves of your sweater. ‘We have nothing planned, and I actually had other plans. Not with anyone, not anything like that. But, I’d still have to cancel them. And I had errands to run in the afternoon.’

You recognised the familiar tone of Lizzie’s anxiety. You realised suddenly that she was just scared. 

You took her hand, twining your fingers and giving a quick squeeze.

‘We could just get groceries.’ You suggested with a soft smile.

Lizzie let out a shaky breath, her lips quirked upwards. She squeezed your hand back.

‘Yeah.’ She teased. ‘You’d like that.’

[coolemmasulivan2]

There For You

Pairing: Mason Mount x Physician!Reader

Summary: You’re a physician at the club who’s grown close to Mason. However, after he suffers another injury, he begins to distance himself, leaving you confused and unsure of how to help him.

Word count: 2729

I'll be there when you need me most I'll be there if you're ever alone Together, we can grow old I can't leave you

It was your first day back at the training camp after two weeks off, and your stomach twisted in pain as you scanned the list of injured players and Mason’s name was at the top.

You hated seeing his name there. He’d been through so much already, and every setback felt like life was testing him a little too harshly. Ever since moving to the club, he’d spent more time in your office than any player should. It seemed like he couldn’t catch a break.

In those long hours spent tending to his injuries and working on his recovery plans, the two of you had built a beautiful friendship, not because he was a regular in your office, but because of who he was.

Even when he was hurting, Mason had a way of lightening the mood. He always managed a smile. It was the kind of smile that said, I’ll get through this. Somehow, I always do.

Maybe that’s why, little by little, you’d fallen for him. It wasn’t just his courage or his never-quit attitude, it was the way he smiled, even when life knocked him down.

The night before, you had watched the game against City, and you didn’t need to be there in person to know it had happened again. The moment you saw Mason sitting on the field, head down in defeat, your heart broke for him.

"No! Bloody hell! Someone get this guy to a witch." Your dad shouted at the TV, throwing his hands up in frustration. "Someone’s playing with his voodoo doll!"

"Dad!" You called out, shooting him a look as your little nephew that was Mason's fan sank on the sofa.

"What? It’s true!" He replied, shrugging as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. The United scarf around his neck swayed as he turned back to the screen. "The guy’s got more than bad luck."

You opened the door and stepped into the medical office. Mason was already sitting on the examination bed, his head down, eyes fixed on his hands as they opened and closed into tight fists.

"Hey, Mason!" You greeted softly.

His head shot up, his expression briefly surprised. "Hey!" He said, his voice deeper than usual. He didn’t smile like he normally did. "I thought you were still on holiday."

"They don't let me have three weeks off during the Premier League." You said with a small chuckle as you pulled on a pair of blue gloves. "And it’s a good thing they don't Let's have a look?"

He didn’t say anything, just nodded and laid back on the bed, stretching out his legs.

As you started examining his leg, you kept your tone light, hoping to break through his mood. "You've been through worse, right? I mean, you're basically indestructible at this point." That earned you nothing. No laugh, no smile, not even a glance. Just silence.

You focused on your work, carefully testing for swelling and tender areas. Mason didn't flinch, didn't make a sound, but the tension in his jaw told you everything you needed to know.

You sighed softly, stepping back. "Okay."

"It's bad, isn't it?" He asked, his tone clipped, as though he already knew the answer.

You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. "It's not great." You admitted, keeping your voice steady. "The scans will give us the full picture, but you'll need to rest for a few weeks, at least."

At that, Mason let out a short, bitter laugh. "A few weeks. Of course." He shook his head and sat up, his movements stiff and frustrated.

"I know it's frustrating." You said gently, trying to reach him. "But we'll make sure you heal properly, and you'll come back even stronger. You've done it before."

"Yeah." He said flatly, his tone ice-cold. "And look where that got me."

The sharpness of his words stung, catching you off guard. You glanced up, meeting his gaze. His face was hard, his usual warmth replaced with a wall of indifference.

"You're allowed to be upset." You said softly. "This is a tough break, but it's not the end. You're one of the strongest people I know, Mason."

He let out a small, humorless smile that never reached his eyes. "Thanks for the pep talk." He said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'll add it to my collection."

Before you could respond, Mason pushed himself off the bed, grabbed his phone from the desk and walked out of the office without a second glance.

You stood there, speechless, the weight of his frustration and pain settling heavily in the room.

"So, he just left?" Your best friend asked, setting her beer down on the table with a thud.

"Yeah!" You said, still in disbelief. "I mean… I get it. He's angry and frustrated with everything going on, but I... I was just trying to help him." You took a long sip of your beer, then lowered your voice to a whisper. "I just want to help him."

Your friend gave you a knowing smile, leaning back in her chair. "You're so down bad for him."

You groaned, running your hands through your hair. "I know."

You groaned, running your hands through your hair. "I know."

Your friend chuckled. "Honestly, I don't blame you. The guy's gorgeous. Moody, apparently, but gorgeous."

"It's not just that. It's… He's been through so much, and he still manages to stay so positive. He works harder than anyone I've ever seen. He deserves more than this."

"And yet, he shut you out."

"Yeah." You sighed, slumping back in your chair. "I don’t think it's personal. I think he's just… overwhelmed. But it still stung, you know? We've talked so much before. I thought I..." You paused, trying to find the words. "I thought I could be someone he leaned on."

Your friend reached across the table, squeezing your hand. "He will, eventually. Sometimes guys like him need time. Doesn't mean you're not important to him."

You gave her a grateful look. "I hope you're right."

The next morning, you were in your office early, sipping coffee and organizing your notes. You had barely slept, your mind replaying the tension with Mason over and over.

With a sigh, you shook off the memory and focused on the task at hand, jotting down follow-up plans for a few players. The knock on your door startled you.

"Come in!" You called, glancing up.

Your coworker, James, stepped in, clipboard in hand. "Morning." He said, his tone casual but hesitant, like he was bracing himself for something.

"Morning." You replied, eyeing him curiously. "What's up?"

He hesitated for a moment, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Uh… just wanted to give you a heads-up. Mason requested to transfer to me for his treatment plan."

You froze. "What?"

James gave a small shrug. "He asked me this morning. Said he wanted to switch."

"Why?" You asked, the word coming out sharper than you intended.

"I don't know." James said carefully "He didn't say much, just that he thought it would be better for him."

You stared at him, stunned. "Better for him? I don't understand. Why would he…" You trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

James sighed. "Look, I didn't want to get into it. I know you two are friends, you have a close relationship, but If you want to know why, you're going to have to ask him."

For a moment, you just sat there, trying to make sense of what you’d just heard.

"I see." You said finally, your voice quieter now. "Thanks for letting me know, James."

James gave you a sympathetic look. "Hey, don't take it personally, okay? He's going through a lot. You know how players can get when they're injured. It's probably just his way of dealing with it."

"Yeah." You murmured, forcing a small smile. "I get it."

But as James left, you found yourself staring at your desk, Mason’s name at the top of your notes. Why didn’t he want your help anymore?

Mason was sitting on the bench in the locker room, phone in hand, as he responded to a text from his brother. He barely looked up when Bruno walked in.

"Hey!" Bruno said casually, shrugging off his jacket with an air of ease.

"Hey!" Mason replied, his eyes still glued to his phone. "How was training?"

Bruno snorted, tugging on a clean shirt. "Good." He said shortly, clearly uninterested in lingering on the topic. Instead, he glanced over at Mason. "James told me you switched to him for physio."

Mason shrugged, leaning back. "Yeah. Figured it's better this way."

Bruno raised an eyebrow as he sat down, pulling off his trainers. "Better for you or for her?" His tone was light, but his words hit home.

Mason's jaw tightened as he turned to look at Bruno. "What?"

"You and Y/n seemed close." Bruno said. "She's solid, actually gives a crap about us, which, let's be real, doesn't happen every day."

"James is solid too."

Bruno held up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. Just saying, she might be wondering why you're icing her out." Mason didn’t answer, his gaze dropping to the floor. Bruno sighed as he stood, slinging his towel over his shoulder. "Whatever you're running from, just make sure you're not pushing the wrong people away, mate."

Mason stayed silent, the weight of Bruno's words settling over him. He kept his head down, listening to the sound of Bruno's footsteps as he disappeared toward the showers.

A week had passed, and you still hadn't managed to speak to Mason in person. You'd tried texting him multiple times, asking if something was wrong, if you'd upset him somehow, but he always left you on read.

Today, you were determined to put an end to the silence. It was your day off, but you knew Mason would be at the camp. So, you drove there, parking directly in front of his car and waiting.

As usual, Mason was one of the last to leave, even though he hadn't been training with the team. He emerged from the building, his bag over his shoulder and his coat zipped all the way up against the cold, as he made his way toward his car.

You took a deep breath and stepped out of your car. He didn't notice you at first, his focus elsewhere, but as you moved closer, emerging from the shadows, he froze on his tracks.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you standing there under the dim parking lot lights.

You suddenly felt nervous and exposed. You swallowed the lump in your throat. Slowly, both of you began to move, closing the distance until you were close enough to reach out and touch him.

"Hi?" You shot back. An avalanche of words was threatening to tumble out. "That's it? That's all you've got to say? Hi?" Mason opened his mouth, but you didn’t give him the chance. "No, Mason, I don't want your 'Hi.' I want answers. I want to know why. Why did you ask to be transferred to James? Why have you been ignoring me?" You kept going, every bottled-up thought spilling out. Mason stood there, silent, his gaze fixed on you. Even in anger, you were still cute. "Mason?" You demanded, pulling him out of his trance.

He blinked, suddenly lifting his eyes from your lips to meet yours. "What?"

You shook your head, letting out a sigh. "Have I done something wrong?"

Mason's swallowed hard, his gaze breaking away from yours. "You haven't done anything wrong, Y/n!" He said quietly.

Your chest tightened at his words. "Then why?" Your voice cracked, trembling under the weight of your emotions. "I thought we were friends, Mason."

Mason let out a sarcastic chuckle. "That's the problem!"

You furrowed your eyebrows. "What?"

"I-- I don't want to be your friend." He said, his voice just enough to make you freeze. "I don't want to be your friend because I want to be so much more! I want to be the one who carries you to bed when you fall asleep on the sofa. I want to be the one you ask to open jars, the one whose hoodies you steal. I want to be the person who holds you when you cry and makes you laugh when you need it. I want to take care of you—not the other way around." His words knocked the wind out of you.

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. You weren't one to be left speechless, but somehow Mason had managed it.

"I... do you like me?" You said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Mason bit his lip, almost nervously. "Was that not obvious?"

"But… why would you push me away? Wait--" Your eyes widened. "Did you do this because you were my patient?"

Mason let out a long sigh, his breath visible in the chilly Manchester air. "I'm tired, Y/n." He said, his voice low and pained. "You've seen me at my worst since the day we met. And I hate that. I hate that you've only ever seen this version of me: the injured, broken version."

"Mase--"

"No!" He interrupted, his voice cracking. "I feel like everything's going wrong. I feel like I’m failing as a footballer, as a person. And I hate that all you've seen is that failure."

You reached for him, your hands trembling as they rested on his arms. "Mason, listen to me." You said firmly. "The last thing I see you as is a failure." He turned his face away, but you cupped his face, gently forcing him to meet your gaze. "You’re the strongest, most hardworking person I know. Maybe you’ve had more setbacks than most, but you work three times harder than anyone else. I’m your physician, yes, but I’m also your friend. And I just want to help you. I want to be there for you, no matter what."

For a moment, he looked at you like you had hung the moon and stars. His hand rose hesitantly, cupping your cheek as if he were afraid you might disappear.

Slowly, his face leaned closer to yours, his lips brushing yours gently. When you didn’t pull away, your lips parted, and he kissed you.

The kiss was soft, hesitant at first, then deeper, carrying the weight of everything unsaid until now. For that moment, there was no cold air, no frustration, no confusion, just the warmth of his lips against yours.

When you finally broke apart, your breaths mingled in the frosty air. His forehead rested lightly against yours, his eyes searching yours as if trying to read you.

"I'm sorry." Mason whispered.

"For what?" You asked softly.

"For pushing you away. For being such a mess." He admitted, his eyes dropping to the ground. "You deserve someone who's got it all together, not someone who's barely holding on."

You shook your head. "Mason, no one has it all together. We're all just doing our best. And you're not a mess, you're human. You're allowed to feel frustrated, to have bad days. But you don't have to go through it alone."

"You make me want to be better." He said quietly.

"And you make me want to fight harder." You replied with a shy smile.

He pulled you into a tight embrace and you burried your face in his neck. The weight of his struggles seemed to melt away. The two of you stood there for a while, wrapped in each other's arms. When you pulled apart, he looked down at you and smiled.

You gave him a gentle smile, tucking your hands into your pockets, suddenly feeling shy. "So… go home, rest, and we'll talk... tomorrow? Properly this time."

"Properly." He repeated with a nod.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The night air was cold, but the warmth of the moment made it easy to ignore. Finally, you took a small step back as you said goodbye, offering him one last glance before turning to leave.

"Y/n." His voice stopped you in your tracks.

You turned. "Yes?"

He hesitated. "Do you… do you want to have dinner? Like... today!"

A smile spread across your face. "I'd love that."

[junedenim]

hello you

one day more, part four

warnings: dad!al, fluff, slight angst, sprinkled with smut (piv)

word count: 12.4k

Sometime around when Lottie had just given birth to Franny, Alex got infected with the flu. It was likely he picked it up somewhere in those hospital halls, but that was never officially determined. Lottie banished him from the house, not wanting him to infect her or their newborn baby. Thus was born Alex's worry and fear that he was missing Franny's life.

He belonged to a profession that often required him to fly away. Lottie said she never cared much, only that she missed him while he was gone. She considers these girls-only days to be the sweet, special moments Franny will remember with her maman. 

But Alex is stuck with that ache of missing them always, even when they are right in front of his eyes. It's like two people laughing at an inside joke. He spent eleven years of his life missing her and it has never fully gone away. Lottie has tried to find solutions to this. It helped that they had mostly three uninterrupted years together after Franny was born, but still, Alex is pained by being away and phone calls just don't do it. 

He wants to smell Lottie's lavender shampoo and feel the glitter nail polish on Franny's fingers. The last time he saw them was when the band was in England and he was, of course, sick. He had Franny paint the nail polish on his nails. It mostly ended up on the skin surrounding the nails, but the act allowed him to endure the six weeks without them because he could just rub his fingers on the pink mess.

He talks to them every night before Franny goes to bed. One night he embarrassingly sang her a lullaby in the corner of a bar. He always feels bad about drinking and having fun without them, especially Lottie, who has to deal with a whiny four-year-old who doesn't want to go to sleep. 

Lottie always insists it's fine but he worries one day it won't be fine. He often feels like he's never got his shit together. She's just dragging him along. Maybe that's why a wedding took so long. Lottie doesn't even wear a ring. Her last name is still the same too and she was the one who wanted to get married. Sometimes he thinks she's playing a big trick on him. That this has all been some massive fraudulent ruse on him and he'll wake up with them gone one day.

Right before they got married, they were stuffed in a Brussels hotel with Franny. They tucked themselves away in the bathroom while Franny was sleeping. Lottie was in the bath and he was sitting on the closed lid of the toilet in his boxers watching her. 

They were sharing a "celebratory" glass of wine between them. Alex asked her, "Do you want me to change my last name?" He thought she might laugh but she didn't. Her expression was contemplative, still processing his words. She sank deeper into the tub, the water touching her cupid's bow. She took her time thinking and he passed it by sipping on the wine. 

She lifted her mouth out and asked, "Why would you do that?"

He shrugged and said, "'Cause I love you" because that has been the driving force of all his actions since 2018. 

She smiled and placed her arms on the edge of the tub, resting her chin on her folded arms. She was cherubic, one of Botticelli's angels. "That's nice."

He came beside her and kissed her after that, but in the darkness of all these empty hotel rooms, he thought about how she didn't say I love you back. He gets this way on the road and he knows he's overthinking and he knows she’s probably nervous that all this time away from one another isn't good for you. But still.

They got married the next day, so, who is he to doubt her love? He's just insecure and lonely, he knows this. It's different now—missing someone. His love for Lottie is undeniable. It's the only way he's able to function, but Franny...that's something different.

She's a piece of him. Literally. Sometimes it feels like she's his heart just running around their London home with a mind of its own. He always knew having children could be like this. He didn't know it would feel like this. It came to him quickly in two moments. 

Right after she was born they placed her by Lottie, but since it was a C-section and given Lottie was still open, they gave her to Alex in place of the usual skin-to-skin with the mother. There, when his heartbeat rang through her little ears and her cries turned to small whimpers, he cried with her. It was the quiet kind of crying. I know how you feel, kid, I love you too.

Loving her is the easiest and hardest thing to do. A weight crushes down on him, threatening to break through his ribs that only subsides when she pats his face and says, "Papa." (Yeah, Lottie got her way).

Late at night on one of those phone calls, he talks to Lottie. She's cleaning up their house in London and he's smoking a cigarette on his hotel's balcony in Vegas. He hears Franny's toys rattle against her hands as she says, "There's no need to be jealous, Al." Maybe he should feel lucky that he's looking out at Sin City's lights and was able to have two whiskeys during a game of poker. He doesn't.

But she speaks to him in a way that always puts things in perspective. The calm in the middle of the storm. It was something that used to seem so unexciting to his teenage mind, even when he was running around Brussels with her, he thought happiness would lay there, but really it lies in her, not the moment.

"You don't miss me?" He asked it jokingly, but he took her answer seriously.

"You're all I think about. The good and the bad. I even miss having your wet towels on the floor."

"Wow," he chuckles. She's crying. He could hear it. But he doesn't comment on it, he knows it will hurt her more. "I bet all my gambling money on green in roulette."

She laughs then says, "You lost, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but it's okay. Got me on the phone with you sooner."

He keeps a photo in his wallet. He'd never thought he'd come to an age when he did that. Lottie makes fun of him for having the default iPhone background. She doesn't know about the photo in his wallet.

It's Lottie and Franny at Waterstones. It's a photostrip, so technically it's four pictures in one. She showed it to him when the band came through London. At first, it felt like another thing he missed out on, but then Lottie showed him a photo strip taken of her with her mother, right when she was around Franny's age. He realized some moments aren't meant for him. But they are, so he keeps it in his wallet.

It's nice to catch a glimpse of it when he's buying dinner or buying M&Ms at a gas station in Roscoe, Illinois. He sees it when he's buying Franny a stuffed animal from the Lincoln Park Zoo. It dulls the ache when he sleeps with it that night. Maybe he's always been childish and never grew out of his twin-sized bed or Franny has just woken the little boy inside him, but he hugs the stuffed polar bear close to his chest that lonely night in Chicago.

It helped that within a few days, they'd all reunite in Montreal, where Lottie could check out how her French compares with the Quebecois. She's never been to Canada before. It reminded Alex of the lack of travelling they had done together. Other than spots around Europe, which nowadays have been reserved for visiting family, he and Lottie have never been on a trip together, non-work, non-family related. 

Perhaps because the first "trip" they took together in Brussels couldn't be topped romantically, however, they didn't even have a honeymoon. Alex insisted against it, knowing he'd be gone soon, and not wanting to be away from Franny for too long and Lottie agreed. 

They will have to do something like it soon or maybe just start with being in the same city. There's something he longs for, wishes he could be better and not do this, but he is pulled in two, even if Lottie says otherwise. He likes going swimming with Lottie. They've only done it twice, both in a pool, but he'd like to do it again, maybe soon on a Californian beach.

A few years back, when Franny was just a babe and everything about being a parent they were struggling to figure out, Alex and Lottie talked about everything and nothing. The mundane helped pass those sleepless nights. It helped their relationship stay afloat and not drown around the strain of their crying child.

Lottie was breastfeeding Franny on the couch. It was sometime around 3:30 in the morning. Franny woke up crying and Lottie insisted it was her turn. After ten minutes of no return and no noise, Alex went out to the living room where the television was on but muted and Lottie looked a second away from dropping dead. He probably did too, except, you know, he didn't just have major surgery to remove a human being from him.

She gave him a wordless smile as he sat beside her and placed his arm around her, squeezing her shoulder. "I'd kill for a coffee," she said. He doesn't offer because she'll refuse, she's breastfeeding after all.

"Maybe we should go out tomorrow. We've all been cooped up for too long." He had been the only one to go out and that had been for a limited time running to grocery stores and the bakery on the corner that has donuts Lottie loves.

She shook her head. "Too much work." She hates the idea of Franny crying in public. She gets so worried about inconveniencing people that she inconveniences herself instead.

Franny unlatched and Lottie handed her off to Alex to burp her. His palm almost completely covered her back. When she was so little like that he had a hard time believing she was real and belonged to him. She sometimes felt like a doll. He always thought the hospital messed up and gave them the wrong baby. She felt too perfect to be his.

"Maybe you should go out for a walk. I can keep Franny company," he offers.

"Who's gonna keep me company? It's boring to walk alone."

They had become so accustomed to that shared space. In the first few months of Franny's life, they were on top of one another and it never bugged them. They liked those early morning couch talks. Sleep suffered but they were fortunate enough to not have to worry about work the next day.

Lottie's mother came a few weeks after the couch talk. Alex and Lottie went on a walk while she watched Franny. It was cold and Lottie curled her arms around his right arm, stuffed away in his coat pocket.

"I love her as my little baby," Lottie said, "but I can't wait until she's a little older and can do all this stuff with us. Can you imagine her walking? We'll each hold one of her little hands and swing her between us. I always wanted to do that."

She had a thoughtful look on her face. Her smile had become a slight frown. She told him about halfway through the pregnancy that she felt like she was rewriting her history. She was so happy Franny would have a loving, present father, but now he's nowhere close to her.

Lottie will say he's nothing like her deadbeat dad, and sure he might at least be around sometimes, but what's the difference if he's not there to hold her other hand?

When he goes to bed in Toronto, he dreams about Paris. They were all together there in May. First for two shows, then during the tour break. They visited Lottie's family and had romantic evenings where Francoise spent the night with her grandmother.

Francoise swung between them as they walked through Luxembourg Gardens. She splashed her hands softly against the fountain waters with infectious giggles. She squealed and asked, "Can we get a frowntain?"

They got her a mini plastic toy fountain and placed it in their small backyard. In late July, the period before he left for North America, he watched her splash in it. They have these metal tables out in the yard that he and Lottie both shamelessly smoked at in the evening after Franny had gone to bed.

He misses that backyard so desperately. The summer air, the smoke that somehow made the air more breathable, the city groaning in the distance. Lottie would sit out there in a shirt and underwear claiming it was too hot for anything else. 

They spoke in short sentences, sometimes tossing the conversation back and forth, sometimes in simple junctions one at a time. Usually, they talked about Franny and their days, ignoring the impending doom of his leaving.

The weather was sweet with a breeze and Lottie looked over at him and he could imagine her at every point he had known her, all combining into the woman in front of him. She giggles at the attention but doesn't ask anymore why he's staring, she knows. 

He laughed with her, just wanting to savour a piece of this, any piece of her for a breath more. It swelled around him. It's still swollen in this waiting process. He hopes they slept on the flight.

He twists his wedding band on his left ring finger. He wears his because he wants to. He loves that kind of thing, loves thinking of her all the time. He likes it when it glistens on stage or he knocks it against the bathroom sink. He twists it when he's anxious and when they're together, having sex, she kisses it like he's the Pope.

It's probably the other way around. He told her once that if he were to ever pray, he'd be praying to her. He says things like this usually post-orgasm, so maybe it's truthful, or maybe he's feeling faint but a blowjob is a very powerful thing.

He used to think he'd spend his whole life waiting for her in the metaphorical sense. He thought one day she might come backstage to a show or when she's hard pressed for cash she'll write a book about their time together or one day in a Parisian cafe she'll walk in. Part of that was true, but now he waits for her—them—in the literal sense. Or she waits for him.

Lottie and Franny arrived in Montreal yesterday. She wanted to get everything settled and try their best to be caught up in the different time zones before they spent a day walking around the city. Franny can be fussy without her sleep and they're still unsure how she'll react to jetlag. This is her first time on a plane.

Montreal is supposed to be their special day. They'll be going to Boston the next day, something Alex keeps joking about even if Lottie doesn't find it so funny. He keeps saying they'll run into her ex-fiancé and Lottie gets increasingly pissed every time he says it. He won't anymore because the joke is getting old, especially when he's her husband now.

Today is a reunion, although, as always, it's mudded with obligations like a concert in the evening. He'll linger the best he can to avoid being pulled away from them. He's sick of other things taking priority. It's his fault anyway. He brought this suffering on himself.

Back during the start of the tour, Lottie flew out and joined him for the short first leg in North America. It started in Vegas where he initially joked that if Lottie blew on his pair of dice they might get lucky (this sounds like a sexual euphemism but seriously it was just a game of crabs) and then they actually won. They kept doing it until they lost all the betting money and vowed to never gamble again.

Unsurprisingly, in Los Angeles, Lottie wanted to go to as many art museums as possible. He lived in that city for so many years yet he's not sure he saw as much of it as he did with Lottie. She kept going on about how Young Man at His Window by Gustave Caillebotte reminded her of him. Alex still doesn't understand this. The back of the man's head looks nothing like him. As always, Lottie says it's not what you see it's what you feel.

In New York, they went to more museums. She'd never been to The Met so he took her to The Met. It was partially a surprise. He said he wanted to take her somewhere and she wasn't shocked when they landed on The Met steps. She became obsessed with The Costume Institute and kept pointing at garments and shoes, saying, "I'd like you to buy something like that for me." As if Alex is able to obtain a 17th-century wool mantua and as if Lottie would wear it. She sometimes struggles to just wear a skirt.

They returned to London after that, had a week together, and then he left again. She joined him at other points in the tour. She flew with him to Australia, tour dates that were right after Christmas and took place on New Year's Eve. He said it would be bad luck to not be able to kiss one another and since she had never been to Australia, she left Franny with Alex's parents and joined him. 

Montreal is warm but not hot. It's the ideal temperature for walking. Lottie says he gets clinical about those things. She says he sounds like how she has always imagined a father to sound. He's concerned with weather patterns and the best route to get somewhere but struggles to use Google Maps. When he yells at the GPS directions someone else might take that as an overreaction but she laughs every time.

He grabs a coffee before he's driven to the hotel. He sips it quickly knowing that'll mean he will have to pee all day, but he needs it to stay on his feet. Then, he's at the hotel. It's nice, but modest looking. A place with room service but not an extravagant spa.

He opens the hotel room door and it looks empty minus a carry-on suitcase and the kid-sized suitcase they bought for Franny last Christmas. It's pink and has a rainbow butterfly printed on it. Franny fell in love with them when they went to Horniman Butterfly House and one landed on her arm. 

She tells everyone about that. She taps on the spot it landed on her and tells them a butterfly kissed her there. Whenever he sees butterfly or caterpillar imagery, he thinks of Franny. Chrysalis is his new favourite word. His notebook is covered in butterfly stickers. He knows what they eat, the different species, and that they can tell time. 

The bathroom door opens. Lottie stands, still in her pyjamas, smiling. "Oh, hi." She looks like she's just woken up. Her eyes are light and her smile feels like laying your head on a pillow after a long day of work. Her words are spoken with a crackle in them and her hair is occupied with fly-aways. 

He reaches out and pats them down. "Hi." Neither move closer. He holds her cheek in his hand and rubs his thumb along the bone. It feels like he is holding the weight of her. Her skin is blessed with a softness he has only felt elsewhere in Franny's cheeks. "Where's Franny?"

"Sleeping under that pile of blankets. She was cold last night."

"Flight okay?" He asks.

"Yeah. Yours?"

"Yeah." He smiles. "Kiss me."

He wants to feel her lips but doesn't want to move from holding her in any single way. It's perfect and it's smooth and this is all he needs. He'd stay and camp out in this hotel room as long as they didn't leave. He hates himself for ever wanting anything other than this.

When they part, he asks, "Should I wake her?"

Lottie pouts. "Am I no good?" She's needy and if he's been feeling lonely she's probably been feeling it tenfold. He gets to be with his best mates every day and her only freedom is her independent work. She would say he's feeling sorry for her when there's no need to be. She likes her work, she loves being with Francoise, and she has plenty of company in London. He tends to view her as a lone soul but she's had friends in London long before him.

Her bottom lip is jutting out towards him and he feels like a magnet is pulling his hips to her hips. "I don't think you're trying to be." His hand has fallen from one cheek to another. His thumb rubs her waist. She, of course, keeps her hands to herself.

"Sometimes I need attention too, you know." She pulls her face away but moves her hips closer.

He's falling over himself trying to get closer to her. "Yeah, I know how needy you are."

She rips herself away. It's either a game, a joke, or something to prove a point. He can't read that part of her. She goes further into the bathroom over to the sink where she is getting ready. "I'm not needy. You're needy."

That's always been the case. He begs. A lot. He got down on his knees once, placed his hands together, and begged at her knees. They were both laughing the whole time but he still wanted her all the same. 

He moves into the bathroom and closes the door behind him. "Maybe." He wants her. He wants her in every way. He wants to take her up against the sink from behind. He wants her on her knees. He wants to be on his knees. He wants her in the shower. He wants her on the floor. He'll take her to the toilet if he has to. "I missed you."

She brushes her hair and looks at him through the mirror. "Don't get all schmaltzy on me." Her smile quirks in the mirror, much like when they were held up in her Parisian apartment. They spent hours in glances. They felt as sexual as being inside one another. A look meant so much. 

He wishes she was naked now like that morning in January right before they found out she was pregnant. They slept naked. It used to be the only way they did sleep before they had to worry about a child climbing into bed with them. She'd get up and make coffee or tea, sometimes toast or a bagel and she'd never put a piece of cloth on her.

He used to feel so hunched over in his body, desperate to hide parts of himself from the morning light. But she didn't care, so why should he? He would get up behind her body and would be rubbing against her in such a sexual sense but never try anything. It was just nice to feel her skin on his. It felt the same as holding Franny for the first time. It was this precious thing that was somehow chosen to be his.

He'd kiss her shoulder and she'd pour him a cup of coffee. It felt like no one else in the world existed. He didn't want anyone else in the world to exist. It was Lottie and that was it. He hadn't felt that way with anything before, not even the projects he created. It made him believe in God in some way because there was no other way to explain how this worked out for him.

Lottie finds that to be dumb. She doesn't believe in soulmates. Probably because of her mother and the years of loneliness their family had. She doesn't like the idea of someone choosing for her. That there was some fate out of there deciding her every move. She finds it more romantic that two people found each other all by themselves. They worked through everything and made things work because they wanted to for each other. He agrees but still believes that they were shaped into puzzle pieces for each other.

Now, he comes up behind her in the same way. It's his way of reminding her. Remember this. Remember when it was just the two of us in a place smaller than this hotel room. Remember how nothing was between us.

She smirks, knowing what he is going for when his hands bring her butt into his groin. She lowers the brush from her hair and stares at him through the mirror. "What are you doing?"

He leans down and kisses her neck. He wishes she had more bare skin to kiss. "Being needy."

She turns around in his arms. She hooks her arm around his neck and slots her knee in between his legs. "It's too early for that."

He brushes his nose against hers. "It's never too early."

She sighs and lets go, returning to brushing her hair. "Not with Francoise in the next room."

He kisses her clothed shoulder. "Does that mean no sex at all?"

"Not now. Later," she promises. Her smirk tells him she wants it as badly as he does. It's like being a teenager and having to hide from your parents all over again. It reminds him of the excited feeling when the house was empty. Or when he got his first blowjob in the backseat of a car. It makes the idea of sex adventurous all over again. 

Well, except they're in their thirties, they have a kid to take care of, and he only sees her occasionally these days. It's awfully painful for his sex drive, always having to hit the brakes. The end is in sight. He can't wait to pull off the exit and get that blowjob.

"What do you want to do?" He asks.

"Get breakfast first. I only ate a bag of peanuts and a packet of Biscoffs yesterday."

"Why didn't you get dinner after you landed?"

"Too much work. She was already asleep by the time we got to the hotel." She has that habit. He worries she'll wither away one day. She just forgets to eat and then nighttime hits and she's beyond starving. It's something in her DNA and if he's not there she just won't bother with dinner.

"I'll get you a nice breakfast," he promises. He kisses the top of her head before sitting on the closed toilet seat. "What about after? Other than some art museum."

She turns around with a scowl. "Don't mock me."

"I'm not mocking you."

"I like things other than art, you know." She's sensitive about this. He's never gotten to the bottom of why she always feels he's making fun of her when it comes to her love of art. The passion she has for it inspires him. She's educated him and made him fall in love with it too. Still, she's on the defensive.

"Well, all I want to do is go to the art museum," Alex tells her as he slides off his shoes. 

She tosses a smile over her shoulder. She pats her hair down, sweeping it over her shoulders. He watches her and every slight movement she makes. Her legs are bare, she's wearing underwear, a shirt, and a smile. She taps each finger on the marble countertops before she walks over to him and sits on his lap.

Her arms curl around his neck and his arms around her waist. "If you believe me, I missed you."

Alex chuckles. "Yeah. I believe you."

She kisses him with a tight hold. She hops off his lap. "I think you can wake her now. I'm too hungry to wait."

He stands up and kisses her cheek. "Alright, then."

Franny sleeps with these quiet snores. They're cute, not the kind that prevents sleep, the kind that soothes sleep. Her mouth is in a small 'o' shape. Her head hangs back and her hair hangs in two braids, rustled from travelling and sleep.

She likes sleeping more than anything. She whines when anyone wakes her up and clings to the blankets for dear life. Alex's hand covers her back. She's bigger now but still so small. He gives her a light rub, rattling her awake. She groans just like Alex does and rubs her eyes.

"Stop," she tells him.

He chuckles. "Come on, Fran."

Her eyes pop open. Usually, they flutter like those butterflies. She can be slow-moving like a sloth but today she pops up like a rabbit and starts jumping on the bed. "Maman, you were right!" She shouts. Lottie always reminds her, "One sleep until you see papa."

Lottie insists Franny looks like him. Alex knows she's just being polite. She looks exactly like Lottie, besides her hair. Her face is still so small. He can't bear to think of the day she grows old enough to not fit just under his hand. It's getting harder for him to pick her up. Maybe he's the one getting too old with the slight strain in his back.

Franny collapses on top of him, tugging on his neck. He finds himself laughing, so overjoyed by her excitement. "I love planes," she tells him. "Are we going on another one?" That's the best outcome they could have asked for. 

Franny is scared of a lot of things. She grew out of her fear of the vacuum earlier this year, but she's still terrified of thunderstorms, monsters under the bed, Snow White, and grapes (they are still unsure of the origin of the latter). He feels bad for liking it when she has bad dreams because she'll wake them up, usually by tugging one of their hands, and ask to climb in bed with them. They slot her in the middle and that's when he feels they are truly a family. He always wishes to protect them.

They go to a cafe near Mount Royal Park and the Museum of Fine Arts. Franny insists on sitting next to Alex in the booth. Lottie is across from them, on her own little island as she puts it. She looks down at the menu, her hair cascading around her. She brushes one side behind her ear. Alex stares at her, rather than his menu.

Franny tugs on his arm. She got a mean pull for a kid who is only four. "Will you order for me?" He's comforted by this, knowing that while she has grown, for now, she's still his tiny little girl who gets nervous talking to strangers like their waiter. 

Her hair is in fresh braids. Lottie told him that for the past month that's the way she's insisted on wearing her hair. She's got these overalls on. Blue denim with a sunflower embroidered on the front. Underneath she has a white shirt with purple short sleeves, her favourite colour. She smiles up at him, hoping to charm him into getting her all the treats she wants. She still has all her baby teeth, even though she desperately wants to lose one so the tooth fairy will visit her.

"Can you order for me too?" His other girl requests. Lottie is resting her head on her hand. There's pink in her cheeks and a smile that doesn't show her teeth, something she's still insecure about. Her two front teeth are crooked, turned slightly inward toward the other. It's unnoticeable unless you stare at it for an extended period of time. Everyone calls it cute but she says that it's a clear sign she grew up poor.

She wears a white linen blouse that was made for breezy weather. The front of it hangs open enough that he can see the charm of her two necklaces, one with a small blue pendant, the other with St. Michael. Her shoes have a slight heel to them. She jokes that they wear the same shoes, although he would like to point out that they are different sizes.

Lottie gets two eggs and a chocolate crepe, Franny gets waffles, Alex gets another coffee and Franny's leftovers. He cuts her waffles for her because she still hasn't mastered the grip of a knife. He tries to sneak a bite of Lottie's crepe but she slaps his hand away. "Get your own."

Right after they relocated to London and all of Lottie's things mixed with all of Alex's things, they had the question of possession. In other words, he learned Lottie likes to claim things. They shared shirts, kitchen utensils, and shampoo, but while Alex lost track of what fork was originally owned by who, Lottie still refers to things as yours and mine. 

Her possessive pronoun usage was exact. She calls the bed they share your bed, she calls their dining table my table. When she was further along in her pregnancy and refused to buy ugly maternity clothes, she took to wearing more of his clothes. It only lasted for about a month. She's a tad smaller than him but he's no six-foot giant. She still wears some of his jeans to this day and will say, "I'm going to wear your jeans" just like she did back at the hotel.

He doesn't know why she does this. Maybe because English is her second language or she spent her whole childhood getting hand-me-downs from her brother. Either way, what once confused him, now is just amusing. It might be his favourite of her quirks.

"On the plane ride here, Francoise and I watched Toy Story 2," Lottie says to him, but she's prompting Franny to talk. Franny's quiet and keeps to herself. He recognizes that to be a quality she inherited from him. She often hesitates but she differs from him. Once you give her permission to talk, she rambles.

"What'd you think, Fran?" He asks.

She finishes chewing her waffle. She's a proper young lady. "I liked it a lot. It was funny, it was scary. I liked Jessie the best but I want a Woody doll or a piggy bank. I can put my tooth fairy money in there. I don't think my toys come to life. They're too lazy. But it was a good movie. Maman cried but I didn't. I still give it a thumbs up." She gestures the thumbs up with a head shake before returning to her waffle bits.

Alex contains his laughter. "I'll have to see it then, especially if it made maman cry."

"Shush," Lottie signals.

"We can watch it tonight!" Franny suggests with a big smile.

Lottie answers for him, "We're going to papa's concert tonight, remember?"

"Oh, yeah!" She excitedly tosses her head back and forth. Her braids jiggle around like two jump ropes playing a game of double Dutch. "I like your concerts."

It's a genuine compliment, Franny still doesn't know how to give fake ones. She told him after the first show she saw that she found him to be too loud and that they should turn the volume down. Still, she danced around like the music was being played just for her. She's never been to any other concerts and says she wants to go to more.

For her third birthday, Lottie gifted Franny a toy microphone. She didn't like it and handed it to Alex instead because he'd use it. Franny doesn't like singing or the guitar or even banging on drums. She doesn't like loud things.

She's quiet and conserves her energy. She likes the flowers they grow in the backyard. She likes to paint with her maman. She likes doing somersaults in the grass. She likes the smell of honey. She would one day like to bake cookies by herself, but she's too young to turn on the oven. She's a flower child.

They walk over to the Fine Art Museum, Franny swinging between them. "You know, this is the oldest art museum in Canada," Lottie says.

Alex nods. "I did my research."

Lottie rolls her eyes, convinced he's pulling her leg. "You did not."

"Yes, I did." Alex quickly nods. "I got one of those Blue Planet books."

Still not believing him, she says, "No, you did not." He snorts at her jaw dropped open, the disbelief smothering her face.

"How else would I know where Leonard Cohen is buried?"

"'Cause you're a dork."

He's baffled at the accusation, tapping his chest. "I'm a dork?" This is coming from the woman who has a membership at nearly every art museum in London despite the majority of them being free. 

"I'm a dork," Franny cheers. She eases tensions. She came along so early in their relationship that it's hard to judge how their dynamic would have developed without Franny. Alex has no doubt they'd still be together but things would be different without her.

He imagines Lottie would join him for more legs of the tour if they didn't have to worry about Franny, but that's probably not true. Lottie has a job that she's passionate about. She's more filled with drive and love for it than he has seen anyone else in any other profession. She loves observing art, she loves writing about art, she loves creating art.

They'd probably still be in Paris. Lottie agreed to move to London because Alex had a larger living situation there that would fit a growing family. Her boss had friends in London that he recommended Lottie for, allowing her to make the move.

He knows she longs for it. London isn't her favourite. But Franny loves it and Alex loves being home and she's willing to make that sacrifice for them. He worries that he's allowed her to give up so much. One day she'll see that she's let go of things she's loved for him and she'll hate him for it. They've fought about it before. They'll probably fight about it again. 

But she does love it there. She loves their house and their neighborhood. She loves that she's four blocks away from Leah and on the corner of their street is her favourite bakery. She loves the London art scene and she loves that she has enough space to make her art. She loves the way people admire her slight French accent and finds her to be cool from that alone. She hasn't felt cool most of her life.

However, he knows she misses her mother. She has friends in Paris that she rarely sees now. She only speaks her mother tongue to their four-year-old. For that, he'll always feel guilty.

"I've always wanted to go to Monet's garden," Lottie says as they stand in front of A Cliff at Pourville in the Morning. "It's only about an hour outside Paris, in Giverny, yet I never went."

Franny's eyes gaze up at the painting completely lost in it. She's getting to the age when she understands the beauty in these things. She'll marvel at it and understand the gravity of what is in front of her. Or she's just copying her mother, she likes doing that too.

"We can go when we go to Paris in December," he offers. 

"It's closed in the winter."

He can't control the weather and yet it feels like he should be able to. He wants so badly to give her what she wants but it feels like it falls flat all the time. Every gesture falls at her feet with a disappointed thud. A gift she is forced to fix all the broken pieces he created.

Lottie bends down to Franny's ear. She grabs her arms, holding her in place. "Do you like this one?"

She rapidly nods her head.

"It's an exchange between the ocean and the sky," she talks to Franny like she's an adult. "The fleeting beauty of dawn before day sweeps it all away." Alex doubts Franny knows what dawn is but she nods along enthusiastically.

They move quickly, not soaking in nearly enough art as he's sure Lottie would want. They have a tight schedule before they have to be at the venue. He'd apologize for it but he knows she'll be more annoyed by that than actually having to leave the museum. 

They take a walk through Mount Royal Park. Lottie takes pictures of Franny as she goes up the Grand Staircase. Franny taps her shoe on each stair. She likes to hear it knock against the wood, the crick each step makes. She stands proudly at the top of the stairs with her hands proudly tugging on her overall straps. You'd think she climbed the mountain itself with how much pride she and her parents have.

She doesn't like to walk on the established path, so she decides to walk ahead of her parents on the grass. Alex walks with his hands in his pockets. Lottie walks with her tote bag over her shoulder and a light-knit black sweater in case it gets cold (it never does).

"Does it remind you of France?" Alex asks.

"Um." She thinks for a moment, looking around at the greenery. "No." She doesn't explain further and Alex doesn't ask for more. "Does it remind you of France?"

Alex chuckles. "You'd know better than me."

She shrugs. "Maybe I'm too snobbish or too filled with nostalgia to decide whether this does measure up with France."

"A little, but maybe it's just the French part."

"You gonna go se branler in the bushes?"

He tosses his head back. "Hush."

She giggles and moves closer to him, knocking shoulders with him. "I think Francoise likes it more than either of us." The little girl is examining flowers, sprouting between the grass and the concrete. She doesn't pluck one, just looks at it from all angles.

"I wish I had an attention span like both of you," Alex says. He tries for both of them but staring at a painting as long as Lottie does is a near-impossible task. Franny has inherited all of those traits. He loves it, but there's no way he can do it.

Lottie curls her arm around him. "You have other talents." 

He raises an eyebrow. "Like?"

"We are going to your sold-out concert, Al. There's no need to be modest."

"I'm not trying to be."

She smiles. "I know." She brushes the side of his head, pushing back his hair off of his forehead. "You have blinders on to all your achievements. You forget that you're the most talented person I know."

He scoffs. "Don't lie to me."

"You don't have to believe me. Just think of all the people that are probably jealous of you."

He tosses his head from side to side. That convinces him. She giggles and kisses his cheek.

Leonard Cohen's grave is covered in small stones. Some are painted, some have writing on them, some are blank. It's weird. It's someone he's admired all of his adult life and he's right in front of him, buried in the ground. He doesn't think about death much, but he's thinking about it now.

He hasn't been to many cemeteries. Lottie has been to more than she can count. France is covered in them. She used to walk through Cimetière du Père-Lachaise with her mother every Saturday, finding a new corner of it. Her mother also had a thing for Jim Morrison.

Alex wonders if they should have brought Franny here. If she knows enough about life and death to understand what stands before her. As always, she's well-behaved, admiring the sculptures that stand above the gravestones. 

Cohen is buried with three generations of his family. He thinks that's what he'd like. He'd like to be buried in the same coffin as Lottie, disintegrate into one another. That would probably disgust her. She hates the smell of fish. He can't imagine how she'd react to rotting flesh.

Still, he thinks about losing this one day. He'd like to go before her, of course. He probably couldn't function without her. Poor Franny would have to take care of him, remind him of his appointments, tell him to take his meds, and remind him that the sun still exists. So, he'll go first. He smokes and drinks more than her anyway so it'll probably work out that way. He should stop thinking about this now. 

"You want to go to the Basilica now?" He asks her. 

She smiles softly. It feels like a kiss upon his soul. A blessing he feels so lucky to receive. "Sure."

The bus is close to empty but they sit in the back because Franny likes that it's higher than the rest of the bus. She used to like sitting on one of their laps when riding public transit but she doesn't like that now. She likes to be viewed as a big girl but she wants to sit between her parents so she can touch both of them.

She rests her head on Lottie's shoulder. She's growing tired of all this walking. They aren't doing funny little kid things here but he promises that they'll do it in Boston. Lottie already plans to have fancy afternoon tea at the Boston Public Library, which Franny is already super excited about.

The altar of the basilica is centered by a golden Jesus. The spires strain Lottie's neck as she gazes up at them. He tries to figure out what the wood carving below Jesus is for so long until Lottie tells him it's a high relief of the Last Supper. His eyesight is getting pretty bad.

The spiral staircases captivate Franny. She wants to climb and descend them, waving her hand like she's a royal. Alex wants to know about the organs. There are thousands of pipes, varying from some of the tiniest he's ever seen to the biggest. He's definitely a dork.

He leans next to Lottie's ear and whispers, "They've got some big pipes here."

She laughs in anticipation. "Don't you dare make a sex joke in a church."

Alex contains his laughter. "Wouldn't be the first time."

They walk along the St. Lawrence River because Lottie likes the water and Franny likes quays with ships docked in them. She becomes occupied in her own world. She likes running ahead but not out of sight. She's too well-behaved, it's strange.

Alex holds Lottie's hand. "If I die—"

"Jesus, Al!" She drops his hand, already shaming him for bringing it up. "I don't like talking about that."

"Fine, if you die—"

"Stop it."

"It's a serious question. I'm curious."

She frowns and crosses her arms. "Fine."

"Would you want to be buried in Paris?"

She shakes her head. "I don't want to talk about this now."

"Okay."

Franny tugs on his hand. He looks down and she pats her stomach. "I'm hungry."

They walk down Saint-Paul Street, stopping at a place called Modavie because Franny likes the live jazz music that's flooding out onto the streets. The kind they listened to when they were building the crib in what would be Franny's room. Well, he built the crib, Lottie yelled the instructions at him.

The room was painted lemon and the rocking chair in the corner was an old wood with a pink seating pad. It had been the same chair Lottie was rocked to sleep in. They never used it; instead, they always sat out on the couch. They finally got some use out of it when Franny was old enough to climb in on her own and rock it back and forth.

While Franny said she was hungry, it's actually Alex, who had only eaten scraps of waffles and two coffees. The place is too nice for a quick meal before the show but it's French and he likes the sound of lamb chops. Franny gets calamari because she likes the pronunciation and she's had it before so they know she won't hate it. Lottie gets mussels and fries because Brussels.

Lottie orders for them in French. The waiter says something back to her that makes her laugh but Alex has no clue. He's tried to learn more but he hasn't practiced on the road. It's not his fault his own private tutor won't come with him.

They don't talk. It's far too loud to hear each other over the music, which is nice, but he'd prefer conversation over it. Lottie leans over and whispers straight into his ear, "I bet you she likes this more than your show."

He turns to speak into her ear. His skin brushes against hers. His stubble scratches her jawbone and his lips lightly touch her earlobe. "Yeah, this one has food and mine will be 'too loud.'"

Lottie turns back to his ear. "It's good. I want her to protect her ears." Alex agrees but he's almost certain this jazz band will do more damage to her ears than his band. Their table is right near the stage. Her ears are so close to the saxophone.

Franny pops calamari into her mouth so quickly he worries she'll choke. Granted, he does inhale the lamb chops. Lottie hasn't even had a fry yet by the time he's finished. He snags one of them and she allows it. She then drops a mussel shell into his lap just because she wants to see him squirm. (He does and she giggles almost as loud as the music).

They take the metro to the venue, Bell Centre, or Centre Belle as Lottie calls it because she's French and difficult. The second they step on the platform and wait for the 2 train Alex asks, "Is there something special about Montreal trains I should know?" He speaks quietly so as to not expose his shame.

He truly never got the hang of the doors of Paris's Metro. Either it took him too many tries to open or his arm would get ripped off, eventually, he refused to do it and forced Lottie to do it every time or they wouldn't get off the train. She'd laugh hysterically. 

The last time they were there and Lottie was sad they were leaving, Alex opened the door to cheer her up. He tripped and almost fell face-first on the platform. Suddenly, Lottie wasn't so upset anymore.

Now, she laughs at his question. "I don't know. I've never been here before."

"We'll just have Francoise take care of everything," he says.

She smiles and leans her head on his shoulder as they wait. Franny is holding his hand. He doesn't care how long the train takes. This is a nice place to be.

When it comes powering through the station, Franny jumps up and down, beyond excited by the mode of transport. The doors automatically open and Franny leads the way, hopping on the train. She sits on Alex's lap because it's only two seats per row and she doesn't want anyone to be separated. She kicks her feet out and the heel of her shoes beats against his shins.

"These are sleek," Lottie says while looking around the train car.

"Much nicer than London," he says. Lottie rolls her eyes. "What?" He asks.

"This is what happens with a French regime," she says.

He makes an amused noise, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "What? Nicer subways?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. What was Toronto's metro like?"

"I didn't go on it," he says. "Are we comparing French imperialism and British imperialism right now?"

"No, I'm just saying it's a nice subway."

"Okay."

It's silent between them for a moment. Another train whooshes past and they stop at Station Côte-Vertu. Once the doors close and the train sets in motion again Lottie says, "Not everything is a jab against you."

His eyes widen. He didn't think they were fighting. He needs to be more aware of his tone. Lottie tells him that all the time. "I never said it was."

She rolls her eyes and turns away, looking out the window. He stares at her. She reflects onto the window, her soul staring back at him. He's thinking of her blue bandana and those sunglasses that she used to hide herself with. He thinks of that saddle bag. All those saddlebags that have been left behind in Paris like shedding a piece of who she used to be. 

She is every version she's ever been right in front of his eyes. He knows every stretch of her. He memorized it long ago back when they were in Brussels. He was dumb then but he knew that there would be a chance he'd never see her again. So, he brushed his finger on every nanometer of her and swore he would remember it. Has she forgotten that? He's overthinking, he knows. Besides—

"This is our stop," she says. 

They walk off the train and up the metro steps. They make it one block before she tells him at a red traffic light, "I'm going to go to the cathedral for a bit."

It's clearly not an invitation for him to come. "Okay."

"You keep Francoise," she requests. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah, of course."

She bends down and kisses Franny's cheek. She rises to his level and does the same. It's rushed. She says her goodbyes as she tries to make it across the street before the light changes. "I'll see you in an hour."

Then, it's just Franny's hand in his. She tugs on it. "Dad. The light's green."

He nods. "Right." They make their way across the street and Lottie isn't in view anymore, already ducked in Mary, Queen of the World Cathedral. He wonders if Lottie ever prays. She's not religious—that was beaten out of her by the nuns at her Catholic school—but she loves all places of worship. He knows this comes from being an aesthete but something about the Catholics always draws her back. He'll have to ask her.

Franny skips through the venue halls. "It's big."

"Yeah."

"It's bigger than me."

"I think it might be." 

He picks her up and she's squealing and flinging her arms and legs around. He made those legs and arms, well, half of her, maybe just the right arm and left leg. Still, it hits him sometimes just as hard as the way her heels kick against him.

He releases her and she goes off giggling. He can't tell if she enjoyed today or not. She enjoyed it enough not to complain about it, which is a relief to him. She can whine. She may be well-behaved and not throw tantrums but she's still four and has a habit of whining and crying and tugging on his arm until he gives in because he always seems to give in.

Franny hangs out backstage while they do soundcheck. He comes back to her drawing with crayons on a coffee table and sipping on a juice box. Lottie still isn't back. He squats down to sit on the couch with the crack of his knees. "Whatcha working on, lady?"

She lifts up the paper featuring a purple creation resembling a butterfly. "I'm not finished."

His grin is unstoppable. He loves all these little creations. They're plastered all around their home from her first work (her handprints) to the latest craze (butterflies). He'll have to make sure this one is packed away safely. "I'm liking it so far."

Alex leans back and watches her. The stroke of her crayon is wild and unstoppable but somehow lands in the form of butterfly wings. She stops, takes a sip of her juice box, and asks, "Are you ever coming home?" 

His eyebrows jump and an ache hangs upon his heartstrings. This has gone on too long, he's known this. He knows Lottie shields him from this. It's impossible that Franny doesn't ask why he's gone for so long or that she misses him. "Yeah. In about a month. I'm sorry."

She shrugs and continues drawing. "It's fine. I like mummy a lot."

There's remorse in his smile, but he tells her, "Me too." He can't remember the last time he and Franny were alone together like this. There were plenty of times at home when it was just the two of them but he can't recall the last time the two went somewhere together. Every museum, every playdate, every grocery trip has been handled by Lottie. He can't remember the last time Lottie did something by herself.

It makes him want to slap himself like no shit, not everything is about you. Except it kind of is. He has been the reason she hasn't gotten a moment to herself. She locks things behind a door and says what's going on behind the door is so much fun, but he's never been on the other side of the door so he doesn't know the full truth.

"What juice are you drinking?" He asks.

Franny holds the box up. Elmo faces him with wide arms and a big, wide-open-mouthed smile. "Apple. Want some?" She walks over with the box and holds it out to him.

He almost says no but she pushes it toward him, willing him to take it. His mouth covers the tiny straw and he can't remember the last time he had apple juice but Elmo has good taste. "You can have the rest," she decides. Franny leaves the box with him and trots back to her drawing station.

"Thanks, Fran." He continues to sip on it. The tiny size of it and his hands back him feel like when Franny was a baby. It makes him remember Franny still is a baby and he should savour this time rather than worrying about not having that time back. 

He leans his elbows on his knees and drinks the juice. The taste makes him think of his childhood home and how his mum used to give out apple juice boxes whenever his friends came over. Now, well, he's still drinking them.

"Hitting the hard stuff?" Lottie asks as she walks in. She looks brighter as if she went to the beach and got a tan. She's joking, she's smiling, she sits right next to Franny and kisses her left cheek and then her right cheek from behind.

Alex chuckles and places the empty box on the table. "Just trying to calm the nerves. How was the cathedral?"

Her cheeks look like they ache. "It was lovely. The statues, the paintings, the cupola. I'll show you pictures later."

It makes him nearly as happy as her, though that doesn't seem possible to meet. "That's great. I'm excited."

Lottie wraps her arms around Franny's stomach and hugs her back to her chest. "No you're not," she brushes off, looking down at Franny's paper.

He furrows his brows. "I'm not lying."

She looks up, smiles, and does a single nod. "Okay."

Alex can't see them when he's onstage. He imagines they are either dancing or Franny has fallen asleep. He tries not to think about it much when he's playing. It makes him too nervous. He feels the need to be impressive and grab their attention. Plus, if he messes up and falls on his face in front of Lottie she'll make fun of him forever. She'll mock him later anyway.

After the first show she went to on the tour, she stood up on the bed with a bare chest, only wearing his boxers, and started imitating him with a crooner voice and all. Her impersonations aren't just for the present day. In the shower, she'll comb her hair back to look like she's slapped a pound of gel in it and do a horrible impression of him in 2013. She can't sing so it's pretty funny to watch.

When the show ends he waits for them by Franny's purple butterfly drawing. They open the door with Lottie giving Franny a piggyback ride and Franny shouting, "You were great!"

"Really?" He asks, hands on his hips as they reach him. He grabs Franny and holds her on his hip. Her braids have been messed with like she was thrashing in a mosh pit.

"You weren't too loud or quiet. Just right!" She emphasizes her opinion with her hands, adding punctuation with each word.

"Well, thank you, Goldilocks." Alex's eyes shift to Lottie. "Mama bear?"

Lottie wrinkles her nose. "Ew, don't call me that." She cackles loudly as if he's the first person who has ever told her a joke. "You were lovely. Very energetic but not overtly."

He's not sure what she exactly means but he takes it with a chuckle. He takes a big yawn, throwing his head back for extra emphasis. He looks at the little girl. "I'm tired. Are you tired, Franny?" 

Lottie makes a pointed look at him. "Francoise, remember?"

"Francoise," he corrects.

Franny giggles and clutches his neck tightly. "You guys are funny."

"Francoise." Alex pops her on his hips, making her laugh more. "What do you think about hanging with Matt and Amanda?"

She shrugs. "I guess so. They want to be my friends soooooo badly."

Lottie has to turn around her as laughter bursts out of her, lips flapping, and in desperate need of taking a deep breath. Alex turns his face to the side, not wanting to laugh straight into Franny's face.

"What?" Franny questions, having no idea of the hilarity of her words.

Lottie covers her mouth as she looks back. Her words come out muffled as she says, "Nothing, honey. You'll have a great time with them."

Alex can't control himself and has to place Franny down in order to contain his laughter. Franny ends up running over to Matt and tugging on his arm saying how excited she is to hang out like they're two guys getting beers together.

On the ride back to the hotel, Lottie nearly falls asleep against the window. She would have if the van hadn't hit a speed bump and knocked her head up against the glass. She walks into the hotel hanging off his side. She bends down and hugs Franny good night before bidding farewell to the rest of the group and escaping into their hotel room where she promptly rushes into the room, kicks off her shoes, and takes her clothes off.

"Geez," Alex says at the sight. "Are you rushing to bed or just excited to see me?"

She moves over to him and kisses him full on the lips. He nearly falls over. His arms flailing at his sides. He feels like he's hallucinating from exhaustion. "Excited to see you." She's unlatching her bra and throwing it at him. The sight of naked boobs should arouse him but leaves him as perplexed as when a woman threw a bra at him in Athens.

"Alrighty. Were you not just about to fall asleep two seconds ago?"

She rolls her eyes, sits on the edge of the bed, and takes off her socks. "It's called putting on a show, Alex," she says to him like he's their four-year-old daughter.

"Right."

"If Francoise thinks I'm tired, she will believe she should be tired. She fully believes my bedtime is 8:30 and that I don't stay up watching television until midnight. It works every time so you should work on your tired look for the next time."

Alex blinks slowly, still fully dressed. "I am tired."

"Oh." She's sitting in her underwear. She sits up straight and crosses her arms. "So, you didn't pawn off our daughter to have sex with me."

"Well," he sheds his jacket and tosses it on the sofa chair, "I never said that. I'm not an idiot."

She smirks and stands up. "I know." She turns her back to him and slowly begins to pull off her panties. Alex rushes to grab her hips and do it himself. He crashes into her, forcing a giggle out of her and landing them flat on the housekeeping-made bed. "Stop. You're gonna break one of my ribs."

He lifts himself, allowing her to breathe again. He stands up and begins to remove clothing items starting with his shoes. Lottie flips her body to look straight at him while he does this. She bites her thumbnail like she needs something between her teeth while she waits for him.

She then takes him off guard, "Do you jerk off?"

He's kicking his trousers off when she asks this, stopping with them pooling around his ankles. "Why do you want to know?"

She shrugs. "I'm just curious. That's all." There's something more to it because if Lottie there's always something more. She's made with ulterior motives.

Alex steps out of his pants. He smirks as he stands over her. His penis hanging near her cunt. "You want me to jerk off."

"What?" She awkwardly giggles. "No, I don't."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't," she insists. "I was just curious if you had time for that kind of thing."

He chuckles at her. "Lot, I've got plenty of time to se branler."

She reaches out to slap his stomach, right above his evidence. "Shut up. What kind of foreplay is this?"

Alex stares at her in disbelief. "You asked the question!"

"Did you forget how to have sex? Is that how long we've been apart?"

He rolls his eyes. And just to see her squirm he asks, "Do you watch porn?"

Her jaw drops. "Shut up!" After that, he does because it's much more fun to fuck your wife than to talk about fucking your wife.

The first time they had sex after having Franny, Lottie wanted to go slow. It was foreign and sore and filled with uncertainty for the first time in their relationship. But it was a lovely affair, a reunion of sorts. 

This is different. It's a reunion but it's quick and attacking. He feels like they're a step away from eating each other (and not in the eating out kind of way). He's in her and they're together on the edge of the bed, their feet hanging off onto the floor, but neither makes a move to decide whether they should fuck on the bed or the floor.

And they're embarrassingly loud. Or at least she is. He can't keep track of himself. All he knows is he's moaning in her ear and the volume could be a small whisper or a full release. It's like when they were stuck in her Paris apartment that was so tiny you had to fuck in such a confined space and it might have been the hottest sex they ever had because of that.

He feels sweaty for the first time that night. Her hands are grasping on his shoulders, imprinting fingernail crescent cuts. He pushes his mouth directly next to her ear. "What if we had another baby?"

She pushes him up off of her chest, desperate for air, for some release from this heat. "You carry it." Yeah, he probably shouldn't be asking for things like that. He's barely been around this past year for the one they already have.

"Sorry," he pathetically mumbles.

She's not listening. She's busy getting ready to come. "Just fuck me." She's sick of him. He's convinced. 

But at least he can fuck her. He knows he's good at that with the way she moves, arches, and clamps around him. She pushes him back further and tells him, "Jerk off now."

He listens, obedient as always to her orders, and pulls out. He would have come on the carpet, completely unsure of where to dispose of himself, but she gets down on her knees and opens her mouth. He moves closer. "Don't put it in my mouth," she says.

He lays the tip on her bottom lip, which seems to be okay with her. His fist is quick because he feels he'll burst into flames at the sight of her right now if he doesn't come into her mouth. So, he does. It takes him a while to relax and he's unsure if she swallows it or spits it into the wastebasket.

Lottie throws her hair up and stretches her back in front of him, bending back and forward. He feels old all the time, it rarely registers that she's the same age as him. She’s getting older too. She's more youthful than him, that's for sure. There's a reason women live longer than men. 

She laughs at him still catching his breath as she hides herself under the blankets, waiting for him. "Come here," she reaches out.

He straightens out. "I'm coming. I'm coming."

She curls her lips, refraining from the sex joke. He stretches out on his stomach beside her. She has to tuck him in. It's cozy and soft. She moves him like a doll by grabbing his arm and curling it over her stomach. He moves closer and lies his head on his shoulder, brushing his nose against her jugular.

She moves down and even with his eyes closed he feels her eyes gazing at him. Her breath is so close to his. The tip of her nose carefully brushes his. "I missed you."

He slowly opens his eyes. He longs for her so much. He doesn't think he could've survived another day without her. She's as necessary as food and water. It's a hunger and a desire but it's sustenance and nourishment. Yet, he chose to starve himself. "I'm sorry for doing this to you."

She grows concerned, shifting over to her side. Her brows furrow and she is completely lost. She puts her hand on his upper arm, rubbing it in a soothing manner. "Doing what?"

"Being away. Being absent. Taking things away from you."

She shakes her head with confusion. "You gave me my whole life, Al."

"I gave you a whole different life."

"I'm quite happy with the life I have," she assures him. He goes through phases like this before where he covers himself in self-doubt. But this is different. There's a reason to be concerned because it's hard to question what is in front of your eyes, it's easy to question what you don't see.

"You've given up too much, Lot."

She doesn't refute him. She looks around but doesn't make eye contact with him. She's thinking. She gives his arm a squeeze to calm him. "I'm a very lucky girl." She hesitates before deciding to tell him the truth, "But I sometimes get jealous of you. I give in to you a lot and it's my own decision. You didn't force me into this. I'm going to spend my whole life missing out on things but I don't want to miss out on you. Believe me, I'm very happy right now."

She curls closer to him, needing the comfort, needing the love, needing him. He tries to soothe her the best you can. "I'm gonna take care of you for the rest of my life."

"I believe you."

He's never been great at compromise. He's gotten his way. Lottie gives in. She's the one willing to give things up. It's his turn. It should have been from the beginning. "Do you want to move to Paris?"

She gives him a small smile and a light shake of the head. "I just want you to come home."

"We should spend every summer in Paris. Get a little place there."

"I have work," she points out.

He groans and falls on his back. "Fuck work."

She giggles and lands on top of his chest, lying there. "I appreciate the sentiment though."

Alex brushes her arm. "I'm going to give you what you want. I promise. I'll learn French, I swear."

She kisses his cheek, a smile placed on his skin. "Thank you. I just want us all to be back in our home."

It grows quiet, both just feeling the other's presence, relaxing into it for the first time in forever. Her skin is so soft and her body is a comforting warmth on his skin. A feeling he's felt since the first night he slept beside her. They keep each other close because there's no other way of doing it.

Lottie breaks through the quiet. "Are we going to sleep naked?"

He grins with closed lips and turns to her. "Like the good ol' days."

"Something like it."

He squeezes her butt and she teases the skin around his dick but never touches it. They fall asleep a half hour later. He always thought it was bullshit that people slept better in the presence of someone else but it's true.

Then, there's a knock at the door. He awakes before the noise gets to Lottie. The room is dark and he stubs his toe on one of the bed's legs. He manages to find boxers to throw on before opening the door. It's early and he might be sleepwalking. His eyes squint and he manages to make out the sight of Matt with Franny in his arms.

"What's wrong?" Franny is curled into Matt's shoulder so peaceful looking that she could almost be asleep but she clearly isn't. Her eyes stare straight at him.

Matt looks tired. He's in his pyjamas too. "Bad dream. Sorry for waking you but she's too scared and I just thought..."

Not wanting to trouble Matt more, he reaches out and takes Franny from him. She grabs his neck so tightly she's almost choking him. "Don't worry. Thanks. Sorry about all this."

Matt shakes his head and pats Alex's arm before shuffling his feet back to his own room.

Alex quietly closes the door as best as he can. He whispers to Franny, "You okay?"

"Just don't leave," Franny tells him.

He rubs his hand up her back, holding her the same way he used to burp her. "I'm right here," he reminds her. She squeezes him tightly just to make sure. He reciprocates, holding him close to him. "Mum's still asleep."

She nods against his neck. "I'll be quiet. Swear."

"I know you will." He carries her to their bed, lying her between them. Her arms stay curled around him. He rubs his hand up and down in the hope she will fall asleep before he does.

"I'm happy you're here," she whispers to him.

He smiles because for once he is here. "Me too."

*

a/n: did not think it would be this long. i didn't think i'd ever write another part to this but i wrote the first 3k words in pencil on random sheets of paper and then the rest just happened. i hope it translates well.

[coldhndss]

Baby fever

Chigiri Hyoma

@sailorstar9

Tears glossed the eyes of your mother as she gave you one last hug. Her arms wrapped so tightly around you that you felt like you’d asphyxiate any moment now.

“Mom, we’ll only be gone for two weeks.” You let out a breathy laugh as she finally released you from her grasp.

Looking to your side, Hyoma’s sister was ruffling his hair playfully as the two of them laughed together. His mother tapped his shoulder, signalling for him to lean in closer. As she whispered into his ear, you noticed a rosy hue spread across his cheeks. He gripped the handle of his suitcase defensively as she broke out into laughter. Checking the time on your phone, you sighed. “We’re going to have to get going now.” You said, turning to your parents with a smile.

Saying your goodbyes to his family, you gave his mother and sister a quick hug before the two of you took off into the departure gate. Unzipping your carryon, you prepared the passports for check-in. The two of you took your place in line and you turned to face him. “You’ve been pretty quiet since we left. Do you miss your family already?” You joked, elbowing him gently. Once again, you noticed a look of embarrassment wash over his face.

“…Yep.” He muttered, turning his gaze away from yours.

After the whole security checks process was over, you had finally reached the terminal that the plane would be departing from. The two of you took a brief moment to rest before checking out the various shops and grabbing something quick to eat. And before you knew it, as you were chewing the last bite of your meal, the PA system announced your flight by number, notifying the terminal that they were now boarding. You scrambled to the line as the prepared the tickets.

As you took your seat on the plane, you exhaled a sigh of relief.

“You’re always so stressed about these things, you know?” He chuckled, sliding your suitcases into the overhead storage before taking the seat next to you.

“I can’t help it, it’s our first time on a trip together.” Dipping your head onto his shoulder, you noticed the way he uncharacteristically fidgeted with his fingers.

“Yeah…”

Just then, a thought crossed your mind. Ever since the two of you announced that you’d be going on a honeymoon close to a month ago, your parents had been hinting at the idea of having a grandchild in various ways. Re-gifting you your old baby clothes, dropping hints for baby names, even jokes about who a prospective child might look more like.

Just as your face began to feel warmer than a few seconds ago, the plane began to take off, distracting you from your earlier thoughts. Your hand gripped his tightly as you glued your eyes shut.

The flight left you feeling nauseous and homesick. He laughed at your expression as the two of you stepped off the plane together. “You’re seriously that taken aback by a flight?”

“I don’t regularly go overseas for soccer games, so yes.” You groaned as he offered to hold your suitcase for you. Though, stepping foot onto Italy - an unfamiliar destination -  warranted a heap of differences in culture, environment and weather. So, the two of you would need to navigate it together.

So, over the next few days, you both spent barely any time in the hotel, using it as somewhat of a storage destination after days of shopping and sightseeing. You visited various landmarks, trying a ton of different foods and desserts, and sadly, falling into many tourist traps.

On the weekend of your first week, the amount of activities you both had planned began to dwindle. It seemed like as excited as you both were to visit new places, it would end before your time here came to a close so the two of you needed to use one of your days to research online and plan a few more things. Take reservations at restaurants, watch a couple soccer matches (courtesy of Hyoma) and visit a few more sites.

Returning to the hotel room after a long day out, you dropped various shopping bags onto the ground before slumping onto the bed, your body limp.

“…Do we even have anymore money left?” You wondered aloud.

“Don’t worry, we’ve still got more than enough.” Folding his coat, he placed it on the table in the middle of the room before taking a seat on the edge of the bed next to you.

His gaze softened, his lips upturned into a warm smile. You couldn’t help but reciprocate his smile, carried by a light chuckle “What?”

His hand moved to brush a piece of hair away from your face. Suddenly, you found yourself gazing upwards at him. His face was directly over yours and each of his hands were placed beside your head, propping him up.

“Hyoma..?”

Despite his typical confidence, a rush of red painted his face this time. It looked as though you’d be able to feel the warmth if you cupped his cheek. And you did; the feeling rushed throughout your entire body and now you were burning up as well. His gaze was scattered, failing to meet your eyes, and your chest rapidly rose and fell with each hitched breath.

Gripping the collar of his shirt, he exhaled deeply, slumping over next to you. His head rested on your stomach as he fanned his face with his hand.

You let out a breathy laugh, the shakiness in your voice still apparent.

“Shut up…” He retorted, his voice carrying the same emotion as yours.

[icarusflewsworld]

Rhysand & Cassian & Azriel X OC

Hello, here is the chapter 21 of a fanfiction on the world of Acotar where our three favorite Batboys are the mates of a single woman.

I would like to apologize to all of you for the huge late; especially when I said I would publish on Friday. I promise to make efforts to avoid this happening again, that said, I hope it will be worth it and that you will find the chapters good! 

! Don't forget to read the previous and following chapters ! : Here

Enjoy the read ! ❤️❤️❤️

Chapter 21

When Luxiana awoke, the three Illyrians watched her with a mixture of hope and apprehension. How would their soul mate will react after she had kissed all three of them last night?

Azriel was already sure he knew her reaction. In fact, he'd spent the whole night - his eyes onto the ceiling, leaning against the headboard - imagining the different expressions that might have Luxiana and in every scenario, she'd blush. By the cauldron, he was so eager to see what she was going to do. And now she was finally opening her eyes. He was about going to know. Maybe he'd even get to do it again and kiss her again. It was the thing he wanted most in the world right now. He wanted so much to touch her, to hold her, to kiss her, to possess her.

Rhysand was still sitting in front of Luxiana in the same place he'd been last night. The same spot where she'd kissed him. He'd spent the whole night looking at her and had thought of nothing else. Of absolutely nothing else but her. She had brought him a peace of mind that was beyond belief. She silenced his intrusive thoughts and healed his bruised heart without even knowing it. But the chaos and explosions she awakened in his body were far different from the new tranquility in his head. He had detailed her all night long, memorizing every feature of her face without even tiring of it, but it had taken hours before his heart resumed a calm, regular beat after the kiss she'd given him.

Cassian had lay down beside Luxiana. He rested his head on his forearm and fell asleep right after her with a huge smile on his face. No kiss had ever made him feel the way kissing his soul mate had, and he wanted so much more. He'd slept well and when he'd opened his eyes a few hours ago, his joy and excitement were still there, and even tenfold. He'd felt like jumping up and down and screaming at the top of his lungs. He'd never woken up in such a good mood. He rested his cheek on his palm and his elbow on his mattress to watch Luxiana as she struggled to sit up. Her eyes were half-closed, and while she had hardly moved in her sleep, her hair was a mass of tangled knots going everywhere. Cassian's heart was beating wildly in his chest. He probably wasn't thinking clearly because she was his soulmate and he was happy, but he thought she was so beautiful like that.

Luxiana's mouth was dry and pasty. She could hardly keep her eyes open and was still fighting sleep. In fact, she wished she could have rested longer. She'd slept well, but she'd forced herself to get up when she saw the three bare-chested Illyrians around her, staring at her strangely with shining eyes. She had farted in her sleep or something? She wanted to look at them to see what was wrong with them, but the morning sunlight streaming through the bay window straight at her wasn't helping to keep her eyelids open. Especially as the remaining alcohol in her blood made her muscles heavy and difficult to move.

She moistened her lips several times, making strange mouth sounds. She turned her head towards the males to stare at them one by one. Seeing that all three of them were looking at her with flaming irises and goofy little smiles, she thought they were mocking her. She let out a sort of hoarse growl. "What?"

Cassian and Rhysand's smiles widened. The Illyrian with the red siphons straightened up to sit behind Luxiana, who was facing the lord. Cassian leaned slightly forward to place his mouth next to Luxiana's ear. He closed his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath of his mate's vanilla scent. "We were just thinking about what happened yesterday, sweetie," he murmured in a deep voice.

Luxiana shivered imperceptibly, her lower abdomen disturbed from the morning by Cassian's warm breath on her lobe. She swiveled her head towards him, acting as if nothing had happened and as if she wasn't completely aroused. Their faces were now face to face, their lips only inches apart. Luxiana had to restrain herself from looking at the Illyrian's mouth while HE couldn't help himself. "What happened yesterday?" she repeated, frowning for more information on what he was talking about.

The three Illyrians glanced at each other with a mixture of concern, surprise and apprehension. Didn't she remember their kisses? Rhysand leaned forward, trying not to let his doubt show, and feigning an air of playful confidence and haughtiness. He caught Luxiana's chin between his fingers to turn her head towards him. "You kissed the three of us, darling."

Luxiana didn't like his tone and expression, as if she were a trophy he already took for granted. She widened her eyes and didn't even have to pretend for her cheeks to flush. She stepped back a little to free herself from Rhys's grip. "What?" She looked completely embarrassed and for that too, she didn't need to pretend.

Rhysand's hand fell limply back on his legs, Cassian's smile faded and Azriel's disappointment compressed his chest.

Rhysand tried to keep up a good front, but his smirk was more than a little false. Their soul mate couldn't remember kissing them. They'd taken a great step forward last night, but today they were back where they started.

Cassian had lost all trace of the joy he'd felt last night and since this morning when he woke up. He would have liked to kiss her again, but now it was lost.

Azriel crossed his arms, his throat tight. He could see her blushing, but it wasn't even because she remembered kissing them. He was so disappointed. "Do you remember anything from last night?" he asked gravely.

Luxiana frowned a little more, adopting a blank stare. "Uh, I remember that you came looking for me in my room, that we came here and I... I think we had a drink or two and..." She searched for words, pursing her lips. "We played cards, didn't we?" she exclaimed as if suddenly remembering.

Cassian let himself fall on his back, arms spread wide and a sad gaze on the ceiling. He blew out all his air. He was so disappointed. "So you don't remember anything. So you really had drunk too much," he muttered through his teeth more to himself.

"No I wasn't drunk, I am used to drinking," she took offense, glaring back at him.

Rhysand kept his false smile. He inclined his head. "Yet it’s true. You don’t remember but you kissed us and you even wanted to go further, you little innocent baby girl."

Luxiana pursed her lips, lowering her head to hide her blush. "I don't remember that," she grumbled through gritted teeth with a look that fled so embarrassed she felt.

Azriel squinted his eyes. A smile emerged on his lips. "You're lying," he breathed.

His two brothers turned hopeful heads towards him, and Cassian even straightened up to lean on his forearms.

Luxiana raised shining pupils of shame at Azriel. "No," she insisted, a little vexed. How on earth did this fae know when she was lying? And how could she forget to be careful in front of him?

Azriel's smile widened as his chest filled with relief. He grabbed Luxiana's chin firmly, hooking his fingers into her cheeks to pull her towards him and bring her head closer to his. Something in the Illyrian's heart exploded when his fingerprints touched Luxiana's bouncing skin. Their faces were barely a few inches apart. Azriel's smile turned carnivorous as he noticed his soulmate looking at his lips. "It's not very nice to lie. I don't like that very much," he really hated the idea of his soul mate lying to him. "Especially not when it comes from the little princess that you are." With his other hand, he tucked a lock of hair behind Luxiana's ear, following his movement with his eyes. "From MY little princess." He returned his authoritative, almost stern gaze to his soulmate's, but a playful glow could be seen shining in his irises. "You're never going to lie to me again, are you?"

Luxiana was completely hypnotized by Azriel's eyes and completely immobilized by the strange electric atmosphere that had developed between the two of them. She loved more than anything the possessive grip he had on her chin and his authoritative words. Her breathing was choppy and labored. "No," she managed to say in a strangled voice. It was all she could say. In this position, he could have asked her what he wanted, and she would have agreed.

The other two Illyrians watched the scene with intrigue, brows furrowed, their pupils oscillating between their soulmate and their brother. Cassian finally threw Rhysand an expression somewhere between confusion and amusement, which Rhysand returned. Who would have thought their brother so dominant and authoritarian. In 500 years, they'd never seen him like this.

Something flared in Azriel's chest at his soulmate's cooperation and docility. "Good girl," he murmured, sliding his thumb over Luxiana's mouth to caress its contours.

Luxiana swallowed hard as fire burned her lower stomach and chest. Damn it, she liked being called like that and she wasn't thinking clearly as her lips tickled her far too much under the spy master's caresses.

Azriel was still clutching her chin with his thumb and forefinger, but he put his other hand on her throat to grip her and pull her possessively a little more toward him. "So do you remember last night?"

Luxiana had to restrain herself from moaning when he grabbed her and pulled her towards him. She was far too disturbed by everything she was feeling, so she just nodded. It was all she could do now anyway.

Azriel leaned towards her to brush his lips against Luxiana's. He shivered imperceptibly at the tickle. "Do you remember when we kissed?"

The blonde's breath caught in her throat and an electric current surged through her. She wanted to break the distance but he held her motionless in place. She nodded softly again. She remembered well.

Cassian straightened up fully to stand on his knees and slide next to Azriel so he could be seen by Luxiana. "Then why did you make us believe otherwise?"

The blonde managed to tear her eyes away from Azriel's to look at Cassian. She was able to regain her smirk and her confidence, feeling in control again in front of Cassian. "Because it was quite funny to see your disappointed faces."

Azriel, noticing that he was losing his soulmate's attention, exerted pressure on her chin, bringing her head towards him and forcing her to look at him. "Tsk, tsk," he emitted, clicking his tongue against his palate in a sound of disagreement.

Luxiana turned her attention back to Azriel and lost her smile and confidence again. Damn, what power did he have over her? She felt ready to obey him without a care in the world. He intimidated her a little and excited her at the same time, it was crazy.

"So you lied to us, knowing full well what you were doing," Rhysand remarked, regaining his hopeful shining eyes and smile. "You devilish little creature."

Luxiana wanted to turn her eyes towards Rhysand a smile emerged on her lips, but Azriel, to keep her attention, pushed her roughly and laid her back on the mattress to positioned himself on top of her, one leg between hers. He still had one hand on Luxiana's throat but his other forearm was resting on the bed beside her face so he wouldn't carry all his weight on her. "Do you know what we do to the little princess who lies?"

Luxiana trembled with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. She felt as if molten lava was coursing through her veins. She even had to hold back with all her might not to throw herself onAzriel and kiss him again. She had loved it so much when they kissed last night. She wanted more, and if she weren't so intrigued and intimidated by Azriel above her, she'd surely have let herself go. "We kiss her?" she asked hopefully, pleadingly.

Azriel fainted for a second. His soul-mate beneath him was red-cheeked and so cute as she practically begged Azriel to kiss her. The Illyrian's heart had missed a long beat and he'd had to let out a sort of grunt at his erection, which had pulsed in his pants in repercussion to the excitement that had imploded all at once in his belly. The master spy smiled as he restrained himself from doing what his soul mate was asking for. He let himself fall on top of her a little more, pressing his pelvis against Luxiana's to make her feel his erection. He stroked his lips again with the blonde's before shifting his mouth to her ear to whisper, "No, we're punishing her."

Something exploded in Luxiana's body and her chest jerked as she heard the fae's words and felt his erection on her thigh. A mixture of excitement, provocation and reluctance ran through her. She glanced over Azriel's shoulder at Rhysand and Cassian, who were watching her with a playful, mocking smile on their lips. She reached out a hand to Rhysand with a pleading look. "Help" she mimed with her mouth without letting any sound out so Azriel wouldn't hear. But Rhysand only widened his smile, nodding gently from left to right. And Cassian began to laugh out loud in mockery. She opened her mouth wide in offence. She wasn't going to get any help from them.

But Azriel had felt her move. He straightened up to let go of Luxiana's throat and grabbed her outstretched wrist toward Rhysand to plate it over her head. "Tsk, tsk."

Luxiana's heart was pounding in her chest and could almost moan just feeling the bulge in Azriel's pants pressed against her leg. As much as she'd like knowing the kind of punishment Azriel was talking about, she was a little apprehensive. She wasn't here for that anyway, and above all, she needed some air. She was going to have to get out of this situation on her own. She had to pull herself together. "So no kisses?" she asked, putting on the most adorable face possible, having seen the Illyrian faint earlier. "I wanted kisses."

It worked, for Azriel's heart, as well as those of the two Illyrians behind him, missed a beat before slamming violently back against their ribs. In repercussion, the master spy loosened his grip on Luxiana's arm a little, long enough for her to escape from it and slid sideways between Azriel's arm and his legs. She scrambled out of bed, laughing, and none of the three Illyrians could catch her. She turned towards them while walking backwards towards the door to make sure they don’t go after her. "And I wanted kisses, what a shame..." 

She laughed even harder when she saw their shocked faces and wide-open smiling mouths. She extricated herself from Cassian's room. "I'm going to the shower, bye," and she scurried off down the corridor to her own room and into her bathroom. She closed the door, leaned against it and let herself slide to the ground. She took a deep breath before huffing. What the hell had happened? She'd loved it, but she had to pull herself together. She wasn't here for that. And they had far too much power over her, it scared her.

***

They were flying. Rhysand tightened his grip around Luxiana, whose legs around his pelvis and arms around his neck were barely squeezed, as if she wasn't afraid of falling. She looked all around her and into the void with shining eyes and sometimes closed her eyelids to enjoy the wind in her hair, as if she wasn't at all terrified of flying. But Rhysand was afraid. He was afraid of where they were going. He was afraid of how she would see them today. She was so fragile.

When she'd emerged from the shower and joined them in the dining room, she'd been much quieter than usual. She was trying not to look perturbed, but the three Illyrians could tell something was wrong. She seemed much less cheerful than usual and also much more distant with them. So they don’t even try to resume their morning's discussion or even to flirt with her. Something was really bothering her and when they'd wanted to know what was wrong, she'd simply asked Rhys when they were going to steal the Book of Breathing.

The lord had panicked a little and to give himself time, he had said he had to go to the Court of Nightmares today to put back the Orb of Truth they had stolen for their meeting with the queens. The three of them had wanted to go with Mor only but Luxiana had insisted on going with them. Rhys had warned her, telling her that the people they were going to become with Cassian and Azriel weren't really them. That it was all an act, but they were so terrified she'd be afraid of them.

They flew side by side with his brothers, and although they could have returned to the court of the nightmares teleporting there, Rhys had wanted so much to take Luxiana in his arms that he'd offered to fly. And Luxiana didn't even try to understand or ask Mor to teleport her there with her, as she threw herself into the lord's arms, screaming with joy, happy that she was going to fly.

The three of them landed in the entrance to the court of nightmares. The three Illyrians exchanged worried expressions. Azriel breathed a sigh as he glanced at the immense doorway to the nightmare court and then looked uncertainly at his soul mate. "Are you sure? We can drop you back at Velaris, it's not too late."

Luxiana rolled her eyes. Who did he think she was? "I'm sure."

Rhysand gritted his teeth. "Look, the person we're going to have to be, especially with you knowing you're human and in front of them, is... it's not really us. Please don't forget it."

Luxiana smiled confidently. "I will not, Rhys. I assure you I won't forget it." She drew her face closer to his, standing on tiptoes. "Don't worry, you'll still be the faes I kissed last night."

Rhysand raised an eyebrow and was finally able to smile, calming slightly for a second. He leaned over to give Luxiana a kiss, unable to resist the attraction of his mate's lips, but she dodged him at the last moment, smiling even more seductively and provocatively.

Rhysand opened his mouth wide in pleasant surprise as Luxiana reached out to grab Cassian's arm and hold onto him, pulling him towards the entrance to the court. Cassian laughed as he saw Rhys's disappointed face but he followed the blond.

Azriel was following them too, but he wasn't in the mood for laughter. He detailed Luxiana up and down from behind. She looked beautiful in that revealing, almost transparent black dress. Too beautiful. And this dress revealed a little too much. It was just a black lace backless fabric, with only two wide bands covering her chest and joining in the middle at her lower stomach. Both her legs were visible at the front. He closed his eyes as he passed a hand over his face. Hell, he'd fought Cassian and Rhysand to get her changed, but again they were two against him, telling him they didn't like it either, but they couldn't bring back a fully covered human. The others would suspect something was weird. Hell, he was going to kill the first person who laid eyes on her.

Mor was waiting for them at the entrance to the reception hall. She was a little stressed at the idea of seeing her parents again. When Luxiana noticed it, she let go of Cassian to give her a hug. Mor returned it with a tender smile. Fortunately, she wasn't going to stay a long time in the same room as her parents, she'd be able to leave early to go and put the Orb of Truth back in place. Rhys had wanted Azriel to do it as he had stolen it, but his master spy had refused. If Luxiana came with them, then he would stay with her permanently.

Azriel grabbed Luxiana's hand to squeeze it tightly. "Whatever happens, you stay close to me."

"Or one of us," Cassian added with a jaded look to his brother.

Luxiana smiled shyly as she nodded. Rhysand stood in front of her with a serious look on his face. "Don't forget, you have to look sad like we are ..."

"... make you suffer the worst atrocities." continued Luxiana. "I remember that too. Don't worry, I understand that you don't want anyone to know that you're little cute teddy bears. "

Cassian raised an eyebrow and wanted to say something, but Mor's laughter interrupted him.

Rhysand smiled and could do nothing else, for like Azriel, he was not in the mood. They were far too worried.

They regained their seriousness and decided to move. Their hearts pounded, apprehension and fear almost paralyzing them. Then they entered the room where countless high faes awaited them. All heads turned in their direction, and a stony silence fell over the place that had been alive with talk just a few seconds before. Faces grew pale and preoccupied. They all lowered their eyes, but Luxiana could see the sidelong glances of terror and horror they were giving them. Especially at Rhys. She turned her gaze to him and couldn't stop the corner of her lips from lifting for a microsecond.

Rhysand looked cold, no, icy. He was terrifying, and the power he exuded suddenly was oppressive. He looked at everyone with an evil expression, as if he was looking for his next victim. And that had a way of turning Luxiana strangely from the inside.

She glanced at the others to see Azriel almost invisible, melting into his shadows around him and dark-faced. It was the first time she'd seen his shadows around him in this way. He hurriedly eyed everyone warily, as if expecting one of them to jump out at them.

Cassian was chin high, back straight and chest puffed out. He looked confident, but there was no smile on his face, only strength, severity and anger.

Mor, for her part, had never seemed so haughty.

Luxiana kept her head down as if she wasn't happy to be there. Her arms were clutched to her chest, clutching her forearms as if she were uncomfortable in her dress. She had to play the game the way they'd asked her to.

A throne reigned in the middle of the room where they were all heading. Suddenly, one of the fae with short, curly blond hair and a glass of wine in his hands, surrounded by several other fae, let out an almost inaudible hiss as he stared Luxiana up and down. "Holy cow," he breathed to his friends. "She's the finest human I've ever seen. Maybe the lord can give her to us when he is done with her."

Luxiana had to restrain herself from smirking at his words. Oh, she'd be happy to give this fae a visit later and teach him manners and respect for women.

Rhysand, having heard it too, gritted his teeth. He wasn't supposed to show anything, but he longed to rip the tongue out of that bastard who spoke of his soulmate like that. He didn't want to scare Luxiana and that was the only thing keeping him from acting, but damn he would have liked to do it.

Cassian tensed, making his gait robotic and immediately looking less confident. How dare that bastard think he was worthy of laying eyes on their soul mate. He was going to wait until Luxiana left with Rhysand and Azriel so he could take the bones of that fae out from his body.

But Azriel didn't wait a second. A flash of anger electrocuted him through and through with violence. How dare he talk about his soul mate like that? How dare he look at his wife like that? He didn't wait to react and didn't even question himself, all reason and logic having left his body. He took Truth Teller out and threw himself at the fae, stabbing him in the eyes.

Everyone froze as the fae screamed, falling to the ground with bloody eyes. Azriel stood over him, breathing rapidly. He was killing everyone else with his pupils. "This human is ours ! Don't touch her, don't talk to her and don't look at her! If you do, this is what awaits you." His voice was cold, hissing and sharp.

Rhysand and Cassian held back to widening their eyes in surprise and did their utmost to maintain consistency in front of everyone. Azriel, realizing what he had just done and that Luxiana had just caught a glimpse of the cruel person he was, frozen in his movement.

The three of them, as one, slowly turned their gaze towards Luxiana. Their throats contracted and their stomachs turned as they saw her with wide eyes, a hand clamped over her mouth and a look of horror on her face.

The three of them began to panic, their chests vibrating with fear as they tried not to look like anything on the outside. "Luxiana!!!" shouted Rhysand in his head using his telepathy, hoping to reach his soulmate's mind. He deployed his power to stroke Luxiana's mental shield with a little more force than necessary. He so hoped she could feel him and let him in. But Luxiana was human, and there was no way she could have mastered her mental shield to that extent, and sense that Rhysand wanted to get in touch with her. "Luxiana," he begged mentally, knowing full well that she would never be able to hear him.

Yet Luxiana dropped her mental shield as she sensed Rhysand's power. In fact, she only retracted her shield a little, to protect her memories and her mind from Rhysand's power, but still allowing him to communicate with her.

But the lord couldn't see that. As far as Rhysand could feel, her shield had just given way, and it didn't matter anyway, since she was finally allowing him to enter her head. To him, it was only unconscious. Luxiana didn't realize what she was doing, but she must have sensed Rhysand's power in her head, and she now felt confident enough with him to unconsciously lower her shield. A current of joy pulsed in his chest before he remembered why he wanted to communicate with her. He extended his power to Azriel and Cassian, and in fact had no trouble even doing so to communicate with them, helped by their soulmate bond. "Luxiana," he murmured softly in his head.

The blonde jumped as if she didn't expect it. She was such a good actress. She looked up at Rhysand, her eyes still horrified.

"It's just me talking to you in your head with my power, don't be afraid. It's just me. You let me in unconsciously."

Luxiana frowned before returning her gaze to the fae kneeling in front of Azriel, still screaming in pain.

"Please, don't' be afraid," Rhysand continues. "Don't forget who we really are. "

"Azriel shouldn't have done that," Cassian growled in their heads, glaring darkly at his brother with his pupils. "He should have at least waited until you were gone."

Luxiana twitched as she heard Cassian's voice and almost mimed yet another jump. Luckily, she still had her hand in front of her mouth to hide her nascent smile.

Azriel grunted. "I'm not even going to apologize, he shouldn't have looked at her like that," he replied coldly via their link. "She's ours for fuck's sake and I warned you that if she went out in that outfit and someone looked at her a little too much, I'd scratch his eyes out."

Luxiana widened her eyes a little more, staring at Azriel at his words. Had he just said she was theirs? Surely he thought she belonged to them while waiting for her to fulfill the service Feyre owed them, but these words were doing a lot of damage to his stomach and chest.

Rhysand placed his hands in his pockets to clench his fists imperceptibly he forced himself not to let anything of his fear and anger show or to look too much at his soulmate. All the same, he glared at Azriel. "You just stabbed a fae' eyes out in front of Luxiana, you moron." Then he glanced sideways at his soulmate to address her. "Luxiana, listen, don't forget who we are, we ...."

"Calm down, everything's fine," she interrupted, speaking in their heads with a calm voice.

The three of them froze a little more. She was answering them. It was the first time they'd heard their soul mate’s voice in their heads, and she was telling them everything was fine.

"It's just acting, you told me to pretend, that's what I'm doing." She feigned a gasping breath as she regained her chest in her arms while lowering her head, but the confident, calm glance she cast at Rhsyand before, reassured him entirely.

Cassian couldn't hide his wry smile and hopeful eyes as he stared at their soulmate. "Didn't what just happened scare you?"

Luxiana chuckled in their minds, "no, that was incredibly sexy."

The three Illyrians glanced at each other in surprise before sighing imperceptibly in relief. Azriel grunted, vibrating with excitement.

Rhysand scowled at the screaming, bleeding fae on the ground. He waved his hand in a jaded manner in his direction to order the other faes to make the fae leave the room, which his friends did without question, gripping him by his arms and dragging him outside. Then Rhysand goes back in movement again to avoid arousing suspicion. He dropped onto his throne.

Chapters 22 and 23 : Here

[itscoucouharry]

Through the Glass- Harry Styles oneshot

Y/N is admitted into a psychiatric hospital…

The sterile smell of the hospital clung to the air, faintly mingling with the citrusy scent of the flowers Harry always brought. You sat cross-legged on the stiff couch in the visitor’s room, dressed in the loose-fitting hospital sweats they provided. The pale walls felt heavy, pressing down on you despite the bright, artificial light overhead.

When the door opened, you didn’t have to look up to know it was Harry. His footsteps were deliberate, familiar, as though he didn’t want to startle you.

“Hey, love,” he said softly, his voice warm and grounding.

You glanced up, your heart aching at the sight of him. Harry looked like himself—messy curls, a knitted cardigan over a simple t-shirt, and a soft smile that didn’t quite hide the worry in his eyes. He held a bouquet of sunflowers in one hand and a small, wrapped package in the other.

“Hi,” you replied, your voice quiet but steady.

He placed the flowers on the table between you, their bright yellow petals standing out starkly against the gray room. “Thought these might brighten things up a bit.”

You managed a small smile, your fingers playing with the edge of your sleeve. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

Harry pulled up a chair, sitting close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. He set the package on the table, nudging it toward you. “I brought you something else, too. Thought it might help on the tougher days.”

You hesitated before unwrapping it, revealing a soft, oversized blanket in your favorite color. It felt like a hug in fabric form, and your throat tightened as you ran your fingers over the plush material.

“Harry…” you began, your voice breaking slightly.

“I just want you to be comfortable, even in here,” he said quickly, his green eyes searching yours. “I know it’s not easy, and I can’t fix everything, but… I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

Tears welled in your eyes, and you looked away, ashamed of the emotions bubbling to the surface. “You shouldn’t have to do this,” you murmured. “I’m such a mess, Harry. You deserve someone… whole.”

“Stop that,” he said gently but firmly, reaching out to take your hand in his. His fingers were warm, calloused from years of guitar-playing, and they wrapped around yours as if to anchor you. “You’re not a mess. You’re human. And you’re going through something really hard right now, but that doesn’t make you less deserving of love.”

The sincerity in his voice cracked something open inside you. You’d spent so long feeling like a burden, like your depression had stolen the best parts of you and left behind someone unworthy. But Harry didn’t seem to see it that way.

“You show up here every time,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Even when I push you away, even when I can’t give you anything back. Why?”

“Because I love you,” he said simply, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “And love doesn’t just disappear when things get hard. It grows. It fights. It stays.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and Harry reached out to gently wipe it away with the pad of his thumb. “You don’t have to do this alone, okay? I’m here, no matter how long it takes.”

You nodded, unable to find the words to express the gratitude swelling in your chest. For the first time in weeks, you felt a flicker of something—hope, maybe—begin to take root.

“I love you, too,” you whispered, your voice shaky but earnest.

Harry’s smile widened, soft and full of relief. He shifted his chair closer, pulling the blanket over your lap and wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

For a while, you just sat there together, the world outside fading away. And though you knew the road ahead would still be hard, Harry’s presence made it feel a little less impossible.

[sapphire-writes]

Lassoed Heart

summary: You're not ready for Billy to leave just yet.

pairing: Billy x fem!Reader

warnings: 18+/NSFW/MDNI - absolute filth with no plot whatsoever, smut, fingering, oral (fem receiving)

word count: 2k

note: belated Christmas gift for my ride or die @undertheorangetree

note: hope you enjoy!

link to other stories from me!

To be notified when I post something new, be sure to follow @sapphire-writes-updates & turn notifications on 💙

“I’ll be heading out now,” Billy calls from the other room. 

You pout, staring at your reflection in the mirror as you begin to get dressed. Always on the move, your cowboy. Restless that one is. You’d spent the night together, carried over the threshold by Billy after a long night out with friends. You’d giggled all the while as he insisted on carrying you from your horse to the door.

“I can walk—” you’d tried to argue, but Billy insisted.

A night of passion and lovemaking ensued, then much too quickly the morning light came to steal him away. Just for the morning he assured you. He had some business to attend and then he’d be back in you arms. 

Still, any amount of parting from him left an ache in your chest.

“Could you come help me first?” you call to him, facing the doorway.

Billy is quick to enter, buttoning his shirt while he does before meeting your eyes. It's only for a moment before his eyes drop to your scantily clad form, jaw slacking. Your cheeks warm as his eyes undress you further. 

“You look…,” he loses whatever words attempted to come to mind as you turn your back toward him, staring at his reflection through the mirror. You watch as he walks toward you, a lion stalking his prey.

His pupils dilate as you shakily inhale, breasts straining against the fabric of your bodice as your heart beats wildly. A new style, showing much more cleavage than you’d been used to. A change Billy seemed to appreciate. 

“Lace me up?” you murmur, a smile twitching on your lips as he staggers the rest of the way forward.

Hesitantly, he reaches for the laces, beginning to string them through the open holes. He pauses for a moment, fingertips caressing the smooth skin of your back. A shiver rolls down your spine, goosebumps rising on your flesh. A moment later he tentatively pulls, drawing the fabric together. 

“Harder.”

His hands slip as you speak, nerves getting the better of him. 

“What?” He asks, nearly choking on the word.

You wet your lips, trying to hide your smile before biting down hard on your lower lip. How you adore teasing him.

“You have to pull harder.”

Billy leans closer, his chin nearly resting on your shoulder as he turns his lips against the sensitive patch of skin just below your ear.

“Like this?” he asks, just as he pulls, causing a gasp leaving your lips, “that hard enough, doll?”

“Yes,” you answer breathlessly, as his lips skim against the skin of your throat.

“You’re sure?” he murmurs, his words finished with a kiss against your neck. 

Your head falls back against him.

“Maybe a little harder,” you murmur. Billy wraps the silk once around his hand, tugging even harder than before. The bodice tightens significantly this time, the strength of Billy’s hands cinching your waist as small as your body allows. 

Billy hums, securing the silk with a finishing bow, lips still pressed against your throat.

“Thank you.”

You sound more breathless than you’d like, gazing at his expression in the mirror. His hands circle your waist, pressing you flush against him. One hand splays over your stomach and his jaw slacks as he meets your gaze. There’s fire in his blue eyes and you can’t help but reach your hand up to caress his face. 

He’s so handsome. Too handsome, really, your vigilante. 

“You’re beautiful,” he says, voice rough as gravel, hands never leaving you, “God, how did I get so lucky?”

“Shouldn’t you be off?” you ask, ignoring his praise.

He doesn’t answer, simply tightens his hold on you, turning you to face him. His hand cups your cheek, the other resting against your lower back. 

“Billy,” you scold, but your tone is teasing as he drags you toward the bed. He backs up until the back of his knees hit the mattress and he sits with a thud, both hands dropping to your waist. 

“I’ll be quick,” he promises, hands already pawing at your stockings, hoisting one of your legs to rest on the bed.

“You’re never quick.”

“You can’t leave me like this,” he argues, rolling down your left stocking, revealing the soft flesh of your thigh, “Think I can leave without having a taste? Didn’t think you were that cruel, darlin’.”

“Oh, I’m cruel, am I?” you counter, unable to stop your smile, nor the shiver that rolls through you as he leans forward, pressing a wet kiss on your inner thigh.

A breathy sigh leaves your lips as his kisses trail inward down your thigh until he reaches the crease of your hip and hums. 

“God damn,” he murmurs, looking up at you, “You drive me crazy, y’know that?”

You bite your lip, nodding your head. His grip on your leg tightens, and suddenly, his arm circles your waist and he flips you onto the bed. You land on your back with a squeal before he’s on you, silencing your startled cry with a kiss. 

Though his hands are rough he fingers grip your waist affectionately, thumbs brushing against your hip bones. He kisses you deeper, slotting himself between your legs, molding his lithe body against yours. 

You can feel his desire pressing against you, hard and wanting as he grinds against you. Billy is never one to put his pleasure before yours. He kisses you once more before traveling lower, pushing your skits around your waist as his head lowers between your thighs.

You feel a sharp pinch and cry out at the sudden burst of pain.

Billy pokes his head up, hair ruffled and a lopsided curious smile on his face. 

“Where’re your bloomers?”

You grab a fist full of your skirts, thighs spread in invitation as you gleefully bite your lip.

“I must’ve forgotten them. You’ve interrupted me, you see.”

Bully groans, shaking his head before he disappears once more. His warm breath on your aching cunt is the first thing you feel before his tongue follows soon after.  A breathless moan escapes you as you feel his lips circle around your sensitive bud, suctioning around it and lavishing it with his tongue. Your legs shake around his head as he continues, slipping his hand beneath your skirts to join in his efforts.

You can’t stop the cry that escapes you when two of his fingers enter you, bullying your sensitive walls in harmony with his tongue; his perfect tongue, so soft and warm as it presses against your most sensitive part with just the right amount of pressure. 

“Oh god—” there’s nothing to do but hold on, to try and anchor yourself to this world by fisting a handful of his brown curls as you come hard, thighs clenching around his head. 

You feel Billy moan in satisfaction as you come down from your high, before he removes his fingers carefully. He sits up and brings his fingers to his mouth, licking each one clean before moving on top of you, capturing your lips in a sensual kiss. You kiss him back for a moment before pushing his shoulders, urging him to lay on the bed. 

“Let me,” you tell him, eager hands working to free his hard cock from his trousers, “I want to.”

Billy swallows, lips parted as you finally grab hold of him and stroke him, before he nods. You straddle him then, lifting your skirts as you position him against your entrance. You bring your face close to his, lips barely brushing his as you sink down, just enough so the tip of him stretches inside you. 

A soft, ragged moan escapes him, his breath mingling with yours as you sink down further; your eyes flutter shut at the stretch, and you try and savor every inch before he bottoms out completely in your warmth. 

“Christ,” he mutters, strong nose pressing against your cheek. You can feel one of his hands leave your waist and press against your lower back. “You alright darlin?”

Sweet of him to always ask. Your Billy is nothing if not sweet. Your eyes open, meeting his. Strikingly blue, nearly translucent in the low light. A clear brook, how you imagine the sea.

You smile, nodding.

“I’m alright,” you assure, rolling your hips. He’s so deep inside of you, you love having him like this. You’ve never felt so full.

“God you feel good,” Billy praises, “My perfect girl.”

You lift your hips, thighs already burning as you lazily ride him. He lets you set the pace for a few moments, hands just resting on your waist and back. But you feel his fingers twitch after a moment, as if he’s incapable of not being an active participant. 

“Billy,” you moan, head thrown back in ecstasy as his hands snake to your ass.

His fingers dig into the soft flesh as he begins to move you, assisting your rocking motion. He kisses you once before his lips travel down the curve of your neck, leaving kisses in their wake. He finally rests atop your breasts, nipping and sucking the soft mounds.

Pleasure winds a strong current in your lower gut, pressure steadily building as he moves in and out in and out.

“That’s it darlin,” he praises, voice a rough moan, “Just like that, there’s a good girl—“

His mouth returns to yours then after following the column of your throat, lips warm and needy as he kisses you. Your hands tangle in his hair, threading through the soft strands that curl at the base of his neck. Experimentally you tug, earning a groan followed by a soft surprised laugh.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” he warns, followed by a swift slap to your left ass cheek, leaving a stinging mark in its wake. 

You answer him with another firm tug, his neck snapping backwards. He growls at that, hands securing themselves to your waist as he flips you back onto the mattress. A surprised gasp escapes your lips, transforming into an elongated moan as he picks up the pace. He slams into you, the sound of flesh smacking against flesh the only sound in the room besides your soft cries.

It’s almost too much, feeling him fucking you like this; so deep, so unhurried, just Billy all over you. It’s consuming, the soft warmth of his skin against yours, the intoxicating smell of smoke and leather that clings to him. 

Billy laces his fingers in yours pressing your hands back against the mattress. You whine, wiggling your hips in frustration as his grip never relents.

“I know,” he coos, his tone dripping with condensation. 

He continues pounding into you, pulling away from your lips momentarily to gaze between you. 

“Look,” he says, and you follow his gaze, watching his slick cock pull out of you, before slamming back in, “Look how fucking perfectly you take me.”

Your lips part, a ragged moan escaping you as you continue to watch his thick cock split you open, each time perfectly grazing your sweet spot.

All too soon you feel the familiar tightening in your gut. 

“Billy—“

“Shhh I know, it’s alright darlin just—shit stop clenching or,” his jaw slacks, eyes squeezing shut as your pussy constructs around him with your building orgasm, “fuck, I won’t last—“

“Come with me,” you beg, “Make me cum, make me cum, yes, yes—“ your pleas transform into a guttural sob as you reach your peak, stars exploding behind your eyes.

He follows soon after, a curse leaving him as his cock twitches within your warm walls. His arms shake as he holds himself over you, and you brush some hair stuck to his forehead. 

“Lay with me,” you tell him, arms looped around his neck and pulling him on top of you.

Billy gives in, the weight of him comforting as he rests on top of you, softening cock still buried inside of you. You stroke his hair as he lays with his head on your chest.

“How long will you be gone?”

“Not long,” he assures, “I’ll be back before nightfall.”

“Do you promise?”

Billy hums in agreement, “I’d never lie to you.”

And you know it's true. But it's not Billy’s word that troubles you. There are a million different reasons he might not make it home. But you don’t let that trouble you now. Instead, you hold him close, breathing him in choosing to believe that there’s no reason in the world he wouldn’t come home to you.

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated but never expected 🩵

[tangerinesmommy]

''Do whatever you want love, I'm Yours'' (3.2K Words Story)

A Submissive Tangerine × Fem!Reader Fic

⚠️ WARNING/KINKS: NSFW, SMUT, SEX, CUNNINLINGUS, MAN EATING PUSSY, HEAVY USE OF TERMS OF ENDEARMENTS, FEMDOM, ORAL, F(receiving oral), M(giving oral), descriptions of eating pussy, submissive man, dominant woman, mommydom, good boy, comfort, falling in love

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

‘I think, I might fall in love with you.’

The words Tangerine said, were still lingering in your mind. 

He was wrapped up in your arms when you woke up feeling content, with a big grin across your face. 

What a silly fucking man he is. He really said he fell in love with you after the night you two spend together. It was true- the sex was far from imperfections and you two just sorta clicked. Humour wise, personality wise. It also helped that you were awestruck by his looks. His cold blue eyes were endless. His warm orange mustache- so fucking irresistible. 

…for some reason what he said didn’t feel all too silly, did it?

His curly hair was a mess and you noticed some of the hickeys that you left last night. It seemed like he was full of them, but you couldn’t fully see from the blanket covering him.

Moreover, there was such a peaceful expression plastered on his face. All snuggled into you, using you as his body pillow.

It felt strangely comforting having this stranger over.

Just that he didn’t feel like a stranger to you right now. It’s been a while since you felt this adoration and desire for someone. Even more so, for someone you didn’t even know. You don’t even know this ‘Tangerine’ fella. You probably don’t even know his real name. Still here he is. Laying in your bed, wrapped up in your arms- with his head practically resting on your soft breasts. And the world couldn’t feel more at peace. 

He looked at peace, you felt at peace. 

A cute little smile on his face as he was sleeping, soft snores coming out of him, peacefully breathing onto your skin, calming you down. The fuzzy feeling of inner peace and love filling your soul. A wave of protectiveness washing over you.

You wanted to keep him safe. Safe from the world, safe in your arms- safe with you.

And you wanted to listen to his stupid little snores for however long he’d let you. 

You haven’t fallen in love, nor have you felt like falling in love- in FUCKING ages now. 

Your own life was too busy. Work too stressful. There was always- always too much going on to find time to meet somebody. To make somebody part of your daily routine, to share, live and grow with somebody. And yet here he was.

Some gorgeous orange haired man, some stranger named after a fruit, marked up with hickeys from the night you spent with him- laying in your arms and sleeping peacefully. 

A slutty orange haired man and some woman obsessed with making him, hers. What an odd love story. 

‘Mhh… morning, love’ you let go of him as he clears his throat, yawns and stretches. The way- the provocative fucking way his mustache moved with his lips as he spoke turned you so unbelievably on. 

‘Morning, Tangerine’ you respond with a smile and he smiles back at you before turning to his side and snuggling up against you, again. He let out a chuckle and your heart fluttered. Whens the last time you fell in love? Is this what it felt like? 

You held him close to you and caressed his back in a soothing manner. He let out small grunts and sighs and you chuckled with him. 

‘You weren’t that ticklish yesterday.’

‘And excuse ya love, I’m not. I’m just feeling…’ and there it was again. He raised his head, looked up to you. His blue eyes locking with yours and you hoping he meant what he said. That last night was more than just some hook-up. That last night was as meaningful to him as, you realised it has been to you. That this all wasn’t just in your head. More than wishful thinking, more than just a little crush. You two held eye contact for a mere couple of seconds, both of you smiling and anticipating his words. And the world stood still as he spoke softly ‘…enamoured.’ 

He was good at making impressions, wasn’t he just?

‘What you said yesterday about falling in love with me. Was that something you really meant or was it just something you said in the moment?’

‘Oh wow, you don’t ever hold back, do ya?’ He laughed and supported himself on his arms, looking around the room. Which finally gave you a chance to get a good look on the hickeys you left.

Seemed like you really don’t hold back when it comes to him. 

He cleared his throat, his hand raising to move his hair back and feel up his mustache as he answers. ‘Well Darling, you asked me bluntly. I think you can take a blunt answer then. I haven’t known ya for very long, but it’s been years since I've felt this spark in me… enlighten. It’s been years since the last time that I’ve felt hopeful about getting to know somebody. In my line of work, in my life so far I haven’t been able to trust… nor rely on a lot of people but-’ he looked to you and you couldn’t help and realise how very well spoken he was when not begging for you to treat him roughly. 

‘… something about you feels different and I can’t say that I haven’t been a bit of a hopeless romantic all my life, but you feel like what I’d imagine love at first sight to feel like.’ 

There was a moment of silence as you let his words and the realisation of what he said sink in. In the meantime, Tangerine reached out his hand to take yours, raising it to his lips and kissing your knuckles softly.

‘What about you then? Any reciprocating feelings or am I getting ahead of myself now?’

‘I like you too.’

‘Ah, are we back to high school now? Ya want me to write one of those little YES/NO/MAYBE letters to you now luv?’

He joked. You laughed. Still holding on to your hand, kissing it, anticipating your words with his eyes locked onto yours. 

‘Well, pretty boy, something about you does feel… special. Something about you feels right. Like, I look at your face and I want nothing else but to spend the rest of my life with that sexy mustache on my side. You know? Kissing me, eating me out.’ 

Love- and perhaps also Lust confessions come so easy when staring into eyes, that are as endless as any ocean you’ve ever seen. Waves of love coming over you the longer you stare.

‘Okay well, I have more to offer than just my mustache though.’ He whispers against your hand, chuckling as he plants another kiss on it, still holding on to you. It’s clear you’re both eye-fucking eachother when he starts kissing your wrists. 

Instantly you grabbed his chin, pulling him towards you and kissing him ferociously. Sticking your tongue deep inside his mouth, feeling it up. Placing your hands on the back of his head and on the side of his face, pulling him closer.

He didn’t resist, not that he wanted to anyways. He let you lick, kiss and feel up his mouth however hard you wanted to. Pulling him closer and closer, a bit of drool dripping out from how hard you went. He didn’t do much with his tongue, just moaned into you. Wait. He didn’t do much with his tongue?

You pulled out with a bit of a puzzled look and a small whiny pout.

‘Why aren’t you doing anything, darling? You okay?’

He smiled teasingly. What a bastard. ‘Just saving my tongue for something else.’

You understood. And god you wanted nothing more.

‘Oh? Is that so? Somebody’s eager to please.’

‘Of course I am. I’m your good boy, remember?’

Marry me- 

is what you wanted to say, but it was a bit early for that, wasn’t it?

So many thoughts filled your head, your heart started racing, but before you could say anything Tangerine started kissing your chin. 

As soft as anyone has ever kissed it before, you barely could feel it. His lips touched you softly, his perfect mustache brushing against you, it tickled and you couldn’t help but chuckle. 

He nipped at it playfully too. You felt surprised at how careful and affectionate he was being. But you enjoyed it. Greatly. So you didn’t do much besides watching. 

For now. 

Your chin to your neck were being kissed softly. He was careful, not to leave any marks.

Very much unlike you. 

Kissing your collarbone, with his mustache grazing your skin. You were so sensitive already, so turned on- his mustache tickled you extra much. He was getting a lot of irregular breaths out of you. His lips leaving pecks, making small endearing sound- whining with how eager he was to please you.

It didn’t take him very long to reach your breasts. Kissing your right one, massaging your left one with his hand. It was as if his hand and lips were synced, sucking on your nipple with the exact same delicate strength that he was pinching the other one with. 

Tangerine was sucking eagerly and moaning as he did. Fuck. 

Both of you were breathing heavily by now. Your brain had stopped working with how turned on you were, and all you could do is reach your hand up to his hair and ruffle his curls.

At some point you had enough willpower to huff out the words ‘good boy’ while stroking his hair and pulling it slightly. Getting moans out of him, as he was out of you. 

He chuckled. ‘listen it’s fine. Just let me pamper you a bit, mommy’ 

He knows damn well what gets you going, It’s not even been a full day. And he already knows how to play with you. 

‘Fuck you.’

‘You can.’

Both of you shared looks, laughed and he continued taking his sweet time pampering and worshipping your breasts, specifically your hardened nipples.

It made you moan a lot more, than you would have thought. 

Tangerine was not only talented, he was very observant. He had worked you up, left you wanting more. 

Usually people would take this chance to tease you, make you beg and dominate. 

But Tangerine did not. No, he held onto his words of being a good boy. One that wants to please you, worship you and eat you out. 

So when he noticed from your body language that you were ready for more and wanted more- he didn’t waste a single second, to give you exactly what you wanted. 

Kissing down a trail from your breasts to your belly. Nipping at your sensitive belly button carefully but enough to make you buck your hips. His hands following him down your body, gripping your sides and tracing your curves. Caressing you before they grip your thighs.

His breath hitched at the sight of your core. Yours did, at the sight of him down there. 

You didn’t know what to expect when he lifted his face and locked eyes with you.

But you noticed his demeanour, his devotion showing. You could tell from his body language that he was deep inside of that mind space, they call subspace. Ready to serve, ready to be yours once more.

‘May I have your permission?’

‘To do what?’ 

You replied with confidence and dominance. Your mommy persona, your assertiveness, your authority- that he so clearly respected and yearned for, showing.

Even with you being so sensitive from the pampering he’s been doing to your body- You will always be in control. You would always be Mommy.

And you could see from his smirk, that he loved it. 

He was flustered as you asked him to clarify, but he couldn’t hide that he was into it and into you.

‘To eat you out, miss. To make you cum, make y-‘

‘Shush, you do. Now put your mouth to use already.’

After all that teasing, you were eager as well. Eager for him to eat you out, eager for him to make you feel good. 

The moment he stuck his face into your cunt, you heard him moan. 

A low, guttural sort of moan- coming out of him the moment, he breathed you in. 

Some words, some nothings were mumbled from his side. The vibrations of him speaking into you making you, even wetter.

‘Fucking hell.’

Tangerine didn’t seem like he could hold himself back anymore.

His tongue licked from you slit to your most sensitive clit. A big fat, wet stripe, teasing enough to have you groan. Before you could instruct him to do anymore, he was already making nasty wet sounds. Slurping, mumbling, moaning.

He was your slut, for sure.

But he was good at what he did. Working on your inner lips (inner labias).

Sucking on them. Feeling them on his nose. Breathing them in. Groaning. 

Like a starved fucking man, with your pussy the source for life itself. 

He added a finger soon enough. But you noticed how he wasn't looking at you. His eyes were closed.

‘Aren’t you gonna look at me, dear?’

‘Y/n you taste so fucking good. I’m sorry love, I-‘ he looked at you and oh how you missed his sluttyself.   

‘No, no. That's not your choice to make, baby. Keep your eyes on mommy.’

He wasn’t hesitant to follow the orders you gave him. Not at all.

’Yes, mommy.’

‘See that’s better.’ 

Tangerine moved from your inner labia to your clit, his mustache kept on tickling you. You loved every desperate noise and movement he was making and kept on staring at him. 

And he truly was trying to keep his eyes locked with yours, but you tasted like heaven to him, so his eyes kept on fluttering.

Your hand moved through his locks, giving his scalp a massage before gripping a fistful of his fluffy curls to hold onto. He struggled even more to keep his eyes open now, moaning at your grip. ‘Fuck, darling’

The hand that kept on holding a fistful of your ass went to your cunt.  And he slipped his index finger in. Although, with how wet you were it took only a sweet little chuckle from the both of you, to know you were ready to take two. 

He pointed them upward and started the cliche motion of ‘come here’. Hitting your G-spot repeatedly. It certainly got you breathless and moaning quite fast. 

His tongue kept on softly sucking your clitoris. Flicking it with his tongue and at the same time sucking it into his mouth more and more. 

The mix between his hands and mouth stimulating you was one thing, but what was even hotter was how desperate he was being.

How desperately he wanted to please his mommy.

How with every lick, he moaned into you. Desperately trying to get closer to you, shoving his face into you deeper and deeper.

He’d gotten you far into bliss. Making you feel so much pleasure. 

It brought him so much pleasure, he started humping the bed. 

Humping out of neediness, out of eagerness. Humping because he wanted to give you his everything and his all.

The sight, the Touches. His desperation, his Neediness- his Submissiveness.

All things that got you closer and closer. 

Your legs were spasming. With your thighs clamping around his head, almost suffocating him.

But if he’d die right there, he’d die a happy man. 

Your back was arched with all the pleasure going through your body. And you kept on holding onto his hair. The grip strengthening.

Pulling it- his head, his hair towards you. With your body shaking the way that it was, you pulled him upwards. He was fighting back, trying hard to stay nose-deep inside your cunt.

His eyes- now fully focused on yours.

You, yourself couldn’t keep your eyes open anymore. It was overwhelming, all he was doing to your body felt simply- too good.

Too pleasurable, too exhilarating. Too Perfect.

He didn’t stop and you didn’t want him to.

You kept on pulling his hair. Being overtaken by the pleasure.

Until you heard him scream. Not a guttural low moan, it was a deep scream of pain. You let go of his hair immediately, realising it was you who brought him pain.

‘Fuck, I’m so sorry.'

Obviously you didn’t mean to hurt him, you also didn’t mean for him to pull away his mouth and stop eating you out. 

Before you could say anymore and tend his scalp, Tangerine said words that made you cum from just the sounds of them. 

‘Do whatever you want love, I’m yours.’

That simple phrase, those simple words. 

From the man that was a mere stranger a few hours ago and is now slowly turning into the love of your life- made you cum, instantly. 

He was a bit surprised to see you cum from his words, but the smug smile on his revealed his pride. You two laughed it off and he licked you clean.

What a gentleman. 

———

Finally out of bed, sitting in your kitchen you made coffee for the both of you.

It was the first time, in what felt like ages, you two saw eachother in clothes again. 

Some robe of yours bound lazily around your waist and him dressed in his normal suit attire again, with only his hair a bit out of place. The rest of him looking as taken care of as when you met him. 

You handed him a mug and sat across him. Both of you laughing to eachother lovingly, once again eye-fucking.

‘Love, I wanted to tell ya, you taste fuckin divine. Excuse my language’

He sipped on his coffee and smiled at you, before briefly looking away. You kept your eyes on him and noticed the distress in his expression. 

His eyes said so much. They were telling a story to you. You could see the pain in them. The man must have been through something. At the same time, his eyes were so unbelievably cold. Was it only because they were blue? You wonder what it is he does for a living. 

There was still so much that you didn’t know about Tangerine or his life. But whatever it was like. You wanted him to share it with you, to become a part of it and make it better.

He sighed out loud. 

With a very concerned tone in your voice you asked him. 

’What is it?’ 

And with a big sigh he started talking.

‘..As much as I’d love to, I don’t know if I can fit a relationship into my life-‘

Your heart broke momentarily. Of course. Of course! It was too good to be true, wasn’t it just? 

No, it was fine. Your own life was too busy anyway. You were just being dramatic. Pfft- catching feelings for a hook-up. Some stranger named after a fruit, ha. 

‘It’s okay, I under-’

‘Let me finish.’

‘Oh?’ You laughed, his sharp tone catching you off guard. 

He looked embarrassed, speaking with a tone like that, to you.

‘Mhm, Sorry love, force of habit. Hear me out, please.’

You nodded. And he cleared his throat.

‘As much as I’d love to, I don’t know if I can fit a relationship into my life, but I would very much like to try.’

A soft smile formed on your face. 

‘I’d like that.’ 

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

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[allykatsart]

A Gentle Smile

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Growing up in heaven, Emily's seen the best of humanity. She's pretty optimistic most of the time, so when she meets Alastor she takes his kindness at face value. She doesn't know he's a murderer just yet.

Alastor does see an opportunity to endeer (hah) himself to a powerful being... But he's also a gentleman. He'll be nice to her, even if it's just because it's the polite thing to do. He is the hotel's host, after all! Plus, she's better company than most of the damned souls down here!

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[zehl0w]

Zenitsu agatsuma has got to be the biggest egg I have ever seen in my entire life

[sysig]

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