#is is wrong that we wish she could fucking make us feel loved??

[fantastic-mr-corvid]

Nothing beats having your mother walk into your room on christmas day and starting the conversation with "I think i deserve a pat on the back for not saying to your grandmother that our families emotional constipation is why your uncle john was an alcoholic at 15" So uh. yeah. Happy bloody Christmas!

[dumbblond3]

★ FIGHT OR FUCK? ★

PIT FIGHTER VI FUCKING READER WHILE DICTATOR CAIT WATCHES

Caitvi x reader

NSFW MINORS DNI

“Just wish you two would get along hmm!”

A particularly rough thrust from Vi has your head reeling back into bed sheets

“That’s not for you to worry about baby ah- and maybe if cupcake over here could mm- lighten up we could go back to focusing on things that matter like our sweet girl”

Vi croons leaning down to your ear hitting that spot inside that leaves you cross-eyed

“Don’t act like this is my fault-“ Caitlyn chides

“I don’t need the spiel I’m a little preoccupied to keep this arguing up” Vi smirks back at Cait’s peeved expression

Caitlyn huffs her frustration almost outweighing her arousal at seeing you like this, almost

You feel her cool hand against your cheek, a soft attempt to soothe as Vi’s hips don’t miss a beat giving you no choice but to take it

“Mhmmm Cait please-“ you hear yourself start to beg for what exactly you’re not sure

“I know baby I know but you can take it for me, can’t you?” Caitlyn’s hushed words coat your mind in a hazy bliss that Vi can’t help but interject “You can take it for us, right honey? Or did you forget she’s mine too”

Vi punctuates her sharp words with the quick snap of her hips punching little whines out of you with each thrust

“Don’t like it when you fight- uhhh!”

Your pleas not falling on completely deaf ears, the two girls want nothing more than to make you happy but pride often gets in the way

A sharp glare is directed toward Vi, Caitlyn Kiramman does not fold and she certainly won’t be the one to apologize now

Unfortunately for you Vi is just as stubborn and as much as she wants to make you happy her ego can’t take admitting that she was wrong

So you'll stay stuck here in a tug-of-war over your pliant body until these two can learn how to make up in a way that doesn't involve fucking your lights out

"Maybe I'd think about giving in if I could have my turn with you pretty girl, how does that sound?"

Caitlyn's intentions are far from pure giving Vi a cheeky smile as she coddles you with faux sympathy

"No no, you don't" Vi hoists you up flat against her chest possesively "Just mad you didn't get to her first aren't you Cait? Too late for that shit now you'll just have to wait your turn" Vi sneers

While she may seem annoyed Caitlyn has no problem with patience if anything having Vi's sloppy seconds means you'll be even more sensitive and limp for her to use as she pleases

"I c-can't anymore please gonna cum-" and then there's you

With no chance of escaping until they decide you’ve had enough, it’s best to accept your role as beloved plaything and from the attitude they’ve shown so far it seems you’re in for a very long night

AN- These were my fave caitvi eras and I was sad they didn't interact more so I thought I should write something for them together, hope you enjoy! (not sure if anyone reads these anyway lol but kisses to my lovely readers 💋)

[importantpuppystarfish]

I fell in love with my sister

Male reader x Yuna

Warnings: Incest, totally blood related siblings

I had never thought I would fell in love with my own sister.

Maybe its because I have been watching too much stepsister porn which leaded me to have the same attraction over my own blood related sister. I had always wished I had a sister to fuck and luckily I found my sister attractive. My love for her has grown stronger ever since she became a member of Itzy.

Her busy schedule as an idol means I rarely get to see her at home; coming by once in a while to spend time with her family. I know its totally wrong to think of her like that but the way she dances and reveals a lot of skin lately makes me uncontrollable to have feelings for her. I have mastrubated quite a few times watching her fancams. My phone gallery is full of her hot fancams & images which I use to imagine nasty stuff. I’m sure plenty of guys think the same way about her, but I’m fortunate that she’s my sister.

I am not even sure if she is a virgin or not, who knows, her company managers might have taken some advantage of her body. I don't know if she feels the same for me. I am left wondering; could she possibly like me?

On a certain night, within the summer hiatus, she reappeared at home. She was dressed in extraordinarily short clothes that exposed her sexy waist. Our eyes locked, and a profound connection seemed to pass between us. We stare into each others soul through our eyes. The home seemed to be empty. Yuna asked curiously "Yo Oppa? Where's mom and dad?". “They’re currently away to village on some business,” I replied. Yuna’s lips curled into a smile as she bit them, displaying a seductive expression. "Guess we gotta be alone and sleeping together then!" said Yuna. I felt a surge of motivation and realized this might be my opportunity to express my feelings for her.

After she took a bath and changed into a T-shirt and shorts, the fragrance of her body was pleasantly appealing. Her body smell was better than flowers and it was turning me on so hard. We cooked the dinner together and had a few talks about our recent lives, how is it going and our memories when we used to live together. While preparing the meal together, we exchanged glances. I look a peek at her tits and ass a lot. It seemed she was aware of my gaze, yet she seemed comfortable with it.

After having dinner and brushing our teeth, it was time for bed. We both felt a subtle attraction between us. I went to toilet to pee. Yeah, I always had a habit of not locking my phone with a PIN or passcode since my parents did not know how to use smartphone so I thought it wasn't necessary. After coming out from the washroom, I realized I was in a difficult situation when I noticed Yuna was browsing through my gallery. She seem to be shocked to discover what she found.

Yuna ~ "So is this the reason you've been peeking at my body while we were cooking? Are you somehow sexually attracted over me?"

I started feeling submissive and scared at what she said.. She seem to be not angry but waiting for my reply.

Yuna speaks again ~ "It's ok.. I understand how boys feel, I know what would've been going through."

Yuna starts approaching towards me. Putting her hands over my arms, head to head looking at each other eyes. She leaned and kiss at my lips aggressively.. Our lips meeting each other aggressively. Her eyes closed but mines open in shock. The whole room was quite, we started getting sweaty due to tensions. She started sliding her tongue inside my mouth leading for a french kiss.. We kissed romantically exchanging our tongues and salivas through our mouth. The kiss lasted pretty long. She opened her tshirt and was wearing a simple bra. Oh god damn she looked like an angel. Yuna starts unbuttoning my pants and said in a freaky way smiling "damn its hard, isn't it? looks like the size is huge".. She made a wow expression in an impressed way looking at my dick.. I was shy and nervous what to do.. This was the time i feel it is heaven.. I never imagined my sister in this position in real life..

Yuna starts to put my cock inside her mouth, she started licking the head with her tongue and starts sucking it like a pro.. It seemed that she was already experienced, she sucked it very well with hesitation and i was moaning really loud in heaven.. I literally cummed inside her mouth that time without permission. Yuna seemed to swallow the cum inside her mouth already. She was smiling. I start making my first move by unbuttoning her bra. She helped me unbutton it, the bra fell off.

She seem to have pink nipples since her skin was really pale. Her tits were massive enough to squeeze really good with my hand.. I start squeezing her boobs, trying to put it on my mouth. She laughed a bit because i was nervous.. She lay down on the bed, allowing me to suck her tits. She put her hands on my head, moaning in joy.. I started exploring her body more downwards.. I started licking her belly, navel & thighs.. Her skin is so fucking delicious.. It was so warm. As i move more downwards, i pulled down her panties. Her pussy looks like flowers! How clean and shaved it is! It was damn wet as well.. I started eating her pussy without hesitation.. I can hear Yuna moaning.. She locked my face and mouth inside her pussy with her thighs & legs.. Eventually she was enjoying and calling me for a kiss to taste herself

We kissed passionately, enjoying each others breathe. Now I started getting out of control and wanting to slide my cock inside her. I started fucking her, it was my first time ever. It felt so good pounding her. Yuna seemed to enjoy her brother's dick inside her. I wanted to cum inside. "Yuna, do you think I should do this?" "Yes i want ur cum inside me oppa!" replied Yuna in excitement. "Oppa please! I want ur cum inside me! Breed me!"

I couldn't control anymore hearing at her sexual seductive words. I instantly cummed inside her without a 2nd thought. I leaned to her face for a kissed. We both French kissed passionately.. Laying both besides each other in the bed. Its late middle night.. All silent in the room.. We can hear our huge breathing. I asked Yuna "What about our parents? What will we explain about our children or should we do an abortion? "

Yuna replied in an odd way "I guess we have to hide them. Lets live together in a another place and start a family. I love you Oppa!". From that day, Yuna is my sister, my wife and the mother of my children!

[nebulablakemurphy]

What’s in a name?

Summary: Haymitch Abernathy x Reader set in the moves & countermoves universe. Y/N is currently pregnant with their second child and they need a name.

Warning: 18+ ONLY MDNI (Smut)

They struck gold with Everest, the child and his namesake. The people of Panem loved the grandiose nature of the name Everest.

The novelty of his existence dwindled over the years, in the public eye. But to his parents, he becomes more perfect each day. By the age of three he possesses luxuries other children his age could only dream of.

Y/N and Haymitch are more than happy with just him. The thought of another child rarely crosses their minds.

Y/N is reading to Everest on the living room couch when Haymitch receives the pristine white envelope stuffed through the mail slot. He skims over the letter three times, painting on a smile as he returns to his wife and son.

Y/N knows him well enough by now that she can feel his distress. Waiting until after Everest is tucked into bed to whisper, “Haymitch, what’s wrong?”

“Snow wants us to have another baby.”

“Ok,” Y/N takes the blow better than she had the first time. “We knew this was coming.”

Haymitch curls his fist around the open bottle of liquor on their bedside table. He gulps it down, unwilling to admit how much he hates the way she isn’t surprised. Even when she cries or screams or throws things, she is fighting. This time she doesn’t fight at all, doesn’t resist in the slightest and it breaks his heart.

He takes it out on her two days later, without meaning to. Instructions from Snow come, sentencing them to the “room” in Y/N’s house with the cameras.

Madge stays with Everest at their house, oblivious to it all.

Before long Y/N is face down, fisting her pretty hands in the sheets as he fucks her.

Haymitch can’t see her face, perhaps that’s why he positioned them this way. He doesn’t deserve to see it.

Her fingers search for his, longing to entwine them, but his mind is far from here, far from his body and her. Going through the motions.

“I love you, Haymitch.”

No, his hips falter. Not that, anything but that. He runs a hand along her spine, her sweat damp skin. “Turn around,” he pulls out, rocking back on his heels to give her room.

Y/N turns to face him, catching her breath. Watching with worried eyes. They don’t switch positions during a recording unless it’s been requested specifically. The goal is always to finish as quickly as possible.

Haymitch closes the space between them, leaning onto his forearms as he eases himself back inside her. “I love you so much.” He murmurs against her ear, causing Y/N to shiver. “I love you.”

Y/N nods, burying her hands in his hair. Understanding how hard those words are for him to speak. “I know.”

“I love you.” A plea, an apology.

“I love you too.” Y/N holds him to her, kissing any part of him she can reach.

————————————————————————-

Haymitch wastes no time, the minute the test is positive, he is on his knees. Talking to their sweet baby, kissing Y/N’s belly, telling them stories. The way he feels about his wife hasn’t changed much since her first pregnancy, he just knows how to communicate it better. He knows what she likes and what she doesn’t, he knows the extent of reassurance she needs to feel safe.

As her belly grows, Y/N comes to him often, seeking comfort in the form of physical intimacy. He welcomes her with open arms, makes her happy. Makes her laugh. Makes her cum. Doing everything he wishes he would have while she was pregnant with Everest.

“Do you think it’s another boy or a girl?” Y/N wonders, watching her husband trace patterns across her belly.

Haymitch smiles, “girl.”

————————————————————————

A few months later his suspicions are confirmed, they are expecting a daughter, announced via Caesar Flickerman and a slew of pink confetti.

Everest squeals in his father’s arms, until Haymitch sets him down so he can dance under the falling pink glitter.

Y/N turns to her husband, with a knowing smile.

“I told you so.” Haymitch cocks his head to the side.

Y/N is in his arms a moment later, silencing him with a kiss.

————————————————————————-

“Is there a name you like?” Haymitch asks; she gets first pick.

Y/N shakes her head, “this one’s all you.”

Finding a name suitable for this child takes months.

“Can’t you just tell me, kid?” He whispers to his unborn child. “What’s your name?”

Y/N chuckles.

“Help me out here.” A swift kick to his nose tells Haymitch that he’ll just have to keep looking.

He searches high and low for a name. In books from the hob and passersby on the street, until finally he passes over the third page of the potential names again.

Arista.

‘The name Arista has its origins in the Greek language and signifies 'Best.’

“Arista,” he murmurs.

“That’s pretty.” Y/N smiles, passing a hand over her belly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

[can-youimagine]

Mix Up (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Summary: Spencer sends the wrong note.

TW: adult themes, embarrassment

Word Count: 1499

Masterlist

Everyone in the BAU contributed something to make the team feel like a family. Rossi opened his house and cooked for the team. Morgan and Hotch were always quick to praise a member for their accomplishments. Penelope always made sure that she had treats for anyone who might be having a bad day. You left notes for everyone. After each case, someone got a note, telling them how much you appreciated them and their contributions. 

Last week, Hotch got a note. He tucked it into his bag with a smile before making sure to thank you and tell you how much you are appreciated on the team. 

Today, it was Spencer’s turn to receive a note. The two of you had roomed together for this case, and you saw how much of a toll it took on him. He shouldn’t say he is surprised to see a note on his desk, but he is.

Spencer,

I can’t imagine how difficult this case was for you. You don’t have to be brave all the time, y’know. It’s okay for you to be scared. You are human, even if you know more than a computer. I am so proud of the work you accomplished and more than grateful for it. Know that I am proud of you, always. 

You are the person I can trust with anything. You are the only member of the team who I worry about, even when we’re not out on a case. Not because I think you can’t handle yourself but because I know you’re worrying about all of us. Please, don’t let me be the cause of any of your stress. 

I wish I could keep writing, but I can barely keep my eyes open.

With love,

(Y/N).

He smiles widely at the note, tucking it into his bag before anyone else has a chance to see it. After all, you didn’t write it for anyone else. You wrote it for him. You thought of him outside the case, and you thought that you wanted to make him feel good. The more he thinks about it, the more light-headed he becomes. He heads to the kitchenette, eager to get a cup of coffee and hide his growing blush. 

You’ve left him five notes in the last year. Even if he didn’t have an eidetic memory, he is certain he would have each word memorized. He’s memorized every interaction you’ve had with them. Though, he knows these memories aren’t quite perfect. Every time a memory is retrieved, it becomes altered, and he has replayed every memory more times than he can count. He’s replayed them, he’s altered them, he’s even added to them. 

If he could bring you just a fraction of the joy that you bring him, he would be able to rest easy. The way his heart flips every time he gets a note from you gives him the perfect idea of how to please you.

When he gets home, he sits at his desk, trying to come up with something to say to you, but nothing feels right. How is he supposed to tell you how much you mean to him without telling you just how much you mean to him? Finally, he picks up his pen, deciding that if he writes a draft of what he wants to say first, he’ll be able to write what he should say.

(Y/N),

You are more appreciated than you know. I love you more than you know. Yes, this case was hard for me, but the biggest challenge was sharing a room with you. It’s always tough to sleep on cases, but how am I supposed to get any sleep when I’m only a few feet from you? When, if you’d let me, I’d be able to sleep in your arms? When I’d be able to touch you, kiss you, fuck you?

God, it’s all I could think about. I shouldn’t even tell you what I was thinking. It’s not even just what I was thinking when we were on the case. I think about you constantly. I think of how kind you are, how much praise you give. I can’t help but wonder if you would receive praise just as well. If, when I tell you that you were made for my cock, you would fall apart. If I could, I would give you all the praise in the world just to see you break, watch you come undone, on my cock, on my fingers, on my tongue.

I know you would taste incredible. What I wouldn’t give to get even a taste. Though, I know I wouldn’t be able to stop at just a taste. I’d have to be selfish, and I know you wouldn’t complain.

Spencer slides his chair away from his desk. He quickly folds the paper and sets it aside. Now that that’s done, he gets to work on his actual letter. A much tamer, much safer for work, much friendlier letter that lets you know that you are appreciated.

Again, he folds the note, writing your name on the outside, and sets it aside. 

When he leaves in the morning, he grabs the note off his desk, tucking it into his bag. He frowns, noticing that your car is already in the garage. He had hoped that he could leave the note on your desk as a surprise, but there’s no doubt that you’re already working on your files. He decides that he’ll drop it on your desk as he walks by then hide in the breakroom while you read it.

It’s not that he’s embarrassed by what he said, and he meant every word. It just feels like an invasion of privacy to watch you, and he’s not sure how he would be able to carry on with the day if he saw even the hint of a frown on your face.

The elevator opens, and he sets his plan into motion. He unpacks his bag, sliding the note into his hand before walking past your desk. 

“Spencer, you dropped something,” you call, but he keeps walking, and out of the corner of his eye, he watches you open the note. That’s when he realizes his mistake. Your name is nowhere on the back of the paper. He panics but keeps walking. What is he supposed to say? “Sorry, that actually isn’t meant for you, I mean it is, but you definitely should not be reading that, in a completely normal not creepy way.”?

He focuses on his coffee, He wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole. If hwatching the sugar dissolve. He’s lucky, he’ll be able to hide in here all day and never have to look at you again.

Spencer Reid is very rarely at a loss for words. He can almost always come up with something to say. Now, as he walks back into the bullpen, he has no clue what he can say to you. 

It appears that he doesn’t have to. You aren’t at your desk anymore, much to Spencer’s relief. He turns his focus to the papers in front of him. Files that normally wouldn’t take him more than ten minutes are taking almost an hour. He doesn’t look up until he hears a door open.

Hotch’s office door.

He closes his eyes, praying there isn’t a case already. He doesn’t hear Hotch. Instead, he hears footsteps walk down the stairs and into the bullpen. Hesitantly, he opens his eyes. You are getting settled at your desk.

No, no, no, no, no.

You did not go to Hotch after reading his note. You couldn’t have. You would have talked to him before you got him fired, right?

“What was that about?” Emily asks you. You turn to answer, and Spencer is trying to listen, but Morgan grabs his attention first.

“What’s with you?”

“What do you mean?”

Morgan rolls his eyes. “I’m finishing these files faster than you.”

Spencer shrugs. “I’m just distracted, that’s all.”

“Hey, you know we’re here for you, right?”

“I know,” he answers, looking back at the file. 

The day continues without you talking to him, and he sure as hell isn’t going to talk to you. Since Hotch hasn’t come down to fire him, Spencer assumes that his job is safe.

You get up around noon, stretching as you do. You grab your bag, a piece of paper between your fingers. You let it fall as you walk passed his desk. Spencer quickly picks it up, unfolding it.

Spencer,

Buy me dinner, and I’ll make sure you get something sweet.

He rereads the sentence over and over again. He’s convinced it’s some sort of joke, but he holds onto the hope that it isn’t and that he actually hasn’t fucked this up beyond belief.

When you come back, you glance at him. If he wasn’t a profiler, he’s not sure he would’ve caught it, but you seem nervous. He smiles to himself. 

[st7rnioioss]

Can u write a story of bsf Chris and inexperienced reader get into an argument because she thinks he’s using her for sex?

INEXPERIENCED!READER x BSF!CHRIS

˚𝜗𝜚 warnings... a little angsty? argument, making up again:))

the bed beneath you creaked quietly when you sat down, hands folded together over your lap while looking at chris. honestly, you felt like your own mother right now, as if you were gonna have a serious talk with him.. well, you kinda were.

“h-hey.. um, can we talk?” you mumbled, almost as quiet as a whisper when he plonked his phone down to his chest, giving you a faint smile.

“yeah, sure. are you okay?” his voice was gentle, reaching out to caress your cheek in an even more gentle manner.

you nodded, followed by a dry chuckle. you already felt your mind stir and go in all different places right now.

“i-i’m okay.. i think,” you whispered, your eyes dropping back down to your fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

chris’s ears perked up at your response, a furrow of his brows settling on his face. your eyes started to sting, nose felt all tingly and weird. gosh, this was the last situation you wanted to cry in.

“what do you mean? are you- hey, woah..” chris immediately shuffled closer to your when he noticed your eyes starting to well up with tears, those beautiful eyes he never wanted to see and glossy and glazed over.

you sniffled, feeling his bigger arms wrap around you and pull you into his lap before you got to protest. he immediately cradled you to his chest, placing your legs over his in a sideway position.

“shhh, sweetheart.. don’t cry, i don’t like seeing you cry. i wanna see you smile, yeah?” he mumbled, leaving a kiss on the side of your face, which you in this moment really wish didn’t feel so right.

“chris, i want you to be serious with me for a second..” your words came out way more serious than you intended, and chris’s subtle rocking faltered.

“i-i don’t want to accuse you of anything.. because y-you’re my best friend,” you whined between sniffles, attempting to hold back the tears.

eventually, your eyes met his, a sympathetic look plastered all over his face. almost as if to soothe your own nerves, you reached out to twirl his hair around your digit. “are, are you using me..? like, for- for sex?”

your words lingered in the air between the two of you, his brows furrowing immediately. he didn’t mean to shove your hands off like he did, but he honestly couldn’t believe you’d think of him like that.

“a-are.. are you fucking kidding me?” his voice was stern, cutting through the thick mood that had settled in his bedroom. “why the fuck would you think that? i-i love you, you’re so much more than just sex, you know,” he scoffed.

chris raised his voice, and he wanted to take it all back when he saw your eyes widen and gloss over again. he never wanted to be the reason you cried, and definitely not in a situation like this.

“b-but.. i’m sorry, i just thought that-“

he cut you off immediately, his frown softening just a little when the tears fell down your pretty face. “yeah, but you thought wrong. i-i’m not in this just to hook up, you’re more than that to me, don’t you know? we’ve been best friends since forever, how could you-“

chris stopped himself when he realized he raised his voice again, not scaring you, but making the mood way more tense and firm. it was never like this with chris, and when you let out a sob? he was done for. he never regretted yelling at anyone, but you.

“hey- i’m sorry..” he muttered, his voice back to the low and gentle one you were so used to, feeling his hands come to rest on your waist to pull you closer.

it took every fiber in you to push him away, get you couldn’t manage to do so.

it wasn’t like you didn’t love him. of course you did. but every time you hung out, he had his hands and lips on you in the matter of a few minutes. sure, you both enjoyed it, a lot for that matter, but was that all, now that you’d crossed the “just best friends” line?

when he cradled you to his middle like prior, the tears started working their way down your face, spilling into his tee—not that he care. gently, he ran his fingers down and through your hair, twirling his fingers around it like you’d done just a minute ago.

“i don’t wanna yell at you.. i’m sorry, sweetheart. i just love you, a lot. i don’t want you to think i would do such a thing,” he was calm, way calmer than a few moments prior, turning to mush when you wrapped your arms around him.

“come on, baby.. do you forgive me? was i too mean?” his voice was playful, a small smile creeping its way onto his lips.

you nodded in response, a giggle leaving your lips through the soft cries that slipped, but the pit in your stomach disappeared gradually.

“yeah, i do.. i just don’t want to have sex and that jazz all the time. i mean, i like it.. a lot -” you chuckled, looking up at him from his chest, a pink hue dusted over your face. “- but can’t we go on a date like we’ve done before? i enjoy the sex and all but.. take me somewhere, and then we can get all touchy afterwards,”

your words made him melt, mentally scolding himself for not looking after you like that. you’d been on multiple dates, recently even, but maybe you also wanted to keep it at that sometimes. he sighed until he reciprocated your smile.

“i’m sorry.. and of course. i could take you to that coffee shop.. like we did on our first date?” he suggested, nearly turning a little flustered himself.

the giggle you let out was all he needed as a response, before pulling you closer to kiss your lips softly, leaving it feather-light. “yeah, i’d like that.”

“yeah? coffees on me.. i’m real sorry for being such a dick..” he muttered before his lips connected to yours. it wasn’t needy, rough, fast—it was sweet, unhurried. it left your mind blank.

more bsf!chris x inexperienced!reader

𝜗𝜚˚࿔ notes: they prob had makeup sex afterwards lmaaooo the irony. sorry ab the lack of posting lol, those exams took my whimsy. anyway!! im gonna write and sleep all weekend.

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© ST7RNIOIOSS est. 2023

[covenofagatha]

The Psychology of Love (Part 2)

The Perfume

Agatha shows you some examples of projective tests to clear up the questions you have

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: none

On Wednesday, you can hardly look at Agatha when you walk into class. 

The shame from Monday night—from thinking about your professor while another girl fucked you—is too great, and you worry that if you make eye contact, she’ll somehow know what you did. You need to be careful with her.

After you had cum, the girl from the party had asked if you wanted to go back to her dorm with her. You could taste the blood on your lip from how hard you were biting it, because you didn’t know her name and you didn’t want to accidentally say a wrong name. She had shrugged when you shook your head apologetically and she walked away, leaving you to go stumble and find Wanda and Nat. 

You are definitely never going back to that sorority again. With any luck, you’ll never have to see that girl again. 

“Since we didn’t have time on Monday for introductions, let’s go around the room and say your name, major, and what you like to do for fun,” Agatha says. You inwardly groan; you’d rather take a pop quiz than have to do icebreakers. One of your least favorite things to do, possibly ever, is talk in class. 

She points to the girl at the end of your row on the other side to start it off. Your palms grow sweaty, your stomach twists, and you begin to chew on your thumb nail. 

The names of your classmates go in one ear and out the other and when it’s your turn, it feels like all the air’s been sucked out of the room. You stammer out your introduction, risking a glance at Agatha when you’re done, and she’s staring back at you with a dark, hot glint in her eye. 

You swallow roughly and train your gaze forward, the memory of thinking of her the other night—wishing it was her?—still fresh in your mind. 

“All right, let’s get into it then,” Agatha claps her hands once everyone’s gone. There’s significantly less people in the room than there were on Monday, so it doesn’t take long. She stands up and pulls the keyboard of the computer closer to her and you sneak a peek at her. 

Her dark navy pencil skirt is long, stopping mid-calf and she’s wearing black heels that must be killing her feet. Her blouse is a sky-blue color with puffy sleeves with a belt that matches her skirt and accentuates her hips. There’s an open space between the top button and the second button on her shirt, and you can see a sliver of her pale skin. Her dark curly hair is in a loose ponytail and her cheekbones are sharp. Your mouth goes dry now that you’re really taking her in.

As if she knows you’re staring at her, Agatha’s lips quirk up and her eyes meet yours. She winks and you quickly look away and take out your notebook and a pen. 

Agatha opens a slideshow titled Trait Theory. “The main question this approach looks at is ‘do individuals possess specific personality constructs?’—and to what extent? Like we talked about last class, personality is a construct. The only evidence for it is what we’ve measured in tests that we’ve created. 

“Personality testing is a big business and it’s used for a lot of different things: counseling, education, forensics, employment—even all of you use it in your everyday life just by assessing people. Some tests measure one trait while others measure multiple.” 

It’s hypnotic to listen to her talk and you realize how easy and practiced her words are. You’ve had professors that stumble over their lectures or who read off the slides the whole time, but not Agatha. The review that said she was a genius was not lying.

She clicks to the next slide and a picture of a pattern of inkblots appears. “Projective tests are based on Freudian ideas; the subject is shown ambiguous stimuli and it’s based on the idea that the subject’s responses reflect their inner feelings—they project onto the test. The Rorschach Inkblot Test has subjects scrutinize cards with ink and talk about what they see with the colors and details.” 

The next slide has a picture of a woman standing outside a door with a hand on her face. In the room, a man is lying in a bed. “This is an example from the Thematic Apperception Test. Everyone might interpret this picture differently—some think she found him having an affair, some may think she found him dead, some may think she killed him. It’s all about relating your personal experiences to what you see and that gives psychologists an insight to your inner thoughts and feelings.” 

You think back to the picture of the house and family she had everyone draw on Monday. It was definitely a projection of your own struggles and she had seen that. 

It does really make sense. Except for the inkblot tests—how can your interpretation of a couple of drops on a page mean anything?

“Projective tests have very low validity. Can anyone remind us of what that means?” 

Agatha’s eyes scan the room. Once again, no one raises their hand and you chew on the tip of your pen until you feel her gaze stop on you. You risk a glance at her to find her staring expectantly at you. 

Your stomach twists. You do really hate talking in class. “Validity is how accurate the test is measuring what it’s supposed to be measuring.” Luckily, you paid attention in General Psychology when you took it freshman year. 

“Very good,” she hums and your cheeks heat up, a pleasant feeling settling in your gut. “I’m going to hope that the rest of you were too shy to say something and didn’t just forget. Yes, projective tests have very low validity, especially predictive validity. Objective tests are much better. These are tests in which someone answers ‘true’ or ‘false’ or you rate your experiences on a number scale. Tests like the Big Five. Anyone know any other objective tests for personality traits?” 

Her gaze lands on you even quicker, but this time you’re ready for it. “The Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory?” You sound much more confident and you feel much less nervous.

Agatha beams. “Right again. That one measures about ten primary traits, but you won’t need to know them for your test. You do need to know that the Big Five Personality Test measures extroversion, openness, conscientiousness, agreeableness, and neuroticism though.”

A burn spreads through your hand at how fast you’re scribbling things down and you hear furious typing behind you. You can’t get her praise out of your head and you think speaking up and answering questions might not be so bad after all.

Despite your shame after Monday night, you still desperately want Agatha’s attention. It seems that she likes you at least a little. 

It’s hard to tell if you’re projecting your own feelings onto this. 

“All right, that’s all the time we have for today. If you have any questions, feel free to ask me them right now or during my office hours. Those are posted on the syllabus. Stop in to see me anytime,” Agatha announces, smirking at you when you accidentally meet her eyes. 

The questions about the Rorschach tests are still weighing on your mind, and as much as you’re tempted to leave and google them later, there’s a little voice that’s nagging for you to go ask her. 

So you trudge up to the desk, chewing on your nails, and wait there awkwardly. Agatha’s typing something on the computer but her face brightens when she looks at you and your heart leaps. 

“Do you need something, hon?” she asks and you ignore the heat that rises inside you. 

“Yeah, I’m just a little confused on the inkblot tests. Like, how are they analyzed? Does it really matter if someone sees a bat or a vase or whatever? How does that mean anything?”

She nods and beckons you to follow her when she begins walking out of the classroom. “Great question. I’m really happy that you’re wondering about these things and you’re not afraid to talk to me about them. I also really appreciate you answering questions during my lecture. Keep up the good work,” she says, playfully winking with a smile. Your stomach warms—you definitely will. 

Her perfume drifts into your nostrils from your close proximity as she leads you down the hall and your cunt starts to pulse. From the praise, from the smell, from her…you’re not quite sure. 

Maybe all three. 

Agatha pauses outside of a door with her name on it before fumbling to put the key in the lock. She opens it and steps to the side to let you go in first. Her office is spacious, with a desk and a chair facing the doorway, two chairs on the other side of it, and a couch pushed next to a bookshelf on the wall opposite the one with a window. 

You perch on a chair while she sits down in hers and ruffles around in a desk drawer before pulling a stack of cards out and plopping them down in front of you. They’re inkblots—some in black and white, some in color. 

She shuffles through them and points to the one on top. “What does this look like to you?” 

Leaning closer, your brows furrow as you try to make out the shape. It looks vaguely like lips, symmetrical down the middle and pink along the jagged edges. The color bleeds to red to make a smaller oval shape on the inside. 

It very much looks like a vulva. 

Heat floods through your cheeks as you sit back and clear your throat. There’s no way you’re telling your hot professor that. “I don’t know, I guess I can kind of make out a…butterfly?” Agatha snorts at your obvious lie. 

“You can say it, hon. It looks like a cunt.” You gasp and choke on nothing, feeling your underwear get damp. Agatha gives you a wicked smile. “Now, what does that mean? Does it mean that you like women? Does it mean that you’re thinking about sex?” 

Her scent coupled with her talking about that makes you spin and you grip the arms of the chair tightly. If you weren’t thinking about sex before, you definitely are now. 

You wonder what your professor tastes like. 

Agatha shrugs casually to answer her own question. “Probably doesn’t mean much. There’s some research that people with schizophrenia tend to see monsters in these. But if you see animals, does it mean that you’re depressed—or do you just like animals? The point is, these hold probably the least amount of validity compared to any projective tests. I wouldn’t read too much into it.” 

The fact that she brought you all the way here, made you look at the suggestive cards, just for it to not matter has you reeling. What does it mean? 

“Oh. Okay. I guess I was just confused about how they’re interpreted. Thought I would ask. It is really interesting how we can infer stuff like that off of this, though. Even if the predictive validity is low.” 

She nods. “As much as people hate Freud, it’s hard to deny that he wasn’t wrong about everything. Projective tests might not hold empirical value, but people do tend to transfer their feelings onto pictures and whatnot because it’s easier to separate their feelings from it and talk about it that way.” 

To highlight her point, Agatha pulls another paper out of her drawer. It must be an example from the Thematic Apperception Test. It’s a picture of two women, facing each other, in a dark hallway. One has an arm outstretched, the other is half-tilted away and looking at the ground.

“What’s happening in this scene?”

“This girl—” You point to the one with the cold body language, “—is wishing she was with someone else. Her girlfriend is really trying to connect with her, but it’s not working.” A cold feeling spreads through you at how transparent you just were. Your eyes dart around the room before meeting Agatha’s, who’s looking at you with a knowing gaze and you feel your stomach tighten. It doesn't mean anything, you tell yourself. She doesn’t know. 

“Very good,” she purrs and leans in closer. “That’s a perfectly reasonable interpretation. I see two students arguing about their professor. See how it varies?”

Just as you’re opening your mouth to agree, the door to her office opens. You whirl around like you just got caught doing something wrong to find a girl older than you standing there, with dark hair, pale skin, and hazel eyes. She’s wearing a green shirt and jeans and she regards you cautiously as she walks slowly across Agatha’s office to sit in the chair next to you. 

When you turn back to Agatha, there’s a glint on her face. “This is Rio. I had her a few years ago and now she’s one of my graduate students and my TA for your class,” she tells you and you awkwardly smile and nod at the new woman. 

Rio doesn’t even look at you. It feels like you’re interrupting something.

So you clap your hands on your knees and stand up. “Thanks, Professor. I’ll see you on Friday?” 

Agatha hums. “I’ll see you then, hon. Good job in class today.” 

You walk out, heart pounding, and have to take a moment to collect yourself. Your plan of being careful around your professor has nearly gone entirely out the window—you’ve become addicted to her praise and validation. Is it because of your mommy issues? Because she’s hot? 

Either way, you amble out of the psychology building and through the Student Union on the way back to your dorm, determined to pour over the textbook and learn everything you can about the Trait approach before Friday. You can wistfully imagine Agatha cooing about how proud she is that you’re studying up and how much you’ve impressed her. 

But before you can walk out of the Student Union, the smell of coffee from the bagel shop hits you and you stop dead in your tracks. It’s not Agatha’s perfume exactly, but the effect it has on you is undeniable. 

Very good. Keep up the good work. Right again. Good job in class today. 

Her praises swirl around in your mind, clear as day, and you quickly shoulder open the door to the outside so hard that it makes your arm ache. You bite at your thumbnail but the smell still lingers, her voice still haunts you. There’s a growing stickiness between your legs that you feel with each step you take.

It looks like a cunt. 

Good girl. 

You jolt—she’s never called you that. She wouldn’t call you that. Your descent into madness is concerning and her perfume is at the center of it. Is it too late to drop her class? Would she be mad at you?

But you can’t do that, because you’re a senior and you need this class to graduate. So you either have to pretend like your cunt isn’t throbbing at the thought of her calling you a good girl, or you need to get it out of your system. You could find the girl from the other night, you could go back to the sorority and ask around for her name. She was hot, fucked you well enough, and smelled like your professor. 

She could be a healthy way to sort out your feelings and stop obsessing over your professor. There’s a hint of guilt nagging at your brain for essentially using her, but maybe in time you’d grow to really like her. 

It turns out, you don’t have to wait that long to find her again. 

You’re in the dining hall with Wanda and Nat while they fill you in on their days—Wanda’s racist professor made a racist comment and Nat’s biology professor accidentally said “orgasm” instead of “organism”—when you notice that Wanda keeps looking over your shoulder. 

“What?” you ask, craning your neck back and scanning the crowds of students getting dinner, but you don’t see anything out of the ordinary. 

Wanda nods toward someone and subtly points in their direction. “That girl…she keeps looking over at us.” 

This time, you look closer and find the girl from the party on Monday staring at you. She’s sitting at a table all by herself, her laptop opened in front of her next to a plate of pizza. Your breathing freezes and you turn back to your friends. “We may have hooked up at the party the other day,” you tell them sheepishly. Both of them gasp excitedly. 

“Why is this the first we’re hearing of this?” Nat demands. 

Your cheeks flush. “I don’t know, it was just a one time thing, I didn’t think I’d see her again. It wasn’t a big deal.” 

“She clearly thinks it was,” Wanda teases. “She’s been checking you out since we sat down. Go talk to her.” 

Groaning in protest, you shake your head but they keep pestering until you get up just to make them stop. You drag your feet against the tile as you walk over to the girl and even though you had convinced yourself that she would be a good thing for you earlier, doubt starts to gnaw at you. 

“Um, hey, can I sit?” you ask, pointing at the empty chair across from her. 

She nods and closes her computer, giving you her full attention, but doesn’t say anything. 

So you start. “About the other night, I’m sorry. I think we both just got a little carried away.” You introduce yourself, since you still don’t know each other’s names, and reach out your hand across the table. 

“I’m Morgan,” she says and shakes your hand. Her skin is soft and you can’t help but wonder what Agatha’s feels like. “You don’t have to apologize. It was a party, we were both a little tipsy, I’m sure.” 

Her perfume floats around you and makes you think about your professor again and you hate the way it makes you feel. “Cool, yeah, okay.” The awkwardness after a college hookup is something you could do without for the rest of your life. “Would you want to get dinner sometime?” 

Morgan grins. “I’d really like that. I can give you my number?” 

You nod and pull out your phone, handing it to her so she can put in her contact. She gives it back to you and you stand up from the table. “Awesome, I guess I’ll be seeing you later.” 

“Perfect.” 

As you’re walking away, a thought overcomes your body and you have no choice but to turn back around. Morgan raises an eyebrow. “Sorry, this might be a weird question, but what perfume do you wear?” 

She falters for a moment. “Um, I think it’s called Black Opium. Why?” 

“No reason,” you answer hastily and quickly smile before walking back over to Nat and Wanda, who have been watching you the whole time. 

“So?” Wanda prompts once you sit back down and pick up your fork. You shovel pasta into your mouth to delay answering. 

Black Opium. 

It’s very Agatha. Dark, euphoric, addicting. 

“Don’t leave us in suspense,” Nat eggs you on. “Are you guys girlfriends now? Going to hook up with her again after this?”

Your nose wrinkles. “No, I just asked her if she’d want to get dinner sometime. She said yes and gave me her number.” 

Their synchronized “Oooh” makes you roll your eyes. No surprise they’re making a big deal about it. This is the first time you’ve actually had a date since your ex-girlfriend three years ago. 

Does this really count though?

You mull what a relationship with Morgan might look like and try to keep your thoughts from steering to Agatha while you zone out on Wanda and Nat talking about the homework they have. 

After you finish the rest of your dinner, you walk back to your dorm building with both of them. Out of the corner of your eye, you see their hands brushing against each other and you feel the same longing pang in your chest that you always do when you’re with them. 

Something like that would be possible with Morgan. 

But even the delusion that Agatha would like you like that outweighs the potential for something real with someone your own age. 

“I’m going to crash with Nat tonight,” Wanda says, bumping into you to get your attention. 

“Remember to be safe,” you respond solemnly. Wanda and Nat both snort and give you a hug before they part ways with you. 

When you get back to your room, you grab your laptop from your bag and plop onto your bed with it. The first thing you do is type your professor’s name into Google. 

A few things pop up, mostly just articles about her teaching at Westview University and you find some of her publications. There’s a few pictures of her from dinners and awards and her official university headshot. No mention of a family or a partner, though. You wonder if she would put something like that online. It seems like she’d probably want to keep that private. 

The link to her reviews is about the fifth site on the page and you decide to scroll through them again. There’s a few that were added from two days ago and you’re sure they’re from the people that dropped your class. You’re re-reading them and wincing at how mean some of them are, taking them more personally now that you know her, when you pause on one. 

You saw it the other day, but you didn’t think too much about it. 

If you’re lucky to be one of her favorites, you’re going to do just fine in the class. She can be very creative and maybe a little unorthodox when it comes to her methods of helping you understand something, but they’re very effective. 

It’s not the review itself that makes you intrigued—it’s the name of the person who left it. 

Rio V. 

This must be her TA that you met earlier. The one who didn’t seem to like you very much, for no reason. You make a mental note to keep an eye on her, if you see her again, and open a new tab. 

You type in “Black Opium” and click on the first brand of perfume you see. Chewing on your lip, you hover the mouse over the Add to cart button. It’s one-hundred dollars, way too much to buy just because the professor you’re becoming obsessed with wears it. 

But Agatha’s praises echo around in your head and you feel a fire stoking to life in your stomach. The dull heat becomes more and she’s all you can think about. 

She’s all you want. 

You buy the perfume. 

Part Three

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[bbitches]

don’t you

Charles Leclerc x Reader

synopsis: angsty fic based on the song ‘don’t you’ by taylor swift 😃 lmk if you want a sad ending or a happy ending

warnings: kinda sad and kinda shit ngl, i wrote this in math class so probably a shit ton of mistakes, and its not proofread :)

no hate to alex!!

Hey, I knew I'd run into you somewhere It's been a while, I didn't mean to stare

It was inevitable. You knew this. You remember Charles vaguely mentioning that he was invited to some movie premiere, but you didn’t know it would be this one.

And he must’ve known you would be here, you were quite literally in the movie.

Maybe he’s moved on, so he doesn’t feel the need to avoid you.

But it’s only been 6 months, how could he move on so quickly when you feel like the hole in your heart would never close up?

You let out a sigh, brushing your sweaty palms on your dress, rehearsing things you’re supposed to say on your interviews: the dress is by Antonine Guerin.. makeup sponsored by Charlotte Tilbury..

Once the staff gave you the signal to step onto the red carpet, your name was frantically called by one of the interviewers.

“Y/n! Hi!” the woman said, “We’re so glad we caught you!”

You gave a polite smile in return, “What do you have for me?”

The woman smiled, “We love your dress! Tell us, who are you wearing? What inspired it?”

Bingo. “Thank you. My dress is Antoine Guerlin. Umm- The gold details are, obviously, inspired by greek-“ You continued, repeated lines your publicist made you memorise, when you saw someone approaching in your peripheral vision.

You didn’t realise who it was, until the lady said, “Thank you, Y/n. Charles! Do you mind stepping in with Y/n?”

Charles. Charles. Charles.

You lifted your gaze to look at him.

Those eyes. The eyes that stare down at yours, tired, lustful when you make love.

Eyes filled with so much pride after he wins a race, eyes that look for you as soon as he steps out of the car, eyes that tease when you reluctantly wear the extra jacket he brings you every time because he knows you were cold and that you didn’t bring one for whatever reason, eyes that comfort when you blame yourself for not being good enough, when you don’t win an award. Eyes that-

The lady cleared her throat.

Fuck.

Charles falters when he catches your gaze- your stare.

You both gave a nod in greeting.

“Great!” The woman said, “Now, I know it’s tense with you guys, since you broke the whole internet with your breakup announcement a couple months ago-“

God.

“What happened? You two were going strong, with almost 8 years together.” The lady finished, looking pleased with herself, and you fought the urge to bitch-slap her across the face.

You opened your mouth to repeat the same answer you gave every time, the one your publicist carefully crafted for you, when Charles beat you to it.

“Yes, Y/n and I broke up.” He started, “I’ve.. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love Y/n, and I know she feels the same. But sometimes love isn’t enough to fix a relationship. Trust me when I say we’ve tried everything, but somethings were bound to end.” He swallowed, “We will always love each other. Y/n was- is a very special and important person to me. She always will be. And I hope you-“ His eyes flickered to you for a millisecond. “-she never stops smiling that beautiful smile of hers, and I wish her nothing but the best.” He finished.

The woman stared at him for a few seconds, “Wow- Thank you, Charles! I’m sure she’s falling right back in love with you right now-“

Wrong. It only made the ache in your heart worse. The longing you felt for him strengthen.

-

F1gossip shared a new post!

liked by user1, user2, alexandrasaintmleux and 368 others

F1gossip: BREAKING! Y/N L/N AND CHARLES LECLERC HAVE BROKEN NO CONTACT AT THE GLADIATOR II PREMIERE! When asked about their breakup, Charles Leclerc gave a VERY emotional answer! (link to the video on our story)

user1: the pain in y/n’s eyes omg

user2: isn’t @/alexandrasaintmleux the girl charles was seen sneaking around with after chary/n broke up? why’s she liking this

user3: CHARY/N COME BACK TO ME

user4: The way they look at each other is the definition of LONGING

user5: can they stop being so angsty and get back together?!

user6: what did charles want to achieve with that answer tho

-

I heard she's nothin' like me

They confirmed it.

You’ve heard rumours, sure, but you didn’t think he would move on this quickly.

Alexandra and Charles confirmed their relationship with a story of them cuddling in bed. At least, that’s what your friends told you.

You and Charles had long unfollowed each other, on both your public and private accounts, and viewing his story would be.. awkward.

You scrolled through Alexandra’s photos from google, since her Instagram was private.

She was tan, her hair was perfect, her body.. Perfection. She was perfection. She was everything you were not. Her appearance exuded grace, class.. At least, that’s what this gossip article says.

She’s private, nobody knows anything about her, and her life was peaceful.

She was everything you weren’t.

I'm sure she'll make you happy

Charles finally found what he wanted. Peace. In her.

*flashback*

“Chérie, please, understand that I- I can’t do this anymore.” He whispered.

“Come on,” you pleaded, “we’ve made it work for years, I don’t see why it-“ You said, but Charles cut you off, “Mon dieu, Y/n, they broke into our apartment!”

You stared at him.

“I-“ You started.

“No, Y/n.” He said, “No.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, “You knew what you were signing up for- Hell. you were the one who said not to worry about- about the fame, the press, the paparazzi, the fans- You told me to go for it.”

“I know, and I’m sorry.” He said, “Je suis désolé.” (I’m sorry)

“It’s not like- You have to deal with the fame too, I don’t see why mine is an issue-“

You’re rambling now, trying to salvage what’s left of your relationship with the love of your life.

“Y/n, listen to me.” He said, grabbing hold of your shoulders, “First, some fucker flew a drone to our bathroom window, hoping to catch you naked. Then they flew it into our goddamn apartment throw the balcony.” He said, moving a hand to grab ahold of your chin, making you look up at him.

His voice softens when you make eye contact, his gaze softening, “People stalk you. Everyday. You can’t go out without a bodyguard anymore.” He leans his forehead onto yours and whispers, “I can’t take it anymore. I can’t live my life when I know I’m being watched, Constantly. I’m used to it, I know I have to deal with this with my own career, but with you- It’s different. The- The hollywood fame is different from my kind of fame. And it’s too much for me. I need some peace for-“

“So what, this is the end?” You cut him off, pulling away.

“I just-“ He sighs, pulling back his arms, “I just mean that we should take a little break. Put some distance between us to clear our minds, then we can talk.”

You swallowed, “But what if we don’t?” You continued, “What if- What if we don’t talk- What if we don’t come back to each other?”

Charles stared at you for a beat.

He ran a hand through his hair, the same hair that you run your hands through every night.

“Listen, let’s just.. Take a break for a couple of months, and when we feel like the time is right, we’ll reach out, alright?” He said, his voice softening at the end.

He cupped your cheek with his hand, kissing away your tears.

*end of flashback*

She had the one thing you couldn’t give him. Peace.

But don't you Don't you smile at me and ask me how I've been

It was inevitable that you bumped into him sooner or later, Monaco was a small place.

So you weren’t surprised, but you certainly weren’t prepared when you quite literally bump into him when you’re on your way to the bathroom at your (and his) favourite restaurant in Monaco- Étoile Monte Carlo.

“Y/n!” He said, a warm smile and dimples plastered on his face, “Comment as-tu été?” (how have you been?)

How have you been? How have you been?

“Just fine,” you said, forcing a smile on your face, “And you?”

“Great,” he said, smile widening, “I’m here with my girl-“ he caught himself, smile slipping from his face.

You cleared your throat, “That’s great, Charlie.” You said, “Have fun.” Giving him another small smile, you slipped into the bathroom.

Don't you say you've missed me if you don't want me again

“Y/n!” He called after you.

She’s not you, he wanted to say, she’ll never be you.

“I miss you.” He blurted out. It was the best he could do.

You turned back to look at him.

Without a word, you vanished into the bathroom.

He collected himself, and went back to his table- The table you two sat at, every time. Every week. Your table.

You don't know how much I feel, I love you still

And the only thing on his mind was you, even when his girlfriend welcomed him back to their- your table, was a kiss to the cheek.

You.

The only thing he wanted to do was to come back to you.

So why don't you, don't you?

-

Sometimes, I really wish that I could hate you I've tried, but that's just somethin' I can't do

“Yes, my girlfriend- My Alex is here today.” Charles’s voice pours from the TV in your living room, “She’s my number 1 supporter. I couldn’t have done it without her.”

He won the Monaco Grand Prix.

All those late nights, and warm afternoons on his yacht talking about how you’d celebrate with him when he finally wins. Sipping champagne together, with his head laying on your chest, and your fingers playing with his hair, discussing where to eat on the night of his Monaco win- Because he would rather spend that night with you, rather then going clubbing.

You always go back to one conclusion: Étoile.

You were his biggest supporter. You were the one who picked him back up, the one who stopped him from spirally after every bad race.

You were the one who talked about his dreams- His home win with him.

But you don’t hate him for saying otherwise.

“..This win is for you.” He said, quietly, to the camera. Others would think he directed that to Alexandra. But you- You knew it wasn’t.

You hate him. You hate him for leaving you when you were at your worst, when you needed him the most. You hate him for moving on so quickly- Or, pretending to, at least. You hate- try to hate him for saying everything he’s said, for doing everything he’s done after your split.

You try, but you can’t.

My heart knows what the truth is I swore I wouldn't do this

You stared at your phone.

‘mon coeur ❤️’

It wasn’t your fault- The ‘delete contact’ button was right next to the ‘call’ button.

And it wasn’t your fault that you were slightly tipsy. You just got a leading role in what you believe will be the biggest movies of the year, you had to celebrate.

Fuck it, you thought.

YOLO, right?

You hit the call button.

It rang- One, two, “Allo?” You heard.

His voice was rushed, a hint of shock in it.

“Y/n?” He said, his voice rushed- worried, “Êtes-vous d'accord?” (are you okay?)

Maybe it was the dramatic side of you that was controlling you right now, because for some reason, you burst into tears.

“Y/n.” He said, “Listen to me.”

After a beat, “Mon ange, listen to me.”

“Tu me manques, Charlie, tu me manques-“ you said. (I miss you, Charlie, I miss you)

”Hey, hey, hey,” he soothed, "listen.. I can't do this."

Your heart dropped, "what?"

You heard some shuffling from his end, "I'll just go straight to the point, Y/n. I can't do this. I 'm with Alex now, and.. it's serious. She's.. she's sleeping right now-"

On your side of the bed. Where the nightstand was once overflown by your little trinkets- Jewelry, mints, your chargers, now filled with her perfume- Her.

"-And I can't do this to her." He finished.

You stilled.

Can't do this to her? You can't do this to me!

"But you said that this was only gonna be like a break. Some temporary space, and that things will go back to how it was." You rambled, "You promised." Your voice cracked.

He promised, didn't he?

"I can't do this to her, Y/n, I'm so sorry." He repeated.

"And what about me?" You said, finally, "What about me?"

"I'm so sorry, Y/n." He said, for the tenth time, "I'm so sorry."

So I walk outta here tonight Try to go on with my life And you can say we're still friends (But I don't wanna pretend)

"You'll always be welcome, Y/n. With me or with my family," Charles continued, his voice cracking a little, "We can be friends, still, if that's what you want."

A beat of silence, "I don't want to lose you, Y/n. You're really special to me."

You didn't lose me, you left me.

"Okay." you said, "okay."

"Y/n," he started, but you beat him to it, "good night, Charlie."

So if I see you again

Don't you (don't you) Don't you smile at me and ask me how I've been

Sometimes you find yourself wearing his hoodies to sleep.

Don't you (don't you), say you've missed me if you don't want me again

He texts you 'merry christmas' or 'happy new year', and things like that on special occasions.

He still invites you to family brunch with Pascale, Arthur and Lorenzo.

His brothers still catch up with you from time to time.

You still go to brunch with his brother's girlfriends, pretending that you don't mind when they cancel on you for Alexandra.

You don't (you don't), know how much I feel I love you still

You're at brunch with Arthur and his girlfriend.

It's turned into a once-in-6-months thing, when it used to be a weekly or monthly thing.

You pretend that doesn't hurt you.

"You know, he's really sad you never come to brunch with everyone anymore." Arthur commented.

"Why would I? I'm not his girlfriend anymore, and it'd be weird." You said, "Besides, what would his girlfriend think?"

Arthur and his girlfriend stared at you for a few seconds, "You don't know?" Arthur finally blurts out.

"I guess that bastard wasn't lying when he said you two don't talk anymore." Arthur said.

"Know what?" You said, eyes flickering from Arthur to his girlfriend.

Arthur cleared his throat, awkwardly.

"They're engaged."

So why don't you, don't you?

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

so, any ideas for part two? something like that fic called wistful yearning (One of my fav fics) or just angsty shit?

[yamst3rdamctrl]

Split Personalities

Lions Stalking their Prey

I hope yal babies readyyy

YN decided to go to the club with her best friends. She needed some fun after the long week at work. It’s been months since YN has had had a decent fuck, and she knows she probably won’t get any tonight so she will dance the night away. Being a plus size woman, who is independent, a choreographer, and always busy is difficult. YN never really puts herself out there because she feels as if most men will reject her. Tonight, she just wants to have fun and go home to enjoy her long 3-day weekend. YN put on a black mini dress that hugged each curve especially her ass, along with her black wedges. YN waited for Shai and Destiny to pull up and soon as they did, YN came outside listening to their music and started throwing her ass in a circle. “LETS GOOOOOO BITCHHHH” said Shai and they headed to club Passion. YN, Shai, and Destiny headed into the club and went straight to the bar. Little did YN know, she was being stalked by two twin brothers who had a taste for pussy. Not just some simple pussy, some thick thighed, chocolate, tight wet BBW pussy. Erik “Killmonger” Stevens, and Michael “Bae” Jodan, who are the known drug lords of Crime City stalked YN from their section soon as she walked in. It was like they had twin telepathy when they looked at each other. They read each other’s minds when Erik opened his mouth and said, “We are getting her tonight.” Erik and Michael friends saw Shai and Destiny, and everybody knew they were getting into something tonight.

YN, Shai, and Destiny grabbed a drink, and the bouncer came up to them and explained that “The Terror Twins” would love for all three ladies to join them in their section which was quieter and calmer then the dance floor. The three ladies walked up the steps to the section and sat down. Shai and Destiny sat next to the guys that were eyeing them while YN sat by herself. The twins watched and stalked YN, and their mouths watered watching her. YN saw them both looking at her with fresh gold grills in their mouth. It made her wet, but she was not about to get herself mixed in with the wrong crowd. YN, Destiny, and Shai started dancing to All Dere by Glorilla and YN started throwing ass. Next thing you know Erik came up behind YN and whispered in her ear, “Why don’t you come home with me and my brother?” Next thing YN knew Michael came in front of her and whispered in her other ear, “I know we make you wet so why don’t you just saw yes and come with us so you can cum.” YN knew she wanted to go but she had to show she had respect for herself when she responded. “Look guys, I’m not some piece of meat that you all can just grab and run away with. I am not that kind of female so if you excuse me, I’m leaving.” She said as she pushed back the twins, but little did she know that they love to chase their prey like a lion in the jungle. YN walked up to Destiny and Shai and told the girls she was tired and wanted to go home. They understood and called her an uber and she went home.

YN got home and undressed herself and jumped in the shower. She decided she was just going to put on her barbie pink boy shorts and a pink tank top. YN went in the front room and sat on the couch watching Insecure and eating popcorn. YN was watching the episode when Lawerence threw Issa on the sofa and broke her back in. YN said out loud, “I wish that was me getting fucked.” Next thing she heard was, “It could be, but you wanted to play.” Erik rose from the kitchen with a big smirk on his face. “HOW THE FUCK DID YOU GET IN MY HOUSE??” YN yelled, and then Michael came from the den holding a key saying, “You should really find a better hiding place for a key. Under the mat is so old and needs to safer.” “Why are you guys here and what do you want?” YN said nervously and Erik spoke walking to the side of her, “Don’t be scared we don’t want to hurt you, but we do want to make you feel good.” Michael then walked to the opposite side of YN and said, “I know your body needs to be touched I seen the way you were looking at Lawerence and Issa on that TV, and we are going to give it to you.”

Michael pushed YN down on the sofa and Erik started to take off his button up black shirt to reveal his keloid chest. Michael then took off his shirt and grabbed YN by her neck and made her look up at him and said, “When we fucking my name is Daddy Michael and that’s Daddy Erik. You better say that every time we ask you a question.” Michael moved his hand and then Erik grabbed her by her neck and said, “You do not cum unless we tell you. If you cum without permission, then it is punishment for you. Do you understand?” YN didn’t know what she was getting herself in, but she did not care at that moment. YN shook her head yes and the twins decided to let the fun begin.

VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED: RATED R AND RATED S FOR RAW, SMUT

Both twins went in for YN neck with their mouth. Michael was on her left and Erik was on her right side. They both kissed and sucked on sensitive parts of her neck. YN started to squirm, and the twins noticed that she was getting wet. Michael then took her lips and kissed her deeply and added tongue. Erik then kissed YN hard and bit her lip. Both twins then moved down from her neck to ripping her shirt and boy shorts off. They both looked at her and licked their lips. They moved down to her nipples with their tongues. Michael and Erik both grabbed a tit and sucked each nipple while YN turned into a moaning mess. Both twins then took their hands and went to her treasure. Michael rubbed and teased her clit while Erik stuck two fingers in her pussy. YN got over stimulated and was near her nutt. YN yelled, “Daddy Erik, and Daddy Michael can I cum?” Michael looked up at her and grabbed her neck and said, “Look me in my eyes while you cum bitch.” YN started to cum all on Erik and Michael fingers. Erik and Michael took their fingers out and put them in their mouth. Both the twins stripped out of their bottoms and YN mouth dropped when she saw how big they were. YN didn’t know what to expect this time around and she knew she was going to be done for.

YN lay back on the sofa when Michael instructed her to. Erik stood up by YN head and grab her head and started to fuck her mouth. Michael then went between YN legs and shoved his dick into her pussy without any warning. Michael was 10 inches and the biggest that YN ever had. All YN could do was choke on Eriks dick and feel Michael in her cervix. Michael started to give YN slow powerful strokes that made her body jump up and down each time. Michael had to go even slower due to how tight her pussy was. Michael didn’t know he was getting good asf pussy. Michael was used to trash pussy, but YN was heaven. Meanwhile, Erik was trying not to buss from YN warm mouth. Michael and Erik then switched positions and started to fuck her more. YN tried her best not to cum, but she was a moaning mess. Erik fucked YN harder and harder to get a reaction and without warning she screamed and came hard. The twins stopped and picked her up and she was surprised at why. Michael pushed in her pussy and Erik pushed in her ass. YN was screaming for them to stop, and they refused. Erik told YN, “Didn’t we tell you not to cum. Now you are going to suffer.” They continued to assault YN holes, and she came at least 4 more times before the twins pushed into her deep and Michael nutted deep in her pussy and Erik nutted deep in her ass. They both pulled out and took YN to her bed. They cleaned her off and told her, “We are going to keep the key because we aren’t done with you.” The twins locked her door and left. YN thought it was over, but she was wrong. She has no clue what she got herself into.

[ekingston]

also on ao3.

“Would you stop fondling my boobs?” Lena hisses, watching as a man nearly wanders into traffic staring at what looks like Lena Luthor, elbow-deep in her own cleavage. He swerves, promptly face-planting into a lamp post when he sees Supergirl herself slap Lena’s hand away. “We’re in public,” Lena reminds her.

“Ouch,” Kara yelps. “Gentle!”

“Sorry,” Lena says. But she only feels a little bad, because at least Kara is now cradling her arm instead of getting Lena arrested for indecent exposure.

Kara is still squirming when Lena checks them in, the receptionist beaming at her in a way Lena has never been beamed at before. Dr. Sattler’s ready for them. Kara gives Lena a last, panicked look, and then she takes the therapist’s offered hand and introduces herself.

“Lena Luthor,” Kara tells Dr. Sattler with a lopsided grin. “Good to meet you.”

“And Supergirl,” Dr. Sattler says, turning to Lena, her gaze briefly flitting down at the S on Lena’s chest. “How wonderful you managed to finally come in.”

Kara flops down onto the couch with a grateful sigh, the skirt of her dress gapping immodestly as she kicks off Lena’s heels. Lena nudges her legs to close them, annoyed. The injustice of Kara getting to act as if she wants to be here. As if she hasn’t been avoiding this visit for months.

(Do we really need to do this? Kara had asked Lena just this morning. Kara’s gaze had been a cross-eyed, sparkling green as Lena applied her eyeliner with a trembling, freckled hand.

Lena had growled in response, knowing even the barest bit of unintentional pressure could blind her for life. We’re not going to cancel just because we’re wearing each other’s bodies, Kara. Hold still.

I bet you’d look good with an eyepatch, Kara had breathed, after which Lena had given up on the endeavor altogether.)

“Your work must keep you busy,” the therapist says magnanimously.

Lena huffs out a laugh. “You can say that again.” And when the Dr. looks at her, curious, “Being a superhero and all that. Always off saving the world!”

“That goes for both of us,” Kara points out. “You—I—don’t even make it to bed, most nights.” And then, softer, “Even when you tell me you’ll wait up.”

“I wish I wouldn’t.” Lena turns to the therapist and explains, “I eat when I’m bored. She comes home to a bed full of crumbs. Who wants to have sex when the sheets are littered with bits of Captain Crunch?”

Dr. Sattler opens her mouth to answer, but Kara doesn’t give her the chance. “Maybe I could make an effort not to be such a neat freak,” she pouts.

Lena’s eyes flash. “Maybe I could make an effort to wash my hands after I use the bathroom,” she snaps back.

Kara sits up. “You do!” she shouts. “You’re just quick about it!”

Lena sighs. “The laws of nature don’t work that way, darling.”

Kara makes a face Lena vows never to make again if she ever gets her body back. “I leave my hair in the shower.”

Lena snorts. “I wash it down the drain. That’s worse.”

“But you fix it!” Kara looks at her with Lena's own wide, pleading eyes. “That’s how—how you show love. By fixing things.”

“Wrong,” Lena flings back. “I break them, so I can feel needed.”

Kara blinks at her, looking hurt.

“That’s.” Dr. Sattler pauses for a moment. “Some very impressive self-reflection,” she decides.

Lena smiles at her, glad they’re getting somewhere.

Kara looks from the therapist to Lena, her blood red lips—easier than eyeliner—pinching together with uncanny chagrin. “I faked my own kidnapping to get out of her family’s Thanksgiving,” she accuses darkly.

Lena sniffs. “I have a codependent relationship with my sister.”

Kara gasps. Dr. Sattler’s eyes widen. Lena arches an eyebrow with considerable effort.

“Oh yeah?” Kara sputters. “Well,” she flails, her nostrils flaring. “You—" she takes a deep breath. "I have mommy issues.”

Oh, fuck no. That's too far. “You do not,” Lena squawks.

"No?" Kara cocks her jaw in a way that makes Lena feel, for the first time, a little sorry for the men she’s similarly stared down. “Let’s find out,” Kara says with the smallest of smirks, and then she retrieves, horribly, from Lena’s purse, Lena’s phone.

“You wouldn’t,” Lena whispers, her heart stopping.

Kara jumps up with surprising agility, dancing out of Lena’s reach. “This’ll just take a second,” she promises Dr. Sattler. “Hello? Mother?”

Lena scrambles over to the other end of the couch, practically throwing herself across the room in an effort to get to Kara.

“No reason,” Kara croons into the phone, grinning as she maneuvers herself away from Lena’s grasp. An elaborately painted and unfortunately placed vase isn’t so lucky. “Just calling to say hey,” Kara says. “It’s been a while, huh?”

Lena really should have taken Kara up on her offer to help Lena master her power of flight. “Don’t make me hurt you,” she yells.

“It is!” Kara sing-songs. “Still going strong, yup. Which is why I called! We were wondering—”

“Don’t you dare,” Lena hisses, clawing for Kara’s shoulder and exploding a couch cushion instead.

“—how would you feel about coming to our wedding?”

Lena freezes, flecks of stuffing falling around them like snow.

“Excellent!” Kara chirps. “We'll see you there.”

Dr. Sattler clears her throat. “I don’t think you two have anything to worry about,” she says. “Your communication style is—unique, but obviously effective.”

Kara beams at her as they're leaving, wearing a deeply pleased expression Lena didn’t even think her face was capable of making. “You really should start wearing more comfortable bras,” she says, rolling her shoulders. “Also maybe take up yoga.”

Lena hums. “You’ve never had any complaints before.”

Kara stops and stares at her, aghast. "Is that what I look like when I'm coming on to you?"

Lena grins at her. "Why do you think I'm marrying you?"

Kara giggles.

- - -

This was written for the multi fandom (and original!) flash fiction challenge, using the prompts ‘established relationship’, ‘at a therapist’s office’, ‘body swap’ and ‘an eyepatch’. You should give it a whirl!

[sacredsorceress]

RAAAHHHH I LOVE YOUR WOLVERINE ROOMMATE WORKS, okay thats it i wish u a great day for feeding us 🙏

AHHHH thank you so much!! I'm so happy that you're enjoying them!! All of the love on the posts and in my inbox is making my heart so full <3 Enjoy these hcs..

°☆Roommate!Worst!Wolverine HCs☆°

ask box | logan howlett masterlist

Logan is not the type of person to do dishes as soon as he’s done eating, but he will do them, just… later. Once he’s done he’ll leave them in the sink “to soak” or whatever and then go about his day. But do not be mistaken: he hasn’t forgotten about them. If Logan hears you go into the kitchen, turn on the faucet and put soap on the sponge, he’ll call from the other room to “knock it off! don’t touch ‘em.”

Even your own dishes, he’ll whistle at you to get your attention and shake his head, ushering you to go sit down and do something else because “this is his job, and have a little faith in (him), will you?”

He’ll do them at night before he goes to bed so you wake up to a fresh kitchen.

Hate to say it, but seeing the state of him in DP&W, he’s probably messy.

In the beginning of your arrangement, he’d be very conscious of his messes: Logan would clean up his dishes the second he was done, wipe down wet spots the condensation from his beer bottles left behind, grab his laundry from the dryer the moment it was done-

But naturally as he got more comfortable he wouldn’t race to do those things- not out of disrespect for you, but because he wasn’t scared of you tossing him to the curb because he didn’t put the salt shaker back.

He’d always clean up before you noticed though and if you had to ask him to do something (like if you were doing your own laundry and noticed his clothes in the dryer) he’d feel so guilty and be on his feet in a second.

Logan would 100%, absolutely buy ingredients you didn’t put on the list so you could bake.

Whether it was brownies, cookies, bread or something fancier, you had baked him this thing one time and he has had a consistent craving for it ever since. However, Logan wasn’t just going to flat out ask you to make them- that would be rude- he wanted you to bake them of your own accord. And is it really that wrong if he nudged you towards the inclination to bake it by having eggs on hand you didn’t need? Don’t think so.

“What’s that smell?” He asked, coming in the door, knowing perfectly well what it was.

“Oh I figured I’d bake some of those cookies,” You said, wiping your hand on a dishrag. “We had some eggs on hand I didn’t want to go to waste… you like them right? I can’t eat them all myself.”

He felt like a kid on Christmas morning.

Logan would never have guests, but he didn’t mind if you did. If anything, despite his grumpy demeanour, he would get such a kick out of you having your friends over.

“I can’t believe you’re fucking the wolverine.” Your friend said, taking a sip from her glass of wine.

Logan, who had been laying in bed reading the paper from yesterday, sat up.

“Oh my god!” You gasped. “Stop talking so loud. We’re not fucking! We’re friends!”

“Don’t act like I didn’t see you ogling him earlier when his shirt rode up.” She said in a hushed voice, wagging her finger at you. “If he asked, you’d be all over him in a second.”

Logan raised his eyebrow, listening- waiting on what you said next.

You frantically glanced down the hallway that led to his bedroom.

“I’m going to kill you!”

Whenever you told him you were having friends over, Logan would make it a point to stay home. He’d wait until the end of the night when your friends’ speech had started to slur and then swoop in to save the day, offering to drive your friends home.

Did he care about everyone’s safety? Sure. But mostly he just wanted brownie points with you.

“C’mon, here’s your purse.” Logan sighed, picking your particularly drunk friend off the floor. “Let’s get you home.”

“Y/n, I think I’m in love with your roommate.”

If she hadn’t been your friend, you would’ve felt a searing jealously burn through you. Instead, you had enough alcohol in your system that you felt like air. With a giggle you leaned your weight on Logan, jabbing your finger in her face.

“Hey, he’s mine!” You hiccuped. “Get in line.”

And that was worth Logan sitting in his room the entire night; even during that ten minutes where he had to listen to your friend go on and ON about how she’d just kill to sleep with the Deadpool.

If you were drunk, Logan would leave a glass of water and pain relievers on your bedside table, ready for you when you woke up.

When Logan came home to you having fallen asleep on the couch he’d do one of two things:

1. He’d shut the television off and urge you up from the couch, holding you as you shuffled your way to bed.

“C’mon, honey, bed time.”

2. He’d grab the blanket from his room and drape it over you, tucking the edges into the couch and pushing away the coffee table so you didn’t hit it when you woke up.

He’d have to physically restrain himself from giving you a kiss on the forehead. Instead he’d settle for lovingly shaking his head at you, triple checking the locks and heading to bed himself.

He would NOT check the mail. Ever.

He's so lucky he pays rent to you because if it weren't for you and your religious checking of the mail box, the two of you would be screwed.

Logan would go onto the sidewalk or up to the roof to smoke. Regardless of your feelings about smoking, he wouldn't want to hurt you by having you ingest his second-hand smoke. Maybe it was the fact that he would never have to worry about getting ill, or how madly in love with you he was, but your safety and health was his utmost priority. You were fragile. Logan wouldn't be able to take it if you got sick because of him.

Built in handy-man.

God forbid something happens to your car. Now you have to watch Logan, shirtless, on a hot, summer day climb beneath the car to fix it; grunting as he slides beneath it and back out so you can hand him the next tool. Oh nooo!!!!

No, but really. Leaky sink? He's on it. Wobbly chair leg? He's the man for the job. Logan would actually be offended if you called a plumber or repairman.

"What're you doing?" He'd ask, seeing you on the phone. "Gimme that." Pulling the phone to his ear, he'd swat you away. "Forget what she said. I'm handling it. What? Yes, I'm sure."

When you weren't home in the winter, Logan would turn off the heat and pop open a window, getting in some fresh air.

Giving Logan a "Best Roommate Ever" mug for his birthday. He'd smile so wide- something he only did for you- and proceed to start every day with it. He was hoping that someday, though, he could upgrade from roommate to something more.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

Thank you for reading! My ask box is always open to chat about our favourite MCU guys <3

[alsofoundinpeas]

I Don't Need To Know

Summary: Spencer Reid has no choice but to watch the love of his life fall in love with another man. 

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI!! This fic is intended for adult audiences. Major character death. HEAVY angst. Bittersweet ending? Graphic depictions of violence (for maybe two lines). Fingering (f receiving). P in v sex/unprotected sex (in terms of a condom, birth control is mentioned). Loss of virginity (both m and f). Creampie (god I hate that word ugh!!). Slight age gap (roughly five years). Argument scene that may be triggering for readers that have experienced SA or manipulation from a partner (nothing of that nature actually happens, but just in case).

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader/afab!reader

A/N: This is inspired by Will He by Joji, so I highly recommend listening to it while reading. I cried several times while writing this, but I felt it needed to be done so here it is. :’) Please tell me what you think! If you enjoy it, please like, reblog, and share it with your friends! <3 Thank you and I love you all :) (I also ask that my work not be uploaded to other platforms or translated without my explicit permission. Thank you!)

I got knots all up in my chest… Just know, I’m trying my best…

Spencer had always found the saying “If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it’s yours. If not, it was never meant to be” absurd. He couldn’t fathom willingly letting go of something he loved on the off chance that it would come back to him. Not after having everything he’d ever loved ripped from his clutches throughout his lifetime. To him, love wasn’t about releasing someone to see if they’d return. It was about holding on as though his very survival depended on it—like a feral cat finally finding food after days of hunger, sinking its teeth in and never letting go, no matter the cost. 

It wasn’t until today that Spencer finally understood the meaning of that stupid phrase. And he wished with every intricate thread of his being that he didn’t. 

Five years. Five long, agonizing years had passed. So why was he here now? Why, after what felt like an eternity of pleading for just one more moment with her, did the universe decide now was the time to give him what he wanted? 

Ironically, the timing only drove home another phrase he’d always hated: “Be careful what you wish for.” 

There she was, as beautiful as the day he’d met her, sitting in the corner of what had once been their favorite café. The sunlight streaming through the windows catches on her ring, the enticing glinting of the jewelry drawing his eyes away from her face momentarily. His heart is in his throat. She’s still wearing the wedding ring he’d given her, twisting it in the same nervous fashion she always used to. 

And there across from her is a man that isn’t him making her smile. 

‘Cause when you look… When you laugh… When you smile… I’ll bring you back…

Spencer Reid had never been a particularly angry man. He had his moments—who didn’t?—but he usually considered himself level-headed, patient. But now, watching Y/N hide a bashful smile behind the rim of her mug as she gazed at the man across from her, all Spencer could feel was rage. Raw, unbridled rage. It flared up inside him as her head tipped back, the sound of her laughter crashing over him like a tidal wave, stirring his veins with a violent rush. The same sound he’d yearned to hear again for five fucking years. And it was all because of him—Ben. 

That was his girl. His perfect, beautiful girl. The love of his life. His angel. 

All Spencer could do was stand there, feeling every broken shard of his non-existent heart pierce his chest. 

And now I’m sad… And I’m a mess… And now we high… That’s why I left… That’s why I left…

It wasn’t meant to be like this. Spencer had never wanted to leave her. But that choice wasn’t his to make. 

That cold, cruel September night six years ago had robbed Spencer of his very existence. 

Everything that could have gone wrong during that case did. The bullet wasn’t meant for him, but he took it anyway. He had traded his life in exchange for JJ’s. It wasn’t even meant to be heroic. It wasn’t done out of love. It was just instinct. It’s who he was as a person. 

Was. 

The word leaves a bitter taste in the back of his throat. Because that’s his reality now. He was a person; an agent, a professor, a son, a husband…

Now he’s… well, that he didn’t quite understand. As a man of science, Spencer was stumped by what he could even call his existence now. Calling himself a ghost felt silly—he felt as alive as the day he’d died. And yet, that was essentially what he was. A whisper of the person he’d once been. A soul caught between worlds. 

Spencer could still feel the exact moment his soul wrenched free from its physical tether to the world. Even recalling it sent a shiver down his spine. It hadn’t been peaceful, as so many people claimed in interviews. No… it had been agony in its purest form; white hot and searing as his very essence clawed its way out from his ribs. There was no light waiting for him to step into it and find peace.

Instead, he had watched helplessly as the team he called his family swarmed his dead body, uselessly screaming for a medic as the crimson puddle underneath him grew and smeared beneath their hands as they knelt beside him. He had watched Y/N swing open their door that fateful night, the excited grin on her face vanishing as she came face to face with a tearful Emily instead of the husband she’d been eagerly waiting for. And he had watched the guilt eat away at JJ as their eyes met at his funeral, the hatred on Y/N’s face so raw it made Spencer’s own stomach twist. 

Despite the Bureau's insistence, she took charge of every detail—planning his funeral in a way that honored everything Spencer would have wanted. Y/N held Diana as she wept over her baby boy's body. She delivered a eulogy that left even Spencer in shambles. She was the first person to arrive and the last to leave, waiting until everyone had left to sink to her knees beside his casket and howl her grievances. 

For that first year, Y/N was as strong as she could be during the day. She handled everything that needed to be done, as long as the sun was still up. But when night fell, and the suffocating silence of their empty home settled in… that’s when she’d finally let herself break. 

Spencer had never been a religious man, but the year after his death felt like an endless descent into his own personal hell. He would never escape the sound of those gut-wrenching screams. He cursed whatever force had condemned him to an eternity where he could do nothing but watch, powerless as Y/N crumpled to the floor night after night, her wails so desperate it seemed as though she thought breaking the sound barrier might somehow bring him back to life. 

All he could do was stay beside her, silently pleading for his touch to somehow reach her, his hands brushing over her again and again, unnoticed and unfelt. 

Time was no longer a concept to Spencer. 

The limits of his existence perplexed him. He couldn’t roam freely, couldn’t go where he pleased—he could only follow where Y/N went. It was as if his very soul was bound to hers, linked by some invisible string that kept him tied to her even in death. It brought him both joy and sorrow: joy in the fact that he could still watch her, still admire the way she carried on, and sorrow because she would never know he was there, silently urging her forward, so incredibly proud of her strength. 

The longer he lingered, the more control he gained over his abilities. It started with the smallest things—a strand of hair lifting with the brush of his fingers, a faint chill against her skin as he cradled her face while she slept. But soon, it became more. Doors creaked open as he stepped into rooms behind her, and objects shifted ever so slightly from their places when he pushed with just enough force. 

There were times when she seemed to sense him—moments Spencer cherished more than anything. In those fleeting instances, it felt as though she could see him, even though he knew she couldn’t. Every day, rain or shine, she visited his grave, and when she spoke to him, her gaze would drift forward, as if she were looking into the honey-colored eyes she once loved. Her hands would rest open in her lap, as though she knew he was holding them. When she was home, she’d speak aloud every thought that came to mind, as though she knew he could hear every word that fell from her perfect lips. And he always responded as if she could hear him in return. That was their new life for the first year after his death. 

After a year and one day, he was gone. 

That’s where his understanding of the phrase “If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it’s yours. If not, it was never meant to be” came from. It was because she had set him free. 

One whole year had passed. The hardest year of Y/N’s life. She had knelt by his grave, laying fresh flowers with trembling hands, her tears falling freely for hours. When she finally stood to leave, her legs unsteady beneath her, she pressed a soft kiss to his headstone. Through her tears, she whispered how much she missed him, how he never left her thoughts, and how she’d never stop loving him—but above all, she wished he could be at peace. And on the night following the anniversary of his passing, her wish was granted. He had faded into nothingness, existing only in her dreams and memories for five long years. 

But now, he was back. Because he had always been hers. 

Will your tongue still remember the taste of my lips? Will your shadow remember the swing of my hips? 

Spencer remembered their first time like it was yesterday, though he wasn’t sure if he could thank his eidetic memory or the fact that it was because of how remarkable it had been for the memory lingering so vividly...

“You’re lying! You’ve really never had sex before?” 

Y/N squawked the words incredulously as she sat atop Spencer’s lap, grinning down at the stammering mess of a man beneath her. Spencer’s hands flexed against her hips, unintentionally squeezing as he took a deep breath to calm himself. 

They were inside Spencer’s apartment, having enjoyed the museum and dinner but still craving each other’s company too badly to end the night there. What started as sweet, innocent pecks pressed up against the kitchen counter had quickly devolved into ravenous, passionate kisses that had them stumbling towards the couch. It was going so well… until Spencer panicked after Y/N had whispered into his ear asking how far he wanted things to go. 

That resulted in him spewing out the fact that he, at twenty-six years old, was a virgin.

“No, I haven’t! Why is that so hard to believe?” Spencer huffs, his small smile belying his annoyed tone. 

It was their sixth date total in a span of four months, but it was their first date as an actual couple. Spencer had reluctantly agreed to let Penelope set him up on a blind date after his failed attempt at taking JJ out had shattered any of the confidence he’d built up, leaving the man petrified of taking his chances romantically again. He suspected Penelope’s pity for him was why she was setting up said date to begin with, but he quickly found himself grateful that he went. 

Y/N had been friends with Penelope for years, having bonded online over some indie punk rock band that was no longer around and developing a close friendship from there despite their age difference. When Penelope found out Y/N had moved to Virginia and was single, she couldn’t resist setting the two up. 

It’s Y/N’s turn to stammer as she quickly thinks of a response. “I, uh… you’re just so handsome that I naturally assumed you’d had sex before.” 

Spencer blinks up at her skeptically, trying to detect even the faintest clue that the otherworldly woman in his lap was lying to him. All he found was nervous adoration as she stared back down at him, her cheeks flushed a beautiful shade of pink. It suited her. He wanted to cause it more often. 

“I had, um… I graduated super early from both high school and college, so I didn’t do much dating.” 

Instead of the judgment Spencer expected to see spread across her face, Y/N simply just hummed in understanding, her eyes curious as they watched him. He’d elaborate more on his unfortunate (for lack of a better term) adolescence later. For now, he just wanted to keep from scaring the poor girl off of his lap so he could taste her sweet chapstick again. 

“I see…” Y/N murmurs before continuing, shifting forward slightly with a smirk. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. I’m also a virgin.” 

Spencer’s eyes widened almost comically as he gawked up at her. His heart stutters in his chest, his mouth going dry. His tongue pokes out in a meek attempt at wetting his lips, his voice cracking as he responds. 

“Et tu, Y/N?” 

Oh fuck. Spencer hadn’t meant to let the lame reference slip from his mouth. She just made him so nervous that he couldn’t think straight, and Rome had been heavily on his mind since she had perched herself in his lap. Specifically Roman goddesses, because she looked like she should be amongst them on their thrones. Surely she was going to leave now—-

Loud, genuine laughter bubbles from Y/N’s lips, the noise startling Spencer as she tips her head back and her hands grip his shoulders to stabilize herself. She thought it was funny. She thought he was funny. 

“That’s, like, the last thing I expected you to say,” Y/N managed once her laughter had simmered down into giggles. “But, to answer your question… I too have really never had sex before.” 

Spencer knew that it wasn’t due to a lack of suitors. The woman was sex personified; the archetype of beauty and seduction wrapped into one perfect being. The twitching in his pants brought his attention back to the situation at hand. He could ask her later why that was. For now, he brought his focus back to her. 

In an uncharacteristically bold move, Spencer tilted his head up to brush their noses together. “Would you… would you want to?” 

It didn’t take a profiler to notice the hitch in her breath or the almost imperceptible squeezing of her thighs around his hips. Her pupils were already blown, her lower lip trembling from what Spencer prayed was anticipation and not regret as his question settled over her. The silence stretched between them, the seconds feeling like hours in Spencer’s overly anxious mind. 

He’d done it now. He’d gone off and opened his stupid mouth and frightened the one woman he could actually see himself having a future with because the head straining against his zipper overruled the head housing his supposed genius level IQ. The apologies were already forming in the back of his throat, but they weren’t needed because she— she was kissing him? 

“God, yes. Please,” Y/N murmured eagerly against his lips, effectively clearing every cohesive thought from his brain. 

If Spencer thought her words were enough to bring upon his undoing, he was sorely mistaken. The grinding of her hips against his erection ignited something inside of him that he had no idea existed. It was feral, drowning out all of his other emotions and replacing them with one thing: primal, unfiltered desire. 

Spencer understood now why men used to start wars over women. 

With each gasp that fell upon his ears, Spencer pledged his allegiance to her. Every stuttered moan that came into existence from his hips rutting up into her clothed core fueled his devotion to her. It was animalistic, the way his hands gripped her ass and pulled her tighter against his body as his mouth devoured her now, every cell swimming through his veins screaming for more. More of her touch, more of her taste, more of her sounds... God, those heavenly sounds that had Spencer finally believing in salvation, if only in the form of her skin against his.  

Tongues danced together as layers were hastily stripped away. Layers of insecurity. Layers of self-doubt. Layers of uncertainty. Their clothes fell to the ground as though the fabric burned them, clumsy hands fidgeting with buttons and tugging at zippers with a vendetta. 

Those layers that had crumbled so easily were replaced instead with the firm knowledge that this was exactly where they were meant to be: in each other’s arms, trembling and panting as their world’s trajectory tilted so violently it uprooted them from their upright position, knocking them down against the leather cushions as their bodies attempted to mend their separated souls back into one. 

Spencer choked on the words he wanted to worship her with, so instead he used the most primitive sense he could to get his message across: touch. His lips sucked purpling reminders into the crook of her neck of what they both knew to be true now: He is hers just as much as she is his. Lithe fingers tugged the soaked fabric of her lace panties down until they landed in a heap with their other clothes. Those same fingers pause at the crest of her most intimate spot, his eyes meeting hers with a silent plea. 

Y/N found herself in the same position, her words failing her as they were strangled in her throat by the overwhelming adoration she felt for the man hovering above her. Instead of chanting her desire for Spencer to please touch her, she canted her hips up in approval. 

Her moans were swallowed by swollen lips that claimed the sound straight from her body as nimble fingers dug themselves into the deepest parts of her. Their rhythm was clumsy but steadfast, her hips bucking against his hand in jerky movements as the palm of his hand pressed against her clit. Spencer’s own hips ground against the bare skin of her thigh, shielded only by the immature fabric of his equation-covered boxers. 

Spencer hadn’t for a second thought the night was going to go like this. If he had known he’d have the definition of art itself clawing at his shoulders and panting into his mouth while he made her legs tremble beneath him, he wouldn’t have worn what he deemed his lucky boxers. At least they had done their job, he supposed. 

Their lips separated completely as a guttural moan wrenched its way from Y/N’s throat, her body beginning to thrash wildly underneath him as the tension in her lower belly coiled tighter. Spencer wouldn’t allow her first time to happen on his couch. She was much too precious for that. But he’d already made the decision to unravel her at least once while they were there, to bring her over the edge before taking her into his bedroom so that he could experience the glorious sight of her falling apart more than once tonight. 

Spencer was a virgin, not a prude. He’d seen porn before. He’d read erotic novels. Anything he could use to try to prepare himself for the real experience, he did. But nothing could have prepared him for the downright visceral reaction Y/N had as his fingers curled and brushed against the rough patch of skin inside of her that caused the tension building in her body to snap. Her cries of pleasure tore through him as her pussy clenched around his fingers, his free hand leaving its place beside her head to keep her thighs pried open. He quickly shifted up onto his knees to watch her taking his fingers as she came, taking the pleasure he inflicted upon her. 

He sang her praises while slowing his pace, cooing softly at her as he stroked her hair and worked her through the aftershocks of her orgasm. Only when she was squirming and whining beneath him did he finally remove his fingers, sucking them into his mouth greedily. Y/N’s mouth gaped open as her chest heaved, her eyes locked on Spencer as his tongue lapped over his fingers, enjoying her essence with a groan. Her body sagged into the couch, a delighted laugh spilling from her exhausted frame as she smiled up at him, her eyes twinkling in the dim light of his living room. 

“Do you still want to keep going?” Spencer breathed as he gazed down at her, his cheeks flushed and eyes full of something that made Y/N's heart flutter. “B-because we can stop there if you want. I just… I want to do what makes you happy.” 

Above her was the man she’d recognized, soft and timid, but now with a newfound air of confidence in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Above her was the man that she wanted more than anything. Above her was the man that she knew, without a shadow of doubt, would be her husband. 

“Spencer… if you don’t fuck me right now, then I’ll die a virgin, right here on your couch... and it will be all your fault.” 

Spencer’s hearty chuckles filled the room, his nose twitching as he grinned down at the dramatic woman. He simply couldn’t let that be her fate, could he? 

Shaking his head, he stooped down to press a gentle kiss to her nose before standing from the couch, offering her his (clean) hand. Y/N’s face twisted in confusion as she stared up at him, still reeling from the earth-shattering orgasm surprisingly given to her by the same man who’d eagerly rambled about the lore behind Doctor Who on their first date when she’d mentioned she hadn’t seen it. 

“Not here, silly girl. The bedroom,” He whispered. 

He guided her down the dark hallway as though he were escorting the most priceless treasure known to man to his bed, and in his eyes, he was. His hand stayed steady on her hip as she swayed lightly, her body pressed into his side as he opened the door with shaky hands. Any confidence Spencer had managed to muster throughout the night vanished as they crossed the threshold into his bedroom, his teeth gnawing at his lower lip gently as his courage began to crack. 

In an almost startling display of being seen, something Spencer had never experienced before, Y/N looped her arms around his neck and tugged him into a kiss that simultaneously stole the breath from his lungs and filled him with the air he needed to breathe again, effectively calming his nerves.

“It’s okay,” She reassured him against his lips. “It’s just me.” 

She walked them backward until the backs of her knees pressed into his cool comforter, taking over where Spencer so willingly handed her the reigns while he regained his momentum. She sat on the edge of his bed, her hands pressed into his hips to keep him from following after her. Her eyes met his, the moonlight streaming through his bedroom window illuminating her as though she were a vision, a figment of his imagination that he’d conjured up in the dead of night, ready to haunt his every waking moment once he inevitably woke up to an empty bed. She was too good to be true. 

Spencer’s hands fell to rest on her shoulders, just to give himself proof that Y/N was real and that he hadn’t dreamed her up or somehow followed in his mother’s footsteps and succumbed to early onset schizophrenia. 

She was real and she was here, eye level with the tent in his boxers and naked as the day she was born, her warm breath fanning across the smattering of hair trailing down from his belly button to below his underwear. His muscles tensed and twitched as she smirked up at him, pressing a tender kiss to the head of his cock through the thin fabric. His entire body flinched from that one touch, his brows furrowing together as he hissed quietly. 

“N-not that I wouldn’t love to feel your mouth on me—“ Spencer’s pitch raised as her hands found the elastic of his waistband, pulling his boxers down his legs. “But I… I won’t last if you do.” 

The fondness in her eyes quelled any humiliation he felt from having uttered those words. 

Placing a kiss to his hip, she nodded in understanding before shuffling backwards to lay in the middle of his bed, with him kneeling onto the mattress after her. The sight of her— stretched out and languid and looking at him as if she wanted to ravage him— had him sending up a silent ‘thank you’ to whatever in the universe had deemed him worthy enough of having this divine of a woman in his life. 

As Spencer reaches for his nightstand to grab a condom, Y/N stammers, grabbing his attention. He watches for a moment as she flounders over her words, his brow furrowing in concern at her sudden diffidence. 

“Are you sure you still want to do this?”

“I’m on birth control if you want to skip the condom!” 

Spencer inhales sharply at the same time she smiles sheepishly up at him, her blurted words almost making him finish before they’d even started. He holds her gaze, tracing her irises for any hint of hesitancy. When he finds none, he nods once, swallowing hard. 

“I— uh. Um...” 

It was rare that Spencer Reid was rendered speechless, but Y/N had managed to do it with just eleven words. He clears his throat, trying again. 

“Yes. Yes, I would like to skip the condom. Only if you’re absolutely sure that’s what you want.” 

“Yes. It is. I pinky promise.” 

Y/N holds up her pinky for him, the sight so endearing he can practically feel his heart melt away, dripping in a sticky mess inside him. He just grins, linking his pinky with hers before he moves to settle over her once more. 

Her fingers tangle themselves in his hair as his elbows dig into the mattress beside her ribs. The flushed head of his cock bumps against her clit as he reaches down to line himself up at her entrance, a small whine leaving her lips at the sensation. He repeats the action, dizzy from the sound of her soft noises. She was still soaked from their time on the couch, a small feeling of pride welling in Spencer’s chest at the knowledge that not only did he make her cum, but he’d kept her wet while they made it here. 

His lips meet hers in a searing kiss, the both of them quivering with anticipation at giving themselves so intimately to someone for the first time. He was happy it was her. And she was happy it was him. 

Spencer couldn’t remember a time where his mind had ever been quiet. All he knew was incessant thoughts and worries, unable to put a halt to the chaos jumbling around his brain. But as he pressed forward and sunk into Y/N for the first time, his entire mind went blank. White static crowded the spaces where various facts and tidbits of information had been stored, the only thing he was able to focus on now being the sheer ecstasy coursing through his body from being inside of her. 

His mouth hung open as his eyes rolled back into his head, his hips stilling as they pressed flush against hers. She mirrored his response, squeaking out an “oh!” as her walls fluttered around the intrusion instinctively. He throbbed in response, his head dropping to rest in the crook of her neck, unable to stop the pitiful whimper that escaped from behind clenched teeth. 

She was so tight. So wet. So warm. 

Sparks of pleasure zinged up and down his spine as he remained still, waiting patiently for Y/N to adjust to both his size and to the feeling of being filled for the first time in general. He’d wait as long as she needed him to. All he wanted was for her to feel good. To enjoy this as much as he was. 

He was a humble man, truly. But even he wasn’t too shy to admit he’d been gifted with a size that was bigger than average. Not necessarily just in length, falling just shy of seven inches, but in girth as well.  

Spencer peppered soft kisses up and down her flushed skin, feeling her rapid pulse beneath his lips. He was sure she could feel his own heartbeat pounding against his ribs from where their bare chests were pressed together. Her nipples were taut, pressing into his skin enticingly. He wanted to touch them. Taste them. But he’d wait until she was ready. He didn’t want to overwhelm her. 

At her gentle nod, Spencer lifted his head to press his forehead against hers, their lips brushing together as he pulls his hips back. The sensation of her grip tightening in his hair as he pushed forward does more to him than he’d care to admit, but he still lets her hear just how affected he is by her. With a shaky moan, Spencer repeats the motion, easing out of her before gently rocking back into her. He keeps this up for a few minutes, her sharp breaths dissolving into muted moans of her own. 

“You can— you can move faster if y-you want.” 

Spencer’s eyes flutter shut at her words, and he’s pressing a fervent kiss to her lips before he begins to really move. The sound of skin smacking together begins to fill the air as he ruts his hips into hers, his walls bearing witness to every pleasured noise that spills between them. His pace is frenzied, his rhythm stuttered, but it feels so good that neither of them really care. 

Y/N’s nails roamed his body now, alternating between dragging harsh lines into the planes of his back and burying into his shoulders to leave little tender half moons in their wake. Spencer yearned to pull every single noise that he could from her throat, planting his hands beside her head and hefting himself up for better leverage before his lips wrapped around her right nipple. He sucks harshly at the pert bud, reveling in the desperate whimper it causes. 

Spencer grunts when she clenches around him, letting his mouth glide over to her neglected breast, his hips hammering into hers now as she cries out his name over and over. He was close… so, so close. But he needed to make her cum one more time before he’d allow himself to. He needed to know what it felt like for her to fall apart around his cock. With every ounce of willpower he had, Spencer slows his hips to a stop inside of her. 

Y/N whined her discontent at his sudden pause, her eyes opening to blink hazily up at him. “Why’d you… why’d you stop?” She panted, her fingers finding and twisting her own nipples as if she couldn’t help but to touch herself. 

Spencer muffled a curse at the sight, sitting back on his haunches as he stared down at the woman beneath him with reverence. 

“Flip onto your stomach for me, angel.”

She does as instructed, wiggling her hips coyly as Spencer grabs a pillow from the head of the bed and stuffs it underneath her hips to prop her up better, ensuring she’d be comfortable. Once she’s settled on her front, Spencer wasted no time in pressing himself back into her, both of them releasing a moan so loud he’s surprised the walls don’t shake. Thank God he didn’t have neighbors right now. 

He eased himself down so his chest is pressed to her back, lavishing her neck and shoulder in open mouthed kisses while his hips drilled into her. This angle was deeper, allowing him to plow directly into her g-spot as she writhed and begged incoherently beneath him. He laced his left hand with hers, shoving them into his mattress. His other hand stuffed itself between the pillow and her wriggling body until the pads of his fingers found her clit, his breath coming out in sharp pants into her ear. 

Y/N felt delirious with pleasure, bucking her hips back in a feeble attempt to meet his. He began whispering into her ear about how good she felt around him, thanking her for allowing him to fuck her, praising her for taking him so well… 

His words paired with his fingers circling her clit have her second orgasm ripping through her body with so much ferocity that tears begin to fall down her cheeks, her eyes squeezing shut and her hand clutching his so tightly her knuckles whitened as she wailed into a pillow, gushing around him. 

Spencer let out his own guttural moan at the feeling, spilling into her with a shout as he planted his head between her shoulder blades, his hips weakly thrusting into her as they rode out their climaxes. 

He held her until her tremors stopped. He kissed her forehead before he darted off to the bathroom to get a warm rag to clean her with. He thanked her in soft whispers as her eyes began to drift shut before he’d even finished cleaning his mess between her thighs. 

And he knew, watching the gorgeous woman before him sleep so soundly in his bed after they’d just defiled each other’s innocence, that he was looking at his future wife. 

Will your lover caress you the way that I did? Will you notice my charm if he slips up one bit? 

The air was thick with tension as Y/N stared at Ben, her chest heaving and eyes watering at the hurt look on his face. Spencer watched from the corner, his concern for his wife outweighing the jealousy he had previously felt when he watched the couple slip into her— though he still selfishly thought of it as their— bed. Y/N had been dating Ben for three months now. That made for three months that Spencer ached so heavily he’d sometimes wish he could fade back into nothingness if it meant he didn’t have to watch the love of his life with another man. 

The furthest Ben and Y/N had gone physically was a few pecks here and there, with Y/N always being the one to draw away and cut the kisses short. Ben had played the nice guy act, reassuring her that he understood her hesitance and that he’d be okay doing whatever she was comfortable with. Spencer despised him. He could see right through Ben’s facade, and if he could do more than nudge a door open, he’d make that hatred known. But he couldn’t. 

Spencer watched on with furrowed brows as Y/N reached a shaky hand over and turned the lamp on her nightstand on, illuminating the dark room in a soft glow that contrasted with the dark energy that began to cloud the small space. Spencer could see it all on Ben’s face: hurt, betrayal, anger. He could see the fear, guilt, and shame on Y/N’s. 

This was the first night Y/N had tried to push past her discomfort so that she could offer Ben more than just false promises of physical intimacy. It started slow, with soft kisses that dissolved into hungrier ones as they laid together in the dark. But the second Ben went to roll on top of her, sliding a hand down her body to pull her hips against his, she panicked. Her body jolted, and her hands had shot out instinctively to shove him off of her, leaving them where they were now in some sort of silent standoff. 

Spencer knew as soon as it had happened just why it did. She had thought of him. His guilt overruled the smug pleasure he’d felt as he watched it unfold. As painful as it had been watching Y/N move on with her life, all he ultimately wanted was for her to be happy. Spencer had been barely thirty-five when he passed, and she had only been thirty. That left almost an entire lifetime ahead for her, and even though he so desperately wanted to have lived that lifetime with her, he had to accept that that wasn’t what fate had in store for them. 

“I-I’m sorry-”

“What the fuck is your problem?” 

Spencer’s jaw tightened at the same time Y/N’s dropped. 

“Excuse me?” Y/N leveled Ben with a narrowed glare, rage flashing in her eyes in place of the shame that had just been there. 

“I get that you have a dead husband. I’ve tried to be patient with you. But fuck! It's been six years, Y/N. It’s time for you to move on,” Ben seethes, his face reddening with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. “I can’t even touch you without you flinging me off of you!” 

It’s as though Y/N is the exact physical embodiment of Spencer’s own emotions, physically reacting in the way that he can’t. She was out of the bed before Spencer could even blink, marching over to the bedroom door and yanking it open. Ben watches in bewilderment, his mind clearly not catching up with what was happening. 

“Get out of my fucking house.” 

Y/N’s voice is cold as she stares menacingly at Ben. When he doesn’t move, she speaks again, her voice louder. “Get out of my fucking house, Ben!” 

Ben stammers, standing from the bed and attempting to plead his case. “Babe, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that, I just-”

“I don’t care. Get out of my house,” Y/N repeats herself, cutting off his pathetic excuses. 

Spencer smirks proudly from beside her.

 That’s his girl. 

Ben sighs, hanging his head and scrubbing his hands frustratedly across his face. 

“If you kick me out over some guy that’s been dead for six years, then we’re over. For good.” 

Spencer cackles at Ben’s proposition, though it can’t be heard by either party in the room. That was his attempt at fixing things? Seriously? Good riddance. He’d drag the guy out of there himself if he could. 

“If I haven’t made myself clear, we’re already over. No one talks about my husband like that. Now get out before I call the police and have you escorted off of my property.” 

It doesn’t take long after that for Ben to tuck his tail and leave, slamming the front door on his way out. Y/N’s steam runs out the second his car pulls out of her driveway, tears streaming down her face as she curls up on her couch. 

Spencer’s own chest twinges uncomfortably as he sits beside her, stroking her hair despite her inability to actually receive the comfort. He didn’t know what hurt more; watching his beautiful, broken girl sob and not being able to stop her tears, or being the cause of the tears himself. He had to do something, anything to let her know he was still there and that he still loved her beyond death. 

The same time Spencer stands is the same time Y/N’s tears pause, a hiccup rocking her frame before she glances up. 

“Spence?” Y/N calls softly. Spencer’s heart would have stopped right there had he not already been dead.

Spencer turns slowly from his place at the end of the couch, his eyes wide and hopeful as he responds. “Yes, angel?” 

His hope fades as he realizes she isn’t looking at him, rather her eyes are just darting around the room. 

“Spencer I… I know it’s been awhile since I’ve talked to you. And for that, I’m so sorry,” Y/N starts, her voice cracking. “I don’t know if you can even hear me. Or if you ever could. But I miss you. I miss you in my bones. I just… you were— are my everything.” 

The lump in her throat grows as the tears begin to stream down her face again. Spencer’s own eyes sting with tears that she’ll never see drip down his face. He swallows hard, making his way over to their— yes, their— bookshelf. 

“I’d give anything to have you back in my arms… I should have begged you to leave the BAU and just teach full-time if it meant I could still have you here, safe and at home. It’s not even a home without you.” 

Y/N sobs freely now, tucking her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them before she buries her head into them. 

Every ounce of grief, guilt, sadness, and anger from what his death has done to his precious girl fuels Spencer to do something he deemed impossible: he yanks the leatherbound notebook holding their vows inside of it off of the bookshelf, sending it tumbling to the ground in a desperate attempt to show her that he’s still there and that he still loves her. 

The noise causes a yelp to slip from Y/N’s lips, her head jerking up as the book hits the hardwood floor with a loud thump. It had fallen open exactly to where Spencer wanted it to: the page starting his vows to her.  Y/N crawled from the couch to the book, her trembling hands lifting the journal so that she can read the words her husband wrote to her ten years ago. With a deep exhale, she sits cross-legged on the hardwood floor, reading Spencer’s chicken scratch he called handwriting with a heavy heart. And for the first time since his casket closed, she feels a sense of peace wash over her. She was going to be okay, despite it all, because he was hers just as much as she was his.

Continued A/N: Ahh!! Ghost!Spencer my beloved. :') JUST TO CLARIFY: I am not a JJ hater!! It just fit better for the story to have her be the one this all happened for. I hope you guys enjoyed reading this fic just as much as I enjoyed writing it. I look forward to sharing more in the future with you as my blog grows <3

K <3

[authorhjk1]

Hi! Same anon who inquired about Yoona earlier…thank you for replying. It's ok, at least its good to know someone requested another Yoona piece, I mean you can never go wrong with her and it's nice to see SNSD getting requested. Hoping we get more action from her in the future (wink).

Also just wanted to see if this outfit of Kid Leader Taeyeon makes the cut? Have a great day.

https://kpopping.com/documents/f3/3/1500/Taeyeon_VIVI_4.jpeg?v=88484

Light Black

(Kim Taeyeon X Male Reader)

You know that this is wrong. You know you're a bad person for doing this. You know you will be caught.

"This is a nice surprise."

Miss Kim coos as you carefully place your hand on her waist.

"I didn't expect to come home from clubbing to..."

She bites her lip, before placing a finger on your naked chest.

"this."

She gives you another passionate, sloppy kiss. This one is longer. Fueled with desire and lust. You can taste a hint of alcohol on your girlfriend's mother's lips.

You only came out of Chaewon's room for a glass of water. That's when you ran into her mother. And now, she not letting you go again.

"Show me the thing that makes my daughter scream every night."

Miss Kim places her hand over your boxers, feeling your cock underneath.

"My daughter can handle all of this?"

With an amused laugh, she pulls at your waistband. Your boxers drop to the floor. You are now completely naked.

"Do you know what I always wanted to do?"

Her whispered words make you shake your head.

"I want to be someone's free use milf fuck toy. I want to be used, whenever they want to use me. Someone so young, he could be my son. Someone with a nice cock."

Her last words are emphasized by her, looking down at yours.

"Make me scream as loud as Chaewon."

Miss Kim takes a step closer, your noses now touching.

"Or I will tell her you hit on me."

You nod in agreement. You crossed the line earlier already, when you kissed her. She doesn't even have to threaten you.

"Good. What are you waiting for then?"

"I-I can do anything?"

Miss Kim slowly nods her head, a seductive smile playing around her lips.

"Anything, honey."

"Oh, fuck. Harder!"

Miss Kim moans as you take her from behind. She is bend over the kitchen counter. Her clothes have joined your boxers on the floor. She is only wearing her heels and socks.

"Give it to me deeper. I need it deep."

She sighs, her head dropping, her hands in her hair, while her elbows are propped up on the counter.

Your hands on her waist pull Miss Kim into you as you thrust forward. Her pussy rivals your girlfriend's in tightness. But the older version of your girlfriend is by far more experienced. You feel her muscles tightening, which makes her pussy squeeze your cock harder.

As you drag your length along her inner walls, Miss Kim sighs and moans. You can tell, she hasn't done this in far too long. Which might explain her outfit, which is lying on the ground.

Your name leaves her lips repeatedly. Her voice becomes higher and higher as you drive her towards an orgasm. You hesitate for a moment, but then reach forward to grab her hair.

"God, yes. Make me your bitch!"

Encouraged by her words and her tight cunt, you keep up your pace. You know Miss Kim won't be able to take your pounding much longer.

"Tell me how much you love my pussy, baby. Tell me, please."

She sighs as you feel her body trembling.

"You're so tight. I love how wet you are for me. I wish I could cum in your perfect pussy."

"Do it, baby."

Miss Kim's breathing becomes faster.

"Fill me up with your cum. I want everything that my daughter gets from you."

"I've never creampied Chaewon."

"Oh, god!"

Miss Kim orgasms, bend over her own kitchen counter. Her tight walls massage your cock. Her contracting pussy makes you lose your rhythm. You can feel how you're getting closer yourself.

The prospect of making your girlfriend's mother your personal cumdump has fueled a fire inside you. Your fingers dig into the skin on her waist, probably leaving marks. You make her scalp burn by pulling harder on her hair.

"Creampie me baby. I want you to think about this moment, whenever you fuck my daughter. That my pussy is the place where your cum belongs."

You groan in pleasure. Just the idea of that is too much for you. You stay buried balls deep inside Miss Kim. Your load paints her walls. Your cum floods her stomach.

"Babe?"

Your hear Chaewon's weak voice, calling for you.

[bernardsbendystraws]

Fresh Air

Matt Sturniolo x Reader

Check out my pinned post for more of my writing.

00 01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 FINAL

Summary: One night at a party seems to change everything. A strange man with a friendly smile and a sleeve of patchwork tattoos seems to make you feel at home for a change. You're finally happy to have made a good friend to lean on - especially when it comes to your not-so-great relationship with your boyfriend. But what happens if you lean too much...what happens if you fall?

Warnings: 18+. This series contains mature themes, read at your own risk. (SMUT, angst, parental troubles, financial hardships, and more. Don't like, don't read.) This warning is made for all parts.

A/N: To be added to the taglist, send a request in my inbox or comment on the pinned post. I'm far more likely to see requests sent to my inbox.

With love and big tits, Rose.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

04: Always The...

One entire week. 

It felt so shitty. At first I was boiling with anger. I mean—how could he? Hayden pushing sex as if it was some sort of expectation made my skin crawl with rage. But the anger settled into regret and regret faded into guilt. 

Even his chewing pissed me off. 

Maybe that night was romantic for him. I mean, I had dressed up and created such an intimate moment. I bathed silently in my anger. His phone, his shoes, his chewing…all those annoyances laid on the tip of my tongue. I didn’t really say anything. How was he supposed to know? 

“Are you good?” Manon asks, looking over at me as she quickly places her gaze back on the street. 

We had been hanging out a lot more. Mainly because I couldn’t fathom facing Hayden and because seeing Matt felt…wrong. 

That night spent with Matt felt good—a little too good. I didn’t feel the same way around Matt as I did with Manon. Maybe that just meant it was a different kind of friendship, but something deep in my gut told me distance was the only way to let my mind be clear. It didn’t seem like it was working though. Distance from Hayden and Matt had only created more tension in my chest. 

“I…I don’t know, Manon. I mean—what am I supposed to do?” My teeth bite into my lip as my eyebrows knit in confusion and frustration. “I can’t tell how much of this is my fault and I…I just…I don’t know how to do this shit but giving up on him feels like giving up on myself.” 

The words seem to trigger her. Manon’s hand reaches out, turning the music down before letting out a huff. “How is it giving up on yourself?” she asks, pushing her sunglasses up on the bridge of her nose as she gives me a quick glance. “C’mon, what he did….it was a little fucked up. You gotta see that, at least.” 

Was it, though? What did I actually want from that night if not to build our relationship? And the one opportunity he gave to do that…I shut it down. Immediately. 

Breathing out with a frustrated sigh, I clench my hands in my lap. “It’s…it’s not that simple. I had basically isolated myself from him—I picked apart every single thing he did! I—I just wish I was capable of being…romantic?. I wish I had it in me to…I don’t know, not try to…” I trail off, escaping the words as my thoughts flounder with muddled regret. 

I push him away. I push everyone away. 

Even Matt. 

Even Hayden.

Even Manon.

Even myself. 

“I’m just—I’m so scared of doing something wrong—-losing something as soon as I get it,” I say.

Sure, it sucked to drown in self-pity. But—wouldn’t it suck more to know what I actually lost? 

The car rolls to a stop as she parks. Manon’s eyes drift over to me with a heavy look, her lids drooping with sympathy as she caresses her hand on my arm. “You can’t live in fear. Look at us—you were scared to talk to me at first,” she jokes.

It was true. She was intimidating, especially when she just radiated a certain kind of energy that most people couldn’t even dream of having. It was calming, yet powerful. 

My lips slide up into a smile as we start piling out of the car and walking into her house. “Manon—can you really blame me?” I remark. 

Glancing back towards me while unlocking her front door, her eyes glimmer with confidence as she shrugs. 

“I guess not,” she announces. 

A breath sigh falls from my lips as I shake my head, following her inside. I hear the click of her shutting the door behind us. The modern, minimalistic house greets me with an intimidating, yet comforting energy. 

“Your house, god—” I trace my finger over the porcelain sculpture, one we had picked out together. The little piece of me in her home brought me more happiness than I was willing to admit. It didn’t exactly fit her aesthetic, the somewhat creepy art stood out like a sore thumb, but we had both laughed so hard when getting it initially. The memory made it beautiful. 

“I just love your house,” I breathe out. 

It was safe here. No jealousy, no parts of my brain trying to compare myself to her like they did on set. 

Manon’s hand clasps on my shoulder as she stares up at me with a soft smile, “It could be our house,” she reminds. 

A dry laugh falls from my lips at her remark. She wanted me to move in. I considered it at times, but I couldn’t. 

And it all laced back to the same thought.

What if it ended poorly? What if the only friendship I had really enjoyed got dissolved into petty arguments? 

Communication was necessary for roommates and obviously–that wasn’t my strong suit. 

“Let’s just do our nails, talk our shit, and watch some shitty TV to feel better about ourselves. How’s that sound, babe?” she teases, leaning her weight on my shoulder. 

Babe. 

I didn’t hate it coming from her mouth. It felt endearing, like a way of saying ‘there’s no pressure.’ 

My smile grows as I link my arms in hers. 

“Let’s get to it, babe.” 

__________

Manon had convinced me I had to talk to him. The shitty reality TV got drowned out by her incessant chants, all guiding me to here—his doorstep. 

Bringing up a closed fist, I gently knock on the door. My heart hammers against my chest with every knock, seemingly echoing the noise with more pressure as I hear footsteps draw closer. 

It’s just him. This isn’t a fight—it isn’t even an argument.

The creek of the door opening makes me breath hitch in my gut as I see his face come into view—Matt.

“Hey,” I stammer out. 

His face tilts towards the side with a gentle pull of his lips turning upward, a smile that doesn’t quite reach his puzzled eyes. Matt shifts to make room for me as I walk through the threshold. I hear the door fall shut before I feel his hand rest on the small of my back. 

“You ready to talk?” he questions. 

“I…” My gaze hesitantly moves to look over at him. His tone is soft, but his eyes are even softer. “I’m ready to talk,” I affirm. 

A gentle push from his hand guides my steps towards his room. He closes the door behind us. My chest somehow lightens as I let myself fall, sitting on the edge of his bed. 

“So,” he falls next to me, leaning his body onto mine as encouragement. “-talk to me,” he smiles. 

Talk. 

Just talk. 

Things had ended awkwardly that night. Everything was fine until he asked. Mostly because I just couldn’t keep my emotions in check. 

It was embarrassing. 

The second he had pushed about it, a gentle question that wasn’t supposed to seem like an interrogation—I just snapped. 

“What happened? You…I just wanna know what’s going on. Whatever it is—you shouldn’t have to feel like this all the time.” 

His words had poked a hole in my facade. One second I was fine, bubbling with laughter as I just sank into the moment with him. The next…I was mad. Tears clouding my vision reminded me of reality—a reality I didn’t wanna face. And I blamed him. 

I didn’t say anything though. His words got met with silence as we sat on my couch. No matter how hard I urged my lips to move, all that energy got shifted into my anxious thoughts. 

“Hey,” his voice brings me back to reality. I feel his hand hover over my knee before gently falling onto my jeans. “-I’m not gonna judge, okay? I…just wanna be there for you. We’re friends,” he says. 

Friends.

This is just me overthinking. 

Taking a deep breath, I start letting out the brutal words that had calloused over my spine uncomfortably for the past week. 

“I, um–he wanted me to try harder, ya know?” 

Matt nods. 

My lips stick together, my throat tickling as I cough. “I—”

Just talk.

Why can’t I just talk?

The reassurance of his hand on my leg makes my eyes concentrate on the sigh of his thumb swiveling back and forth. It feels good. 

“Hey,” I feel Matt lean towards me, his finger brushing against my skin as he tucks my hair behind my ear. “-take your time.”

There’s no pressure.

Not with him.

It’s Matt.

It’s just Matt.

“I cooked him dinner. He—he was on his phone, he didn’t take off his shoes…I just, I ruined the whole night by letting everything get to me. I just—” My words spool to a heaving breath. 

“Well, why didn’t he think to take off his shoes?” Matt butts. 

My brain stutters over his words. “I don’t know. But—I overreacted. He wanted to have sex—”

“--hold on,” Matt cuts me off, swiveling his body further to face mine. Our eyes meet. I feel a warmth crawl behind my shoulder as he lets out a laugh of disbelief. “-he wanted to have sex when he didn’t even care enough to take his shoes off?” he points out.

“He did after I asked—”

“You had to ask?” 

Oh.

The skirt, the cooking, the effort. 

I was trying. 

He wasn’t. 

Not enough at least. 

“But,” my brain races towards conclusions. But—he’s right. Hayden didn’t even think to take off his shoes. He didn’t think to put his phone down. The man had only thought with his dick. 

“He didn’t want intimacy, he wanted sex. That’s….that’s fucked up,” Matt spits, shaking his head as he looks off towards the ground. 

A week of suffering in silence and tension all for this—one minute talking with Matt and I already felt different. I feel angrier. 

How did I even think this was all my fault?

Matt had done the dishes with me that night. Hayden hadn’t even offered. 

Where was his effort? 

“Oh.” I manage to say. 

Matt’s arm curls around my shoulders, pulling me into his chest. His hand softly caresses the crown of my head. “You are trying. Maybe you’re not the problem. Maybe…actually—no, you aren’t the problem here. I just…I wish you’d see that,” he sighs. 

His words seep into the cracks of my thoughts, infiltrating each doubt with an impenetrable feeling of comprehension. 

I just wanted to kiss Hayden. His lips went to my neck and his hands went up my thighs. It didn’t feel like he wanted me. He didn’t even make me feel safe enough to be that vulnerable. 

“Matt, I…” 

My tongue squirms as my teeth bite gently into the muscle. I don’t know what to say—I don’t know what to feel.

“Let’s just—let’s just talk, okay?” he offers, his fingers tracing circles onto my shoulder. 

“Yeah, let’s just—I mean, why don’t we go for a drive? You deserve to have a clear mind. I can’t imagine how you’ve been feelin’ for the past week,” he huffs. 

My spine straightens as I distance myself to look directly at him. His eyes meet mine with hesitation, wandering around my face as I feel my stomach churn with knots. I can feel something pulling me in. Gravity droops my gaze down to his lips despite my mind screaming at me to stop. 

“We should, um…” Matt trails off as his eyes stare on the lower half of my face. 

Does he feel it too?

Hayden. Fuck. 

My eyes snap open widely as I sit up straight. His arm drops from the sudden motion as he stares at me blankly. 

“Yeah, um—we should go—I, yeah,” I stammer, standing up and starting pace towards the door. 

I feel his hand wrap gently around my wrist, halting my movements as my body whips to face his. The second he looks up at me, I feel every inch of me burn with vicious comfort. 

Is this cheating?

No. It can’t be. I’m not doing anything. I’m not. 

“Are you ready?” I encourage, my feet wobbling for balance as the lightness in my chest floats further. 

Shaking his head, Matt pushes himself up. “I, uh, yeah—do you…do you want a hoodie?” he asks. 

Hayden’s hoodie is in my car. I was cold even coming in, but I just couldn’t put it on. Not without feeling guilty. Now—now I didn’t want to put it on because of anger. 

“Yes please,” I answer. 

Matt’s hoodies have always been softer anyway. 

[ashblooddragons]

Better Me For You

This request was made by an Anon

Summary: When Daemon decided to stay in Pentos he never expected to find live again. He only wanted to make his girls happy. But in the end he figures put how to do both.

Word Count: 5873

Warnings: Daemon being Daemon, pretty much pure fluff, slight angst but only at the beginning, memories of past loved ones, tell me if I missed anything

Driftmark 

Daemons pov

I lay in bed staring up at the ceiling thinking of all my mistakes. I mean Seven hells I fucked Rhaenyra on the beach the night of Laena’s funeral. And it was disappointing to say the least. 

It wasn't anything like I built it up in my head. It was the exact opposite. Seems having three sons by that giant of a man stretched her more than I thought it would. 

I stretch my arms out before resting them behind my head. The sound of waves crashing the shore reminds me where Laena is. That she's gone and all I could think about the night of her funeral was where I could put my cock the quickest. 

I truly am a monster of a man. I think with a long sigh. 

But just as I decide to turn on my side to let sleep take me does a quiet knock come to my door. 

“Kepa, can we stay with you?” I hear the tearful voice of Baela ask. 

I climb out of bed and walk towards the door. I hear their sniffles, more than likely a mix of their Mother’s death and the events of tonight. And when I open my door I'm greeted by my two little girls, my whole damn world and they have tear stained cheeks and red rimmed eyes as they cling to each other for dear life. 

“Come here.” I say holding my arms open for them. And without a thought they run towards me jumping into my arms. 

I start walking towards my bed kicking the door shut before dropping them on the bed and a little giggle falls from both their lips. But that only lasts all but a second before their solem looks return. 

I climb into bed, them both curling up beside me as if trying to have some semblance of their life before Laena’s death. 

“We want to say sorry to Prince Aemond. But I don't think he'll accept it.” Rhaena says before wiping her runny nose. 

“He probably won't, but it will help him in the long run.” I say knowing my girls didn't truly take part in maiming the boy. But they did start the argument and they feel awful that their grief disabled someone even if it was someone they don't know. 

“I just wanted a chance to claim Vhagar.” Rhaena sobs and I feel her hot tears against my chest. 

I stroke her locks and kiss her brow in hopes of calming the storm that has overtaken her little heart.

Always so sensitive to others emotions, so much like your Mother. I think with a sad smile knowing that it is a blessing and a curse for her. 

“I didn't expect Jace to pull the knife. I wanted to stop him, Kepa, I swear, but I was so scared he would turn it on me or Rhaena.” Baela says her own tears rolling down her cherub cheeks. 

Always the protector, so much like me. I think as I whisper how it wasn't their fault. That they didnt do anything wrong. But I know they won't care for my words. The guilt is too large and the grief too crushing. 

“I want to go home.” I hear Baela say next and I can't help but frown. 

“We are home, Westeros is our home.” I say a bit too sternly if their tensed shoulders are any indicator. 

“Westeros is your home. We don't know this place, we don't know these people.” Rhaena says and I can't help but agree. 

They have never met these people who mourn their Mother, never met these children that try and play with them and be friends. They have no ties here. 

And neither do I, not anymore. I think as my choice of my girls future starts to solidify. 

“Let me think on it, many people wish for us to stay. I don't wish to anger them, but I also don't want to tear your worlds apart more than the gods already have.” 

I feel them nod their heads and within a couple minutes I hear their soft snores fill the room. 

Unsurprisingly the next morning my brother wants to talk. 

“Have you thought about my proposal?” 

I don't respond, only look him up and down taking in his hobbled and run down state. 

There is truly nothing they can do, they can only make him comfortable. I think before clearing my throat. 

“I have, and I'm afraid I must decline. Though I miss home, I can't destroy my girl's lives more than the gods have.” 

He stops almost seeming caught off guard before a smile takes over his face. 

“I understand, please do come visit though. Perhaps even let Rhaena find another dragon egg or attempt to claim a beast.” 

All I do is nod before turning to look at my girls who to anyone else would seem to be talking to the young Prince Aemond. But I know what they are doing, they are apologizing with every fiber of their being in hopes of at least attempting to right their wrongs. 

“Mayhaps a betrothal is in our future. One of your girls with one of my sons?” Viserys suggested playfully nudging me with his elbow. 

“The only way I would agree is if one of my girls would be Queen.” I say turning to him and I see the way his eyes shine with understanding.

“The Prince Jace isn't yet betrothed.” He says but I scoff, turning on my heels to watch the waves my late wife used to call home one last time. 

I look down at the sea thinking of all the stories Laena told me of her childhood.

"When I was a little girl I loved collecting seashells by the shore. The waves lapping at my feet, the smell of salt filling my lungs, the sound of clanking from my little wicker basket from all the shells I had collected so far. It was my perfect day, I once asked my Father to let me do that for my Nameday. He let me, for a little bit before the feasts took place.” She says her fingers intertwined with mine as her head lays on my chest, wild curls even more rustled from a vigorous lay. 

“I was hoping to speak with you Uncle.” I hear Rhaenyra say from behind me. Her voice is set in that sultry whisper and hum that she used last night. I can't help the smirk of amusement that rises to my lips. 

It hardly worked last night, it most definitely won't work this morning. I think before schooling my face into cold indifference when she comes to stand next to me. 

She stares at me waiting for me to speak, but I won't. I have nothing to say to her, not anymore. 

“Laenor will be useless now that his sister is gone. Though he was before that as well.” She starts searching for any reaction but I know she will find none. “I need a husband who will defend me against the Greens. One that will be as fearsome as I.” 

I can't help but chuckle and from the smile she gives me I know she thinks I'm laughing at Laenor and not at the thought of her ever being fearsome. 

“And what does this have to do with me?” I ask but I already know, Rhaenyra never was good at being discreet whether with her actions or words. 

“Let us wed in the tradition of our house. Like Aegon the conqueror and his sister-wives.” 

I try to see if there is any jest in her tone but from her stern face I know she is being serious. And I can't help but laugh. 

“What? What is so funny?” She demands in that tone she always had had she doesn't get her way. 

Gods, she has three sons and yet still acts like a spoiled three year old. No wonder they thought an insult was reason enough to take another eye.  I think as I wipe a few stray tears. 

“No.” Is all I say and by her bewildered face I can tell she will want more. 

“What do you mean no?” 

I snicker before facing her fully with an amused grin. 

“No, I will not marry you. Because I do not want to. We fucked, Rhaenyra, nothing more nothing less. And if I'm honest, if you didn't throw yourself at me I probably would've just gone to a brothel.” 

I watch as her face turns red in fury. The way her hands clenched into fists until her knuckles are white. But I don't stop smirking at her in the most condescending way I can. 

“I thought you wanted me.” She hisses out tears rimming her eyes but not from heartache, pain, betrayal, or even sadness. These tears are pure rage. 

“I did, key word being did.” I say before saying the words that will bring the nail in the coffin. “I'm going back to Pentos. Don't come and visit, my girls are already afraid of your boys. I don't need your hellions invading the only place they've ever felt safe.” 

And with that I walk over to my girls who wait for me in their riding leathers. 

“Will Caraxes be able to fit all of us?” Rhaena asks concerned but not because she fears being cramped, but because she worries we will all be too heavy for the beast. 

“Yes, just because he isn't as large as Vhagar doesn't mean he can't handle me and two little rug rats for girls.” I say pretending to growl which makes them laugh.

And I can't help the heart ache at hearing it. They haven't let themselves laugh, truly laugh since their Mother passed. So hearing it now, it means all the world. 

“Alright, say goodbye to your grandparents. And don't worry they will visit soon, in a moon's turn I believe.” I say eyeing Lord Corlys and my raven haired cousin Rhaenys. 

“Yes, and I plan on bringing Meleys, perhaps you can fly with me and your Father. Perhaps a race?” 

I watch as their eyes sparkle with pure joy, and a soft, kind, even genuine smile rises to my lips. 

Pentos 

Your pov

I walk through the market eyeing the produce for dinner tonight. I may be a Lord's daughter but my Mother was low born. She had to cook for herself and she instilled this craft in me from a young age. 

“We may have wealth now, but it could all crumble away. And I will not have my little girl be helpless in a world where men thrive off of suffering.” She always says. 

I remember the first thing I cooked, or I should say baked. A blueberry pie, I was three Namedays old and all I wanted was a blueberry pie. So my Mother got the ingredients and had me and my Father in the kitchen with her as we baked them. My Father always messed his up, one was burned to the point there was no jam or sauce, and another was so raw the blueberries were still cold. Though he swears he had them in for the same amount of time. 

But Mother stood next to me, helping me mix the crust, her hands over mine as she helped push into the dough. She then helped me make the filling. Then we poured the blueberries into a warm post with a bit of lemon juice and water. And once everything was done and baked she pulled it and it was perfect. 

I remember thinking it was the best Nameday ever. And ever since we have always baked desserts as a family for my Nameday. And today will be no different, especially since I am now a woman grown. A woman of ten and eight ready to find a husband, is what I know my Father would say. 

“May I have a dozen red apples?” I ask the merchant who quickly nods before choosing the best options. 

I turn around looking at the other stalls deciding which to go to next. 

“I need cinnamon, maple syrup, and lemons.” I whisper to myself when excited chatter catches my attention. 

“Come on Rhaena, the sweets are this way!” I see a little girl with wild curls, soft brown skin, and violet eyes say to another girl who has many long and thin braids through her hair, the same skin tone, and instead of violet eyes she has a soft periwinkle almost pink. 

“I'm coming Baela! I just want to make sure Kepa can see us.” The other girl I assume is named Rhaena says as she picks up the skirt of her baby pink dress as she runs after her sister. 

I can't help but smile at their antics. I always wished for a younger sister but alas I am an only child. My parents didn't go into it much but from what I understand my Mother almost died birthing me, it was such a tragic birth the Maesters said she could never have more children. Now she drinks Moontea once a week. 

“Here you are, My Lady.” The merchant says holding out my crocheted bag now filled with apples. 

“Thank you, sir.” I say as I pay him before putting the bag into my large wicker basket. 

I then turn to watch the two girls buy their sweets, but instead of a smile coming to my face a look of horror does. I watch as a group of men eye the girls before looking back and forth to make sure no one is watching them. I start to move closer to the girls before I practically go into a sprint when I watch one start to move towards them. 

By some miracle I get to the girls before he does and I touch their shoulders saying. “There you two are, how are my favorite girls. Let's go find your Father, hmm?” 

The girls look up at me confused so I bend down to whisper in their ears. 

“There is a group of men behind me, they are from slavers bay. I swear I will jot leave your side until we find your parents.” 

They both look at each other wide eyed before looking behind me and I watch as fear takes over their faces when they see the group of men. 

“Alright, I was hoping to see Father anyways.” The one called Baela says as she holds my hand and makes sure Rhaena takes my other one. 

We quickly turn and start walking away from the men. I whisper to the girls not to look behind them. And thank the gods they listen. 

“What does your Father look like, or perhaps your Mother.” I say looking around for anyone who looks like them. 

“Muna's dead, the baby killed her.” Rhaena says with a sad look and I can't help the guilt that rises in me at opening an already painful wound.

“I'm terribly sorry.” I say as I run my hands down their heads as I look around for any man who seems to be searching for his children. 

“Kepa has light skin, it's not like ours or yours. It's almost like milk. His hair is silver, and his eyes are the color of lilacs.” Baela says as she searches for their Father as well. 

I nod my head remembering my Valyrian studies from when my Father was making trades with Volantis. He wanted at least one person in the house to sort of understand the language. 

“Then I suggest we look for a man who is pretty much the embodiment of the color white.” I say which makes them giggle. 

But just as quickly as I say my jest does a man call out for the girls names. 

“Baela! Rhaena!” I hear, someone can tell the man is in pure panic if only from his voice alone. 

Kepa!” The girls call out and within seconds a man matching their description pushes through two merchants and stares down at the girls. 

“I thought I told you to stay where I could see you.” He chastises as he kneels down and holds them close in a bone crushing hug. 

“We're sorry.” Rhaena says in a tearful voice. 

I can already tell she is a girl who feels her emotions and isn't ashamed of it. 

A good trait to have. I think with a smile. 

“This nice lady saved us. Bad men tried to steal us.” Baela says looking up at me. 

“Bad men? What?” The man asks as he stands up and eyes me. 

“Five men from slavers bay, I barely got to the girls in time.” I say as I eye the man. 

They never said he would be so attractive. I think fighting a blush that demands to rise to my cheeks. 

He has long white hair that reaches just past his shoulders. His eyes are the shade of lilacs so much so I swear the scent fills the market square. But what stands out is his strong build. His arms are strong yet lean, his chest clearly has been sculpted by the finest artists for I just know once he takes off his clothes it will be like looking at a god made flesh. 

But I quickly snap myself out of it when I see him smirk and hold his hand out in greeting. 

“Thank you, my lady, not many would look put for two rugrats like these two.” He says and I can't help but smile when the girls make noises of offense. 

“It is no problem. I know I would want someone to do it for me.” I say taking his hand in mine and I can't help but gasp at the Shockwave that goes through me. And from the way his eyes widened he felt it too. 

“Well I wish I could repay you, so name your price.” He says looking around the booths. 

I think for a moment before looking at the little girls who stare up at me as if I hold the moon and the stars in the palm of my hands. And I quickly know what I want in return for helping the girls. 

“Though I don't need anything for saving these sweet girls. I will ask that you join me tonight. Today is my nameday, I turn eight and ten. There will be a small feast and I would be overjoyed for you three to join.” I say and I already can tell they will be coming from how the girls gasp and turn around to beg their Father to say yes. 

“Alright, alright, calm yourselves.” He says to the girls who grin up at him with victorious gleams in their eyes. “We would love to.” He says with a smile. 

“Good, I'll give you the address, but I will need your names for the guest list.” I say eyeing the man hoping he doesn't have some horrible name like Earl. 

“Daemon, Daemon Targaryen.” He says and I freeze when I heat his name. 

Well at least it's a good name, but it's owned by a very feared man. I think before nodding. 

“Which makes you two, Baela Targaryen and Rhaena Targaryen.”  I smile when they both quickly nod their heads with such enthusiasm I swear they may snap. 

“Well I will see you tonight then.” I say turning and leaving to try and remember what exactly I came to the market for. 

I stand in front of my mirror. I don't think I've ever spent more time choosing a dress. In the end I chose a darling blue dress that has some silver embroidery. 

“I've never seen you so meticulous about a dress before.” I hear my Mother say from behind me. 

I turn to see her in all her stunning glory. Deep tan skin that is more like honey in color than my Father's olive tone. Her hair is loose dark brown curls that cascade down her back. And her eyes are that of emerald green.

When people hear my mother was a low born comman girl they are always shocked. Because for some reason the only beauties of the world can be of noble blood. 

“I invited someone, someone important. And I want to make a good impression.” I say as I look down at the two necklaces I'm stuck on. 

One is a pearl choker with a deep amethyst in the middle. And the other is a gold necklace with sapphires engraved into it. Both are lovely, but neither will impress a Prince. 

“I say the choker, it compliments your eyes best.” My Mother says as she reaches for it and gestures for me to lift my hair for her. “Who did you invite that could be so important?” She asks as she gently clips the necklace before stepping back to see her handy work. 

“Daemon, his name is Daemon Targaryen.” I say and I hear the gasp that leaves her lips. 

“And you only thought of telling me this now? Gods, I still have flour on me.” She scolds as she starts wiping at her face furiously. 

I can't help but smile at her antics. 

“You look perfect, Mother. Stop worrying.” 

She sighs at my words and holds my hands in hers with a smile etched into her face. 

“Well then we best get down there, don't want to leave a Prince waiting.” 

I can't help but laugh at her obvious jab. 

Maybe I should've said something sooner. I shouldn't have let my nerves get the best of me. I think as we walk down our winding staircase. 

I hear the chatter of men and the clank of wine glasses hitting another. I can already tell most of Father's friends have come. 

“Remember to smile, I know some are obnoxious but we need to make a good face.” Mother says before taking my hand and entering the ballroom. 

I force a smile on my lips as we pass some of the more…unsavory men in my Father's group. I see the way they look at me, with intent, with hunger, with desire. And that isn't what bothers me, I've had these looks thrown my way for years. It's the fact they don't even try to hide it as their wives have their arms wrapped around theirs. As their children beg for their attention. 

The ways of men truly are disgusting. I think as I hold my head high and make sure they don't see even a fraction of a reaction cross my features. 

“Ah, there are my darling girls!” Father says and I can't help but giggle at his unadulterated joy. 

He has never, not once, held back from showing the world how much he adores me and my Mother. He oftentimes will even brag to other men how we are his whole world. To say seeing the love he has for my Mother has made me have high standards in the eyes of nobility would be an understatement. But my Father has sworn to me I will not be wed off until I find a man who makes me feel safe, makes me feel adored, makes me feel loved !and who I love in return. 

“Here we are.” My Mother says in that soft lilting voice that she only ever has for my Father. I already know she is looking at him as if he is the very sun that warms her skin. 

My Father goes to speak when our announcer calls out. 

“Prince Daemon Targaryen, of house Targaryen, and his daughters Lady Baela Targaryen and Rhaena Targaryen.” 

Everyone freezes as we watch these gods made flesh walk into the room. And I don't blame them. 

Baela is wearing a deep rich navy blue dress that is covered in pearls, diamonds and gold embroidery. Even her hair has gems braided into her darling little bun. And Rhaena out did herself as well, wearing a magenta dress with gold embroidery of dragons and waves, and the sleeves and bodice of the dress are covered in pearls and diamonds. And her hair is still in those small braids all along her head, but now they have little gold clamps in place with rubies in the middle of each clip. 

But it is the Prince that holds my attention. In his black jerkin that seems to have scaled sewn into the shoulders and chest. And he wears a deep crimson linen undershirt that also holds golden dragon embroidery. And at his hip lays the famous blade called Dark Sister. 

I feel my heart skip a beat as I watch him look around the room in search of someone. No, not someone, he's in search of me. 

“M-My Prince, what brings you here?” My Father asks and before the Prince can answer my Mother gets on her tiptoes and whispers in my Father's ear what I had forgotten to inform them about. “I see.” He says, eyeing me in a playful glare before facing the Prince who has made his way towards us. 

“It seems in my daughter's excitement for her Nameday she forgot to inform us of your comings, My Prince.” 

I feel my heart beat rapidly, it almost feels like it's going burst from my chest. But I force myself to calm before anything truly happens. And to my relief the Prince chuckles. 

“No worries, My Lord. It was a last minute invitation.” He says, eyeing his daughters who excitedly whisper to the other as they look up at me. 

“Ah, well then I'm not too upset with her then.” Father says, giving me a playful wink as he nudges me with his elbow. 

I go to respond when I almost fall over by the two girls running towards me huddling my skirts. 

“Will you play with us?” They ask at the same time. 

I watch as their Father tries to reel them telling them I have many things to do, but instead of letting him ruin theirs or my own fun I look down and ruffle their hair. 

“Tag!” I say tapping Rhaena's nose before turning around and running off. I hear them yell how it isn't fair before I hear Baela groan and I already know Rhaena turned and tagged her. 

And for most of the night I spent laughing with these two little girls who followed me around as if I held the whole world in my palms. I don't know why they gravitated towards me so, but what I do know is I won't tell them not to. Not after they told their Mother had passed. 

But what I didn't see was the way their Father looked at me. Like I was a blessing from the gods sent to save him. If I saw that then I wouldn't have been as shocked when he started courting me a week later. 

It's been five moons since I met the Prince, and since then there is hardly a day we don't see each other. Whether it is a simple walk through the gardens or a dinner with the girls. I see him each and every day. 

And now isn't any different, I feel the cool breeze of the spring wind against my skin as we walk through his estates gardens. The scent of oak trees and roses fills my lungs. 

“So tell me, how did your parents meet?” He asks me and I hide my smirk when I catch him eyeing my cleavage. 

“She was the daughter of a sailor, she is from here, just like my Father. But they didn't meet until she was five and ten and he was seven and ten. His Father wished to use my Grandfather's ship for a trade deal. And well let's just say the rest just fell into place. That is at least the story they tell me.” I say with a smile. 

He hums nodding along with his own smirk. “They are a perfect pair. I don't think I've ever seen two people so devoted to the other since my Mother passed.” He says matter of factly, but I see the pained look in his eyes. The way they almost seem far off, like he is looking at something he desires most in the world but it's out of reach. 

“They are, many people think they are newly weds when they first meet them. But they are far from it, married twenty two years.” 

He looks at me and I can see something brewing in his mind. Though I don't say anything, if he wants to ask or tell me something he may in his own time. 

“Rhaena's dragon has yet to hatch.” He says abruptly. 

I look over at him in confusion, I never understood why it mattered to him so much. She is still young and can claim a dragon like he did but for some reason he needs this egg to hatch. 

“I am aware, she is quite saddened by it.” I answer in a tone that shows my confusion. 

He sighs, nodding his head. “I know, and it kills me every day that it doesn't hatch. It has yet to turn to stone but it just won't hatch?” He says in a confused tone his features morph into one's of pure frustration. 

I freeze looking at him fighting my anger. 

“I have noticed something, you spend quite a bit of time with Baela compared to Rhaena. I tried day and night to figure out why. But one day it hit me, you had brought me to watch her train with Moondancer.” I say in a calm tone that I know is more menacing than kind. 

“What are you on about?”

“That you avoid your daughter because she has no dragon. Something she has no control over. And if I am to continue to be courted by you, and possibly marry you. Then I need you to be better for those girls.” 

I watch as he freezes in shock, perhaps because no one has truly told him of his failings. Or perhaps it is because he hadn't realized that I had put thought into marriage with him. Either way he is wide eyed now and is opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. 

“The hour is late, My Prince, I will leave you to think about what we discussed.” I say before turning around and walking away towards my family's wheelhouse.

I didn't think he would truly put thought to them, that he would take action to be better. But the next day I was invited back to his estate, much to my shock. But instead of being greeted by him I stand alone in front of the dragonpit. 

I turn to look at the guard that guided me here. 

Surely he wouldn't jest? I think as I eye the stern-faced man. But just as quickly as the thought comes, does a loud screech reaches my ears. 

I instantly look up to find the Prince's dragon Caraxes flying towards me. He doesn't slow down which makes me wonder if he sees me until he dives to the left and lands with a loud slam that shakes the very earth. 

“That was amazing!” I hear and look up and see Rhaena grinning from ear to ear. 

She wastes no time climbing down and running towards me. 

“Did you see me? I got to use some commands!” She says hugging me around my middle. 

“I did, but I didn't realize that was you.” I say with a grin of my own. 

“She's a natural.” We hear and both look towards the Prince who smiles back at us. 

Rhaena giggles at the compliment before a frown comes to her face when her Father tells her to go inside. 

“Will you stay for dinner? We're having lamb roast.” She says with such pleading eyes that even if I wanted to say no I couldn't. 

“Of course I will, but I believe you should ask your Father that question.” I suggest but she only gives me a mischievous grin. 

“He does what he's told.” She says before skipping towards her guard who helps her into a wheelhouse. 

I look back at the Prince who has his head thrown back laughing. 

“She isn't usually so sassy, I guess flying boosted her confidence.” He says with a chuckle as he walks towards me. 

The smell of suffering and charred meat fills my nose. It is a smell I originally disliked, but now find comfort in. 

“Seems so.” I agree, waiting to see what he says next. 

He stops for a moment, as if thinking over his next words. And I allow him to do so. No point in pressuring him to speak when he isn't ready. 

Finally after what seems like an eternity he finally speaks. 

“You were right, I do neglect Rhaena. I don't mean to, but I think a part of me doesn't know how to. They are so young and pure, and I'm a villain. With Baela I have the chance to at least talk about dragons with her. But Rhaena…it's just different.” He says and I can see this took a lot of courage to admit. 

“You are not a villain, My Prince–” I say but he cuts me off. 

“Daemon, call me Daemon. No need for titles.” 

I freeze when he says this, for there is truly nothing reason to use his true name. Especially without the titles. 

I decide to nod and clear my throat trying to recoup myself. 

“You are not a villain, Daemon.” I say feeling the way his name leaves my lips. It feels like it always was supposed to be this way. 

“And how do you know that?” He retorts in an almost enraged tone. 

“Because name one villain who would try to be a better person just to see their daughter smile? Name one villain who would go to a girl's nameday party after only just meeting her. Name a villain who has chosen their children over their own lusts and desires?” With each sentence I step towards him until our chests are only a breath apart. 

“You don't know all the things I have done.” He breathes out as if truly saying it will make me demand to know. 

“I'm sure I don't, but I would love to. And even then, I will tell you that you are not a villain.” I whisper back as I look into his deep lilac eyes. 

And within seconds his hands reach to hold my face in his soft yet firm grip as he devours my lips. 

I can't help but whimper when his tongue slips into my mouth. The taste of bitter wine fills my pallet. 

“Marry me.” He whispers between kisses. “I swear I'll be a better man, a better Father to the girls, a better me for you.” 

I am stunned by his words. I want to respond, need to. But the words escape me. So instead I kiss him as fiercely as I can, pouring all my hopes, dreams, wants, and desires into it. 

“Yes.” Is all I whisper before kissing him again. 

TAGLIST: @sugutoad @ilikefelines @classicsimpforaaronwarner @themoonlitquill @technicallylegendaryenemy @athzhowakar @sachaa-ff @mmogurl @thelastemzy

[insane-arcane]

Yandere Jayce X Reader X Viktor

You'd just made a breakthrough in your work and Sky had taken you out to celebrate. After a few drinks too many and a couple fun appetizers you made your way home. She offered to walk you but you could hold your liquor and weren't worried about getting back to your apartment which was relatively close. Walking her back to the Academy making sure not to stumble so she wouldn't worry she pauses at her dorm buildings door. Her eyes glance to the left then the right as her hand stays latched around your wrist. She asks if she should call a carriage or security to escort you to your apartment but slipping your hand away you wave her off with a confident smile.

The walk home was pleasant. It was a warm night with a gentle breeze blowing and as you walked you took everything in with a happy glow. The drinks somehow make the world a much brighter place. You wished you were this optimistic all the time. We're the gardens always this beautiful? We're they always missing so many blooms?

Entering your home with a slight giggle you hum confused staring at your furniture. Had they been moved? Figuring it was the alcohol you shrug it off but then you hear something. Eyes narrowing you regret not taking Sky's offer as a heavy feeling of dread settles in your stomach. Creeping to your kitchen careful not to step on any loose boards you look for a weapon.

Eyes scanning the tools you grab a meat cleaver off your kitchen stand before you pause. You still had time, if there was an intruder they had no idea you were here. You could leave and get security downstairs but what if you were wrong? What if you hadn't heard anything? They'd think you were Crazy or a Drunk. You might get in trouble for nothing and you couldn't afford the rumors it might cause.

Deciding to bite the bullet and hope for once you were wrong you kick your bedroom door open. Holding out the knife you pause.

Your favorite smell wafts through the air and you suddenly feel calmer, your shoulders dropping almost instantly. Your pounding headache begins to fade and you wonder where it's coming from and if you left a candle on. Blinking you close your eyes before you put a hand to your head. Taking a deep breath you're finally able to focus on the disarray of your room and who was inside.

"Viktor! Jayce! What the fuck?" You demand as you stand in your doorway Meat Cleaver ready to be used. Viktor was leaning against Jayces shoulder tired but hearing your voice he slightly stirred.

"Ahhhh (Y/N) your here!" Jayce states getting up off the bed and walking away from Viktor. He claps his hands before gesturing to the well decorated room. Viktor makes an annoyed sound at being disturbed but simply grabs his cane and slowly stands up when he sees it's you.

"Yes. I live here. What are you doing here?" You demand pointing your knife at them. Your brain buzzed and you were a little to tired for all of this. How did they get into your apartment? Why were they in your apartment? A million questions buzzed through your brain.

"See I told you it was a bit much? Ja?" Viktor says as he pinches his nose before he uses his free hand to wipe at his face trying to wake up. He looked at you with a sleepy grin and you roll your eyes in disbelief.

"No it was romantic." Jayce defends as he turns to look at Viktor making you groan. Jayce would think that wouldn't he, delusional as he was?

"I admit we may have gone overboard." Viktor states as he sees your displeased look. "But only with the best intentions love, nothing sinister see?" He questions and you hum noticing the melted candles and rose petals.

"How... How did you get into my house?" You question staring at the romantic setup with a confused and slightly worried look.

"Technicalities don't matter. Do you like it?" Staring at all the romantic pros you take a deep breath and press your hand to your forehead as you felt another much stronger headache coming on.

"I... Yes it's nice. Viktor did you break into my house?" You question slowly. You didn't want to insinuate anything since he was from the Undercity but your door being unlocked and them being in your apartment told you they'd somehow snuck or otherwise broke in. You were very specific about your lock routine not wanting any research or valuables to be stolen from you since you spent a majority of your time in the lab.

"Do you really want to know lovley?" Viktor teases and you close your eyes again. You were too tired and too drunk, honestly you didn't. You really didn't. You just wanted to collapse on your bed and sleep.

"Did you pick my lock?" You question softly. It's not an accusation, more of a hypothesis but you already know the answer before either answer. Viktor gives you a sheepish smile and shrugs as if to say who knows. But you made your own assumptions and you knew exactly how they got in. Golden eyed cheeky bastard.

"Were getting off track." Jayce interjects as he steps in front of you and grabs your shoulders before he turns you towards the bed.

"Okay I'll bite. What is all of this?" You question not letting go of the meat cleaver as he walks you closer to your bed.

"A romantic gesture." You stared at all the flowers, rose petals, candles, and chocolate covered fruits in trays.

"... Romantic is not the word I'd use. Unnecessary perhaps." You respond making a face as Jayce urges you to sit.

"(Y/N) you wound me so." Jayce states pouting. Humming in acknowledgment you stare at your room, at what they'd done for you. At the mess you'd have to clean later.

"I'd offer you a glass of wine but it seems you've had your fill." Viktor suddenly says looking concerned, perhaps annoyed. You weren't entirely sure what laid behind his eyes in that moment but something you weren't used to. Rolling your eyes in turn for what feels like the hundredth time you place the knife down.

"Oh I'm going to need a glass after all this." You state as you bring your hands up to your face.

“As long as you share.” Jayce responds nuzzling into your neck. Giggling scooting away from the affectionate gesture you whine as Jayces soft lips touch your neck, so different from his calloused hands that wrap around your waist. The inventors crafty hands slip under your shirt and graze across your ticklish stomach. As gooseflesh rises on your arms your eyes flutter and Jayce hums clearly enjoying himself.

Viktor chuckles watching you get flustered. “Where were you?” He questions as he sits on the other side of you tilting your face towards him. As you smile leaning into his warm hand he smirks slightly, enjoying the contact. “(Y/N)...?” He hums lips hovering over yours as he waits for an answer.

“Celebrating with Sky. I wanted you both to come but couldn't find you.” You respond and he nods satisfied before leaning in to close the gap. As Viktors lips touch yours Jayces hands begin to fiddle with your clothes.

“You found us.” Jayce teases and you shiver as Viktor deepens the kiss and Jayce continues to gently grope you. Their hands only getting more desperate as they squish you in-between them.

You did indeed. You found something you didn't even know you were looking for. A fact they seemed to be forgetting. As their lips crash against yours and their hands feel your body you whine. They shouldn't be here, you shouldn't be doing this. But the more they kissed you and the more you sunk into your sheets with their sweet words whispered in your ear the less you cared. Slightly hazy from the alcohol but enjoying the feeling none the less you wonder if life has always been this colorful. If it was the alcohol or the thrill of it all. And when you woke up would it still be this colorful entwined in their arms?

Or would the harsh truth of their breaking in ruin the morning mood? You're not sure and as they continue to kiss and hold you, only getting more desperate for you after waiting for so long, you realize that's a problem for tomorrow. For now it's colorful.