#if they already have names please let me know!

[00valentina-writes00]

virgin!reader with caitlyn who makes reader squirt during their first time please 🙏

♡♥︎ LESSONS IN PLEASURE ♥︎♡

Warnings: smut, first time (virgin!reader), fingering, oral sex (reader receiving), squirting, Caitlyn being soft and attentive, gentle dominance, a little teasing

You had never felt this way before.

Sure, you’d fantasized about it—about Caitlyn, about her touch, about how it would feel to be bare beneath her.

But fantasizing and experiencing were two completely different things.

And now, lying beneath her, skin hot, chest rising and falling unevenly, you were realizing just how much you had no idea what you were in for.

Caitlyn’s lips curled into a soft smile, her thumb tracing slow, soothing circles on your hip as she looked down at you.

“Nervous, darling?” she murmured.

Your breath hitched, fingers tightening on the sheets beneath you.

“A little,” you admitted.

Caitlyn’s deep blue eyes softened, and she leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to your jawline, then your neck, voice warm and gentle.

“We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for,” she assured, her tone so patient, so loving.

You swallowed hard, heart pounding.

“I want this,” you whispered, cheeks burning as you felt her hand ghost down your stomach, brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

Caitlyn’s smirk was subtle but teasing.

“Oh, I know.”

She was so slow with you.

Kissing you softly, taking her time, her fingers mapping out every inch of your skin, learning what made you shiver, what made you whimper.

Her mouth followed, lips and tongue trailing over delicate spots, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your chest, your stomach, watching the way you arched beneath her.

She murmured sweet words against your skin, reassuring you, praising you.

“You’re so beautiful like this.”

“Just relax, darling, let me take care of you.”

Her fingers traced slow, featherlight strokes up your thighs, making your breath hitch, anticipation coiling tight in your stomach.

Her fingertips brushed against your center, making you gasp, your hips jerking slightly.

Caitlyn chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to your thigh.

“So sensitive,” she mused, voice like silk, her touch still so teasing, so delicate.

Your cheeks burned, a mix of embarrassment and desire making your pulse race.

Caitlyn’s fingers dipped lower, parting you gently, sliding through your wetness, making you whimper at the new sensation.

“Gods,” she murmured, breath hitching, her voice thick with something dark and hungry. “You’re already soaked for me.”

You could barely breathe, let alone answer, your body tense, needy, your fingers twisting in the sheets.

Caitlyn pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your inner thigh, then another, lips trailing dangerously close to where you needed her most.

Her tongue met your clit.

The sound you made was nothing short of desperate, your hips jerking instinctively, but Caitlyn’s hands pinned you down, keeping you right where she wanted you.

Her mouth was slow, precise, her tongue circling your most sensitive spot, flicking in gentle, teasing strokes, as if she was savoring every second.

You gasped, legs trembling, fingers tangling in her soft, dark hair, your chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Cait—” You barely choked out her name, your voice breaking on a whimper.

She hummed against you, the vibrations sending sparks up your spine, and the sheer pleasure made you whine, hips twitching beneath her hold.

Her tongue was insistent, her lips wrapping around your clit, sucking just enough to make your entire body jolt.

It was too much.

It wasn’t enough.

You had never felt anything like this before, had never known your body could feel this good, this intensely alive.

Caitlyn’s hand slid up, fingertips pressing against your entrance, teasing.

“You’re doing so well for me, darling,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to your throbbing clit before looking up at you, her lips glistening with your arousal.

Her eyes were dark, filled with something possessive, adoring, utterly transfixed.

“I want to make you feel even better,” she whispered.

And then she pushed a finger inside you.

It was tight, the stretch foreign but not painful, just… different.

Caitlyn watched your face, reading every reaction, moving slowly, letting you adjust as she curled her finger, stroking your inner walls in a way that made your breath stutter.

“Good girl,” she praised, voice thick with affection and hunger.

She added another finger, moving in deep, slow strokes, her mouth returning to your clit, tongue working you over and over again.

The pleasure was overwhelming, her fingers finding that spot inside you, pressing against it with skilled precision, making your entire body seize up.

“Oh—Cait—” Your voice was barely coherent, the pressure in your stomach coiling so tight you thought you might snap in half.

Caitlyn sensed it, her fingers working faster, her tongue flicking against your clit, her pace never faltering.

“Let go, darling,” she whispered against you, her breath hot, her voice commanding yet soft, demanding yet tender.

The coil in your stomach snapped.

It hit you all at once, a wave of pleasure so intense, so blinding, your back arched violently, your thighs shaking uncontrollably.

You felt the gush before you could process it.

A sudden, overwhelming release, liquid gushing from you, soaking Caitlyn’s hand, her mouth, the sheets beneath you, your entire body convulsing as your orgasm tore through you.

Your moan turned into a cry, half-shocked, half-helpless, your hands gripping onto Caitlyn, nails digging into her shoulders.

Caitlyn groaned, low and needy, relishing in what she had just done to you, her fingers still deep inside, working you through the aftermath of your climax.

You felt boneless, your body twitching, your chest heaving for air, your mind barely able to process what just happened.

Caitlyn finally pulled away, her lips and chin shining with your release, her fingers slick and glistening.

She looked so smug, so proud, but her touch remained soft, reverent, as she leaned over you, brushing sweat-damp hair from your flushed face.

“Darling,” she murmured, voice gentle, a teasing smile playing on her lips. “Did you just—?”

Your face burned even hotter, embarrassment crashing over you like a tidal wave.

“I—I didn’t even know I could—”

Caitlyn chuckled, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

“Well,” she murmured, her smirk utterly sinful, “now you know.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands, making Caitlyn laugh softly, kissing the tips of your fingers before gathering you into her arms.

“Shh,” she whispered, pulling the blankets over you, stroking soothing circles into your bare back.

“You were perfect, love.”

You sighed, sinking into her warm embrace, your heart still racing from what had just happened.

[muniimyg]

BAD HABIT // JJK

13 | mine // series m.list

note: hmmmmm ... yeah . angsty ... listen to this song for the vibes !!! this chapter is dramatic LOL ,, u get insight on oc's aura and jungkook is jus so kawawa (pitiful) !!!!

//

everything happens too fast.

the halls blur past you in streaks of gold and shadow as you run, lungs burning, heart slamming against your ribs. there’s no time to think. no time to process. all you know is the cold pit in your stomach, the weight of something wrong pressing down on your chest.

you push through jungkook’s door so hard it nearly flies off its hinges. the room is dim, suffocatingly still—except for them.

the others.

they aren’t moving either.

not at first.

their heads snap toward you at the same time, their gazes carrying a shared weight. a silent message you don’t want to decipher.

your stomach churns. no. no.

“where is he?” your voice is breathless, frantic—your throat already closing in. tell me he’s still here.

but the moment stretches.

too long.

the guys look at each other—frustration and helplessness hanging thick in the air, curling around you like a noose.

“he was right here—” jin starts, but his voice is tense, unsure.

taehyung drags a hand through his hair, his frustration barely masked. “one second, we were just trying to calm him down, and then—”

“he’s gone.” yoongi’s voice cuts through the air like a blade.

your breath stutters. the silence rings louder than anything else.

“what do you mean he’s gone?”

no one answers.

namjoon’s jaw tightens. taehyung shakes his head. jimin exhales sharply, gaze flickering toward the floor.

“he was—he was trying to catch his breath,” jimin says, voice uneven. “he asked for water. and then… we blinked. we turned away for a second. and then he wasn’t there anymore.” he swallows thickly.

“he left.”

your pulse roars in your ears.

“do you…” jimin hesitates. “do you know where he could have gone?”

the question slices through you.

“he hasn’t been talking to us these days,” jimin continues, softer now. “it’s hard to read him. you’re his soulmate, ___. i know you're busy and you're the princess and all but you—fuck, ___. you have to know.”

something inside you fractures.

because you don’t.

you don’t know where he is.

the afternoon glow is still.

the wind carries the faint scent of rain, but your chest is too tight, your pulse too loud for you to feel anything but the gnawing dread clawing its way up your throat.

it’s a total bust.

yet—you still call his name.

the sound feels small, swallowed whole by the vastness of the night. but you don’t stop. your voice cracks, grows hoarse, trembles—but you don’t stop.

you search between the bushes (just in case), pushing past flowers that crumble under your hurried steps. your fingers shake as they grip the edges of stone benches, the cold surface grounding you for a fleeting second before the panic sinks its teeth in deeper.

he’s not here.

your chest caves.

why did you think he’d be here?

why are you shaking?

your breath is shallow. uneven. like something is pressing down on your ribs, dragging into the space between each heartbeat.

jungkook is sick.

he’s been sick.

he’s been lying this entire time.

and you—you should have known.

a lump rises in your throat. thick. aching. you should have felt it in your body, in your bones, in the tether that ties you together. you should have found him before he ran. before he could slip between your fingers like this.

but you’re here—alone... drowning in your own silence. your eyes squeeze shut. breathe. you just have to—breathe. but the air is thin, and your lungs can’t find enough of it.

and then—

“the princess—please… i need to see her—”

your heart seizes.

for a moment, the world blurs—sound drops, breath catches, and for one agonizing beat, there is nothing but the violent stillness of realization crashing into you like a tidal wave.

then—

your head snaps up so fast the ground sways beneath you, vision swimming with streaks of moonlight and shadow.

it’s faint.

a whisper barely carried by the wind. weak. frayed at the edges, like a thread unraveling, like a flame struggling against the dark.

but you would know it anywhere.

you would know it in the marrow of your bones, in the cracks of your soul. in the echoes of every moment you’ve ever spent memorizing the cadence of his voice.

you would know it in your dreams—where it’s warm, teasing, full of the quiet love he never says aloud. you would know it in places you've never gone to or in the crowd of people you could be swallowed alive in. you would know it buried beneath the weight of the earth, beyond the veil of time, beyond life itself.

god…

you would know it from the stars, from the edge of the universe, from the gates of heaven if he called for you.

and he’s calling for you now.

jungkook.

the air is knocked from your lungs. your heart lurches violently against your ribs, a breathless, frantic thing as your feet move before thought can catch up.

the garden blurs past you.

the wind howls in your ears. your pulse is a deafening drumbeat of please, please, please as you tear through the garden, chasing the only thing that has ever truly belonged to you.

him.

the sight knocks the breath from your lungs.

jungkook is barely standing. his body sways, weak and unsteady, yet he still throws himself at your guards, fists trembling with exhaustion, desperation clinging to every motion. it’s a sad attempt—one they hardly acknowledge. they don’t move. they don’t falter.

he tries again.

this time, they're more firm in blocking him. he grunts from the pain, but he braces himself... he tries again.

but, suddenly—hands are on him.

as they do it, the restraint feels more hesitant than forceful, like even they know they shouldn’t be doing this.

your heart stops.

"let him go."

jungkook's head snaps up at the sound of your voice, but his eyes are unfocused, glazed over with fatigue. he’s barely breathing—his chest stuttering with every attempt to pull in air. but as you step closer, something shifts.

like he’s breaking through the surface of water. like he can finally breathe. his air is purified.

"princess," one of the guards starts, his voice carefully measured. "we tried telling him you weren’t inside. we have also been told by the council that no one is allowed to enter the west wing—"

"do you see him?"

your voice slices through the night like a blade, sharp enough to make them flinch. you step forward, hand reaching for jungkook, but before you can even touch him, his body gives out completely.

he collapses into you.

as his full weight sinking against yours, you stumble back, arms tightening instinctively around him.

he’s cold.

too cold.

something inside you snaps.

the guards hesitate. you see it—the way their bodies stiffen, the way their eyes dart between each other, unsure.

"i asked you—do you see him?"

silence.

your fingers tremble as you cradle jungkook’s face, feeling the unnatural chill of his skin. his body isn’t just weak—it’s wrong.

and they just stood there.

they let this happen.

"you all serve my parents," you whisper, voice dripping with venom. "but you answer to me. so tell me—do you see him?"

by the end of it, you're shouting. your voice is strong and makes no room to assume any feelings of yours. you're angry.

you're furious.

jungkook exhales weakly against your collar, his fingers twitching against your arm. he’s trying to hush you. trying to tell you he’s okay.

but he’s not.

and that’s exactly why you’re furious.

the guards exchange wary glances before one of them finally dares to speak. you glare at him even more, eyes almost twitching from your impatience.

"yes, princess." one guard speaks.

you take a breath.

"then why did you stand there and let him dim?"

you see a handful of them gulp. then, another answers. "princess, we understand he’s your friend, but our duty is—"

the words scrape your throat, raw and unrelenting.

"he is my soulmate." you cry, as it rips from you like a confession, a prayer, a curse. "he is a part of the divinity just as much as i am."

"yes, princess... but, the council—"

jungkook shifts weakly in your arms, trying—failing—to hold you back. his fingers curl against your waist, but he doesn’t have the strength to cling to you like he wants to. instead, he feels you—the pain in your chest, the way your heart aches with a grief so visceral it makes him dizzy.

"if my parents can not dismiss what he is to me, why can you? what part of this do you not understand? anger me more and i’ll call this treason!”

“princess, we didn’t mean to—“

“his light is mine. he is mine. how dare you let him dim!"

the weight of your words hangs heavy in the air.

the guards bow their heads, stiff with shame.

"our apologies, princess."

you don’t acknowledge them.

your arms tighten around jungkook, your forehead pressing against his, your breaths mingling in the cold night air. his body shudders, his skin damp, his breath so shallow it nearly undoes you.

then—

heavy footsteps. the sound of rushed breathing.

a presence behind you.

the rest of them are here.

jin. namjoon. taehyung. jimin. yoongi. hoseok.

they stop a few steps away, their gazes locked on the scene before them—the way you’re holding jungkook like you’re trying to keep him tethered to this world, the way your body trembles with barely contained rage.

you feel them watching, but you don’t look away.

you shift, lowering him carefully onto his knees, never once letting go. then—you can't help it.

your mind races and before you know it, your fingers curl into a fist. you raise them and slam it to the ground.

the earth shakes.

the ground underneath fractures for a moment before power erupts from you like a storm, pulsing outward in a brilliant wave. it wraps around jungkook’s slumped form, pressing back the hands that dared to touch him. the guards stumble away, eyes wide, and even the others—jin, namjoon, yoongi, all of them—freeze in place as your energy hums, encasing him in an invisible shield.

from the outside, it's difficult to make out what's happening.

the energy bursts from you like a shockwave, rippling outward in a radiant pulse that sends dust and debris scattering across the ground. the air around you shifts—dense, electric—before it spins.

everything surrounding you and jungkook is caught in the force of your aura. leaves and loose gravel twist into the air, swirling in rapid, frantic loops, like a storm caught in place. the wind howls around you, kicking up dirt, blurring the edges of your figures as if the world itself is struggling to look directly at you.

from the outside, the shield is a vortex—wild and untamed.

its edges shimmer and distort, an unearthly fog curling around its perimeter, thick and opaque, obscuring you and jungkook from prying eyes. the air warps, bending like heat rising from scorched earth, making everything beyond the barrier seem distant—as if you exist in a different realm entirely.

but at the center of the chaos, at the heart of the storm—is peace.

inside, the air is still.

quiet.

gentle.

the wind that rages outside doesn’t reach jungkook. the chill that had seeped into his bones before is gone, replaced by your warmth, your hands, your presence.

the others can only watch, stunned, barely able to see past the spiraling mass of energy surrounding you. the guards, once firm in their stance, now hesitate, stepping back, hands falling away from their weapons as realization sets in.

"what did she do?" jimin whispers to nam joon.

nam joon blinks.

"i... i've only really read about it... b-but that's a shield. it's her aura... it's protection. she's generating jungkook's healing faster. only auras that are of a higher power can do this—holy fuck. she’s truly the divine.”

“shit,” yoongi huffs. “let’s note to never piss her off.”

the guys exchange chuckles, attempting to lighten the mood. then, nam joon lets out a big sigh as he makes another realization.

“this… this is also just a really... angry statement." nam joon explains it, but he can't believe it himself.

and no one can deny it.

though it looks messy up close, it's utterly enchanting. a monet.

taehyug gulps. "she's angry?"

jin blinks.

then, he shuts his eyes and locks into his aura. there, he sees you holding jungkook and fighting the urge to scream and cry (more than you already have). more than that, he sees the glint in your eyes. as jin reels himself back into the present, he sighs and shakes his head.

"she's not angry," jin breathes. "she's hurt."

inside the shield, jungkook exhales weakly, his body relaxing for the first time in a while. you cup his face, smoothing your thumb over his skin, warm now—no longer cold, no longer wrong. you watch as colour flushes back to his cheeks.

"what did they do to you? hmm? what hurts? tell me, i’ll—"

hsi trembling hand covers yours. jungkook smiles—small, weak, dying.

"i’m okay, baby," he whispers.

you shake your head immediately, fighting the stinging in your eyes.

"stop saying that." you throw your head back, frustrated. “stop lying to me.”

his smile doesn’t falter.

if anything, it softens. jungkook huffs a breath—barely a laugh—and shifts slightly, his forehead bumping against yours.

"i'm okay, really..." he says, almost convincing you. "just give me two minutes."

your throat closes up, your hands gripping him tighter.

"idiot," you whisper. "how could you be this irresponsible? why can't you be honest with me? did it really have to reach this point, jungkook? seriously? i almost blew up the entire world—"

"i know."

"how could you possibly know—"

"i felt it," his fingers twitch over yours, squeezing weakly. "you went vulnerable when they texted you. i heard your heart. i felt it... felt it beat for me. your heart wasn't racing because of what's his face... it was racing because of me. so, i had to find you. i had to—"

he pauses and reaches to wipe your tears. you're crying now, sniffing and trying to hold in your sobs.

then, quietly, he says; "i wanted to say i'm sorry."

your chest caves.

"for what?"

"for acting the way i did," he sighs. "___, i could live in any and every universe and still not deserve you. i felt jealous and didn't know how to face it. so, i buried myself in it and suffocated. i just… i messed up. i'm sorry, p."

you gulp, your throat tight, your heartbeat erratic.

the weight of everything—your fear, your anger, your love—presses down on you like a tidal wave. but then, beneath your fingertips, you feel it.

jungkook’s glow steadies, settling beneath his skin like embers fanned into flame. his chest rises, then falls—this time with purpose, with ease. the ragged edge of his breath smooths out, and slowly…

he moves.

his fingers brush over yours, trembling but intent, before he takes your hands into his own. gently. carefully. as if grounding himself in your touch. you feel the roughness of his palms, the way his thumbs press into your knuckles, as though memorizing the shape of you.

and then, wordlessly, he uncurls your fist.

your body is still locked in defense, your fingers clenched tight, nails digging into your skin. but jungkook—he doesn’t force you.

he just holds you, his warmth melting into yours, his touch soft, coaxing. his gaze finds yours, dark eyes brimming with something raw, something unspoken.

"it’s okay," he breathes, barely above a whisper. "i'm okay."

for the first time, you feel his honesty.

and just like that, the storm dies.

the shield that had spun wildly around you collapses in an instant, unraveling like silk in the wind. the air stills. the fog dissipates, fading into nothingness. dust and leaves settle back onto the ground, the world returning to itself—yet, somehow, nothing feels the same.

a silence falls over the courtyard.

when you look up, they’re all staring.

the guards.

jin, namjoon, jimin, taehyung, hobi, and yoongi… their faces are unreadable—some stunned, some shaken, but all of them watching. because what they just saw, what they just felt—it was undeniable;

if soulmates were written in the stars, then you and jungkook are the stardust—scattered, shattered, yet always finding your way back to each other... completely and utterly drawn together by something the universe itself cannot undo.

[h4untedgrl]

blind eyes red | k.mg

"you want somebody who can touch you like i did..." - minnie

—♱ genre/au: exes with benefits??, slight dom!mingyu x kinda mean bratty fem!reader

—♱ warnings : cursing, unprotected sex (wrap that shit.), hair pulling, oral (f rec), slapping, pet names (princess, baby)

—♱ word count : 1k

Even months after the break up you can't help but to notice how Mingyu still watches your socials, hearting every post he can.

Reminding himself of your existence any chance he can.

You had just posted yourself in some red and black lingerie, what you would've worn for him on valentines day. A small part of you wanted him to see this, hoping he would take the bait.

PING.

min9yu_k Replied to your story : fuck

min9yu_k Replied to your story : i miss you

min9yu_k Replied to your story : let me come see you

min9yu_k Replied to your story : please princess

A chill runs down your spine. Since when was he so needy? It's not like you wanted to date him again. However... It won't hurt to fuck one more time.

your.user : you know where i live.

Letting out a deep sigh you throw your phone on the bed, surprised by your own boldness. All you could do is wait now, seeing if he'll take you word.

—୨୧

PING.

min9yu_k : be there in 5

The butterflies in your tummy start to flutter, goosebumps raising against your skin and before you knew it...

KNOCK.

You walk to the door, fixing your hair before opening the door. Mingyu's large frame stood in front of you, "There's my valentine." He smirks at you, "Gonna let me in?" You nod, moving at the way so he can step into your apartment.

Mingyu's hands immediately find your waist, holding you close to him. The smell of his cologne was intoxicating "Hmm, you smell good... New cologne?" He looks down at you and smiles, "Anything for you baby." Your clit throbbing at the pet name, his hand traveling down to rump of your ass giving a firm squeeze.

You grab his free hand, leading him into your bedroom, ridden with deep red lights. "Set this up for me?" Mingyu chuckles to himself, "Don't get ahead of yourself Mingyu." Your words somewhat stern, his head tilts in confusion. You laugh at his expression before laying on your bed, spreading your legs in front of him.

"I know you want somebody who could touch you like I did" Your voice smooth like silk. A shiver runs down Mingyu's spine, he licks his lips hungrily before kneeling in front of you. His large palms your cunt, feeling the moist lace that covers it. Your hips bucking up at his warm touch.

Mingyu pulls you closer to him, putting your pussy close to nose, "Fuck you always smell so good." He sighed out. Mingyu then proceed to slide the lace over to expose your glistening cunt, wasting no time to start working his tongue on your puffy clit.

His hard licks makes you see the stars, your hips bucking up to his mouth. Mingyu's grip onto your hips brings you closer to him, as he's whining against your cunt in pleasure. It's such a sight to see, having a 6'2 man yearning to get you off.

Your hand coming down to tug at his hair, Mingyu's eyes looking at you pleadingly. That eye contact was all you needed as your orgasm came crashing down. Your thighs trembling beside his head as he eagerly licks up your release.

"Fuck me already Gyu" You say out of breathe, moving the hair out your face. Mingyu wastes no time what so ever. Unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his pants pulling them down leaving him in just his boxers. You can't help but to notice the wet spot of precum on them, licking your lips at the sight.

You crawl over to him, pulling the band of his boxers just enough to expose his needy cock. Mingyu gasps at your touch before regaining his composure and forcing you to lay down at the edge of the bed. He strokes his cock using his precum like lube as his jaw clenches.

“Spread your legs for me princess” You follow his command spreading your legs, leaving your glistening cunt in display. Mingyu takes his thick cock, slapping it against your puffy clit before prodding at your hole. It's like you almost forgot how big he is, the feeling of him filling your cunt a mix of pain and pleasure.

His head falls back as he bottoms out, holding a firm grip on your hips. You bite your bottom lip as Mingyu's pace picks up. The way the head of his cock hits your spot sends a wave of heat across your body.

"Fuck, I missed this pussy" Mingyu's voice is husky as he pumps in and out of you. You have no words for him aside from the slutty moans that escape your lips, Mingyu taking the opportunity to rub his thumb against your swollen lips, his way of asking you to open your mouth. You stick your tongue out before you suck on his thumb. His thrusts slow down before exiting you, leaving you eager for more.

"Mingyu stop fucking around~" You whine out, as you bring your hand to your neglected clit. Mingyu grabs your wrist, "Relax princess, I've got you" Next thing you know he's flipping you over, leaving you face down ass up.

He realigns himself slamming his cock back into you. You gasp at the force, "Oh my god fuck~" You yelp out. "Fuck baby, keep squeezing me just like that." He grunts, as he grabs a handful of your hair, his pace building back up. His balls slapping against your clit, giving you all the right stimulation. "Gyu feels so good" You babble, just repeating yourself to no definite end.

Mingyu's free hand giving your ass a rough slap. The pain was exhilarating and was all you needed felt to cum all around him. "There you go princess, cum around me." He knew exactly what to say and do. Not even changing his thrusts as you ride out your high.

Once you finally come back down, you take your free hand to massage his balls. Mingyu hisses at the filthy touch, "Baby I'm gonna cum if you keep doing that." His thrusts become sloppier as he falls apart at your touch. "Maybe that's what I want" You tease him. Mingyu quickly pulls out at your words, stroking his length as cums on top of your swollen cunt. "Fuck, I love how you talk to me." His breath hitching.

"It won't hurt to do this more often right?"

"Absolutely not."

—♱ taglist : @vampzity @scarfac3 @dvrktvnnel @dollywoo @planetjaeyun @yyaurii @desirehorizon @cypher-03 @atinytrashcan @crownj1min @smuttaburger @hyunniesgh0st @losrpark

[demonic0angel]

can we connect the 'Duke gave Jason Jazz's number' ask with the ask of 'Babs being Jazz and Danny's sister'?

(Sure :3)

Jason gets Jazz's number, Babs is their sister

When Duke walked into the Clocktower, he paused in place at seeing the people on her screen.

"Uh. Babs? What's that?"

Barbara turned and blinked tired, exhausted eyes. She had spent several sleepless nights just researching everything she could find on her siblings.

She was so, so proud of them, especially because Danny was going to school to be an astronaut and Jazz had already graduated, currently working within Arkham Asylum as a fair and hard working psychiatrist.

"This? It's nothing," she said absentmindedly. Like hell she was going to let any of the vigilantes she knew linger around or pester her darling siblings!

"... that's a picture of Jazz Fenton."

Barbara blinked. "You know her?"

"Yeah, sometimes Jazz volunteers at Gotham University to tutor people. She helps me with my anatomy classes," Duke explained.

A first witness account about her siblings from someone she knew!

"Tell me more," Barbara said eagerly.

Duke crossed his arms. "Tell me why you're looking into her."

Barbara sighed deeply. Then she said, "We're half siblings. I found out that she and my half-brother are in Gotham so I just wanted to learn more about them. I never met them before because my biological mom left when I was young."

Duke's eyebrows rose. Then he said, "Huh. Well, alright. Jazz is really nice. She explains things really well and she's also really patient. Everyone wants her to tutor them, but she's pretty busy so you have to schedule her in advance sometimes. I have her number, so I usually get tutored by her often. She also talks a lot? But she's super nice!"

Barbara nodded. She had hacked into several places and had already figured out most of her sibling's personality traits.

Jazz was an overachiever, eager to please, helpful, chatty, and a bit of a know it all. Danny, meanwhile, was a bit antisocial, but very kind, thoughtful, clever, and quick to help others.

Had she mentioned that she was very proud of them? She wanted desperately to meet them in person one day.

Duke then continued with a small laugh, "Y'know, if nothing else happens, I think you'll see your siblings again. Maybe even as in-laws! Jazz gave Jason her number the other day and he's been super eager to ask her out."

All time seemed to freeze. It was like a record scratch that turned off the music.

Barbara stared at him. "Excuse me?"

Even if Duke wasn't a meta that could predict the future, he could already feel the danger.

"Uh."

".... did you just say that Jason is trying to ask out my adorable little sister? Jason? Jason who once killed 8 people and put their decapitated heads in a duffel bag? Jason who lives in a trashy apartment because he's too busy committing crime to clean it? Jason who forgets to shower sometimes because he gets lazy?"

"............ yes?" Duke sounded afraid.

Barbara turned around to her computer again, bringing up more files. This time, they were named after Jason and Red Hood.

"Leave. You didn't see anything here."

Duke immediately bowed. "Yes, ma'am. Please spare me."

"You'll live only because you can tell me more about Jazz."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am." Then he scrambled out of the Clocktower. RIP Jason. You will be missed.

[starryhyuck]

green gables. (m) — PREVIEW

pairing: e2l!jaemin x afab!reader

words: 22.9k+

summary: your search for a family lands you at green gables, where you learn to adapt to the new challenges that come your way.

genre: fluff, angst, smut

warnings: takes place in the late 19th century, mentions of death, mentions of bullying, bigdick!jaemin, creampies, fingering

release date: march 26, 2025

inspired by anne of green gables, anne of avonlea, anne of green gables (1985), anne of avonlea (1987), anne with an e

this fic is already released for early access to the $5 tier on my patreon, which you can access here!

“You have to be the one. There’s no way I’m getting in that boat!”

“You’re such a coward, Soeun.”

“Then why don’t you try it, Sookyung?”

“You’re all ruining the vision,” you scold, gripping a handful of daisies. “We’re supposed to be girls who have been widowed by our one true love. We’ve succumbed to our tragedy, accepting our fate by floating out into the river, where the Earth will decide how to dispose of our bodies.”

Ever since Soeun’s uncle passed away shortly after the new year and the poem you’re reading for your book club discusses the fate of a widowed bride, you’ve all become obsessed with glamorizing death. In the poem, the girl sealed her devastating fate by climbing into a boat, holding a bouquet of flowers, and drifting away into the night. She was never heard from or seen again.

The girls insisted on recreating the moment, leading you to the lake. Hyojung borrowed a small canoe from her father and Sookyung picked the flowers from her mother’s yard. However, once you got to the final step, all of them chickened out of actually playing the role of the widow.

“I’ll be her,” you proclaim, and they exhale in relief. “But you must say the lines, and with fervor. It’s only right that we recreate the scene exactly. Wait for me at the other side of the river.”

With help from Hyojung, you step into the canoe, laying down as you rest your hands over your chest. You close your eyes when Soeun begins the rehearsed dialogue.

“Sister, farewell forever,” she murmurs, throwing dried flower petals over your form.

“Farewell, sweet sister.”

“And she lay as though she smiled,” Hyojung finishes, giving a small push to the canoe.

You start floating down the river, exactly like the poem describes. You marvel at the solitude, listening to the birds chirping in your ear. It’s all straight out of a novel if you’ve ever read it, but it’s abruptly disrupted by a stream of water soaking your dress.

You shriek, eyes popping wide open as you sit up. Water continues to fill the boat, progressing fast enough where you understand you won’t possibly make it to the other side. As you come up to the nearby bridge, you quickly grasp the foothold, holding onto it tightly as the canoe sinks.

You hear the girls begin to scream loudly when they don’t see you return. You ponder on if they’ll get help and save you from this uncomfortable experience, but another boat slowly comes up beside you.

Na Jaemin says your name with amusement. “I must say, I did not expect to find you here on my Sunday afternoon.”

You roll your eyes. “Are you going to just sit there or help me like a gentleman?”

He laughs before extending his hand. You take it gratefully, stepping into his boat. You sit across from him, drenched from head to toe. You cross your arms over your chest and don’t utter a single word to him.

“So you’re not going to explain-”

“No,” you gruffly reply. “But I am very much obliged to you.”

He sighs. “I don’t want you to feel obliged to me. Can’t we be friends already? You know I was only joking with you on your first day. I didn’t mean to mock you by calling you a princess, even if I think you look exactly like one. Let’s forgive and forget, please.”

You stare at his hopeful countenance, remembering how kind he was to you over the holidays. You also craved his cookies for weeks after, resisting the urge to walk over to his house and ask for another batch.

“Fine. Friends. And friends only.”

He beams at you, grinning widely. He begins to row the boat back to shore, and you avoid his inquisitive gaze. The girls are in hysterics when you arrive, pulling you out and hugging you tightly.

“We thought you had drowned and died,” Hyojung sobs into your shoulder. “It wasn’t romantic at all! Nothing like the poem.”

You assure them with gentle pats, and Jaemin anchors the boat to the dock. Soeun perks up when she sees him.

“Oh Jaemin, were you the one who saved her? A true knight in shining armor, indeed!”

He nods. “I’m happy to help.” The girls move to take you away and leave Jaemin and Soeun on their own, but he clears his throat to stop you. He addresses you by calling your name before questioning, “B-Before you go, I wanted to ask if you had any plans for Valentine’s Day.”

Hyojung and Sookyung’s jaws drop while Soeun acts as if someone just stabbed her in the back.

You stutter. “I- That’s- I’m not-”

“She’s going to my Aunt Nayoung’s annual Valentine’s party. You should come too, Jaemin. It’s at her big mansion in the city,” Hyojung invites.

You shoot her a bewildered look while he replies, “Are you sure? I wouldn’t be imposing?”

“Of course not. She would be happy to have you.”

He smirks. “Perfect. I’ll be there. Now if you ladies don’t mind, I have to get back to fishing.”

When he drifts away in his boat, Soeun stomps away from you, grumbling to herself. Sookyung throws you an apologetic look before following after her. You pinch the bridge of your nose in exasperation.

“What was that?” You bark at your best friend. “How dare he ask me that in front of everyone like- like-”

“Like he likes you?” Hyojung finishes.

You glare at her, still soaked from the lake. “No. And how could you invite him to your aunt’s party? You know I haven’t even asked Ilkyung if I can go yet.”

“She’ll let you, come on,” Hyojung insists as she helps you trudge back to Green Gables. “If not, I’ll have my mother convince her. Plus, how can you not see how head over heels Jaemin is for you? That boy looks at you constantly and Christmas? Don’t even get me started. His house is miles from here, there was no other reason for him to stop by than to see you.”

“I won’t let you go on any longer. I have never harbored any affection for Na Jaemin and I never will. Have you forgotten about my dreams, Hyojung? I don’t want to be the wife and mother. I want to write and teach and earn enough income so that Ilkyung and Ilnam can retire comfortably.”

“Silly girl,” she murmurs as she nudges you playfully. “You can have all of that and Na Jaemin too.”

want to read the rest of this fic now? access the $5 tier on my patreon here!

[odileeclipse]

A Wager of Fate PT 8 Final part

The Silver Tree, once a pillar of luminous divinity, shuddered against its broken chains, its glow dimming with each passing moment. The air carried the scent of old magic, of something ancient unraveling. The Silver Knights stood at a distance, their figures rigid with hesitation, with sorrow. White Lily Cookie lingered among them, hands clasped tight around her staff, her fuchsia eyes dim with grief. And in the heart of it all Elder Faerie Cookie. His presence, once unwavering as the roots of the Silver Tree itself, was now weighed down by something heavier than time. He stood apart from the others, just as you had asked. Alone with you. Shadow Milk Cookie lingered just at the edges of your perception, watching, waiting. You could feel his gaze—expectant, patient in his own way, but still unwilling to slip too far from your side. He had already won, hadn’t he? What more was there for him to do but gloat? You turned slightly, gripping your arms. "Just… leave me alone with Elder Faerie for a bit." Your voice was barely above a whisper, but there was a tremor in it. There was a pause, a hum of amusement. "Alone?" Shadow Milk mused, tilting his head, unseen but there in the shifting light. "Ah, my dear, what a lonely request. After all we've been through?"

Your shoulders tensed. "Please." A beat of silence. Then, a chuckle lighter than it should have been, but not unkind. "As you wish, little Faerie." A playful lilt, but no deceit in his words this time. "But don't keep me waiting too long." And with that, the weight of his presence receded, though you knew better than to believe he was truly gone. Finally, Elder Faerie spoke. “I had thought,” he murmured, “that I would never feel this kind of pain.” Your breath hitched. Elder Faerie exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “It is not the seal,” he continued. “Not the kingdom. Not even the danger you have released upon Earthbread.” His gaze, though lined with exhaustion, did not waver from you. “It is you that pains me most.” Your hands curled into trembling fists. “Elder Faerie, I-” “I will not allow you to be remembered this way,” he interrupted softly. His voice did not carry the weight of anger, but of something far worse. “Your name will not be tied to destruction. Not if I can help it.” You swallowed the lump in your throat near unbearable. He stepped closer, his presence casting a long shadow beneath the waning glow of the Silver Tree. “Even now,” he continued, quieter, “I cannot bring myself to hate you.” Your breath came sharp. “I should.” His voice wavered, barely above a whisper. “I should rage at you. I should curse your name, demand that you answer for what you have done.” His fingers tightened around his staff, his composure threatening to crack. “But I cannot.” Your vision blurred with unshed tears. “Then…then hate him.” Elder Faerie’s expression darkened, his free hand curling into a fist at his side. “I do.” The admission was quiet, restrained. “I loathe him for what he has taken. For what he has twisted.” He closed his eyes for a brief moment, then let out a slow breath. “But my hatred means nothing now. The seal is broken.”

Your body trembled. “Then we can fix it-” “No.” Elder Faerie’s voice was steady, though his eyes betrayed the weight he carried. “I can no longer fix it.” A pause. Then, more softly, “I have grown weaker over eons. The tree is no longer what it was.” Your breath came uneven. “But there has to be” “Do not dwell on it,” he interrupted, his voice gentle yet firm. “That is no longer your burden.” Your chest ached, torn between desperation and guilt. “But I” Elder Faerie reached out. His hand, despite everything, came to rest lightly against the side of your face. It was warm, grounding. A gesture of comfort. Of forgiveness. “I know you,” he whispered. “Better than you know yourself.” His fingers curled slightly, not in force, but in something fragile. “Your heart, your instinct, it has always been what guided you. It led you astray, but…” He exhaled, shaking his head. “I do not believe it was ever meant to harm.” Your lips parted, but no words came. His gaze, softer than you deserved, held you captive. “Follow it, one last time.” The weight of his words settled deep in your chest. “Elder Faerie…” He gave the smallest of smiles, faint, tired. “Do not worry.” A pause. Then, quieter, “I will find a way.” The promise was as heavy as it was impossible. But even as he spoke it, you could see, could feel the pain beneath it. He blamed himself. For failing to guide you. For failing to save you. And even as he stood before you, speaking of hope, speaking of solutions his heart was breaking.

Tears blurred your vision, the fractured light of the Silver Tree casting a wavering glow over Elder Faerie’s grief-stricken face. His hand still rested against your cheek, warm despite the cold reality that had settled between you. You had broken the seal. You had shattered everything you had once vowed to protect. And yet, he stood there not condemning you, not striking you down, but aching for you. Your breath trembled as you whispered, “If I’m going to be remembered for this if they curse my name for what I’ve done then let them.” Your hands clenched at your sides. “You shouldn’t cover it up.” Elder Faerie’s expression flickered, but the sorrow in his eyes remained unmoving. “I chose this,” you continued, voice shaking but resolute. “Even if it’s wrong, even if I can’t take it back, I won’t let you erase it for me.” Your chest ached with every word. “I can own up to what I’ve done.” Elder Faerie exhaled slowly, his eyes fluttering shut for the briefest moment. When he opened them again, his sadness had not lessened, but his resolve had hardened. “No,” he said softly. “I will not let you bear this weight.” A sharp inhale stung your throat. “Why—” “Because you are still my kin.” His voice, though quiet, carried the finality of a thousand years. “Even now.” His fingers curled slightly against your skin before he withdrew his hand. A silence stretched between you, heavy with the truth neither of you wanted to face. Elder Faerie turned slightly, his gaze shifting beyond the ruined seal, beyond the Silver Tree that now stood vulnerable, its light waning. The Silver Knights still lingered, hesitant, awaiting orders that could no longer undo what had already been done. White Lily Cookie stood among them, her fuchsia eyes dark with sorrow.

With a weary sigh, Elder Faerie straightened his posture, the weight of leadership settling over him once more. “We are leaving.” Your breath hitched. “What?” “There is nothing left for us here.” His voice carried the burden of his decision. “The seal is broken. There is no longer a cage to protect.” He turned to you once more, his gaze firm. “I must protect my people instead.” A lump formed in your throat. “But Shadow Milk he’s-” “He is sparing the kingdom for you.” Elder Faerie’s voice, though not unkind, left no room for denial. “And that is not something I can gamble with. His mercy is not our salvation, it is a fleeting kindness.” His jaw tightened. “I will not allow unnecessary danger to fall upon my people.” The words sent a chill through you. “You mean to run?” “I mean to survive.” Elder Faerie’s eyes burned with determination. “I will not let our people fall, not while I still have the strength to lead them away from this.” Your lips parted, searching for words, searching for anything that could convince him otherwise. But what could you say? You had already chosen your path. Elder Faerie let out a quiet breath, stepping past you, back toward his people, the silver knights as the kingdom’s fate was unknown. “Stay if you must,” he said, the slightest waver in his voice betraying the pain beneath his resolve. “But I will not allow them to suffer for your decision.” The finality of his words settled over you like a crushing weight. And as he walked away, leading the remnants of the Faerie Kingdom into the shadows, you could do nothing but watch.

Your fingers twitched at your side, aching to reach out, to hold onto just a moment longer before he was gone. But you didn't. Instead, you swallowed the lump in your throat and let your hand fall back to your side. Your wings trembled as you watched Elder Faerie retreat, his silhouette fading into the gathering darkness, his presence growing ever distant. Even now, he refused to hate you. Even now, he carried the weight of this loss as if it were his burden to bear instead of yours. Your chest ached. A whisper, barely above breath, slipped from your lips. “…Shadow Milk.” The wind curled around you, stirring the remnants of broken magic in the air, but you felt the shift almost instantly. A presence, cool and familiar, coiling around the edges of your senses. It seeped into the space beside you, unseen but undeniably there. “You called for me, little Faerie?” His voice was softer now, almost indulgent, as if savoring the way you sought him. Your eyes remained on the path where Elder Faerie had disappeared, but your fingers curled slightly as if grasping for something unseen. “Did I…” You swallowed, throat dry. “Did I do the right thing?”

A silence followed, but not an empty one. It was a silence considering, a silence that weighed your question like a game piece in hand. Then, Shadow Milk sighed, a sound both amused and something else you couldn’t decipher. “Ah, my dear, sweet thing… still seeking absolution?” His tone was almost fond. “Do you wish for me to ease your conscience?” You blinked hard, trying to clear the blur of your tears. “I don’t know what happens now.” Your voice was fragile, breaking at the edges. “What do I do?” A soft chuckle, curling with something unspoken. “Well,” Shadow Milk murmured, “you are free now.” That word free. It didn’t feel as weightless as it should have. You exhaled shakily. “Are the others…?” You hesitated, staring at the broken remnants of the seal. “Are they still dormant?” Shadow Milk’s response was slow, deliberate. “For now.” Your breath hitched. “When?” “When will I wake them?” His voice lilted, teasing, but you could feel the coil of something much sharper beneath it. You turned slightly, not quite facing him, but seeking him all the same. “Yes.” Shadow Milk hummed, considering. “Now, now… that would be spoiling the fun, wouldn’t it?” A chill curled around your spine. You could feel the amusement in his tone, but it was like a magician withholding the final reveal. A game he refused to lay bare. “Then… they’re still asleep?” you asked, almost hopeful. Shadow Milk laughed, a quiet, velvety sound. “Oh, little Faerie… you ask so many questions.” His voice lowered, curling at the edges of your mind. “Why not enjoy the moment? I am here, after all.” You let out a shaky breath. He wasn’t giving you answers. Not yet. Maybe not ever. “…Then what happens now?” Shadow Milk didn’t answer right away. Instead, you felt him shift, felt the weight of his presence settle closer, his words pressing against your ear like a secret. “Now?” He purred. “Now, we dance.”

You let out a short, breathless laugh, blinking up at the darkened sky. “You’re joking.” Shadow Milk only tilted his head or at least, you felt the shift of his presence, playful and indulgent. You shook your head, a wry smile ghosting over your lips despite everything. “Why dance?” He hummed, the sound rich and teasing, curling around you like silk. “Would you prefer I say something dreadfully serious?” His voice lilted with kindness, yet there was something almost intentional in his lightness, as if daring you to follow. “Or is it that you think a dance couldn’t possibly be fitting for the moment?” You crossed your arms, wings twitching. “Do you think that would cheer me up?” Your voice was softer than you meant it to be, not accusing just tired. “Or are you just trying to distract me from everything?” Shadow Milk chuckled. “Why, both, of course.” You sighed, shaking your head. “I own what I did,” you murmured. “I made my choice. I know that. But I’m not… happy about how I got here.” You hesitated, watching the remnants of the shattered seal glimmer faintly against the wind. “Shadow Milk… is this supposed to make it easier?”

Silence, for just a moment. Then, a whisper of a touch just the ghost of a presence brushing against your fingers, cold yet oddly inviting. “Dancing,” he mused, his voice dipping into something softer, “is not about forgetting.” A pause. “It’s about moving forward.” Your breath caught. “Would you rather stand still?” His voice was quieter now, more thoughtful. “Would you rather dwell in misery, in self-loathing, in regret?” His tone dipped into something almost mocking not cruel, just coaxing. “Or would you rather live?” You swallowed hard, your fingers twitching slightly. “And dancing is living?” Shadow Milk exhaled a sigh, as if you were terribly, terribly slow. “Oh, my dear.” There was a smile in his voice now. “Dancing is simply another form of freedom.” You weren’t sure what to say to that. He waited, patient, ever-present. “…Do I have a choice?” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper. His chuckle curled against your ear like mist. “You always do.” The wind stirred. The air shifted. And then, like a hand extended into the dark, his presence curled around you once more. “Well?” Shadow Milk purred. “Shall we?”

The wind carried the last remnants of silver leaves across the ruined clearing, their shimmer dull beneath the weight of what had transpired. The once-sacred heart of the Faerie Kingdom lay fractured, the Silver Tree’s light all but extinguished. And yet, in the midst of the devastation, there he stood real, no longer just a voice in the dark. You had seen his real form before but you didn’t get a chance to take it all in. Maybe it was the way in the end, you and him had chosen each other. Shadow Milk Cookie was no longer a mere whisper in your mind, no longer a presence lurking just beyond reach. He was here, standing before you in full form, his tall, spindly frame draped in the harlequin darks of his bodysuit. His cyan and cerulean eyes glowed with something unreadable, flickering between amusement and something deeper. He extended a hand toward you, palm up, inviting. You hesitated. Now that you could truly see him, there was no excuse to hide behind the ambiguity of shadows. There was no veil of mystery, no plausible deniability. He was real, tangible, a force unshackled by the chains you had shattered with your own hands. And yet… he looked at you as if none of that mattered. "You hesitate," he mused, his voice dipping into a knowing lilt. “Shall I extend the invitation more sweetly? Should I bow? Kiss your hand? Or…” He leaned in slightly, a teasing glint in his mismatched eyes. “Perhaps you’d prefer I demand it? A grand decree, from your villain of choice.” You scoffed, shaking your head, forcing something close to amusement onto your face. “You really think this is going to fix everything?” Shadow Milk hummed, unbothered. “Oh, little Faerie, I never said that.” His fingers flexed slightly, a silent offer still waiting. “I simply said we should dance.”

You exhaled slowly, looking past him for just a moment. Beyond the clearing, hidden within the trees, a figure stood in the dim glow of the fractured remnants of the Silver Tree. Elder Faerie Cookie watched. His expression was unreadable, but his shoulders bore the weight of unspoken sorrow. He had sworn to erase you from the kingdom’s history, to protect you even as you had broken him. He would not allow you to be remembered as a villain but it didn’t change the truth. He had already lost you. Perhaps he had lost you long before this moment. Your fingers twitched at your side. The ache in your chest burned, sharp and unrelenting. You could not go back. Not after this. Not even if he forgave you. The Faerie Kingdom was no longer yours, no longer a place that would welcome you with open arms. Perhaps, it never truly had. You let out a breathy laugh, hollow but deceptively lighthearted. “You’re insufferable,” you muttered, lifting your gaze back to Shadow Milk. His smile stretched into something terribly pleased. “Mmm. Yet you always come back” You swallowed. Your hands trembled, just barely. Then, before you could stop yourself, you reached forward and placed your hand in his. His fingers curled around yours instantly, cold yet steady, grounding in a way that sent a shiver up your spine. He grinned, sharp and triumphant, but there was something else in his eyes, something that wasn’t quite mockery, wasn’t quite gloating. Something softer.

Shadow Milk did not rush you. He did not sweep you into some grand, theatrical motion. Instead, he took a single step closer, his free hand resting lightly against your waist, guiding you gently into place. And then, the dance began. The broken clearing became your stage. Shadow Milk moved with effortless grace, leading you through slow, deliberate steps, his body curling and twisting with the natural showmanship of an entertainer who knew his craft well. His coattails swirled like dark silk, the eyes within them blinking lazily in time with the movements. You followed, your feet lighter than you had expected, though your heart remained unbearably heavy. “So,” you said after a moment, feigning nonchalance, “what do I get for playing along with your little show?” Shadow Milk smirked. “Ah, so you do know how to play.” “Answer the question.” He hummed, pretending to think. “You get to forget, for a moment.” He twirled you with ease, letting you spiral before catching you again, his grip firm yet never forceful. “You get to pretend, just as I do. Isn’t that what you wanted?” You hated how easy it was to let yourself fall into the rhythm. Hated how the weight in your chest eased, if only slightly, as the world blurred around you in a slow waltz of shadow and silver light. Maybe you did want to pretend. Maybe deceit was all you had left. From the distance, Elder Faerie Cookie still watched, his expression unreadable, his grief buried beneath the stoicism of a ruler who had no choice but to move forward. But even as he turned away, retreating into the forest to gather what was left of his people, his heart ached with the bitter knowledge that, at the very least, You had chosen this.

The world outside your musicless dance had long since begun to fade. The broken clearing, the Silver Tree’s dying glow, the ghosts of the past that still lingered behind them it all blurred into irrelevance. The only thing left was the steady twirl of shadow and movement, the quiet rhythm that only the two of them could hear. But even as your feet moved in time with his, even as the air between you became lighter with each step, the weight in your chest never truly lifted. There was still something you needed to know. Your fingers curled slightly against his as you exhaled, steadying yourself. “Why me?” Shadow Milk tilted his head, mismatched eyes gleaming with amusement. “Ah, and here I thought you had already figured it out.” You shook your head, gaze steady despite the hesitance twisting in your gut. “Did you always feel this way? Or was it because I could free you?”

For the first time, Shadow Milk faltered. It was barely a flicker a momentary pause in his movement, a beat of silence too brief to be intentional. And then he laughed, soft and lilting, his grip on you tightening just slightly as he resumed his steps. “Would it truly matter?” he mused, spinning you once more before catching you again. “You were the only one who could hear me. The only one who listened.” His voice dipped, something unreadable in the way he regarded you now. “That was all it took.” Your throat felt tight. “That’s not an answer.” Shadow Milk only smiled. Your gaze searched his face, looking for something, some hint of truth, some crack in the performance. But he was as unreadable as ever, his expression locked in the same knowing amusement that had always defined him. Maybe he didn’t even know the answer himself. Maybe you didn’t want to hear it. You swallowed, forcing yourself to breathe through the weight in your chest. “Where are we going after all this?” He hummed, seemingly pleased by your acceptance of the change in subject. “The Spire of Knowledge.”

Your brow furrowed. “The Spire…?” You hesitated, something about the name tugging at old memories. “That was your domain.” Shadow Milk’s grin stretched wider. “Was being the key word.” He twirled you again, slower this time, deliberate. “It was once a place of truth. Of wisdom, enlightenment a monument to Knowledge itself.” He leaned in slightly, voice dipping to a whisper against your ear. “But truth is such a fragile thing, isn’t it?” You shivered, but not from fear. He pulled back, mismatched eyes glinting with something dangerously pleased. “It is only fitting that it becomes something new.” Your stomach twisted. “What do you mean?” “The Spire of Deceit.” His voice was soft, but the weight of the words made the air around you feel colder. “More befitting of who I am now than what I once was.” A chill ran through you, not from his words alone, but from the way he said them. There was no hesitation, no regret only a quiet certainty. Your gaze flickered downward. This is what I chose. There was no going back. Shadow Milk shifted slightly, his grip on your hand loosening just enough to give you an out—to let you step away, if you wanted. But you didn’t. Your fingers remained laced with his, your body still moving with his lead, even as doubt clawed at your ribs. From the distance, beyond the ruins of the Silver Tree, the Faerie Kingdom lay shrouded in the veil of deceit Shadow Milk had cast. You couldn’t see Elder Faerie anymore. You didn’t know if he had left or if he simply no longer watched. But it didn’t matter. Your world had already changed.

The realization settled in slowly, like ink bleeding into parchment.  

If you had stayed, if you had remained the Silver Tree’s guardian, you would have never been free. Not truly. Even if you had fought off the whispers, resisted temptation, devoted yourself wholly to the kingdom… the chains of duty would have remained. You would have always been at war with the shadows. Always peering over your shoulder, waiting for the next deceit to creep in and sink its claws into you.  But now?   Now, there was nothing left to guard. The Silver Tree no longer bound you. Everything comes at a price. Perhaps this was yours. As the dance slowed, you finally allowed yourself to breathe. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the weight of duty no longer suffocated your ribs, no longer dictated every action, every thought. You were unshackled. And yet, even in this newfound freedom, you found yourself searching for something, some lingering trace of what had once been.  

Your gaze flickered back to Shadow Milk. His expression was unreadable, though amusement still curled at the edges of his lips. He had won. He knew it. But there was no gloating, no smug declarations of victory. He simply watched you, waiting. You hesitated, then spoke. “What was it like?”  His brow arched. “What was what like?”  Your grip on his hand tightened slightly. “Being the Sage of Truth. Before… all of this.”  For the first time since his freedom, Shadow Milk was silent.  The air between you grew still, the weight of your question settling over the space like a thick mist. His grip did not falter, but something in his posture shifted just slightly. The ever-present playfulness in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something quieter, something distant. “…Ah,” he murmured, almost as if he hadn’t expected you to ask. He exhaled, gaze flickering skyward. “It was…” He trailed off, searching for the right words. Your heart twisted.  It was rare to see him hesitate. Shadow Milk was never at a loss for words, always weaving truths and lies together so seamlessly that one could never tell where reality ended and illusion began. But now? Now he looked as though he were peering through a fogged window, trying to recall a reflection that had long since faded.Finally, he spoke. “It was lonely.”  

Your breath caught. His grip tightened ever so slightly, as if anchoring himself to the present. “Truth is a bitter thing. Everyone claims to seek it, to crave knowledge, to desire understanding. But in the end…” He chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “They only want the truths that comfort them. The rest?” His fingers brushed against yours, slow and deliberate. “They discard. They turn away. They call it cruel, monstrous even when it is simply reality.”  His mismatched eyes met yours, glinting with something almost unreadable. “That is why they chose him over me.” You knew who he meant. Pure Vanilla Cookie. Your lips parted, but you found yourself at a loss. What could you even say?  Shadow Milk smiled, but it was different this time. Not mocking. Not cruel. Just… tired. “I thought I could endure it. I thought I could bear the burden alone.” His voice softened. “But even the strongest of foundations can crumble beneath the weight of solitude.” The ache in your chest deepened. He had been a Sage. A beacon of truth. A pillar of wisdom. And yet, in the end, he had been left alone. The realization settled into your bones, heavy and undeniable. Even now, he does not regret it. He had embraced his role as Deceit wholeheartedly, had cast aside his past identity without hesitation. But deep down beneath the layers of illusion, beneath the theatrics and cunning smiles there was still something lingering. Something forgotten. You inhaled slowly, steadying yourself. “…Do you miss it?” Shadow Milk blinked.  

Then, slowly, he tilted his head, as if pondering the question himself. “No,” he said at last. “Not in the way you think.” His thumb traced absent circles against your palm. “Truth may be a virtue, but deceit…?” A soft, amused hum left his lips. “Deceit is freedom.” Your breath hitched.  He smiled, tilting your chin up slightly with a single finger. “And now, my dear… you are free too.” The words sent a shiver down your spine. Somewhere in the distance, beyond the ruins of the Silver Tree, the winds carried away the last remnants of what once was.

Shadow Milk Cookie let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he lifted a hand to your face. His touch was featherlight, fingertips brushing just beneath your chin, guiding your gaze to meet his own mismatched eyes one bright and knowing, the other dark and unreadable.

"Tsk, tsk. Don’t do that," he murmured, his tone somewhere between amused and admonishing. "I am no wounded creature, no broken thing in need of fixing." His smile curved, sharp yet indulgent, as if he found the very thought amusing. "You know better than that, don’t you?" You swallowed thickly, unsure of how to respond. He only chuckled again, as though your silence confirmed something. Then, without another word, he turned, leading you forward away from the ruins of what had been, toward something unknown.

The path to the Spire of Deceit was unlike any you had ever walked before. The air shimmered, thick with an otherworldly presence, as if the very fabric of reality had begun to unravel and weave itself anew. The sky overhead was deep, dark indigo, fractured with veins of silver light that pulsed like the slow, steady heartbeat of something ancient. The world around you twisted and bent, landmasses floating in impossible formations, staircases spiraling into the void only to reappear elsewhere. Then, you saw it. The Spire. It rose from the shifting landscape like an unshaken pillar amidst chaos, its towering, jagged peaks reaching toward infinity. The structure was built from dark stone that gleamed like polished onyx, lined with veins of cerulean light that pulsed and flickered in rhythm with the strange magic saturating the air. Bridges hung suspended in midair, leading to archways that seemed to vanish the moment you blinked, shifting as though alive. The very walls breathed, curling with elaborate carvings that reshaped themselves when you turned away. Despite its eerie, twisting nature, the Spire was… breathtaking. Shadow Milk turned slightly, watching you take it in, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. "Ah, there it is," he mused. "That look of wonder—untainted, unburdened." He gestured broadly, the extravagant flourish of a performer unveiling his grand stage. "It was once the Spire of Knowledge, a haven for scholars and seekers of truth. But knowledge is a fickle thing, is it not?" His smirk deepened. "Now, it is something far more fitting." The Spire of Deceit.

A home for him. A home, now, for you. And before you even realized it, your feet had already found their way toward one place the library. Though you had a feeling he could control the spire’s illusions at will and was the guiding hand towards the library. The moment you stepped through its towering archway, the air shifted. A quiet hum filled the vast chamber, the sound of countless floating tomes drifting through open space, their pages fluttering despite the lack of wind. Shelves stretched impossibly high, their ends lost to shadow. Rivers of ink cascaded in midair, suspended in time, forming words that rewrote themselves before dissolving once more. The scent of parchment, old and new, mingled with something more something ancient, something lost.

Your fingers trailed instinctively along the spine of a floating tome, drawn by the same hunger that had always burned within you. Even now after everything your curiosity refused to wane. "You are predictable," Shadow Milk murmured, his voice a soft tease as he leaned lazily against the edge of a nearby desk. "Not even a moment to mourn the past, and already, you dive into what lies ahead." His mismatched gaze glinted with something akin to approval. You exhaled a quiet breath, scanning the text in your hands. "It was always about learning," you admitted. "Even when I was meant to inherit the role of Guardian… I think I cared more about the knowledge than the duty itself." Shadow Milk tilted his head, watching you with unreadable amusement. "Duty is an illusion an expectation forced upon you," he mused. "Knowledge, however… that is a choice. Your choice." His words curled around you, sinking into the quiet recesses of your mind. Yet, even as they settled, uncertainty still gnawed at you. And so, the question left your lips before you could stop it. "If there had been another heir… if someone else had been chosen to guard the Silver Tree…" Your voice faltered, but you pushed through. "Would it still have been me?"

Would he still have sought you out? Would he still be here, beside you? Would you still matter? Shadow Milk stilled. For a moment, the silence between you was thick, pressing. His expression gave nothing away, his mismatched eyes locked onto yours, searching. Then, he moved. Slowly, deliberately, he stepped forward, closing the space between you. His presence curled around you, dark and velvety, his voice a low murmur against the hush of the library. "You ask as though there was ever another choice." Your breath hitched. His fingers brushed beneath your chin once more, tilting your face up toward his. There was no trickery in his gaze, no jest in his tone only certainty. "Even if the stars had aligned differently, even if fate had woven another path… I would have found you." His voice dipped lower, the words sinking deep into your chest. "And I would have chosen you." Your heartbeat thundered in your ears. Truth or deception? You weren’t sure. But in that moment, as you stood in the vast, ever-shifting halls of the Spire of Deceit—beneath the glow of floating ink and the hum of knowledge long lost—none of it seemed to matter. Because, for the first time in what felt like forever, you had chosen this, too. And perhaps… that was enough.

The air in the Spire of Deceit was still, as if the very walls were waiting to hear your answer. The halls, lined with towering bookshelves and twisting staircases, seemed to stretch endlessly into the abyss, their winding paths mirroring the labyrinth of emotions inside you. The knowledge here was vast, unshackled, and tainted by neither truth nor lies just as he was. Shadow Milk Cookie stood before you, his presence inescapable. His mismatched eyes gleamed with something unreadable, watching as you struggled with words too heavy to speak. The quiet between you was suffocating, yet he seemed content to let you drown in it, his expression unreadable waiting. You swallowed, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I’ll stay,” you finally breathed, and the moment the words left your lips, something inside you shifted, solidified. “I already chose you.” His smirk faltered for the briefest second. Barely noticeable. But you caught it. His thumb grazed your cheek, an almost hesitant touch, before his fingers settled beneath your chin, tilting your head up. His touch was cold, yet it burned. “You choose me,” he mused, more to himself than to you. His voice was softer now, lacking its usual theatrical flourish, as if the weight of your words had settled somewhere deep within him.

“I do,” you whispered. His grip on you tightened just slightly. But then, you continued. “But I don’t want to be part of destruction.” Your voice trembled, but you forced yourself forward. “I won’t fight against what’s already happened. I chose this. I’ll bear it. But I won’t… I won’t let it go further. I can’t. I won’t break Elder Faerie’s heart any more than I already have.” Silence. Shadow Milk Cookie simply stared at you, unreadable. Then, he laughed. Softly, breathlessly almost disbelieving. His hand fell from your chin, but the air between you remained electric, thick with something unspoken. “You think,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement, “that you can stand beside me and remain untouched by what I do?” “I have to try,” you said, voice shaking. His smirk widened, but his expression and his eyes were darker now. “You are a fool,” he said, and there was no mockery in his tone. “Maybe.” His fingers ghosted over your wrist, lingering there, as if he was debating something. “Then answer me this,” he murmured, tilting his head. “If I were to refuse? If I told you that you must embrace the world I intend to create?” Your heart twisted painfully in your chest, but you stood firm. “Then I will go.” Something in his expression flickered. You didn’t know if it was amusement. Annoyance. Pain. Then, he exhaled slow and deliberate. The hand on your wrist slid towards your hand, his fingers curling loosely around your own. His grip was gentle, but firm, as if testing your resolve. “You would leave me,” he mused, voice soft, “after everything?” A lump formed in your throat. “If you make me,” you whispered. Another silence stretched between you. Then, unexpectedly his grip tightened. He didn’t let go. A low, knowing chuckle escaped him, but it wasn’t his usual laughter. No mockery. No theatrics. Instead, something deeper settled behind his mismatched eyes, something indulgent, something dangerously close to tenderness.

"You truly are something else," he murmured, his voice almost… fond. And then, he leaned in. His lips brushed against the shell of your ear, his voice barely above a whisper. “Very well.” The tension in your chest loosened just slightly. His fingers dragged upwards on your arm before finally slipping away, giving you space. And yet, his presence coiled around you like an inescapable shadow. “I won’t force you to take part in my grand designs,” he continued. “Not yet, at least.” His smirk twitched at your sharp look. "But" His hand lifted in a careless flourish, his voice returning to its usual lilting amusement. "I will ask for something in return.” Your stomach twisted.“What?” He leaned back, watching you with knowing eyes. "Stay." One, simple request. No tricks. No riddles. Just that. Your heart ached at the simplicity of it. At the weight of it. You had thrown everything away for him. Your home. Your legacy. The love of the only father figure you had ever known. And yet here he was. The one thing in this world you could never predict. A monster draped in silk and illusions, deceit curled upon his tongue like honey. And yet he had never lied about what he was. The choice was yours. Your throat tightened. “I…” Your voice cracked. You exhaled. “…I will.” Shadow Milk Cookie only smiled. It was not triumphant. It was not victorious. It was satisfied. As if he had always known you would say yes. His fingers brushed against yours once more so fleetingly, so carefully, that for a moment, you wondered if you had imagined it. Then, his presence pulled away, and the air grew heavier once more.

"You do amuse me," he mused, the playfulness creeping back into his tone, though something else lingered beneath it. "But know this, dear, my path has already been paved. My plans, my pact, are not yours to break.” A cold shiver ran down your spine. He turned, walking toward the towering windows of the spire, where the fractured sky bled into the horizon. "You wished for kindness, and I have granted it," he continued. "For you, I have spared them…for now." He turned slightly, casting a glance over his shoulder, his grin sharp as a knife. "But do not mistake that for weakness, my dear. My destruction has already been written. You simply are not part of its ink." 

Days in the spire were mainly mundane Shadow Milk was never too busy for you, however he was still scheming never letting you see his plans. Maybe it was for your own good. The halls of the Spire of Deceit wound like a labyrinth, towering shelves stacked with books whose truths had long since been twisted beyond recognition. It was neither day nor night here, just an eternal limbo where time bled into itself, much like the lines between truth and deception. The wind curled through the open halls of the Spire of Deceit, carrying with it the scent of aged parchment and something faintly sweet, like the last traces of a dream before waking. Shadow Milk Cookie stood before the grand window, his silhouette dark against the star-streaked sky. The view stretched endlessly, a world waiting to be rewritten.  You lingered at the threshold, watching him, waiting. He was always so unreadable, so infuriatingly composed, yet today… today felt different. He turned his head slightly. “If you have something to say, little Faerie, say it.” You swallowed. “Why me?” you had always asked this, asked yourself, asked him. You wouldn’t stop not until you got a concrete answer. That question always made him pause. You pressed on, stepping closer, your voice steady despite the weight in your chest. “From the moment you saw me at the tree, why did it have to be me? Was it just because I could release you?” Shadow Milk did not answer immediately. He exhaled slowly, his fingers trailing along the glass of the window before he finally turned to face you fully. His heterochromatic eyes gleamed in the dim light, the ever-watching shadows in his hair blinking lazily. “When I first saw you,” he mused, “when I could finally see beyond that wretched bark I thought you naïve.” His gaze flickered with something unreadable. “Entertaining, yes. But hopelessly foolish.” A smirk curled at his lips, but there was no mockery in it. “Enough to make me want to keep watching.”

You blinked. “Watching?”

His gaze flickered, and he took a step forward, closer than before. “When the seal weakened, and I could see through the bark of that cursed tree, you were the first thing I laid eyes upon.” His voice dropped to something softer, something almost dangerous in its honesty. “And I could not look away.” Your breath caught in your throat. “And it didn’t take long before I found myself waiting,” he admitted, voice dipping into something almost vulnerable. “For your voice. For your questions. For your presence.” His mismatched eyes locked onto yours. “My patience has never been my strong suit, but for you? I endured.”

“I told myself it was strategy,” he continued, tilting his head as though studying you. “That it was only a matter of finding the right strings to pull, the right lies to whisper. But the more I watched, the more you became something else.” A hand reached out, brushing barely against your cheek before he pulled away, as if catching himself. “I don’t shackle easily,” he murmured. “And yet, somehow, you’ve bound me without a single chain.” His fingers grazed yours, barely touching, his voice dropping lower. “And when you did set me free… I realized that my shackles had never been made of wood or magic.” His lips twitched into something wry, something resigned. “They were made of you.” Your heart pounded. “Then… you would do as I ask?” Shadow Milk chuckled, the sound dark and rich. “Anything,” he said smoothly, “except abandon my purpose.” A chill settled over you. “The Beasts.” His smirk did not falter. “The pact I made with them was never yours to undo.”

Your throat tightened, a familiar ache clawing at your ribs. You had known—perhaps you had always known—that some things were beyond your reach. And yet, here he stood before you, offering everything but that. Your fingers curled into fists at your sides. “Then what am I to you?” Shadow Milk leaned in ever so slightly, his mismatched eyes sharp with something unreadable. “You,” he said, voice a whisper against your skin, “are the only thing I choose to keep.” The words settled deep in your bones. There was no deception in them, no half-truths. And perhaps that was what frightened you mostYour chest tightened at the weight of his words. But you had to ask. “And if I walk away?” His smirk was immediate. “Then I shall follow.” You frowned. “And if I run?” His eyes darkened with amusement. “Then I shall chase.” You let out a quiet, shaky laugh, shaking your head. “You speak of me as though I belong to you.” “Don’t you?” The question hung in the air between you, heavier than any spell, more binding than any seal. You thought of the Silver Tree, of Elder Faerie Cookie’s pained expression as he turned away from you for the last time. Of the home you had lost, of the kingdom that would pretend you never existed. You thought of how, despite it all, you did not regret it. Because the truth was, you had always been running. From duty. From expectation. From a life that had never truly been your own. And now, at last, there was no need to run. Not when you stood before the one who had always seen you. Swallowing, you met his gaze fully. “And what now?” Shadow Milk Cookie smiled, slow and knowing, taking your hand in his. “Now?” He leaned in, voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Now, we rewrite the world.”

A/N I hope this ending was satisfactory I didn't want to rush to get to the ending. I really loved writing this and I took a little longer when tweaking it because I didn't like the ending I had written so I rewrote it please enjoy <3

[invisible-lint]

Take Me With You

Rhys x Tamlin's sister!reader

Summary: ECBO but if the mating bond snapped when Rhys and the former Night High Lord came to murder the High Lord of Spring and your brothers

Warnings: almost angst, Tamlin being Tamlin

Word Count: 1k

You're not sure what it was that woke you up; the coppery tang of blood that had permeated the air, or the sound of your door being opened. You bolt upright, clutching the blankets to your chest; something is wrong. Your gaze falls on the door frame and you catch a glimpse of dark hair and violet eyes as the male closes the door, a finger to his lips. 

You take a moment to gather your wits, blinking in the dark, before all but leaping out of bed and stumbling into the hallway. The smell of blood is stronger out here, and you look around, taking in the carnage as you make your way down the hall. Two of your brothers and both your parents are dead. Tamlin and you are the only survivors. You chase after the male, you see him walk out the door as you're running down the stairs. You vaguely register Tamlin calling after you, but you ignore him. You run out of the manor, barefoot, following the dark haired male into the garden. 

"Rhysand!" He hesitates, allowing you to catch up with him. You grab ahold of his sleeve and he turns to face you. The two of you watch each other for a moment; him steady, albeit confused by your actions, and you eyes wild and loose hair being whipped around by the wind. "Kill me too. Please. I want you to kill me too." 

You watch as the emotions dance across his face, faster than you can name them. He shakes his head.

"I can't do that. I won't do that.” 

“Why not?” 

“Too many have died here already.” 

You let out a bitter laugh. “You were fine killing my entire family, but draw the line at me?” You shove at his chest, angry and confused. Why did it matter to him if you lived or died?

“I'm sorry. I…” He trails off, his eyes going wide with surprise. He curses under his breath.

“You're sorry?” You laugh again, still shoving at him. He grabs your wrists, gently trapping them against his chest. “Do I need to beg?”

“No. I won't do it.” Rhysand looks at you, as if by staring he can figure out why it is you so desperately want to die. 

“Then take me with you. Please. Anywhere else has to be better than here. Rhysand, please.” He's about to deny your request when he sees the expression on your face shift. The mating bond had snapped into place for you too. He catches you as your knees give out, sinking to the ground with you. 

You beat at his chest; hot, angry tears rolling down your cheeks. He just lets you, feeling as if he deserves it. You're his mate and he caused you this pain. 

“Get away from her!” Tamlin growls. Rhysand tries tucking you behind him, his instincts taking over despite his better judgement. You smack his hands away, placing yourself between the two males. 

You hold your hands out towards your brother, as if trying to placate a wild animal. “Tamlin…” 

His see his gaze dart between you and Rhysand, a growl rumbling deep in his chest when he realizes what has happened 

“No.” 

“Tam…”

“I said no,” he all but snarls. Tamlin closes the space between you, grabbing your arm and pulling you away from Rhysand. You cry out, sharp pain shooting up your arm like lightning as you're pulled. You glance over your shoulder at the violet eyed male, your mate. You can see the fury in Rhysand's eyes, but he doesn't move, worried that anything he could do might cause you further harm. You tug on the fledgling bond, trying to reassure him. 

“Tamlin! Let go! You're hurting me!” He releases your arm, backing away as if you had struck him with your words. You back away from him, your eyes staying on his as you get closer to Rhysand. 

“You know the laws, Tam. You know this isn't your choice. It is mine, and I choose to go with him.” Tamlin falls to his knees, reaching out to you. “I know what would happen to me if I stayed here. I would be forced to marry one of Beron Vanserra’s sons. Father already came to an agreement with him. You lose me either way. But this way, I get a choice. I decide what happens to me.” He calls out your name, begging you to stay. “I'm sorry. I truly am.” You take Rhysand's hand and he winnows the two of you away. 

Rhysand lets go of you, stepping back when you arrive wherever it is he's taken you, dropping to his knees, not meeting your eyes.

“I understand if you wish to reject the bond because of what I have done. I have no regrets, except for the pain it may have caused you. Please, before you make a decision, allow me to explain myself.” 

You kneel in front of him, cupping his cheek to tilt his face so that his eyes meet yours. 

“I already know. I know what my father and brothers did. I saw the wings in my father's study. I do not hold any grudge against you for what you have done. I am well aware of the type of males they were.”

“Your mother… He wasn't supposed to kill her.” 

“My mother was… It's more complicated than my father, I'll admit. But her love for him made her blind to his treatment of us. She was more concerned with shaping me into the perfect bride than she was with what he was doing. I will not reject the bond because of what happened tonight.” 

Rhysand's eyes light up, as if filled with stars, twinkling in hope. “Really?” 

You nod, already knowing you would do just about anything to see his eyes light up again. “Yes. It will take me time, and I wish to have a proper courtship first, but I have no intention of rejecting the bond.” You tug on the bond, smiling when he tugs back. 

“I would do anything. You can take as much time as you need. Anything you want is yours.” You pull him to you, holding him tight, as you imagine the new future before you. One where you get to choose. 

A/N: I guess I'm writing AUs for my own story now oops. This may be a standalone, but may also have two more parts. I have a Cassian fic that should also be posted this weekend, so keep an eye out for that!

Feel free to keep sending in requests!

Divider by @tsunami-of-tears

[moody-alcoholic]

Sub Ala Angeli

Part 5 - Miracle Worker

Summary: Ghoap x fallen angel!reader, mini fic. Sub ala angeli - Under the wing of an angel.

CW: suggestive content, intimate touching, mention/talk about death, near death experience.

Previous - masterlist - next

Enjoy <3

Johnny leads you down the main street, you walk past all kinds of different stores. There are plenty of people around too, sometimes you get the glimpse of other angels, guardian angels following people around. 

Johnny leads you into a store, a bell rings and an old woman behind a counter smiles. 

“John, Simon, it’s nice to see you again.” She says she has a strong accent like Johnny. 

“Miss McBaine.” John says bouncing over to the counter.

“Mary please. Who is your friend?” She asks looking over at you. 

“Angel.” Johnny says. 

“Pretty name.” She gushes. You smile at her, something feels wrong. You look round the store, it’s filled with clothes. Johnny lets go of your hand and you go over to a hanger of fluffy looking jumpers. Your hand runs over them as you hear Simon come up behind you. 

Johnny is still talking with Mary, you just can’t shake the feeling that something bad is going to happen. 

“What do you think?” Simon asks. You run your hands down the arms. 

“Anything I get we have to cut the back off.” You say letting go of the jumper. 

“Guess it was easier when you didn’t have to wear anything.” He says. You nod thinking back to the angels you’ve seen on Earth, they’ve all been covered in some way, shape or form. Loose fitting flowy robes. Or light shines off them so bright you can’t make out any features on their body. 

Simon takes you over to get some pants and shoes though, you pick what's comfy and Simon recommends other things. You hear Johnny still talking, the occasional laugh fills the store. It makes you smile. 

Maybe you’re just being paranoid, it was probably the cryptic warning the angel gave you. Simon brings some shirts over, everything is oversized so you can cut a hole in the back. When you go over to take a look at dresses theres a sudden chill in the air.

Simon feels it too, you watch him shudder, goosebumps rise over your body. Dread pools in your stomach. 

“Feels like someone’s just walked over my grave.” You hear Mary say. You swallow hard looking over at her and Johnny talking by the counter. 

You reach out for Simon’s arm as her angel appears next to her. 

“Simon. I think something bad is going to happen.” He frowns at you for a second then looks over at Johnny and Mary. You turn back to look. It’s like the scene before you is muted, the temperature of the shop drops. 

Things happen quickly, Mary slumps against the counter. Johnny straightens up, Simon is already moving as Johnny reaches over the counter to try and help her. The silence of the room is broken by the gentle humming of her angel. It makes you feel sick, you know that tune. 

She’s going to die.

You walk over to them. Simon is bent down by her head, you watch as the angel stands over her. 

“Ambulance Johnny.” Simon’s voice brakes through the humming. Your heart is pounding in your chest. 

“You’re going to let her die?” You ask the angel in your head. They look over at you and smile. They can’t do anything, you know what they’re feeling you’ve been here before. You look down at Simon, he’s hands are pressing on her chest. 

You feel your fingers start to tingle, you could save her. You can save her, you have to believe. You walk over to them, Johnny is on the phone, you ignore him focusing on the tune the angel is humming. 

You bend down by her side, Simon looks up at you. “Let me.” You say placing your hand on his. You look up at him. He looks confused but he stops, moving his hands away. You place your hands on her chest. 

There’s no heartbeat, it feels wrong. You remember feeling Johnny’s hand under yours, for a second it feels like your own heart skips a beat. This could be him, if the warnings are true, you could end up in this same position only with him below you. 

You close your eyes and let out a breath. The angel stops humming. You’ve only ever done this once before. On a child, not a fully grown person. You concentrate putting all your energy into praying for her heart to beat again. Your hands feel warm, your energy, your lifeforce being transferred from you into her. 

You pray, pray for her to live, it feels like you’re willing the life back into her. You can feel yourself getting weaker, your head starts to swim, it’s becoming harder to concentrate. You don’t want to give up though, you won’t give up. 

You feel a warm hand on your shoulder, you get a sudden burst of energy. The feeling of dread goes away, the weakness subsides and you feel calm, a warm feeling travels through you. When you feel her heart beat again you let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. 

“Thank you.” You hear the angel say. Their warm hand leaves your shoulder along with the feeling of calm. You open your eyes looking over at Simon, you sit back on your knees, and smile at him as it feels like all your energy has just been pulled out of you. 

Simon presses her fingers into Mary’s neck, he looks up at you shocked. You turn to her angel stood by her head. 

“John is very lucky to have you watching over him.” They say. 

“I’m not his guardian angel.” You reply. 

“Ambulance is here.” You hear Johnny call as the sound of sirens gets closer. When you turn back the angel is gone. Simon comes over to you wrapping his arms around you and helping you to your feet. You lean against him, your legs wobble, your whole body feels heavy. 

You’re not even paying attention to the random people rushing into the store. Johnny talks to them as Simon takes you out the way over to a chair. As soon as you sit down and lose the support of his arms your head swims and you slump to the side.

“Easy, easy.” He says his arms coming back round you, you lean against him. You straighten up as best as you can. You grit your teeth, you have to keep your wing hidden. 

“Simon,” you breathe. He looks down at you as he pulls you tighter against him. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this for.” 

“C’mon,” he says, helping you to your feet. You can still feel a chill in the air. You lean against him, Johnny sees you moving and comes over to you. 

“What happened? Are you okay?” He asks, his hand coming to rub your arm. You nod and it makes your head swim. 

“We’re going to the car, how much longer do you think you’ll be?” Simon asks, Johnny quickly looks back at the paramedics loading Mary onto a stretcher. 

“Not long.” Johnny says. “I just have to get someone to mind the store, call her daughter.” 

She’s alive, you did that, you broke the rules again. And you’ll do it again if you need to, especially for Johnny or Simon. As Simon guides you out the store people are coming over to look. Small town, probably the biggest thing that’s happened in a while. By the time you make it to the car you can barely keep it together. 

“Si-” his name catches in your throat.

“Almost there, c’mon you can make it.” He encourages you, hitching you up against him while he fishes his pocket for the key. You grit your teeth using the last of your energy to grip onto him while he opens the door. 

Black spots flash across your vision. Simon turns you sitting you down in the back of the car, you can’t hide your wing anymore. Lucky Simon is blocking anyone from being able to see in. Simon’s hands rest on on your shoulders holding you up. You hear the door open behind you.

“I got her.” You hear Johnny say pulling you back against him. Simon picks your legs, putting them in the car, and closing the door. You shiver as Johnny wraps his arms around you. 

“She’ll be okay.” You say. 

“Will you be okay?” Johnny asks. You don’t know what to say, you've never felt like this before. You feel tired, your body is heavy, you can’t keep your eyes open. 

“I won’t let anything happen to you Johnny.” You say as your breathing slows. 

“What's that love?” Johnny asks, he shakes your shoulders, it jolts you and you look over at Simon in the front seat. He looks worried, you smile at him as you relax further against Johnny. 

“She’ll be okay.” you repeat closing your eyes. 

___

You think you’re in a dream, for the first time ever. You wake up back in heaven, it’s just not quite right though. It’s like you’re there but not there, the colours are faded and the sounds are muted, you're not quite sure how you got here. There are angels all around you, Archangels and Seraphims. 

You’re in the judgment hall, towering gold and iridescent structures surround the massive space. In the center there’s a collection of other angels, messengers, other guardian angels all watching you as the higher angels decide your fate. 

You hear doors open behind you, you turn to see two angels come out and stand behind you. 

“Judgment has been decided.” One of the Seraphims says, their voice echoing round the space. You’re holding your breath. All you can think about is Mary, her lifeless body under your hands. 

“Take the other wing.” One of the Seraphims says. You feel sick, tears start rolling down your face. You need your wing, you can’t protect Johnny if you lose one more thing that makes you who you are. 

“What about Johnny?” You ask, stepping forward. You hear mumbles rise up.

“You sealed his face by saving the woman.” The same Seraphim says. 

“No!” You shout lunging forward. Arms grab you pulling you back and forcing you to your knees. It hurts sending shooting pains up your legs. You hear the growl of a dog. 

“Please save him!” You plead. “Send me to hell, take my wing but please spare him!” You’re begging, sobbing at them. You know it’s not going to change anything you know it’s not going to make them think any different. You fight out the grip of the angels holding you and rush forward. 

“I love him! Simon loves him!” You’ll destroy them both!” You shout between sobs. The Seraphim turns back to look at you as your arms are pulled back again. To your surprise they fly down. You’ve never seen one so close to you before. They’re bigger than you ever thought they were, their 6 wings make them look even larger. 

“You’re an angel, you know nothing of love.” They spit, there’s emotion in their voice, anger, disgust. 

“Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.” You say to them. Their eyes widen and they float away from you. 

“Take the wing!” They shout. You smile up at them as you hear the patter of the hellhound's feet rushing towards you.

You let out a scream as its teeth sink into your flesh. 

…

Your body jolts up, you look around franticly. You’re in their house, their bed, you look out the windows, it's dark now. Your body is covered in a layer of sweat, your heart is pounding rapidly in your chest. It feels like you can’t catch your breath. 

You panic, pulling your wing round holding it in your arms. You let out a sigh of relief stroking down the feathers. You swing your legs out the bed throwing the duvet back and stand up letting your wing go and pressing it back against you. 

Now you need to see Johnny, you need to make sure he’s safe. You walk out the bedroom, you can see them on the sofa Johnny laid in Simon's arms. As soon as they hear you Johnny gets up to his feet coming over to you. 

You feel tears forming in your eyes as you rush over to him, throwing your arms and wing around him, pulling him against you as you sob into his chest. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. What’s wrong?” His hands rub your back. You pull your face off his chest sniffling. 

“I had one of those dreams, it felt so real.” You say looking up at him. His hands come up to your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks. He leans down to kiss you, it feels good, safe. He’s gentle, his hands brushing your cheeks as the tears escape. You break from the kiss as a sob rises in your throat. 

“Come sit, talk to us.” Johnny says, you nod, dropping your wing and following him to the sofa. You sit in between them. Simon’s hand lands on your back while Johnny rubs your thigh. 

“What happened today. With Mary?” Johnny asks. 

“I don’t know how to describe it.” You say hanging your head. 

“Can you bring people back from the dead?” Simon asks. 

“No, but if we’re quick enough, and have help, like today. We can essentially stop death.” You explain. 

“Help?” Johnny asks. 

“Mary’s guardian angel helped me. I wouldn’t have been able to save her on my own.” You say.

“How?” Simon asks. You look up at him.

“The energy angels have, we can channel it, use it to bless people or heal people. Normally just cuts and bruises, It’s only in very specific circumstances we can use it to- for example- restart a heart.” You let out a sigh, you still feel exhausted. “If we use too much energy it will kill us.” 

“I thought you were immortal.” Johnny says.

“Immortal not invincible.” You say. Johnny squeezes your thigh. It feels good calming, just like Simon’s hand rubbing your lower back. 

“You saved her life. She’s going to be okay.” Johnny says. You look up at him and smile. 

“What was your dream about?” Simon asks. 

“They were taking my other wing for saving her, like I saved the kid I was ordered to watch over.” You say leaving out the part about Johnny. It doesn’t work though. 

“You were mumbling in your sleep. You called out for Johnny.” Simon says. 

“In the car, you said you wouldn't let anything happen. Is something going to happen?” Johnny asks. You look between them. You feel a lump rise in your throat. Everything in your body is telling you not to tell them. 

Maybe telling them will ruin it. You remember what the Seraphim shouted at you in your dream ‘you sealed his fate.’ You open your mouth but you can’t think of an excuse. Whatever you were going to say is replaced with a sob and you throw your face in your hands. 

“I met Johnny’s guardian angel. They warned me you’re going to die.” His grip tightens on your leg, Simon’s hand stops rubbing your back. You look up at Johnny, there’s worry in his eyes. “They told me to save you. When we went to the town, another angel warned me that your fate isn’t sealed. They told me to protect you.” 

You don’t expect them to say anything, Simon lets out a sigh and his hand runs over your missing wing. It sends chills down your spine. 

“How-” You watch Johnny swallow. “How will it happen?”

“I don’t know. I can’t see the future, no one can.” You say. 

“So how do you know he’s going to die?” Simon asks, there’s an edge in his voice

“We can’t see the future. We’re told the information we need to know.” You say. 

“Did they say when it would happen?” Johnny asks. 

“They said a week.” You reply solemnly. His hand comes up to pull your chin to look at him. He smiles, tipping his head and kisses you. 

“Nothing bad is going to happen.” He says brushing his lips with your thumb. 

“But-” 

“No. You saved a life today, you’re a miracle worker. You said my fate is not sealed.” He looks over at Simon quickly then back to you. “That means I have a chance.” You nod. 

Simon’s arms come back around you pulling you against him. You stretch your wing out wrapping it over the back of the sofa and around Johnny who shuffles into it running his hand over the tip. 

He smiles at you and leans against it. He reaches down and pulls your legs up over his thighs. Simon's arm wraps over your chest. 

“It’s going to be okay.” Simon says as he presses a kiss on the back of your head. 

“We’ve faced worse odds and come out on the other side.” Johnny says. You believe them, at the same time you don’t know what might happen, Johnny rubs your leg. You can feel Simon’s heart beating against your back.

You don’t mean to fall asleep but sleep comes anyway. You feel Johnny stroking the feathers of your wing resting round his shoulder.

You’ll keep him safe, you’ll keep them both safe. 

…

“Johnny.” Simon whispers. He turns to see you sleeping in Simon's arms. “It’s going to be okay.” 

“I know.” He replies looking back at the TV. 

“Want me to call the cavalry?” Simon asks. 

“Yeah,” Johnny scoffs. “And tell them what? Hey Gaz, you’ll never believe this; an angel landed in our backyard and told me I’m going to die in a week.” 

“Johnny.” Simon sighs. “What does that book of yours say about fate?” 

“Everything is already written.” He says. 

“Sounds like bullshit.” Simon replies, tightening his grip around you.

“Up until a few days ago you didn’t believe in anything.” He reminds him, running his hand through your feathers. 

“I believe we make our own fates.” Simon says. 

“Let’s go to bed.” Johnny says turning the tv off.

“What about her?” Simon asks as Johnny stands, your wing goes limp and your snuggle further against Simon’s chest. 

“I can pull the bed out?” Johnny asks. Simon looks down at you brushing the hair out your eyes. 

“No, let’s bring her to bed with us.” Simon says. 

“You sure?” Johnny asks. Simon’s already moving, pulling you up in his arms. Johnny smiles, going to help him tucking your wing over Simon’s shoulder. He follows close behind, watching as Simon carries you through to the bedroom. Your chin rested on his shoulder, legs hanging round his waist. 

“Maybe she can talk to heaven or something?” Johnny says. 

“If she could, do you think they would listen?” Simon asks, walking round to Johnny’s side of the bed. Johnny doesn’t say anything, Simon lays you on your stomach, pulling the duvet over you. Simon sighs, coming over to Johnny and wrapping his arm round his waist. 

“I’ll lock up. You get into bed.” Simon says, pressing a kiss into his neck. 

“Don’t take too long.” Johnny replies. Simon smiles and leaves the room. Johnny changes scooting into bed next to you. You’re completely passed out again, your body is like a lead weight has he moves you a little giving Simon more room to lay next to him. 

Simon comes back, turning the hallway light off and closing the door to the bedroom behind him. Johnny watches as he pulls his clothes off in the dark then crawls into bed wrapping his arms around him and pulling him up on his chest. 

“Johnny.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Hell will freeze over before I let anything happen to you.” Simon says his hand coming up to stroke Johnny’s cheek. “God will have to come down here himself and get you.” 

“It’s going to be okay. We have our own guardian angel.” Johnny says, wrapping his arm round Simon’s waist pulling him against him. Simon hums leaning over to kiss him. Johnny’s fingers dig into his waist. Johnny hums in his mouth moving one of his hands round to the front of Simon’s boxers. 

Simon pulls away from the kiss. “We’re not alone Johnny.” Johnny hums wrapping his hand round Simon’s cock feeling it twitch in his hand. 

“You’re all pent up.” Johnny whispers his lips brushing Simon’s. Before Johnny can go any further you turn behind him. He feels your arm slip over him. He freezes looking up at Simon as your wing stretches, resetting over them both. 

He feels the heat coming off the wing, he moves his hand back over to Simon’s waist. 

“I love you Si. We’ll figure it out.” Johnny says, pulling himself against Simon’s chest. 

“Yeah we will. I love you too Johnny.” He replies, kissing his forehead. Johnny smiles hearing Simon’s heart beat against his ear and the warmth of your wing covers them all. He doesn’t feel fear, worry, he doesn’t feel anything. Just the warmth of your wing and his husband's arms.

Banners by plum98

[blueblossomcherry]

Sunrise with You

pairing: lee minho x reader

cw: oral (f receiving), dry humping, hair pulling, pet names (love, baby), fingering, after care (i’m not very good at writing it), unprotected sex (🚫)

genre: fluff, smut

wc: 1304

warning: this is my first fic in a long time and my first smut ever (i’m sorry if it’s bad🙏🏻)

mdni, 18+

It's been weeks since Minho has had a day off, but fortunately he's off today. The two of you had plans to stay in bed all day, cuddling and watching movies. You had wanted to sleep for as long as possible, however those plans were ruined when you were awoken by the light coming from your window.

You roll over and see Minho still sound asleep. Once you settle, you feel Minho's arms wrap around your waist. Snuggling into his warmth, you take a moment to admire your sleeping boyfriend. He’s the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen, with his soft hair and his cat-like features. You have the urge to brush his hair out of his eyes but the last thing you want to do is wake him up, knowing he needs his sleep. After a few moments, you feel him stirring in his slumber.

“Good morning, love,” He says, in his sexy morning voice.

“Good morning, did you sleep well?” You say, smiling and kissing his forehead.

“I always sleep well when you're with me,” He replies, smiling and winking. You laugh in response. He always has a way of putting a smile on your face, no matter the situation. That's your favorite thing about him. 

“I love you so much Minho,” You tell him, stars in your eyes and a blush on your cheeks. You still get shy saying that to him. Even after a whole year, you just can’t believe he’s yours.

“I love you more,” Minho says, a serious look in his eyes, as if he wants to make sure you know just how much he means it.

“Do you remember what today is?” You ask, excitedly. You knew he would remember, he’s remembered everything to do with you since the day you guys met.

“Do you really think I would forget something as important as our anniversary?” He asks, jokingly looking offended. You just smile at him, getting lost in his gorgeous eyes. He sits up, looking you in the eyes.

“Happy anniversary, love,” He whispers, his lips just inches away from yours. You close your eyes, waiting for him to kiss you. When you don’t feel his lips against yours, you open your eyes. Only to find him looking at you with a teasing smile on his face.

“Minho,” You whine, pouting your lips. His eyes immediately darken, watching your lips. Seeing this, you decide to get back at him for teasing you. You push him back on the bed, straddling his hips. He groans and you can feel him growing hard under you within seconds. You smile at just how easily he’s wrapped around your finger. Rolling your hips against his, you start kissing his neck. His clothed tip hits your clit perfectly, making your eyes roll back. 

“Come on baby, let me see that pretty face,” He tells you, grabbing your hair and forcing you to look at him. You moan out loud at the force, placing your hands on his chest for balance. You feel yourself getting close, hips stuttering. Minho, seemingly noticing, grabs your hips, forcefully stopping you from moving.

“No, please let me cum,” You plead, already sensing that you were in for a long morning. 

“Already begging?” He asks, laughing at how pathetic you sounded already. Taking your shirt off, he flipped you both over. His eyes dilated at the sight in front of him. Underneath him was exactly where he wanted you at all times. His rough hands playing with your perfect tits as you moaned softly. Feeling your arousal through your soaked panties on his thigh.

He lowered his mouth down to your nipple, licking and sucking. While he was abusing your nipple with his mouth, he brought his fingers up to the other, his thumb teasingly circling it. You couldn’t hold your moans in, making him smirk. Once he decided they were given enough attention, he moved down, kissing down your stomach until he got to your panties. 

“Look how wet you are for me,” He coos, rubbing your clit through your panties. 

“Can I taste you baby?” He asks, waiting for your consent before he goes any further. You nod, unable to speak from how desperate you were. 

“I need words, love,” Minho tells you, looking you in the eyes.

“Yes, please,” You breathe out, needing to be touched by him. He removes your panties, breath hitching as he sees them sticking to your wet cunt. You spread your legs further, giving him a good look at your glistening folds. He dives right in, flicking your clit with his tongue, as his fingers find your pulsating hole. Immediately, your hands find his hair, yanking and pulling every time he hits a sensitive spot. Eventually, he removes his fingers, earning a whine from you at the loss of contact. He lowers his tongue, teasingly lapping everywhere except where you need him most.

“Minho, stop teasing,” You whine, pulling his hair harder. He groans, his tongue finally entering you. With his tongue thrusting into you and his nose hitting your clit every so often, it was only a matter of time until you reached the edge. 

“Fuck, Minho I’m gonna cum,” You moan out, arching your back.

“Cum around my tongue baby,” He says against your cunt, the vibration pushing you over the edge.You came with a loud moan, Minho helping you ride out your high with his tongue. You felt exhausted but you knew he wasn’t done with you yet. 

“Can you get up, love? We don’t have to do anymore if you’re too tired,” He says, clearly concerned. You smile at how much he clearly cares for you. 

“I’m okay,” You tell him, brushing his hair back from his eyes. He offers his hand to help you up and you take it. Once you’re up, Minho starts kissing you. You kiss him back, your hands immediately back in his hair. 

“Do you mind if I record this, baby? I want to be able to reminisce on our 1st anniversary,” He says, smiling. You smile back, remembering him talking about wanting to record you guys one time.

“Please do,” You reply, winking at him. His smile widens and he gets off the bed to set his phone up. When he comes back, he positions himself behind you. 

“Are you ready?” He asks, lining his dick up with your entrance. Instead of answering him, you back yourself up, his cock slipping in. 

“Mmmm, fuck,” He moans out, surprised by your actions, gripping your hips to steady himself.

“Minho, please move,” You plead, clenching around his cock. He starts slamming into you, not giving you any time to adjust. He moves his hands from your hips to your ass, smacking and grabbing. The pain slowly turns into pleasure and before you know it, the only sounds in the room are pants, moans and skin slapping together. Minho grabs a fistful of your hair with one of his hands and pulls it back, forcing your head back. With his other hand, he finds your clit and starts circling it. You moan loudly, about to reach your high for the second time this morning. 

“I’m gonna cum, baby,” Minho moans out, his eyes rolled back. You moan in agreement, your eyes screwed shut from the pleasure he’s giving you. Once you both reach your high, you collapse from exhaustion. 

Minho shuts off the camera and gets a wet cloth to clean you up. Once he's done cleaning you up, he goes into your closet and gets you some new clothes. He helps you slip into them and helps you back into bed.

“I’m gonna go make us some food, love,” Minho tells you as he tucks you back into bed. Oh, how lucky you are to have a boyfriend like him.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

On Good Behaviour 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, threats, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: after release, you try to get on the right track but your new boss isn't much help. (ex-con reader)

Characters: Loki

Note: :)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Your sweat dampens the folder in your hands. You shift in the chair and wiggle one foot, a leg hooked over the other to keep you from jittering all over. You look up and down the hall. Men in suits and women in dresses and skirts strut by now and again, silent as they're preoccupied with their business. Just as you are with the task before you.

You don't remember being this uneasy before... well... you take a breath and steady yourself. You uncross your legs and set your feet flat. You stare at the gold plaque mounted on the door. You used the cheap Polaroid phone to confirm your arrival as noted in the email. You press the cell to the folder, gripping both tightly. You've faced worse than a man in a designer tie.

The door opens and you flinch. You stand up as a man emerges. You recognise him from the website where you found the job posting. You offer your hand. He ignores it and says your name.

"Mr. Laufeyson," you reply, checking the door plaque to be sure.

"Let's not waste any more time," he waves you inside.

You nod and step past him. You grit your teeth as you enter the office. It's small and the windows brighten the space from behind plain white curtains. There's not much to the small space; an empty desk, a short filing cabinet, and a chair. There's only one other door.

"In there, please," he directs with a point over your shoulder.

He shuts the door behind him with a snap. You wince again and keep going. You enter the dimly lit office. Only the vintage table lamp gives light to the space next to a fancy monitor, unlike the boxy ones you're used to.

He sidles past you as you stop short. He goes around the desk and drags his hand down his tie. He sits and gestures to the chair across from him. You admire the sleek pen in its gold holder and paper weight in layered jade.

"Um, oh," you come forward in your rubber-soled flats, "I have a copy of my resume. And cover letter."

"I've both," he assures as he wiggles his mouse beneath his long fingers. It's one of those smooth white ones where you can't even see the buttons.

You watch him as you wet your dry lips. He's a tall man, slender but not gawkily so, and his dark hair is long but well-kempt, tucked back behind his ears. His cheekbones are sharp, his nose aquiline, and his eyes are a bold green, giving colour to an otherwise pale face.

"I've got quite a bit here," he intones as you hug the fold, the phone slipping into your lap. "Hm, rather much..." his eyes scan the screen. He's not looked at you since he came out to get you but you don't even know that he did then.

"Sir," your eyes drift guiltily. You already know what's going on.

"Armed robbery," he slithers. "Five years."

You nod and swallow, "sir, I-- that was-- I'm out now."

"Hm, so you are," he lifts his chin.

"Mr. Laufeyson, I spent my time in prison learning. I took several courses in administration, including personal and corporate accounting--"

"Yes, I'm certain you are eager to see the numbers," he turns and his eyes meet yours. His accusation stings.

"I'm... not into that anymore. I made a mistake--"

"With a gun. And fellow mistake-makers," he insists.

You deflate and blink as your eyes fall to the front of his desk. You swallow. "You're right, sir. It was more than a mistake. A crime. Which I served time for. I'm so thankful no one was hurt but I am aware that it was dangerous and unfair to everyone involved."

"Well, you certainly are eloquent," he muses.

You scrunch up your mouth. If you were the girl that was sentenced in cuffs, you'd tell him to shove it up his ass. That girl is gone, that fire extinguished. The outside is so different now. It's like another prison where you can't do anything without permission.

"Thank you, I guess." You stand. "Thank you for your time."

"I didn't say we were done."

"You didn't, sir, but, respectfully, I don't have the time to waste. I have to report to my parole officer and find some more interviews." You sigh, "I need a job and if this isn't it, then I'd hate to waste both our time."

He snickers, "and when did I say you didn't get it?"

You lift your eyes, "you didn't..."

"Please, sit. I suppose you did come all the way here. You are... behaving. So, let us proceed at least with a few real questions," he sits back, and elbow on the armrest as he twiddles his fingers. "Not to twist the knife but you mentioned parole. Would that interfere with fulltime hours?"

"No, sir, I only need to submit the schedule," you say as you sit back down.

"Mm, sir. You took some etiquette class in prison?" He wonders.

"Not formally," you reply.

He snorts, "right then. I did review your credentials. You'll be providing mostly admin support, not much accountancy, you see that is my role. I am certified in the matter and my clients are rather important. I can't have a convict at the bank roll."

"Yes, sir, I understand."

"Mm, well," he leans his chin in his hand and taps his fingers thoughtfully. He sits up and rolls closer to the desk. "I rather abhor these interviews. I suppose we all deserve second chances."

Your lashes flick in surprise, "are you offering my the job?"

"I am," he affirms.

You push your shoulders up and can't help but smile, "I promise, you won't regret this."

"Yes, I hope not," he drones. "Go on, I've work to do. Not least of all, drawing up your employment contract."

"Sir," you stand and juggle the folder and your phone. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. There is a probationary period. I expect you on time and professional." He sniffs, "oh, and dressed to office standards."

You look down at your borrowed clothes. The blouse is plain beige, the pants heavy wool, and the shoes a bit clunky. You thought it was okay.

"My clients expect a certain level of class."

"Yes, sir."

"I will provide an advance for this purpose. I understand you might not be in a position to afford it as yet," he looks back to his screen, "it will be in the contract."

He doesn't glance at you again. You take that as a dismissal. You thank him once more and spin on your heel.

As you get to the next office, you exhale in relief. You don't know what Dina would say if you came back with another rejection. If you don't meet parole terms, you could end up right back where you started.

💼

The email comes and dispels the last of your disbelief. It's real. You have a job. It might not be the best. The work and the pay isn't what worries you, rather your boss. He reminds you of a warden himself. You were hoping to be done with those.

Dina congratulates you but not without a stern warning. Don't mess it up. She looks over the contract with you, commenting positively on the advance. She suggests that some employers are sympathetic to people like you.

You take the money and head out to buy work clothes. You're uncertain at first. You don't think the thrift shop or Walmart fits the bill. He sure wrote a big check. After cashing the check, you bring up google maps and wait at the bus stop.

As another person comes to the shelter, you move away from it. Now that you're out, you get claustrophobic a lot easier, yet dizzy at how open everything is. You're still getting used to this all. Especially the idea that you're only responsible for yourself.

You hop on when the bus rolls up and transfer to the next. You get off and find yourself before a boutique. A woman struts out and you shy away. You see your reflection in the window and sigh.

Mr. Laufeyson didn't hire you to look like those women. You just have to get some nice clothes. You enter and give a sheepish smile as a woman perks up behind the counter. Reticence shades her expression, then disapproval. She stomps out in her heels.

"Is there something I can help you with?"

"Uh, sure, yeah," you look down at your feet and back at her again. Prison was easy compared to this. You could steel yourself against the guards, even Millie when she tried to steal your brownie, but this makes you feel small. "I just got a job and I need some clothes. I could really use some help."

Honesty seems the best tactic. It was the lack of which got you into all of this. That and your own bad decisions. Your selfishness. If that gun hadn't jammed.

"Work? Well, that's nice. A new job," her eyes flutter, her voice brittle. "I suppose we have what you're looking for. What kind of work?"

"Admin," you answer and clutch the strap of your satchel. "It's uptown, so..."

"Ah, I see. Executive Assistant?"

"Not quite," you answer. "I'm not... I'm not really... into fashion."

For five years, you wore a uniform. All these wraps and frills and slits are confusing. She guides you toward the wall where a rack of blouses hangs in white to just slightly beige. You look at her, she looks good, her clothes are stylish, you'll have to trust her on this.

"So, what kind of admin?" She asks.

"Accounting," you answer.

"Mm, stuffy," she chuckles. "Well, let's see. White. Always need a white blouse. A black pair of pants, and a skirt too, then you can build from there." She pauses and glances at you, "we don't have sales in here."

You don't take it personally.

"I have money," you assure her and take out your debit card.

"Hm, well, these are very expensive pieces. You might find a department store at the mall?"

"I came all the way here," you counter, bristling. If this was inside, you wouldn't back down, so you won't now. "I need clothes, you sell clothes."

"Alright, sure, hun," she grins sardonically

"Thanks, hun," you shoot back.

She turns and selects a grey satin skirt. It's pretty enough. You cross your arms as annoyance ticks in your cheek. You try to remember the exercises they gave you in the release program. Count and breathe. It's not worth it to get mad.

"If you see anything, feel free to let me know," she trills.

"Is there anything, I don't know, some patterns?" You ask.

"Ah, I didn't see you in polka dots," she intones.

"This is nice," you touch the brown plaid blazer.

"Oh, very... chic," she comments dryly. You're not liking her attitude. Heat gathers under your collar as you trail her. "Are we trying these on?"

"You don't think I'll pop the tags off and run for it?" You snip. "I'll just pay."

"Exchange only."

"Whatever," you huff.

You go to the counter and tap your card on top. She comes up behind it and gently folds each piece. Three blouses, the blazer, two skirts, and two pants. It will do. 

"I hate to ask anything else of you but do you know where I can get a nice bag?" You take the debit machine and insert your card.

"Oh, sure, there's the shop across the street. Make sure to leave your bags at the front."

You shake your head and put away your card. You accept the two shopping bags and receipt. You thank her despite her attitude. If she only knew what that would get her inside. You almost want to give it to her.

Calm. Be calm. You're not her anymore. You're changing. Beating up a shop clerk won't help you keep this job.

You leave and cross the street. You get much the same reaction as before. You pick out a brown leather bag with a gold emblem and two pairs of heels you think you can handle. You leave, defeated but not without your prize.

You walk back to the stop and sit on the bench. You stare off into traffic as you wait. You'll have to get used to it. You sort of are. Lots of inmates stared you down and you learned not to show any fear. Not if you wanted to survive.

[captainkirkk]

✩ MONTHLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

The fics I’ve read and enjoyed for the month of February. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

DC (Batman)

Light A Match, Pull The Pin (You Are Not Who You've Been) by WakingNightmares

Part 2 of I've Given Every Piece Of Me (And I'm Breathing)

“Games,” Dick says softly. “He… he likes to play games. With your… with your head. He won’t…” He shakes his head a bit, some of the distance in his eyes fading. “He won’t come at you head on. That’s not… That’s not what he does. He wants you scared, first. Helpless. Knowing there’s nothing you can do. He… He calls it… softening up the target. So when he… when he actually shows up… they’re so afraid they… they panic.”

“And if he does…” Jason swallows. “If he does, you… there’s no way out. He won’t… If you fail, he doesn’t care. What you do. It doesn’t matter. He won’t stop no matter how much you…” Jason blinks a few times, and Roy’s fairly positive he’s trying to blink back memories. “He’s going to do what he’s going to do. You can’t stop him. He doesn’t care.”

Roy takes a deep breath. Let’s it out slowly, so it’s only an exhale, and not a sigh, because Jason looks haunted, and Dick looks blank.

Set immediately after Screaming In The Dark.

Captive Prince

Blood, Bones, Voice, Ghost by sunsmasher

Damen’s grip on his arm is painful. His face in Laurent’s is ashy and sheened with sweat.

He says, “There was something in my drink.”

(Damen is poisoned, Jokaste is framed, Laurent must find them an heir. He's put it off for so long already.)

Miraculous Ladybug

the art of living lies and a fine mingling of letting go by blueh

“Ms. Bustier,” Marinette says a little desperately. “I have been fighting akumas nonstop for the past twenty four hours, I’m running on seven expresso shots right now and I can barely read the words on the board. Can we please reschedule the test?”

Adrien doesn’t look up from where his head is buried in his arms but he waves a hand and says, “Agreed.”

Or: the world knows their identities, but life goes on.

Sewing Needles and Cat Paws by SailorChibi

Later, they agree that Hawkmoth did it on purpose.

But in the moment, Chat Noir can’t think that far. His head is pounding, possibly from a concussion, and he has just enough time to look into Ladybug’s scared blue eyes before the flash of light overtakes them both. Then, suddenly, he’s looking at Marinette Dupain-Cheng and the journalists around them are screaming. Their names, including Adrien’s real one, are so loud that it’s disorienting.

The Growing Pains Of Child Soldiers by BloodWolf13 (+ podfic)

What do the citizens of Paris do, when they realize that their heroes are literally growing up before their eyes? They freak the fuck out.

Or everybody realizes that the heroes of Paris are young teenagers and are a little (extremely) worried about children fighting a terrorist.

Yesterday was plain awful by zipadeea

"WHERE IS LADYBUG? The headlines scream Sunday morning, and Caline Bustier feels her stomach just drop."

After a terrifying akuma attack, Paris and its heroes are left reeling. All most people want is to know what has happened to their beloved Ladybug and Chat Noir.

Marinette and Adrien just want to be okay.

Alternatively: Plagg has a whole lot of feelings, Marinette lies and says she's fine every other paragraph, and Adrien cries more in two days than he has in two years.

Miraculous Ladybug x DC

Bad news, Paris by BlueTee

Part 1 of Paris vs Gotham

Tim: @notTHATtim Are you parisians all right??? #onlyinParis Nathaniel Kurtzberg: @nathanielkart Replying to @notTHATtim hahaha no.

In which Nathaniel only wanted to pass some information but shenanigans issues and he ends up starting a twitter war.

Severance

Lay Me Back Down by EightMinutesToSunrise

Mark S. escapes Lumon and finds himself alone in an unfamiliar house. Or, not quite alone--his outie's with him.

Click. Click. by EightMinutesToSunrise

A few days after the destruction of Lumon and the innies' escape, Mark S. requests that his outie take their consciousness, and not swap back for anything. Not even (especially not) for their rebellion's firecracker leader, Helly Riggs.

From Lightswitch AU--a separate but related continuation of my fic "Lay Me Back Down."

As the Elevator Dings by Sdove

Breaking company rules is a form of self care. OR a story about the revolutionary act that is choosing to love yourself. OR the aftermath of the party and Mark S.'s role in it-- part character study, part plot, all angst, baby!

A Light In The Storm by Alooxis

Ever since the court order requiring that Lumon employees be provided with co-neural switches - a modified version of the overtime contingency device - Mark's world had become so much larger than he’d ever imagined.

Unfortunately, with a world of new experiences comes a world of new fears.

I.e.: Mark S. experiences his first thunderstorm. It does not go well. Thankfully, Devon is there to help.

[ripinejschu]

Chained Cheater, Chastised - KY10

pairing: kenan yildiz x reader

synopsis: the day before the Turkiye's quarterfinal match in the Euros, Kenan gets involved in a cheating scandal he swears never happened, but reader doesn't want to hear him out and causes Kenan to lose focus. But is he really telling the truth? Pictures don't lie...

wc: 4.2k

cw: tears, cheating allegations, silent treatment

an: first fic on this account!! it feels like it's been forever since I last posted on here; this was written in july btw!! i love writing for kenan

Kenan’s hands shake as he sees the horrifying images on his phone. Weston had sent him a few posts and links about an alleged cheating scandal regarding Kenan, but he had firmly denied it.

Until Weston sent the doctored photos of him all cozied up with some blonde chick, face smirking at the prize he’d gotten for that night. The ones he looks at now, damning and all too natural looking.

Shit, shit, shit–shit runs through his mind.

Who could have done this? Some jealous bitch of course, bitter over his relationship with his beloved girlfriend, who would no doubt see this and feel her heart break.

Somehow, the German media had found out and already written a couple of articles, with the pictures and gossip accounts credited. Not very viable, but once this spreads no one would care beyond what seems so obvious. The photos are right there, picture perfect, but Kenan’s words will never make the public believe the truth, not with these.

He feels trapped. Should he call Weston, plead his case? It would be practice for others, but he knows it’s a futile attempt. Should he call his girlfriend, let her know the rumours and photos aren’t true? By now, they are circulating even on TikTok as he looks at the links, afraid to open them up and see the comment sections.

He’s already going through enough because of everyone’s harsh criticisms of his performances in the Euros lately; he doesn’t need to see what else people are saying.

Career-ruining. That’s what this is. Kenan is already aware of the Italian influence of cheaters, especially with the rumours whispered in the Juventus locker rooms about the Italian beauty Calafiori being a serial cheater  –which Fede had wanted no part of– and now…now it gave the Turkish critics new material to hate on his foreign influence. Already too German, accent thick in his broken Turkish, and now living a lifestyle like the Italians? He doesn’t want to think about it.

Except, the alternative is even worse. What would you say? Sweet and fierce, you’d stood by him when he struggled in games, when he cried in your arms because he never seemed Turkish enough, constantly stumbling over his words and syllables.

But now…shit. He needs to call you immediately and try to clear the air with you before you can see any part of this brewing storm of lies. His hands shake as he finds your contact in his Favourites folder, hesitating before he presses down on your name. Your smiling face lights up his screen, a photo of you hugging Ramos, whose tongue lolled happily.

The phone rings, and rings, and rings, before it goes to voicemail. No worries, right? Maybe you’re in the bathroom or you have your phone on silent. He waits a minute, staring at the screen before trying again.

It immediately goes to voicemail. Oh no.

Kenan knows you know, but you need to hear his defense straight from him. He texts you, mumbling a prayer that the text will go through and you’ll answer before you decide to block him.

He types, and erases the words. Types again, and erases the words again. Nothing seems good enough; it all sounds like a pathetic plea of a man caught red-handed, but you need to hear it.

He settles on the following: “Y/N listen to me please. There are a couple of photos on the internet of me and a blonde girl cuddling, but I promise wallahi it’s not real. I’ve never looked at any other girl with desire during our whole relationship I swear. This is fake, please believe me. Call me when you can, so we can figure this out together. Please.”

It’s not the best but still, it will do. His hands begin to shake again as he presses send, waiting, waiting…

Delivered. You hadn’t blocked him. You’re not even on Do Not Disturb, so you did get the notification. Kenan puts his phone on Personal to block every notification but yours and waits for you to respond, but as the minutes tick by and he begins to pace, phone silent in his pocket, he doesn't hear the sound of a text come through.

Until now. He whips out his phone only to see a barrage of texts in Personal, with Arda’s pushed through, hence the text sound. Dusan, Weston, Timothy. But not you.

He reads through the messages, confusion and anger mixing together. Arda is asking what is going on, Dusan is demanding if it’s true and why he would do such a thing, his texts growing angrier at Kenan’s stupidity, Timothy’s calling him a “fucking idiot” and Weston is wondering why Kenan isn’t responding to his texts and can he please let him know what’s going on.

Hakan’s text comes in at the top: “Call me IMMEDIATELY” is written on the notification, and Kenan gulps. Part of him wants to ignore him, partially in case you call him, but with his career on the line at such a young age, he knows he needs to talk to his captain, especially with tomorrow’s quarterfinal match looming over him.

He again goes to the phone app, looking longingly at yours that still has no response, and calls Hakan.

He picks up on the first ring.

“Kenan, what the fuck is going on? Please tell you you’re not so stupid as to get involved in a  scandal? And now, with our reputation on the line, yours especially?” Kenan winces, but Hakan continues. “You know there’s a game tomorrow, right? We have to focus on the wondrous Holland, not this relationship drama, a whole scandal, Kenan. What were you thinking?”

Kenan gulps again as he feels tears begin to sting his eyes. He needs Hakan to believe him, but he struggles to get his words out.

“Hakan, I promise it’s not what you think. They’re n-not real, I would n-never do that. P-please, you have to believe me!”

Kenan doesn’t realize he’s crying until Hakan’s tone softens, comforting the young man. “Kenanım, it’s okay, we’ll get through this. You’re a young man, we can easily work this out. Don’t cry. You’ll be okay, I promise.”

Kenan lets out a loud sob, unable to keep quiet anymore. He should feel humiliated, crying on the phone with his mature, older captain, but he can’t keep it in anymore.

You ignoring his calls and messages, the anger from his teammates, his career threatening to fall apart, it’s too much for the teen. He collapses on the floor of his hotel room sobbing, phone falling from his hand as he cries his eyes out.

At some point, he feels two warm bodies encapsulate him from both sides, arms wrapping around his crumpled form, and he cries into someone’s chest with their heart beating steadily.

“Sh-she’s not answering me. I t-tried telling her i-it’s not real b-but she won’t a-answer m-me,” he cries between sobs, unsure of what language he’s speaking because either way, it comes out broken.

He feels an arm rubbing his back, a voice soothingly shushing him, and an embrace holding him as his tears finally subside enough not to blind him. He cautiously lifts his head to look up into Hakan’s eyes.

His captain rocks him slightly as he looks down at the boy’s tear-stricken face before tucking a stray lock of hair behind Kenan’s ear. He lets out another sob, remembering how you would do the same, amusement sparking up your eyes as he would giggle like a princess.

“I’ve got you, Kenan. I told you it’ll be okay and we’ll work this out, I mean it.” Kenan takes a moment to catch his breath, before trying to sit up a little more, back against the wall.

He startles when he sees Kerem sitting on the floor in front of him and Bariş sitting on the bed, and when he turns his head he sees Arda hugging him from behind.

He carefully reaches up and holds his hand, and Arda squeezes it in response. Kenan takes a deep breath, looking back at Hakan. “Weston told me a-about this. He sent those photos of me and that girl but it’s not real I swear. I don't even go to clubs or drink or anything, I’m Muslim for god sake!”

He feels Arda rest his head on his upper back and continues. “I tried telling y/n they aren’t real, th-that someone must’ve faked them but she isn’t answering me. I tried c-calling her but she didn't pick up my calls. I don't know what else to do.”

Arda glances at the men across the room before looking pointedly at Kerem’s phone, who nods in acknowledgement. “We’ll try to help, okay Kenan? Try to focus on tomorrow’s match in training tonight, we need you and you’ll also feel better.”

Arda wishes Kenan’s best friend Can Uzun is here to comfort Kenan and figure out what to do,  but he decides to try and take action as Kenan’s elder. They all know this is going to mess with Kenan’s head so bad it could cost them the match tomorrow, where he would be looking for you in the stands instead of at the ball.

Hakan takes Kenan early to training to let himself get more comfortable without so many eyes on him at once. Kenan is grateful for this as he doesn’t want to face everyone who must think he’s some disgusting playboy or some saboteur against the team.

He keeps his head down when the others join in, immersing himself in field drills and partnerwork with Arda, who he’s incredibly grateful for. The older boy doesn’t judge, and his quietness is a slight comfort in the raging mess of his head.

Arda and a few other teammates had tried reaching out to you on Kenan’s behalf, but their efforts were in vain. Kenan tries to be grateful for this, but it only breaks his heart more despite the small sense of family in the team he still struggles to fit in to.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

You look at the dozen or so texts from Kenan’s teammates, trying to persuade you to just call Kenan and sort everything out. It takes everything in you not to hurl your phone at the wall and scream curses upon Kenan’s name.

How dare he do this to you, go out to some dirty club and get cozy with some homewrecking blonde bitch? The look on her face, oh, she knew what she was doing with this taken man, and the taken man, Kenan, oh!

Oh, the things you wanted to scream at him, to hurl at his stupid face with that infuriating smirk he always wore, including the damned photos.

Lord, may he be damned forever. Curse his hands and more importantly, his feet.

The second you had seen those photos, sent by your friend in the form of a post on one of those football gossip accounts, your phone had fallen out of your hand, too shocked to react. Thankfully, the hotel carpet had saved it from cracking, which might have been the final nail in this terrible day.

You had not known what to do for a few minutes, only staring down at the photo looking up at you before your emotions kicked in and you screamed, sinking onto the floor as tears streamed down your face.

Kenan, who is supposed to be your Kenan, isn’t truly in love with you. Sure, he whispers promises and kisses and everything to make you fall for him so blisteringly, but it seemed like all those kisses had now left painful blisters everywhere, and you needed to escape your own skin.

You weren’t sure how long you’d stayed there until then your phone rang, snapping you out of your bubble of tears. You’d seen Kenan’s bright smile flashing across the screen, and had let it ring to voicemail. His name had flashed again and this time you’d immediately declined the call.

It felt like you couldn’t breathe as finally, a text came through, pleading his innocence and begging for you to call him. You’d ignored it.

Instead, you had called your friend who was also staying in Germany for the Euros, albeit to support Spain, and prayed she would pick up. She did, immediately asking you what was going on, and later she’d told you you’d simply screamed into the phone before breaking down in sobs, and she’d understood immediately.

She had picked you up from your hotel, knocking incessantly at your door trying to prove it wasn’t Kenan until you’d opened it, and she had immediately got to work. She’d dried your tears, helped you wash your face before applying some moisturizer and light eyeliner to look somewhat put-together, and brewed you some tea, not Turkish of course.

Then she’d taken you out to a cafe nearby, making you leave your phone behind at the hotel to give yourself some space between you and the vicious Internet. She’d bought matcha lattes and pastries for the two of you, telling you not to worry about paying her back.

After a walk in the warm, fresh air of the late afternoon, sipping on matcha and her trash-talking Kenan, you’d both returned to the hotel, spirits lifted just a little, now sitting on the bed looking at the several missed calls and texts from Kenan’s teammates.

They’re full of pleading, telling you the photos aren't real and someone incredibly jealous of your relationship must have photoshopped them and spread them around, and that Kenan needs you. Kerem, however, made the mistake of saying that Kenan’s distractions would be a liability in tomorrow’s vital game, but you cannot have cared less.

Arda’s texts, however, are very sweet, and honestly almost convince you to reach out to Kenan. Arda knows how much you and Kenan mean to each other, and that you two should try talking to each other, even it nothing good comes out fo it because how much worse can it get? A change made would mean reconciling…or breaking up with him.

Your friend scoffs, however. “It’s their job to defend their teammate, do you really think they’re being genuine? I’m all for talking it out with Kenan but hello, pictures don’t lie.”

She’s right, you’d scrutinized every part of the photo and it looked so, so real. There were no weird edges or miscolouration, and the expressions…

You grab the remote and turn on the TV, flicking through channels. Most are in German, except for some boat show in Italian.

You settle on a German version of HGTV, watching the people struggle to find a home within their budget, and take a cold slice of pizza.

A few episodes in, you turn to your friend. “I’ve thought about it, and I’ve made my decision. I’m not going to the game tomorrow. I don’t care how much it ‘affects Kenan’s mind’”–you put this in air quotes–“but he should’ve thought about affecting my own mind before he did that.”

The snarl surprised the both of you, but you don't regret the viciousness of your implication.

You don’t care if Kenan will have a bad game or if that meant Türkiye would lose tomorrow, he should’ve cared about you as much as you cared about him.

Your friend bites her lip, looking a little cautious. “I…I think you should talk to him and see what he has to say. Clearly, that text didn’t say everything. There’s a reason you love him–”

“Loved him,” you interrupt. “Stop it, I already told you I’m not interested. If he wants to be a playboy, fine, I’m not going to stop him.”

Your friend nods quietly, turning back to the TV and finishing the pizza before you both call it a night and she heads out.

��� ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

You wake up early for the hotel breakfast, not wanting to miss out on a free meal due to your depression.

After a quick German breakfast of fresh fruits, a salmon and cream cheese bagel, bread rolls and a boiled egg, you head back to your room to figure out what to do for the day.

Of course, your initial plan was to attend the Türkiye football match, but that was not happening anymore.

After deciding on an enticing art museum, you get ready, picking out a cute outfit and applying your makeup with some matching eyeshadow.

Then you realize, you didn’t check your notifications after being on DND all night. You open it up to see dozens more texts and missed calls from Kenan, his teammates, your friends and even your own parents, all asking where you are and what is going on and can you please just talk to Kenan? His texts are the worst, growing even more desperate and begging for just one chance at a conversation.

You ignore everyone, assuming they’ll understand why you’re blowing them off. You focus back at the main task at hand, preparing for the day.

You pick up your purse, not having used it for the past couple of days and rummage through it to find a certain lip oil.

That is, until the sound of metal clinks loudly, louder than it should. You think it’s the bag chain but it shouldn’t have been that loud, so you dump your purse onto your bed and–

–what is that…another chain? You pick up the silver chain and realize whose it is. You had practically torn it off Kenan in a heated make-out session a few days ago and had forgotten to return it to him afterwards.

The sweet memory and physical item fills you with a sudden rage and you almost hurl it at the window until–wait a second.

Wait. A. Second.

You're hit with a strange sensation as if there’s something important you need to figure out. The chain…Kenan didn’t bring another chain to Berlin, just the one he usually wears. You were there when he’d packed his things, and he’d wanted to keep it minimal so he wouldn’t lose things, not when his mind was completely elsewhere.

But the chain…you have his only chain. And something about it doesn’t make sense.

Pushing your fear aside, you quickly find the damned photos. It’s like the picture is playing a game with you. You zoom in to Kenan’s chest–any other time you’d blush and hope he wasn’t in the room watching you blush– when you see it. A little sparkle of light reflected off a silver chain.

Just enough of the chain is exposed through his unbuttoned shirt to compare it. You hold the one in your hand up to the phone, really looking and…yes! They are the same!

There is one more thing, however, the timeline. Could this photo have been taken before you ripped Kenan’s chain off?

It isn’t hard to establish it. The girl’s phone screen was lit up to 12:13 am, and above it, you could barely make the words out: Thursday, July 4.

This was “taken” after your make-out session. Unless Kenan magically grew an identical chain, the Kenan in the photo could not have been him.

The relief hits you like a crowd surging towards the fields after a Juventus win, almost drowning you of air and senses and yet you stay on your feet, breathing hard.

Oh god. Kenan really was trying to tell you the truth, that he hadn’t cheated on you at all. You look at the clock on the bedside table; you have enough time.

You change into your Türkiye jersey, making sure the “YILDIZ” is visible on the back, before changing your eyeshadow and heading out.

With the chain of course.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

An utter horror. You still hadn’t uttered a word of response to Kenan, who is freaking out still. He’d slept horrifically, only catching a few hours when Hakan came at Arda’s insistence to force-feed him some melatonin pills, and the lack of sleep is now quite visible on Kenan’s face.

Eyebags dark, cheekbones bare, Kenan looks like a complete mess. Hakan had tried calming him down, along with Arda and a few others, but nothing was getting through to Kenan.

Even now, Arda tries to get his attention on the field in the pre-match training by throwing a football at Kenan’s head, but it just bounces off him with no reaction.

Shit.

Before long, kickoff is about to start and everyone’s heart beat nervously. Would they be able to hold off the Netherlands?

Would Kenan be able to focus?

Kenan keeps glancing at the stands, trying to find you in the crowds, but he can’t.

The little hope he had left fizzles out, and suddenly he feels so very dead inside. Too much to focus on the ball, which flies past him when he should’ve intercepted it.

The game begins great for Türkiye, with the leading goal giving them hope, but Kenan’s performance sticks out like a sore thumb. He winces when they go inside and gets a few glares from his teammates, but Arda sticks with him as he tries to make himself look small in the corner as Montella gives them an update on their game plan.

When he heads back out, embracing a few teammates, something catches his eye. It’s a flash of pink, standing out from the crowd of red.

There is no way.

You’re in the stands, a few rows from the front, wearing his jersey over a pink blouse. He stops in his tracks in shock as he sees you after such a long bout of silence.

Kenan thought you hated him, yet here you are in full support of him and his country. Arda comes up next to him in confusion until he catches the bright pink sticking out.

“I don’t think she’s here for anyone else. You want to make it up to her by playing well?” Kenan looks at him in amusement, a sparkle returning to his eyes.

Kenan’s performance improves almost immediately. He’s more active on the ball, creating better chances, intercepting passes, and overall impacting the Turkish side for the better.

It isn’t enough though, when his shot is easily saved by the Dutch goalkeeper and the game ends in a 1-2 loss.

Tired, sweaty, and heartbroken, the Turkish dream of success comes crashing down around them. The Red Sea of fans watch in silent disappointment, as the players droop down, disappointed in their performance, knowing they could’ve done better.

Yet, the pride of going this far, behind their fans a shared sense of culture and joy prevails, which will soon be evident after the immediate post-match depression.

And for Kenan, well, he turns towards the shining source of hope he’d been praying would show up.

You look at him as he gazes up at you from the bench area, exhausted, disappointed and yet, relieved. Relieved that you came to his match, despite the silent treatment.

And you’re there for him when he comes out of the locker rooms and immediately wraps his arms around you. He hesitates at the very last moment but you surge forward, squeezing him tight and he squeezes even harder, afraid to let you go.

After what seems like forever, you tilt your head up to make eye contact with Kenan. “I wasn’t going to come, you know. I was so mad at you. I thought after all this time, you’d decided to just throw it all away.”

Kenan looks at you with worry, but you continue. “But there’s a reason I came. I decided to go out today and obviously, I wanted to dress up. You know I love putting on my lip oils.”

You reach into your purse and pull out Kenan’s chain, and he startles. “I found this in my purse. That’s when I kind of realized something, but I had to double-check. Kenan, you were wearing this in those photos. But that’s impossible because I have it. Baby, I know they’re fake and I know it’s not your fault.”

Kenan doesn’t mean to cry. He stares at you first, trying to comprehend your words, until he feels you wipe away the tears that started falling. He pulls you close and buries his face in the crook of your neck as he sobs, and you hold him, rubbing his back steadily.

“I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to happen, you d-didn’t deserve this,” he manages between sobs, and you shush him quietly. “I know baby, I know. I believe you, I should’ve talked to you sooner. I should’ve believed you. I can still trust you, right?” You feel him nod, “Yeah, please.”

You two stand there a little longer before Kenan lifts his head and smiles, relief flooding every crevice of his face at having you and your trust back. You return it before he takes your hand and leads you out into the setting sun, the rays of daylight washing over you like a golden love.

dividers by: @cafekitsune

[aphroditeinthesea]

ok ur jason smut is SO GOOD- but could u mayhe write some where hes more shy? Like this man is a gentleman- and he’s got like no experience- idk smth about shy jason just- askfneje

“ follow the sparks, i’ll drive ”

jason grace x fem!reader ⚡️

i read this and my brain just said “sub jason sub jason sub jason” so

⚠️ unprotected p in v

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

you hastily tugged his shirt off of his skin, throwing it who knows where. your lips traveled from his own to his neck to his chest, lingering kisses all over his skin. there was nothing that could have filled you with more joy than his reactions.

every time you sucked on certain spots, the gasps he let out were heavenly. in fact, you were sure that there was no greater reward than seeing your sweet boy, who spent most of his time working and expected to be a leader, just completely submit.

when you finally lowered yourself completely down from where you straddled him, you were met with something.

he gasped, quickly opening his eyes, “sorry, oh my gods, sorry.”

“oh my gods, it’s okay, baby,” you responded, sitting up. you softly dragged your nails across his abs, “it’s a good actually,” you added, grinding your hips down.

his breath hitched, “yeah?”

you danced your fingertips down his torso to the button of his jeans, “yeah.”

you undid the button, following by unzipping the pants as well.

he suddenly gripped your thighs, sitting up, “let me take this off, please?” he asked, moving his hands to your tank top.

“yes, you may,” you answered, stretching your arms up to let him easily slide the pink tank top off of you. as he took the fabric in his hands, he simply looked at you as if you were a piece of art.

“here,” you spoke as you hovered up, you unbuttoned your own shorts, sliding them down with your panties following. you took your shirt out of his hands, then threw it on the ground, along with the rest of the discarded clothes, “okay, baby, lay back down.”

“are you sure?”

“yes, now just lay down,” you gently pushed against his chest to get him to move back. when he complied, you began to grab the waist band of his boxers, moving them downwards. his hard dick sprung out in front of you, already leaking with precum.

you ran your hand up and down, watching his face for his reactions. he groaned softly, his hips bucking up into your hand.

you just smiled before leaning up on your knees, slowly lowering yourself onto him. his noises were delicious. the soft gasps and whines as you took in all of him.

you were holding your breath, hesitating to move while he twitched inside of your walls.

“does that feel good, baby?” you questioned, moving up slightly.

“Yeah, so good,” he muttered. when you fully sat back up and quickly bounced back down, you let out a moan that perfectly intertwined with his.

as you gained a rhythm, the two of you made a harmony of sounds that were practically pornographic. you continued on, speeding up earning a “fuck,” from him as he whimpered.

“you feel so good, jase,” you moaned. he opened his eyes, only to be caught by the view of your bouncing tits.

with every bounce on his dick, your chest moved in sync, “oh, gods,” he groaned, “i’m close, baby.”

“can you hold on?” you deeply breathed out, “for me?”

“of course,” he mumbled. he gripped onto the blanket, holding onto every muscle in his body to make sure he didn’t release. if there was anything this boy could do, it was follow orders.

although, your high pitched moans didn’t help his case. you reached forward to latch yourself by holding him by his ribs.

he could tell you were aiming for your high by the way you angled yourself and let out louder moans of his name.

“cum,” you spoke. and of course, he did. you rode out your high, feeling his soft cum fill you up.

finally, you sighed, pulling yourself off of him. you laid down beside him to rest your head on his shoulder. Instinctively, he wrapped his arm around you to pull you as close to him as possible.

“are you okay?” he whispered against you hair.

you nodded, looking up at him, “i’m perfect.” you pressed kisses across his face, “you were amazing, sweet boy.”

he embarrassedly smiled, “so were your, angel.” he kissed your forehead over and over as if to emphasize his point. “i love you.”

“i love you, too.”

[wbbpls]

Platonic Plus One? (Chapter 2)

This is kind of a filler chapter to set up the rest of the story. Next chapter is going to be Azzi's POV.

Thanks so much to everyone who read chapter one!!

-------------------------------------------------------—

Chapter 2-Paige POV

It’s been a few weeks since they went shopping and generally, things have gone back to normal. If you consider it normal for Paige and Azzi to be lingering touches, cuddling in bed, and light flirting, then, yeah, it's back to normal. 

They’re driving to the wedding and will spend a week at the hotel with Azzi’s family leading up to the wedding. This might be one of the most extra weddings Paige has been to with a week-long itinerary, but she’s just going along with whatever Azzi needs. 

“I already know my aunts and grandma are just going to keep asking me if I’m dating anyone yet. I don’t get why they’re always so pushy about it.”

“I don’t know, Az. Family is just weird.”

“At least my parents leave me alone about it. They get basketball is the priority.”

“I feel you, dude.” Paige was distinctly not feeling it.

They fell into a comfortable silence and Paige turned up the music. 

“Paige do you need to play the music so loud? This might be my last chance for beauty sleep.”

Without thinking, Paige slips out a compliment. “You definitely don’t need sleep for that.”

“Okay charmer, well then, if you don’t want me to be grumpy you’ll let me nap. Please?” Azzi juts out her bottom lip, offering the biggest pout possible. Aka, Paige’s weakness. 

Paige dramatically turns down the music. “Oh, anything for you, Passenger Princess. I’ll just sit here in silence. Alone. Driving you to your family wedding. You know, in silence.”

“Amazing, thanks P!” Azzi says sarcastically with a big smile on her face. She has this uncanny ability to fall asleep within seconds anywhere, so now Paige really is left to her own thoughts for the next 2 hours. 

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

They’ve entered the countryside, leading to the villa they’ll be staying at. Paige turned off the main road onto a long gravel driveway until she saw the property. “Holy shit” she whispers. The mansion is enormous, the trees are lucious, and the land is endless. There doesn’t seem to be a clear place to park, so Paige pulls into the front loop where two men in suits are waiting. “Hi Ma’am, welcome to the Miller wedding. What are your names?”

“The one sleeping is Azzi Fudd, and I’m her plus one, Paige Bueckers. I'm not sure if my name will be on there.”

“Ah yes! We got so excited when we saw your names on the list. It’s so cool to meet you in person.” 

“Thanks, man! Uh, by the way, where do I park?”

“No need! We will valet your car and take your bags to your room. We will go ahead and get your bags first while she wakes up. You are in room 355. ” The two men laugh at the sleeping girl as they head to the trunk. 

Paige smiles down at her best friend, not wanting to wake her up from such a peaceful sleep. She gently moves the hair out of her face and rubs her shoulder. “Hey, sleepy girl, we’re here.”

“Mmm, Paigey, can we cuddle a little longer?” Azzi mumbles as she shoves herself into Paige’s hands. 

“Sorry, Princess, we gotta go. They’re gonna park the car for us. We can cuddle in the room if you want.”

Azzi grumpily rubs her eyes and sighs before looking around. “Holy shit this place is legit.”

Paige laughs and walks around to the other side of the car to open Azzi’s door while she took in the property. “Alright, Az, let’s get you settled.” Paige offers her hand out to pull Azzi out. Whenever Azzi is sleepy, she is especially clingy, so when Paige goes to move her hand away, Azzi grabs her hand tighter and slips her fingers into Paige’s, having no idea of the effect she is having on the older girl. 

As they enter the mansion, an older woman with a clipboard invites them in and lights up when she sees Azzi. “Hello, ladies, welcome to the Miller wedding! It’s been so long, Azzi, you’ve grown up so beautifully!” 

“Hey, Mrs. Miller! Good to see you, too. This is Paige!” Azzi is still holding Paige’s hand tightly and the older woman looks down quickly. Paige smiles kindly and offers out her other hand to shake the older woman’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Miller.” 

“Nice to meet you too, sweetheart. I’m so happy to see Azzi brought someone special with her.”

Wait. Does she think they’re together? There’s no way. “Thanks, Mrs. Miller. We are going to get settled in our room before the events of the day start.” Azzi lets go of Paige’s hand. To anyone else, it would seem like Azzi isn’t fazed, but now she’s wondering if Azzi had the same thought. As they head up to the room, there’s a bit of an awkward silence. Paige opens the door for them and starts unpacking their bags. “You go ahead and nap some more. I’ll put our stuff away.” 

Azzi seems to hesitate for a second as she lays on the bed. “You okay, Az?”

Suddenly, her voice makes her seem so small. “You said we could cuddle when we got up here.” 

Paige let out a sigh of relief. “Of course, Az.” Paige got under the covers, and Azzi cuddled in, laying her head on her shoulder, wrapping her arms around Paige’s stomach. 

After a bit, Azzi’s breathing gets heavier before suddenly speaking.“Thanks for coming with me, P. It really means a lot.”

“Anything for you, Az.”

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

Paige wakes up to Azzi hovering over her with a big smile. “Paigeyyyyy! It’s time to wake up. C’mon, we need to hurry up and get ready. I let you sleep too long.”

“Ugh what do we have to do now?” Paige covers her face with the blanket, trying to avoid the bright light coming from the window. 

“We have a welcome dinner to see the family. My brothers keep texting me, upset that they haven’t seen you yet.” 

Paige checks her phone to see a bunch of missed texts, including from Azzi’s brother.

Jose Fudd: dude you’re with azzi all the time come down and hang before dinner

KK: yo can i use your nike bag

aight you takin too long imma take it

bruh where are you what is azzi making you do i need my father to answer me

Nika: how’s your knee

Paige chuckles at her phone and starts to get ready. When she turns around, Azzi is in nothing but a bralette and underwear. Fuck. Paige is frozen. She’s seen Azzi change before, but usually they’re in a locker room, or Paige distracts herself on purpose. 

“See something you like?” Azzi smirks at her and laughs at Paige as she trips over herself.

A knock at the door saved Paige from further embarrassing herself. “I’ll get it!” 

Azzi’s mom, Katie, stands on the other side. “Hey, kid! Just came by to check on you both and see if you need anything before dinner.”

“Nah, we’re good. Just getting ready and will head right down.” Paige smiles at Katie and they finish saying goodbye. She was always like a second mom to Paige, especially with how much time she spent at her house. Katie and Tim came to every game and are constant supports in both their lives. 

“I’m really happy Azzi invited you, Paige.”

“Uh, yeah, me too.” That was weirdly affectionate for the woman who usually teases Paige relentlessly, but who knows, weddings tend to bring out the best and worst of people.

[maudie-duan]

Summary: What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, they say, but does it really have to be the end if it turns into one of the deepest connections you've made in a while?? Paring: Long Hair Harry x (Fem)Reader Tags: Always Open @sassamanda77

Word Count: 16K

A/N: I've been working on this story on and off for weeks. Didn't like it at first, but I was really craving an LHH fic where he's just really emotional and in his feelings. So there will be lots of angst.

Warnings: Strong Angst/Smut: mentions of Zayn leaving, and the band's hiatus. Implications of fooling around under the influence of alcohol, Size Kink, Talks Of Oral Sex (M/F receiving), Fingering, (M/F) Masturbation, Slight Spit Play (Just barely), Edging, While I don't condone unsafe sex, there is Unprotected Sex, Pull Out Method...on a lighter note there is lots of fluff, Soft Harryx100, Very Emotional.

(If I missed anything PLEASE LET ME KNOW!!)

What was the last thing you remembered? Before the dizzying haze sent the world spinning, a tunnel vision of shadows speeding past you. Maybe there was walking, a stumble, a hand gripping yours, maybe the distant face of a stranger.

What was his name? 

And then there were lights? There were so many lights; was the bar really that bright? There was that last shot when the burn of the alcohol was no longer apparent, the sugary finish the only thing washing over your tongue. Kelsey said to take another, so you did; the scene was already blurring around you, and then she said one more, so you did it without hesitation. 

After that, there was the bathroom, except Kelsey wouldn’t leave Bryan’s side, so you had to go alone. Yes, this is where the world started fading because you remember using the bathroom and seeing yourself reflected in the dim lighting of the mirror, but what happened next? 

“Fuuuuuuck—” is all you can say, squeezing your eyes shut, face planted in the pillow. 

When was the last time you felt this hungover, your ears ringing, the roar of a headache this intense, so painful that it hurt to even move your head? A pang so deep in your temples that there’s pain with every thud of your racing heart, feeling the throbbing pulse with every beat pounding through your skull--a steady reminder of the many drinks you felt the need to indulge in, now churning in the pit of your stomach. 

And then there was the ache in your jaw as you gritted your teeth together, willing yourself not to throw up because you didn’t know if you could even move another muscle. Had you fallen? Was that it? Fallen and hit your head…

“That bad, huh?” a deep voice sounds in your ear. 

At first, you don’t think anything of it; maybe it was a figment of your imagination, the demon on your shoulder from last night whispering in your ear, materializing through the pulsing headache ripping through your brain. 

But there it was again, and this time there was a dip in the bed next to you, “I’ll get water?” it says, and maybe you’re still dreaming because every time you move your head, the world still seems to spin, any movement too fast, and there’s that wave of nausea again and that voice—that smooth voice, and is that an accent? 

You know you need to lift your face from the pillow, but you’re unsure if you have the strength or the will to stir this feeling any further. That voice is familiar, though, and when the blanket rustles, the feeling of the moving sheet awakens your naked body and alerts you. Wait naked? You think, whipping your head toward the movement on the bed, and when you spot the man sitting next to you, your whole body reacts, a sudden jolt jumping through you, and then you’re falling off the edge of the bed, the sheets coming with you as your body hits the ground with a hard thud, agony already taking way. 

“Oh my god—oh my god—!” you yell, clutching at your chest, your heart slamming against your ribs, every breath coming at a rapid pace. If you thought your head was pounding before, this was a new torture. 

“I didn’t mean to give you a fright,” He says, and you watch his tall figure crouch next to you, grasping the sheets tight around you as you study his features. It’s like each aspect of his face pulls at your mind like a distant memory. 

He hands you the bottle of water and comes down to his butt, a small smile playing at his lips, and the longer you stare, the more you think you remember; at least you know you came here willingly, hence your naked body under these sheets, but was there sex? 

He’s quiet, only a smile, and when you bring the bottle to your mouth, he laughs, “You don’t remember a thing, do you?”

And when he laughs again, you watch his dimples dip into his handsome face, and you think to yourself…if you’re going to have a one-night stand, this is definitely someone you would want to go home with…or to a hotel? Because when you force your eyes away from his face, you peer around, eyes moving around the luxury suite.

“Did we have sex?” you ask, eyes shifting back to him, and he licks his lips, drawing his knees to his chest, a casual demeanor taking way.

His face morphs from playful to serious in a matter of seconds, which makes your heart drop, and even though it was more plausible than not, you kind of hope you didn’t because you can’t remember a single detail of being in this hotel room, and as you clinch your jaw the ache travels to your temples, bringing tears to your eyes because this has to be the worst headache of your life—and fuck this guy is so hot.

What do they say? You can’t experience beauty without pain? Then you’re cursing to yourself, thinking the one time you score a decent one-night stand, you would, of course, be too miserable to enjoy it. 

“There wasn’t sex in the traditional sense, I guess…” He tells you, cutting through your thoughts.

“Mmmm…” you mumble, eyes sweeping over his face. Then you find yourself smiling because he looks so earnest, and his answer has you searching the tiny treads of memory you can’t seem to conjure no matter how hard you try.

There’s a faint grin tugging at the edge of his mouth, and you can tell he remembers everything, but something tells you that you’ll have to dig for the details. 

“Would you mind…maybe elaborating a little?” you push, watching the smile spread on his face. He reaches forward then, stretching past you to the nightstand, the scent of his faded cologne filling your nose, beckoning you as your eyes fall to the inked skin along his ribs, and then it’s like they’re all coming into view, a sleeve running up and down his arm—fuck.

He sits back on his heels, “Here, I tried giving you these last night, but you passed out pretty quickly after…”

“After…?” You try again and look down at his open palm, the ibuprofen resting in the center of his large hand. You grab the pills and toss them back, guzzling the rest of your bottle of water as if your life depended on it.

He laughs again, his deep rasp breaking through, “So if I can remember correctly…” He starts with a grin, his British drawl making your heart skip a beat. 

“You said, Gerry…I want you in that bed. Then you led us to the room.” He bursts into laughter then and says, “My name is Harry, by the way.”

You immediately feel the heat creeping up your neck, your face burning with shame--shame for your bold behavior, which few have ever seen. “My apologies, but please continue,” you say.

“Don’t worry, Darling, it was quite humbling. Very few get my name wrong…”

You shake your head, thinking you would probably believe anything he told you if he said it with that smile. The same smile that probably got you to this hotel room, but now you’re having second thoughts about who was calling the shots, thinking maybe you’re the one that spurred last night on—you in one of your rare moods, a toss-up of what kind of drunk you’d be, but at least you weren’t bent over a toilet crying over your Ex, so that was a win already.

“Do you want to shower?” Harry asks, as your eyes travel down his torso, eyeing the tattoos; not a single one is familiar, except maybe the butterfly—Like perhaps you saw it in a dream, and why is he wearing boxers, and you’re completely naked?

“I would love a shower…” You breathe, watching as he springs to his feet, a little too fast for your current state, and he smiles when he catches the dizzying look on your face.

“Man, you’re in rough shape…” He laughs, reaching out a hand, and you clutch the sheet to your body, embarrassed by your lack of clothes, suddenly feeling more modest than you’d hope in this kind of situation—But there’s nothing a hot shower can’t fix, right?

Here is the thing about Harry: He brought you back on a whim. He had no intention of bringing a girl back to his hotel room; in fact, it was never in the cards to even go out. He was here in Vegas with the band, probably even the last time they would play here since there was already talk about their impending hiatus. 

Harry was minding his own business, passing you in the hallway on your way out of the bathroom, and when you locked eyes, he watched the smile grow on your face. He thought…fuck…another fan… but when you stopped him in his tracks, there wasn’t a glimmer of recognition. 

You planted your hands on his chest, gazing up at him--a bold move on your part—which immediately piqued his interest. Harry was just drunk enough to play into it. Maybe see it through and play along to see what your next move might be. When you pushed him against the wall in the shadowy light of the hallway, he nustled his face into your neck, trying to shield his face from all the random people shuffling in and out of the bathrooms.

And this is where maybe he did spur you on just a little…

The second he drew a breath, breathing in your scent, he felt himself giving in. The warm flesh of your neck was so close to his mouth that he couldn’t help but push a soft kiss—press his lips into your skin and listen for the gasp he knew would fill his ear, your hot breath fanning over his neck, sending a shiver down his spine, and what else could he do?

He felt your hands roaming his body, clutching at his shirt, pulling with such want that one of the buttons on his shirt popped open, making him pull away in laughter, excitement surging through him that felt foreign because when was the last time he just got to let loose like the? Tensions had been so high lately that nothing in him wanted to be here in Vegas, but now he could at least have a little fun, and why not?

Harry hated Vegas; it almost felt worse than New York, a dense population, always a sea of faces, a place he could rarely go unnoticed, and here he was letting some stranger fondle him, and when you asked him what his name was, he laughed again, pulling away with curiosity, he wanted to see your face, he wanted to know if you were playing into some kind of bit, but then you noticed the tattoo at the center of his chest, and the look in your eyes told him otherwise. 

You didn’t know who the fuck he was, and this made him even more curious—Yeah, you were drunk, but so was he, and would this be a bad thing? He hadn’t had sex in a while, on a sort of cleanse he held himself to for the last six months, and maybe you guys didn’t have to have sex; there were other things. 

But as your hand moved the thin silk of his shirt aside to get a better view, you forced your hand to his chest, pinning him against the wall, his body unmoving as your finger began to trace the outline of one of the butterfly wings. Harry watched as your finger slid down the center of his abdomen, his muscles tightening, forming a straight line to the top of his belly button, sending a rush to his dick.

When you bit down on your lower lip, Harry nearly lost his mind; even then, he wanted to hear your thoughts, wanted you to say them out loud. 

There you were, standing before him with very few words, and then you called him Gerry, which somehow sealed the deal for him. He knew nothing about you, whether you came there alone, what your name was. He figured he could ask you in the car, but as you guys pushed your way through the bar, Harry made a point to be your guiding light, his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you guys past the flashing lights of the cameras, cursing to himself the moment you guys stepped foot outside the bar—what was supposed to be fun and low-key turned into him moving through a crowd of people, and while Harry didn’t regret his choice, he knew that you would bare the sting of this later.

Do you want to shower first? You ask, taking hold of Harry’s outstretched hand. Your eyes are trained on his face, watching a smirk spread on those heart-shaped lips you knew you were lucky enough to kiss last night…because there must have been kissing, right? You just wished you could remember.

“You want to take separate showers?” He grins, pulling you up from the ground, and just as you stand to your feet, the sheet is ripped from your body, but your reaction is too slow, and when you look down at your feet, Harry’s foot is at the edge of the material.

“Shit, I’m sorry…” He blurts, adverting his eyes while you stand there clutching at your breast, trying to cover yourself in any way that you can. “I have already seen you naked…if that means anything…”

You laugh then, your face burning, “Yeah…but it would be different if I actually remembered…” 

“So you really don’t remember a thing?” He questions, covering his eyes.

This makes you smile as a bashful look takes Harry’s features--the kindness to cover his eyes is enduring as he crouches back down to feel around for the sheet on the ground blindly, patting his hand across the floor. He grasps the material and holds it out to you, not daring to peek.

“Thanks…” you say, your smile stretching wider, and you can’t help but laugh as you pull the sheet around your body. 

You like Harry’s easy energy; nothing about how he’s presented himself has made you uneasy in the slightest, and when you give him the clear to look, his eyes don’t even wander. They move straight to your face, making your heart pick up a beat.

You can shower first,” he offers, and as soon as he says the words, you feel this draw, this urge, this want to be close. 

A want to explore what it is about this guy that’s conjuring this strange sense of wanting to give your all. Was that what it was last night? A sense of safety? You could have done anything…he could have done anything, but something tells you he didn’t take advantage of the situation.

“We could shower together…if you’d like…?” You ask almost as if it were a question, letting it hang in the silence between you. Harry ponders your words, weighty in the way his brows knit together, his eyes surveying your face, his gaze on the verge of making you backtrack. 

And then he smiles, and you see that glint in his eye, the look that probably lured you in, and he says:

“A mutual shower, no sex?” 

He holds out his hand with a mischievous smirk, turning up the corner of his mouth, and when you grasp his hand, his grip is firm, his green eyes holding you in place, and you wish you remembered what these hands felt like on your body. Did he play into your assertive mood, or was he more gentlemanly? Did this kindness show through the whole time?

You return the smirk, feeling your guard waiver, “Deal--” Then he tugs you toward the bathroom, the sheet falling around your body like a gown, and you wonder if this is what it felt like to be swept off your feet—that giddy feeling of new wonderment filling the air around you both, and when Harry laughs it makes your stomach flutter, like a crush you’ve held secret for years and now you’re finally playing out that fantasy. 

Because later, when this was all said and done, this is the part you’ll look back on and wonder why you did it, why it was so easy because this…him…that feeling blooming deep in your belly would become as familiar as looking in the mirror, and although his face felt distant right now you knew it, somewhere deep within. 

…

Harry couldn’t believe it worked, getting you here in the shower with him. 

He could tell you were nervous. 

The way you kept making small jokes to mask your apprehension, your eyes barely meeting his. When you wrapped the sheet around your body tighter and wiggled yourself up onto the counter, he could see you trying to play it cool, and maybe you would have fooled anyone else, but there was something jerky in your movement, stiff, still guarded, everything understandable, but there was just this tiny piece of him that wanted that girl back from last night.

It didn’t have to be sexual. Although that part was pretty amazing, Harry admired your boldness the most. Yes, he knew that alcohol had a lot to contribute to that, but it came from somewhere, right? He wanted to get this part over, you know, get past all the weird stuff because whether or not he wanted to admit it to himself, you guys were complete strangers. 

So he stood there, patient, his hands tucked behind his back, leaning against the wall as the silence stretched, both of you waiting for the water to warm up, “Are you from Vegas?” he asked. 

He watched you draw in a deep breath, your posture straightening. “I’m from Colorado…you?” and when he gave a faint chuckle, he watched the realization dawn on your face as you let out a nervous laugh.

“England…” Harry laughed, running his hand under the water. It was the perfect temperature, but he knew you weren’t ready. 

“Still kind of cold.” He lied. 

You shrug, “What are you doing in Vegas?” He asked next. 

“I’m supposed to be here with my friend Kelsey. I was actually hanging out with her and her boyfriend last night…damn…I hope she’s not freaking out right now. I can’t remember if I called her.”

“You did--” Harry confirms, followed by a laugh.

Harry catches your eye for a brief second right before they dart to the ground, your cheeks flushing, and he’s still trying to wrap his brain around you and the person you were last night, feeling himself getting sucked in all over again, but differently something more approachable, less fleeting. 

“I don’t do this a lot,” you finally tell him--a pang of guilt is eating away at Harry, and his mind is trying to piece together why you felt like you had to explain yourself. Was he making you feel weird, he wondered? 

When Harry heard this bit, a sense of relief washed over him; this he could work with, this he knew, “Yeah?” He questions.

“Actually… I’ve never had a one-night stand…I ummm….” He watches you swallow the rest of your words, your eyes searching his face. As you gaze at him, he observes the fear creeping into your features, witnessing it take over.

And when he sees this, he’s quick to speak up, “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do…and last night I didn’t do anything that you didn’t ask of me…I only did what you wanted…I swear.”

When your eyes sweep over his face, he feels this need for you to believe him because it’s true, and when you breathe the word “Okay…” You nod, then your face relaxes, and you hop down from the counter and move toward the shower, leaning past him to check the temperature of the water. 

When your arm grazes over the soft skin of his stomach, he sucks in a breath, his nerves getting the best of him now, and when you turn your head, your eyes move over his belly, and he stills himself, afraid to move, “Did those hurt?” You ask, and he watches your eyes trail along the band of his boxers.

“They did…” He says, “But it was more of me wanting to cover up another tattoo there, and then these just happened…”

You nod your head again, and he feels himself involuntarily sucking in his stomach, suddenly self-conscious, your neutral gaze unreadable. 

Then your eyes flick to his, smoothing your lips together, “I think it’s ready…” you tell him. 

“Yeah?” He asks, wanting to make sure this is something you want. 

“You’ve already seen me naked…” you laugh, then out of his own bewilderment, that damn sheet drops to your feet, and you step into the hot shower, eyes on his the whole time.

Okay…so he could definitely work with this, and even though he was fighting back his boner, the half-mass that threatened to give him away. He knew he couldn’t help it, and as Harry pulled down his boxers and stepped in behind you, he turned away, not wanting to weird you out. 

…

“Do you want some of the water?” You ask, your eyes closed, the hot water hitting the top of your head like heavy rain. The humidity of the shower fills your lungs as you reach and smooth your hair back, and its soothing warmth is all-consuming.

You know that you’re on full display, but you’re having one of those “fake it til you make it” kind of moments, and you figured if he didn’t like what he saw last night, maybe he would have asked you to leave. I mean, he was the one offering the shared shower in the first place. 

You thought the longer you kept your eyes closed, the longer you could keep them from roaming. You knew you were hogging the hot water, but something about the heat washing over your scalp felt like a christening of new life, the ibuprofen starting to kick in. You stood there finally at peace, massaging your scalp as a long sigh slipped past your parted lips, causing Harry to clear his throat. 

When your eyes flutter open, you blink away the water, the moisture from your eyes blurring your vision. Then, you step away from the downpour, taking care not to look anywhere but at Harry’s face, his focus trained on your eyes, never drifting any lower.

This made you smile, knowing damn well his eyes had plenty of time to survey your body, and a piece of you wanted him to. 

There was something about him that made you want him. You wanted him to watch you, maybe make the first move so that you wouldn’t overthink it, and here you guys were, in the midst of a hot shower, your bodies only inches away as you both played polite, and the thought alone was driving you crazy. 

That’s when you grab hold of his arms, trying to maneuver around him in the tight space, guide him toward the shower head, watching as the water cascades over his dry hair, and when you let go, your gaze falls to his shoulder, the trickle of water floods down his chest as Harry closes his eyes, and he lets his head fall back, an audible sigh escaping as you watch his lips part, his tongue coming out to lap tiny droplets of water—and fuck you are so turned on, a dull throb pulling between your legs already.

“This feels so good…” he mutters, caught up in the tranquil lull of the water. 

Would it be so bad to take a peek? See what Harry would have been working with? Because if you’re honest, your eyes may or may not have flitted over his mounding bulge stretching out the front of his boxers earlier, so why not confirm and put your curiosity to rest?

But here you are with every opportunity—do you do it? His eyes had to have roamed, and as your eyes scan down his body, you watch the toned muscles along his torso tighten and relax as he moves his arms above, running his fingers through his long hair, and there’s those damn…what are they…leaves? 

And as you eye them, you can’t imagine what he could have possibly covered up; it doesn’t even look like anything was there…and oh fuck, you think as his thick dick comes into view, the weight of it hanging heavy and hard between his legs and shit. There was no way that was inside you last night because as you sucked in a deep breath, reeling over his size, Harry asked, “Can you pass me the soap,” and for the second time that day, you jumped, slamming your hand over your mouth to muffle the yelp of surprise rising. 

When you peel your eyes away from his dick, your eyes meet his, and of course, he’s smiling because your dumbass couldn’t stop gawking.

Now you’re blushing, and when you pivot on your feet, you slightly slip, causing Harry to grasp hold of you--your wet hand slides down the wall and comes to a halt as you push the weight of your body into the palm of your hand and holy fuck, Harry’s hands are on your naked body, and as you right yourself, his hard dick pushes against your ass, and you’re trying everything in your power not to provoke it any further—push into him, nudge the idea into his head.

“You okay, Darling—” Harry questions, and you don’t even have to turn around to know that he’s smiling; you can hear it in the pitch of his voice, the amused tone of someone who just caught you red-handed, but how could you not look, and why are you making this so awkward? There’s no reason to freak out, but like the weirdo you know you can be, you’re doubling down, pushing out the first words that come to mind.

“We didn’t have sex--” you force, over-dramatic, of course, and then you’re repeating it. “We didn’t have sex…we for sure--did not--have sex.”

He laughs, “I know silly…I told you that already…”

“Yeah, I know--” you tell him, your tone getting pushy, the embarrassment of it all catching up to you.

“Okay…” He says, “Is everything okay?”

“I just accidentally looked at your dick…” you blurt, almost as if you’re waiting to be reprimanded. Harry drags his hand from your waist as his hand finds purchase on the wall next to yours. He releases you then, his breathy laugh filling your ear, and he pulls away, tsking his tongue several times in a row, making you smile.

“Why would you taking a peek at my dick be more confirmation than me saying? He pokes.

You shake your head, pushing yourself upright, “You just want me to say it?” 

This warrants another laugh, the laugh echoing through the shower, “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about…I swear?”

Then your head whips in his direction, catching his cocky grin right before it disappears, “You know why…”

“Come on, Darling, humor me just a little?” he pleads, and now you look again, your eyes sweeping to his hard dick, your gaze making his cock bounce, and you draw your bottom lip between your teeth, trying to suppress your smile.

“I’m just a shy girl…” you joke.

“You weren’t shy last night…” he tells you, with that sexy smile again, and you laugh, your nerves getting the best of you as you try and play it cool.

“It doesn’t count…I don’t remember…” you say.

“Well…I’m just a shy boy… I’m not sure I can repeat your demands out loud…”

You gasp, pushing a hand into his chest, “My demands?” you ask, and Harry grabs hold of your wrist, holding your hand in place.

“Yes, Darling, you were very demanding last night…”

“Stop…I might go run and hide.” You threaten him, feeling shy, but there’s something calming about his energy. You like his playfulness and find yourself wanting to play into it. 

“Like go hide back under the blankets?” He offers, poking you in the belly, and then your eyes drop to his finger moving away, your boobs coming into view, a reminder that your casually standing here naked with a dude you just met, and it’s starting to shock you how easy this feels.

“If I get back in that bed… I’m going back to sleep…” You tell Harry, firm, no room for negotiations.

“Can there be cuddling?” Harry suggests, taking a step toward you as you ponder his offer.

You laugh, a nervous flutter growing in your stomach, “So you want me to stay?” You whisper, your back hitting the wall. You were so focused on Harry’s gaze that you didn’t even notice the steps he had taken toward you, caught up in the idea of sharing a bed again.

 Now, there was proof that your body acted on its own accord around this man, that you could be inching backward and have no conscious thought of it until you were staring up at him, watching him plant a hand next to your head, walling you in.

And now you’re holding your breath, contemplating his next move, his inquisitive gaze sweeping over your face—what is he thinking? 

Then Harry reaches forward and tucks a wet strand of hair behind your ear. Moments later, his finger drags along your jawline as you exhale that weighted breath—His close proximity dizzyingly affecting you as you fold your hands behind your back and flatten against the hard-tiled surface—Your mind is desperate to find something real, something to root you in place. 

It’s like suddenly you’ve been here a million times with this guy, this stranger that’s growing strangely familiar by the second, and as you glimpse the smile spreading on his beautiful face, your eyes drop to his mouth just as his tongue comes out to smooth over his bottom lip, and he rubs them together, drawing you in even further.

And as if there were an invisible string tugging at your core, you push your hips from the wall, an urge pulling between your legs as his thumb traces a faint line across your lips, and he presses his body to yours, your lips parting the second his thumb moves away. 

“Would you like to stay longer?” He whispers, his tone like honey dripping down your spine, and there you go again, arching your hips into his. Then his hand comes up to your waist, softly gripping the skin at your side, driving your hips back until your hands are flat against the wall again, Harry’s hard dick pushing against your thigh, and your willing yourself to stay perfectly still. You stand there compliant, relishing the feeling of his hand moving to your hip. 

Your throat is tight with every word you want to say, and as you nod, you swallow down hard, trying to force the lump down, “Yes…” you push, your voice barely above a whisper, and he’s smiling again, his lips corking into a playful grin, and you’re dying for him to kiss you because he could kiss you right now.

Those lips could be pressed to yours in a matter of seconds because his face is so close, so close that you, yourself, could close the gap, but you’re too scared, and when you watch his gaze flick to your lips, again, you rub them together, preparing for that kiss, because he’s definitely going to kiss you, his head is moving, he’s closing the gap, and as your eyes flit closed, you hold your breath waiting, waiting…and then his lips, press into your cheek, delicately lingering until his raspy laugh fills the crook of your neck as Harry moves his mouth to the shell of your ear, “Maybe later…” 

Then you grab hold of his hips, pulling them into yours, your arms wrapping around his neck, and then you’re hugging him, and you don’t know why you’re doing it. Still, it’s like this primal urge of wanting to be close to him, to feel his body next to yours, this safety that seems to emanate from every fiber of his being. You want him close, to feel that closeness with Harry, because you can’t remember the last time you felt this safe, this open vulnerability. 

It’s like it’s overtaking you, and when Harry’s arms wrap around your body, his grip tightens, and he returns the gesture—Everything about it feels real.

It’s like this surreal calm takes over your body, and suddenly you’re crying, a few tears drifting because this feels so good, this hug, and you think you wouldn’t need anything else, that this is perfect, and he’s not letting go. Then he pushes his face into the crook of your neck, his body trembling in yours, his weight slightly shifting. That’s when you realize he’s crying, huffing a hot sob into your neck, and you hold him--You hold him tight because maybe he might just need this more than you. 

…

Harry didn’t think he would cry, but there he was, crying into the neck of a total stranger, not even second-guessing himself because once he heard your soft sniffle brush past his ear, he knew he was a goner. 

Harry felt his edges crack them crumble into a sob like the weight of days, months, the years were coming down on him--All the days that had vanished slipping past him, and while Harry had the world at his fingertips, there had been a hollow opening up, one big question mark, marking his life with no plan for his future because 

Harry knew that things with the band couldn’t last forever, that the shelf life of a boy band was short. It wasn’t just the band; they were all getting tired, especially Zayn, who was already on his way out the door. Harry could feel it, see it there in his features, Zayn 

withering away right before their eyes.

Another collective weight, the foundation of their legacy, splitting beneath their feet.

So when you stumbled into his world, he wasn’t necessarily looking for you, but here you were, wrapped in his arms, both of you tucked beneath the blankets as Harry listened to your slow breaths, your body growing heavy as you drifted off to sleep, feeling a world of safety crashing into him.

At first, he told himself he would wait until you fell asleep and then sneak out of the bedroom, hang out in the living space, watch a movie, or write in his journal. But the second he opened his eyes, you were still in his arms, your face inches away from his. He watched as you stirred awake, your eyes lazily flitting open, a slow smile waking on your face. 

“So it wasn’t a dream…” you whispered, making his heart flutter, and without thought, his lips moved to your forehead, and Pressed a soft kiss to your skin. 

As the kiss lingered, he breathed you in, thinking how was it that you both used the same soap, but somehow you smelled more inviting, the soap taking on a whole new aroma, one he wanted to savor, and when he pulled away, you brought your hand up to his cheek, stroking your thumb back and forth. Then, your hand drifted to the nape of his neck. 

And as you drew in a breath, you pulled his face to your mouth, your lips moving to his temple, and ever so gently, he felt your lips meld to the tiny hairs along his hairline, whispering the words, “I’m so hungry…” and when you laugh, a puff of warm air ghosts over his ear, sending a slow hum down his spine. 

This is the feeling he had been longing for. That feeling of ease, of comfort. 

It had been months since he had three consecutive days off in a row; it had been even longer since he had felt this building notion, this anticipation of feelings—the beginning of a crush—those silly flutters in the depth of your belly every time you look at them, and you were merely a stranger. There could be nothing else from here. He didn’t even know if you knew who he was. 

“Let’s order room service…” he whispered, trying to keep his voice even as he bit back tears. Your eyes wandered over his face. He wondered if he had asked what you were thinking if you would tell him, and then he did, his heart starting to pick up.

“What are you thinking?” he forces the words tight in his throat. 

And to his surprise, you don’t even hesitate, “That for some reason you look familiar, but I swear I can’t figure out why…like maybe it’s just my brain recalling your face from last night…”

Then Harry is holding his breath, watching, waiting for you to figure it out, and when you say, “I don’t think I could forget a face like this—” he lets out a quiet breath, pressing your hand into his cheek.

Just then, a rapid tap drums from the other room, and Harry lifts his head, his eyes flicking to the open door of the ensuite. “I think someone’s knocking,” he hears you say through the onset of panic. 

His heart races, and he tries to remember if they had anything planned as a band, but today and tomorrow were free days. Why the hell would anyone be bothering him? 

The knocking stops, but then the sound of clicking fills the silence of the room, and just as Harry is piecing together what’s happening, the hotel door opens; a soft glow from the hotel hallway bleeds into the main room, and Harry springs to his feet as a man calls out his name. 

“Shit—be right back…” he told you, fidgeting with his boxers, now sitting low on his hips, “It’s just Paul… probably checking in—” 

And when Harry catches the worry streaking your features, he bends down and kisses you on the cheek, “Don’t worry, love, it’s just a friend…” Then he watches your brows knit together, mulling over this bit as Paul calls Harry’s name again, his voice drawing closer to the bedroom.

…

Lights began to beam through the dark doorway as you watched Harry step out, closing the door behind him just as you caught sight of a man leaning down to click on a lamp next to the sofa just beyond the door. 

You lay there for a beat, wondering if you should feel fear, but the feeling never stirs, then your thinking why did Harry need all this space, and what does he do for a living to afford such a luxury hotel room.

As soon as Harry closed the door, the room was swallowed in darkness, and you bound off the bed to search for the curtains, opening a small section until you realized that the sun was setting, the twilight of the evening just settling over the bright lights of Vegas and holy shit, what a view. 

You had to have money to get this kind of view, so you opened the curtains wide, sinking into the comfy chair next to the window, crossing your legs underneath you, mesmerized by the hustle and bustle far below, the room so high that you could barely see the people moving around, or maybe your eyesight was shit, either way, it was the perfect view.

Bored, you turned on lights, trying to breathe life into the room. 

When Harry took longer than you expected, you shut yourself in the bathroom, taking this moment to spruce up. As you gazed at yourself in the mirror, your eyes darted to the oversized t-shirt Harry let you borrow.

Your eyes scanned over the faces, filling five boxes, the last box spelling out “1D,” and you laughed, thinking, what the hell is this? The faces of these little boys stretched across the shirt, blue, pink, and purple, repeating the pattern, and at the very bottom of the shirt, it read, ‘Up All Night Tour 2012,” which was two years ago. Harry seemed too old to be repping this; how old was Harry anyway?

The more you look at the shirt, the more you want to make jokes, like, of course, it says ‘Up All Night’ They looked just on the cusp of no longer having a set bedtime, and with any boy band, you find yourself surveying their attractiveness, your eyes only lingering on the dark-haired boy with the earrings who probably grew up to be really hot, with those dark eyes and dark lashes—the others weren’t your vibe, but then you felt weird thinking that, like how old were they anyway.

Then it dawned on you that they were the reason you were here, that Kelsey arranged this whole trip to Vegas around this concert, the only way she wanted to bring in her 21st birthday, at the iHeart Music Festival.

That’s when you made a mental note to ask him about this band, see if it was worth it, see if your friend was crazy for dragging you guys here because you could barely afford it as it was, and when she brought her stupid boyfriend, it ruined the whole trip…maybe hooking up with Harry will be the only highlight of the trip after all.

Eventually, you returned to bed after searching for your phone. You found it under the bed, but it was dead. Now you had to wait for Harry and Jeez. What was taking so long?

When the door finally opens, Harry is running a hand down his belly, a sweet grin, peeking at the corner of his mouth, “I’m starving…” He drawls his British accent heavier when the words are lazy.

“I think food is the last step to curing this hangover.” You tell him, sitting up on the bed.

“Sorry that took so long…we were going over plans for the next couple of days.”

“Gotcha…” you nod, “Is that good or bad?”

“It’s whatever…” He pushes, shrugging his shoulders as he puffs out a breath of frustration.

“I think for like the first time in a while, I just need a vacation…” He continues.

“Vacations are nice…” you agree.

“Do you get to at least enjoy Vegas while you’re here? Did your friend want to go out? I could always ditch. I don’t want to impede on any of your plans—”

He laughs, “I’m technically not old enough to hit the town just yet. It wouldn’t be a good look…”

“Wait, what? Weren’t you out last night?” 

“Well yes…but that was 18 plus…”

“Are you telling me you’re 18?” you blurt, surprised because you thought you guys were at least the same age.

“Darling, I’m 20… don’t worry… you’re not robbing any cradles trust me…” and you watch as a faint blush creeps into his cheeks, and when he runs a hand through his long hair, he scrunches his nose, making you laugh because shit, this dude is hot, like probably the hottest guy you’ve ever scored as far as hook up’s go. 

“What?” He asks, eyes searching your face. You push yourself off the bed, coming to stand in front of him, feeling a sudden urge of confidence, and when you bring your hands up to cup his face, you ask:

“May I kiss you?” and he lets out a nervous laugh, grabs your face in his hands, and matches your stance.

“May I kiss you…” he jokes, and you drop your hands, wanting him to take the lead.

“Yes…” and just as he’s leaning in, you say, “But let the record show…I did ask you first.”

His breathy laugh fans over your lips as he presses his mouth to yours. Your smile slowly fades as your lips begin to move together. When Harry deepens the kiss, you release a chaste breath. Your lips part, and you swipe the tip of your tongue over his top lip. Then Harry groans, and the vibration hums across your lips.

Your hands come up to his waist, gliding up his torso until they wrap around his neck, your hands threading through the curls at the nape of his neck. You couldn’t believe you were kissing him. It was like everything that you had imagined in the shower, except his touch was a lot more gentle, his pace slow, meaningful in the way his thumb caressed your cheek back and forth, kissing you the way you’ve always dreamed of being kissed, like cue the night sky and all the stars above you and this would be absolutely perfect, but fuck the stars if you had this mouth kissing yours.

Because what were the stars if you had his hand gripping the back of your neck, holding you in place, anchoring you there, because suddenly it feels like you’re floating, this kiss dizzying you, a heady sense of giddiness coursing through your entire body and all you can think is this…this is what I want right now.

And you’re acting on it, greedy for it, a soft moan slipping past your lips, and you want this, you want this right now, and Harry seems to be picking up your cues, and as your breath picks up, so does the kiss, and it’s breath after breath, this urge growing, and as you begin to move the kiss, taking a slow step back, Harry breaks away.

“Mmmm…” He breathes, swiping a thumb over his bottom lip, a grin spreading across his mouth, and there’s that urge again, and you take a step forward, your mouths crashing together.

Then you’re picking up on that same rhythm, and then you’re pulling him toward the bed, you’re mouths move with hunger--desperation in each step that you take backward, Harry moving with you until the backs of your legs bump the bed, and your pulling at his waist, needy for him to crawl into this bed with you, and then he laughs, halting your hands, and you open your eyes just as he’s pulling away from the kiss, his eyes trained on you.

“What?” You ask, “Is this not okay?” 

His hands smooth down your forearms and grasp your hands, “If this is what you want…I hate to say it…but I really need food…” He suggests, dropping one of your hands to pat his hungry belly.

“Food?” you repeat, almost dazed because you literally almost had him in this bed.

“Yes, love, I need fuel to take you on again…” he rasps out with a laugh.

“Again…?” you ask, licking your lips, the taste of his mouth still on yours keeping you in the moment.

“Yes… you’re a feisty one…” Harry tells you, bringing his mouth to your ear, “Mmhmmm….” is all you can say when you feel his lips press into your neck, revving you back up, and you squeeze his hand hard, gasping out a breath of desperation as you tug his hand toward the ache between your legs.

Harry releases a weighted breath as he pulls away, his eyes locking with yours. You pressed his hand to the fabric of your panties and unclenched your tight hold on his hand. When you bite your lower lip, you watch the contemplation crease between his brows. 

Then ever so slightly, he drags his fingers over the warm center of your underwear, your mouth rounding into an ‘O’ as the pressure of his touch deepens over your clit, and he begins to draw a small circle with his fingers, and you whimper a low, “Mmmm…” just as his hand draws away slowly, a small smile playing at his lips, and your hips move in the direction of his hand, not wanting the touch to end.

Then you’re on the tips of your toes, pressing your lips to his again, and this time his hands are on your hips, forcing them back until you’re seated on the bed, and he breaks away from the kiss, pushing his weight into his hands, planting your ass to the bed, “Food first. Then this…” He reiterates, this time a little more firmly, and all you can do is smile, him nodding his head until you’re following along.

“Fine—” you puff out, sexually frustrated, to say the least. You laugh as you fall back onto the bed, ready to pout about it, as you swing your legs back and forth over the side of the bed, suddenly feeling a fit rising, and you exhale a loud dramatic sigh bubbling up from within, and when your eyes sweep to Harry. He’s standing there with a huge grin, stretching from ear to ear, and you cover your face, embarrassed maybe, but more overwhelmed by what this dude was doing to you, your resolve crumbling with every passing hour.

“See…I told you…feisty…” He chuckles out, running a hand through his hair.

…

Harry knew he was in for it the second his fingers slid over the soft cotton of your underwear as he watched you unfurrow, your jaw going slack, mouth curving into the perfect shape. He knew exactly what those perfect lips felt like wrapped around his cock, and had you put up more of a fight; he would have given in, fallen mercilessly into the greed that was overtaking him.

And when you fell back onto the bed, his fingers twitched at his sides, a whole vision of him falling to his knees to pry those delicious thighs open. The only thing between his mouth and your pussy was the weightless material of your panties. All he would have to do was slide them to the side, bring his mouth to your warm center, and taste you. Drag his tongue up your slit till he was spreading you open, the salty-sweet slick of your pussy coating his tastebuds because you were already wet, the fabric damp under his touch—you needed him like he needed you—and now as you both sat there taking your last bites of food, the T.V. droning on in the background, he was smitten.

“Okay—that’s fair, but what’s like the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you? You asked Harry, a broad smile stretched across your face as both of you enjoyed each other’s company, and he couldn’t believe how much fun he was having just sitting there talking to you.

Harry had to think this question through; he knew what he wanted to say, but how could he tell you without giving his identity away or not spurr on more questions to lead you there because Harry had decided back in the bedroom what this would have to ultimately be—a hook up—that’s all it could be because once you figured out who he was, it would scare you away. 

How could something like this work when it’s so clear that you both lead two very different lives? 

“Ummm…I guess…one time I fell in front of a room full of people…I mean, like a massive fall, a ridiculously stupid fall, and not only did I fall in front of all these people, but my family and friends were there too….and I just laid there for a second, not wanting to get back up.”

You laughed and asked, “Was it like a presentation or something?” and Harry studied your face, readying himself for the lie.

“Yeah, back at Uni, it was pretty silly, really…I had a nasty bruise down my hip later, but that didn’t hurt half as much as my ego.” He laughed out, stuffing his last bite into his mouth.

He liked the way that last line made you laugh as you took a drink of your water, your eyes darting to his mouth, lingering, making his dick tingle, and he wished he could hear your thoughts out loud, and then you surprise him:

“What are you thinking?” 

Harry is thinking a lot of things, and he knows that if he tells you the truth, it will shift the mood, switch gears from light and easy to possibly where you guys had left off in the bedroom. 

He could feel the tension floating at the surface of every thought—feel it in the way your gaze lingered, the way your lips smoothed together every time he licked his lips or ran a hand through his hair. The way he felt himself flirting, witty with a purpose just to make you smile, laugh that cute laugh of yours—you taking any excuse to touch his arm, his hand, he liked you loose like this, a girlish playfulness that sent a flutter to his stomach, his dick anxious to please you.

But that was the problem. Harry didn’t know if he could do it. He had gone so long without sex already, and he wasn’t prepared. 

There wasn’t a single condom in the room, and yes, you guys could fool around like last night, but he knew he would want more. Ever since you touched his face in that shower, held him while tears streamed down his face, he wanted to bury himself deep inside you, make you feel the way you made him feel—warm, safe, secure in his touch, your bodies pressed together in a haven that only you two could build because couldn’t this last longer? 

Did it have to end at this? All of it was so confusing, these feelings circling inside him.

“What am I thinking?” He finds himself repeating, trying to stay in the moment.

“Yeah…” You answer, your tone soft and inviting.

“I’m thinking that I’m really glad you’re here…and that this has been the best time I’ve had in a really long time.” And when Harry says it. He knows it wasn’t what he planned on saying, but the words tumble out of his mouth with intention.

Harry wanted you to feel precisely what he was feeling right now, and that was fulfillment because even if you didn’t move any further than this, this would be just enough, you being here, the presence that you’re bringing to his life in this very moment—this joy—Harry hasn’t felt this kind of happiness in so long that all he wants to do is bask in it, savor every second.

…

There it was again. That soul-deep kindness that’s been chipping away at your guarded facade all day, casting away doubt from the moment you opened your eyes this morning. 

Who was this person, this man sitting next to you on this couch? 

Where had someone like him been when all the other failed before him--his presence alone was the biggest mindfuck you have had in a long time because what the fuck are you doing here? Where was this going? It was starting to feel like more than a hook up; the time you both were putting in said otherwise.

Technically, you guys had already hooked up, even if you didn’t remember, he did, so you both had already gotten what you wanted, so your staying longer was a choice on both of your parts, and here you knew nothing about him, but feeling a draw so intense that you can’t even put a finger on the feeling, it’s like your soul already knew him—already knows him—his eyes as familiar as looking in the mirror, but what was the catch? How was this going to end? Could this be more?

“Harry, should I go?” You ask him, needing to know where he stands in all of this; hear the words that he wants you to stay.

He’s in the middle of gulping down his water, and as soon as he hears the question, he chokes the water down with a cough, eyes darting to you, and you wait for his cough to settle.

Harry takes a beat, taking you in, his eyes sweeping over your face, “Do you want to leave?” he finally says, making your heart pick up a few paces.

“I just want to make sure I’m not overstaying my welcome…” you answer, studying his face.

He shakes his head. “Am I making you feel that way?” Harry scoots closer to you on the couch, your body shifting toward his, and places both hands on the tops of your thighs, bringing his eyes level with yours.

There’s a plea rising in his features, a worry furrowing his brow as his hair falls into his face, and you reach to sweep the tuff of hair behind his ear, “No—I just feel like—”

“I don’t know…” And you can’t even look at him, his gaze too much, that look sucking you in, making you weak for this man—you want to fulfill every silent want that he has, every want that’s filling the air because you can feel it, the breath heavy in your lungs. You want him just as much as he wants you because you’re aching with it, pleading from the depth of your belly for it—an unspoken want so desperate it hurts.

“I want you to stay…” he whispers, cupping your cheek in his hand. The warmth seeps into your skin, and you close your eyes, wanting to savor the feeling.

Then there are tears, and you don’t know why you’re crying, but when the pad of his thumb swipes over your cheek, you grab hold of his wrist, your eyes shuddering open. His face is blurry until the tears spill over, and he’s wiping them away, “I’m scared…” you choke, barely able to get the words out.

“I’m scared too…” He manages, as his face begins to break, then you spring forward, wrapping your arms around his neck, and when he falls back into the pillows of the couch, you crawl into his lap as he draws you into his body, Harry holding you tighter than he’s had this whole time.

“I think I really like you…” He murmurs, pushing the words into your neck, and you feel your whole body heat with the thought; your feelings mutual, but all you can muster is a “Yeah?”

And as you relax into his lap, Harry’s grip loosens enough for him to rub a slow hand up and down your back, your body going slack, and your head nestles into his shoulder as the tears continue to fall, and you close your eyes, getting lost in the feeling of the rhythmic stroke of his hand.

It’s not until he scoots his hips forward on the cushion that you stir from your trance, his arms a fortress from whatever was plaguing you before, and you shift your hips until you’re realigned with his body, your hand absentmindedly twirling a lock of his hair around your finger. 

You listen as Harry draws in a slow breath through his nose, one of his hands traveling lower, moving over the curve of your hip, skimming under the back of your thigh, and he grabs your flesh, pulling you further into him, your center now pressed against the mound of his boxers as your legs spread just enough to make it known, your body waking, the path his hand took now alive with his touch. 

Without thinking, you press a delicate kiss to the skin of his neck, your lips slightly sticking to the damp aftermath of your hot breath, which came and went as your emotions slowed. Harry’s shoulder slick with your tears. When you lift your head, your hair is glued to the side of your face, and you brush it back, forcing it behind your ear. 

The blush of his lips is the first thing you see, more predominate in the trace of his tears now glistening on his flushed cheeks, and when your eyes meet his, a tear spills over, and your throat seizes with the sight. You have no idea why he’s crying, but somehow you feel the pain of it settling in your bones, the pain fitting to your flesh as if it was your pain to carry. 

Will a kiss make it better, make it all go away? 

Because the way he’s looking at you with those green eyes, so green, islands in a sea of pain, the whites of his eyes red, giving it all away. You reach for the hem of your shirt, bringing it up to his nose, and wipe it clean, making Harry laugh. It’s a start, and when he grabs hold of the shirt, he silently nudges his chin upward, a quick nod, signaling for you to take it off, and he helps you lift it over your head, your bare breasts coming into view, and you’re straightening your spine ready for him to take you in.

His head falls back against the cushion of the couch, his body slumping as the tears continue to come, like the sight of you is too much to bear, a pained look as he bites his lip, and everything in you wants to ask, just ask, that’s all, but it doesn’t feel like the right time, like whatever Harry feels he needs to release, let it go, so he can move on from it.

He scoots himself further down on the cushion, his ass nearly toward the edge, and you shift your weight into your knee, pushing into the sofa, your outstretched hand coming down next to his head. 

The sudden jolt of your arm falling into the pillow makes your boobs bounce up, only inches from Harry’s face, and the two of you lock eyes as you adjust yourself in his lap, a chill running down your spine when his warm breath fans over your skin, bringing awareness to your hard nipples—the unspoken need for him rising as the air grows thick around you, all your focus closing in on Harry.

His long legs become the perfect chair, enough space between you and the tenting bulge forming in his briefs, and he drags a hand down his torso, dipping into the band to readjust the growing boner that has your mouth watering because there’s no way that dick hasn’t already filled your mouth, that your jaw hasn’t stretched around it, tried to fit as much of him into your mouth as you could, was that it? 

Was that the pain in your jaw this morning? So stiff you could barely open it. 

Did he fuck into your mouth until he came, shot his warm load down your throat? Did you both go to sleep satisfied because now you’re thinking the only way you could leave this hotel satisfied is if that dick had been deep inside you, a memory for later when all else fails when you have to say goodbye because you’ll have to say goodbye, right?

The head of his long penis peeks out of the top of his boxers, and the material settles over his girth, and all you can do is stare, his fingers grazing up and down the fabric as he comes to full mass, the movements slow and steady like a sunset opening up to the night, taunting you, knowing that darkness brings all the things you hide in the light, and these are the things you want to give him, the things you want to share.

…

It’s an unspoken want, but this is what Harry needs, he thinks while he watches your body lengthen, your posture righting itself as you cup both of your breasts in your hands, your gaze moving from his dick to his face, your mouth smoothing together, stirring a hunger in him when you pinch the tips of your nipples with your fingertips, arousing yourself, and your rock hard nipples even further. 

And what a fucking sight to see, the pleasure it brings when you clamp down on the tips, just hard enough to release that soft gasp slipping past your parted lips, and he wants more. He wants to see it all, and when Harry reaches for your wrist, he pulls your hand between your thighs--he wants to see you touch yourself--he wants to see you plead for more than just your fingers. 

The gesture is silent; no words needed because your fingers are already moving, a palm pressed into his knee as he watches you steady yourself, the other hand moving over the center of your panties, a slow, gradual pace as your hips jut forward. 

He sees your need growing as you find your rhythm, your gaze focused on him, right where he wants it, making him even more turned on as he watches the slow circles, your legs widening when you press a foot to the ground, rising slightly, your body secure. 

That’s when you slip your hand into your underwear, the need more pressing, your breath picking up, and when you roll your hips into your touch, your head falls back as you unleash a gentle moan, your eyes flitting shut, ready to get lost in it.

Harry decides to join in on the fun, stroke his hard throbbing cock, while he takes you in--The idea of him being inside you was only a fantasy at this point, but maybe he could make it real.

Harry knew he couldn’t be as graceful as you. What started as slow and delicate for you was already sloppy and pressing for him. He couldn’t help the groan rippling from his throat as he cast it with a slowing stroke, forcing himself to stay in rhythm with you as your eyes fell to his, then his hand, and you both shared a smile, and he locked his knees together to give you more stability, your weight sinking into your hips as you slowed down.

“Tell me what we did last night?” you asked with a smile, and Harry couldn’t help but laugh as he forced his dick completely out of his boxers, his cock resting in his hand.

That’s when Harry felt the power shifting in his favor, “Take your panties off…I want to see…” He tells you, glimpsing the smile widening on your face as you come to standing, and when you swing your leg over his, he spots the wet center of your undies, and he has to let go of his dick, or else he might come. 

“Fuuuuck…” He breathes, “Those are mine now,” He forces as his gaze follows the motion of you stepping out of your underwear.

He loves the playful smile tugging at the corner of your mouth as you swipe them from the ground and toss them on his chest. 

“Here…” he tells you, patting the space beside him.

You laugh then, Harry’s chest tightening in anticipation, but you comply, gracefully taking your seat next to him. What was bold before slips into a timid smile, your eyes darting to your hands clasped together in your lap, and this is what Harry was waiting for: the vulnerability you were giving so freely.

…

Was this it, you thought? Was this going to be the moment you’ve been waiting for? 

The undressing was easy. You had already done that part; this part was new, and the rest was still a mystery, every event from last night. 

Harry places a hand on your thigh, and you grab hold of it, nervous, too nervous to look at him, suddenly scared because suddenly sex with him was a real possibility, not just a passing thought that had flitted in and out of your mind all day. 

When he leans in and whispers, “You okay?” his rasp catches in the shell of your ear, and you nod, shooting him a quick glance, and he presses a soft kiss to your cheek, chills running down your arms.

“Lay back,” he asks, your eyes on his face as his eyes flick to the arm of the couch. You turn and look, pausing to take in the empty space beside you and picture yourself lying there. 

When you turn back to Harry, he’s watching you, his eyes glancing over your face, and he sits back, lifting his hips to push down his boxers. When he leans forward to push them past his knees, he kisses your lips, soft and brief, and when he pulls away, you crawl toward the end of the couch, doing as you’re told, a giddy sense of pride swelling in your chest, that you guys have made it this far.

Once your head is resting against the armrest, you bring your knees up, pressing your feet flat to the cushion, your knees slamming together when you catch sight of Harry rising, his face serious, unreadable, sending a pulse between your legs, and my god, you want him so bad, you want him to shove that fucking dick so deep inside you that you’re yelling his name at the top of your lungs, so loud that your voice fills every vacant space in this room.

“This may come as a surprise,” he starts, his penis in his hand again as he stands before you, “But I don’t have any condoms…” and he laughs, your eyes trained solely on his hand, now gliding down his hard dick, his words barely registering. 

You tear your eyes from his moving hand just in time to catch the cocky smirk rising on his face, “Good thing we didn’t have sex last night. I’m not on birth control anymore…”

“‘Mmmmm…” he hums, watching you lick your lips, and you swallow hard, your mind in overdrive, already contemplating what you would say if he asked to fuck without one, and when your eyes sweep down his body, you think, fuck it, let’s risk it all! 

This thought makes you laugh, “Yeah…” you say, meeting his eye again, “So… that’s bad, right…?” you ask, your clit throbbing, and you bite down on your lower lip, praying he’ll make the decision for you both.

“I think…?” He answers with a curious smile, the words coming out more of a question, and you squeeze your thighs together, trying to find relief from the pressing thought of you guys fucking, raw, and nasty; no holding back because that’s what it would be if he stuck that warm, supple dick inside you…and your almost begging that those are his next words, the tension building between your legs, your gaze, and Jesus Christ, just say yes or fucking no you plead internally. 

Your legs fall open at the sight of him continuing to stroke himself, your fingers already rubbing slow circles, enough to satiate the ache, and then Harry smiles, that fucking smile, so cute, and so sweet, his dimples dipping, “Sit!” you force out through a wave of pleasure—a single word humming through your body enough to take you to the edge and you have to stop touching yourself or else you’ll come right then and there and it’s too soon. 

Harry doesn’t even question you. He drops into the cushions, one of the decorative pillows in his way, and he thrusts his hips forward, his dick still in his hand, and when he falls back into the couch, his hard cock stands tall, ready for you, and he scoots his hips back down the cushion, opening up space for you to climb on top. 

“So we’re doing this?” he asks, and he definitely thinks sex is about to happen. There’s not a single trace of question on his face as his hand glides down, hitting the base of his dick, and damn it, he wouldn’t even care if you shoved him inside you right now, and should you just do it, just fuck him now, and worry later because this is the first time in your life that you would, that you’ve ever wanted to. 

Without a word, you climb into his lap, leaving a space between you and his moving hand. When Harry drops his penis to reach for your face, it hits your inner thigh with a thud, heavy and hard, and maybe in another lifetime, you would ask him to smack that fucking hard dick across your lips, tap your cheeks, feel the thickness down your throat, and maybe he already has, you’ll never know, but there’s no time because you have to find relief. 

Harry’s kiss is sloppy, his mouth moving against yours with force, with hunger, his tongue coming out to wet your lips, and you follow up by shoving your tongue into his mouth, greedy to taste him. 

When your tongues clash, Harry pushes a groan into your mouth. The tremble runs over your tongue, sparking a cooling chill down your spine that sends a quiver to your clit, “God dammit!” you yell into the air with a laugh, and your head falls back, your eyes fluttering shut as Harry, presses a wet kiss to your neck. 

“I want it…I want you,” Harry pleas, his woody voice filling your neck, and you’ll do it, you really will, but that little voice in the back of your head is telling you that you’ll regret it. 

“I just want to feel you for a second,” he gravels, forcing you back in his lap, creating enough distance for you to take hold of his dick, now hot in your hand, and it’s so fucking tempting, the thrill filling your chest, the thought swirling something deep in your gut, and your fucking pussy beats with it.

Your mouth is already watering, and you work a glob of spit against the roof of your mouth, thick, and you spit down onto his cock, Harry laughing out a breathy, “Shit, baby—” as you both watch it drip over his pulsing head, the saliva working down his sensitive cock. 

You spit again for good measure, working it down his dick. When you bring your hand back up to the head of his penis, Harry sucks in a sharp breath, stopping your hand the second you smooth over the tip; a smile stretches across both of your faces, a knowing stare—your whole world as you know it, right now, in this very second is getting lost in those green eyes peering back at you, and you’re captivated, his eyes moving to your lips and you draw yourself forward in his lap.

With his dick in your hand, you lift your hips, pressing a hand into his knee, finding stability as you press the head of his penis between the lips of your pussy, your wetness dragging down his shaft until you hit the base of his cock, a moan leaving your mouth as you push against his dick with more pressure, your hand starting to work the tip.

“You’re teasing me…” he breathes, letting his head fall into the pillow, and he closes his eyes, his lips parting, a slight twitching in his hips, and he hooks both arms over the back of the couch, letting you take control. 

His dick is warm against your pussy, your slickness marking a glossy streak down his thick dick, and you follow the wet path back up to the tip, rolling your hips once you reach the top, giving the head of his cock a little more attention, and when you press him into your cunt, needing more pressure, his tip dips past your entrance, a quick stretch as his dick snags on your opening. You both groan out in unison, Harry’s head whipping up to meet your eyes, a throaty laugh feeling his chest, and his dick pulses against your clit.

Your strokes get more aggressive, up and down, stroking down with your hand in tandem with your movements, his dick getting more and more wet and sloppy as you tease your entrance again. Then, Harry grabs hold of your thighs, his fingers digging into flesh as he bucks his hips up, and you yell out a pained “Ahhh…fuck…” as your hand wraps around his dick, pulling it away, and your body shudders, the overwhelming sensation edging you.

Harry drags your hips forward as you move through the wave. Your head falls to his shoulder as warmth rises from his body, your hot breath filling the space between you, and you close the gap by pressing a kiss to his inked skin. “We can if you want to…” This time, his words hang between your stare as you bring your face up to his. 

“Harry…”

“I know…” He coos, his soft lips hitting the lobe of your ear, and his breath splays over your neck, sending a hum down your spine, between your legs, and he grips you tighter. 

His arms wrap around the small of your waist, bringing you flush to him, his hard dick pushed to his belly, now tall between you.

He’s so fucking ready for you, but you like the way he begs.

The heat of him pressed between your thighs is making you crazy, your clit swelling for it, and you want it so bad. “Just for a second,” he begs, his voice straining as you begin to move against him, each movement short and precise. 

You circle your arms around his neck, feeling the tension build, the urge for him growing deeper, tugging at you from within, every spot you know he could hit, whispering from inside you, begging, pleading. You press your forehead to his, each breath growing shorter and faster as you work against him, trying to fulfill that pressing need for him as he stares back at you, waiting for you to say anything.

“Just for a second…?” you force out, your fucking pussy aching, the friction on the verge of pain and pleasure as he pulls you down harder, forcing your cunt against him, and you can barely move your hips, Harry strangling your movements, making you desperate for relief.

“Just for a second…” he whispers with more control, and he lifts his chin to push a kiss to your mouth while your hips are fighting for more.

“Just—a second…” you say into his mouth, already pushing a knee into the couch, and lift your hips, breaking Harry’s hold. 

He grabs hold of his dick, both of you gazing down as he guides his dick to your opening, and you spread yourself, making it easier, your hand shaking as adrenaline surges between you both. 

Harry nudges the tip in, your pussy opening for him as you grab hold of his neck, and you slowly sink with a loud, “Mmmmm….” pushing past his ear, filling the space, but all you hear is, “Oh, fuck, baby… that’s so good…” as your walls stretch around him, the pain sharp, and foreign, but as his dick pushes past the spots that need him, that were calling out for more, there’s pleasure—pure fucking pleasure.

And just as you hit the hilt of his dick, your breath hitches, the entire expanse of him now inside you, and you tense up as your mouth moves against his. Harry slows you both down, and you gasp into his mouth as soon as your hips ease to a standstill. 

The sudden pause magnifies the intensity of the stretch--his length stretching past anything you’ve ever felt before, his girth widening you beyond any measures you’ve ever experienced because they were nearly warm-ups, lead-ups to this very moment because it is so fucking good, so good, and then your hips are moving, Harry scraping out a sharp groan into your mouth as you continue to kiss.

Each time you lift and lower back down, the walls clenching around his dick loosen. 

His dick is wet with your juices, nice and slick, the fit better with every movement, and it sends a flutter of excitement to the pit of your stomach, “So good—” you breathe out, “That dick is so good…,” and Harry laughs, grabbing hold of your face, not wanting to break the kiss.

He’s more romantic than you pictured.

He’s gentle and lets you move at your own pace. When you swivel your hips on the way back down, he nips your lower lip, bringing you with him as he falls back into the cushions. “Play nice…” he laughs as you guys hit the pillows with a soft thud. 

“I don’t want to play nice…” you tell him, taking his bottom lip into your mouth, and you gently tug, grabbing hold of the back of the couch. 

That’s when you slam down on his dick hard, releasing his lip. His eyes roll back as his body relaxes into the couch, his hands twitching on your hips, then sinking into your skin to grab hold of you, and he lifts his hips, drawing you forward, then back. The first time it’s slow, but he does it again with more force, and you cry out a moan, his cock deep in the pit of your stomach, and you squeeze the firm surface under your palm to ground you.

“Tell me how good it is…” he pushes out, between a moan, “More—” you shout, and he juts you up with a raise of his hips, and you yell out his name, letting your head fall back as the force runs through you.

Your entire body heats with the growing pressure, and when you look back at him, he’s securing his hands on your waist, bucking into you again, and as soon as you hit the base of his dick, he does it again, and again, until your bouncing up and down, losing your grip on the couch—losing control, each thrust up a welcoming embrace, tipping you closer to your threshold, and it’s hot, and heavy, your hands slipping on his chest as you try to steady yourself.

“Oh my god—”

“You’re going to—” you choke out. 

“Say it!” he says as you fall into his chest, your resolve etching away, and his grip tightens; Harry gaining more control, his pace consistent, his strokes shortening, deeper, as he holds you in place.

Your gaze is trained on his chest, your hand smoothing over the butterfly--transformative that’s what this will be because you’ve never gotten this close, this fast, without the extra work of your hand, and it’s a completely different feeling, a feeling you have to let go and let happen, every breath in and out, pulls deep in your belly.

“Come—I think—” you blurt, your mind becoming a jumbled mess, every sense entirely overwhelmed, and when he smiles at you, the knot building tightens, and you feel your walls beginning to clamp around his dick, like a fist, as Harry slows his thrusts.

“I’m going to come—I’m coming—I’m coming,” you stretch out with a long moan. 

And It’s that quick, the feeling sneaking up, and just as you’re coming undone, he yanks his dick from inside you with enough force that you collapse onto his chest, leaving you hollow, a sliver of emptying space closing as your walls continue to pulse, and you rub your pussy against his lower abdomen, riding out your orgasm, with that last bit of friction. 

…

Harry hadn’t intended sex, but here you guys were in the aftermath, his hand wrapped around the head of his dick, cum spilling out into his hand as you rode out your orgasm, his body the object of your desire, and he fucking loved it. He wanted this feeling with you for as long as you allowed him. 

“That was—” you huffed out, trying to catch your breath as every harsh puff pushed into Harry’s neck, and he was taken—the start of obsession creeping in because that was--amazing.

“Amazing—” he laughed between a quick inhale, finishing your sentence.

He felt your lips press into his skin, chills running through his whole body, every touch electric, heightened by the energy you guys shared, a connection he hadn’t felt in so long that he forgot what it felt like to actually let go—to get so caught up in the moment that nothing else mattered—and yes, using the risky “pull out method” isn’t the best decision but maybe you guys could cross that bridge later. He didn’t want to think about it; he wasn’t ready for the reality that it would bring, the reality that you would be leaving. 

“Stay another night…I promise I’ll make it worth your while…” he told you. 

That’s when you laughed, a breathy sigh leaving your mouth. Content, your gaze was starry-eyed, beaming up at him. Your body was totally relaxed against his. “As long as there are pancakes…” 

Harry couldn’t decipher his feelings, what this was turning into for him, the way he was catching feelings.

When was the last time he had stayed up all night just talking about anything and everything with someone? He wanted to run his fingers through your brain like you ran your fingers through his hair, everything light, a delicate touch, a mindless gesture, comfortable and charismatic, your walls completely down.

What made you tick? Was it something he could figure out in one night, or would he spend months dwelling on the what-ifs because he felt hopeless for you, desperate for the idea of trying to make this work?

All night had been a fever dream, a kiss, a stare, a laugh; you filled every inch of this space—of his being. When he was inside you because, yes, he was inside you again, you took it slow, no rush, your bodies melding together in a slow rhythm, your mouths moving easy, light, a carefree laugh, a hand intertwined, a giddy clinginess that neither one of you could shake, and when the morning sun sliced through the edges of the curtains Harry was the first to wake.

He lay there as still as he could, not daring to stir you as his gaze lingered on your face, memorizing the details, your head resting on his chest. Your breaths were slow and rhythmic, in and out of your nose, a faint warmth beating down on his skin, almost humming him back to sleep. 

He knew this would be all the time that he had left with you, so Harry savored the seconds, meditating on the thoughts that circled his mind—dwelling on the questions that tugged and ground deep in his gut, the longing to be something else, knowing Harry could never lead a normal life, that love could never be this simple because, after all, you didn’t even know who Harry was, what he did for a living—how in hindsight you were still strangers.

How he was barely his own person anymore, and how could he ask you to share when this was all he could give? Hell, you’ve had him more than anyone else lately, more time than he’s had by himself.

Harry knew that when you woke, there would be no pancakes because he had a gnawing feeling that you wouldn’t want to stick around, that maybe you were the type that just ripped the bandaid off, and he was right.

As soon as you opened your eyes, goodbye had stolen the night and cast light to the inevitable—the end—and as your eyes lingered on his face, your lazy gaze taking him in, still half asleep, the corner of your mouth dropped just enough for Harry to peep the frown you were fighting, the still sadness in your eyes, that didn’t want to leave his.

Then your eyes dropped to his chest, your arm still draped over his torso. You lifted your head and pressed the softest, most delicate kiss into his flesh, your lips pushing into his skin, lingering, and when your mouth moved away, he watched you press your cheek into the warm spot you left behind, closing your eyes to savor the fleeting moment.

Because that’s what this all was, one fleeting moment after the other, and when you rest your chin on his chest, eyes meeting his, the knot burning his throat tightens.

All of his words are lost. Harry biting them back, pressing down on his lip that he’s trying to keep from quivering because you’ve just become the longest goodbye he’s ever had to make, and the grief of it is already taking him.

“I don’t think I’ll have time for pancakes,” you tell him, only furthering the pain building in his chest.

His heart sinks as the words leave your mouth, and you don’t even look at him, your voice still thick with sleep, and you clear your throat, Harry watching the effort it takes to swallow, and he knows you feel it too, the weight of the goodbye.

One more time…

He just needs you one last time. 

…

When Harry gently nudges you onto your back, you know what he wants, and so do you; your body moving with his movements as your eyes fill with tears. When Harry hums out a small sob, hovering over you, his face falls to your neck, and you reach between your bodies, feeling for the hard mass resting against your thigh.

You know what this is; you know this is goodbye.

What you didn’t tell Harry was that you knew, that you had figured it out, who he was—after you showered and slipped back into his t-shirt. 

The two of you stood in front of the mirror brushing your teeth, all laughs, flirty gestures. You stood there thinking this has never been so easy. You felt something wild stirring, the thought creeping into your head with the glimpse of his smile, and you thought maybe love, like maybe you could fall in love with a guy like him, like you could make it work. 

When Harry turned away to reset the bathroom, you stood there brushing your teeth, and you honed in on your reflection, thinking you hadn’t looked this happy in so long, so long that it overwhelmed you, and you stood there, your heart already longing. 

Already mourning this girl you got to be with him, trying to hold it together, trying to hold onto all your pieces because you wanted to give them all away, tell him how you felt, and maybe he would say the same. 

There wouldn’t have to be an ending, at least not now. 

That smile, that kindness could be yours, those lips, those hands could have you any time he wanted.

You were so caught up in this idea, and as your eyes lazily flit over yourself in the mirror. You half-heartedly glanced over the five faces reflected back at you, your eyes taking them in again, remembering you were going to ask Harry about the shirt. 

As you silently studied their faces. You found yourself focusing in on the boy with the playful smile, the boyish grin stretched across his face, familiar, his dimples giving him away and how had you not noticed before?

Then terror took way. 

It was like lightning striking your body, the realization like an earthquake ripping down your spine as your mind fought to keep up. The feeling was almost dizzying as your eyes flicked to Harry, now standing next to you, your toothbrush stopped mid-brush. 

You knew you couldn’t react.

That’s when you had to make the decision, and you knew in that split second that if you said a word, it would change everything. A sacrifice because this is what you wanted, this guy standing before you, just like this, how you’ve had him all night. 

So you bury it deep, a tunnel of grief already splitting inside you because it’s in those flashing moments you know he could never be yours, so you let him go and force the idea from your brain, letting him be exactly who he was, and will be until the time comes to say goodbye, because what he’s given has been so much bigger--bigger than all the fleeting moments--and even if it hurts, and it will hurt later, maybe it’s a gift you thought, and you ran with it.

So now, as he pushed inside you, the pain is sharp, and your body tenses, and you gasp in a breath and let it take way because there was already pain the moment you opened your eyes, the longing that never left your body. 

And as your mouths move together, the tears begin to fall from his closed eyes, your heart aching with it, and you close your eyes, getting lost in it, falling until there’s nothing else but this. 

It’s pain and pleasure all over again, and when he groans, you spread yourself wider, giving yourself completely as tears spill down the sides of your face, goodbye at the edge of each breath that pulls in and out of your mouths. 

Then it’s a whimper, a moan, a ragged hand dragging down his back as his strokes deepen, your nails digging as he rasps out a grunt of satisfaction.

Deeper and deeper, he pushes like he’s trying to merge your bodies together as one. The weight of him forcing against you until you don’t know where your skin begins and his ends--each stroke persistent and measured, like Harry is savoring the feel of you, memorizing it for later, your name falling off his tongue as if he’ll forget and maybe he will, but you don’t want to think of it.

And it’s right there. 

The look in his eyes, the words he’s holding back, but you’re close, and so is he, and the tears haven’t left, and you nod your head, Harry following suit—a shared sense of recognition. 

Harry lets you go first, and seconds later, he’s pulling out, and like every time before, leaving an empty void, but the satisfaction is in the pleasure you’re bringing him. 

Something tells you that very few get him like this, and this notion, this waking realization, is what you’ll walk away with. 

When your back is pressed against the door frame, readying yourself to leave, his arm perched above your head, and it’s all smiles, him putting your number in his phone. 

Maybe he’ll call, or maybe he won’t; it doesn’t matter because what he gave you was the gift of a lifetime—the gift that will keep giving every time you glimpse a picture of him in a magazine or a song comes on the radio years from now, you’ll know it, you’ll know the moments he sings of, the tiny details hidden in his words.

He sends you off with a parting kiss, your mouth moving until he pulls away, and you wrap your arms around his neck, your bodies coming together in one last deep embrace, and you both get lost in it, not sure who will pull away first.

That’s when a voice sounds behind you, Harry’s face lifting to see who it is. When he loosens his grip, you turn your head to see the dark-eyed boy with the pierced ears, and you look at Harry and push away, forcing yourself to leave.

The dark-eyed guy moves aside and gives you space. You move past him, walking a few paces down the hall, the elevator in view. You stop then, looking down at the shirt, pulling it away from your body to glimpse the faces, and when you turn back around, Harry is leaning against the door frame, hands pinned behind his back. 

That boyish grin is in full swing, “You finally figured it out, huh?” he laughs. You turn away and shake your head, a smile never leaving your face, and as the elevator door opens, you walk in and push the button for the lobby. Harry is still watching, and when the doors begin to close, you lean forward to stop them and yell:

“I figured it out last night—”

He brings his hands to his face, fainting embarrassed, and maybe he is. You can’t tell from this far away, but his smile never falters, and you take that as a good sign, “When?” he shouts back.

You step back into the elevator and shrug your shoulders, a cunning smile taking over as you shake your head. Harry pushes away from the doorway and starts walking toward you. The doors begin to close, and that’s when Harry starts to run. His tall figure becomes a sliver as the doors seal shut, Harry disappears, and you look down at your feet and wonder what the hell you just got yourself into.

A/N: This baby was long, but I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think of it here<-

Masterlist<-

[joelmillerisapunk]

I can't hear it now

acacius x f!reader // 3.6k

summary: A love that was never meant to be. A choice that was never truly yours to make. Acacius was never yours to keep, yet in the dark of night, beneath the weight of duty and desire, he was yours still. For stolen moments, for whispered names, for aching hands tracing the lines of something fleeting, something doomed.

But love does not always mean staying. And when his words reach you at last—words of longing, of regret, of a desperate plea—will you go to him? Or will you let the fire consume him, the way he has already consumed you?

warnings: mdni, 18+, alludes to smut, acacius is married, forbidden love, this is pure angst like I hurt myself writing this lol I wanted it to hurt real bad... I am sorry.

notes: this is for Freya's @almostfoxglove 's angst challenge. this was my moodboard. I have not written for Acacius at all so please be gentle with me. The moodboard and song Freya so kindly created and linked really gave me an idea instantly so thank you for giving me such a beautiful idea, this was probably the easiest I've ever plotted out a fic before and it's all thanks to your creative genius. Big thank you to my baby @thundermartini as always for being my biggest cheerleader, reading this over for me and always assuring me. how could I ever write anything without you? I love you so much <3 and big thank yous to my other cheerleaders for always supporting me big time @itwasntimethatdidit40 @sawymredfox and @myownwholewildworld I love you all so so so much <3

masterlist

The room lay bathed in shadow, the moonlight slipping through the narrow slats of the shutters, casting silver bands across the floor. The air was thick—heavy with the mingled scents of sweat and skin. Distant voices carried from the villa beyond, but they were meaningless here, swallowed by the hush of this stolen moment.  

Acacius’ hands found you, firm and unrelenting as he pressed you against the cool stone wall. His tunic hung loose, its ties undone, revealing the golden plane of his chest, glistening in the dim glow. His lips were warm upon your throat, tracing a path of fire that left your breath unsteady, and your limbs weak.  

"You are reckless," you murmured, though your hands betrayed you, tangling in his dark hair, nails grazing his scalp.  

"Reckless?" His voice was a low whisper, rough with amusement, yet laced with hunger. "And yet you are here, pressed against me, trembling beneath my touch."  

You said nothing, could say nothing, for his mouth was upon yours in an instant—urgent, possessive, as though he might claim you wholly in the space of a single heartbeat. You let him, let yourself drown in the sensation of him, for when all else was stripped away, this was all that remained.  

His hands slipped beneath the folds of your clothing, calloused palms branding your skin as they traced the curve of your waist. He drew you closer still, until there was nothing between you but heat and need. A gasp escaped you, and he exhaled a quiet laugh against your lips.  

"Soft, sweet thing," he murmured, though his voice held no mockery. "Do you know how often I dream of this?"  

"Then do not speak of it," you whispered, though even as you said it, you knew it was futile.  

 "Let them hear you," he rasped, his breath hot against your ear. "Let them see what you do to me."  

A laugh trembled at the edge of your lips, but it died the moment his mouth found yours again, slower this time, less desperate—deep and consuming, as though he wished to savor every moment, every taste. His hands roamed you as if memorizing you, as though the mere thought of parting was unendurable. 

For a fleeting breath, you allowed yourself to forget the wife who awaited him beyond these walls, the life he could never offer you, and the cruel weight of reality that loomed just beyond the night’s embrace.  

But then his lips left yours, trailing lower, and your mind unraveled once more, dissolving into nothing but him, only him.  

"Acacius," you whispered, his name slipping unbidden from your lips, trembling upon the air between you.  

He stilled, his forehead pressing to your collarbone. His breath came heavy, ragged. "Say it again," he murmured, hoarse with longing, his grip tightening upon your hips.  

You obeyed, softer now. "Acacius."  

He lifted his head, meeting your gaze, and in his dark eyes burned something raw, something perilously close to love—but shadowed with something else, something darker still.  

"I am unworthy of you," he said, the words thick with sorrow. "But I would sooner rend the stars from the sky than let you go."  

You cradled his face between your palms, thumbs brushing over the sharp lines of his jaw. "Then do not," you pleaded.  

If only it could be so simple.  

His lips found yours again, fevered with desperation. His hands roamed your body, as though trying to commit each curve, each breath, each shiver to memory—as though he feared this would be the last time.  

And perhaps it would be.  

The bed was scarcely large enough for one, but neither of you cared as he laid you upon it, the weight of him pressing into you in a way that made you ache, made you crave. Your hands roamed his broad shoulders, pushing the fabric of his tunic aside, eager to feel the heat of him, the solidness of him.  

A growl rumbled low in his throat as he shuddered beneath your touch. "You undo me," he confessed, his lips ghosting over your skin.  

You smiled, breathless. "Then show me."  

He did.  

The world beyond ceased to exist, lost in the press of his body, the reverence of his hands, the whispered prayers of your name against your skin. He worshipped you as though you were something sacred, something divine.  

And for a time, you allowed yourself to believe it.  

When at last you lay spent in his arms, his breath stirring against your temple, he murmured something soft, almost inaudible.  

You did not ask him to repeat it. You did not wish to break the fragile peace that had settled over you both.  

But peace is a fleeting thing.  

As the first light of dawn crept through the shutters, reality stole back in with it.  

"Do you ever wonder?" you whispered, breaking the silence.  

Acacius stirred, his lips grazing the tender hollow beneath your ear. "Of what?"  

"What it would be like," you said. "If we did not have to hide. If this," you gestured faintly between you, "was not all we could ever have."  

He stilled. You felt it in the way his fingers once idly tracing patterns against your skin, froze. The weight of your words hung heavy between you, thick as the morning air.  

"It is better not to think on such things," he said at last, his voice rough, his gaze falling away as he sat up. "I cannot give you what you deserve."  

The words struck as surely as a blade, though you had known them long before he ever spoke them aloud.  

"But you will take all that I may offer," you said, sharper than you had intended.  

His head snapped up, a flicker of pain in his dark eyes. "Do not say that."

"Why not?" you challenged, sitting up, putting space between you. The warmth of him, once a comfort, was now a memory. You already missed it. "It is true, is it not?"  

Marcus raked a hand through his dark hair, his chest rising and falling with the force of his breath. "You think this is easy for me?" he asked. "You think I do not loathe myself with every step I take from you? With every lie I speak to her?"  

You flinched, and he saw it.  

"Do not speak of her," you whispered. "Not here. Not now."  

His hands came to your arms, gentle but firm, forcing you to look at him. "I would protect you from all of this," he swore. "From her. From them. From myself."  

You laughed then, but there was no mirth in it. "You cannot even protect yourself, Marcus."  

His hands fell away. The silence between you was deafening.  

"I love you," he said suddenly, the words scarcely more than breath, yet they shattered you all the same.  

Your throat tightened. Your eyes burned. "Then fight for me," you pleaded. "Do not let this be all we are."  

For a moment, you thought he might say yes. You saw the battle waged behind his eyes, the war between duty and desire. But then his shoulders sagged, and he looked away.  

"This holy ground burns my feet. I cannot stay, and yet I do not want to leave," he said, so softly it nearly broke you.  

Tears slipped free, and you did not stop them. You turned toward the door, your movements slow, heavy with the weight of what had just been spoken—of what had been left unsaid.

Your fingers trembled as you reached for your discarded garments, the fabric cool against your skin as you pulled them back into place. Each tie fastened, each fold smoothed, felt like sealing away a part of yourself, tucking it back behind the mask you wore beyond these stolen hours. The warmth of his touch still lingered, but it would fade, as it always did.

"Wait," he said, his voice cracking. "Please."  

You hesitated.  

He reached for the simple band of gold upon his finger, hesitating only a moment before sliding it free.  

"Take it," he murmured, pressing it into your palm. "Keep it. Until we meet again."  

You hated how easily you let yourself believe him. How your heart still clung to the idea that there would be another moment after this, another night where his hands would map your body and his lips would trace words he was too much of a coward to say aloud.

You swallowed hard, forcing down the ache that lodged itself in your throat. “And if we do not?”  

Acacius exhaled sharply through his nose, his head bowing for the briefest moment before he shook it, as though warding off the thought itself. “Do not speak of such things.” His voice was strained, rough with something perilously close to despair.  

You stepped back, slipping the ring into the folds of your clothing. It should not have felt so heavy. And yet, it did.  

Acacius turned away, his movements rigid as he reached for the table in the dim corner of the chamber, where his armor lay in a careful arrangement. A small scroll of parchment rested beside it—deliberately placed, waiting.  

He picked it up, his fingers lingering over the edges, then hesitated before pressing it into your hands.  

“If ever you should change your mind,” he murmured, eyes fixed on the space between you, never daring to meet your gaze, “open it.”  

You hesitated, fingers curling but refusing to take it. “What is this?”  

His jaw tensed, a muscle feathering in his cheek. “A choice.”  

A quiet, bitter laugh slipped from your lips before you could stop it. “No. It is another way for you to break my heart.”  

Acacius flinched as though you had struck him.  

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Slowly, your fingers closed around the parchment. Without a word, you tucked it away, into the same hidden place where his ring now rested.  

And then you turned.  

You did not look back.  

He did not call you to stay. 

—

Days passed. You did not open the letter.

Every night, you traced the edges of the ring beneath your fingertips, feeling its warmth against your skin, like it still held his touch.

He did not come to you again. You did not go to him.

Then, a week later, you cracked.

It was late when you unrolled the parchment, your hands shaking, the candlelight flickering against the ink-stained words.

My love,

I do not know if these words shall ever reach you. Perhaps they should not. Perhaps it is a cruelty to write at all, to leave behind mere ink when I have already left so much else. And yet, I must. I must, for the weight of what I carry cannot go unspoken.

I did not wish to leave you—never think it so. Had the gods willed another path, I would have taken it, would have stood against fate itself with sword in hand if it meant remaining by your side. But this world is not merciful, nor does it grant peace to men like me. Had I stayed, it would have torn me from you in ways far worse than this. That, I could not allow.

You were my only sanctuary, the one truth I never questioned. To love you was the sole virtue of my life, the one act I shall never repent. And though I am lost to you now, though the fates have severed what was once whole, know this: I am yours, now and always. Neither time nor death shall unmake what we were.

I pray the gods are kinder to you than they have been to me. That joy may find you once more. But if it does not—if the world turns cruel, if you find yourself adrift and wonder whether I still think of you—know that I do. In this life and the next, I shall always think of you.

And so, I ask this of you, though I have no right to, come to me I beg it of you. If there is still a place in your heart that has not turned against me, if even the smallest ember of what we were still lingers, meet me where the olive trees stand at the edge of the city, where the river bends and the world quiets. Let me look upon you once more before the gods tear me away, if only to commit your face to memory, to carry the light of you into whatever darkness awaits me. If nothing else, grant me this.

With all that I am,

Acacius

The candle’s flame flickered against the parchment, casting long shadows that danced across the walls. Your hands trembled as you read Acacius’ words, your breath catching on the weight of them.   

Each sentence carved through you like a blade, slicing past your anger, your sorrow, your resolve. I am yours, now and always.   

How dare he? How dare he write such things, spill out his soul onto parchment, and yet still choose duty over you? Still choose a life where you were nothing more than a whispered secret?  

Your vision blurred, a single tear spilling onto the page, smudging the ink where his name had been signed with careful, deliberate strokes.  

You hated him.  

You loved him.  

The fire crackled beside you, the embers shifting like they, too, could feel your turmoil. You held the letter over the flames, hesitating just for a moment—just long enough to wonder if you'd regret it.  

Then, with a sharp inhale, you let go.  

The parchment curled as the fire devoured it, blackening at the edges before collapsing into itself. The words disappeared, burned away as if they had never been written at all. But you felt them, still, seared into your skin, your soul.   

You pressed the ring tethered around your neck against your lips. You should throw that into the fire, too. Should rid yourself of every last piece of him.   

But you couldn't 

Days passed.

You should have let it go. Should have cast the ring into the river, let the current carry it far beyond your reach. Should have buried the memory of him in the recesses of your mind, left it to rot like the dying embers of that flame.

But you did not.

Instead, you wrote.

Your hand trembled over the parchment, but the words came quickly, as though they had been waiting to be freed.

Acacius,

I have burned your letter.  

Not for hatred—though I wish I could hate you. Not for anger—though I should be wrathful. No, I burned it because to read it again would be to let it wound me anew, and I have suffered enough at the hands of your absence. Your words, though fair, are a cruelty. They speak of love yet bring only sorrow.  

You write that you did not wish to leave me, and yet you went. You write that you have loved me, and yet you chose a life where I am nothing but a shadow. You speak of the gods as though they are the authors of this pain, but it was not their hand that severed us—it was yours.  

And yet, I am a fool. A fool, for I write you still. A fool, for though I know you will break me again, I offer you this:  

Come with me.  

Leave the battlefield. Abandon your duty, your name, your oaths. Let the burdens of Rome fall from your shoulders. We will go where no man knows us, where no law binds us, where the weight of our sins shall belong to no one but the gods themselves. You speak of fate as though it is unyielding, but I do not believe in fate. I believe in choice.  

So choose me.  

Come to me, Acacius. And if you do not, if you cannot, then let this be the last time my name passes your lips, the last time you think of me beneath the stars.  

With all that I am,  

Yours

The moment you set the quill down, you felt the finality of it settle into your bones. You had bared your soul upon the parchment, laid it before him with trembling hands. And yet, you did not send it.

Not that day.

Not the next.

Days turned to weeks, and still, the letter remained hidden away, unsent, unread.

And then, one evening, when the city was bathed in the amber glow of torches and the streets murmured with whispered news, you heard his name.

You did not want to turn, did not want to listen. But the words struck you like a blade to the chest, piercing through bone and marrow, hollowing you out from the inside.

Acacius was dead.

They said he fell in battle, a sword through his ribs, the blood pooling beneath him dark as the night sky. They said he fought like a man possessed, as though he had nothing left to lose.

Your breath left you. Your knees buckled, but you did not fall. You could not fall.

You had waited too long.

The letter still sat, unsent. He would never read it. Would never know.

The world felt unbearably still.

But grief did not move you to tears. No, grief moved you to action.

The moon was high when you reached the place where they had laid the fallen. The air was thick with the scent of death, blood, and smoke, and the torches lining the corridor flickered against the stone walls like restless spirits.

You had no right to be here. No place among the mourning wives, the grieving mothers, and the sons who had come to claim the fathers they would never see again.

But you came anyway.

Acacius was there, just as they had said. His body lay upon the raised stone, displayed beneath the flickering torchlight, surrounded by the scent of burning oils. There were no mourners. No whispered prayers. Just silence.  

Just you.  

He looked almost peaceful, as though he had simply closed his eyes and drifted into slumber. But the truth was written in the deep wound beneath his ribs, in the dried blood that marred the golden skin of his chest.  

He had died a soldier’s death.  

Your breath came shallow, uneven, as you stepped forward. No one stopped you. There was no one left to do so.  

Slowly, carefully, you reached out, your fingers trembling as they brushed against his skin. He was cold. Cold in a way he had never been before. A lump formed in your throat.  

“You fool,” you whispered, the words meant only for him. “You were supposed to come back to me.”  

But he had not.  

You had given him a choice, and in the end, he had made it. He had chosen the battlefield over you, just as he always had. And now he had paid the price for it.  

Your fingers curled around the ring that still hung from your neck, the small band of gold that had once rested upon his hand. You held it tightly, as though you could somehow press all your grief into it, as though it might carry the weight of your sorrow in place of you.  

It would be easy, you thought, to slip it back onto his finger. To leave it with him, to bury it alongside him when the time came. But something inside you rebelled at the thought.  

He had left you behind in life. You would not allow him to do so in death.  

Carefully, you took the ring and tucked it away once more, pressing it against your skin as though to keep him there, with you, even now.  

Then, with hands that did not shake, you reached into the folds of your cloak and withdrew the letter. The one you had never sent. The one that had remained hidden away for far too long.  

Your eyes burned as you looked at it, the inked words staring back at you, mocking you with all the things he would never hear.  

A fool’s hope. That was all it had ever been.  

And yet, still, you bent forward, pressing the parchment into the stillness of his hands.  

“Here,” you whispered. “Take it, Acacius. Take the choice you never made.”  

He could not read it now. But perhaps, if there were gods beyond this life, they would allow him to hear your words. To know that, even in the end, you still wanted him.  

Your gaze lingered on him, tracing the lines of his face, memorizing every detail before the earth claimed him. He had always been beautiful, even in death. And that, more than anything, shattered you.  

A quiet breath left your lips as you leaned down, pressing your forehead against his. His scent was faint now, masked by the oils and the cold stillness of his body, but it was there. Just enough to remind you of what you had lost.  

Then, with all the tenderness you had once held back, you kissed him.  

One last time.  

His lips were cold, unmoving, but you kissed him anyway. Slowly. Softly. As though, for a moment, he might still kiss you back.  

But he did not.  

He never would again.  

When you finally pulled away, your vision blurred with tears you refused to shed. You had lingered long enough.  

So, with one final look, one last whispered goodbye, you turned and walked away.