#i think this is the first time i’ve ever drawn rock?

[clanborn]

Wctober Day 2: Creep

[nereidprinc3ss]

bambi

in which spencer reid and fem!reader fuck like they missed each other (because they always do) and he teases her for her shaky legs

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: softdom spencer, piv sex (riding, a first for nereidprinc3ss) /oral f receiving (in that order) mentions of him accidentally grabbing her hips too hard, slight somno SORT OF like he starts going down on her while she’s sleepy and then she kind of goes in and out but its all consensual, sorry haters i fucking love sleepy sex and I always will, teasing, lots of praise, fluffy, established relationship, he loves her badddd, aftercare, literally nothing bad happens no angst for once they just are having sex cause they are in love which is arguably the most superior kind of sex! a/n: I don’t think I’ve ever written smut that is so wham bam thank you ma’am like really we just get RIGHT into it!! also no gif no pics we r going old nereidprinc3ss on this one I hope you loveeee!!!

You roll over onto Spencer and kiss once, long and deep and sweet. He hums into it, too whipped to pretend like he’s got self control or respect, hands finding the soft skin of your bare waist and settling there. 

How it got to this point so quickly, no more than fifteen minutes after he walked through the door, you can’t say. Usually the two of you are a bit more domestic when he gets home from a case, but eight days is a long time to be apart, and the trail of clothing leading from the welcome mat to the foot of the bed attests to that. 

So does the lack of teasing, of begging—at least, a lack up until this point. Right now, there’s only him, patient and content to let you play at being in charge. You pull back and reach down to grab him gently, aligning him at your entrance with a trembling hand. This part, you’re not usually responsible for. 

He assures you with a hand to the small of your back, rubbing soothing circles. “You got it. Slowly.”

You do as he says, brow furrowing in focus as you sink down an inch or two onto him. Spencer’s breathing grows erratic as you take more and more of him, and in a heroic display of overachieving, you take the rest of him at once with nothing but a squeak. He laughs breathily as his fingers dig into your hips. 

“Fuck—I said slow.”

You can’t think. The overwhelm of it all is too much as you crumple forward onto his chest. The subtle rocking you’re doing to try and alleviate some of the pressure in your core is apparently too much as he stops you by the hips, fingers pressing into those same tender spots.

Spencer’s breath is ragged. “Don’t… do not move.”

“Fuck,” you breathe into his shoulder, long and drawn out as despite his wishes you wriggle around, trying to get comfortable. “Oh my god.”

“My lovely girl, please… please don’t move,” Spencer gasps, a plead, and you try to stop for him, nuzzling even deeper against his neck. “I need a minute.”

“It’s too much,” you slur, dizzy as you try to adjust to the feeling. “Please.” You don’t know what you’re asking for. Maybe relief from the sensation that he can’t offer you. Maybe more. 

Spencer is undone by you—the way you writhe on top of him, the way your voice shakes, the way you’re so totally and completely overwhelmed and he can feel it and he loves it. 

“Baby,” he breathes, and he meant to say a lot more than that, but it’s the best he can manage when he is this overstimulated. “Baby,” he whispers again, wrapping his arms around you in an effort to ground you, to give you something else to focus on as you both get used to the feeling. 

It’s going well—for a moment, before your back is arching. 

“Spence, I need to move, I can’t—”

“Okay, okay.” He takes a deep breath, returning his hands to your waist and mentally preparing himself not to cum early. He’s desperate to give you want you want, to feel you like this. “Go ahead. Move, honey. Please.”

By the time you slowly lift your hips up and drop back down with a low cry, Spencer’s lost. His head falls back against the pillow and his eyes squeeze shut. 

“Fuck,” he groans. “Oh, angel, I missed you.”

You do it again, motivated by his praise, and he can hear your little gasps and desperate gulps of air. 

“I missed you so much,” you whine and clench around him, pleasure so intense it’s a resounding ache in the far reaches of your body. “Oh, fuck, Spencer.”

Spencer shivers. He loves when you make it personal, when you say his name like that and it becomes clear this isn’t just about the physical.

“My girl. Just like that. Doing so well, baby, just like that.”

Each pass of your hips has you whining. Your lips skim over his neck, not cognizant enough to actually kiss—only to know that you want the contact. 

“Please can I go faster?”

Spencer almost doesn’t realize you’re speaking to him he’s so lost in pleasure. The idea of faster is as compelling as it is troublesome. Spencer doesn’t know if he can’t take faster, not when he has you like this, but he certainly wants to find out. 

“Yeah, lovely. Do whatever feels good.”

You readjust and begin to pick up the pace, stumbling over a few false starts as it’s clearly more sensation than you’d been prepared for. 

Spencer, on the other hand, has his eyes screwed shut tight, and is attempting to draw a two-dimensional Császár polyhedron on your back, but he loses his place with every twitch of your hips, so eventually he decides to trace imperfect Mandelbrots down your spine—anything to avoid thinking about how the pH of your body interacts with sweet vanilla perfume to create a scent so deeply intoxicating he’d leave his entire life behind just to trail after it, or how you fucking feel against him, on top of him, around him, how miraculous it is that you keep letting him touch you—

“Oh—” you whine quietly, a strangled sort of noise that has his heart skipping. Your hand tangles desperately in his hair as you rock your hips faster and faster and he lets out a tortured groan. “Spencer, oh my fucking god.”

“I know, baby,” he manages, endeared by the fact that you feel so good you have to share it with him. Even now you’re trying to explain it because you want him to be part of it—as if he doesn’t know exactly what you’re feeling already. “That feels good, huh?”

“Mm—f—eels—” you cut yourself off with a cry into the crook of his neck, and he holds the back of your head, vision greying as he stares unseeing at the ceiling because if he looks down this’ll be over too soon. 

“You’re so good,” he breathes, “you’re perfect.”He hears you gasp at the same time as your rhythm falters, and presses a kiss somewhere indiscriminately on your head. “Gonna cum?” He murmurs in your ear, and you nod desperately, rutting against him hopelessly as your thighs tremble from exertion. 

Even the smallest drop-off in friction has his head spinning like he stood up too quickly, so he gives himself enough leverage to start fucking you. You cry out and shift your weight like you’re going to try and evade the feeling—self-sabotage, you always do this—and he again has to hold your hips in an iron vice, just to force you to feel it. 

“You’re okay, I’m gonna get you there.”

“Fuck!” You very nearly yell, still trying to wriggle away up until the very last second like the tide going out before the tsunami comes. When you do cum, your demeanor instantly changes—you get heavy and clingy and whiny as you rock back and forth through your orgasm. 

“Good girl,” Spencer murmurs, being careful in the way he continues to fuck you until he reaches his peak as well, not long after. You shudder, and Spencer feels the way your entire body tenses the way it sometimes does after a particularly strong orgasm, and he fights his way out of the brain fog to rub your back with the skimming tips of his fingers. “Shh. You’re okay. Relax, baby.”

And you do, unwound by the dance of his hand and with a few shallow breaths that gradually deepen, until you’re once more slack on top of him. 

“You’re incredible,” he exhales, with his lips pressed to your hairline. 

So clearly overwhelmed, the only response you can muster is a soft squeak. Spencer laughs fondly, still mapping the soft curve of your back. He feels the way you’re still attempting to train your breathing and kisses your hair again. “What do you need, angel?”

“I’m s’posed to be taking care of you,” you slur. Spencer chuckles again and his brow knits. 

“According to who?”

“According to… I was on top…”

“Yeah. You did all the hard stuff. Your legs are shaking.”

You whine softly. “No they’re not.”

His hand slides down to your thigh, and he rubs the trembling muscles. 

“No? No Bambi legs for me this time?”

You squeeze them around his waist like you could shrink away from his touch. “Spence…”

“I’m teasing you, honey,” he murmurs, pressing kisses wherever he can reach. “You’re cute.”

“Hm.”

“Look at me,” he murmurs, angling his head expectantly as you slowly raise yours. The look on your face is so sweet—eyes half lidded, lips swollen and much higher in color than usual. Your cheek is warm to the touch. His heart flutters like it did on your first date, and the first time he kissed you, and the first time you fell asleep on his shoulder. This view will never get old. “Wow. Look at you, beautiful girl. Can I have a kiss?”

And you grant him his wish, with a long, soft kiss that’s worth every second of that burning feeling in his lungs, every time. 

Eventually you huff out the remainder of your air against his well-kissed lips and your head flops to his chest. 

“I’m sleepy.”

“So go to sleep,” he murmurs, so warm from your kiss he feels nothing could be wrong in the world at this moment. 

“I can’t.”

“Why’s that?”

“’Cause you just got home ’nd I missed you and I wanna spend time with you.”

“We have three days to spend together. If you go to sleep now, we’ll actually get more time together tomorrow.”

“But it’s more about, like, how it feels—how much time it feels like we spend together right when you get home, and if I go to sleep now, it’s gonna feel like less time, and—basically you’re just not understanding my math.”

“What math?” He laughs, continuing to rub your legs all the way up to your hips, at which point you hiss and buck—a very visceral feeling when he’s still inside of you. “What? What hurts?”

“You tried to fucking tear my hip flexors from my body, is what hurts,” you grumble. 

“Tender?”

“Mhm.”

“I’m really sorry, angel. Tylenol?”

“Mm-mm. Can you kiss me better?” Sleep stains your voice. Spencer smiles to himself. 

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Lie down.”

Again you whine as you slip off of him, landing heavily on your back. He sits up, watches with so much affection the way you squeeze your thighs together and arch ever so slightly against the empty feeling. 

“Spencer?” You whisper as he cups the top of your knees. 

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

He pushes your legs apart gently so he can settle in between them and kisses you again. “I love you. So much.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

He presses a kiss to your head, down your neck, taking the scenic route to your hip bones, but you don’t seem to mind. 

The feeling of his lips gentle on the tender flesh has you humming softly, eyes fluttering shut as he showers you with gentle kisses. His traces every place his fingers had pressed earlier—feels the way you relax further underneath him. Nobody’s ever let him in this deeply before, but you trust him with everything you have; your body, your soul, in life or death, awake and in sleep. He’ll never take that for granted. He will never pass on an opportunity like this, to be the one who takes care of you, who puts you back together, as long as you’ll let him. 

Still dancing the line of consciousness, you part your legs, the slow drag of your bare thigh like a jumper cable to his heart. Fingertips trace desirous paths up your inner thigh and back down again. He recognizes this invitation for what it is, and he knows exactly how to give you what you want, but he asks first anyway. 

“Was that on purpose?”

“I d’know what you mean. I’m so sleepy,” you slur, and he believes the second half of your statement to be fact. 

Spencer pushes your thigh a little higher, and you’re completely pliable for him, completely gorgeous. As soon as he skims your thigh with a barely-there kiss, exactly the way you like, you’re lacing a hand in his hair. 

“Please, Spence…” you murmur, and he can’t argue with that. He especially can’t argue when you widen your legs just that slightest bit more, and your arousal is opalescent between your legs. 

He hums, trailing more kisses up until he’s setting the softest one yet against your clit. “Beautiful girl…”

The following gasp is so tiny he could’ve missed it if he wasn’t so attuned to your noises—and then he gets lost in you, making sure to keep his ministrations light as you already came twice recently and are sure to be sensitive. He doesn’t want to wake you from whatever twilight half-slumber trance you’re in, either, sensing that if he does you’ll fight all over again to stay up.

And admittedly, he adores being trusted to take care of you like this.

Your back arches as much as you’re capable of in this state, and he can’t help the way he just barely suctions onto you at that moment, coaxing a sighing moan so sweet and vulnerable and open it gives him chills. Fuck. He really wants to make you cum. But instead he practices patience, tracing you with the tip of his tongue, pressing gentle kisses everywhere you need them—he draws it out. For he doesn’t know how long. 

The first time you get close, your hips begin to roll, and you spout little ah’s, but he talks you back down again, laughing lightly at your angelic cooing, your little sounds of sleepy pleasure. Even now you’re so responsive, moving against his mouth as he slips a finger into your soaked entrance, fucks you for a moment, and then retreats. Maybe he’s being unfair, but you don’t seem to mind. 

In fact, you’re slipping in and out of sleep as he devours you for what feels like hours, one hand pressed lovingly to your stomach, stroking the soft skin there. Spencer’s never had this long to explore you with his mouth and he takes full advantage of every moment, but he keeps all his kisses and licks and touches gentle and reverent and so loving. 

You don’t know how long it’s been, or how many times he’s made you cum when he finally retreats—you half-wake just as he’s finishing cleaning you up. Soon he tosses the towel aside and presses feather-light kisses to each of your cheeks, tear-stained and warm with pleasure. You feel completely drained and completely loved. 

“Hi, sleeping beauty,” he murmurs, climbing into bed with you, at some point having gotten dressed. 

You manage an embarrassed little laugh. More tears crawl down your cheeks as you roll to your side. Spencer brushes them away and pulls you into him, slinging your thigh over his waist. He chuckles. 

“Shaky?”

“Stop,” you whine, embarrassed by his teasing, and hide your face against his chest. “That’s not my fault.”

“It’s nobody’s fault. It’s sweet,” he insists as he rubs your back. And then, a moment later, “So—do you think we’ve spent enough time together for tonight?”

“No.”

He sighs good-naturedly. 

“You’re gonna wear me out, you know that?”

“’F you… can’t handle the heat… get outta the kitchen.”

When he next speaks you can hear the smile in his voice. 

“Go to sleep, Bambi. Let’s see if you can walk in the morning.”

[savagewildnerness]

Let’s breakdown this scene…

Lestat, playing piano: bent over, lost in the world of the music - out of this world entirely. Louis sees a broken thing playing a plank of wood. A far cry from the proud, splendid creature he once knew.

(From Interview with the Vampire) "My eyes widened as I studied this stooped and shivering vampire whose rich blonde hair hung down in loose waves covering his face.”

Side note from me, as I love to talk about things that make The Vampire Chronicles appealing to me. Some people seem to be of the view that they wouldn’t desire immortality, only to be these sad, lonely, melancholic creatures… but I have always felt this way myself - even when I was a tiny child, long before I read The Vampire Chronicles. There has always been an innate loneliness and isolation to me deep inside. I don’t think you’d necessarily know it to meet me, mind! I am a smiley person! I like to do childlike, fun things. I try to bring happiness, not gloom to the world.

However, my instinct has always been to retreat into my own, wordless, unbound imagination, and to feel entirely alone, in truth. And still, I am. As a child, I felt more the weight of the world as if I were already 1000 years old. Now, loss of hope that comes with time is both sadder, scarier and, in its way, more freeing.

Anyway - imagine having infinite time and so being able to truly drift out of existence for decades. It’s such an appealing concept to me. I know Lestat is very sad here, but the idea of this kind of true escape… oh how I yearn for it. To let the world crumble around me. To step out of existence for some decades, with the possibility of return, not the reality as it is in mortal life that that is you falling through cracks you’ll never crawl out of ever again…

Lestat names Louis, reflexively when asked who said “hello”. He hasn’t turned to see Louis yet. To Lestat, Louis died 50 years ago. He is a ghost, surely? Lestat’s voice has a flat affect here. He isn’t thinking. He is merely reacting.

When Lestat first looks at Louis, I see fear:

- Does Louis really exist?

- What will Louis do?

- Must Lestat be drawn back into the world here? To acknowledge reality?

(From IWTV) “`I've dreamed of your coming . . . coming. . ' he said.”

Lestat asks Louis if he’d like a rat, as if he were a hallucination still, more than real-Louis. I think Lestat knows Louis is real when he speaks, but he’s still only half in reality himself.

Louis says “I’ve come to see you”, but Lestat is still half in his own constructed world with his music and Argerich… I love how Lestat hugs and caresses his plank-piano, drawing it into himself, as if drawing music in to himself. Me too, Lestat. Me too. I adore how Rolin and all added music to this scene. It isn’t there in the books. Of course it makes a through-line for rock star Lestat, but it is a deep love of Lestat’s and I am SO HAPPY with this addition!

I know a lot of people find “Siri, pause…” funny, but I must be a weird human, as I just find it oddly poignant. Like did people watch and laugh at this moment? This feels like when I go to see a play and people all laugh at something and I don’t laugh, then some other thing I laugh out loud at, but nobody else is laughing. And this is why I can’t do memes or any popular thing. SIGH. ANYWAY!!!

The way Lestat puts the keyboard up on front of himself, like a shield as Louis moves closer, his breathing growing ragged. Lestat genuinely scared… as though Louis’ mere presence might obliterate him if he gets too close. And of course, he does not know why Louis is there. Is he there to kill him? Does it matter if he is? He should kill him. He could too, right now. The emotional support piano becomes a protective plank.

But what Lestat is not expecting is Louis’ kindness, care, worry and empathy.

“Did you save my life in Paris?”

And now we get the first glimmer of the old Lestat as Lestat lifts his chin, shakes his head, tries to be nonchalant and to muster up his old pride, maintain any pride he still possesses. He immediately dismisses Louis’ niceness with a self-criticism as he truly perceives that he put Louis in danger by not protecting him from Armand. Responsibility in Nicolas’ death, and, he thinks, in Louis’.

Lestat is defensive. His unspoken mantra, “Don’t see me. Don’t see the real me, Louis. I cannot take it. Not right now.” Lestat is almost begging Louis to tell him he hates him, as he’s imagined Louis’ hate all these years… I fear halluci-Louis may not have been the kind, loving vision for Lestat that DreamStat was for Louis…?

A side note again: Lestat’s “All hail me” gave me a full-on spontaneous existential crisis. Folks, does Lestat say “All hail me” in the books? I hope not! Because for as long as I remember, in appropriate circumstances, I say “All hail me” and obviously it’s a turn of phrase, but I had a sudden heart stopping moment where, with a chill, I thought *Did I get that from Lestat?!* Am I entirely even my self at all?! Am I merely a manifestation of all the art I have ever consumed? Am… I… Armand!?!?!??!! Oh MY! I don’t think Lestat says this in the books though, right? Right!?!?

Well, Lestat puts his piano-plank down, terrified Louis might show him love. Craving it. Fearing it.

“Been enduring here?” Lestat is truly proud now. He will not admit his pain. As if not speaking it could make it invisible when it’s plain all about - from within him and without. It is *very* Lestat when questioned on the pain in his soul or shown that it has been seen to be like “I am FINE” & to think that’s how he comes across to others, when really of COURSE they see how broken he is. And then he bemoans that nobody will let him be broken, when he himself struggles to be broken other than when alone or on the page.

“I didn’t know it was a gift.” - Lestat is still wary. Still expecting hate from Louis here… unable yet to fully accept and understand…

Then Louis begins to say the only things Lestat has ever wanted to hear and know from Louis - thanking Lestat for the gift of vampiric immortality, showing he understands the beauty of it and intends to value that and use it… & Lestat is done for; broken open from here. He still, for a moment tries to fight back with “Shall we list all the ways we have wronged each other…” etc. But really, Lestat can now no longer maintain ay facade. Louis has opened him up.

And now we are open to Lestat’s thoughts for the last half-century. Armand erases Louis’ suicide attempt from his mind, but it is the first thing Lestat asks about. In his mind he has replayed for 5 decades how Louis is dead and it is his fault.

Sam and Jacob are so brilliant and beautiful as they open to each other in this scene. Claudia. Grief. Pain. Then, love. Broken-Lestat is particularly too much - holding on to responsibility over Claudia’s fate and how she looked at him at the end and he did nothing… and Louis, trying to take away and share the burden. Louis - so empathetic… and as they move through grief to love, words fall away (or become too personal to matter) and the storm outside echoes the storm of their hearts and their love.

(From IWTV) ““…And as I looked down at him, as I saw his yellow hair pressed against my coat, I had a vision of him from long ago, that tall, stately gentleman in the swirling black cape, with his head thrown back, his rich, flawless voice singing the lilting air of the opera from which we'd only just come, his walking stick tapping the cobblestones in time with the music, his large, sparkling eye catching the young woman who stood by, enrapt, so that a smile spread over his face as the song died on his lips; and for one moment, that one moment when his eye met hers, all evil seemed obliterated in that flush of pleasure, that passion for merely being alive.

" Was this the price of that involvement? A sensibility shocked by change, shrivelling from fear? I thought quietly of all the things I might say to him, how I might remind him that he was immortal, that nothing condemned him to this retreat save himself, and that he was surrounded with the unmistakable signs of inevitable death. But I did not say these things, and I knew that I would not.

" It seemed the silence of the room rushed back around us, like a dark sea…””

Bonus: misprint in my TVL copy!

(From TVL) “Louis had come finally to this very place and seen me through the windows. I tried to imagine it. Louis alive. Louis here, so close, and I had not even know it. I think I laughed a little. I couldn’t keep it clear in my mind that Louis wasn’t burnt up. But it was really wonderful that Louis still lived. It was wonderful that there existed still that handsome face, that poignant expression, that tender and faintly imploring voice. My beautiful Louis surviving, instead of dead and gone with Claudia and Nick.

But then maybe he was dead. Why should I believe Armand?”

[userlando]

sweet like honey — daniel ricciardo

daniel ricciardo x fem!reader [4.1k] summary: spending your honeymoon in southern italy is as best as it can get. warnings: 18+ explicit smut & fluff, semi-public sex, established marriage. a/n: first f1 fic I’ve posted so hope y’all like this!! as always, dedicated to my darling @babyleclerc​, whom i love very much. i hope this piece of fluffy smut will lift your spirits <3

You felt disoriented, mind all muddled and slow like you’d taken your brain out and ran it through sludge. The process of waking up from your deep slumber wasn’t painful, per se, but you weren’t too happy with being woken up from one of the best naps you’d ever had.

There was a noise somewhere and it took you another few seconds to register the press of lips across your face, one after the other, quick and brief before they moved to the next patch of skin. The noises you were hearing were the exaggerated lips against flesh, and you scrunched your nose up against the onslaught of kiss attacks on your face; Twisting your head and finally opening your eyes to stare at your attacker.

Daniel’s wide smile was the first thing to fill your vision, a perfect picture of bliss and mischief and you let out a laugh at his ridiculous wake up call when your mind finally caught up to the situation you found yourself in.

“You’re insufferable.” You grumbled, voice thick with sleep and Danny tilted his head to the right, eyes never leaving your face as you huffed out a breath and gazed around the room; A little disoriented.

“And yet, you still married me.” He swiped a few stray hairs from your collarbone, bending his head to place a kiss against the delicate skin. “You’re contradicting yourself, Mrs. Ricciardo.”

You let out a hum, a close-lipped smile sneaking up on your face at the name he’d called you. It was new, just one day old, but it still managed to make your chest clench horribly tight; The feeling so incredibly new but welcome. It was still hard to believe that you’d gotten married, laying in the hotel bed on your honeymoon, nonetheless, with your husband.

It was considerably darker now than it had been when you landed. Having sat through a flight from Perth to Italy and completely messed up your time zones in the process. It wasn’t really a surprise when you went straight to the hotel, falling into bed with one another and…

Your gaze drifted to Daniel’s face, your own face heating up a little at the look he was giving you. Like he knew what you were thinking of, like he was proud of the bruises on your hips and the hickeys on your chest.

A little groan left your lips when you shifted in bed, feeling the ache in every part of your body and you would’ve stretched like a cat if Danny wasn’t laying on top of you. Leave it to the six foot something man to act like he was half your size, curling up in your lap any chance he could get.

“What time s’it?” You asked, bringing your hands up to run through the messy locks of his hair. They were damp, almost wet, and you briefly wondered how long you’d been out for, for him to quietly sneak out of bed and have a shower.

It wasn’t a difficult feat though, you always slept like a rock.

“Fuck if I know.” He squinted in the direction of where his phone was thrown on the table, hauling himself up your body so his face was hovering over yours. “It’s late.”

“Good observation.” You complimented him, with only a hint of sarcasm that he picked up on.

He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in a slow kiss and it instantly ignited something in your body. It was a wonder, how two years together didn’t tamper the sheer insatiable need you felt toward him.

It had been like that from the start, having met him through mutual friends and he hadn’t been subtle in the least, but neither had you. You weren’t immune to his charm, immediately being drawn to his big smile, dark eyes and tall figure. He had a natural boyish charm to him, his humor matching yours that instantly reeled you in. It wasn’t a surprise to any one of your friends when you’d announced that you two were dating, receiving looks that screamed ‘is that supposed to be news?’

From then on, you’d been so drawn to each other that you could barely stay away from him. You couldn’t even say no when he asked for you to join him during race weekends, sticking by him and being his pillar when it was needed.

It had been a little rough when he announced his retirement, but you’d found your feet on the ground together and he slowly found his spark again in other hobbies.

Your stomach gave a low grumble that surely vibrated his and it made his lips smile against yours, teeth clacking gently when you both grinned.

“Oh, angry one, aren’t you?” He glanced down at your tummy and you gave him a slap on the shoulder.

“Not my fault that you’re not feeding me.” You wriggled a little until he got the memo, rolling off of you with a groan. A wistful, playful sigh left your lips. “I don’t even know why I married you.”

You weren’t even looking at him, but you could almost feel his eyes widening as he stared at you in mock belief. A startled squeal left your lips when you felt his arms circle your waist, dragging you back into bed with a force that almost knocked the air out of your lungs.

The sound of your giggles filled the room, and Danny would’ve been a little concerned that it was nearing three in the morning and you’d surely get a complaint, but he couldn’t find it in himself to even care when you were underneath him, dressed in nothing but a shirt and squirming as he tickled you. Your smile was radiant, so contagious that he couldn’t help but laugh along.

He didn’t let up until you were screaming mercy, slapping at his hands weakly until he relented and backed off. You were breathing heavily, inhaling as much air as you could with your eyes fastened on him. There was a weariness and distrust in your eyes that he couldn’t help but laugh at, like you were just waiting on him to resume his tickling any minute.

But he had other plans, dark eyes taking in your stretched out body under him and it wasn’t his fault that you looked so delectable, like something he could sink his teeth into and the urge of it was too great for him to resist inching the hem of your shirt up. Just enough to reveal the softness of your stomach.

You were holding your breath, watching him quietly scoot down and pressing light kisses just beneath your belly button. It was almost sinful, the way he looked as his eyes cast upwards to search your face for any reaction.

“Daniel.” Was all you could get out, overwhelmed by the need that suddenly flared up in your body.

Daniel hadn’t really thought much of his name in his life, but coming from your mouth, in that breathy voice of yours? It was his favorite word.

He kissed up your torso, making little humming noises in his throat that made you smile in secret and bring your hands to his hair. The tension evaporated into thin air when your stomach grumbled under his lips, making you groan as he pulled away with a loud laugh.

Who knew that a grumbling stomach could be such a cockblock?

“Let’s get some food into you, aye?” He pulled your shirt down and grabbed your hand to press a kiss into it. “Do you reckon I could charm them into bringing pizza up to the room at this hour?”

The question was ridiculous in itself, really. If anyone could charm someone into doing anything, it was your husband. He just had that natural ability.

“You can try.” You gave him a smile when he rolled his eyes playfully, getting off the bed to grab the telephone.

You used it as your opportunity to sneak off to the bathroom, shedding your clothes and stepping into the shower for a quick wash. The water was hot, exactly what you needed to wash away the multiple hours spent on an airplane and the shuttle car to get to the Amalfi Coast.

Your thoughts drifted to your wedding, recalling the moments of sheer joy you both had felt from the moment you woke up that morning. Nothing had been as easy to say as I do, because you’d known that Daniel was it for you from the moment you laid eyes on him.

It was cheesy to say or think that shit. Love at first sight, because it wasn’t, was it? It’s more like attraction at first sight than anything else, really. But you’d known it deep in your being.

The shower dragged on for longer than you intended to, stepping tentatively out into the room with your bathrobe tied tightly around your waist. Daniel came rounding the corner from the direction of the door, carrying a tray and looking proud of himself and it made you raise your eyebrows in amusement when he opened the mini fridge and slid a tub of ice cream. You didn’t mention that, surely it’d melt before you had a chance to eat it, because you were so focused on him remembering the small things.

It wasn’t really a surprise. Daniel was attentive and paid attention to the smallest details, but it never failed to make your heart squeeze painfully in adoration when he demonstrated just how intimately he knew you. Like with the ice cream. He knew you loved eating it after pizza and he’d gone out of his way to make sure that you had it on standby.

Daniel pulled the balcony door open, nodding his head for you to follow him outside and you did so, wordlessly.

The air outdoors was just on the brink of being too humid, but it felt nice against your wet skin as you settled into a chair in front of the dark haired man. You glanced out over the railing, where there was nothing but a long stretch of sea. It glimmered beautifully in the moonlight, small waves rippling the water. It was an unreal view, like taken out of a painting, one you couldn’t look away from.

“Do you fancy something stronger than soft drinks?” He asked as he set the food down and plated the sliced cheesy pizza.

“You can choose.” You told him softly, resisting the urge to grab him and hold him close when he pressed a kiss to your forehead before disappearing inside.

You marveled a little at the luck you’d had, meeting Daniel and getting to spend the rest of your life with him. The long journey you’d endured and been through, only to end up in Southern Italy on your honeymoon in your bathrobe and eating pizza on the balcony in the middle of the night.

There was also little concern of how you were supposed to get up in the morning. It was your vacation after all.

“Got you Prosecco.” He placed glasses down on the table, along with the bottle and you reached to pop it open.

Your late night dinner was spent chatting quietly as you ate, drinking one too many glasses of Prosecco and jumping from subject to subject. It was the happiest you’d felt and Daniel could tell.

Not only were you smiling from ear to ear, but you were starting to relax a lot more, looking beautiful where you sat across from him with your back leaned against the chair and legs crossed. He reached a foot out and nudged your calf, making you stop talking and glance at him from under your eyelashes. Coy, playful, flirty. The way you always got after a few drinks. Something flared up in his chest that felt a lot like love and he struggled to keep the smile off his face as he regarded you.

“Are you playing footsie with me, Ricciardo?” You asked, laughter in your voice as you reached an arm out to grab your glass.

“Gotta keep the spark going, don’t I?” His eyebrows jumped, making you laugh and tip the glass back so you could get the last dregs of the wine down your hatch.

He watched you set the glass down, eyebrows relaxing a bit as a contemplative look passed your eyes. It was so subtle that he almost missed it, but he’d known you for long enough to see it with the naked eye.

“You alright?” He asked, voice gentle and a little concerned.

You glanced up, eyes a little wide like you were surprised that he’d caught on to your wandering thoughts. “Oh. Yeah, I was just thinking of the last time we were here.”

The smile overtaking his face was inevitable as he caught up, mind immediately going back to a year ago. It had been right after Imola where the two of you had decided that renting a car and driving seven hours to the southern part of the country was a good idea. It had been a car ride filled with car games, belting out to music and even deep conversations before you arrived at your destination.

You had both spent four days in your hotel room, naked and not emerging from your space even once. Cold showers and room service had been your best friends.

It was also the week where he’d made it his life’s mission to memorise every single part of your body, what made you tick and what made you scream. Those were the days that you replayed in your mind whenever Daniel was away and you were alone in your bedroom.

“Anything specific?” He asked, after a moment's silence, voice dropping an octave.

His whole body felt like it was burning up when you uncrossed your legs, teeth sinking into your lower lip. The epitome of bashful but he knew you better than that.

“Just…” You paused for a small sigh. “Trying to remember some things.”

“Is that so?” He bit back a smile and opted to slip out of his chair, getting on his knees with a suppressed groan. He was getting old and his knees weren’t what they used to be.

Your eyes were big and searching, stuck on him as he settled himself between your legs.

He parted them, not with any real force because they splayed open without needing much encouragement and flicked a finger against the flap of your bathrobe.

“You need any help remembering?” He looked up at you from where was kneeled by your feet, and you’d never seen a prettier view - ocean view be damned.

You couldn’t open your mouth to form any words, settling for a mute nod instead and hoping he would allow that. Daniel’s face spread into a slow smile, gripping one leg in his hand to kiss it. He loved on the meat of your thigh, sucking small bruises into it before giving the other thigh the same treatment, winding you up so tight you thought you were about to snap. Like a rubber band being pulled to its limit.

“Daniel, please.” You pleaded, the want gripping your throat like a pair of hands. “More.”

Your husband didn’t say anything but he complied to your strangled request, dragging his bottom lip up your inner thigh until he was close enough to the apex of your legs to feel the heat against his face. He felt a pang of delight hit him straight in the chest when he pulled your bathrobe to the sides to reveal your center, wet and needy. His other hand reached down to grab himself over his shorts, anything to relieve the pressure building in his groin.

“God, baby, you’re so wet already.” He sounded breathless and the sight of his heavy lidded eyes made you warm all over. “My good girl loves when I bruise her up, hm?”

A whimper escaped you and you brought a hand up to cover your mouth, making Danny grin. His eyes roamed your body and he must’ve seen something that bothered him because his eyebrow ticked on his forehead, reaching forward to tug at the loose tie of your robe. It fell open to reveal your naked body and he made a noise in his throat.

You felt very exposed, holding back from covering yourself up because your balcony had a restricted view when it came to other rooms, and unless someone was having a reckless swim in the middle of the ocean, there was no one around to see you but Daniel himself.

And fuck, was he looking. His eyes didn’t stop flitting, like he wasn’t sure where to settle his eyes because the mere sight of you overwhelmed him. It was kind of astonishing, how even after years together, you managed to take his breath away.

“Stop staring.” You grumbled, a little bashful when he hadn’t said anything in a minute. He let his hands slide up your stomach before they grabbed at your breasts, feeling them in his palms before pinching your nipples until you keened in pleasure.

“That’s it.” He encouraged you as a moan escaped your mouth. “Louder, baby.”

You both were playing with fire because you weren’t exactly a quiet person, and Daniel knew this. But there was mischief written all over his face as he scooted closer, grabbing at your thighs to spread them further before he dove in.

He made a noise in his throat when your legs immediately closed, the feel of his tongue against your clit sending a zip of electricity up your spine. You let out a moan, thighs shaking when he started licking and sucking in earnest, opening his mouth wider to cover every inch of you. His tongue swiped between your folds, finding your hole to lick into and you slumped back against the backrest of the chair, tipping your head back when the feeling got to be too much.

“Taste so good.” Daniel pulled back an inch, swiping his tongue over your pussy once just to see your body lock up. “You look beautiful, baby. Look at me.”

You made a noise that sounded a lot like a whimper, shaking your head. Daniel gripped your thighs tighter, pads of his fingers digging into your flesh and it felt like enough of a warning for you to slump your head forward, settling your eyes on him., albeit a little hazily.

Daniel looked absolutely wrecked. There wasn’t a better word for it. His eyes were dark, mouth pink and rubbed raw, and fuck, your slick was glistening on his skin. You ran a hand through his curls, fighting to catch your breath that had been stolen from you, watching him push his head into your hand.

You knew what that small gesture meant, and you complied at the silent request in his eyes by pushing at his head to bring him back to where you were throbbing.

It was unholy, the way he sucked and licked, laving your skin with his tongue like it was an ice cream cone. His eyes were shut, lost in the feeling of your thighs hugging his head and the smell and taste of you surrounding him. Daniel couldn’t get enough, wondering exactly how many orgasms he could pull from you before the reception called up to tell you to keep it down.

The way your thighs started to shake was a clear indicator that you were nearing your end and he kept at it with the same pace as he heard your breathing pick up, his one hand reaching into his shorts and underwear to grip himself. It wouldn’t take much for him to join you, already feeling worked up from just tasting you on his tongue.

“Oh, oh fuck, Danny.” You swore and Daniel would’ve smiled at the way you seemed completely lost in your own pleasure, your little breathy moans climbing in octaves that surely echoed.

It didn’t deter him though, moaning and humming and it was the vibrations of his mouth that finally flung you over the edge you’d been teetering so nicely. You threw caution to the wind, screaming out your climax as your body locked up; Back bowing and hands grabbing at Daniel’s hair to keep him in place. The sting of his hair being pulled made him reach his end, a violent shudder going through his body as he shot his load into his shorts, undoubtedly messing them up but he couldn’t find it in himself to care; Eyes rolling and body jerking.

Daniel realized his jaw was aching when his senses slowly came back, but he stayed until your moans turned into soft whimpers, body relaxing and thighs falling off his shoulders. His eyes traveled up your body where it was displayed for him, a slight sheen of sweat on your skin that made you look otherworldly. He looked his fill, love filling his stomach like lead.

“You with me?” He asked, voice rough.

You let out a hum, a small mmm that made him laugh. It was good enough for him, and he groaned as he hauled himself up on shaky legs. Fuck, he felt like Bambi on ice and the situation in his shorts was wildly uncomfortable now that the deed was done.

He bent at the knees and closed your robe, tying it into a nice little bow and you picked your head up from where it had been hanging off the edge of the backrest; Eyes having been gazing at the sky.

You blinked at him, eyes still a little hazy but way more clearer than they’d been a moment ago, and Daniel grinned at your facial expression.

“You look beautiful.” He said, and your face transformed into a smile. Fuck, you looked as happy as he felt. “Now, I’ve already had my dessert, but we can go for some ice cream, right?”

You let out a breath of laughter, hand slapping lazily at his arm when he walked past you to get inside the room.

His singing voice drifted out onto the balcony, and you smiled fondly as you pulled your hair back from your face, grabbing the half-full bottle of Prosecco and switching seats to sit in the lounge couch with the padded seats instead.

You took a swig of the wine, letting out a small moan when it soothed your parched throat. He’d truly worked you up.

The man in question walked out a few seconds later, carrying the tub of ice cream and clad in a different pair of shorts. He’d switched his previous white t-shirt to a tank top, and you didn’t even try to hide your stare as you took in the broadness of his shoulders and the bulge of his arms.

Your man was truly a marvel.

“Up, up.” He prompted you and you scrambled up, letting him sit down and place the ice cream to the side.

Daniel blinked up at you, patting his thigh and you smiled as you sat back down, both legs on one side of his thighs and feet resting on the unoccupied space of the couch. You stretched your arm out to pick the tub up, laughing at the half-melted mess from being in a fridge rather than a freezer.

“I guess we took too long.” Danny laughed, winding an arm around you to steady your body and keep you from tipping over. “Come on then, let me have the first bite.”

You made a little noise, spoon slicing through the lukewarm ice cream and eating it. Daniel gasped in mock betrayal.

“S’mine.” You mumbled through a mouthful, skin by your eyes crinkling up when you smiled.

Daniel resisted the urge to swipe a thumb over it, having always found it horribly endearing how you’d smile with your whole face. He knew you were well and truly happy when the smile reached your eyes, just like it did now.

“What’s yours is mine, and what’s mine is mine.” He said, opening his mouth comically big when you brought the spoon to his lips; Letting you feed him.

You laughed and waved the oval metal in his face.

“That’s not how the saying goes, baby.” You said and Daniel squinted his eyes in mock confusion, smile wide on his lips.

“No?” He laughed when you did, watching you feed yourself a mouthful of vanilla goods. “I could’ve sworn that’s how it went.”

“Fuck off.” You giggled with a shake of your head.

The banter went on for a while, sharing bites of ice cream in blissful silence and sneaking small and intimate kisses. The sun was starting to climb as the time went on, exchanging the moon and stars for the oranges and pinks.

Daniel looked ethereal where he was half snoozing beneath you, eyes blinking to keep them open and you swiped a strand of hair from his forehead; Leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to the skin there.

If this was marital bliss, then you’d die a happy woman.

[st-eve-barnes]

Leverage (Michael Gavey x fem Reader)

Chapter 1

Summary: When your ex threatens to release some very personal videos you are left with no choice but to do what he asks: seduce the biggest nerd on campus, Michael Gavey. Will you rock his world or will he fundamentally change yours?

Word count: +2300

Warning for the entire fic: 18+ for explicit content and language. Kissing, oral sex (male receiving), dry humping, hand job, fingering, p in v sex. First kiss and loss of virginity. Experienced reader. Enemies to lovers vibes.

Fluff, smut and of course angst (my favorite combination! lol) I haven't watched Saltburn yet so all characters in this fic except for Michael are my own.

Chapter 2 will be posted next week and the plan is to post weekly, there will be 4-5 chapters (depending on how far the muse takes me)

***

All my fics are also on AO3

***

You should have known something was off the second Ben sat down in front of you in the library that morning. You two hadn’t spoken since you’d broken up, some 6 months ago now. The split had been amicable but neither of you had felt the need to pretend to remain friends afterwards. He was a stranger to you now and you preferred it that way.

You both moved in different social circles in the university these days, meaning he was living his dream as a popular fuck boy getting drunk every night and you spent most nights in your dorm room focusing on your studying.

“I need a favor,” he bluntly started the conversation.

“No,” you answered without looking up from your book.

“I think you should hear me out first.”

“Ben, we haven’t spoken in months,” you sighed,”What makes you think I would help you now?”

He leaned closer to you over the table, making you lean back to keep the distance between you two.

“The firm I’ve been dreaming of getting into is offering an internship to whoever scores highest on this upcoming test,” he explained.

“Great, you should start hitting the books then.”

“It’s no use.”

“Why not? I thought you were so smart?”

“I am so smart,” he smirked, making you roll your eyes,”But not as smart as him.”

You looked up and noticed he wasn’t looking at you anymore but his gaze was drawn to the guy sitting a few tables away. You recognized him instantly: ugly outdated shirt, even uglier beige cargo pants and big glasses on his nose, buried into his books as usual. The biggest nerd on campus and beyond: Michael Gavey.

“He’s your competition?” you snorted,”Good luck with that!”

“Luck won’t help me, that’s why I need your help.”

“What on earth am I going to do? I suck at math, you know that.”

“That’s not why I need you,” he shook his head and sighed,”A job at that firm is my dream, it’s what I’ve always wanted and worked towards for the past two years.”

“And if you pass that test you’ll get it.”

“Nobody can beat Gavey, everyone knows the guy’s a fucking genius.”

“Then he deserves the internship, don’t you think?”

”He can literally get any job he chooses, I need this one and I won’t let that freak take it from me.”

For the first time you leaned forward and looked into his eyes, indulging him and giving into your own curiosity.”What do you want from me then?”

“Look at him, I bet that guy’s never even had a girl look at him twice, especially not a pretty girl like you, that dude’s got virgin written all over him, hasn’t he?”

“How is that any of your business, Ben? Maybe he’s not even interested in girls, you ever though of that?” you opted, deliberately ignoring his compliment.

“Oh, believe me he’s interested, I’ve seen him stare when he thinks nobody’s looking. He may pretend to be above all that but the fucker is just as horny as the rest of us.”

“Speak for yourself.” You leaned back and kept your eyes on him while you crossed your arms,”You still haven’t told me what you want from me.”

“I was thinking, having a pretty girl like you pay attention to him might take his mind off all this studying, a distraction like that could kill a man’s entire focus.”

“Only a man who thinks with his dick.”

He smirked at you,”Or a man who’s never had his dick touched.”

“You’re fucking disgusting."

He lifted his hands in innocence,”I just want you to distract the guy a little, make him forget about stupid tests and internships so I can have a fighting chance.”

”You want me to fuck him,” you realized.

He gave you a lazy smirk, his gaze hardening suddenly,“I want you to do whatever it takes to ruin him.”

The words left his mouth so casually and easily it was making you nervous.

“You’re mad, there’s no way. Ask one of the whores you always hang out with, I’m sure there’s plenty…”

“I’ve asked, none of them want him.”

You sighed, annoyed.”Of course they don’t.”

“I need it to be you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re the only one I can convince to do this.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that and you shook your head,”You’re out of your mind if you think I would even consider…”

He didn’t let you finish your sentence but instead shoved a photo towards you on the table.

“What is this?”

“This is what I would call leverage.”

You looked at him in confusion,”This is just a blurry picture, what am I supposed to be looking at?”

He smirked at you,”Do you remember that one night we got insanely crazy drunk and I borrowed my roommate’s camera?”

It was only then that you realized what you were watching. It was a picture of a video. A video of a night you had tried very hard to erase from your memory, a night you wished had never happened.

“You kept that?” you asked quietly, the unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach quickly growing. 

“It never left my computer,” he said as if it was something to be proud of,”And I guess…we’d both like it to stay on there wouldn’t we? And not…get lost on the internet or around university or something, I mean…I imagine you wouldn’t want that, right?”

You looked at him in complete disbelief and your voice was shaking with your next words,”You wouldn’t…you wouldn’t do that.”

His dark eyes stayed locked on yours,”Don’t doubt that I will do whatever it takes to get what I want, sweetheart.”

You shivered at the cold determination in his tone.

“I’m sorry,” he added,” but I need you to do what I ask if you want that video to stay with me. Get to know Gavey, make him believe you’re interested, how far you take it…is entirely up to you. Just make it work.”

****

You found Michael in his same spot in the library the next day, leaning on his elbow while he was taking notes in one of his many text books. 

For a few moments you just watched him from a distance, watched how enthralled he was in his work, how focussed his eyes were on the pages in front of him, how he kept pushing up his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose in concentration. If the world around him caught on fire right now he probably wouldn’t even notice, all he had eyes for were the numbers in front of him. Ben was right to fear him, this guy’s focus was top-tier, it would take a lot more than a silly girl like yourself to break it. 

But what choice did you have? You had to try.

You stood frozen for a while, uncertain as to how you were going to proceed. You didn’t want to be here and just the thought of what you had to do made your stomach turn. But Ben had left you with no other choice. If that video ever saw the light of day it was over for you.

You swallowed your nerves and walked up to Michael’s table and took a seat opposite him, trying to act both casual and confident. But you were too nervous to pull either of those off.

You cleared your throat before you spoke,”Hey.”

Michael didn’t react, he didn’t even flinch, making you think he hadn’t heard you at all. 

You opened your mouth to speak again but he beat you to it,”What do you want?”

He was still writing and didn’t bother to look up at you.

“Michael?” you asked carefully,”Michael Gavey?”

“You know my name, congratulations, what do you want?”

Your heart sank. How were you ever going to distract this guy when he didn’t even acknowledge your presence? How were you in any position to get his attention when he wasn’t even interested enough to grant you a simple glance?

This was going to be a lot harder than you thought.

“I need a tutor,” you blurted out.

“I’m not your guy,” he answered immediately with a small shake of his head.

“So you’re not the smartest guy on campus then? Shit, I must have been misinformed,” you tried to lighten the mood and it seemed to work.

His lips curled up into the tiniest of smiles but it was gone as quickly as it appeared,”Flattery doesn’t work on me.”

“Flattery works on everyone. Come on.”

He was shaking his head again all the while still writing things down in his notebook, determined to keep up his act of ignoring you and it was starting to piss you off.

“It’s rude not to look at people when they talk to you, you know?” 

Michael just shrugged his shoulders,”Tutoring is a waste of my time, go find someone else.”

“You’re the smartest guy here.”

“I already told you, flattery will get you nowhere.”

“I can pay you,” you blurted out and just like that you had his attention. He stopped writing and put his pen down, finally looking up to meet your eyes.

“Right,” he sighed,”Because money opens every door, does it?” 

His gaze was hard and his lips pursed in a thin line, he was clearly annoyed with you.

“No, that’s not…”

”You rich pricks think money will buy you everything your little heart desires. It’s fucking pathetic.”

“That’s not what I meant…I’m not…” you sighed, defeated as you watched Michael pack up his notebooks and rise from his seat.

“Piss off, spoilt little rich girl and ask one of your rich friends to tutor you. I am not your guy.”

And that was it. You failed before you even had the chance to really try. You weren’t one to give up easily but after that interaction you had no hope of ever getting close to Michael Gavey. The guy was rude and insufferable and clearly not interested in you in any way.

You tried to carry on with your days after that but the weight of Ben’s threat was hanging over your shoulders and dragging you down, making you anxious every day. You were frustrated at the power he still held over you. And even more frustrated by the fact that there was nothing you could do about it.

Your mind was somewhere else entirely when you started your shift at the local pizza place that Thursday night. At least work gave you something to do and keep yourself busy instead of eating yourself up with worry every night. When the manager called asking if you were available for some extra shifts that week you jumped at the chance.

You were working on automatic pilot that night, making your way through the tables and taking clients orders when you arrived at his table.

“Good evening, sir, how may I help you tonight?”

It was only when you looked up and the person in front of you lowered his menu that you recognized him. Gavey.

He opened his mouth to speak but stopped when his eyes met yours, a flash of recognition running across his face.

“It’s…you,” he realized and looking at your name plate he called you by your name.

“Yes, it’s me, hi,” you sighed, trying to stay polite even though he had been so rude to you last time. God, please, don’t let him be a difficult customer, you were not in the mood for this tonight. “What can I get for you, Michael?” you asked with your best customer service smile.

Much to your surprise Michael returned your smile with one of his own, a little awkward and probably as forced as yours but at least he wasn’t calling you names or yelling at you this time. And instead of avoiding your eyes he couldn’t seem to look away from you tonight.

“You…work here?” he asked, confused,”I’ve never seen you here before.”

“I usually only work the weekends, I’m filling in for a sick colleague tonight,” you explained,”The extra money is always welcome, you know.”

“You’re not…you’re not one of them,” he realized, his voice softer than you had ever heard it.

“One of who?” 

“Those vapid rich cunts you always hang out with.”

And just like that he was making it harder to remain polite again.

“They’re just my class mates, Michael, they’re not friends. Unlike some people I am mature enough to be civilized and polite to people even if I don’t like them much. It’s called being an adult, you should try it some time.”

Michael was quiet, his eyes dropping down to the menu before he gave you his order and sank back down into his seat. You almost felt sorry for him seeing him sit there all alone while most people were out with friends tonight.

Almost. Maybe if the guy wasn’t such a dick all the time he’d have friends to have dinner with and not look like such a loser.

When you returned with his food shortly after he just gave you a polite nod and a quiet “Thank you”, which you reciprocated with a quick nod of your own.

“You didn’t spit into my food, did you?” he then asked, making you turn back around.

“No,” you sighed,”I wouldn’t do that. Not even to you.”

He smiled weakly,“Not even when I deserve it?”

You couldn’t help your lips from curling up into a little smile at his unexpected admission of guilt,”No, not even then.”

“Thanks,” he nodded quickly.

“Enjoy your food.”

When you came to his table later to clean up you found a napkin properly folded with your name written on it. You opened it to find a generous tip inside and a message: “Food was excellent, customer service needs some work”

You shook your head and rolled your eyes,”Fucking asshole.” But then you read the next line:

“PS If you still want that tutor meet me in the library tomorrow night at 8”

[cupids-diner]

The creation of harmony - Alex summers

Rating: fluff

A/N: I’ve been like super busy, plus I got a boyfriend. I have been working on more stuff, this has been sitting in my drafts for like ages.

Alex Summers, also known as Havok, had always felt like a walking storm. His power to unleash devastating plasma beams, fueled by cosmic energy, made him a force of destruction. He tried to control it, but every blast seemed to unravel more of him than he could contain. He’d seen enough damage in his life to know that sometimes it was best to stay distant from others.

That all changed the day he met you.

It was a crisp fall afternoon when Alex found himself at a remote training facility, hidden deep within the woods. Charles Xavier had suggested he come here to work on his control, to find peace with the chaos that roiled inside him. But peace was something Alex wasn’t sure he would ever find. That is, until you showed up.

You were sitting on a large, flat rock by a stream, hands gliding through the air. Small, glowing orbs floated from your fingertips, transforming into intricate shapes—a flower, a bird, a tiny glowing tree. Your ability to create from nothingness felt like magic in comparison to his destructive energy.

Alex watched, mesmerized. The contrast between you and him was startling. His very presence had often turned beauty into ruin, yet here you were, making the world around you bloom with life. He felt an odd pull, a need to be near you, to understand how you could be so calm, so at ease with your powers.

He approached cautiously, unsure of how to start the conversation. You noticed him before he spoke, your eyes meeting his with a gentle curiosity.

"You’re Alex, right?" you asked, your voice soft but clear. "Havok?"

"Yeah," he replied, feeling a knot of tension in his chest. "And you are?"

"(Y/N)," you introduced yourself, smiling slightly. "I’ve heard about you. Your powers… they're intense."

Alex braced himself for the usual wariness people felt around him. But instead, you continued, "It must be hard, balancing all that energy."

He let out a breath, surprised at your understanding. "You could say that. Destruction isn’t exactly a talent that makes people feel comfortable."

You nodded thoughtfully, your fingers still weaving through the air, creating tiny light sculptures. "I get it. But I think destruction and creation are two sides of the same coin."

Alex raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

"Without destruction, nothing new can come. It’s like clearing a forest to make room for something new to grow," you explained, your hands falling to your sides as the glowing objects drifted into the breeze.

"Except my destruction isn’t always controlled," he muttered, thinking about the damage he’d caused in the past.

"Maybe you just need the right balance," you said gently. "The right company."

At first, you kept your distance. Despite the strange connection you felt, you couldn't deny that Alex was, by nature, destructive. His powers could obliterate things in an instant, while yours gave life and form. It was unnerving to think about the clash of energies.

But over time, as you continued to train together, you realized something. Around you, Alex’s chaotic energy seemed to settle. His blasts became more focused, more precise. It was as though your presence grounded him, kept him from tipping over the edge into uncontrollable destruction.

And Alex noticed it too. He found himself drawn to your calm, your sense of purpose. You weren’t afraid of his power like others had been, and that gave him the confidence to trust himself more. The more time he spent with you, the less reckless his energy became.

One evening, after a long day of training, you sat beside him by the stream where you had first met. The sky above was filled with stars, casting a soft glow on the water.

"Thank you," Alex said quietly, breaking the silence.

"For what?" you asked, glancing over at him.

"For helping me realize that maybe I’m not just a walking disaster," he admitted. "That with the right balance, like you said, maybe I don’t have to be so destructive."

You smiled, reaching out to create a small, glowing flower in the palm of your hand. You offered it to him, the light reflecting in his eyes.

"We all have our roles to play," you said. "Yours might be destruction, but it doesn’t have to define you. Not when you can choose who to surround yourself with."

Alex took the glowing flower, watching as it pulsed gently in his hand. For the first time in a long time, he felt a sense of peace wash over him.

Maybe destruction and creation weren’t opposites after all. Maybe, together, they could create something new—something balanced.

And as Alex looked at you, he knew he wanted to keep finding that balance, with you by his side.

A/N: I have more stuff in the works, also I found out that a bunch of Batman movies on Tubi

Moodboards:

Aetherweaving!reader

[scorpioracha]

Jisung x reader, exhibitionism, slight reader x Minho, perv! Jisung, open ended ending

Perv! Jisungie has been running through my head rampantly. Like this baby gives me such service top exhibitionist energy that I can’t help but to imagine him wanting to take you anywhere he thinks he can get away with it. Lmk if you likeee I’ve never really written something like this before 🫶🏾

Movie night with the boys starts off innocent enough, a casual sleepy affair with everyone sated from the dinner Minho cooked and sprawled across the various couches in the living room. You weren’t even really sure what was playing and you couldn’t say you were interested. You were hoping for the fault in our stars but they all wiped the floor with you in the first round of rock paper scissors leaving you pouting and uninterested. It wasn’t anything new, you never won anyways but you were hopping someone like Chan did, instead of being forced to watch one of Hyunjin’s many many historical art piece documentaries. No one was really watching but at least Chan and Felix tried to feign interest, letting out little hums and questioning hmm’s when it felt appropriate. Minho had left halfway through to do dishes, Jeongin was scrolling through Pinterest and Changbin was fast asleep in the comfort of his room, the only one brave enough to reject the movie completely. Seungmin had been sent to the convenience store an hour ago which was suspicious because the closest one was a five minute walk.

That just left you with the yapper,the mediators,the iPad kid and your lovely boyfriend who went through the trouble of getting you all nice and cozy with blankets because these heathens didn’t believe in heat before January. If they weren’t idols they’d make excellent landlords, you rolled your eyes. Despite the annoyances—if hyunjin ever pulled this shit again you were going to turn his jiniret into a smoothie—it was a nice time. You’d never admit it to their faces but you missed them. With all the schedules and comebacks it was hard to remember a time where they didn’t look half dead or were asleep. It was even nicer getting to see Jisung. The two of you had spent the better half of the movie side eyeing each other and giggling about Chan’s lackluster responses, the single father jokes almost blew your cover from how hard you were trying not to laugh. The monotonous drone of the narrative and Hyunjin’s consistent chatter lulled you into a hazy state of dozing off. The world growing pleasantly fuzzy as you laid your head on Jisung’s shoulder. It was perfect really, the lights were off, shades were drawn and he was rubbing your head in a way that had you nudging into his touch, scooting closer until you ended up in his lap. He grabbed the blanket and fluffed it a bit so you were both wrapped up tight and your head was resting in the crook of his neck.

The touches started off innocent enough. The hand that was rubbing your head ran down your back, massaging your hips and trailing down your thighs. This didn’t sound off any alarms, Jisung had always been pretty tactile and you were still dozing a bit. That was until his hand snaked around your waist, leaving feather light touches on your tummy, gentle adjusting you so you were more so straddling than cuddling him. You hummed inquisitively but he just shushed you and went back to rubbing your back. It felt nice, having his hands on you, they were warm and you were weak so you all but melted into his arms. You weren’t sure when gentle caresses turned into poorly disguised groping but you couldn’t help but gasp when his hands trailed back towards your stomach settling on your pelvis just below the hem of your sweats.

“W-what are you doing, sungie?”you whisper in his ear. You could feel him smile before you see it, all teeth and all trouble.

“ ‘m bored” is his only response as he rubs soft circles with his thumb across your hip bones, his grip only tightening when you begin to squirm.

“Wanna be good for me?”he purrs into your ear. the feeling of his breath fanning your neck alone has you trying to hide a shudder but you find your nodding anyways.

“Say it”he goads, digging his thumbs deeper into your hips making you suppress a whine.

“Say you want me to touch you”he starts.

“I-I want you to touch me”you say in a low tone, eyes darting around the room trying to make sure now wasn’t the time people decided to become social.

“In front front of all the members”he finishes. You flush and shake your head a bit.

“I-I Jisung—“

“Say it” he says. the glint in his eyes had gotten much darker, or maybe the hue of the tv had shifted. you felt the swirl of arousal begin to stir in the pit of your stomach. you’ve played the staring game with Jisung before time and time again. and if the earlier rock paper scissors was any indication.

You weren’t too good at winning.

“want..want you to touch me..’front of all y’er members”you mumble quickly, feeling your face grow hot and your stomach sink just a little bit. His grin widens and he rewards you by fulling dipping his hand under the waist band of your sweats, letting his fingertips rest on your clothed cunt.

“Really”he whispers, going for coy but he just looked hungry. “Didn’t know my girl was so needy”

There wasn’t much more time wasted talking as there was energy going into making sure you didn’t get caught. You isolated between pretending to sleep with your head on his chest to cover your face and inevitably needing to come up for air by pretending to stir restlessly.

and Jisung wasn’t playing fair.

Your panties were all but forced to the side as he rubbed deep gentle circles on your clit. and it just made you all the more aware of sound. Hyunjin talking, Chan and Felix now deep into their own conversation, games coming from Jeongin’s phone and Minho occasionally dropping cutlery in the kitchen and cursing. You could also hear your own heartbeat and the squelching of your cunt as Jisung bullied two fingers inside you, resulting in a strangled grunt and biting his shoulder. your stomach dropped and your blood ran cold but Jisung didn’t stop. Instead he curled his fingers just right in the way that had you wanting to crumple right there. his other thumb found his way to your clit and you were panting in his ear desperately trying to find the words slow down. Your head was thrown over his shoulder and all you saw was the hardwood floor, the dining room table and the glint of the kitchen light seeping in. your thighs were burning and you couldn’t tell whether you were chasing the pleasure or running away from it. and Jisung has the nerve to look unphased. his eyes were focused on the documentary and he was even engaging in Hyunjin’s pointless debates on modernism and whatever the fuck Picasso did and you have tears in your eyes from trying so hard not to make a sound. Jisung is hard, you can feel it, you know he’s getting off to it and the minute he hears a sniffle and feels your tear on his cheek, it’s over. You’re shifted a little bit to the left, he spreads your legs a bit wider and he’s thrusting his fingers into you with abandon. His face is still perfectly neutral while you’re falling apart just out of everyone’s line of sight.

Well, almost everyone.

You hear the hardwood floor creak just barely as Minho pads back in. In a state of panic your eyes shoot up and meet his, teary and damn near crossing. He goes to speak, he tilts his head, and he stops in his tracks. you’ve never made such intense eye contact with Minho before, it’s like you can see every thought run across his eyes in real time and fuck you’re still crying. they darken significantly before they settle on a sick understanding that has you feeling nauseous and hot and clenching tight around Jisung’s fingers. Minho’s eyes never leave yours and you almost feel like this was planned in a way. You wanna ask, but before you can Jisung is pinching your clit and you’re cumming around his fingers with an aborted cry. mid way through your high you realize the hand around your mouth is smaller than usual and the one petting your hair has sharp nails that Jisung doesn’t.

It’s Minho announcing that he’s back that finally gets everyone’s attention. The boys seem to all snap out of their own worlds in tandem and welcome him back with varying degrees of enthusiasm. You’re just happy to have the attention fully off you for a bit because you’re still shaking and your eyes are red and-

“Hey y/n, you alright?”Felix asks with a worried pout. you don’t even have time to think about an acceptable answer before Minho is rubbing your head again, those same sharp nails tracing your scalp and saying.

“She’s alright, just got a little banged up from helping me in the kitchen”

[jaded-jezz]

Shutter Speed

Jack Champion x Photographer!Reader

Part 1/?

☁︎ Fluff

Summary: y/n is a photographer for the new scream promo and Jack thinks she belongs in front of the camera rather than behind.

"Y/N did you double check the SD card was empty?" My best friend and work partner, Leah, shouted from down the hall. "Yeah it was the first thing i did this morning,"

Leah and I have been working together ever since college where we met during our photography course. We have been inseparable since both landing a job at a highly praised magazine company.

Today is going to be a great day as we have been given the front cover photoshoot with full creative control too. It has been my childhood dream to have even a small picture but another front page? The feeling never gets old.

Leah and I finish packing all of our equipment into the car and we start the drive down to the studios in LA. As it’s kind of a long drive Leah starts our little road-trip with our favourite song. We scream the lyrics and laugh when the people, in the cars that pass us, give us strange looks.

To save our voices from any extreme damage, we put on some less energetic music and go over the plan for the day. “Wait, have you seen the cast for Scream 6?” Leah suddenly asks.

“Yeh like sorta… no not really” I answer scrambling for my phone. “Well we know Jenna from the Wednesday shoot so that’s less worrying right?” I say as I wait for the list to load.

“Oh yeah I forgot you did that! Do you think she will remember you?”

(Scream VI Groupchat POV)

Jenna- how close is everyone to the studio?

Devyn- I’m parked outside

Melissa- the shoot starts in half an hour

Devyn- I LIKE TO BE EARLY OK?!

Jasmine- YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO BRING ME THIS EARLY TOO THO

Liana- wait you guys drove together? You could’ve invited me 🥺

Jasmine- use that emoji again and I will become ghostface

Liana- 🥺sowy🥺

‘Jasmine’ has left the group chat.

Mason- Jenna this is your fault

Jack- What the hell did I just miss?

Jenna- HOW WAS IT MY FAULT?

Mason- YOU ASKED THE QUESTION

Jack- Jenna, Mason is the reason we are running late please don’t kill us.

Jenna- thanks for actually answering jack, mason I’m going to kill you

‘Devyn’ added ‘Jasmine’ to the group.

Devyn- see you guys soon!

(Y/N POV)

“ I doubt she will remember, I didn’t really speak” I answer, as I start to cringe over my previous shoots without Leah. Leah is literally my rock, and she knows this as she looks over to me. “You will be great, I’ll be there if things get too awkward, and you have all your notes on your phone and in your notebook.” I give her a smile as I reach for said notes to calm my nerves.

When we arrive at the studio I already see two of the actors and they wave as we walk past their car. I feel a lot less stressed as I see that everything is clean for us to set up our equipment. Leah and I finish in a record time thanks to my meticulously drawn plan of the placement for lights and tripods.

One of the producers walks in to check if we are ready. He lets us know that two actors are going to be late but it won’t ruin the shoot. As he leaves to alert the cast Leah stands next to me to make sure I don’t run away.

“OMG it is you!” I hear a voice come round the corner. “I thought I recognised your name, guys this is the talent who created all the Wednesday promo!” Jenna exclaims to the group before walking over to hug me.

“It is great to see you again Jenna! And it’s lovely to meet all of you too.” I say to the room. “I’m Y/N, this is Leah and the stylists are in the other room.” I start to explain the plan for the day.

“So any questions?” I ask after I realise I’ve been talking rambling for too long. “Oh last thing, sorry, if at any point you feel uncomfortable or awkward in a pose or something, just let me know and I will sort it as fast as I can.” I let the cast go to their stylists, who they knew from set, and walk towards my camera and laptop to make sure everything is loaded up and ready to go.

“She did remember you.” Leah said in a hushed giggle as my face starts to go red.

(Jack’s POV)

We are late. Mason is late. So I’m late. I hate being late to these things. Especially when it’s people I’ve never worked with before, although I think I remember Jenna saying she’s met one of the photographers before but that doesn’t calm me down one bit.

“Hey man, chill out” Mason interrupts my internal panic. “They won’t mind, you can charm them with your good looks yeh?” He suggests. I widen my eyes to show I don’t agree. “Fine, I’ll apologise in my own way and you do it how you want too.” He sighs, jokingly.

When we finally arrive we are pushed into the changing rooms so fast that I don’t get to apologize for our lack of punctuality. I quickly change into my costume before jumping into the makeup chair, next to Mason. Once the artist has finished I text my mum to tell her I made it and left it on the vanity. I headed out to the studio once Mason was done too.

"Look who decided to show up!"

Part Two will be their meeting! Or should I say meet-cute?

Also (shameless plug) I really want to be a photographer so I would mean a lot if you followed/checked out my Instagram:

@/no.stress_jess

Please do not repost this, reblogs are appreciated.

[isaacarellanesismyhusband]

panic attack

pair: Tony Stark x reader

summery: Tony finds y/n(she/her) having a panic attack

masterlist | navigation

❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿

It was late—far too late for anyone in the Stark Tower to be awake, much less Tony Stark. The city outside hummed with life, the distant sound of sirens and bustling streets filtering in through the high windows of the penthouse. Tony had been in his lab all night, tinkering with some new tech, as he often did. But something—maybe instinct, maybe the subtle hum of his connection with Y/N—had drawn him out of his work and toward the quieter parts of the tower.

He found himself standing outside Y/N’s room, the dim light slipping through the crack under her door. He frowned slightly. She should have been asleep by now, and it wasn’t the first time this week that she had stayed up this late. Without really thinking, Tony knocked softly.

“Y/N?” His voice was gentle, like it always was with her.

When he didn’t hear an immediate response, a small flicker of concern sparked in his chest. He opened the door quietly, stepping inside the room. The air was thick, and the room felt too warm, too quiet, save for the unsteady sound of breathing.

In the corner of her bed, tucked against the wall, Y/N sat with her knees pulled to her chest, eyes wide and tear-filled. Her breathing was erratic, her hands trembling as they clutched the blanket. It took Tony all of two seconds to realize what was happening.

A panic attack. The third one this week, if he was counting right. “Hey, hey… sweetheart.” Tony’s voice dropped, softer than the quietest whisper. He was beside her in an instant, sitting on the edge of her bed. He could see the panic in her eyes, the way she was trapped inside her own mind, lost in the spiral of anxiety.

He didn’t say anything else. He just slid onto the bed beside her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. His chest was warm, and his presence seemed to envelope her, like a shield from whatever storm was raging inside her.

Y/N didn’t say a word, but she buried her face into his chest, her hands gripping his shirt like he was the only solid thing in the world. Tony rested his chin on the top of her head, one hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on her back. His other hand gently held hers, grounding her.

“Breathe with me, okay?” His voice was low, calm, and reassuring. “In… and out… nice and slow.”

He breathed deeply, his chest rising and falling steadily, his heartbeat a rhythmic thrum she could feel against her cheek. Y/N tried to follow his breathing, taking shallow breaths at first, but gradually matching the steady pace he set.

“There you go. That’s it. I’ve got you, sweetheart.” He whispered, his voice steady like a rock in a storm.

It took a few minutes, but slowly, ever so slowly, Y/N’s breathing began to calm. Her grip on his shirt loosened, and her shaking subsided. The panic, though still lingering at the edges of her mind, began to recede, replaced by the warmth and safety of Tony’s embrace.

She finally pulled her face away from his chest, looking up at him with tired, red-rimmed eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I didn’t want to wake you. This is the third time this week…”

Tony shook his head gently, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “Don’t apologize. You don’t need to go through this alone, Y/N. You’re allowed to lean on me. That’s what I’m here for.”

His thumb brushed gently over her cheek, wiping away a stray tear. His touch was gentle, comforting, and the warmth in his eyes made her feel safer than she had in days.

“I just… I feel like I’m bothering you,” Y/N murmured, her voice barely audible.

Tony’s brow furrowed at her words, and he tilted her chin up so she was looking at him directly. “You could never bother me,” he said softly but firmly. “You mean the world to me, kid. I’m here for you, no matter what. Panic attacks or not, I’ll always be here. Okay?”

Y/N nodded weakly, her heart swelling with the sincerity in his words. It was hard to believe sometimes, how much he cared for her, how deeply he seemed to understand what she needed even when she didn’t have the words to explain.

He pulled her back into his arms, wrapping her up in a cocoon of warmth and safety. “Now,” he said, his voice lighter, as if trying to coax a smile from her, “How about we just lie down for a while? I’ll stay right here. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

A small, tired laugh escaped her lips, and that was enough to make Tony’s heart swell.

“Okay,” Y/N whispered, her body finally relaxing against him. She shifted slightly, curling up against his side, her head resting on his chest.

Tony pulled the blanket over the two of them, his hand still gently rubbing her back in soothing circles. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the warmth of his embrace lulled her into a calmer state. Her eyes fluttered closed, and for the first time in days, she felt like she could finally rest.

As Y/N began to drift off, Tony pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “You’re safe,” he whispered into the quiet room. “And I’ll be right here when you wake up. Always.”

Wrapped up in Tony’s arms, Y/N finally let herself breathe. The darkness of the night no longer felt so suffocating, not when she had him beside her. And as sleep finally claimed her, she knew that no matter how many panic attacks came, she would never have to face them alone again.

[dumpsterfire-allavita]

Context- I had been commissioned for this piece. Being in a financial pickle I picked it up and immediately set to work on it. Since I’m in need of money I put my all into the request to make sure it checked every box they could need. It turned out amazing I think! However I just checked our chat where I put the almost finished piece to find their account deleted. What’s worse is I had given them an update without my signature on it since it was unfinished and all…so if you see it floating around please message me!

Without further adeu~ the piece!

╔══*.·:·✧ ☎️ ✧·:·.*══╗

Information

I was messaged by the user Freaky (later changed to Dust) for the commission of their two Characters Brimstone and Karma. Ecstatic we began consultation!!

They decided on a photo reference from the anime “Soul Eater”. They liked the old anime style and requested their piece would be similar. That meant a full body with simple background but a lot of technique put into the old anime style! Ofc I wouldn’t shy away from the challenge (since my bills won’t shy away from me- the apple did not work on the doctor….no matter how hard I threw it)

Upon requesting their budget they said between 130-200$ which worked fine with me. I always tend to under charge anyhow. Due to my needs this time was no different. I assured they would receive updates to let them know how the piece was going and that I would collect their input on any fixes needed. They agreed and without further wait I began.

『•🪱•✎•🪱•』

[ T o o l s ]

✦ Cheap sketchpad

✦ Mechanical Pencil 7.0 lead

✦ My Phone (to send to the iPad)

✦ Fathers IPad (Im broke don’t judge)

✦ Procreate

✦ Color Pencil procreate brush pack

✦ Lineart procreate brush pack

✦Paint procreate brush pack

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ˏˋ°⁀✎ �� P R O C E S S 🫎 *ੈ✩‧₊˚ˏˋ°⁀✎

Once saving the many provided refs I began by creating character reference sheets. Due to the customer not being artistic they provided me with several other commissioned pieces of their characters. Not all…looked the same… so I created these sheets to compile the parts that fit the personalities portrayed. Then I checked in with the user to figure out which features looked most like what they imagined for the characters.

Then I continued with the base sketch of the pose. The original reference for the pose didn’t entirely fit the characters so I chose to tweak it. I think I like the way they interact on the piece. I even made them doing rock paper scissors if you pay close enough attention! Karma lost but well…Brimstone would get what was coming for it later lol.

After all that it was finally digital art time!!! So I put my color references sent to me before adding the anime ref and my character refs. On the iPad I started with adding the details of the characters and sketching the pieces in further.

When that looked good I shifted the background a little to see it all before doing the motorcycle. (This is the first one I’ve ever drawn too- I know it’s funky! Don’t look too close)

Once the sketch was confirmed I began lineart. The title was changed to say Brimstone in big and in Japanese it reads “Freak Karma” the user of the customer and their second character.

Following that was color blocking which absolutely murdered me! I simply started with a big blob and did Alpha lock. Then I continued to block out base colors. Probably the worst experience of my life…goodness..

After I did a big dark brown layer with the opacity lowered for the look of a darker environment. From there I lightly erased the spots for lighting.

Then it was additional coloring and shading to the color block layer followed by additional erasing on the shadow layer. Building it up until I was satisfied.

Finally I did two layers- a layer for specific color lighting such as the flames reflection and the color to their skulls and a layer for the black and white liner.

All that was left was adding noise, Bloom, and a little bit of halftones to achieve the desired look.

With everything done I added my signature into the mirror on the bike!

ALL THIS ON ONLY 4 LAYERS! Due to the sheer size of the canvas (6000 pixels by 5000 pixels (ish)) I was only able to have 4 MAX layers. So pain…

🪳✨ Time ✨🪳

//this is the longest I’ve ever spent on a piece btw! (These are timed and rounded down to the simplest form. So these are all slightly UNDER what I actually did.)

Ref sheets 🎨 45 min

Layout Sketch 🔆 24.3 min

Digital Sketch 🛏️ 1 hour 30 min

Lineart 🍿 8 hours

Color Blocking 🥲 23 hours

Lighting + Final touches 👍 1 hour 25 min

Total- WAY TO FREAKING LONG! This has 26,543 strokes on it!!!!

Anywho! I hope you enjoy the piece as I sure as heck have not due to my suffering and now lack of money that I now have to try and find elsewhere with bills gripping my now every thought.

If you’d like to commission me I’ll have to ask for a base payment upfront now due to this situation. I am unable to spend such time to provide my very best just to be left when I truly need the money.

Thank you for your time!

[spicechica]

Quinten Quist x Fem Reader

(Suggested by: @wingswinger )

You and Quinten met as children, as both of your families wanted you two to get to know each other and the fact that Quintens family wanted him to be surrounded by other children. But Quinten wasn’t really the talkative type, always having his nose in a book or paper, or spending his time in the garden instead of being in school. 

His family thought you would be a good influence on him but nothing ever seemed to rarely change. You weren't the best yourself to be honest, you were always distracted by the smallest things and always liked to play near rivers and trees which would cause dirt to rub off on your clothes causing them to stain. You weren’t the brightest in school either which is why you would always go to Quinten when you found something difficult since he was the smartest person you knew. He would always scold you for your lack of knowledge and not paying attention in school, not like he ever went himself. 

When you were both younger he would take you to see his mother, telling how pretty she was and if she would ever wake up. You were really the one person he would talk to about this, as he was always so sad as a child, but through the years he had just gotten used to it and had visited regularly, watching as her skin and hair slowly began to turn white. 

But now you two were both 16. You were constantly staring back at your watch as you waited for Quinten outside the front gate of his large house. You both had agreed to walk each other to your class, or at least Max told you to make sure he goes to his classes. He had missed a lot lately, which had caused for concern from the headmaster, and Max had been forcing him to go. 

You huff as you check your watch again, knowing if you left now you wouldn't be able to make it to the first period. You goan as you toss your bag over the fence, carefully hopping over since the gate was closed. As your feet land on the ground, you hear the familiar sound of a bike chain rustling through the rocks. Quinten, trying to make an escape from Max. 

“Quinten!” You stop in front of him, causing his bike to brake, sending dirt through the air. “You said we were going to class together.” “Well, i changed my mind,” He replied, riding around you in circles. “You're going to get expelled if you keep missing classes. Max has already told your father.” Quinten just chuckled in response. “Would you stop riding that thing and just sit still for a moment.” He stops his bike and rolls his eyes. 

“Now, what's wrong?” You asked. “Nothing, why do you think something's wrong.” “Well, you’ve missed a bunch of lessons, you try to ignore everyone around you, and you’ve been spending most of your time in that dusty attic of yours. Now I think that’s alarm for concern.” 

He sighs. “Alright. I’ve been having these…dreams.” “Dreams?” You raise a brow. “Yes. Everynight, it’s the same. A place with an inside but no outside.” He pulls out a book from his bag. “Daddy gave me this, and look…” He points at a strange photo, almost resembling the same ones he’s drawn in his journal. 

“Now I talked to him, and I thought I could go to school and live with him and study there, like he said when I was younger. But he said he’d think about it.” Your face slowly turns into a frown. “You mean…you’d move.” “Well, yeah. But we could still see each other…even write.” “Yeah, but knowing you you’ll forget.” You cross your arm like a child and stomp your foot. 

He chuckles as he slowly moves his bike next to you. “It’s not official…yet. But, I think I would remember my one friend who has been there for me,” He smirks. “Now, if your still up for it…how about i ride you to school.” You give him a side glance from behind, catching that smug smirk on his face. You sigh in response. “Fine.” 

You climb on the back of his bike, standing on the two bars on the sides of his back tire, balancing yourself on his shoulders. The bike slowly begins to move as he balances both of yours weight, following the trail through the large overhead trees. 

You feel the light breeze hit your face as your hair flows behind you. Luckily you were wearing leggings underneath your skirt or everyone would have gotten a peak of your rear end. You giggle as he begins to pick up the pace a little, holding tighter onto his neck. He laughs as well. 

It was nice for the both of you to spend time together like this. When you both were younger it took some time for you both to get used to each other or even talk. But after a while you both would always be found together playing in the garden or upstairs in the attic where Quinten would spend most of his time. 

Both of your parents would even joke how two looked cute together, like a couple. But that was silly, you and Quinten were just friends, he would never like someone like you…right? You slowly bend over, your face in front of his upside down, smiling. You then noticed a light red tint forming on his cheeks, causing him to awkwardly chuckle. “You alright, your face is turning red.” “Oh, uh, yeah I'm fine…just a little hot.” Hot? It was cool enough to wear a light jacket, and the breeze from the bike ride was already making you a little chilly 

That was strange. It was rare for Quinten to get flustered like that. Is there something wrong with him? Or is it someone? 

(Part 2?)

[starcrossedxwriter]

Built for Love Part 12 (MBJ x Famous Black OC)

A/N: Our favs are back!! And trying to recover from everything. Enjoy!!

***

“You know you don’t gotta hide looking at it, right?” Michael leaned over to mutter in her ear as he rounded their island to the sink. 

Charlotte’s gaze fell to the side as she bowed her head in slight embarrassment at being caught examining the perfect rock on her finger. 

It had been days since the proposal and she was still unaccustomed to it, the weight of it on her finger and the weight of what it meant to them both. She had spent countless nights fantasizing of what a life with Michael could be and now her fantasies were coming true. She constantly found her eyes drawn to it throughout the day as she questioned whether the proposal was really real or merely a dream. 

They had not told a soul about their engagement yet, not even their families. While they wanted to share the exciting news with everyone, they felt this was not something they wanted to share over the phone. And they planned to go home to LA at the end of the month for Easter weekend as Charlotte had some time off. They also knew once they told their families, there was no guarantee they would be able to keep it secret for long. And they were not ready to tell the world just yet. Charlotte was still healing and reeling from Shaun’s attack and not used to being the center of social media debates and conversation or a hot topic on talk shows. And they knew their engagement would only draw more attention to her and them that they did not want just yet. 

Tomorrow would be her first day back at work, and really her first time leaving their house for more than a walk around their neighborhood. Throughout the entire day, Michael would have been lying if he said a significant part of him had not hoped she would wake up and realize she needed more time to recover. And while skillful makeup and the facade of a performer would earn her praise on social media and in the media for returning to normal so quickly, in private things were still far from normal. 

“Sorry,” she laughed. “I feel crazy but I can’t take my eyes off it, it’s fuckin’ gorgeous.” 

Michael’s face lit up at her praise. He had picked well. “I know, I’ve caught you staring at it nonstop for the last couple days.” 

“Well you did good.” She stood and kissed him on the cheek before walking over toward the couch to grab the remote. “Wanna watch another episode of Housewives before we head to bed? We’re so far behind on this season,” she grumbled to herself as she turned on their tv. 

“Sure but first, we need to talk.” 

Charlotte groaned, those were words no person in a relationship ever wanted to hear. And she knew exactly what he wanted to talk about. She and Michael rarely argued, she could count the number of them on one hand. However, she knew this one had been brewing slowly as her return to work drew closer. She was honestly surprised he let it go this long. Wishful thinking, she supposed, that he would not say anything at all. 

“If it’s about what I think it’s about, then we already talked about it days ago and came to an agreement, Bakari. Hence the very scary former special forces white man that’s gonna play my shadow for months,” she mumbled in annoyance. 

It was not that she did not understand the point of security, she did. But that did not stop her from resenting the fact that she needed it, this human barrier that sat her apart from the masses as if she were too important or too fragile. It felt unnecessary and ridiculous but acquiescing to this request was the only way Michael would agree to let go back to the theater so early. So her frustration seemed to double at the idea that he wanted to revisit this conversation after she already compromised.  

“Well, I’d like to reopen the discussion.” 

Charlotte rolled her eyes as she settled on the couch, her movements were still stiff, her body not fully healed but she felt well enough to perform. Unfortunately, her fiancée did not share her opinions on her healing process. 

“I’m fine and I’m going back to work tomorrow. I agreed to have security at your insistence. There’s really nothing to discuss.” 

“I disagree.” Michael’s arms were folded and his face stern as he perched on the arm of their sectional. “You’re still having nightmares and you’re still in pain. I mean can you even dance?” 

Truth be told, he was shocked he was even having to fight her on this. He just knew she would get to the weekend and see how little her healing had progressed and ask for more time off. That she had taken his concerns for her well being and safety seriously and was going to change how she pushed herself to the limit. However, instead he found that she was dead set on it, rehearsing and preparing for work as if nothing was wrong. But in his opinion, everything was wrong. 

While he would admit she was handling it better than he would have expected, she was still not ok. She was still in pain despite her attempts to hide it from him. She was far more jumpy than she ever was before. And aside from the night he proposed, she woke them both up with nightmares every single night. Some were marginally better than others but they were a reminder that while her physical injuries would heal in a linear fashion, her trauma would not. They were in for months of steps forward and steps backwards. And though he knew she could not realistically take months off, he wanted her to consider, at least, taking another week to get on stronger footing. 

The engagement helped them both, provided some light and hope at the end of the tunnel and they both clung to it for dear life in their own ways. But he knew that was a fleeting feeling, the happiness and joy of the engagement would not be enough to overshadow the trauma and pain she felt forever, no matter how much she focused on that. 

She sucked her teeth. “You know before you, I danced through a hell of a lot worse than a few bruises and a concussion. I’m fine.” 

“That ain’t the sellin’ point you think it is. Your body needs rest. The doctors said you’re lucky he didn’t damage your vocal chords from choking you, you don’t need to be singing for 2 hours a night. Also you don’t even know what effect going back there will have on you.”

Charlotte scoffed. “One, my voice is fine. I practiced last night.” Though she wasn’t going to admit that it was extremely hard and painful to sing. “I’ll be fine! He what? Scared me a couple of times there? It’s not like he attacked me in the theater. It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?? You almost dying isn’t a big deal??” 

“You know what I mean! Look, I think I have a bit more experience dealing with PTSD than you do. I feel well enough to perform so I’m gonna. That’s that.”

“So I don’t even get a say? Get to give you my opinion at all?” 

Charlotte crossed her arms like a petulant child, her annoyance at having this discussion again shutting down any opportunity for her to hear his side or perspective. In her opinion, the time for his opinions had passed. “Well, it’s my career, not yours. It’s my body, not yours. I am the victim of a stalking, sociopath, not you. Why would you get a say in it? I know we’re engaged but that doesn’t mean I’m not my own person anymore.” 

“I know you’re your own person. But you also don’t get to make unilateral decisions, Charlotte! You making unilateral decisions is why we’re in this situation!” 

Charlotte scoffed. “And there it is… if you want me to take your opinion seriously, then admit what’s really going on here. This isn’t about me o-or my injuries or any stupid shit like that. You know I can perform just fine. You don’t trust me to take care of myself, you’re pissed that I took away your opportunity to save me and now you don't want me out of your sight.” 

“Well in my sight, he can’t fuckin’ try to kill you again.” 

She threw her hands up in the air. “Well, between the special forces nigga you forced me to hire and the venue security, I don’t see that happening! Also despite what you clearly think, I can take care of myself!” 

Michael’s eyes almost bugged out of his head. “You can take care of yourself? So that bruise on your side? On your face? Your concussion and stint in the hospital, were you just warming up during all those fights? Because I sure as fuck ain’t gonna forgot having to pull him off you while he tried to choke the life out of you any time soon! He’s out on bail and out in the world and I love you but no, you can’t defend yourself against him. You ain’t gonna act like I’m crazy for being worried.” 

“‘I can’t defend myself??’ So you think I’m weak?” For some reason, that struck a nerve so deep in her that she felt herself quickly transitioning from annoyance and frustration to full blown rage. 

“No that’s no-” 

“Well that’s exactly what you just said! I’m weak and defenseless and need you to take care of me. I mean, is that what you really think of me? Because if so, why would you even want to date, let alone marry, someone you think so little of?” 

“That’s not what I think!” He yelled, his frustration getting the better of him as he abruptly stood up from his seat and threw his hands in the air. He turned away from Charlotte to take a deep breath and collect his thoughts. 

However, when he turned around, he felt his heart break slightly as he took in her form. He would take a hundred versions of her yelling at him over the petrified woman who sat before him now. Her entire body trembled with fear as she avoided his eyes and moved herself to the edge of the couch as if she was ready to escape at a moment’s notice. Her ragged breathes filled their living room as she tried to calm down. 

Michael could not figure out what happened until he replayed the last 30 seconds in his own head, quickly realizing that she was fearful that he was going to strike her. 

And these were the moments that made all of this so hard for him. This was not the first time in their relationship that something triggered her, but her reactions were so visceral now that they knocked the wind out of him. He hated himself for letting his anger get the best of him to the point that he forgot to prioritize her healing and health. He never wanted her to think he would ever do something to hurt her, never wanted her to think he was like Shaun in the slightest. 

He desperately wanted to rush to her side and envelope her in a hug, assure her that he would never - no matter what - raise a hand to her. But he had enough experience with this to know that she had to choose to come to him, had to choose to trust that his touch was gentle and safe. That was not something he could force on her. So he steered himself to the cushion of the couch and sat down. 

“I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to scare you. You know I’d never hurt you. Just take a few deep breaths and when you’re ready to talk, let me know.” 

Charlotte just nodded as she buried her face in her hands for a few moments. She repeated the same mantra she did after nightmares and when she was feeling like there was no safety or security anywhere for her. Her therapist had told her to make a list of everything and everyone who made her feel safe and the very short list had Michael at the top. 

Michael is safe. Michael is home. Michael is safe. He doesn’t hurt you, he makes you feel protected and whole.

It was a small thing but it had become an anchor after nightmares or when memories flooded her mind. Michael was safe and he would never harm her. She would not claim to know everything but she certainly knew that. It took a few minutes as she repeated those words over and over under her breath, and her fingers twisted her engagement ring on her finger. Another coping mechanism she had turned to. That ring meant so much, representing the depths of his love for her. And that was another anchor to her reality, and a reminder that Shaun could invade her sleep and her mind but he could not take anything away from her if she did not let him. 

“I-I’m s-sorry,” she whispered. “I k-know you wouldn’t… I just…” she struggled to find the words to express the chaotic jumbled up mess that was her own mind. But now, she did not even care about the show anymore, part of her just wanted him to not be upset with her. “I d-don’t want you to be mad. I-If you want me to stay, I’ll stay. Ok? I’ll call Chris and I’ll stay.”

Michael immediately shook his head and moved to sit by her, unable to keep his distance. He tentatively touched her bare knee, rubbing it gently as she relaxed into his touch. “I’m sorry, Els. I’m not mad at you. And I don’t want you not to go just to appease me. I’m just… fuckin’ terrified. If you go back and something else happens to you, I’ll never forgive myself. And security or not, the only person I trust with your safety right now is me and I know I can’t be there every day to protect you. But here? I can protect you, I can…” he sighed. “I’m just having a hard time l-letting go.” 

She wiped away a few falling tears. “I know… I get it. Going isn’t easy for me either,” she clarified. “I just… know I have to. I would happily stay in this house with you forever. But I know I can’t… I h-have to go and prove to the world and myself that he didn’t destroy me… that I’m not weak. I’m terrified he’ll be there o-or pop up somehow. But I might feel that way for a long time and I can’t stay here with you forever. That’s what he wants, power over us and our lives and I can’t give him that. But I can’t do that if the one person who knows me better than everyone else thinks I’m too weak to do it.”

“You’re right. You’re right. You’re strong and if you feel like you’re ready, I don’t get to argue with that. I’m sorry… this is just… harder than I thought it’d be.” 

Charlotte shook her head and turned to him. “No, don’t apologize for being overprotective. You’re dealing with trauma just as much as I am. We got a bit caught up in the engagement and… planning for the future doesn’t mean we don’t have to deal with what’s going on right now. I know it’s hard for you too.” 

“Sorry… I don’t wanna be overbearing. I just want to keep you safe.”  

She chuckled. “You’ve barely let me out of this apartment in a week… the overbearing ship has sailed. But that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate it. But I have to do this tomorrow, and I hope you can respect that.”

Michael leaned in and kissed her softly, cupping her face with his hand. He felt her slightly flinch beneath him as he accidentally grazed a healing bruise. However, she did not pull away and returned his kiss earnestly. 

“They’ll go away,” she whispered against his lips, kissing his cheek as his eyes darkened. “I’ve gotten used to them.” It was as if her body was so used to it, the bruises and pain barely phased her. 

“I’ll never get used to seeing bruises on you, baby.” He pushed her wild curls behind her ear. “You’re the strongest person I know, by the way. I don’t think you’re weak and you shouldn’t either. It takes so much strength to survive all you have.” 

Charlotte felt her eyes go a bit teary. She did not know why the words mattered so much coming from him but they did. Perhaps, it was just the way she wanted him to see her and everything they were going through threatened that image of perfection and strength she always strived for, that image of deservedness she felt she had to maintain to keep him. She needed him to see her as the woman he would want to spend the rest of his life with, not a traumatized broken thing he had to put back together. 

“Thank you for saying that.” 

He opened his arms and she quickly settled into them, immediately feeling more at ease than she had before. He leaned back on the couch and turned the tv on to their mindless favorite show, the Real Housewives of Atlanta. It was mainly Charlotte’s guilty pleasure but Michael could not deny that it had sucked him in too. 

“Thank you,” she whispered as they watched the show. 

“For what?” 

She smiled. “For caring enough about me and my health to be overbearing. I w-wouldn’t have survived all this without you.” 

She shifted into his lap to kiss him deeply. However, before she could take it too far, he stopped her and broke their kiss. 

“You have an early day tomorrow. Not tonight.” 

Charlotte opened her mouth to retort but Michael’s attention had already shifted away from her and back to the antics of the housewives. She hoped the night of their engagement had not been some odd anomaly and that they were truly back on track. Sex was not the end all be all of their relationship but she knew how important it was to both of them. And it did not bode well to her that they had only been intimate once in a week, injuries or no injuries. But she also knew she was not up for another difficult conversation tonight and she knew that that was one she would most certainly lose so she merely settled against his chest to watch their show, tucking the information away for discussion later.  

***

“I-I guess I should leave this here?” She mused, a sad expression on her face as she examined her ring. “I can’t wear it on stage.”  

Michael raised an eyebrow as he studied her and the expression on her face. “You don’t gotta take it off if you don’t wanna.” 

She shook her head. “Chris texted, the paparazzi and reporters are already at the theater so it’ll be all over the gossip sites before lunch if I wear it. It just feels weird to take it off.”

“You sure you gotta go this early?” 

She nodded. “Yea I haven’t done the choreo or anything in almost a week. Gotta practice, make sure I can actually move fully and everything.” She glanced over to him and offered him a suggestive wink. “I could be persuaded to go a little later if you help me warm up.” She grabbed his sweater and pulled him in for a kiss. 

He chuckled and kissed her. “You’re still injured.” 

She wrinkled her nose in confusion. “That wasn’t a problem the other night?”

“Well… we both had an emotional day and were caught up in the moment and shit. I’d feel better if we waited till you heal fully. Just like I’d feel better if you take it easy today.” 

Saying no to her was easily the hardest thing Michael ever had to do. But after seeing her last night, seeing her genuinely afraid that he was going to hurt her, he could not risk doing anything that could trigger her again, at least not until he was sure she was healed emotionally and physically. It sucked and it would mean many cold showers in his future but it was for the best. 

However, Charlotte was not a mind reader. All she felt was the cold slap of rejection from the man she loved. Charlotte found his response odd but she decided not to press it. She supposed the night of their engagement was just a heat of the moment sort of thing. This was, after all, not her most attractive state. 

“I’ll be fine, Bakari.” 

“I could come with you?” 

Charlotte bit her lip as she stifled the immediate yes that bubbled to the surface. As she watched him yawn, she suddenly felt the weight of how much of a burden she was to him. All he had done was adjust his life to hers so she could heal. She just wanted to feel like his equal again and that meant she could not rely on him for everything. 

“Thanks for the offer but I’m good. I’ll be fine.” She tried to make her voice sound sure and decisive, despite the doubt on his face. “Besides, let me worry about you for once. You need sleep without me screaming you awake, babe. You’re exhausted.” 

Michael could not disagree more but something in her tone made him want to acquiesce to her words, despite his reservations. She was not wrong that he could use some true uninterrupted rest. 

“You sure? I really don’t mind coming, nothing wrong with needing some extra support.” 

Charlotte stopped herself from taking him up on the offer. “I know… But I got Adam and we’ll be just fine.”

“You sure?” He walked over and tilted her chin up to examine the bruising on her face. 

She had not finished putting on her make up yet. They were looking better and better each day, though they were not healing fast enough for Michael’s liking. His eyes darkened slightly, Charlotte rubbing his bare arm. 

“I’ll be back to my perfect flawless self soon, promise.” She pecked him on the nose. “And yes, I promise. I know you got shit to do.” 

She walked back to their master bathroom to finish her routine. She took extra care to ensure every bruise and cut was adequately covered before she finished getting dressed. It was like riding a bike, remembering all the techniques to hide the damage he caused. By the time she was done, her skin looked unblemished enough to pass the test with any photographer. 

As she walked around their bedroom, gathering all of her things for the show, she forced herself to think positively as images of Shaun flashed in her mind. She refused to give in to them though. He had taken so much, she refused to let him take this too. 

“Got everything? Baby?” Michael called, pulling Charlotte out of her thoughts, putting his hand on the small of her back when she did not register him. . 

She jumped slightly at his touch. She tried to play it off but she could tell he noticed in how his eyes softened slightly.  

“Yea, yea sorry. Was in my own head. I’m ready. Adam’s been waiting for me downstairs, I should go.” 

She kissed him on the cheek and threw him a soft smile before heading toward the door. She grabbed her keys and her bag as she moved through the living room. However, the ding of the elevator as it opened left her paralyzed, unable to force herself to cross the threshold out of her cocoon and into the real world again. A wave of panic washed over her at leaving for the first time alone and going back there, where he was. She tried to remind herself that he was not there but then all the nightmares of the last week came rushing back. She did not talk about them, particularly not to Michael, because she knew he would never have let her leave if she did. But she could not stop herself from thinking of the worst case scenario now. 

Was she a complete fool for leaving her one and only safe space to give him another opportunity to hurt her? She got lucky twice but she had a sickening feeling Shaun would not error a third time if given the chance to finish the job. All week, had she been completely deluded for believing he would not be so foolish as to try to hurt her again? But when had he ever cared about restraining orders or police? The law had not once stopped him for exercising his control, power, and revenge over her when he really wanted to. Why would it now? 

A voice rang out loudly in her head, encouraging her to turn right around and retreat into her bed with Michael where it was safe. But another voice demanded she put one foot in front of the other and face him head on again. She did not cower before, she could not now. It was all just too much, too scary, too much to consider for one person. 

“Els, baby… Focus on me.” 

She glanced up from the floor to find Michael standing in front of her, his face twisted up in concern. She did not understand what was wrong until she heard them, the shallow quick breaths that filled their quiet foyer that belonged to her.

“That’s it, breathe. You’re ok. Just got a little overwhelmed,” he whispered to her as he took slow deep breaths with her. He knew it was too much too fast. But when it came to her career, Charlotte was the first person he had ever met that was more stubborn than him. 

He cradled her head into the space between his neck and shoulder, Charlotte taking deep breaths of his cologne and natural scent. His arms were tightly wrapped around her. She would have thought it would be suffocating during a panic attack but it was grounding to her, his touch, his soft whispers in her ear.

“I-I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I-I can do it… I can do it.” 

“Hey, look at me, honeybee.” He waited until her glossy eyes were on him before he said, “I know nothing I can say will stop you from going today. But it’s ok if you’re not ok yet, Charlotte. Being scared and honest about that doesn’t make you weak and it doesn’t mean he wins. It doesn’t tell the world you're powerless. It tells them you’re human. And it’s ok to need and want extra support. All you gotta do is ask, baby.” He kissed her ring finger, which was now bare as she had taken it off in their room. “You never gotta do anything alone again. Understand?”

Charlotte glanced up at the ceiling to stop the floodgates from opening. “I j-just feel like such a burden to you these last few days. You’ve done nothing b-but take care of me,” she whispered. “I need to go… I know I do. I have to go, Bakari. B-but I don’t think I c-can go without you. With you is the only place I f-feel safe right now.” 

He kissed her temple. “You’ve never been and will never be a burden to me, love. Give me five minutes.” And with that, he disappeared back into their bedroom.

Charlotte sat down in one of their living room chairs and placed her head in her hands. She hated how quickly she caved. She could not even make it out of their house, let alone to work. She choked back a small sob, this was not how she saw her triumphant return going down. She felt ashamed of herself for not being stronger, for not holding it together better. She just wanted to be strong again, herself again, but that felt farther away than she would have liked. 

“Whatever you’re thinking, Els, stop it. You’re going, that’s what matters… not what support you need to do it. This isn’t a bad thing.” 

She wiped her tears away and took a deep breath before nodding. She was doing the best she could. And that would have to be enough. 

“You’re right, you’re right. Let’s go.” 

Michael interlocked his fingers with hers as he led her back to the elevator. With his presence by her side, stepping into the elevator and the ride down seemed for less jarring, though she could feel her heart racing slightly. She was thankful to find their street void of paparazzi and cameras when they exited. 

Michael, a saint, used the car ride to distract her, sharing updates on Black Panther prep he was about to start. She listened intently as he explained the new diet and workout regime he would have to follow to get the build required for the character. He had no insight to the plot but he shared some directions he thought they might go in based on the comic lore. Listening to him talk about work for 20 minutes was the exact distraction she needed and she was thankful to him for it. 

His musings carried them the entire 20 minute ride to the theater, Charlotte not surprised but annoyed to find a crowd of cameras and people right outside the entrance staff used. 

“Shit. Is almost dying really that interesting to anyone??” She remarked to Michael as Adam asked them to pause while he studied the terrain. He had explained to them yesterday that he had already gone to the theater and done his usual recon. Charlotte could not help but roll her eyes at that. She was not the damn pope or Queen Charlotte herself… she was just Charlie. 

“Well, being attacked on the opening night of your show is shocking so it’s newsworthy to someone.”  

“It’s weird,” she decided. Charlotte liked that her star was a small one. She did not want or care for fame, never wanted to be one of those celebrities that called the paparazzi to follow their every move. She wanted to do what she loved but she also wanted a quiet life, one with some modicum of privacy. 

“Ready when you are, Ms. Bennett.” 

She took a deep breath, sliding her shades onto her face. Michael pressed his lips to her hand, which was still interlaced into his. He had only let her go once to get in the car. 

“I’m right beside you.” 

“I know you are,” she responded sweetly. “Ready.” 

Adam jumped out of the car first and opened their door, Michael sliding out before Charlotte. She focused on Michael’s hand in hers as she ignored the loud calls and flashes of the cameras. The only thing that made her pause was a pack of fans that gathered on the opposite side, most of them young women and holding signs of support for her that made her heart swell. She originally had no intention of stopping or talking to anyone when she thought it was just reporters and express. But those girls added a detour to her journey, much to Adam and Michael’s annoyance. 

All of them held bright smiles as she pushed her shades onto the top of her head. Many of them had Playbills from the show, clearly having gone in the last week and others just had pieces of paper and signs that they asked her to sign. She tried her best to sign every Playbill and paper shoved in her face and smile in the direction of every camera for every selfie. 

Charlotte still found the idea that she had fans to be jarring. It was one aspect of her job that she was not used to at all, that people would camp out anywhere on a cold NYC morning for the chance to get a glimpse of her. 

One of the girls standing there asked for a selfie and as she took it, she said, “Could you sign this? We,” she gestured at the girl next to her that carried such a striking resemblance that she had to have been her twin. “Wanted to get tickets for tonight too but…”

“The ones that were left were so expensive.” The other girl jumped in. “Guess we aren’t the only ones desperate to see you on stage.” 

“We’re here visiting our parents and heading back to Yale tomorrow but figured we could try to get a glimpse of you,” the first girl admitted. “I… just want to say thank you.” 

Charlotte raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

“For showing that leaving is hard but it's never the wrong choice. And that if you’re lucky, maybe you’ll find better,” she glanced at Michael who was quietly standing beside her. 

Charlotte clenched her eyes shut to stop a tear from falling. This girl could not have been a day over 18 or 19. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Chantal and this is my sister, Courtney.” 

She nodded. “Adam,” she called over to the stoic man who had been standing between her and the crowd on the other side of the walkway. “Can you bring Chantal and Courtney around the barrier and inside?” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

Both girls were the picture of shock as they made their way around the steel barriers and followed Charlotte and Michael inside. The young woman marched them around to the General Manager’s office upstairs, both girls utterly perplexed and confused. 

“Charlie! It’s so good to have you back! Chris has been a pain in the ass without you,” Simon remarked as he stood up and wrapped her in a tight hug. 

Charlotte laughed. “Thank you, and I can only imagine.” She flashed him her award-winning bright smile. “Your favorite actress needs a favor?” 

“You name it.” 

“Four front row seats for tonight for my friends here,” she gestured to the two girls, whose mouths had fallen open behind her. 

“You got it. What are your names?” 

Both girls stammered out their full government names while Simon tapped away at his computer. 

“Done. Tickets’ll be waiting for you at will call tonight.” 

“Thank you! You’re the best.” She retreated from his office before walking the girls back to the front to head outside. 

 “W-wait, that w-wasn’t a joke right?” 

Charlotte laughed. “No, not a joke at all. I hope your parents enjoy musicals too. Either way, I hope you both enjoy the show tonight at least.” 

Both girls squealed and threw themselves into her arms, causing Charlotte to laugh. She hugged them both before stepping back. 

“Well, I gotta go rehearse. Make sure I can give y’all the best show possible.” 

“Thank you SO much! You’re amazing and we love you.” 

“No thanks necessary at all. See you tonight.” As the girls scurried off, Charlotte turned to stop them. “Chantal!” 

The young girl turned around as Charlotte closed the space between them.

“You will… find better. The road might be long as fuck,” she admitted, causing the two girls to laugh. “And you’ll take a lot of steps back to take them forward. But it’s not about luck. It’s about knowing you deserve it and being… willing to accept it when it comes. I,” she glanced behind her at Michael who was waiting. “I struggled with that. But I deserved better and you do too, no matter what someone else made you believe.” 

She reached into her purse and grabbed a pen and a spare piece of paper from her notebook. She jotted down her name and phone number and held it out to the young girl who seemed like her jaw might completely detach itself from her face. 

“I know how hard it is… and lonely it is at first. If you need anything, don’t hesitate. And I mean that, truly.” 

“Thank you.” She squeezed her hand before rushing back to her sister, both girls leaving with a bit more pep in their steps. 

She walked back over to Michael who was sporting a look of pure shock. 

“What?” 

“I am just constantly in awe of you.” He pulled her into his arms and wrapped one arm around her waist. “How’d I get so lucky?” 

She smiled. “Pretty sure I’m the lucky one, baby.” 

They shared a chaste but sweet kiss when they heard a couple wolf whistles. Charlotte laughed as she took in Chris and Marcus both staring at them. 

“The queen is back! Thank the good lord,” Chris remarked as he closed the space between them. “Between this damn ulcer and the nightmares, Jason and my doctor will be sending you a fruit basket and flowers.” 

“My understudy wasn’t that bad,” she remarked. The young woman was green to be sure but she was good. 

“Yes but she is no you, my dear. You are one of one.”

“How are you feeling?” Marcus asked as he pulled her into a hug, he examined her with the same quizzical eye Michael often did which made her laugh. 

“She’s fine. Been here five minutes and already giving away four of my most expensive seats in the house. Typical altruistic Charlie.” At Charlotte’s shocked face, Chris shrugged. “I know everything that happens round here.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll pay for them.” 

He shook his head. “Don’t stress about it. We have a block of tickets we budget to give away for one reason or another.” He glanced at Michael beside her. “I see you brought our favorite eye candy back with you.” 

Charlotte laughed and rolled her eyes. “Well, leaving the house was harder than I thought it’d be so Michael offered to come hang out for a bit. Hope that’s ok?” 

“Girl, whatever you need to get your ass back on that stage, I’m fine with. Rehearsal starts in 10.” 

He waved at all of them before leaving Charlotte, Michael, Malcolm and her shadow alone. 

“How are you? Really?” 

While she adored Chris, Malcolm was who she was closest to in the show and was the only one who truly knew her. 

“We’re taking it hour by hour,” she admitted. “And today started off rough but it’s turning around. I’m gonna be ok, I know that much.” 

“That’s what we like to hear.” 

They walked into the theater, the entire company giving Charlotte applause as she walked in. Michael took his seat as she got on stage and did a quick round of hugs to everyone. And then they jumped right into rehearsal. 

Michael spent part of the time doing his own work, answering emails that he had neglected over the last week. He did not regret that but his inbox was abysmal. He knew Charlotte’s was exactly the same. She had talked to her manager once or twice but no work had been accomplished in a week. 

Then he started reviewing the script for his upcoming project. He had been excited originally to play the role but now, he was merely annoyed because it meant he had to return to LA in late June. He did not want a renewal of their argument from the previous night but he knew there was absolutely no way he could convince Charlotte to cut her run short and return with him. And June was Tony’s season and nominated or not, Charlotte would never miss that. However, all of those reasons did not change the simple fact that Michael was fucking terrified. 

This was the love of his life, his future wife, the future mother of his children. Would work ever be more important to him than her safety? And it was not that he did not trust Adam, after all he picked him. But Adam did not love her like he did, did not understand her like he did. Even though it was months away, leaving felt utterly and completely wrong now. And he could not shake the feeling that it was not only a bad idea, it was the worst mistake he could ever make. He knew he could not drop out but he toyed with the probability of getting them to push the filming back, even just a month or two. He decided he’d reach out to his manager and see if it was a possibility. 

He found himself often distracted by Charlotte as she rehearsed. She was a bit stiff at first but she loosened up and fell back into the choreo with ease. This was truly her element, everyone on that stage looked to her for guidance, advice, and support. He could see why Chris was so determined to have her back as soon as possible. She was the glue. 

In between rehearsal and the show, she did interviews that she had not had the chance to do after the premiere. Michael sat next to the young girls they met earlier and their parents and they were utterly in awe of her as she performed. Despite everything, she was better than she was opening night, perhaps because she felt she had more to prove. She left her heart and soul on that stage. 

So much so that she quite literally fell asleep as soon as they got into the SUV to head home. She was utterly beat. She had held it together pretty well most of the day from Michael’s perspective, only having one panic attack when she went back to her dressing room for the first time.

She felt like the ghost of him loomed in the space in a weird way. So much so that she avoided the space until the last possible second and could not enter it alone. She questioned how she would do it every day when Malcolm offered to switch spaces with her. She objected at first, naturally, not wanting to feel like she needed accommodations from anyone. But Michael insisted and she could not deny that it eased some of her panic. 

However, when they got home, she was fairly silent and seemed upset. Michael did not understand why, she had done exactly what she had wanted to today: she had proved he could not take this away from her. 

“You were great today,” Michael offered as they settled into bed. “On all counts.” 

She chuckled humorlessly. “I couldn’t even walk into my own dressing room, Bakari. Couldn’t leave this fuckin’ house without…” She shook her head as she looked up at the ceiling. “I saw him everywhere… like a fuckin’ ghost haunting me every second. And the only thing that stopped me from literally falling apart was being able to look over and see you. If I can’t keep it together on my own, then I can’t…” she clenched her eyes shut. “And then I come here and I try to sleep and he’s there too. J-Just… don’t get a fucking break.”  

She frustratedly wiped a tear from her cheek and flipped onto her side to look away from him. 

Michael sighed and shifted closer to her, spooning her. She tensed up at the unexpected touch before softening into him.

“I know today was hard. But Els, baby… you did it. You left the house, you got on stage, you got a new dressing room, you gave interviews and did everything you needed to do without skipping a beat. That’s not nothing. It’s ok to not be able to hold it together all by yourself. Lean on me, lean on Malcolm and Chris and your castmates to get through the day.” 

“I don’t want special treatment… I don’t want people to see me as their traumatized coworker. I don’t wanna be the weak person he made me forever. It took me years to get over what he did the first time a-and I don’t have years. You aren’t gonna wait years, the world isn’t gonna wait years. I just… want to be ok again now.” 

“Didn’t you tell that girl earlier that it would be a lot of steps back to go forward?” 

She groaned, annoyed that he was throwing her own words back at her. 

“Yes but-“ 

“No buts. You gotta give yourself some grace, baby. You’re gonna have good days when you feel invincible and you’re gonna have days when it feels like you can’t hold it together on your own. And you don’t have to. You’re not broken,” he pressed his lips to her shoulder. “You never were and you certainly aren’t now. It’s gonna be a long road but you aren’t walkin’ it alone.”

“I just…” her words failed her but something in her told her to put on a brave face. She knew she was not walking it alone but she also knew she could not keep bearing all her weight on MIchael. She had to start carrying some of it on her own. Even if he currently felt like she was not a burden, there was no telling how long that feeling would last. 

So she nodded and turned over to face him. “You’re right. It was a good first step and tomorrow’ll be even better. Thanks for today.” 

“Of course. I can come with you tomorrow too?” he offered. 

Charlotte chucked. “Nah, don’t worry about it. I know spending all day in that theater is not fun.” 

Michael shrugged. “Being there for you is fun. I insist.” 

“Bu-” she started to say when Michael pulled her into his chest and kissed her on the forehead, cutting her off. 

“Get some rest. Night, baby.” 

***

“So how are you, Charlie? Really?” Michael’s mom called down the long dining room table as they all enjoyed Easter Sunday dinner.

She was thankful to have a couple days off so she and Michael returned to LA to visit family and escape New York for a bit. Their trip, which had been intended to be an adventure for the pair, had turned into anything but. And there was a safety to returning home, to Michael’s house and to his bed, even if it was only for a long weekend. 

Given that her nieces and nephews were all on Spring Break, it was the perfect time to get the families together. So it was the first time her dad, sister and CJ were meeting Michael’s family. The evening had been perfect so far, she decided, both groups blending as if they were destined to be family. 

“I’m ok… really,” she emphasized at the skeptical glances from everyone at the table, including her fiance. “He’s been out on bail, hasn’t tried anything. He’ll go to prison and that’ll be the end of it,” she assured them. She would never admit it out loud, particularly not within earshot of Michael, but those words were merely for their benefit. Not even 50% of her mind actually believed it. Shaun proved that he was not above biding his time for as long as it took. She would be a fool to believe his obsession with her was over simply because he got caught. But that was not a truth or fear she was in a place to admit to anyone. 

“You’re still havin’ nightmares though…” Michael offered quietly. 

Charlotte cut her eyes toward him with a quick glare that most of the table, thankfully, did not see. It silently said “what the fuck?” to which he merely shrugged as if he did not see the problem with detailing her weaknesses to her entire family. 

It’s the truth, his eyes seemed to shoot back at her.

“Are you ok?” 

“Do you need to increase your therapy sessions?” 

Charlotte immediately groaned internally, overwhelmed by the barrage of questions and concerns. This was exactly what she wanted to avoid. 

“Guys, guys… calm down. Michael is exaggerating,” she answered with a reassuring and calming smile. “I still have nightmares but they are far less than they were at first. It’s progress, but it’s slow. And it’s just been a few weeks. It’s not like last time,” she promised, her eyes trained on Jackson who was most invested in her recovery, aside from Michael. He called her damn near every day twice a day.

“Well, as long as you feel like you’re getting better.” 

“I am, really.” 

“You gonna be ok when Michael comes back this way for his movie this summer?” 

Charlotte nodded immediately, though she was dreading it inside. However, that was not something she could admit either. “Yea it’s gon-“ 

“I actually asked them if we could push filming back,” Michael interrupted. “To the fall when Els’ run is over. Just waiting to hear what they say.” 

Charlotte glanced up from her plate in surprise, that was the first she had heard of this. “What? When did you do that? Why did you do that?” 

“I called my agent and asked her to look into it Thursday before we left New York. Just figured a family emergency and needin’ to be there for you was hard to argue with.” 

Charlotte could not stop the confusion and anger that bubbled under the surface at him. She understood the intention behind his gesture but she did not ask him to do that and to be frank, she did not want it. It was not that she wanted to be alone in New York but she also had worked so hard in the last few weeks to stop burdening him, to heal and move forward. But this was the literal opposite of that. 

“But the summer is several months away. It’ll hardly be an emergency by then. I’m fine.”

He shrugged. “I disagree.” 

“You dis-” she started to say when Jackson interrupted, her sweet but slightly oblivious brother not picking up on the mounting tension between the couple. 

“I think it’s a good thing. Not like you don’t need the extra protection, it’s better this way, Charlie.” 

“Better for who?” She mumbled under her breath before stabbing her piece of ham with her fork. 

“The real question is when are you gonna be free for the bachelorette party?” Jazzmine asked from across the table with a smile. “Lo and I are already starting to plan.” 

Charlotte rolled her eyes as everyone smirked. “Nothing crazy, Jazz… please. I don’t know what time I’m gonna have off so we could legit just get the girls together for a fun weekend in New York. Have the wild NYC nights we didn’t get to have back in the old days,” she teased. 

Lo’s face lit up as she turned to Jazz. “Oh that would be so much fun. I’ll do some research on restaurants and Jazz, can you find us some lounges that we can go out to? Maybe in like July?” 

“You sure you wanna do New York?” Michael asked quietly, pulling Charlotte’s attention away from her girlfriends as they chatted away about her party. 

“Yea, it’s lowkey and easy. Inexpensive for everyone to get to and everything. Don’t need a big fuss. Why?” 

Michael shifted in his seat uncomfortably, Charlotte could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he thought of the right words to say whatever was on his mind. 

“Just don’t think it’s safe for you to be going out to clubs and lounges late like that. You know… least not until after his trial.” His voice was low as to not draw attention to the couple. However, before she could respond, he glanced up at Lauren and Jazz and said, “Plan somethin’ outside the US. My treat, of course. Go wild.”

“God, I love him,” Jazz not-so-quietly muttered under her breath causing the entire table to laugh, except Charlotte. “You sure you wanna marry him, girl? Cause I’ll fight you for him.” 

Charlotte forced a light chuckle from her lips before returning to her food, frustration coursing through her body like a roaring river. She was virtually silent as their families interacted for the rest of the night. She barely spoke, only offering one or two words to Michael’s nonstop chatter when they returned to their bedroom to get ready for bed. 

She wanted to say something to him but she did not know how, nor was she sure which issue to tackle first because for the first time in their relationship, there were several. 

They were still them in the ways that mattered most, still loving and caring and invested in their relationship. But something, or rather several somethings, were simply off track and causing fissures to grow between them. And tonight, she realized that they had gotten too big to ignore any longer.  

Originally, she had thought the lack of physical intimacy was their most pressing issue. Gone were the casual touches and sexual playfulness that they developed in their relationship. They had sex one time since their engagement and it was their worst time together by far. Michael spent the entire time checking in and asking her if she was ok or needed him to stop so much so that Charlotte could not even get into the moment or enjoy the experience. As the incident got further in their rearview, she tried to initiate a couple more times but he always found an excuse so finally, she stopped asking altogether. 

And that was concerning in and of itself, the crumpling of the one area of their relationship that had always been strong. But dinner proved that they were also having serious communication issues that she had been actively ignoring. It was so unlike Michael to make such a giant career decision without consulting her first, without taking into account her own feelings and opinions about her recovery.

Was she completely healed? Were things perfect? Definitely not. But was she moving in the right direction? Was she doing the best she could? Yes and still, she felt like it was not enough to get her fiance to stop treating her like the broken woman he found in that bathroom, battered, bruised and half dead. Even telling her she could not go out in New York with her friends was so on brand for him at the present moment but so unlike anything she was used to from him. And that had not been the first time. They got invited to parties and events and the like in New York and Michael found excuse after excuse for them not to go. She blamed herself for not being more vocal about wanting to go out and be who they used to be so she put all of her efforts into getting better to prove she could handle it, prove she was still the woman he wanted. However, nothing seemed to work. She wanted to move on with their lives and his mind was firmly stuck on who she was on March 1. 

And that made her doubt whether they would. All the things Michael once valued in her, he clearly did not see anymore… why else would he treat her so differently?

“You ok? Want me to make you some tea? Anything hurt?” Michael asked as they got ready for bed. 

Their nighttime routine was typically filled with laughter and conversation but tonight, Charlotte was stuck in her own head, wrestling with why her relationship seemed to be falling apart when they were both so clearly trying their hardest to keep it together. 

“No, I’m fine.” 

“You don’t seem fine.” He sighed, misreading her sour attitude for something else. “I don’t know why you feel the need to pretend like you’re ok with me when you aren’t. It’s just been a few weeks, Els. No one but you expects you to be ok.” 

Charlotte’s knuckles could’ve turned white at the way she gripped the edge of their counter in anger. “You know not every negative emotion I feel is about Shaun, right? Like I’m allowed to just be mad and annoyed at you every once in a while?” 

Michael’s eyes grew wide. “Mad at me?? What did I do?” 

“How about the fact that you made this major decision and didn’t tell me?” 

“What major decision??” 

Charlotte threw her hands up in the air. “Moving your movie schedule, Michael!” 

Michael could tell she was legitimately upset given that she used his first name and not Bakari or another pet name. However, for the life of him, he could not understand the issue. 

“That’s not a big deal tho. I just asked them to push back a couple months.”

“That is a big deal! Asking for an entire movie to be rearranged so you can play the fucking overseer.” 

“That’s not fair. I was tryin’ to help you.” 

Charlotte scoffed. “Help me? Oh and is flashing your wallet around to convince my friends to plan a different party than the one I want helping me too??” 

Michael walked out of their bathroom, the two facing off at the foot of the bed. 

“You aren’t gonna get fuckin’ mad at me for telling you shit is unsafe. No, you don’t need to be fuckin’ around in the middle of the night drunk in New York while he’s still out there. You can be mad all you want.” 

Michael felt no shame or guilt for drawing the line in the sand somewhere. He saw no issue in keeping Charlotte at home. She went to work, they occasionally went to dinner - though he preferred just ordering them take out these days - and that was virtually it. He went to the theater with her almost every day, only leaving around show time and returning with the car to pick her up. It was a sacrifice to be sure. But what did it matter if she was safe and had extra layers of protection? 

“If you had your way, I’d never leave our fucking apartment!” She hurled at him. “You wanna help me? Stop treating me like a fragile doll that’ll break if you aren’t around. Stop… stop denying me affection and love and just admit the truth!” 

“What truth??” 

“You don’t want me anymore!” Charlotte exploded, her own insecurities compounded by her perceptions of her fiancé’s behavior. “You proposed and you regret it and you don’t want me.” 

“That’s the farthest thing from the truth in this world, Charlotte.” 

She closed the space between them as she shouted. “Then why don’t you touch me like you used to? Why don’t you make love to me or fuck me or literally anything anymore? Our relationship is void of physical intimacy that I know both of us need. So tell me. What other reason could it be other than you can’t get the image of what he did out of your head and I’m not the woman you thought I was o-or want anymore? Tell me!” 

Michael’s mouth opened and closed several times, unsure of what exactly to say. He had never seen her so upset, particularly directed at him, over something that was simply not true. However, despite the anger she displayed, something stopped him from telling her the truth. It was foolish to not trust her with his own fears and vulnerabilities but it was unfair to make her healing about him. 

“I promise you it’s not because I don’t want you.” 

Charlotte stared at him, waiting for something… anything to signal to her what the true reason was. But he gave her nothing. 

Charlotte let out a breath that sounded like a cold laugh before nodding and  stalking over to her side of the bed to grab her pillow and favorite blanket, one that Michael used often and carried his scent. 

“I don’t want promises, Michael. I want you to be honest. And until you are ready to admit whatever has you treating me like a patient instead of your future wire, I’ll be in the guest room.” She paused. “Here and in New York.” 

“You shouldn’t sleep alone, Charlotte.” 

“I dealt with nightmares before you, Michael and I can deal with them now. If you really want to help me,” she clenched her eyes shut to stop the tears that welled in them, tears that she knew would not help her case. She was just so tired, tired of everyone in her life and in the media and everywhere she turned fawning over her. She just wanted someone to treat her like nothing had changed and she had hoped that would be Michael. But he could not do it either. “Then start treating me like someone you believe is actually capable of healing. Cause right now, all you treat me like is a woman who's too broken to be put back together again. And if that’s all you see when you look at me, we aren’t gonna make it.” 

And with that, she raced out of their bedroom and down the hallway toward one of the guest rooms, leaving Michael alone. He felt as if he had whiplash, the argument happening so fast over something he felt was so insignificant, he could not fully understand what to do. 

A knock at the door pulled him out of his thoughts. He swung it open to find his father standing in the hallway, two glasses of scotch in his hands. 

“Heard some raised voices. You good, son?” 

“Not really,” he muttered as he took the drink out of his dad’s hand and ushered him inside.

“Feel like I’m tryin’ to do right by Els, give her what she needs and she’s actin’ like it’s too much… or not enough of the right thing… or I dunno. We’ve never,” he flopped down on the edge of their bed, his hand rubbing his head. “We’ve never been like this before.” 

Michael Sr sat down in the arm chair across from his son. “Well, you ain’t been together long enough to be like much. I think you two were made for each other, don’t get me wrong. But marriage ain’t easy ‘n you two are gonna hit more than a couple rough patches where it seems like it just ain’t workin’. And that’s to be expected given what you both went through. You need to talk.” 

“I try to talk to her, pops. Get her to tell me what she's feelin’, how she’s doin’. She just wants to act like everything’s fine when I know it isn’t. I mean, you take care of ma… her health. She doesn’t fault you for being protective. What am I doing wrong right now?” 

His father let out a low chuckle before taking a long sip of his drink. “Bold to assume your momma didn’t cuss me out more than once too. I raised you ‘n your brother the way I was raised. To be a provider, protector, fixer. And I did the same thing you’re doin’ when your momma first started havin’ health issues. Constantly checkin’ in, assuming I knew what she needed or how she was feelin’ better than she did. And just doin’ it cause I thought I knew best. And all I was really doin’ is creating resentment.”

“What you mean?” 

“I mean… your mom didn’t and still doesn’t want a doctor, she has a doctor. She didn’t need a therapist. She wanted her husband, a safe spot to land ‘n know I was gonna treat her like her when the days were good ‘n jump in ‘n pull the extra weight on the bad days. But that I was still gonna let her be her, not treat her like a sick person who can’t take care of herself. But I felt so outta control as a protector and fixer that I went overboard tryin’ to fix somethin’ that couldn’t be. Took a lot of counseling to get outta that.”  

Michael raised his eyebrow in shock. His parents were not of a generation that typically had a positive outlook on therapists and counseling. He also would have never thought their marriage ever required it. His parents’ marriage, in his mind, was the blueprint. 

“Really?” 

“Yea… I mean it was different than what you kids do now with licensed therapists. But yea, we went to counseling with our pastor ‘n it helped. Helped both of us admit what we needed, helped us find common ground. N now, I protect your mother while respecting her boundaries. I know you. You’re tryin’ to fix something that only Charlotte and time can fix. And if you hold on too tight, try to fix too much cause you’re afraid of losing her, you’re just gonna lose her in a different way. This is your first taste of marriage, son. Shit ain’t easy but it’s worth it.” 

His dad stood up and patted him on the shoulder before walking toward the door. However, as he opened it, he stopped and turned. 

“Another piece of hard-earned advice?” Michael nodded for him to continue. “You just learned how short life is, how precious every minute is. You don’t go to bed alone or angry ever. You ain’t gotta fix it tonight, you ain’t even gotta talk about it tonight. But don’t let her fall asleep down that hall thinkin’ you don’t wanna fix whatever this is. Understand?” 

“Yea I gotchu. Thanks pops.” 

“Anytime, son.” 

Michael downed the rest of his drink before grabbing his own pillow and walking down the hallway to the guest room he knew Charlotte would be in. The door was not closed all the way so he peeked through the crack for a moment, studying her form which was curled into a tight ball in the middle of the bed. Her light sniffles reached his ears and immediately propelled him forward. 

He knocked on the door.

“Come in,” she called, her voice broken and small. She forced herself into a seated position, wiping her tear-stained cheeks as she sat up. 

They stared at each other expectantly for a few moments before Michael stepped forward. 

“I know I’ve been… distant in a lot of ways the last few weeks. And probably overbearing and controlling, which isn’t what I want you to feel. And I’m sorry for that. And if I had the right words to explain why, I would. But I don’t. I don’t know what this feeling is o-or how to describe it to you. And I can assure you it’s not because I don’t want you. I’ll always want you. But I know this isn’t what you need and this isn’t the relationship I want for us. I know you’re already working with your therapist but maybe we can try couple’s counseling? For a couple weeks? Maybe we can get back on track sooner rather than later.” 

“Really?” she asked. Michael had never expressed anti-therapist sentiments and supported her journey wholeheartedly but he always said he never considered going himself, never thought he would need one. “I thought about suggesting it for us… after everything. I just figured you wouldn’t be into it.” 

Michael meandered over to her side of the bed and sat down, his hand rubbing her leg. 

“I’m into whatever you and I need to do to get back on the same page. I love you and I want you and I know I haven’t been myself lately,” he admitted. “But I hear you and I’m willing to figure it out so I can support you how you need me to.” 

“Thank you… for that. And I’m sorry for blowing up at you. I just… I just want to be me again. I want us again,” she mumbled, bringing her knees to her chest. 

“I know. And we’ll get there. I promise. I’m in it for the long haul, even if we gotta go to so many sessions we fund a beach house for your therapist.” 

Charlotte let out a cackling laugh. “I mean I’ve definitely already funded her beach house… maybe a like cabin in the woods next… she loves that type of stuff.” Charlotte rolled her eyes with a chuckle before her face returned to it’s more solemn expression. She stared at him for a few minutes before grabbing her pillow. “Will it completely ruin my street cred next argument if I come back to our room? This bed sucks,” she muttered. It was harder than their bed and more uncomfortable but the reality was, she had no interest in sleeping alone even if she was still upset. 

Michael kissed her on the forehead and gestured toward the door. “A very small ding in street cred,” he joked. “But,” he lifted up his own pillow. “I lose some too for coming in here like a lost damn puppy.” He joked, both of them laughing. 

“God, we can’t even do one night mad at each other right.” 

“I think that’s a good sign,” Michael remarked. “Think that means we’re gonna be just fine.” 

“Yea… we will be.”

Tag List: @certifiedlesbianbaddie @bangtanxmegan @reelwriter19 @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @hi888888sworld @msniaimani @destinio1 @lynaye1993 @chaoticevilbakugo @blackerthings @pipsqueak-98 @miyuhpapayuh @passionxwrites @gopaperless @injerafiend @ari17

A/N: Thanks so much for reading! Drop a comment and let me know what you think and how therapy's gonna go for our favs. This'll be the last update till December!

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

[lumienyx]

Could you write something about astarion getting to eat a dish with garlic in it for the first time since he became a vampire?

I assume that the tadpole would let him do that and think getting to experience food youre basically allergic to again is an experience.

Maybe it doesnt taste the way he remembers and doesnt compare to memory (based on my experience with milk based products)

Delectable Treats

A/N: honestly I just wanted to write this exact scene as is but then the idea uhhhhh well it got away from me XD not quite into crack territory (hopefully) but definitely there with a hefty dose of humor and fluff🥺 hope you enjoy✨

Rating: T | Pairing: Astarion/Male Tav | Words: 2,362

Tags: Humor, Fluff, Banter, Astarion Being Astarion, Astarion POV, Appropriate Use of Illithid Parasite Powers

Summary:

Astarion lets out the heaviest sigh he can manage, making it all kinds of dramatic; he has an audience after all. He turns to said audience, looking them straight in the eyes, and says, “Can you believe I’ve been relegated to this? By my own lover, no less.” He only gets a headshake and a slow blink in reply. “Have you nothing to say about my misfortune? At all?"

Or, after a violent altercation that leaves most of the crew dead or incapacitated, Astarion ends up cooking dinner for the newly healed and revivified. It goes as well as you… wouldn't expect, really.

Read on AO3 or under the cut ↓

Astarion lets out the heaviest sigh he can manage, making it all kinds of dramatic. He has an audience after all. He turns to said audience, looking them straight in the eyes, and says,

“Can you believe I’ve been relegated to this? By my own lover, no less.” He only gets a headshake and a slow blink in reply. “Have you nothing to say about my misfortune? At all? And this is after all the treats I’ve given you! Scratch? Tara?”

Scratch barks at him, circling around himself a few times as he wags his tail. Tara keeps staring at him with a calm, collected expression which Astarion can swear is almost sympathetic. She then allows a gentle, drawn-out meow.

“I mean, it’s like we’re just tools for them, aren’t we?” Astarion goes on, lifting the lid to check on his… experiment. Seems fine, for now at least. “You, Scratch, ever bound to chase that muddied pathetic excuse for a ball—remind me to buy a new one next time we’re out, by the way.”

He focuses once more on the spell he has active, heating the metal contraption further as the time is just about up.

“And you, Tara—are you forever fated to hunt down rare scrolls for Gale and be his comfort object?” Astarion goes on. “Well, I mean, that is what cats are—”

Tara cuts him off with a hiss.

“—I mean, tressyms are for, of course.” Tara’s hiss melds into a threatening growl, which Astarion completely ignores. “But me,” he sneers, “cooking? Beyond humiliating."

Scratch barks his agreement. Tara flaps her wings in another half-hearted threat, before sliding closer to Astarion, no doubt asking for apologetic pets.

With another painstaking sigh, Astarion relents, running his hands through her soft fur. Scratch soon joins, too, never one to miss out on affection offered freely, and so Astarion has to alternate between petting them both. As he bakes dinner. For everyone in camp but himself. 

Astarion supposes it's kind of his own fault for not keeping his mouth shut but he prefers to blame everyone else anyway. Shadowheart for casting her new 'blessing' of a protection spell on them before their party left. Clueless herself that the spell would deal damage to her for every wound the targets suffer, and so she just up and died spontaneously while staying back at camp. Lae’zel up next, killed by a far-too-lucky blast to the head. Gale drained dry of almost all life within him with a necrotic energy so strong that Tav's Counterspell did nothing against it. Karlach and Wyll both trapped by Hold Person and hit by a rock—luckily not quite killed, but very much incapacitated.

The Underdark truly was a place too dark and full to the brim with terrors.

Astarion and Tav managed to avoid most of the damage; Astarion by hiding and Tav with a Globe of Invulnerability that came into effect far too late to protect the others. And so, the both of them ended up dragging dead and disfigured bodies of their friends back to camp, where Halsin, a newly resurrected Shadowheart, and Tav tended to the wounded—and Withers to the dead. The quite gory sight made even Astarion uncomfortable, the spilled blood not inducing any hunger, just crippling anxiety for those he has come to call friends.

“I suppose dinner will have to wait,” Halsin says somewhat grimly, somewhat as a joke as he takes in the gravity of the situation.

“If it’s not anything difficult,” some doubtless evil force prompted Astarion to say, “I can take care of that.”

“Can you?” 

“Really?”

And suddenly, Astarion found himself directed to a meager stash of ingredients—because the bigger one is located in Gale’s pocket dimension for preserving any and all food, which they now cannot access with the wizard comatose. It’s how he finds himself here, now, opening the metal contraption serving as a poor substitute for an oven, kept hot continuously by a Heat Metal spell Tav modified to run past its one-minute time limit. Lying there on the makeshift cooking trays is perfectly cooked, aromatic garlic bread along with a few hefty pieces of beef lathered with the variety of vegetables Astarion had found in the stash. He’d thrown in the spices they had as well, and by the way the meat smelled, he’d added just the right concoction of those.

This is absolute insanity, Astarion decides. Though he can’t help but feel strangely satisfied with his efforts. He hopes, though he’s loath to admit it to himself, that Tav enjoys it, at least.

It all starts to seem even more like a fever dream as Astarion returns to the campfire to find all of his companions in an adequate state of healed or revivified. Some drinking water, some leaning hard on the booze. 

“My painkiller,” Wyll insists, holding tight to his wine bottle. 

“Give it back and eat first,” Shadowheart reprimands him, herself still looking more like a walking corpse than a living being. 

It’s then that Astarion cuts in with the announcement that dinner seems to be, by all means, ready.

There’s skepticism, at first. Gale scowls, unable to accept that they decided to ‘trust dinner to a vampire whose diet only consists of blood and self-glorification,’ rather than wait for his rather lengthy return from nigh-eternal sleep. Tav smiles as he cuts himself his share, but the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, the look in them a bit apprehensive. Karlach says, well, they’ve gotten through the sheer hell sprung up on them in the Underdark, they can survive food poisoning, right?

Astarion simply lounges with his head on Tav’s lap in their childish-looking circle around the fire, wishing he could drop dead a second time in his increasingly agonizing existence. Preferably right there on the spot.

Though when Tav runs his hands through Astarion’s hair, the touch soft, and warm, and perfect—Astarion thinks that maybe that’s payment enough for enduring all this slander.

“I’ll remind you,” he says, waving in Tav and Halsin’s direction, “that you explicitly asked for this.”

“Wait, listen!” Karlach’s eyes grow wide. “Holy hells, this is actually good!”

“What?” and that’s Gale, “I don’t believe it.”

“Hm. Neither did I, but by Vlaakith, it truly does taste… palatable.”

“Palatable? The bread is fucking delicious! Astarion, how did you manage it?”

“Is it a flavor illusion?”

“Did you steal it?”

“Did you hire one of your ghouls to do it?”

“No, ghouls wouldn’t know how to cook, Tav, stop acting the idiot. But maybe he has some imprisoned, tortured chef we’re unaware of?”

“Honestly, sweet Shadowheart.” Astarion lifts his hand to his chest in mock offense. “I would never stoop so low.”

“Then how?” Gale frowns, chewing slowly, so evidently confused as to why he isn’t disgusted by it.

Astarion only grins. “Trade secret.” Mentioning nothing of how he was himself quite concerned about the end result. He hasn’t cooked anything in hundreds of years—what felt like eternity, really. 

But there was a time—and the memory of that time is too precious and painful to be lost even to Cazador’s hold. A time when his mother fell ill of a magical ailment that required a most complex and lengthy treatment. When his father was ever so busy with magistrate business, begging his only son to support his mother in any way he could at home while he worked his way up, growing desperate as their family fortune dwindled. And so, Astarion had to learn to cook from scratch, opting for baking and boiling with just the right concoction of spices to make even laughably simple meals tasty nonetheless. Something his mother could stomach even during the most severe fevers and his father would eat cold as he returned from late nights at the office. Astarion barely remembers either of their faces, barely allows himself to utter their names in his mind, but these flashes of memory stay etched too deep into his brain to be forgotten.

“Well, I admit it,” Wyll says then, returning Astarion’s attention to the present. “I owe you an apology for the mistrust, Astarion. But I honestly thought this would taste like ashes in my mouth.”

“It would only taste like that to me,” Astarion says, “don’t you worry.”

“Oh!” Tav throws him a strange look. Astarion still can’t quite get used to the beauty of those eyes, especially as they reflect the firelight, blue and green reflecting the flame’s auburn hue. “I just wanted to offer you to try. I—I forgot, sorry.”

Astarion shrugs. “No need to apologize, darling,” he mutters, “it's my burden to bear.”

“But it’s literally melting in my mouth, it’s that good!” Karlach persists, quite loudly.

“I’d say it might just be because of the…” Shadowheart motions at the entirety of Karlach. “The heat, but I agree.”

And so commences another round of compliments Astarion can’t quite deny are lifting his mood.

Well. Seems like he’s valued after all. He sees Scratch and Tara watching him through half-lidded eyes as they doze by the fire. Envious, no doubt.

“Listen,” Tav says suddenly, putting away his plate, the food just half-finished.

Astarion asks, “Something wrong?” from where he’s still resting on Tav’s lap.

“Not at all.” Tav has that dangerous glint in his eyes, the same one he gets when he’s describing a new terrifying way he’s bent metamagic to do his (sometimes downright insane) bidding. “I was just thinking.”

“Quite dangerous for us all,” Astarion remarks, lifting himself up to sit facing his lover, “if you’re thinking of doing something… questionable again.”

“When have I ever made a so-called ‘questionable’ choice, love?”

“Oh! Remember that time you crushed me—and Gale by the way—with that bloody sun temple?”

“Anyway.” Tav averts his eyes. Astarion is glad to see he’s still embarrassed about that particular debacle. “What I was thinking is that… the tadpoles allow us to read each other's thoughts, yes? And use the other’s senses—I mean it worked when I showed you your face, right?”

Astarion’s already slow enough heart skips a drawn-out beat as he remembers. Connected to Tav’s mind, resonant with his soul, seeing through his eyes: a reflection Astarion has all but forgotten. Silver curls framing a face that seemed so new yet painfully familiar. Red eyes staring back at him—a prettier shade than the gory blood-red he’s always imagined.

“I remember,” he says, “how could I forget? You insist on showing it to me every day.”

Tav smiles. “Because it makes you happy.” And Astarion can’t help but smile in turn. It does.

Tav opens his mouth as if to say something, then thinks better of it. Chews on his lip, considering. Then finally asks, “Let me in?”

Astarion frowns at the proposition, still unsure of what Tav has on his mind. But he’s long gotten over the initial distrust he harbored. There really is no going back, Astarion supposes, now that he’s shown his cards and revealed just how much he cherishes Tav, relishes his closeness. How thankful he is for Tav's painfully earnest sympathy regarding Astarion’s past interfering with the present. His patience is another precious gift, as Astarion grows used to the simplest touches once more, just now comfortable with all kinds of intimacy that don’t quite lead further, thoroughly enjoying the chastest of kisses.

And so, “All right,” Astarion says. Closes his eyes and opens his mind to Tav’s.

It feels familiar, a rush of warmth that makes him shudder. A foreign presence in his thoughts that’s welcomed, because it comes with peace and no hint of deception.

“Open your eyes,” Tav prompts, then. Astarion does—only to see Tav offering him a piece of the garlic bread from his plate.

“I can’t—”

“Just try it.”

Frowning, quite confused, Astarion still accepts the piece. Takes a tiny bite and—

“Oh.” His eyes grow wide. “Hells. What the?..”

“It worked?” And Tav is smiling at him, that childlike joy illuminating his face as it so often does. “I supposed that the senses we share through the connection aren't just limited to sight. It could be taste as well. How is it?”

“Erm,” Astarion himself is quite speechless, too focused on the taste buds that are finally working the way they’re supposed to. The bread is sweet-tinged with a slightly salty base, so soft it melts on his tongue, buttery but not overly so. “It’s. Well. Uh. I can taste it. ”

“You can.”

“It’s… strange. Such a… unique flavor. I don’t even have a memory to compare it to,” Astarion muses, treating himself to another bite. "It's quite like I'm trying it for the first time." He mirrors Tav’s smile unconsciously, feeling a giddy kind of happiness bubbling in his chest. He can’t quite tell whose it is. Maybe it stems from them both. “But actually—it’s delectable, if I say so myself.”

“See what I mean?” Gale grumbles from someplace too far off to bother Astarion’s reverie. “Thrives on self-glorification.”

“Thank you, my love.” Astarion leans in for a gentle kiss. Draws it out, moving his lips softly against Tav’s, melding their thoughts so that what forms is one unified feeling of contentment. Happiness. Love—the most delightful gift Astarion’s been given. “Still, you make my life all the better,” Astarion whispers as he draws away. “You treat me so kindly and yet ask for no favors in return. I’m feeling increasingly guilty about it, truth be told.”

“Don’t.” Tav shakes his head. “You don’t owe me anything. Your happiness is a reward precious enough.”

“And how do I make you happy?” Astarion demands. “Right now, this very moment?”

Tav sneaks a glance at the others, who are all doing a rather piss poor job of ignoring Tav and Astarion’s little moment of closeness.

“Let’s get away,” Tav suggests, voice barely above a whisper. “Enjoy dinner in private. If I get a few more of those kisses out of you—I might just be the luckiest person alive.”

“Darling.” Astarion grins at the idea, though Tav must already feel his excitement through their connection. “Nothing would please me more.”

~~~

thank you for the read💙 I'd love to hear your thoughts if you enjoyed it!🥺

tag list (lmk if you'd like to be added!):

@spacebarbarianweird, @satanicspinosaurus, @tallymonster, @tragedybunny

[carlos-in-glasses]

Thank you for the tags @carlos-tk @thisbuildinghasfeelings @inflarescent @lemonlyman-dotcom @alrightbuckaroo @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @strandnreyes @sanjuwrites @heartstringsduet @whatsintheboxmh @herefortarlos 🩷

Something from Flashback Fic (which I'll start posting on Sunday!) It's 2021, the day TK and Carlos break up. Carlos is drawn back to the honky-tonk...

Smiling politely but tearfully at the barman, Carlos orders a tequila slammer.

The barman blinks. “Excuse me?”

“One tequila slammer, please,” Carlos repeats, “Actually make that two!” He’s only ever had a tequila slammer during Austin Pride, at a pop-up bar with rainbow awning called Mermen on the Rocks. The silver tequila was mixed with red food dye to become pink.

The barman raises an eyebrow. He’s an older guy – a gray-bearded biker type in a leather waistcoat. His arms are covered in aged, greening tattoos of snakes curling around daggers, thorny roses growing around crucifixes. “How about one shot for the road, and then you get a taxi home and drink lots of water, son?”

“No, no, no!” Carlos appeals with flare. “I can’t go home. I have to stay right here.” He spirals a finger and then bounces it against the bar. “Right here.”

“Why can’t you go home?”

“I don’t have one. I mean I do. I’m a homeowner.”

“Okay.”

“But I was staying with my…my…” Carlos keeps swirling his finger in the air, like he’s aiming to land on words visible only to him. “But! You know. Sometimes.”

“Ah. Yeah,” The barman smiles. He has a gold tooth. Shiny. “I think I get what you’re saying.”

“Thank you. You’re the only one who does.” He’s also the only person Carlos has talked to since TK fled from him at 2 p.m. this afternoon.

“Women trouble,” the barman says definitively.

“Something like that.”

“We’ve all been there.”

“I haven’t.”

“No?”

“I mean. I have. Literally with a woman.”

“Uh huh.” The barman surreptitiously fills a glass with water and pushes it towards Carlos slowly.

“But this is different. TK’s different.”

“Flowers. Chocolates. A groveling apology. It’s all we’ve got.”

“But I didn’t do anything wrong.”

The barman stifles a laugh. “You almost certainly did.”

“All I did was buy an apartment for us. Without mentioning it. But like…it was meant to be a happy thing. A nice surprise. It was meant to be, like…hey I got you a piece of forever, and this piece of forever has great light, and it’s near clubs and that really good bakery. You know?”

“Sounds like a good forever to me.”

“I thought so.”

“Have a little water, son.”

Carlos seizes his glass of water in both his large hands, like he has the dexterity of a three-year-old. He sips from it gently. “This is good,” he says, as if the barman has given him something new and delicious. “My partner is totally sober. My ex, I mean.” His voice cracks as he cries. “I haven’t been drunk like this in a long time.”

“That does not surprise me.” The barman sighs and hunches, leans his folded arms on the bar to create a little privacy with his shadow. He lets the strange man cry in his presence, as many have done before.

“We had our first dance here. First kiss. First–”

“Son, look at me and listen,” the barman says firmly. Carlos does. He looks into friendly blue eyes surrounded by crinkled skin. “Tomorrow is a new day. You sober up yourself, and then you take that pretty girl the biggest box of chocolates your money can buy, and the biggest motherfucking bunch of roses too. You get down on your knees and tell her you love her with your whole dumbass heart. I’ve got no other advice for you, than to try.”

Tags below + open tag!

@eclectic-sassycoweyes @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad @inkweedandlizards @redshirt2 @louis-ii-reyes-strand @jesuisici33 @three-drink-amy @orchidscript @basilsunrise @mikibwrites @fitzherbertssmolder @ambiguouspenny @wandering-night19 @catanisspicy @sugdenlovesdingle @noxsoulmate @theghostofashton @paperstorm @reyesstrand @goodways @bonheur-cafe @freneticfloetry @rosedavid @chicgeekgirl89 @spaghett-onaplate @liminalmemories21 @never-blooms @welcometololaland @rmd-writes @ladytessa74 @lightningboltreader

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[elettralightwood]

Do you know, I’ve realised I’ve never actually told you what I thought the first time we met? You see, for me, memories are difficult. Very often, they hurt. A curious thing about grief is the way it takes your entire life, all those foundational years that made you who you are, and makes them so painful to look back upon because of the absence there, that suddenly they’re inaccessible. You must invent an entirely new system. I started to think of myself and my life and my whole lifetime worth of memories as all the dark, dusty rooms of Buckingham Palace. I took the night Bea left rehab and I begged her to take it seriously, and I put it in a room with pink peonies on the wallpaper and a golden harp in the center of the floor. I took my first time, with one of my brother’s mates from uni when I was seventeen, and I found the smallest, most cramped little broom cupboard I could muster, and I shoved it in. I took my father’s last night, the way his face went slack, the smell of his hands, the fever, the waiting and waiting and terrible waiting and the even worse not-waiting anymore, and I found the biggest room, a ballroom, wide open and dark, windows drawn and covered. Locked the doors. But the first time I saw you. Rio. I took that down to the gardens. I pressed it into the leaves of a silver maple and recited it to the Waterloo Vase. It didn’t fit in any rooms. You were talking with Nora and June, happy and animated and fully alive, a person living in dimensions I couldn’t access, and so beautiful. Your hair was longer then. You weren’t even a president’s son yet, but you weren’t afraid. You had a yellow ipê-amarelo in your pocket. I thought, this is the most incredible thing I have ever seen, and I had better keep it a safe distance away from me. I thought, if someone like that ever loved me, it would set me on fire. And then I was a careless fool, and I fell in love with you anyway. When you rang me at truly shocking hours of the night, I loved you. When you kissed me in disgusting public toilets and pouted in hotel bars and made me happy in ways in which it had never even occurred to me that a mangled-up, locked-up person like me could be happy, I loved you. And then, inexplicably, you had the absolute audacity to love me back. Can you believe it? Sometimes, even now, I still can’t.

You shut the fuck up.

I can’t decide if your emails make me miss you more or less. Sometimes I feel like a funny-looking rock in the middle of the most beautiful clear ocean when I read the kinds of things you write to me. You love so much bigger than yourself, bigger than everything. I can’t believe how lucky I am to even witness it—to be the one who gets to have it, and so much of it, is beyond luck and feels like fate. I can’t match you for prose, but what I can do is write you a list. AN INCOMPLETE LIST: THINGS I LOVE ABOUT HRH PRINCE HENRY OF WALES. 1. The sound of your laugh when I piss you off. 2. The way you smell underneath your fancy cologne, like clean linens but somehow also fresh grass (what kind of magic is this?). 3. That thing you do where you stick out your chin to try to look tough. 4. How your hands look when you play piano. 5. All the things I understand about myself now because of you. 6. How you think Return of the Jedi is the best Star Wars (wrong) because deep down you’re a gigantic, sappy, embarrassing romantic who just wants the happily ever after. 7. Your ability to recite Keats. 8. Your ability to recite Bernadette’s “Don’t let it drag you down” monologue from Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. 9. How hard you try. 10. How hard you’ve always tried. 11. How determined you are to keep trying. 12. That when your shoulders cover mine, nothing else in the entire stupid world matters. 13. The goddamn issue of Le Monde you brought back to London with you and kept and have on your nightstand (yes, I saw it). 14. The way you look when you first wake up. 15. Your shoulder-to-waist ratio. 16. Your huge, generous, ridiculous, indestructible heart. 17. Your equally huge dick. 18. The face you just made when you read that last one. 19. The way you look when you first wake up (I know I already said this, but I really, really love it). 20. The fact that you loved me all along. I keep thinking about that last one ever since you told me, and what an idiot I was. It’s so hard for me to get out of my own head sometimes, but now I’m coming back to what I said to you the night in my room when it all started, and how I brushed you off when you offered to let me go after the DNC, how I used to try to act like it was nothing sometimes. I didn’t even know what you were offering to do to yourself. God, I want to fight everyone who’s ever hurt you, but it was me too, wasn’t it? All that time. I’m so sorry. Please stay gorgeous and strong and unbelievable.

And you also shut the fuck up

They make me want to curl into a little ball and cry for the rest of my life

[quichein-me-softly]

a fine line w/ sans pt. one

(enemies to lovers!sans x reader— i’m just a sucker for the trope im ngl. THIS IS MOSTLY EXPOSITION, SO FEEL FREE TO SKIP)

pt. 2 | pt. 3 | pt. 3.5 | pt. 4 | pt. 5

The air feels heavy, and the room seems smaller with every sharp word exchanged between you and Sans. His voice, usually so calm and casual, rises with an intensity you’ve never heard from him before. He’s standing so close now, his eyes ablaze with something between anger and desperation.

“maybe I was your rock,” he snarls, “but you ever think that maybe i’m tired of holding everything together while everyone else gets to fall apart?”

His words pierce through you, and for the first time, you’re unsure if this is even the same Sans you once trusted. His familiar slouch is gone, replaced by rigid tension. His grin, the one that always seemed to soften his words, has vanished. All that’s left is a raw, bitter expression.

“you think I don’t care, huh? you think i just don’t want to help?” He’s practically yelling now, his voice cracking with the strain. “i’ve seen this all before. i’ve seen everything fall apart too many times to believe anything lasts. so yeah, maybe i am detached. and maybe i don’t show up. but you don’t know what it’s like to watch everything you care about disappear over and over again!”

Your breath catches in your throat. He’s never said any of this before, never let you see this part of him—the part that’s more than lazy jokes and half-hearted smiles. But the scorn in his face now makes it hard to recognize the Sans you once leaned on, and a painful seed of doubt begins to take root.

“Was any of it even real?” you ask quietly, your voice shaking, unable to keep the hurt from surfacing. “Everything we’ve been through—was any of it real, or were you just waiting for it to fall apart too?”

The question hangs in the air between you, heavy and sharp. For a moment, Sans looks like he’s about to say something, but then his eyes dart away, and the tension that was holding him up seems to deflate. He turns his back to you, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his posture slumping once more.

Silence stretches on, cold and suffocating, as you wait for an answer that never comes.

“Okay. I get it.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but it’s enough to fill the void between you. Sans doesn’t turn around, doesn’t move. His silence feels like confirmation, and it cuts deeper than anything he’s said so far.

You don’t wait for him to respond. You don’t want to hear another word, to let him rip apart whatever’s left of the trust you thought you had. So you turn on your heel and bolt in the opposite direction, your footsteps echoing in the emptiness around you.

Each step feels like it’s carrying you further away, not just from the argument but from him— from the Sans who used to be your rock, your constant. The wind stings your eyes as you rush away, not caring where you’re going, only that you’re getting away from him, from the hurt, from the realization that maybe the Sans you once knew is gone.

You round a corner, your breath ragged and uneven, trying to hold back the flood of emotions that threaten to spill over. Your chest feels tight, but you don’t stop running. Not yet. Maybe if you run far enough, it’ll hurt less. Maybe. But the doubt follows you like a shadow, weighing down every thought.

Was this really the end of whatever you had? Or was there something else beneath all that anger that you missed?

But right now, you don’t care. You just need to keep moving.

Your legs give way beneath you as your back presses into a cold brick wall, the rough surface biting into your jacket as you slide down. The friction slows your descent, but not the heaviness in your chest. The jagged edges of the bricks seem to mirror the sharpness of the words that were exchanged, cutting deeper with each moment replaying in your mind.

You sit there, knees drawn close to your chest, trying to steady your breath, but it keeps catching, uneven and shaky. The alley is dim, its shadows long and uninviting, but it feels like the only place you can catch a break without someone watching. The world outside moves on, indifferent to the storm raging inside you.

The cold from the ground seeps through your clothes, grounding you in a way that’s both uncomfortable and oddly comforting. You stare ahead, your vision blurred—not by tears, but by the weight of everything that just happened. The sound of your own breathing becomes the only thing you can focus on, each inhale a battle against the knot tightening in your throat.

“Was any of it even real?”

The words echo in your mind, and for the first time, you’re not sure if you were asking him or yourself.

You pull your jacket tighter around you, trying to shut out the cold creeping in from all sides. But it’s not just the cold of the night, it’s the cold of Sans’ absence, the absence of the one person who, for a time, made you feel like you weren’t alone in this world. And now? Now you’re not even sure where you stand anymore.

The silence in the alley presses in, and you’re left with nothing but the hollow ache of everything unsaid.

But you push forward and manage to drag yourself home, the walk feeling longer than usual, your mind weighed down by the events of the night. The familiar surroundings of your room feel distant, like they belong to someone else, a version of you that no longer fits in the cracks of this reality. You barely make it to your bed before collapsing, face buried in the pillow as exhaustion—both emotional and physical—starts to take over.

But sleep doesn’t come easily. The argument plays on a loop in your mind, every word, every look, tearing at you from the inside. You toss and turn, trying to find comfort, but all you can feel is that hollow space where your best friend used to be. The thought of facing him again tomorrow churns your stomach, so you decide, even in this restless state, that you’ll avoid him.

Not that it’ll make much difference. He’s been emotionally distant for what feels like forever now. It wasn’t just last night—it’s been a slow process, like he’s been slipping through your fingers without you noticing until now. He hasn’t been around much, and when he is, it’s like talking to a shadow of who he used to be. Conversations that once flowed freely now feel strained, full of sarcasm that cuts deeper than it used to. His eyes, once full of warmth, now barely hold your gaze for more than a second.

The next day, you go through the motions. You keep busy, throwing yourself into anything that will keep your mind occupied, pretending everything is fine. You make sure to avoid the places you might run into him, not that it’s hard—Sans has mastered the art of disappearing, physically and emotionally. This thought made you chuckle drily to yourself.

Another thought crosses your mind: maybe this is exactly what he wants, for you to stay out of his way, out of his life.

It hurts, but you swallow it down, convincing yourself that this distance is for the best. If he’s already cut those ties, maybe it’s time you do the same. But even as you tell yourself this, there’s a part of you that still hopes, a quiet whisper that maybe, just maybe, things can go back to the way they were. But for now, you push that thought aside and focus on making it through the day without letting the cracks show.

You’re walking, lost in your thoughts, when the sound of a warm, familiar voice cuts through the haze.

“Oh, my child! I did not see you!” Her gentle voice carries from just a few steps away. She’s holding a basket full of what looks like fresh ingredients—probably heading back from a nearby farmers’ market. Her eyes, filled with that motherly kindness you’ve gotten to know, soften the moment they land on you.

You stop in your tracks, forcing a small smile, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Toriel,” you say, trying to sound cheerful, but your voice betrays the weight still pressing down on you.

She looks at you closely, her smile faltering ever so slightly, as if sensing the heaviness you’re trying to hide. “You seem troubled, my dear. Is something bothering you?” She steps closer, her concern growing as she takes in your tired expression. “Come, why don’t you join me for some tea? It always helps to talk.”

Her words are gentle, but they strike a chord, tugging at the fragile balance you’ve been holding onto. You glance away, unsure if you’re ready to talk about what’s really on your mind. Not yet. But the warmth in her eyes, the way she calls you “my child,” makes you want to be held in her embrace, if only for a moment.

“I—yeah, sure. Tea sounds nice,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper. You can’t bring yourself to talk about Sans, not yet, but maybe spending time with Toriel will ease some of the weight sitting on your chest.

She gives you a soft, knowing smile, the kind that says she’s not going to push, but she’s there if you need her. Wrapping an arm around your shoulder, she guides you down the familiar path toward her home, her presence offering a small comfort to the anguish brewing inside of you.

The walk is quiet. You attempt to break it with some small talk.

“How is everyone?” You ask, trying to keep your tone light and your voice steady.

Toriel gives you a warm smile as the two of you walk side by side. “Everyone is adjusting well, I think,” she says, her voice as soothing as always. “Undyne and Alphys have been keeping busy, of course. Undyne’s taken up helping with surface patrols—it seems to satisfy her need for adventure.” She chuckles softly. “Alphys has been working on some new projects, though I imagine she’ll never stop tinkering, no matter where we live.”

You nod, keeping your expression neutral, trying to absorb the mundane updates as a distraction. But there’s an underlying stirring in your chest, as if something wants to break through.

“And Papyrus?” you ask, your tone light, though it takes effort. “Still dreaming of becoming the greatest guard?”

Toriel’s eyes brighten at the mention of Papyrus. “Oh, yes! He’s been very determined. In fact, I believe he’s started giving some of the surface children ‘training’—though I suspect it’s more of an excuse to spend time playing with them.” She shakes her head fondly. “He’s always been so cheerful.”

Her words warm you slightly, the thought of Papyrus’ boundless optimism giving you a small sense of normalcy. But as you walk beside her, a familiar ache tugs at your heart—the one you’re trying to bury. You can’t help but wonder how long you’ll be able to avoid the one update that really matters. Toriel glances at you, perhaps sensing the unspoken tension still hovering over you.

“And… Sans?” you ask, despite the recent events. Your voice is steady, but only because you force it to be. You feel a lump form in your throat as you wait for her response.

Toriel pauses for a moment, her eyes softening with understanding. “Sans… well, you know how he is,” she says carefully. “He’s always been a bit elusive. He comes by now and again, but…” She hesitates, her expression turning more concerned. “He seems quieter these days. I can’t say what’s on his mind, but I’ve noticed he’s been keeping to himself more than usual.”

You feel a sharpness in your chest, though you try not to show it. Toriel, ever gentle, continues walking beside you, giving you space to respond or to remain silent. The weight of her words only serves to confirm what you already knew—Sans has been pulling away from more than just you. Still, it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

You simply nod, your eyes trained on the path ahead. “I see,” you murmur, keeping your voice steady, though the ache in your heart refuses to let up.

So she’s noticed too. The thought sinks in, and bitterness creeps into your chest, tightening around your heart. Of course, she would notice—Toriel has always been observant, always caring. But hearing her say it out loud, confirming what you’ve been feeling for so long, only makes the ache worse.

You press your lips together, holding back the flood of emotions. You want to keep this private—your problems with Sans are your own, and dragging others into it feels wrong. Especially Toriel, who views both of you practically as family. The last thing you want is for her to feel caught between the two of you.

“I guess he’s just… being Sans,” you say lightly, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You hope the casual tone hides the bitterness starting to settle in. “He’s always had a way of disappearing when you least expect it.”

Toriel doesn’t press you, though her gaze lingers on you for a moment longer than usual. She’s too kind to push, too gentle to demand answers. Instead, she simply nods, her eyes filled with that ever-present warmth and understanding.

“Yes, that’s true,” she says quietly, though you can hear the faint concern in her voice. “But do not forget, my child, sometimes even those who disappear need someone to reach out to them. Even when it seems like they do not want it.”

Her words are soft, careful, but they hit you harder than you expected. You nod, keeping your face neutral, but inside, the bitterness swells, twisting with the hurt that’s already there. Her words had striking relevance, it was as if she has already read your mind.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you reply, though the words feel hollow. You’re not sure you have the strength to reach out to Sans right now, not when it feels like every attempt is met with indifference or worse—anger.

As you continue walking with Toriel, you feel the weight of your emotions pressing down harder, but for now, you tuck them away, determined to keep this battle between you and Sans alone.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, jolting you out of the moment. “Ah! I forgot I had business to tend to,” you say, quickly pulling out your phone and glancing at the screen, even though you don’t really need to. The notification is almost a welcome excuse—a lifeline to pull you away from the delicate thread of the conversation before it unravels into something deeper.

Toriel gives you a gentle smile, her eyes still soft with concern but understanding your need to go. “Of course, my child,” she says kindly. “I won’t keep you. Just remember, if you ever need someone to talk to, my door is always open.”

There’s a flicker of guilt in your chest for cutting this moment short, but you push it down. You’re relieved, in a way, to escape before the conversation could pull you into the vulnerability you’re not ready to face. “Thanks, Toriel. I’ll see you later,” you say, offering her a warm smile before turning away.

As you walk away, you feel the tension ease just a little. You’d dodged the weight of a confession, at least for now. Still, the lingering thought gnaws at you: how much longer can you keep this bottled up before it all spills over?

But for now, you shove your hands into your pockets and let out a breath. The business you claimed to have can wait. What you really need is some time to clear your head.

You head to Grillby’s for some solace in the form of food—and perhaps a drink.

The familiar warmth of Grillby’s hits you as you step inside, the soft glow of the firelight casting shadows on the wooden walls. The quiet murmur of conversation and the clinking of glasses are comforting, like a hum that fills the empty spaces in your mind. You let out a small sigh, feeling a bit of the tension ease from your shoulders. This place, at least, still feels the same.

Grillby stands behind the bar, his fiery form flickering with a steady, calm glow. When his eyes catch yours, he gives a slight nod of recognition, his silent greeting. He doesn’t say much, but he never has to—you’ve always found a strange comfort in his quiet presence, like the silence between you holds more understanding than words ever could.

You slide into your usual seat at the bar, feeling the familiar texture of the worn wood beneath your fingers. Grillby approaches, wiping a glass with his usual deliberate care. He sets the glass down and raises a brow, the universal Grillby signal for “What can I get you?”

“I’ll take my usual, thanks,” you say, trying to sound casual, though the weight of everything still sits heavy in your chest. You glance around the bar—it’s quieter today, which suits you just fine. You’re not really in the mood for company, but somehow being here, in this warm space, makes it feel a little more bearable.

Grillby nods and gets to work. He moves with a certain grace, each movement practiced and purposeful. You watch him for a moment, appreciating the steady rhythm of his routine—it’s a welcome distraction from the storm of thoughts swirling in your mind.

As he places your drink in front of you, you offer a small smile, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Thanks,” you murmur, wrapping your hands around the glass, letting the lingering warmth from his palms seep into your own. For a moment, you just sit there, taking a long sip and letting the drink soothe you, even if it’s only temporary.

Grillby doesn’t pry, but you can feel his quiet, steady presence lingering nearby, as if offering silent support. He’s always had a way of being there without needing to say anything, and somehow, that’s exactly what you need right now.

You let out a long breath, leaning forward slightly, your elbows resting on the bar. “Rough day,” you mutter, though you’re not sure if you’re speaking to Grillby or just to yourself. Either way, the words hang in the air, and for a moment, you allow yourself to feel just a little less alone.