#it'll have more chapters i swear

[lalchimiedecupid]

For angsty lilia×agatha×rio inspiration? A slight alteration where Lilia didn't die at the trial, sooo consider this.

Rio has been there as long as there's been life. She was the one to see the first grass off with the first frost. She was there with the first ever person to die to taste the sweetness of poisonous berries she kissed at summer. She has been there through wars, survival, acts of sacrifice and selfless protection. Witches are short, bright-flamed sparks across the dark canvass of the night sky to her, a flame that burns so quickly she could barely notice.

Lilia has been there for over four centuries. She had been there during the most trying times, in the darkest of nights brightened by prayers and the pyres alike. She had been there before forests went thinner, before life became an endless loss of sisters and faith, before songs became blame and chants became curses. She had been there with her heart, dragging it forward in fear, and she saw the world change in ways so deep she could never find a fitting comparison, except: a candle being snuffed out in the lonely darkness. Agatha is a child next to her experience. Death? Her one true companion.

And Agatha has been there a little less. A shorter time, an even shorter experience. Blood so young and smoldering with emotions, it shines crimson. It shines warmth. Agatha, and her desires, her selfishness, her snark and laughter in the face of the most horrible. She is an old witch, yet still the youngest among all three. She is so, full, of life. They fall beautifully together. The darkness, the light, the flames of the time passage.

But – Agatha is the one to die first. Between Death herself and the witch who's had lifetime enough to fill the most demanding hourglass, Agatha's flame dies first, and they have to continue existing without its maddening, blinding light. In darkness. As they were before her.

sorry it got dark and kinda death-y but you asked and I couldn't stop word-vomiting haha

Sins of the Past Buried at the Old Creek:

I: The Fall

TW: Not specified yet, but the story will have more and more in each chapter as we discover the lives of Lilia, Agatha and Rio.

Lilia doesn't know how it happened. Why it happened. All she remembers was waking up in Agatha's embrace, cradled to her chest. The same woman who had walked out on her, walked out on Rio, walked out on everything they had built and vanished. The same woman she agreed to join on this walk down "The Witches Road". The same woman who has subconsciously comforted her after her hallucination. The same woman who had shared the story of the only scar she openly talks about while she hides the rest. The same woman who she watched yearn for Death but also run away from her. The same woman she sacrificed herself for. The same woman she now lays in her arms.

"Agatha?" She asked quietly as the brunette kept her close to her chest, where she once used to lay against, at night, or in the early hours of the morning.

"Shhh, you're okay" The younger witch said, voice hoarse and throat tight. An indication that, she either was screaming (which isn't a rare occurrence for her) or crying. Odd I know. Agatha kept to herself. Agatha refused to show signs of weakness. Agatha— Agatha loved dearly, and she hated it. She preferred to lust over the other, to let herself be driven by lust and desire, no matter how harsh and humiliating the punishment is in the second circle of hell.

After all, she was no stranger to punishment and heartbreak. In fact, she has grown to become it's own personification.

"I need a favor" Death whispered to the Sicilian witch

"A favor? From me?" A scoff. "Why? So you can wreck havoc all over again? So you may trick me into believing your claws won't dig deep into the corpses of those I try to nurse back to health?"

"Look—"

"Don't" Lilia hissed. "What do you want this time? Who is it?"

"Her name is Agatha, she's — she's with child. The pregnancy is dangerous and I— The child will be a stillborn, but I've offered her time"

A laugh. A cold bitter laugh.

"Time? You've offered her time? How come dear Mistress of Death?"

"Lilia—"

"Take a deep breath the baby lives!" The witch screamed, starling backwards with a hand to her womb, eyes wide and dissociated before slowly, they locked onto Death. "She's..That child is yours" Lilia breathed out.

"He is" Death answered ever softly. "And I— She needs someone, no one's as caring and gentle as you are"

"You want me? Your mistress to care for your child with the woman that doesn't you and I's history?"

"Please Melilla" Death doesn't beg, but sometimes in the late hours of the night, she finds herself on her knees begging for more than one thing at a time..

"I was falling" The older witch whispered as a hand so used to cause harm caressed her cheek tenderly.

"You no longer are" The words were murmured against her forehead, a small sniffle escaping Agatha.

"Soo...you two are—?" Jen asked confused with a tilt of her head.

"Don't" Agatha hissed, keeping Lilia close to her. "No no— don't sit up mea columba—" She said, keeping a tight hold onto Lilia, putting a stop to her attempt at sitting up.

"Agatha—" Lilia mumbled ever so quietly, the rasp in her voice causing waters to bubble up in the brunette's eyes.

That's when Billy knew that he needed to get Jen out of here. That and because Rio was standing in the corner with her dagger in hand, ready to chase them out.

"I'm not leaving" Jen insisted through gritted teeth as she tried to take a step forward, almost hesitantly but with pure determination. Because when Lilia looks at you with her sad eyes you can do nothing but agree to whatever comes out of her mouth.

Oh Lilia, the woman that you are.

"Jen we have to go—" Billy could only insist, grabbing the dark skinned woman by the arm and attempting to drag her away.

As soon as the doors closed in, that's what the realization settled for Agatha. Lilia was sacrificing herself. Lilia was finally giving into her suicidal thoughts. Lilia was giving up on her life for the greater good. No. No she can't let that happen.

"Billy" She could only gasp out as she grabbed the boy's face. "Listen to me" She insisted. "You want Lilia out" It sounded urgent, desperate almost.

"What —" The boy exclaimed.

"You want her out Billy! You want her out of there, you need Lilia OUT!" She said once again, on the verge of hyperventilating.

"Agatha I—"

"Focus!" She yelled once again, her hands on either sides of his face, pulling it closer to her, attempting to channel her energy.

"Focus on the Lilia you saw inside. Focus on her footsteps" The way she was holding onto his head made him both scared and slightly interested in her desperation to bring Lilia, a member of their coven, who she mocked and supposedly could care less and less about.

But none the less, Billy did as he was told, but the flashes were intense, the screeches and the sounds of the wall slowly closing on the ground. But there she was in her pink dress, falling.

"She's falling!" He exclaimed.

"Then catch her! Get her back to me!" Agatha shouted, her thumbnail digging into his cheek.

"Ow—Ow— I can't! I can't pull her back!" The teen said, face scrunched up in pain.

"You CAN! You CAN and you WILL!" She screamed into his face, causing Jen's attention to face them. "You pull her OUT RIGHT THIS INSTANCE!" She was desperate. And that was maybe even an understatement. A deep understatement.

"Pull her in, pull her to me, in my arms. Focus on the atoms in the air, surrounding Lilia, before she crashes, before she dies. Before I—I lose her" Her eyes wide and wet, full of tears she allowed herself to shed.

Sensing her despair, he focused onto the falling figure, her soul, her body and her mind, and it might've been too late now as a the tip of the sword entered her back before darkness engulfed his mind.

"LILIA!" His mentor, his hyperfixation for years, his— his whatever she was screamed as she caught onto Lilia and pulled her close to her arms.

"I'm not leaving her with them! With Death and her psychotic ex girlfriend that's also a witch killer!" The potion's witch said fiercely.

"Well then stick around and find out what happens when you stay with Death and her ex girlfriends" The line was delivered as a threatening whisper, with the dagger in hand, her skeletal body on full display. With a tilt of her head and a dangerous look in her eyes.

"Rio, don't" Came Lilia's quiet whisper.

And who knows what it is that Lilia has for both Death and the infamous Agatha Harkness to do whatever she says. But they do. They always do. And her words always work on them. When it's tenderly delivered, when it's soft and gentle, when it's words spat out of rage and pain, out of pain and sufferance.

Lilia was a soothing balm to their wounds.

You might ask yourself what wounds does Death herself have? Well, a skeleton is cold without a layer of muscles and skin. It's weak and breakable. How can it survive for so long as nothing but 'une macabre vivante'? Lilia was more than a Persephone, no, Persephone was Agatha. Once innocent now rotten to the core. Maybe she wasn't Persephone either, because God knows no innocence resides in her soul any longer. But Agatha was Agatha. Agatha was chaos and heartbreak. Was a self destructive fool but also a power hungry beast. Agatha was unpredictable. Agatha was Grief. Sorrow. Heartbreak. Agatha was all the flaws one could possess and put into one.

Agatha was good. Until she wasn't.

Rio was Rio. Rio was Death. Rio was Balance. Rio was good and was bad. Rio was nature and animals. Rio was instincts and tendencies. Rio was a mix of hedonistic dionysian and and absurd cynical. Rio is Death. The gentle breeze that kisses your blue lips and the harsh impalement that snatches you from life's warm embrace. That's who Rio truly is. The cycle of things.

And Lilia, sweet, gentle, tender, beautiful Lilia. She was life. She was light. The sun and the pretty skies. She was a Sunflower in a field of rotten suns. A lightbringer in the darkest of nights. A caress of silk and cotton. A breath of fresh air and a the smell of spring. The smell of damp mud on rainy days. The smell of the beach on a hot summer night in mid july. She was and is what brought true balance to Death and Heartbreak. She is what soothes the grief and the pain. She is what brings life to loss. She is and will always be Life.

❛°•☽☼☾•°❜

tag list:

@yourbasicqueerie there you go cousin🙏🏻🙏🏻

[thisapplepielife]

When you're 18,742 words into a chapter and you say to yourself: Self? You know what this chapter needs?

More words.

[karamazovposting]

On Ivan and bipolar disorder (part four)

Since this is (finally) the last part of this essay and I've already previously mentioned what it will be about, I don't have an introduction to make, but I do think I need to give a couple disclaimers before getting right into this mess. First one: I have a lot of explaining to do because this gets medical again and I can't just assume you all know exactly what I'm talking about and/or to what extent; I hope I won't overexplain or sound condescending. On this same note, I forgot to open part one by explaining that bipolar disorder is a chronic mental illness that is treatable through lifelong medication and not necessarily lifelong therapy but not curable because to me that's a given, so sorry if you didn't have much knowledge on the topic and had to read my yapping with little or even no context. Second one: I will be using some words (such as "delusional") that are to be taken literally, in the medical sense. I'm not saying this because I think you are all stupid of course, but to highlight the seriousness of what I've been talking about these past months; it seems to me that lately medical terminology regarding mental health has been watered down a lot by Internet culture to the point of it losing its meaning, with memes about being "delulu 🤪" or reducing mania to dyeing your hair by yourself at 2 AM leading people to not take these things seriously. I don't mean to be a spoilsport or anything, I like and share those memes too but I've actually been (hypo)manic and delusional in the past so I guess I have the right to joke about it at least. Maybe it's not that serious but I want it to be serious at least here, which is also why I've never referred to episodes as "mood swings". I don't do that in real life either, even when talking to people who don't know much about bipolar disorder, because I've always found the term reductive and misleading: everyone has mood swings, it came free with being a human being. In my opinion it contributes to the misunderstanding of this disorder and the people who have it; no, we are not moody by default and no, we don't change our minds every five minutes or are happy one moment and then suddenly sad the next (seriously, who came up with these stereotypes and how?), but I digress.

This said, let's get down to business. I want to start with one detail that is either one of the most absurd coincidences in the entire history of literature or proof that Dostoevsky was somewhat somehow familiar with bipolar disorder and decided to integrate some things he witnessed in Ivan's character (I guess without knowing, as at the time there was very little understanding of it to the point it wasn't really considered an illness and was referred to as circular insanity and later as manic-depression, which are both cooler names than bipolar disorder but again I digress) because I swear I can't find any other explanation for it: the timeline of The Brothers Karamazov. It might seem like a very small detail, but as soon as I figured out the timeline I thought of fucking course. Now, we all know the timeline of this novel is a little confusing at first as there are almost no indicators of how much time has passed between Alyosha running from one house to another first and shit going down second, but in the first half of the novel we know it all starts in late August and honestly I didn't make anything of it, but then the timeline becomes clearer after Dmitri's arrest and we end up in early November for the trial and I mean, nothing particularly interesting or peculiar about a book covering the events of a (little over) two-month timespan, right? Technically yes, because it's not the amount of time that has passed that matters, but the time of the year: if it all had, for example, taken place from late June to early August or from late December to early February I wouldn't even be talking about it, because there's no seasonal change taking place in those months. August to November, however, is another story. I also find it interesting that it's the change from warm to cold weather, as it's the one that's the hardest for most people (for me personally it's the opposite, the shift from Winter to Spring is a nightmare, but I'm a rare case when it comes to that); I don't really know why, but the seasonal changes are always delicate periods for people with bipolar disorder as they can trigger episodes, I guess it's pretty much the same mechanism that occurs in seasonal depression. So, let me lay the timeline out for you: the Karamazovs reunite in late August, Ivan leaves a few days after, Fyodor is murdered shortly after, so probably in early September and Dmitri is arrested the same night, then Ivan comes back five days later, the trial takes place in early November the day after Pavel hangs himself, and Dmitri is sentenced five days before the story ends with Ilyusha's funeral. This timeline detail seriously drives me insane because all the other puzzle pieces I've been putting together for a while could be related to other disorders/conditions as well, such as schizophrenia (schizoaffective bipolar disorder is a thing too but I don't have it so I can't really say anything about it) and autism (autism and bipolar disorder have a lot in common), or even to just personality, but this? It's a little too oddly specific in my opinion, but I'll just keep assuming it's a coincidence for the sake of my own mental health.

Anyway, this means the story starts when a seasonal change is approaching, which is already a delicate time on its own, and Ivan has to put himself in an unpleasant situation that has a high chance of turning into a shitshow (and it does): going somewhere he wants to leave as soon as possible to discuss things he doesn't want to discuss surrounded by people he doesn't want to deal with. That's not a good start at all and it would be enough to put me, someone who has been medicated for seven years, on edge (and it has in the past); no wonder he's pissed off all the time. And it's only the start since, as we all know, the worst is yet to come. I love that the reader only gets bits and pieces of the build-up of Ivan's episode through the other characters' points of view and I particularly love how said build-up reaches its climax; it doesn't happen when Ivan hallucinates the devil (as it's mentioned he's seen him before and has also had other similar experiences in the past, I'll get into that later), but exactly a moment before that. But first, let's focus on the main build-up moments we see bits and pieces of before that. I was impressed by how realistically the whole thing was portrayed, especially considering that at the time almost everyting about this disorder was unknown; still to this day, in 2024, many people think bipolar disorder is a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde situation, with the person being "normal" one day and waking up "crazy" the next like some sort of magic happening overnight, but that's straight up not true, it doesn't happen. Bipolar disorder is way more rational than one would think (very fitting for Ivan, isn't it?) and at times you do have an awful amount of self-awareness but can do nothing with it, it's kind of like being stuck in the passenger seat of a car with a broken steering wheel and broken breaks that's speeding straight against a wall; you know what's happening but can do nothing but watch and hope the crash won't be that painful. And that's how I felt reading too, every time I saw those bits and pieces of Ivan's story I thought oh no it's happening. And Ivan knows it's happening too, as we see in Book Eleven.

I've focused on The brothers get acquainted, Rebellion and The Grand Inquisitor already, but I have to mention them again because as I've already explained they're such a pivotal point; before that we don't really know what Ivan's deal is, but as soon as we get acquainted (sorry, I had to) with him we start to notice that something's definitely up, and there is one seemingly small detail that I just can't get out of my head: when Ivan gets up and starts walking after his talk with his brother, Aleksej points out to himself that he's swaying a little. Considering it's implied that Ivan has a problem with alcohol (it runs in the family after all) in other occasions too, that's probably an indicator that Ivan had been drinking during his stay. Not only is there a strong link between bipolar disorder and substance abuse (how could there not be? Shit's tough and sometimes you have to self medicate, especially in the 1800s), but alcohol and drugs can trigger episodes or make them worse; Ivan is also once again dealing with everything alone and trust me, that's recipe for disaster. And of course after that the aforementioned metaphorical car does nothing but gain speed and Ivan increasingly becomes angrier, restless and frantic: he has trouble sleeping, he starts isolating himself even more, he talks faster, his thoughts start racing, his speech pattern becomes more and more incoherent and he can't stay still as he's mentioned walking back and forth for seemingly no reason in different occasions; all textbook symptoms. He visibly looks sick too and bipolar episodes are known to take a toll on your physical appearance (I looked like a walking corpse for years) as well as having physical symptoms manifest along the psychological/psychiatric ones, such as headaches caused by stress, which Ivan frequently has, because stress is a major trigger for bipolar disorder (and Ivan is undeniably quite stressed). Sleep also plays a huge role when it comes to bipolar disorder as it can quite literally determine your faith: the the very first sign to watch out for if you feel something might be wrong is a change in sleeping habits; if they start changing significantly it means something's definitely up and you need to intervene as soon as possible (I have prevented episodes from either spiraling or happening at all like that but it takes years of practice). Ivan's sleep schedule, if we can even call it that, during his episode reminds me of my own during an insane (no pun intended?) mixed episode I've had and it makes sense since after every manic episode comes a "crash", and during mixed episodes you can crash back and forth for days; it happened to me. But what is a manic crash? It can be summed up with a simple phrase: what comes up must come down. It's like throwing a ball in the air, it reaches its peak up there and after that it's all downhill until it crashes down on the ground and the higher it goes, harder the crash: if you stay up all night while manic, you'll sleep all day while depressed, the more euphoric you are, the more dysphoric you'll be; so it makes sense for Ivan to sleep more and more as he "comes down". As for the fever, stress can do that. Brain fever is nothing but a 19th century literature thing because it's not a real diagnosis and at the time severe emotional and psychological upset was classified as either that or hysteria, which isn't a real diagnosis either.

Another puzzle piece that fits way too well is that little mention of him tidying his room himself despite having someone to do it for him; I know it's probably thrown in there to highlight his self-isolating independence, but cleaning and tidying are very common (to the point it's almost a cliché) activities to do when you're having a (hypo)manic or mixed episode because they help getting rid of all the extra energy and give you a sense of control over your life; for me it's almost compulsive (compulsions and obsessive thoughts are common in bipolar disorder because bipolar disorder is like three different conditions in a trenchcoat), I've found myself obsessively cleaning my bathroom every day for months and fighting the compulsion to do the dishes even when it wasn't necessary. It's mentioned that Ivan feels the increasing loss of control and is ashamed of it, which brings us to the very important topics, when it comes to him, of self-awareness and control.

I already mentioned it in part one but I want to say it again: control is crucial when it comes to bipolar disorder; something out of your control happening in your life or not having enough control over your symptoms and emotions is enough to send you down (or up) a dangerous path (sounds familiar?). It takes years of treatment to be able to deal with the unexpected and to let go of this control freak attitude, but Ivan is riding this rollercoaster with no seat belt so here we are. I think this reflects best in his attitude when visiting Pavel in the hospital after Dmitri's arrest, when Ivan says he came back from Moscow as soon as possible to fix the mess they all made in his absence. He's particularly keen on letting Pavel know he has no intention of playing games and it's clear he has a no bullshit allowed policy when it comes to his family, which checks out with what I went over in part three: Ivan's presence in the Karamazov household means quiet and order. Ivan definitely has a strong personality and to me it feels like that kind of strong personality one has to develop to stay afloat, and considering Ivan is not comfortable with showing "weakness"...well; I'll get to that later. I don't know if it's a middle child thing because I'm not a middle child but I'm the only diagnosed and medicated person in a family that feels more like an emotional minefield and let me tell you, I've been running that shit like it's the Navy for years and I'm pretty sure I'm the only case of a youngest son with eldest daughter syndrome in human history and yes, it's a bipolar thing. The need for control is so strong that it extends to your surroundings and therefore the people around you; I don't know how to explain it because it's not a manipulation thing, it's an I can't deal with my own emotions so having someone express theirs in an extreme way makes me uncomfortable and I also need a stable environment to not lose my mind so I need to de-escalate any situation that might trigger me thing; it's cleaning up after other people's mess for your own sake. And maybe a little savior complex, at least in my case. Anyway, if Ivan keeps his family stable he keeps himself stable as well, so he has to take matters into his own hands even when it's too late. Damage control is a very important skill if you have bipolar disorder.

I've already been over Ivan's visceral anger so I won't go over it again, but I want to spend a few words for that one part where he punches Pavel: been there done that, and normally I'm not even a violent person. It was a pretty similar situation too: someone had been tormenting me for months while I already wasn't doing good at all, took it too far one day and I just snapped; I didn't even mean to hit that person but it's not something you can gain control over when it gets to that point, so I get where Ivan was coming from and I'll defend him until the day I die.

Since I'm going in chronological order, as you might have already noticed, this means I've finally reached the fun part. Brace yourselves, this is going to be long. I don't have much to say about the whole devil ordeal that hasn't already been said, after all it's the most blatant manifestation of Ivan's mental health status, and I think it's more important to focus on what's around the hallucination rather than the hallucination itself. The first and most important thing I noticed is that Ivan is not scared, and it makes sense for him to not be because the narrator says that situation feels familiar to Ivan, making this the second time it's mentioned by the narrator that Ivan has a past history of both depressive and dysphoric manic (usually referred to as mixed) episodes, which alone qualifies for a formal bipolar disorder diagnosis; now that I think about it I could have just said this instead of making four posts about it, but where's the fun in that? Also I don't have enough information to armchair diagnose this 19th century fictional character with a specific type of bipolar disorder, so I laid out all the relevant information for you to interpet it however you want, if you're familiar with this stuff. I think he could be either bipolar I or bipolar II as there aren't many differences between those two types. For reference, I'm bipolar II (electric boogalo), which is usually mainly depressive and has less intense "ups" (mania when it's bipolar I and hypomania when it's bipolar II, but mania and manic are often used as umbrella terms and I've used them as such in this). Ivan's episode seems more mixed (having both manic and depressive symptoms at the same time, I should've explained it earlier, sorry) than purely manic and mixed episodes are more likely to happen in bipolar II and/or to those who start having symptoms in adolescence regardless of type and I think that checks out (go to part two for that). However, hallucinating a whole person and having conversations with them is a pretty big deal and my own hallucinations are nothing like that, usually hearing noises such as knocks on my door or seeing shadows or bugs at the corner of my eye and things looking slightly off and changing in shape and size; nothing big that I can interact with and I can easily ignore that the rare times it happens. Wikipedia says that any kind of hallucination classifies as mania, but my psychiatrists obviously know I've hallucinated in the past and still haven't changed my diagnosis so don't trust Wikipedia I guess, probably because my hypomanic episodes have never significantly impaired my ability to function (like they haven't significantly impaired Ivan's; trust me, he could be doing much worse). There is a lot of nuance that Internet articles lack in my opinion.

Anyway, let's go back to focusing on how Ivan feels: he's not scared, but he is exhausted and desperate. And it's heartbreaking. Not the hardest part of The Brothers Karamazov for me to read, not at all actually, but way too familiar. Ivan, who has a strong personality and a no bullshit allowed policy, who usually speaks in a firm voice and who refused to get help even if he knew his mental state was getting worse, breaks down (in private, of course) and begs and pleads; please leave me alone, shut up. He goes back and forth between desperation and rage (very mixed episode of him) and what struck me the most is how harsh his words are: almost every time the devil says something, Ivan replies with an insult or even more in a row. Yes, it's not that atypical of him considering how he talks and refers to Pavel or Dmitri, but it's, again, heartbreaking because he's never acted like that with them (or even with his father) and he knows the devil is actually himself. He's reserving his worst words, his worst attitude, his most burning and consuming rage and hatred, for himself. And he knows that. Worst thing of all to me is that at some point he covers his ears to not hear the devil, his own thoughts, and I've done that. Sometimes those thoughts are so loud that they seem to come from an outside source and covering your ears comes naturally. It obviously doesn't work. I have many other thoughts about Ivan's devil but they don't have much to do with bipolar disorder so maybe I'll write another post in the future if I feel like it. Also honorable mention to the thrown glass because apparently I've done something similar once even if I genuinely don't remember it at all (bipolar disorder also causes memory loss so you barely rememeber your episodes, it's kind of like trying to recall the events of a party you got drunk at, we're not getting into that though).

Maybe I see Ivan's story and character as less dark and tragic than the average reader does, because to most people constantly walking up and down restless with racing, out of control, incoherent thoughts and experiencing delusions and hallucinations is understandably a terrifying experience, but for me up until a couple years ago that was just a random Tuesday. I mean it is terrifying but you get used to it, after a while you understand the twisted logic bipolar disorder operates under and it becomes less scary (still is at times) and more annoying, you try to keep up with your meds and manage your symptoms as best as you can and just go on with your life while still trying to fight it when/if you can (it's less depressing than how I'm describing it I swear, I really don't know how to convey that feeling). I don't see myself as a walking tragedy or as doomed (anymore), mental illness is just mundane to me and so is to Ivan; I think Dostoevsky did a marvelous job at portraying just how uneventful it can feel from the inside and we see it the contrast between what's happening to Ivan and his reaction to it and also between the other characters' perception of him and his own perception of himself. There is nothing other than concern coming from his loved ones, no judgment, they acknowledge that he's unwell and they usually refer to him as such; Ivan on the other hand refuses to and therefore refuses to take care of himself or, God forbid, let others take care of him. He knew an episode was approaching, but as long as he was physically okay his mental state didn't matter to him. Ivan's biggest flaw is that he's independent and self-absorbed (for lack of a better word) in an unhealthy, negative, bipolar way and it only fuels his anger: the only valid judgment and opinion of himself is his own and he doesn't have a positive view of himself. The devil tells him the people at the trial will pity him and Ivan snaps; he doesn't want to be pitied, he doesn't want to be seen as "weak" because he has internalized refusal for "weakness" and "cowardice" (he asks himself if he's a coward in different occasions, sometimes straight up calling himself that). How could he not have internalized it? He was neglected growing up and as an adult he always seems to be held at an impossible standard due to the way his personality was forced to develop, from being expected to keep the peace between the Karamazovs to even after his father is brutally murdered; at the trial Ippolit Kirillovič says that if Ivan was so sure of his brother's innocence, why didn't go to the police after Smerdyakov's confession? To them that must mean said confession never happened and that Dmitri is the murderer, but in reality Ivan (poor thing) didn't go because he was delusional and thought the two of them were going to confess together the following day. People expect him to be able to think straight and fix his family's mess even when he can't. And still, he doesn't break down even at the trial: he's firm even in his delirium, he never falters, his voice never breaks, he's determined and strong like he's expected to be, even if the others can't see it. He does the right thing for himself, not caring about anyone else's opinion, and in a sense he's some sort of modern Cassandra, cursed to tell the truth without being believed by those who can save his family (and in some versions of Cassandra's myth she goes mad due to witnessing the fall of Troy). He never cries; there's only one mention of him crying in the whole novel and contrary to other characters crying, it's not something we are told by the narrator himself but it's thrown in a conversation between Katya and Alyosha by Katya. Ivan only cried in private, in front of the person who insisted to take care of him. This talk about his relationship with "weakness" and the (partial) act he puts up definitely makes more sense in relation to part three and I hope you get what I'm trying to say.

Speaking of the trial, I was struck by the attention brought to the Karamazovs', as a whole, ability to see and navigate through two opposite abysses. Dostoevsky, what the hell? Does it mean what I think it means? I don't know, but it sure is a familiar image to me and Dmitri does seem to walk the fine line between regular human behaviour and diagnostic criteria, but I don't have many thoughts about that, it could be anything really, mostly because none of them are actual real people. My own interpretation of those characters is more "literal" even if I know they're just tools to convey certain topics and messages and if you want to get more symbolic with them please do, I'd love to read it. Honestly I like the idea of a character with a heavily emotion-driven arc such as Ivan having a disorder that fucks with one's emotions so much; also seeing someone behaving like me being treated with tact and a particular kind of sensitivity by the other characters and the author himself is so special to me (at least considering the historical context, I mean they could've just thrown him in a madhouse and called it a day but nobody even thought about doing that) because uhm...I didn't receive such kindness growing up.

There are many characters from other books, movies, and shows that I love and relate to but have never seen as bipolar coded in any way, they were just relatable, but Ivan hits different as he's the first character I've seen that is so unapologetically bipolar. I've watched shows and movies with characters that canonically have bipolar disorder and even they can't hold a candle to him (let bipolar people or at least people who are familiar with them write bipolar characters I'm begging you). There isn't a single character from The Brothers Karamazov that I hate or even dislike (yes, not even Fyodor, he's not a good person but he's a good character) and all the brothers are special to me, but I just can't help having this soft spot for Ivan, I want to give him a hug and my meds.

I'm not really going to talk about Ivan's ending because while I do obviously have things to say, they don't belong here. I just want to say that him having an open and uncertain ending (I love open and uncertain endings) even more than the other characters do is very fitting.

And that's a wrap! Thanks for sticking with me and I hope this was an interesting and maybe even educational (there's a lot of ignorance regarding bipolar disorder and I try to raise awareness every time I can) read, but most of all I hope I managed to make sense. I like this part more than part three because I wrote it after surviving the seasonal change while during part three I was in the trenches but oh well, the past is past. No notes on part one and two, those are good I guess. Also I've said variations of been there done that a ridiculous amount of times in this whole thing but my Twitter display name is Ivan Karamazov kinnie for a reason. And I won't apologize for the shitty jokes by the way.

See you soon* with other literary analysis!

*= don't rely on my words too much, it could be tomorrow like it could be in ten years

[pyrriax]

hi tumblr im pyrr pyrriax and im in my trimonthly artist arc, lord help me and all the projects that are currently sitting in my drafts while i am lured in by the siren song of drawing

[redgoldblue]

rules: post the first sentence of your last ten fics. if you haven’t written ten fics, share as many first-sentences as you have.

i was tagged by @actingcamplibrarian ❤️ 

1. Callen sees Ilyse the moment he opens his door, and almost shuts it again and resolves himself to living the rest of his life indoors.

2. It’s Danny that drives Steve to the hospital when they get back, because SEAL Team Nine immediately disperse to wherever SEAL teams go when they’re not SEALing, and Joe is patching up the others at HQ, and because, well, of course it’s Danny that drives Steve to the hospital.

3. Danny’s pulling idly on Steve’s earlobe one evening when he asks, “What’re these?”

4. An expanse of stars spread out before Jim’s gaze, the deceptively thin material that curved around a full wall of the viewing deck barely visible unless one focused on it, and certainly not obstructive of the view.

5. “Hey, help me hang this photo,” were, Danny thought, innocent enough opening words.

6. The steady, deafening knocking didn’t let up at Danny’s groan. 

7. The first time, it’s a knife in the desk drawer.

8. “See, the thing is,” Starsky says, leans over the pool table, and neatly breaks the racked balls.

9. Hutch is shaking in Starsky’s arms, trembling fast and minutely, like a guitar with its strings wound so tight that every touch threatens to snap them.

10. Huggy, with a towel thrown over his shoulder and as harried an expression as he ever got, met Hutch at the door to the Pits.

Tagging @faorism, @magical-friends, @bookwhimses, @gallantrejoinder and anyone else reading this who cares to do it

[aceredshirt13]

Chapters: 2/6

Fandom: 大逆転裁判 | Dai Gyakuten Saiban | The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles (Video Games)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences 

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply 

Relationships: Sherlock Holmes | Herlock Sholmes & Mikotoba Yuujin Characters: Mikotoba Yuujin, Sherlock Holmes | Herlock Sholmes (Dai Gyakuten Saiban), Original Female Character(s), John H. Watson | John H. Wilson (Dai Gyakuten Saiban), Harry Barricade | Barry Caidin, Jigoku Seishirou, Asougi Genshin

Additional Tags: Mentioned Ayame Mikotoba, Mentioned Susato Mikotoba, the original character is Mrs. Hobson, my take on Mrs. Hudson, she’s cool I like her, and she's Scottish like in the original stories, First Meetings, Friendship, Period-Typical Racism, Grief/Mourning, Self-Hatred, Regret, Found Family, and just a little bit of, Christmas, herlock sholmes: original weird girl, yujin mikotoba: mom friend to everyone but his actual child, john wilson is Not Great in this just so you know, it has canon basis trust me, title taken from Dancing's Not A Crime by Panic! at the Disco, go listen to it and think of herlock sholmes. it will change your life, but the spirit of this fic better matches S.O.S. by WEAVER, an adorable song about love in all its forms, and caring for someone when others would not 

Summary:

Beneath crushing regret, festering grief, and the disdain of his superiors and colleagues, Yujin Mikotoba is lost - only for a strange young man to tumble out of a broom closet and into his life.

And slowly, two people with the world against them become each other's strength.

----

My Secret Santa gift for @avetato, who asked for Yujin and Herlock interacting in any capacity. Merry Christmas, and happy holidays!

~

avetato, your art is truly incredible, and I hope that my story, while currently unfinished (though it soon will be!) lives up to your level of skill.

[orcelito]

Unsure if I've lost the thread for ladue or if I'm just exhausted

Probably more the latter tbh. I hope.

[luludeluluramblings]

tbh I’m more intrigued by the idea of college-age Reader getting pregnant while unmarried still living in the manor and NO ONE has any idea who the father is (maybe she does, but she’s withholding that for now or maybe he’s not in the picture?) and it’s the biggest freak out ever. that just seems so fucking wild and potentially hilarious to me. and nobody noticing she’s pregnant until she’s farther along? or them finding out randomly?? imagine:

damian: you look pregnant. what is wrong with you.

reader: i am pregnant though

the batfam: ????????!!!!!!!!!! and then she proposes that now that she’s old enough and starting a new chapter in her life raising a baby and all she should just move out! (cue everyone disliked that meme)

Neglected!Pregnant!Reader x Yandere!Bat Family

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Part Two

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Okay, I think I'm about to become a Pregnancy!Reader writer. Which, I'm not mad about. Kind think it would be fun, but I know the trope isn't for everyone. So, if it’s not your thing, I’m sorry.

A/N: Some of this is based off of things from my own pregnancies.

A/N: Oh, no. Frick, I wanna make this a series now. Check the bottom, cause I have a plot idea for this and I want opinions on it. I spiraled, this was supposed to be a quick blurb. I got carried away. Gonna build up to the yandere shenanigans because I’m turning into a writer with a million WIPs.

A/N: Tagging @skay-ali because I like their The Forgotten Daughter series.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Very minor Yandere Themes (like barely there), minor NSFW, graphic descriptions of pregnancy and medical procedures, Vomiting.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

You don't really remember that night it happened. But, it only happened once and after you swore you'd never drink again. The hangover after that night had been one of the worst of your short life.

In fact, the sticky feeling between your legs and bitter taste on your tongue had also added to your decision to swear of these college parties. Luckily, you have enough of your memory to remember that you and your partner from that night had both been willing even when wasted. Even if you couldn't remember their name. Or, their face.

It takes you a while to notice. One missed cycle wasn't anything to freak out about, and it was exam season. The stress had probably caused the nausea. It wasn't until you were heading down to breakfast one morning and smelled the burnt eggs in the kitchen that Stephanie had burnt that you realized something might be wrong.

You, of course, ignore it. It was just a fluke. Burnt eggs weren't appetizing to anyone. But, then you nearly faint walking through the perfume section after looking to restock your favorite bottle of scent.

The doctor you finally went to another week later had asked about your cycle and the last time you had been intimate with someone. That's when the reality of things started to set in. You hadn't even thought to do an at home test to check. Your doctor was kind though, saying they could just do a quick urine sample and blood test just to make sure. It might be something else.

The next few minutes felt like ages. But, when the Doctor came back to tell you the positive results you panicked. Not as in panicked as in you broke down, but you threw up a mask. You're good at doing that. You must get it from your father.

When she asks you if this is good news or bad news you can't help, but blurt that it's good. Great even. Which causes her to beam at you. Before you know it, you're being handed a complementary diaper bag with formula and tiny bottles while being given the rundown on your possible due date and future appointments. You nodded you're head along with the information, sliding the paper's into the diaper bag as she hands them to you.

But, then she turns to you with delight and tells you that the Ultra Sound tech has an opening and you're just far along enough they can do your first ultrasound. It'll only be a thirty minute wait.

After nodding along once more, you go back into the waiting room. Holding your new bag with white knuckles and falling into deep thought.

This is happening. But, how? Are you even fit to be a parent? You've hardly ever been loved. How are you going to love someone else? How are you going to do this? What will the family think? What will your few friends think? You don't even remember who their father is. This is impossible. You're not ready. You'll never be ready. That churning feeling is in your stomach again and you feel that single piece of toast you had for breakfast about to come back up.

The thirty minutes fly by with those thoughts in your head. They still swirl in your head as your go back into the ultrasound room.

It's dark, but the tech had few soft lights on in the room. Its actually kind of... cozy.

What's not cozy it the tech telling you that she's going to stick a wand up your bits so you could see the baby. Your eyes screwing shut at the cold invasive feeling.

But, when you open them, she turns the screen for you to see. It's almost amazing how fast the image appears on the screen.

And, their moving. Actually moving. You end up laughing at the sight, causing the screen to flicker and the little blob to move. When the nurse plays the heart beat you can feel yours stuttering in your chest.

Watching them bounce in there with each laugh, it’s easy for the next words to spill out of your mouth.

“Oh, I’m gonna love you.”

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Every step after that feels remarkably less lonely. It’s not just you anymore. You have someone who you’re going to love.

You don’t bother telling the Family. Bruce would just lecture you on being reckless while the other’s would judge you for it.

Honestly, you don’t care if they did. This is your baby.

Funnily enough, for a house full of detectives and highly intelligent vigilantes no one actually notices. Not even Cassandra. It’s a bit insulting how much they don’t pay attention. But, your symptoms soon make it so you don’t care.

The waves of exhaustion, the way everything smells strong and certain things make you want to gag. Heartburn that burns your throat. The subtle cravings that make you cry when you can’t fulfill them. Thankfully you finished your exams because you were too tired to even move from your bed most mornings due to strange nightmares.

Eventually, someone does notice. And, it’s not anyone you would expect.

Of all things you cried over on the pantry floor, it had to be salt and vinegar chips. They hadn’t been what you wanted, but it was too late to go get french fries and a smoothie at this hour in Gotham. And, you stuffed them down your throat with angry tears.

It was Stephanie of all people to find you. You gave her a sharp glare when she seemed to grow wide eyed. Normally you avoid her gaze, but you were quite pissed about having chips in your mouth and not fries. As her eyes grew wider, your nose wrinkled in further annoyance at her.

Just as you’re about to tell her off, she speaks.

“Do you— um, want something else?”

It’s pitiful how fast your snarl turns into a pleading pout.

“Yes, please. I want fries. I want Jokerized fries so badly.” You practically blubber when she gives you a pointed nod towards the car garage.

It takes you a bit to get off the floor despite the fact that your bump is hardly noticeable, but Stephanie noticed the extremely subtle curve.

“How far?” She asks hesitantly, looking from the bump to your face.

You also hesitant for a moment, looking up at her with tears on your cheeks and a serious look in your eyes. “14 Weeks.”

Her eyebrows raise and a wiry pout appears on her face. “Damn. You’re smaller than I was at that time, so not fair.”

The slightly surprised that information gives you almost makes you pause. But, if you had you would’ve probably toppled back down to the pantry floor.

“Explain on the way?” You ask, still a bit nervous. The two of you had never been close since you moved into the manor less than a handful of years back.

“Sure.” She grins, leading the way.

As you both walk, she whispers. “Does Bruce know?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.”

“Ah.” Stephanie managed to hide the winces from you.

When you two finally make into the car, you’re already feeling better about life. You’re about to have your fries, and possibly a shake too. You didn’t expect to have any company, but surprisingly it’s nice.

Stephanie drives, and get the fries to go. Munching on them as Stephanie drives you back to the manor. Her sharing her own pregnancy experience.

"Wait, so Tim dated you when you were pregnant with another dudes kid? Babe, forget being me being small, you got game."

"Damn right I do." She says smugly, stuffing her own fries in her mouth. "So, um, do you wanna talk about what happened with you?"

And, just like that your mood shifts.

"No."

"Oh- Oh! I'm sorr-" She starts up, and you can tell she's assuming the worst.

"Don't you start, Stephanie." You interrupt with a pointed glare. "I don't want to talk about it because it's none of y'all's business."

That makes her cough on her french fry. "Wait, wait, what do you mean? Don't you want help?"

"Nah, I got it." Comes your stubborn reply, glaring out the window as you dip your fry into the cheesecake milkshake.

"... You should tell Bruce." She suggest after a moment of awkward silence.

"What? So he can ignore his grandchild, too?" Your filter is none existent with your hormones all out of wack.

"He doesn't ignore you-"

"Oh, yes the fuck he does." Your firmly state. Growing a bit heated. "Y'all all figgin do."

Stephanie is about to roll her eyes, chalking your words to you just being unreasonable. But, then the thought starts to creep upon her with each passing building when she realizes this is the first time she's actually hung out with you. Ever.

"I'm sorry." She murmurs to you. The silence falling over you both as the cars continues back to the manor.

"... I'm only forgiving you because you bought my fries..."

"Really?! That's all I had to do?"

"What? I was desperate for this- Wait! Hang on. Stop the car. Stop the car-"

"What? Why?! Are you- OH! Fuck!"

You ended up regurgitating up all the fries you had just eaten. Right into your lap.

"Oooo, that's nasty." Stephanie says, cracking the windows.

"Is it bad that I still want to eat them?" You mumble to her, eyeing the remaining fries.

"Please, please, wait till we get back or I'm gonna hurl, too."

"Fine." Comes your reply. Your eyes drifting shut for a moment. "If you tell anyone I'm gonna tell Cassandra about your crush on her."

"How did you- Frick, you are more like Bruce then I realize." Her voice going from panic to begrudging realization.

"Now, that's offenseive."

"Oh, come on. You're kids gonna have some of Bruce's DNA too."

"Eww. Eww. Don't remind me."

The banter between you both coming back with ease.

When you make it back to the manor, parting ways for the night. You feel at ease. You may have made have finally made a new friend in all this and gained a pillar of support.

As you shower and finish off your fries, you can't help but think about the apartments you had been looking at. Wondering what Stephanie will thinking of your nursery ideas.

Down in the cave, Stephanie slowly walks down the steps. Realizing this might have just gotten complicated.

"You okay, Steph?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Soooooo, what if, and hear me out, wee add some baby daddy drama to this?

A/N: Please note, I write a Reader that DID NOT grow up with the Bat Family, which means we could have some really really juicy drama here. But, we could just keep the options limited to just close friends of the Bat family.

A/N: What do y'all think? Baby Daddy drama? One of the Bat Boys the Daddy? One of the other vigilantes? Should I do a Baby Daddy poll? I just feel like this is an opportunity.

A/N: Also, Stephanie was a teen mom in some comics from my research. Which I think adds to this and gives her a better chance of bonding with Reader until shit goes down.

[simpee9000]

Not Just Friends - 10 -

M.List : Prologue : Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 : Part 4 : Part 5 : Part 6 : Part 7 : Part 8 : Part 9 : Words 3.1k

Childhood best friends turned into something more, at least with the label. Katsuki Bakugo, a fast-rising hero and fast-learning guy who is ever so slow in getting attached to and loving someone. Even three long years into a relationship, and your friends even forget you're even dating. Nothing happening, spare a few kisses.. like 3 kisses, during high school. Graduated and living together, and you guys have done absolutely nothing to further the relationship. Are you sure you're not just friends? Also not edited!! CW: Smut, brief domestic violence discussion, virginity loss, aggressive flirting from creeps, gore with pro hero stuff (lmk if i missed any) Applies to all chapters regardless of it is in said chapter.

It was a turn back to normal after the long conversation between the two of you. Tears sliding down your faces, majority yours but you saw a couple fall from his. It was a necessary conversation. He opened up about his quirk and apologized for ditching you. You apologize for the same.

Easily enough, the two of you moved on from it quickly. Talking about the past two months when all the overwhelming emotions passed. You blabbed about how many new offers you were getting and he talked about how he was hiring more and more people to his agency.

Despite not being able to ignore the last two months, it was easy to move past.

Growing past it within the night, having everything off your chest. It still didn't make things go back to normal.

You continued to share a bed, but changed your schedules around again to see more of each other. Flipping back into your old routine as much as possible. Not without a few changes though. Lunches would only be once a week rather than daily, and you'd be working for another hour or two after he got home. Since you wanted to sleep in still.

But it still improved your relationship again. Building it back up slowly. You were able to eat a late dinner together each night and share an off day. Sharing your off day made it easier for you anyway. After the break-in it was hard to be home without him, so the last two months were rough. Your therapist said you were doing great though, so that helped.

The first days of going back to normal was rough, having to adjust to seeing each other daily again. Conversations between the two of you felt awkward, mainly on your side. You grew so much in those two months, no longer relying on him. It shifted the dynamic.

"Y'good?" Katsuki's gruff voice broke your train of thought. Your eyes flickered up to him.

"Huh?"

"Been fuckin' playin' with your food," he points his fork at your plate, "Don't like it or some shit?"

"No, I like it," you looked back down. It was definitely not your favorite meal he made, but it was good.

His silverware claddered roughly against his plate, his arms crossing, "The fuck has been wrong with you?"

"Do you have to swear with every sentence?" you avoided, taking a bite of your food instead.

You could feel him roll his eyes along with his heavy sigh, "You've been off since."

"A relationship doesn't heal just like that," you pointed out.

"Will you look at me?" he asked annoyed. A glance up at his expression made you cut your attitude. He was trying, that much was obvious. And after all your talk of communication, you were doing nothing.

"Sorry," you set your fork down, engaging in the conversation, "I'm just lost? I guess. Hard to place it. I've changed a lot in the past two months-"

"How?"

You glared at him for interrupting you. "I've stopped prioritizing you. I'm more focused on myself now. It's hard to go back to normal when the 'normal,' was me running circles around you."

He shuffled in his seat, "That's fine. I'm glad you've moved on in that sense, done you good."

"You're not worried how it'll change us?" you asked softly, it's been all you were thinking of for the past few weeks.

"I'm always fuckin' worried," he admitted, eyes drifting to look at the wall instead of you, "But we'll work it out."

You were glad he still viewed the two of you as a 'we,' heart melting slightly as you reached your hand across the table. "I'm not going to tip-toe around you anymore, Kats."

"Good," he gruffed out, uncrossing his arms and grabbing onto your hand. Changing his focus onto that, "I don't want you to."

"Good," you agreed, smiling at how he let his thumb trace over your knuckles.

"You, um," he fumbled for a minute, eyebrows furrowing, "You're still okay with us not doing shit right?"

"I'd never push that," you confirmed, shocked he even thought you would complain about that.

"Don't get me wrong, I would, just-" he pulled his hands back wiping them on his pants before running them down his face, "my dumb fuckin' quirk."

"You love your quirk," you pointed out.

"Yeah and I'd fuckin' love to touch my girlfriend but no, I gotta be a horny virgin 'cause of it," he groaned, crossing his arms again.

Stifling a laugh was difficult, but you managed, "Maybe we can just work up to it? Get you used to the baseline first before, that."

His quirk went off suddenly, "Can't even fuckin' think of it," he groaned, standing up to go wash his hands off.

"It's cute." You followed behind him to place dishes in the skin, having cleared your plates a while ago.

"Fuck you."

"Hey," you laughed, "At least you can tell Denki and Sero that you beat them at No Nut November. And have for the past 19 years."

He shot you a glare from the sink, "The one challenge I wouldn't want to beat, great."

"It's what makes you number one to me, baby," you teased, kissing his shoulder as you moved past him, wanting to pester him while the mood was light and he was already flustered. It was nice how easy it was to move past something with him. But you wanted to test how much he'd react to you not tiptoeing around him anymore.

With success, his quirk popped off again.

"Fuck off."

You let out a crackle of laughter, "You're too easy."

"Die."

He finally stopped washing his hands, turning to dry them off. You watched from the counter, plotting. "Your back looks nice," you commented, his muscles have been more defined lately and you only got to appreciate it now. His tank top showcases his shoulders nicely.

He froze for a moment, side-eyeing you. "Do you want to get blown up or something?"

"No, do you want to get blown?" you asked back, letting Denki's crude humor influence you.

Like a charm, his quirk sparked off. "Quit it."

"Nah, it's too much fun," you smiled at him, kicking off the counter you were leaning on and moving to leave the kitchen. Hand squeezing his bicep when you walked by.

He didn't let you get even a step away before he grabbed your hand and pulled you into him. His hands grabbing at your hips and moving to push you into the counter. "Where do y'think you're goin'?" he smirked down at you.

Your face bloomed a deep shade, blushing harshly at how close he was. He hasn't been that close since you argued two months ago.

"Nothin' to say?"

You blinked up at him, trying to steady the rapid beating of your heart with the way he was tracing circles onto your hips.

"Might like you but that doesn't mean I'll let you say shit and get away with it," he crowded you closer to the counter.

"What happened to your quirk?" you whispered, losing your voice at the proximity.

"You offered to work up to it, right?" he brushed his hands clean on his shirt briefly before going back to your hips.

"Yeah," you looked down at his hands, trying to make sure the watch was off.

"It's off," he confirmed, twisting his wrist so you could see. When you looked back up at him, he held his gaze deeply, "What happened to that smart mouth?"

"Want me to show you?" you placed your hands on his chest, running over the span of his shoulders. Your body was on fire, the two of you flirted, sure, but this was different. His quirk was fully there. He was fully there.

His eyes lidded slightly, zeroing in his focus on your lips, "Fuck yeah I do."

Your lips closed the gap between the two of you. It wasn't as soft and nervous as all the past kisses, it was something you just threw yourself in. Stomach crazy with butterflies as your mind started buzzing. His hands tightened their grip on your hips as he stepped even closer to you.

Bodies curled into each other to get closer. Your hands digging into the hair at the base of his neck as you deepened the kiss. Full of passion and sexual tension. There was hardly any innocence to the kiss, and if there was, it faded within seconds.

A sigh of relief falling from your lips when his hands slipped under your shirt, brushing over your skin roughly. Fingers being callused and dry from work.

As soon as his hands met your skin he pulled away frantically. Pulling his body from yours completely before his quirk started popping off.

"Fuck me," he groaned in frustration, grabbing a dish towel and wiping his hands off.

"I wish I could," you teased.

He shot you a glare, blush flaring all over his face and coating his neck with a red. "Stop," he grumbled.

"Stop what?"

"Stop looking at me like that," he shied away, washing his hands in water for a moment.

You paused for a moment, considering how you looked. With how flushed his face was you could tell you were no better. Lips plumped and freshly kissed red as your shirt was ruffled up from his hands as you leaned back into the counter. "Why would I? You clearly like what you see?"

The confidence within you came from nowhere. There has been sexual tension between the two of you before, many times before. Even before he had the watch. But normally you had to be drunk as hell to make such obvious jokes towards him, especially ones about sex. Maybe it was the fact that it was on the table, when before it wasn't. You knew he wanted it as much as you did.

"Fuck off," he grumbled.

"Come on, Kats," you pushed your luck.

"I love you, but please stop whatever the fuck you're doing before we need a new apartment," he spoke without thought, freezing the second he realized what he said.

You barked out a laugh, he spoke so plainly. You didn't want him to get wrapped up in his head, so you ignored the rushing butterflies over his admissions. "Fine, fine," you gave in, smiling happily at him, "Hug?"

He looked at you, untrusting of you before he opened his arms, gesturing you near.

Taking the moment, you threw yourself in his arms. Wrapping your arms around his waist he pulled you in fully. Letting you rest your head on his chest as he rested his on yours.

Everything felt secure in your relationship, you'd move one step at a time together. With a lot of teasing between, but that was common between you and him, despite the lack of it lately.

"I love you too, by the way," you mumbled into his chest, having a happy feeling travel through your body at the small number of times he's actually said it.

"I know."

You moved slightly to look up at him, his eyes fell on yours before you spoke, "Are you hard?"

He glared sharply, embarrassment covering his features as you felt him grow hot. You were going to ignore the feeling of him pressing into your lower stomach, but decided you wanted the chance to rub it in his face that you have the upper hand here. He tried to pull away, only for you to keep your grip.

"Stop," he warned, his hands raised away from you.

"It's only a little spark, Kats," you tried to comfort.

With a roll of his eyes he smiled evilly down at you, "You asked for it," before you could protest, he wiped his sweaty hands on your face before rubbing the rest of it off on your sweater, down your chest.

"Katsuki! That's gross," you pulled away from him, using your sleeve to wipe away the damp residue of his sweat off your cheek before you pulled the bottom of your shirt out, seeing if he got sweat marks on it. "You just used that as an excuse to touch my tits," you glared at him, seeing the faint marks of his handprint on your shirt, right over your tits. It surprised you that he sweat enough to leave a mark.

He laughed sharply, walking out of the kitchen, "Got no proof, Brains."

"I literally have the proof of your hands on my tits," you called out to him.

He looked over you, "How do I know those are mine?"

"Really? Cause I'd let a random guy grope me and he'd be sweaty enough to leave a mark like you do," you snarked.

"No way to know," he shrugged.

"You're such an ass," you groaned.

His phone buzzing loudly cut off his laughter.

"This late?" you asked as you eyed his work phone.

"It's PR," he said as he furrowed his brows, answering the phone, "Dynamight."

You heard mumbling for a moment before he huffed and put his phone on speaker. "Can she hear me now?" the lady's voice rang through, the same manager you've spoken with before.

"Hello," you answered for him, "What can I do?"

"You've done quite enough," she spoke abruptly. It took a lot to get her mad, so to have pissed her off five words was a record. "People are spreading pictures of you crying in the middle of the street."

Katsuki's eyes shot to you, concerned.

"They also claim to of heard you talking to Deku, saying you said his name several times."

His concerned look turned to a glare quickly.

"I can explain that," you said quickly before Katsuki added his two cents, "I was having a rough time and decided to call a friend, simple."

She laughed, "It's not the simple. It was the night of your party. And with the lack of social outings between Dynamight and you, people are saying the two of you broken up."

"Why does this matter?" you asked annoyed. It was still a sore subject.

"It matters because bad things are being said about the two of you. It's not just Dynamight's image anymore, but yours too. They're saying he's abusive while also saying that you're sleeping your way to the top."

You've heard that said too many times to count. Both things. So filled with anger, you grabbed the phone from Katsuki's hand and hung up.

"The fuck?"

"I don't know! I'm annoyed," you huffed, tossing his phone onto the couch before pacing, "I'm sick of people talking."

"I get it's annoying but you're gonna hear it-"

"Not helping," you glared at him.

"PR helps get them to knock it off," he pushed.

"She hardly says anything but the obvious," you rolled your eyes, "We can just post a picture of us or something."

"How does that prove I don't hit you?"

You paused your pacing, "Under a truth quirk I said the worst thing about you was your socks. I think if you abused me I would have said that."

He gave up his fight with a shrug, moving to sit on the couch instead.

"Don't get me wrong, it pisses me off that they say that. There is just no way to prove otherwise. Nothing is ever enough for them," you corrected, not wanting him to get the idea that you were only concerned for yourself.

"If you think that, why are you so pissed right now?" he crossed his arms.

You shook your eyes off the flex of his arms, throwing your hands up in frustration, "Because everyone says that, I hate hearing it."

"What do you mean?"

"Everyone thinks you hit me or some bullshit," you huff.

"Everyone?"

"Like people that don't know you," you changed, "you're a softy and they ignore it.

"Who you callin soft?" he sat up straight.

You smiled at him, "Kats, you can't even look mad at me."

He glared at you, eyebrows being the only thing supporting it. His eyes were soft. "Die."

"Let's just forget about it," you sighed, not wanting to talk about the press or your relationship. Nothing stressful.

"Why were you even cryin' to Deku?"

"You," you admitted shamefully, looking away. Talking about this would be stressful.

When he said nothing, you turned back to him. He was staring out the window. The view was filled with city lights.

"I only called him 'cause I couldn't call you," you comforted, stepping closer to him.

"Could always call me," he spoke softly.

"Kats," at this point you were standing right in front of him

"Yeah?"

You swallowed quickly, "We don't need to do everything together."

He took a deep breath, "I know, just want you to know you can call me, no matter what."

"I already know that," you smiled fondly at him. It was one of the best things about him. No matter how mad he was at a friend or family, he would never ignore them if they needed anything, even a random call. He might ignore a stupid text, but he never missed a call from someone close to him.

"Good."

"Maybe," he looked up at you, "We don't do anything publically? If they think I'm dating you then good, if they think I'm not, I don't care."

"If you want," he shrugged.

"You don't mind?" you step closer to him, him making space for you by manspreading further.

"Not really, just don't go making 'em think you're dating that damn nerd."

"Okay."

"Want somethin'?" he looked at you with a brow up. His eyes flickering from your chest to your face.

"Seems like you do," you smiled, inviting yourself more into his personal space by straddling him, both knees by his side.

"What are you doing?" his hands were pushed outwards, far from you.

"It's fine," you hushed him, sitting your weight on his lap.

"We didn't even do this stuff with the watch," he hissed at you, face flushed.

"Yes we did," you looked at him confused, "I made you cum y-"

"Shut it," he huffed, hands popping with the sound of his quirk, "Get off."

"Look, if you really want to, I will, but I don't think you want me to," you didn't want to force him into anything.

"What even put you in this mood?" he glared at you.

"You looked at my tits," you shrugged.

"Cause you still have my handprint on em," he smirked proudly.

You looked down at them quickly, "Bakugo."

"What? It's how it should be."

"Will it stain?"

"Shouldn't."

"I hate you," you glared at him.

"Sure, cause one glance at your tits makes you wanna jump me, cause you hate me," he was too cocky.

"Shut up you can hardly kiss me without losing your mind," you fought back.

"Kissed ya earlier didn't I?"

"Barely, come on, kiss me like a man-"

Forgetting his prior reluctance, he pulled you into him. Connecting your lips in a messy kiss as his hand held you to him by the back of your neck. Slowly losing its grip before sliding down to your waist. Losing himself into the kiss just as you were.

You were shocked he was even kissing you, cherishing the win regardless. Moving more onto him. Wrapping your arms around him, scratching at his scalp as you pulled on his hair.

The groan that left his lips encouraged you to push down more in his lap, wanting something more. You could never get enough of him. Anything he'd give, you'd take.

A rough push of yourself onto him caused his quirk to go off, not just a small spark either.

It singed your top, burning your skin.

You jumped off his lap once he let go, holding your sides.

His hand was placed right over your old scar.

Posted late cause I forgot to finish the chapter, and the tag list is being a bitch rn. (phone is glitching and laptop is weird) if it's fucked up mb.

---

-Next Part-

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[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (24/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Furniture shopping is more exciting when there's talks about buying new stuff - like a bed.

Warnings: 18+ (mentions of smut), fluff, Kika is the bestest friend on this planet

Word Count: 3.4k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: hello loves! part twenty-four is here and I hope you enjoy it! feedback is appreciated!!!

The fact that Kika is just lying on your bed instead of snuggling up completely in your fluffy blanket is a miracle. 

"I liked the light blue mom jeans best," she says as you stand in front of the large mirror leaning against the wall next to the door to your room and look at yourself. "With the white oversized turtleneck - smash."

You look at her through the mirror. "Haha."

"I'm serious." She leans on her elbows and tilts her head. "If you wear white sneakers with it, it'll even work with the sandwich method. I've seen it on TikTok. And I swear to you - people will turn their heads to look at you."

"I don't want people turning their heads at me," you confess quietly, adjusting the soft fabric of your top. "I just want to look halfway okay."

"Trust me. You look more than okay."

After Kika and Pierre have stormed your apartment with their spare key - which at first annoyed you, but in the next moment made you feel quite relieved - your girlfriend has taken it upon herself to unpack your suitcase and pick out an outfit for you that matches your trip to the furniture store.

Unpacking your suitcase simply consisted of pulling out one item at a time and tossing it aside if it didn't meet her expectations. The pile of clothes next to the bed is the result of her search.

" Let it go," she warns you as you adjust the position of the hem of the sweater on your shoulder. "You look good. When I think about my first outfit as Pierre's girlfriend - it was pure horror."

"But I'm not a girlfriend," you reply as you reach for the jeans Kika is holding out to you. "I'm his friend. His roommate. Nothing more," you exhale, "and nothing less."

The Portugese woman watches you slip into your pants. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Caught off guard, you look at her. Are your feelings for the Monegasque so obvious that she can even see it on your face? Is your affection written all over your forehead? You can't name your emotional state, you can't say a word that could even begin to describe what you feel for Charles - but there's no question that it's definitely something other than pure friendship. 

No matter how often and vehemently you try to convince yourself that Charles is your friend, you are an incredibly bad liar. 

"I remember being incredibly nervous the first time we went out in public. I think I changed outfits three or four times before I was halfway happy."

Oh.

You sit down on the edge of the bed with her. "I want all of this. I want him." You clear your throat as Kika gives you a meaningful look. "His friendship, that is. And I'm also willing to take the risk of people not liking me and talking badly about me." You clasp your hands in your lap.

Kika sits up straight. "But?"

You curl your lips into a thin line. "I - I don't know." How do you explain to her that you're worried that his fans could dislike you so much that they doubt Charles? You're going public as friends, something that bothers you a little more than it should. But the Monegasque has also said that people will think what they want. 

What if they hate you so much - your looks, your mediocrity, your being - that Charles catches on and he realizes they're right in their opinion?

"I just want to make a good impression."

Your friend reaches for your hand. "You will. And after all, you're just friends. The public's opinion isn't all that important." You don't see her look, which says so much more than what she actually says.

"Right."

Kika lets go of your hand and stands up from the bed. "I'll be with you the whole time. We'll work it out. I promise." She tosses her long hair over her shoulder. "So, let's get going. This room is pretty bleak and could use some color," she says before pulling you off the bed and out of the room.

As you slip into your shoes at the front door, the men join you.

"So, Pierre and I are sitting -" Charles begins, but suddenly stops when he sees you. His eyes wander over your body and goose bumps spread along their path. He remains silent until Pierre nudges him. "Uhm, sorry. Yes. We - um - we're both going to sit in the front of the car because -" He scratches the back of his neck nervously, but can't take his eyes off you. "The plan is for Kika and you to go through the furniture store together and Pierre is coming with me. Just so that we are seen together as little as possible, but are still out and about together," he explains. 

You understand why this is all going to happen. He wants to protect you and you want to let him, but you can't stop your heart from getting a little bruised. 

When Kika notices your offended look, she crosses her arms in front of her chest. "So much planning for simple shopping with friends? Is that really necessary?"

As you look up from your shoes, you look straight into Charles' beautiful green eyes. Something that looks exactly like how you feel flickers across his face. "It is." He stands up straight. "Shall we?"

Kika smiles gently at you. "Let's liven this place up a bit, then." She grabs Pierre's hand and together the two of them walk out of the apartment towards the elevator, while Charles and you stay behind. You both look after them. 

"Is everything all right?" asks the Monegasque and stands next to you. 

"Everything's fine," you answer him curtly. You don't dare look at him. 

"Y/N," he says as he gently grasps your wrist and turns you towards him. "Mon amour, you know why I'm doing this, don't you?" His hand slips a little lower so your fingers can intertwine.

"'Mh-hmm." 

"Hey." His other hand rests gently against your cheek, making you look at him. "Hey." His thumb gently strokes your cheekbone. "I'm trying to protect you. That's my priority. Making sure you're okay is my priority. And if that means we can't walk through any stores next to each other for now, just so the public can get used to you, then I'll put up with it." His gaze twitches briefly to your mouth. "Even if it's not what I want."

You nuzzle your face against his warm hand. "And what do you want?" you ask softly. 

"You." 

His answer makes the blood sizzle in your veins. It feels as if the warmth of his skin is burning through your face, as if the nerve endings under your skin are sending little electric shocks through your muscles and forcing your heart to stop. You take a deep breath.

"I want you near me." He squeezes your hand twice before pulling away. Your skin feels cooler without his touch. "But I'm responsible for what happens in public. And I don't want to risk anything happening to you because of me."

You nod weakly before wordlessly following the befriended couple. You hear Charles behind you, but you don't wait for him as you walk quickly to the others. The atmosphere in the elevator is tense as you are transported towards the underground garage, but no one tries to ease the tension. Kika and Pierre look at each other a little uncertainly, something that doesn't escape your gaze, and you can't blame them. The situation is just awful.

Pierre has thought far ahead, because when he presses a button on his car key, a large SUV opens up in the underground parking garage, sure to fit some decorative items. Charles' Ferrari, or God forbid your old Renault, might have been able to fit a picture frame, or at most a small mirror. 

You sit behind Charles, who has taken a seat in the passenger seat. Kika and Pierre are talking through the rear-view mirror while you look out of the window.

The longer you think about what Charles said - or didn't say - the more uncomfortable you feel. The hem of the sweater seems to have slipped, the collar feels too tight and the sleeves are scratching your elbows. You're not sure what you were hoping for, what the right answer would have been. But you're not particularly happy with the one you got. 

You also want to be close to him, permanently. And you can also understand why the plan involves you staying away from each other inside the furniture store. But is that really necessary if you're just friends? Has he done something similar with his other female friends, or are you the only one who has to put up with this fuss? 

Your thoughts are going round and round in your head, but as if by magic they suddenly come to a standstill. But it's not magic, it's Charles' hand that has squeezed past his seat on the right and is now gripping your leg. You feel his fingers slide under the fabric of your jeans, where they rest against your calf. 

You try to regulate your breathing, but you can hear the blood pounding in your ears. Charles touching you is nothing new. You've been touching each other non-stop since last night, which doesn't help your feelings or your friendship, but it still feels indescribably good. 

It feels right the way his calloused hand wraps around your soft calf. It felt right the way his thumb stroked your cheek. It felt right to lie half-naked next to him in bed. 

It felt right to want him as something more. More than a roommate. More than a friend. 

And that's exactly why you slide your foot towards the car door, so that Charles can touch you more easily. You block out the voice that keeps whispering hypocrite to you as best you can. And the warmer his skin feels on yours, the tighter his fingers close around your calf, the better it works. 

"I'll let you both out right at the entrance and we'll park in the back of the parking lot," Pierre interrupts your thoughts before they're no longer PG. "You can go inside and we'll follow. That's the easiest way."

"Thank you very much," Charles says. "I'm sorry we're shamelessly taking advantage of you."

Pierre has to grin. "You're welcome to give me a position in Bahrain, then we'd be even."

"You'd have to get close to me on the track first."

The two men argue amicably until the car comes to a halt in front of the deserted entrance. Just as you are about to open the door, Charles's fingers gently squeeze your leg twice and you have to suppress a smile, otherwise Kika would tease you endlessly. As you both get out and the car drives away, she latches on to you. 

"Are you ready?" she asks as you walk towards the glass door together. 

"Definitely."

Kika has very good taste in decorating and if she hadn't become a model, she could definitely have worked at Ikea putting together those fake rooms. As you push a shopping cart in front of you, she skips through the aisles, grabbing anything that matches in color or style. Picture frames, vases, mirrors and fake plants that would look good on the windowsill in your room. 

She's examining which of the candles in front of her would go better with the vases in the shopping cart when your cell phone vibrates in your pocket. 

Charles: If one of the candles burns down our apartment, I'll have to charge you rent. 

Confused, you read the message before looking up and around. Charles is standing about twenty meters away from you, smiling at you over the shelves. You bite the inside of your cheek.

You: You don't need my money, Mr. Ferrari. After all, you make millions a year. 

You raise an eyebrow challengingly as Charles reads your message. You can see his grin clearly, even from this distance. 

Charles: If you burn down my expensive apartment, I'll have to find a new one, and they're not exactly cheap in Monaco, as you know. 

You: I thought it was our apartment?

Charles: If you let it burn down, you're welcome to keep it.

You: So you'd let me keep it? Our apartment?

Charles: I'd give you anything, mon amour. You just have to ask for it. 

You don't have time to think about his answer because Kika throws a stuffed animal dinosaur in your face. 

"Are you done flirting?" she asks, playing annoyed. "I'm trying to decorate your room and you'd rather flirt than help me."

You feel the blood rush to your face. "Excuse me?"

Her grin almost reaches your ears. "Gotcha."

"You can't possibly have caught me doing something I wasn't doing," you try to wriggle out of it, but Kika has bitten down like a little terrier.

"And why are you looking like you've eaten the last spoonful of tiramisu without asking if anyone else wants the rest?" 

"I haven't eaten any tiramisu," you defend yourself and hug the green stuffed animal tightly to your chest. 

"Not yet," she says gently and puts one of the candles in the cart with the rest. "But I'm afraid you could get diabetic if you're not careful with the tiramisu. A small piece is fine, but a double portion could almost be too much." 

You narrow your eyes. "I haven't eaten any tiramisu." Without taking your eyes off her, you put the green dino in the shopping cart too. "And I don't intend to."

"You're a bad liar," she says and stands next to you, wrapping her arms tightly around you. "But that's all right. I still love you. And when your room looks really cool soon, I'll take the outfit pictures for my Instagram in front of your mirror."

She gives you a peck on the cheek and you roll your eyes. "Charles was right. We need to change the locks, then you can't disturb us anymore."

"Disturb? Disturbing what? Eating tiramisu?" she grins and you would have loved to suffocate her with the green dino. Apparently Kika can read minds, because she quickly lets go of your arms and continues to skip happily through the corridors while you follow her with the shopping cart. 

"How much do you think the things you picked out for me cost?" you ask her as she picks out more plants.

She takes a look at the shopping cart. "Something between two hundred and five hundred euros," she replies with a shrug.

"Kika, that's too much. Way too much," you try to stop her as she walks over to the rugs on display. "I can't pay for it. I'm unemployed, remember?" You're about to turn the shopping cart around and return the selected items to their rightful places, but Kika stands in your way. 

"Charles offered to pay for this," she says, confused, resting her perfectly manicured hands on the metal grille of the cart. 

"He what?" you ask, looking around in the hope of spotting Charles somewhere. But he's nowhere to be seen.

"Pierre sent me a text message to leave the car at the checkouts when we're done. He said that Charles wanted to pay for it and that we should wait outside for them," she explains, tilting her head. "I thought he would have told you. I know you're unemployed, but because of the text message, I thought that - I assumed we could just pick out nice items without looking at the price."

You run your tongue over your teeth. "Give me a moment, please," you say briefly and leave her standing there with the shopping cart. 

You walk through every aisle, looking over every shelf in the hope of seeing Charles standing somewhere. And when, after ten minutes, you spot his brown curls in the furthest corner of the store, you don't care if the two of you are seen together. He's standing in front of a gray, hip-high box spring, with nice, dark bedding and comfortable-looking pillows placed on it. When you stop next to him, he doesn't look at you.

"I want to buy a new bed," he begins the conversation. "The one I have now is too low for me. What do you think of this one? I've tried it out. It's really comfortable and the perfect height for -" He falls silent before he can finish the sentence. 

"Kika says you want to pay for my things," you change the subject without answering his question. You don't take your eyes off the bed either. 

"That's correct."

"I don't want that," you say tersely. "I don't want you to pay for it."

"But I want to," he replies, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. "Think of it as a gift."

"As a gift?" You raise an eyebrow. "As a gift for what?"

"For your friendship."

"You can have my friendship without buying me new things," you assure him, but you fall on deaf ears. 

"But I want to. I have so much money that I can't spend on my own, so I want to buy you nice things." He leans a little towards you so that your hands touch. "How expensive are the things? One thousand, two thousand euros?"

"Kika says five hundred at most."

"Then think of it as a small, early Christmas present," he says gently. Before you can object, he continues. "I want you to feel comfortable and if it costs me some money, then so be it. And it won't hurt my bank account in the slightest. So just say thank you and accept the gift."

"Thank you," you whisper reluctantly, but you know that it wouldn't do any good to go against his wishes. "Did you find something you want to buy?"

He smiles. "This bed, apparently. And bedding. And a mirror."

"Doesn't sound bad. I just hope you have as good a taste as Kika. After all, our things have to match," you joke.

Charles turns his head in your direction. "Then lie down on the bed, mon amour. I'd like to see how you look on it before I spend thousands of euros on it." As he says it and his fingers curl around your wrist, that feeling blossoms in your chest again.

You want to throw him on the bed in front of you, kiss him until you can't breathe and touch him until you can see stars. You want to feel his warm skin under your fingertips, feel his muscles tense as he pulls you on top of him and presses you against his firm body. You want to feel his weight on you as he lays you down on the bed and his lips trail down from your mouth. You want to - 

"Do you really think I'm going to try sleeping without you again when we've figured out that we both sleep better when we're together?" he asks, gently stroking the thin skin on your wrist with his thumb. You hope he can't feel your racing pulse underneath. "When we first met, you said that you hadn't had a decent night's sleep in a long time. And if it means I have to hold you in my arms so you can get a good night's sleep, then so be it. And it's not as if I don't enjoy having you close to me."

Before you can answer him, you feel a person standing at your other side and when you look, Kika is standing there. Her gaze flickers briefly to your hands before she turns to the bed as well. "Do any of you fancy a bite to eat?" she asks. "There's a restaurant nearby that serves incredibly good tiramisu. And it's never busy. We can go there if you like." She turns slightly in your direction and nudges you. "What about you? Do you want some tiramisu?"

More like a need than a want.

[kamiversee]

➶-͙˚ ༘✶ 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁*𝘾𝙆 𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

✧.* CHAPTER 42 || The Assumption

[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt. Sounds easy enough, right?

[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language & heavy sexual tension.

[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 4k

[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. geto x f!reader. toji x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader. nanami x f!reader.

[ [ chapters mlist } ]

——HOW LONG WERE HIS eyes on yours? Did he see you checking him out? Holy shit you're sweating now. Is this how Ino felt just a few moments ago because as you met Nanami's eyes, chills slithered down your spine and you swallowed hard due to the eye contact.

Nanami opens his mouth and you swear every second is killing you. "I've seen you before," He points out.

And boom, you're a mess already. His voice is so damn sexy you don't think you're going to be able to have a calm conversation like you planned to.

You just nod for a second and then you get the words out, "Y-Yeah, I've seen you before too."

Get yourself together woman.

Nanami narrows his eyes at you, "You were in Mr. Fushiguro's room that one time." He recalls.

Your brows furrow. Oh, that's what he remembers you from? Not the weeks you've been in the same building as him or even the times you bumped into him on 'accident'?

"U-Uh, yeah, I was." You nod again, the motion done slowly as you try to collect yourself.

The sound of Ino snickering nearby helps you snap out of your daze. "Not so confident now, hmmmm?" Ino teases, his words making you turn your head to him.

"Hush," You say with a playful glare.

Nanami raises a brow, his eyes yet to leave you. While you checked him out, he had long since done that from the moment he walked in and saw you chatting it up with Ino.

You then return your attention to Nanami after making back-and-forth silly faces to Ino before his attention is called elsewhere. Now you are alone with Nanami...

You swallow and take a deep breath. You swear you've been rehearsing this moment for months now, "Nanami Kento, right?"

He nods, just barely, "Mhm."

Is he even interested in anything you have to say? What's with the simple hum...?

Turning a decent portion of your body to him, you flash a kind smile, "I've been wanting to talk to you, y'know..."

"Have you?" Nanami asks, stern eyes boring into your own.

You nod your head, "Y-Yeah," God you need to stop stuttering. "I was just wondering if-"

"Sorry but," The man interrupts, almost as if he knew what your intentions were. "I don't sleep with women I've just met."

You blink. Oh, you're just baffled by his words. What the hell does he mean by that? And why did he say it so suddenly?? He can't just know you're talking to him because of Gojo... right?

"Uhm," You scoff, "Excuse me?"

Nanami's eyebrows raise for a moment, "Sorry, am I misinterpreting something?"

"Yeah, actually," Technically, no. But you were going to try to have an actual conversation with him before making any moves so it's almost rude of him to say such a thing to you, "You major in business, yes?"

He's almost thrown off by you and his head nods, now he's embarrassed he made a mistake. "Yeah-, yes, I do." Nanami stumbles over his words a bit.

"Right, well I'm a psychology major and I'm trying to land an internship at our university," You start explaining to him. Everything you're about to say is some bullshit you've come up with to have a conversation about but, you're sure it'll work out. "As of now, I was doing a personal study about which students in what majors experience more stress and I plan to use that data to get this position so,"

And that's when he realized he fucked up with his assumption. Nanami stares and his words come out very slowly, "...You're here to study me?"

"I prefer the term interview but, yes." You hum.

He grows a bit more serious, "I see. Well, I apologize for my earlier assumption, I just thought..." Nanami trails off a little and you watch the way he glances down.

You follow his gaze and look down at yourself. Then, you scoff again, the sound making him tense up in embarrassment and a bit of shame, "Did you assume I was some kinda' whore?" You ask bluntly.

His entire body freezes and he's visibly worried, his gaze flicking right back up to your own as he swallows, "I don't mean any offense by my assumption. It's just... Not that you look like a prostitute but, I get approached like that often and-"

"So, you thought I was a whore?" You repeat. Again, he's nervous and this time he avoids your eyes, the sight of him slightly fearful making you smirk.

"I'm sorry but, yes." Nanami says honestly, "That's my mistake, truly."

"Right..." You say dryly, your tone making him uneasy. "Well, it's a common mistake, unfortunately," You murmur, thinking back to Sukuna who previously joked about it to you, "But you can make it up to me."

Those stern eyes of his snapback over to you, "How uh, how so?" Nanami stammers, clearly again assuming you mean something else.

You chuckle and playfully hit his arm, "By letting me interview you, of course!" Your voice is suddenly cheerful and it makes him relax.

Nanami sighed heavily and then straightened up in his seat, visibly pulling himself together after the little mishap that occurred. "Right, of course." He says.

Your hand goes to your glass, "Did you assume I meant some other form of making it up to me?" You ask tauntingly.

"No," Nanami claims, his voice light, "Of course not."

You have one leg crossed over the other so you subtly move it and make light contact with his shin using the tip of your heel. Nanami's entire body goes rigid but he hopes you don't notice it.

"Of course not?" You repeat, chuckling a bit, "It's okay if you thought I meant something else, y'know."

He swallows, "I didn't." The man replies as he tears his eyes from you, glances down at your foot against him, ignores it, and then goes for his drink.

"I mean," You tip your head to the side and your confidence has returned to you, courtesy of your liquid courage coursing through you, "If you have another way to make up for mistaking me for a prostitute, I'm all ears, Mr. Nanami."

The title makes him swallow again, his Adam's apple seen moving down and then up in a slow manner. "I have no other way in mind, unfortunately." Nanami states simply, flicking his gaze to you for a moment, "Sorry to disappoint."

You grin, "Oh, I'm not disappointed at all. It just seemed like you had an idea in mind so," You shrug.

He stares for a second, thinking for a long moment before taking his eyes off you again, "Are you insinuating something right now?"

"No?" You laugh, "But, although I'm no whore, you are an attractive man so, naturally, I'm curious what you thought I meant when I said you could make it up to me."

Nanami sucks in a deep breath of air and then takes another sip of the drink he's had prepared for him. Then, as he places it down with a light tap to the bar, he turns his head to you, "Is this a part of your interview?" Nanami questions, raising a brow, "Is this some kind of reverse psychology question that'll help you get to know me?"

"There's no reverse psychology in my question at all," You giggle, "I'm being rather direct with you." The feeling of your heel slipping up his leg slightly makes him tense up, "First you assume I'm a whore, and then you think I'd want something naughty from you for doing so."

That statement causes the man to choke a bit, "N-Naughty?" He echoes, following the question with a hefty clearing of his throat and a turn of his head, "What-, I... I wasn't-"

You smile at the man and notice the tips of his ears are shaded the lightest bit of pink, "It's okay if you assumed that, y'know..."

Nanami keeps his gaze straight, "I did not-"

You move, leaning to his ear for a moment, "I'm no prostitute but, the more I talk to you, the more I think you'd prefer it if I was."

A sharp breath of air is sucked in and he doesn't dare to look at you. With a chuckle, you pull away, your eyes never leaving his face. It's so clear you have him nervous now, men like him are rather easy to work around. Show them you're not a whore but you wouldn't mind being treated like one and all of a sudden they don't know what to do with themselves.

The blond turns his head away completely, taking in the scenery of the rest of the bar before then turning back to you, "So what is it you want from me? Be honest. I can't tell if you're here for knowledge or..."

"Or?" You hum, raising a brow.

"Or if you're here to seduce me." Nanami finishes.

You shrug, "Maybe both."

It was like you could see the gears in his head turning, like he was in deep thought as his brown eyes met yours. Then, his brows tense slightly, "I didn't consider both..."

And just like that, you have an idea of where you can take this. "You should've." You reply.

"I am now." The blond responds, weighing his head to the side slightly as he maintains eye contact.

You pinch your brows together, "Mr. Nanami, have you ever slept with someone after meeting them at a bar?"

He freezes but you have him interested, so after a moment, "No, why?" He questions in return.

"Are you open to?" You proceed. And no, you're not trying to seduce him just yet. Instead, your plan here is to have him be the one to pine after you.

Nanami swallows and he's very careful with his words, "Typically no."

You pick up on it instantly, "Typically?"

"I may do something different tonight," Nanami explains, finally turning away from you. He glances past you a bit, watching Ino attend to others further down the bar.

"Yeah?" You grin, "And what's changed your mind?"

The male in front of you keeps his eyes away from your own but all his attention is still on you, "A woman who's intrigued me."

"And who might that be?" You quiz further.

He scoffs lightly, "Obviously, you."

And just like that, you've got him exactly where you wanted him. Now it was part of the next part of your plan where you reverse the flirting and force him into a situation where he reveals more of his thoughts and flirts with you.

You definitely have the alcohol in your system to thank for how smoothly this is going so far, "I'm flattered but, when I asked my question, I wasn't offering to do so."

Nanami grows embarrassed again, assuming he's made some kind of mistake as he shifts his gaze to you, "Oh, I-"

"I'm not a whore," You sigh, "But I do notice that sex-pertained questions always get the best answers out of men so," You shrug. "That was my first."

He catches on and nods his head, the slightest and simplest smirk spreading across his peach-tinted lips, "So... the interview has started now...?"

"It has," You say enthusiastically, "I'm glad you're keeping up with me."

Amusement sparks across the male's expression, "Cleaver woman you are."

"Mhm, I'm aware," You hum, smiling at him cheerfully.

With a sigh, Nanami places every ounce of his focus onto you, "Alright then, what's your next question for me?"

"Don't get too excited, not all of them are about sex." You say with a laugh, "Only the first one was. Y'know, to gain your attention since you already thought I was a hooker."

He swallows, "I really am sorry about that."

"You'll make up for it, relax," You brush off.

Then this 'interview' of yours proceeds and you ask him more mellow questions, questions that are rather simple and just help you get to know him. Such as asking about his age, whether or not he has a job, and what his day-to-day schedule looks like.

You continue the conversation, delving deeper into Nanami's personal life and interests. Asking him about his hobbies, interests, and goals for the future, all of which is done to make it seem like you're actually going to use this information. Nanami opens up more as the conversation flows, his stern demeanor softening ever so slightly.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

As you engage in the interview, there's this underlying look in his eyes. Perhaps it was the alcohol the two of you consumed but there were definitely some teasing touches and glances throughout all the talking.

Before you realized it, your questionnaire had transitioned into simply just two adults conversing. It was almost as if you'd approached the man naturally. He told you how his major in business was done with the intent of becoming the CEO of some famous company one day.

The surrounding nightclub is almost forgotten with how engaging the conversation carried on to be. Every time you made the stiff man laugh your heart would flutter a bit. You were beyond thankful for the drinking because it was clear that's what was opening him up to you.

Ino was to thank as well, as he had come to the two of you multiple times to offer another round, flashing you a cute smile and a taunting thumbs up to encourage you with Nanami.

Unbeknownst to you, your starting question weighed heavily on the man's mind. Your foot would constantly brush up against his leg and every time you giggled, he felt odd. Not to mention the sultry look in your eyes as you intently watched him speak.

Your eyes were on his lips at one point and your staring made him stammer for a moment before he decided to just point it out in hopes you would focus elsewhere. Nanami leaned in a bit and a gentle hand went to your chin, tipping your face up and trying to force your gaze to his.

"I understand you're interested in what I have to say but please," Nanami's voice is still as deep as ever but it's more relaxed and almost soft, "Keep your eyes on mine."

You're slow to drag your vision upward, "Can you handle that?"

The question throws him off and his brows push together, "I have been all this time, haven't I?"

You tilt your head and lean closer to the man, one of your hands suddenly going to his thigh to hold yourself up, "Not the whole time, no."

"Really?" He hums, ignoring how close your face is to his, "Where else have my eyes been? Hm?"

You giggle and pull your lower lip into your mouth. It's so obvious that you're slightly intoxicated, "Your eyes have been all over me," You say, your voice suddenly dropping into a whisper, "Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

He tenses as your hand starts caressing his thigh, trying to ignore the sensation. "I'm not sure I know what you're talking about. I've kept my eyes on respectable areas at all times."

Another giggle slips out your lips, "I never said you didn't." Again, he freezes and this time you snicker, "You just told on yourself."

Nanami swallows and removes his hand from your chin, turning his head away from you, "You're teasing me again, aren't you?"

Your hand goes up without a second thought and you force his head to turn right back to you, "I wasn't," You murmur, inching closer, "But now I am."

The feeling of your thumb caressing his jaw makes the man's breathing pick up. He's not sure if it's the alcohol or just you in general but his body is suddenly so much more attentive to your touches. The sensation was so soft and small but it was steadily driving him crazy.

"Nanami," You murmur, breaking him from his thoughts.

His eyes dip down to your lips, "Kento," He corrects, "Just call me Kento."

Again, you have him exactly where you want him. "Earlier you said you don't sleep with women you've just met, nor have you ever slept with a woman you've met at a bar before..." You recall in a gentle tone.

He nods, unsure of where you're going with this, "Mhm..."

You bite your lips, "Perhaps we should change that tonight."

Nanami hums deeply, the sound vibrating against his throat as he struggles to lift his gaze from your lips. You're so close to him and your words and entire aura are intoxicating.

"How so?" He whispers in return.

"Take me home tonight..." You offer, soon shifting to the man's ear, "...and fuck me like a slut."

Those lewd words of yours went straight to the man's cock. Of all the things he could've expected from you, that was by far the last thing he expected to hear come out of your mouth. Sure, you flirted with him subtly here and there within the past few hours but...

That sudden offering of yours was entirely different.

There is no way you would've gotten this far without the alcohol in your system. As it is well known by now, you get horny when you're drunk so gradually throughout you and Nanami's conversation, you could feel your arousal building up.

Everything the man had done or said was noticed by you. From his large hand wrapping around the glass as he took a drink, to the way the smooth liquid flowed into his mouth, the way his voice got deeper and more relaxed, and even how he was looking at you now.

You could've never made such an offer if you didn't drink and Nanami would've never even considered it if he didn't either.

The stoic blond clears his throat and you pull away from his ear to meet his eyes, only to be met with a low and lustful gaze that makes your heart skip a beat. A careful brow is raised before you watch the man move out of his seat.

Standing at his feet, your head inclines up as nears you and that wonderful and dizzying scent of his cologne rushes into your nose. Nanami has the face of a young yet hardworking man and simply looking up at him as you are now gives you that urge to want to drop to your knees.

Perhaps the list truly has changed you. Maybe it wasn't the alcohol you drank tonight or the man in front of you. Maybe the problem here was you and your mind. Sure, you used to get horny before but to have the urge to suck someone off just because they've stood to their feet in front of you is...

Well, it makes you feel like the very thing Gojo tells you you're not; a whore.

Breaking you from your thoughts, Nanami leans down and places a hand on the bar beside you. You gulp as his face nears your own and then tense up when his other hand goes to cup your jaw, keeping your head angled up.

The man tilts his head and studies the look in your eyes closely, "You want me to take you home and... what?" He whispers.

You wished your confidence from moments ago had remained but as this man stood over you and held your face in his hands so delicately you could feel your thoughts turning to mush and your mouth going dry.

"Uh..." You mumble, staring back and forth between the man's eyes.

Nanami scoffs lightly, "Don't get all shy on me now," He says, "Tell me what it is you want me to do."

Your voice is small and barely even there, "Take me home..."

"And...?" He urges.

You swallow, "Fuck me..."

Nanami smirks, the reversal of roles here is driving him crazy. You were such a confident woman just moments ago, "Like...?" He murmurs, trying to get you to say the entirety of your initial statement.

You take your eyes off him and even try to turn your head away, "A uh-"

"Eyes on me, darling," Nanami voices out in that sweet yet husk tone of his.

You blink a few times before looking at him, taking a deep breath before speaking, "Like a slut."

He smiles just barely, "See? Was that so hard?" His voice and way of wording things are adding to your arousal for some reason.

"N-No..." You murmur.

Nanami's thumb moves to your bottom lip and his eyes sink to his actions as he swipes over it, "Exactly. And y'know what," He scoffs again, "You really aren't a whore." He says, almost as if he's surprised?

"I told you I wasn't," You whisper, pouting a little bit as he feels your lip against his thumb.

"Right, right," He hums, nodding a little, "Instead, you're one of those good girls who like to be treated like one, huh? Pinned against a wall, maybe with your hands tied up, and taking cock like it's the only thing you know how to do properly."

And just like that, you were soaked. Gulping, your breathing grows noticeably slower and Nanami could tell by your facial expression that you were aroused.

He chuckles, "We spent all this time talking, and yet I'm pretty sure the only thing you've been thinking about in that pretty little head of yours is how you're going to convince me to fuck you."

Your eyes widen and you genuinely don't understand how you let the dominance in the situation flip so quickly, "I-,"

"Don't worry," Nanami moves his thumb and he inches closer, his lips almost on yours as he whispers, "I'm convinced."

Your lips brush over his and your eyes threaten to close, "A-Are you?" Damnit, you need to pull yourself together.

The man nods ever so slightly but what he didn't expect was for you to move his hand away from your jaw and then stand up. You still have to incline your head up but as you stand, you don't miss the way his breath hitches when your chest presses into his.

Despite that, his head tips to the side again as he gazes down at you, "I am." He hums, shrugging a bit after, "I'll take you home and do just as you asked."

You hope he doesn't notice the way your eyes light up, "Yeah?"

"Mhm," His hands carefully go to your hips and you try your best not to tense up because his touch is so rough and yet oddly gentle at the same time, "Consider this my real way of making up for my assumption."

You chuckle, "You're gonna make up for thinking I'm a whore by-"

"Fucking you like one." Nanami finishes for you, even though that's not exactly what you were going to say.

The man suddenly spins you around and he begins to urge to to start walking away from the bar, moving to your ear as he does so, "This'll also help with your 'interview'." He claims.

You scoff and walk with him right behind you, his hands on your hips and his crotch bumping into yours briefly with every other step taken, "How so?" You ask in return.

Nanami stops the two of you from walking for just a second and pulls your body back into his. You can feel the large bulge in his pants pressing up against your ass and it makes your breathing stutter.

The man goes to your ear one last time and his voice is low but direct, "I'll show you just how 'stressed' I am."

GOJO SATORU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

GETO SUGURU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

TOJI FUSHIGURO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢

KAMO CHOSO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢 / 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ZEN'IN NAOYA ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙭𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ITADORI SUKUNA ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮???

NANAMI KENTO ☐ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙃𝙖𝙧𝙙

mlist || previous chapt || next chpt

[steor-ra]

AHHHH I LOVE THIS CHAP OF BATFAM!! I CANT WAIT FOR THEM TO SEE US DEAD (?) I CANT WAIT FOR THE NEXT ONE

TYSM I'm glad to know some1 enjoy it like I do even though I get too lazy to write and take too long to update😂 Anyways thank you for the support so here's some fact to the FF that I'll maybe not mention to the story because I wanna end the FF soon as possible 😎☺ warning; Im lost from the topic

Remember when I said that Dick's one of the reasons why he ignored you was because you appeared lonely and sad? It was because Dick was still mourning Jason's death at the time, and he didn't want to interact with a miserable person like him. Dick was still furious with the world and himself for taking Jason away from him. He was afraid to say Jason's name if he attempted to speak with you. That is why he maintained a distance, which remained even after Jason returned.

Some of them actually have their each reason which I'll probably or maybe mention to a chapter

Anyway, Dick became a yandere for you because he is full of regret; he has become a figurative to anyone who enters or exits the mansion. He protected everyone from drowning in the sea of darkness, but he let you drown. In a sea full of sharks, preparing to eat his baby bird.

And he is terrified for your sake, but he should not be. He knows nothing about you; if Bruce or anybody else in the family is unaware of your existence, what makes you so unique that you must take over his head and make him obsessed with you? Despite years of ignoring you, no one knows anything about you, which is exactly the objective. Dick is intrigued with learning more about someone like you, and the more he discovers, the more he falls in love (platonic). Do you get what I mean?

The obsessiveness begins with the crushing guilt of not knowing anything about someone who has been living in the manor for years, and the more Dick learns about you, the more obsessed he becomes.

Maybe Tim will also have the same fate, maybe we'll know to the next chapt 😉

Maybe.

And btw dick misses his baby bat so much, please come back he swear he'll make it up for all those neglect

If you wish to not see bruce or any of them besides him, them you won't, it'll be just you and him baby bat :)

So please, come back

(A/n: for those who had requested some sanerios and stories, don't worry! I'm still writing them and take super duper longgggggggggg to publish, just resurring y'all because I've had the experience of not being answered when I send asks🥲 and it hurts as a introvert person to be ignored😔💔 AND OH to that person who requested about joker!Reader x batfam like a month ago(?) I'M WORKING ON IT RN just superrr slow😑🙃 ANYWAYS thank you all for the support and for the patience for my slow ass mind I appreciate it ☺💞 especially the comments 💞)

[the-oblivious-writer]

Daylight |Blurb|

Amber Freeman to Eventual Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Blurb

Summary: When you notice Tara Carpenter being harassed by a little jerk, you spring into action

Warning(s): Swearing, Tara & r are like 6 in this blurb, & lil Tara being bullied :(

Notes: Ngl to you, it'll probably still take a while before you get the first chapter of this series, so I just wanted to give you guys a lil something. It's not much but I didn't wanna keep you hanging with nothing

Masterlist|Next Part

You have known Tara since you were little kids. You remember the time you first met, clear as day—or at least when you officially met. Johnny Miller was harassing her, once again, during recess. Kicking sand in her face, taking her toys, and calling her names. Tara felt incredibly overwhelmed by the situation. It seemed like nobody saw her getting tormented by this little asshole. But, that was until you turned you head.

Your ears picked up the foul words Johnny spoke. You were six, that's old enough to know when somebody was being a jackass. Out of curiosity, you looked over to see the scene that was unfolding. You immediately recognized the girl. You had seen her around before, well, more than just that. She was in your class. You never really spoke though, opting with staring from afar whenever she wasn't looking. There was just something about her that prevented you from looking away. Something that made you heartbeat pick up, something that made you feel all warm inside. Something comforting about her.

You walked over to Johnny and Tara, getting there just in time stop Johnny from reaching for the toy Tara had just managed to get back from him.

You pushed him down in the sand box. The little boy stared back at you with rage, but Tara only stared at you with admiration.

"Stop being a jerk, Johnny," you seethed.

He opened his mouth to speak, but quickly shut it when he saw something in his peripheral vision. A smirk appeared on his face before he began to cry, holding onto his elbow as he practically wailed.

It didn't take long for you to realize why there was a sudden change in Johnny's demeanor. An angry teacher storms up to where you were, wearing an angry expression with her arms crossed.

"Y/N Y/L/N, did I just see you shove Johnny?"

"I–"

"Yes or no," the teacher interrupted.

"Yes, but–!"

"There are no buts. You pushed a student, that's all I need to know. Come with me, you're going to the main office."

"Mrs. Johnson, she was only defending me," Tara tried to help.

"She also knows the school rules; hands to yourself, not even as self defense."

"But that's not fair!" Tara's voice grew with aggravation, she still couldn't believe how stupid the school rules were.

"Are you back talking me right now?" Mrs. Johnson looked at her with an almost shocked expression. "Looks like you'll be joining Ms. Y/L/N."

Tara only rolled her eyes, stomping a foot with her arms crossed. She couldn't believe how ridiculous this whole thing was. If she was being honest, she was more pissed about how unfair she was being towards you. Tara also felt bad because you were in this situation because of her.

So as Johnny got escorted to the nurse with a non-existent injury, you and Tara got sent to wait at the main office. Tara couldn't help but glance at you every now and then, but as for you, you refused to meet her gaze. You've never been this close to her before. There was one time where you got paired for group project, but Mindy Meeks was also there so you were able to keep to yourself without things getting too awkward due to your silence.

Once you both got to the main office, you sat on one of the chairs that were lined up against the wall. Your leg bounced as you picked at the hem of your shirt. This wasn't the first time you were here, and it certainty wouldn't be the last. Tara followed behind before, unexpectedly, taking a seat right next to you. You continued looking down at the floor. Tara didn't see the furrow in your eyebrows when she sat right beside you.

There were plenty of other seats she could've chosen.

After a couple minutes of silence, it grew almost unbearable for the younger Carpenter. She finally spoke, "I'm Tara, by the way."

You looked over at her to see that she was holding out her hand for you to take. "Y/N," you replied in a quiet tone; you took her hand in yours to shake. As your hands made contact, it felt as if a jolt of electricity ran through your body.

And the feeling was definitely mutual.

"Thank you for defending me," Tara continued before your hands separated; you immediately missed the contact.

"No problem," you said genuinely. Now that you were fully looking at her, you simply couldn't pull away your gaze.

"I'm also sorry," she added, confusing you.

"For what?"

"For getting you in trouble," she answered with a sorrowful tone.

"Don't be. Johnny should be sorry for how he was treating you."

A smile grazed the other girl's face as she saw nothing but truth and kindness in your eyes. That was the moment Tara Carpenter knew, the moment she knew you she would never let you out of her life.

For worse, and for better.

-----------

A/N: about time I post something for this series

Taglist: @alyciaddict @tropicals-things @orignalpat

[ellecdc]

elle congrats on the 4k!! wohoo!! 🎉🥳 very much deserved, sending a lot of love to you 🥰

im ♧ here for the drinks if you may, a little about moonwater and constantly sleepy!reader? ive been taking naps a lot lately so i want to see our boys dealing with those hehe

- 🗑

thank you baby!! love our moonwater <3

"should...should we call someone about this? this can't be right." Regulus murmurs to Remus as they walk into Regulus' dorm to find you curled up asleep on the bed

"she's just taking a nap, Reg." Remus teases as he removes his robes and slides in behind you

"She's always napping." Regulus argues, though he startles when you begin to stir; your constant napping makes him nervous, but he still doesn't want to wake you

"maybe you just don't sleep enough." Remus counters pointedly, and Regulus glares at him

"we're not talking about me right now." - "maybe we should be." - "yeah, right after we discuss your sleeping habits mr. one-more-chapter-and-then-i-swear-i'll-go-to-sleep who needs to have his books confiscated at four am."

"What time is it?" you mumble through a stretch, and both boys wince when they realize they've woken you up.

"it's 4:30, amour, you almost missed dinner."

You groan as you sit up to your full height. "okay, I can finish my nap later."

Remus snorts when Regulus makes a disbelieving sound.

"finish your nap!? amour, it will be called going to bed at that point, it'll be night time."

you hummed in appreciation as you pressed a kiss to his face, his face that was still looking at you in a concerned sort of shock

"even better", and you step out of the dorm like nothing even happened.

"that's it." Regulus mutters as he sheds his own robes and hangs his bag up to go to dinner. "I'm talking to madam Pomfrey about this."

"You worry too much, bubs." Remus snickers with a gentle pat to his hip. "well someone has to!" Regulus nearly shrieks as they follow after you towards the Great Hall

[mphoenix-7]

Bitter Allies [Soap x Reader]

Chapter 6: The Cabin: Day 2

Summary: You suffer through yet another day in hell with Soap. Near the end though, you also come to learn that he is also human.

Word Count: 5,830

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, swearing, angst, strong language, arguing, suggestive language, suggestive scenes, mentions of trauma, PTSD, slight nudity

A/N: I added almost 1,000 more words while editing. Story is about to get realllyyyy good! Enjoy :)

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Bitter Allies • Part 6

You wake up the next morning with sunlight pouring through the windows. The air inside the cabin is still a little chilly, but the inside of the liner Soap gave you last night is now too warm. You stretch your arms, pushing the liner down in the process, and look over to Soap's cot. It's already empty and neatly remade.

You're not sure what time it is, but after last night, you're sure you've slept in more than you normally would. Slowly sitting up, you rub your face a bit, thoughts going to yesterday. You still couldn't believe Soap had apologized to you and that he'd given you his liner. It didn't seem real. You would have thought it was all a dream if it hadn't been for you waking up in said liner.

You wonder if things will be different today or if it'll be like nothing happened.

Not bothering to get dressed just yet until you know exactly where Soap is, you head to the kitchen. He's not in there. The pot and your plates from last night are still sitting in the same spots, and you make a note to yourself to wash them later.

The next place you check is outside by the lake. Soap might have just been on the porch or out by the water. You step outside, wrapping your arms around you slightly, and walk down the two steps. Looking around though, you still don't see him anywhere. The fear that he's left again begins to simmer in the pit of your stomach, but he could just be in the bathroom. You're not going to go check there though.

Instead you just wait outside for a few minutes to see if he'll come out of the outhouse and take a moment to enjoy the morning air. It's so beautiful outside, and you definitely wouldn't mind going for a walk later. You also wouldn't mind taking a bath today. Your skin feels sticky with sweat from the liner.

After a moment, with Soap still not showing his face, you decide that he must have went for a walk or a morning run. So much for your rules.

Sighing, you head back into the cabin. As long as Soap was going to be gone, you figured you might as well take that opportunity to get dressed, do the dishes, and start breakfast. You would have bathed too, but you weren't going to risk Soap coming back while you were out there.

Back inside, you make your way to the bedroom and push the door open. Instantly though, you're regretting it. You are one step into the room before you instantly freeze. Your eyes are wide, your cheeks are burning, and your jaw drops as you're met with a butt naked Soap MacTavish.

"States!" He shouts in surprise, his gaze having snapped over to yours the second he hears you push the door open. He reacts instantly, using the underwear he was about to slip on to cover his front and then frantically grabbing more of his laid out clothes to do a better job. "What the fuck?! Get out!"

His voice snaps you out of your state of shock, and you're quickly trying to apology, run away, and shut the door all at the same time.

"I-I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" You babble, trying to back up and hitting your back on the doorframe in the process. You quickly turn and leave, slamming the door shut as Soap continues to shout at you.

"What the fuck! What happened to knocking!" He shouts through the door, as you start to pace in the kitchen, hands on your burning cheeks.

"I don't know! I didn't think you were here!!" You shout back at him, embarrassed beyond belief. Soap had been quick to cover his junk up, but you'd still caught a glimpse of it. You were going to be scarred for life.

"I shut the fucking door! How the hell did you not know I was here?!" He continues. He sort of had a point there. You had left the door open originally.

"I just thought it shut by itself! I don't fucking know! The door doesn't exactly stay wide open!" You just weren't thinking. You thought he was gone. Surely you would have heard him if he came back inside. The front door wasn't exactly quiet when you opened or shut it, and you'd only been outside for maybe a minute.

"Steaming Jesus! If the door is shut, you knock!" Soap swings the door open and steps out, but you can't look at him even if he's fully dressed now.

"I get it! Noted!" You yell back at him. "It's not like I did it on purpose! I'd never want to see that in a million years! And where were you exactly? I didn't see you anywhere this morning, and I didn't hear you come back! I figured you just left again!"

"I got up early and went for a run! Some of us are trying to keep with our normal schedules!"

"Don't call me lazy!"

"I'm not calling you lazy!"

"You're implying it! But that's not the point! The point is you left without telling me!" You finally bring yourself to look at him. His face is red, and his eyes are burning with a mix of embarrassment and anger.

"You were asleep! What, you wanted me to wake you up and then deal with your pissy ass cause I interrupted your beauty sleep? Plus last night, if I remember correctly, you said I only had to tell you if it was for more than an hour. I was gone for thirty minutes! Forty at most!"

"Yes! You should have woken me up! A heads up would have been nice! I didn't know how long you'd been gone or when you'd be back. I thought you were still gone when I came in! I didn't hear you come back!"

"That sounds like it's your problem then! I came through the loudest fucking door! I saw you in the back, you should have heard me!"

"You could have said hi? Done something to make sure I was aware that you were back instead of just assuming I knew!"

"See there ya go again! Pushin' the blame onto someone else! No one is as fucking perfect as you, aye?"

"That's not what I'm doing! You're trying to blame all of this on me! I'm just saying there are things you could have done too!"

"Like left the door open? That way you couldn't be blamed for opening it cause it was already open?"

There was no winning with him. He'd find any way to twist your words and make it seem like you were being the unreasonable one. Rolling your eyes, you decide you've had enough. It seemed yesterday changed anything.

"You want to act like child then fine! Fucking act like a child! I don't know how the task force even deals with you."

You try to leave. You want to go into the bedroom, get dressed, and then leave for a bit to cool off. The second you try to pass Soap though, grabs your arm and forces you back against the wall. Your jaw is tight as he pins you. He's holding your wrist tightly, keeping it pressed firmly against the wall above your head. Your hand that's not being pinned quickly presses into his chest in an attempt to keep some distance.

"My task force was fucking perfect until you came along." He says to you in a deep and dangerous voice. "And then Price just had to bring in one more. He just had to bring you in. Our name doesn't even make sense now. One-four-one. Suppose to only have us four. Not five." He seethes. "We don't need you on our team. Not some fucking bonnie lass from the States, yet here you are."

You keep eye contact with him the whole time. Even in the position he had you in, you don't feel like you're in danger. He's holding your wrist tightly, but he's not excessively squeezing it or cutting off circulation. You're not going to have bruises. And he is letting you push him back. His chest is pressed against your hand, but he's not trying to crowd you. Applying more pressure to his chest makes him back off slightly.

Still his eyes are dangerous as they bore into your own. They’re filled with disdain as he towers over you, dominating the space between you. You’re trying to match his gaze, fight back against him and not let him win.

Then, for some messed up reason, you think about this morning and seeing Soap naked. You’re shocked as the image enters your mind, and you’re cheeks start to get rosy. You know your glare is slipping as you become flustered, and you need to break away now before Soap can figure out what you’re thinking about. His gaze is already turning slightly confused as he begins to notice the shift in your behavior.

"Why do you hate me, Soap?" You blurt. It’s the first thing that comes to mind to ask him.

Your question successfully throws him off. You swear you see his eyes soften for just a moment when you ask him that, but it's hard to tell with your mind racing. He's silent for a moment, just glaring back at you. The tension between you is palpable, his breath warm against your face, his proximity sending an unexpected shiver down your spine.

Finally, he drops your wrist and takes a step back. "I don't need to justify my reasons." He scowls. "I'm going to the lake. Just fucking learn how to knock."

You watch him leave and slam the door, massaging your wrist slightly as you do. Now that he’s gone, you can feel your heart racing in your chest, the pace matching the phantom thumps still felt in your finger tips that’d been pressed to his chest.

You shake your head, taking a deep breath to calm your pulse. The first time you run into him today, and you manage to blow up at each other. It shouldn't surprise you really, but you truly had hoped things would be different this morning after last night.

You slowly make your way to the window and peek outside. Soap is over by the lake, sitting against a tree by the waters edge. He’s running his hand through his hair and then burying his face in both hands, looking like he’s trying to calm himself down. It doesn’t look as though he’s going to be leaving anytime soon.

When he doesn't get up, you go into the bedroom and shut the door softly behind you. Soap's clothes he'd taken off this morning were on the floor. You kick them more over to his side of the room and then go to get changed yourself.

As you strip out of your pajamas, the cool air brushes against your skin, a stark contrast to the lingering warmth from Soap’s body when he had pinned you against the wall. Your cheeks start to flush again, and you feel a strange mix of emotions that you can’t quite decipher.

You pull on a fresh set of clothes, but your mind keeps drifting back to the way Soap’s eyes had locked onto yours, the way his chest had felt under your palm. There was something there, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on, but it left you feeling unsettled and oddly warm.

Once you’re dressed, you sit on the edge of the bed, trying to make sense of your feelings. The intensity of the encounter lingers, a confusing blend of anger, frustration, and something else you can’t quite name. Soap has never made you feel this way before. You’ve never left an argument with him feeling his… odd. And you sure as hell have never imaged him naked.

You sigh and get up, moving into the kitchen. You hope making something to eat will take your mind off everything.

You glance towards the window again, catching another glimpse of Soap by the lake. Despite the distance, you can almost feel the tension that still hangs between you, a thread pulled taut, waiting to snap or be cut. You don’t understand it, but you can’t deny it’s there.

Looking away from him, you focus on breakfast. Your plate was still dirty from last, so you were forced to make food that didn't necessarily require a plate. You'd planned on cleaning it before you started breakfast, but Soap being outside deterred you from that. You ended up just putting peanut butter on a slice of bread and drinking some water.

You ate slowly, making a list of things you wanted to get done today. The plates needed to be cleaned, you wanted to take a bath, and more fire wood needed to be collected. Unfortunately all those things required being outside, right where Soap was.

After what felt like an hour of waiting around, waiting for Soap to move on and go somewhere else, he’s still sitting by the water's edge. You eventually got impatient and decided to just get it over with. Soap had proven yesterday he could sulk for hours and hours, and you didn't want to wait around all day for him to stop. Tension or not be damned.

Gathering up the plates, utensils, and the pot you used last night, you step outside and make your way to the water's edge. However, you'd left Soap's dishes inside. If he was going to treat you the way he currently was, you saw no reason to do his dishes for him.

You eye Soap as you approach the lake. He'd decided to sit a few feet away from the only spot where you had easy access to the water. As you get closer, he looks over to you, a very familiar scowl on his face. The second his gaze turns to you, you stare straight ahead, trying to pretend he simply isn't there. Your skin prickles though, a constant reminder he’s there.

You kneel at the water's edge and get to work on rinsing off the food from your plate. Of course this wasn't all you were planning on doing to clean everything. You would boil water and disinfect everything once all the scraps were rinsed off.

"You're joking right?" Soap comments from where he sits. He'd been watching you rinse the plates off, arms crossed over his chest.

"Don't talk to me." You warn, not in the mood right now to get into something else with him. To make that still lingering tension build back up again.

Soap huffs at you. "You better not be cleaning my stuff." You hear him move a bit to try and get a better look at all the things you'd brought to clean.

"Relax, I left all your shit in the cabin. Wouldn't dream of ever doing anything nice for you."

"Well good. I don't think contaminating the plate and utensils I use to eat is doing anything nice for me." He settles back against the tree, but you can still feel him watching you. His gaze makes your skin boil.

"I know how to properly clean dishes." You grumble, setting the plate aside and moving on to the pot. "I'm going to boil water once I get all the food washed off. Is that fine with you?"

"I don't fucking care what you do. Make yourself sick, I don't give a shite."

"Ok great, so stop talking to me." You snap, trying to scrub off some of the residue on the side of the pan with your nail. You hadn't packed any sponges or other cleaning supplies, and Price didn't provide them.

Soap rolls his eyes as you snap at him. “Away an bail yer heid.” You hear him grumble, not understanding his Scottish drawl, but you know he’s most likely said something insulting.

Glancing over your shoulder, you watch as he gets up. He was heading back to the cabin, which you were fine with for now. It allowed your shoulders to relax and let you finish your cleaning in peace.

Once you were done, you filled the cooking pot with water and carried it back to the cabin to boil it. The door to the bedroom was shut, telling you Soap was most likely in there. Unless he was being childish and shut it before leaving the cabin. All to just make you knock for no reason.

After the water boils, and you use it to finish sterilizing your dishes, you want to do the next thing on your little to-do list. Bathe. Of course you need to go into the bedroom briefly to get things to bathe with.

Standing outside the door for a long moment, you try to psych yourself up a bit before tapping softly on the wood. Your heart is pounding in anticipation like you’re getting ready to enter a war zone.

"You have pants on in there?" You ask, crossing your arms as you wait for his response. 

"She does learn!" You hear Soap's muffled voice say through the door.

You roll your eyes and repeat your question, wanting an answer before you walked in and scarred yourself again. "Do you have fucking clothes on or not?"

"Of course! Otherwise I would've said 'give me a second' or 'hang on, still getting dressed' now wouldn't I?"

You growl under breath and push the door open, flipping Soap off as you walk in. He's on his cot, back against the wall, and one of those black journals he brought opened and propped against his knees. You can't see its contents, but you don't really care to look.

"Oh that's very ladylike." He scolds, turning back to looking at his book.

"You're no gentleman yourself." You throw back, pulling open your drawer to get your towel and shampoo out. "I'm going to the lake to bathe. I swear to God if I catch you looking at me-"

"Quit your whining. I'm not some pervert. I don't try to go looking for people when they're naked, unlike some people who enter a shared bedroom without-"

"Don't even finish that sentence! I didn't want to see you naked! I wish we had bleach cause I would have poured some into my eyes by now." You finish gathering what you need and head for the door. "Do not come outside. I am dead serious. I will drown you if I see you looking." You threaten before shutting the door.

"Don't flatter yourself! No one wants to see you naked!" He shouts as you leave the cabin.

You set your towel down in some grass to keep it from getting dirty and then look around one last time. Mostly just back to the cabin to make sure Soap wasn't looking through the windows or on the porch, but also the surrounding area. It felt very unnatural to be getting naked outside. As much as it bothered you Soap was around, you feared someone else might be too.

Stripping down quickly, you leave your clothes in a pile and rush into the water. You would like to have folded them nicely, but you just wanted to get into the water and feel little more covered up again.

The water was cold. Despite the sun being out and shining on its surface, it was still a lake. The first few minutes of bathing is very tense. You keep watching the cabin, fearing Soap is going to come out, or you’re going to see his face in one of the windows, but there is no sign of him. After a while, you start to relax. You wash your hair, the scent of your shampoo providing a little feeling of home. It's when you're scrubbing your body with your loofa that the peace is disrupted.

"Oi, States!" Soap's voice has you quickly sinking into the water and covering your chest. He's walking across the yard (if you could call it that) with his eyes trained on the ground. "Hey, there's-"

"What did I tell you?! I'm fucking naked, go away!" You shout at him as he just keeps getting closer.

"I'm not even looking at you!" He exclaims, and it's true. He's not looking at you. His eyes as on the ground, looking off to the side, or covering the side of his vision the entire time.

"I don't care! I don't want you here! Go!" You keep shouting.

"Fucking listen! There's a storm coming. You need to get out, and we need to get some wood and make sure the cabin doors are blocked. If it gets windy it's going to blow those doors open."

You glare at him, staying where you are in the water. There was a bright blue sky above you, birds were singing, and it was warm. It did not look like it was going to storm out. You thought he was just making stuff up to interrupt your bath time.

"Yeah right." You roll your eyes.

"States, I'm telling you, get your ass out of the there now. There's pitch black storm cloud coming from that way," he motions off behind the cabin, gaze turning upward while his hand is busy. "We probably only have about fifteen minutes before it hits us."

"Are you serious? Cause if you're not-"

"Of course I'm bloody fucking serious! You think I'd be out here, risking seeing your ugly naked ass, if I wasn't?!" He shouts. "Come on! Move your ass!" He starts to walk towards you, his eyes still on the ground.

"Soap I swear if you come in this- what are you doing? Hey!"

He'd grabbed your clothes and was walking back to the cabin. "Come on, States! I don't have time for this! Get out of the water!" He shouts over his shoulder at you.

You're quickly scrambling to get out of the water and get your clothes back. He was kind enough to leave your towel behind, and you grab that and wrap it around your body as you stumble after him.

"You fucking jerk! Give me my clothes!" You catch up to him and grab a handful of the back of his shirt, yanking it hard to make him stop.

He jerks back slightly and turns to you, his eyes automatically drifting down your figure. "Oh good, you're wearing a towel." He shoves the lump of clothes at you, almost making you drop said towel in the process. You'd only been using one hand to keep it wrapped around your body. "Go inside, get dressed, and come help me get wood." He instructs you, brushing past you to head towards the trees.

You stare at him in utter shock and confusion. At this point you knew he wasn't joking. For whatever reason, he thought there was a storm coming. Still, you would have gotten out if he just went away. He didn't have to steal your clothes to make you come out.

You head to the cabin, get dressed, and try to dry and comb your hair the best you could. Before you go out back to help Soap gather wood like he wanted, you peak out the front door, looking for these pitch black storm clouds he'd been so stressed about. You didn't see any, and there were too many trees in the way to see far off into the distance. Frowning to yourself, you go out to look for him.

Soap is gather tons of sticks when you find him. He even managed to find a small log or two. He was on his way back by the time you came outside.

"Great, you finally decided to come help. Start getting wood. And maybe some large rocks if you find some. We can prop them against the doors to keep them shut." He tells you in passing, pulling the cabin door open and going inside.

You check the sky one more time in case you'd missed these rain clouds. Still nothing. When the cabin door opens up again, you look back to Soap as he comes out.

"Soap, I don't see any storm clouds." You wanted to believe him, but you honestly felt like this was all some trick to just get you to help him get wood.

"They're all over there," Soap repeats in a frustrated tone, motioning once again off in the direction you'd looked earlier. "What the fuck is so hard to understand?"

"I didn't see any!" You frown, getting an annoyed look from Soap.

"Can you just fucking trust me?! If you don't want to help then just go back inside, sit on your lazy ass, and let me fucking get wood!" He yells, storming off to keep gathering sticks.

You roll your eyes, letting out a frustrated growl as you stomp after him to help him collect wood. This was ridiculous. If there was no storm, you might just kill him.

***

It was about ten minutes later that you fully believed Soap. The sky above you seemed to darken instantly, and suddenly, you could hear thunder rumbling in the distance. You managed to get tons of sticks and decent sized logs. You also found some rocks to roll in front of the doors to keep them shut in case there was wind.

Now inside, looking out the window, you watch as fat, heavy raindrops start to splatter against the wooden deck. It starts with only a few before turning into an all out downpour. It's accompanied by wind shortly after, which does make the doors shake a bit.

"How long do you think this is supposed to last?" You ask, flinching as a bright flash of lightening momentarily blinds you before a loud crash follows it. It makes the glass windows rattle a little.

"Hell if I know." Soap mutters, shouldering the front door to try and make it close better. You roll your eyes.

"Well I just figured I'd ask the guy who magically knew it was going to rain and predicted there would be wind." You grumble.

"I'm not some fortune teller who knows the future, I'm just not fucking blind!" He growls at you.

"I didn't see storm clouds!"

"We've established you're pretty fucking blind! That's not my problem! You know, you should be thanking me instead of being an ungrateful brat!" Soap’s sharp voice cuts through the darkness.

"After the way you treated me this morning?! You're out of your mind." You cross your arms. It's dark, so you can't really see each other, but you can feel Soap’s intense glare burning into you.

"Oh, look who's the victim! Poor little States... like you know anything about what that's like." He mutters that last part. You almost don't hear him.

"I'm more of a victim than you-" you begin, ready to lash out about witnessing the horror of his pale white ass from earlier, but Soap’s sudden, ice-cold tone cuts you off.

"You don't want to finish that sentence, States. You don't know anything that I've been through." His words hang in the air, heavy and dangerous.

You watch his outline on the other side of the room, which wasn't too far away. Any smart retort you had dies on your tongue. His words have a weight that make you pause, and you can’t help but wonder darkness he’s hinting at. The silence stretches on, taking on a rather unsettling edge.

"Then tell me." You finally offer, not able to see the surprised look that passes through Soap's eyes due to the darkness. He covers it up with a huff, shaking his head, though you can't really make that out too well either.

"I'm not sharing any part of my life with you, States. Just drop it."

He retreats to the bedroom then, door shutting heavily behind him. You don't make a move to follow after him. You just sigh to yourself and rub your face. The tension in the cabin was high again, though this tension was different than before. You just hoped the storm would let up soon so you can get some air.

***

Roughly forty minutes later, any hope of the storm dying off is gone. If anything, it's staring to get more violent. You're trying to make lunch, or maybe dinner at this point, when there's a loud snapping sound from outside. It's the sound of a limb snapping off.

It lands pretty close to the cabin and makes a loud sound as the branches scrape against the building's wooden sides. You let out a sharp yelp and jump back from the stove, heart hammering in your chest.

A second later, Soap is coming out of the bedroom, clearly having heard the noise too. You would have been shocked if he hadn't. It was loud.

"The fuck was that?" He asks, going for the flashlight and clicking it on. He's shining it up at the ceiling, thinking the branch had landed up there and broken through.

"I don't know. A branch must have snapped off. It sounded like it landed on the other side of the wall." You tell him. Soap was searching around, checking all the corners of the space and even trying to look out the windows to see outside.

"I hope this storm dies down soon. Last thing we need is for a tree to land on this place." He mutters, clicking the light off when he doesn’t find any damages.

"Oh don't say stuff like that. Now it's totally going to happen." You frown, grabbing a jar of jam from the shelf.

You wince as another loud crash of thunder seems to go off right above you. It was deafeningly loud and made you slam your hands against your ears. In the process, you drop the jar, and it shatters as it hits the ground.

You might have been a grown woman in the military, but thunderstorms still freaked you out just a little bit. Especially when you were in the middle of the woods, with no radio, surrounded by trees, while it was down pouring and there were winds that might put tornados to shame.

"Ah, fuck." When the rumbling has subsided, you look down at the ground and curse at the mixture of jam and sharp glass shards on the floor. "I don't want to hear you bitch about me dropping that, cause you don't even like jam." You tell Soap, expecting a quick retort back from him, but you get nothing.

"Soap?"

Apparently thunderstorms didn't just freak you out. When you looked over at Soap, he was leaning against the wall and fists clutching the fabric of his pants. His breathing sounded a little labored, and you frown.

"Soap? Are you alright?" You ask cautiously, and he nods.

"Yeah.. yeah, M'fine..." He mutters to you, but you can tell he isn't. "I just... I need to.." His voice trails off as he stumbles towards the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

You hesitate for a moment before following, cautiously opening the door. Soap is sitting at the edge of his cot, his head in his hands, and his whole body trembling. It’s clear he’s having some kind of PTSD episode.

"Soap, what's wrong? Just tell me." You calmly say, wanting to help him, but unsure how.

"M'fine... I just need to calm down." He replies shakily, confirming your suspicion.

It was quite common for people in the military to have PTSD. The loud thunder boom from earlier must have trigger some memory for him.

"Hey, it's alright. It's just you and me out here. No one else. We're safe." You say, trying to ground him. His breathing is still erratic.

"I know we are! I just can't get my body to accept it." He snaps, frustration lacing his words.

"Just breathe, Soap. It's ok. Look at me." When he doesn’t respond, you get down on your knees in front of him. His eyes are unfocused, filled with panic. Despite how you feel about him, it’s hard to see him this way.

"Deep breath alright? Breathe in and hold it for five seconds, then slowly exhale." You instruct him, starting the breathing exercise in hopes he’ll follow.

“States, I said I’m fine! Please.” He gasps out, hands shaking as he grabs your shoulder and tries to push you away.

You stay where you are though, pulling a hand over his and continuing the breathing pattern. “You’re not fine! I’m not going anywhere, Soap. Just breath with me.”

He finally caves, his breathing too erratic for him to argue further. At first, he struggles to take deep breaths, but gradually, he begins to mirror your breathing. Slowly, his breaths become more controlled, the panic in his eyes starting to fade.

Once he's able to breath again, you get to your feet and place your hand on his back. "You alright now?" You ask softly, allowing him a moment to collect himself. He nods instead of answering you.

"Sit tight, I'll get you some water."

When you return with the water, he’s sitting up more, looking slightly more composed. He accepts the water you bring him and takes slow sips.

"You got PTSD?" You ask slowly, and he nods, staring down at his feet.

"Who doesn't in this line of work?" He responds, voice slightly tinged with bitterness.

"Yeah... I got it too." You admit. "That breathing exercise always helps me."

"You have a lot of episodes?" Soap asks, his voice monotoned and distance, as if he's still somewhere else.

"Used to. I got counseling early on, which really helped. What about you?"

"Haven't in a long time. Not since joining the forces." He answers, which confuses you a little. Did he mean before joining the task force?

You decide not to push it. He needed time to come around yet, and you want to give that to him. Giving his shoulder a soft squeeze, you head back to the kitchen.

"I'm gonna finish making lunch.. or dinner.. You want a sandwich?" You ask him, and he nods again.

"Yeah, sure... thanks."

You watch him a second longer before turning to go. He’s still staring blankly, but you know he’ll be ok now. Still, you leave the door open in case he starts freaking out again.

Soap always seemed invincible, but you guessed he was human after all. Who knew it'd be a thunderstorm that'd finally reveal his human side to you.

As you go back to making the sandwiches, Soap stares at the broken glass on the floor, the hairs at the back of his neck standing up. One of his scars seems to burn as if he’d received it just yesterday and not almost ten years ago.

He stared at the sharp shards of glass until you finally pick them up.

[leclercss]

Paris, je t'aime (Charles Leclerc), Part 2

Masterlist

plot: it's almost three years since your tumultuous relationships with Lewis and Charles came crashing down. but you find your self in a new city with new beginnings and new ways to fuck up your love life. that's no thanks to a cheeky frenchman who's set you up on a double date with someone oh so familiar.

pairings: charles leclerc x fem!reader

warnings: (+18) mentions of smut, cheating, violence and some swearing

authors note: part deux, enjoy. sorry this took so much longer than anticipated to write. also, excuse the darker tone to this chapter, it'll get lighter from here xx

word count: 5.2k

taglist: @toppersjeep @janeholt3, @princess-siba, @nichmeddar, @tremendousandsonorouswords, @cmleitora, @victoriaholland, @amalialeclerc, @queensofshinigamis, @tempo-rary-fix, @starmanv, @happylittlereader, @trouble-sistar, @lightdragonrayne, @persephonemv1, @dreamingofautopia

If you couldn't read Charles' expression before, you most certainly couldn't now. For the first time this evening, it was Charles who was stumbling over his words.

"Wha... Wait... what?" was all he could muster up.

There weren't many times when you had been with Charles where he struggled to find his words. Even if he was angry, like the last time you saw him all those years ago, he still managed to say something. But tonight, he couldn't. He was speechless.

To relieve him from his pain, you repeated what you had said a few moments before. You too were struggling to string a few words together.

"Charles, I never went to New York".

Even by repeating yourself, Charles still couldn't find the words and it looks like the wheels inside of his head are trying to turn and make some sort of sense but everything is just breaking down and failing to work cohesively. And so, rather than having to respond, he looks out of the window of the taxi, taking in the Parisian sunset. His hand is no longer on your thigh but is now clawing at his facial hair.

The rest of the taxi ride is quiet, aside from the taxi driver's radio playing lowly in the background. But at one point you think you hear Charles whisper to himself, "Je ne comprends pas".

I don't understand.

The sound of Charles' keys rattling breaks the silence between you and Charles as he leads you upstairs to his apartment. He still hasn't said anything since the taxi, aside from thanking the driver. You haven't made much of an effort yourself to fill the silence because in all honesty, you're not really sure what to say or what Charles' reaction would be to whatever you did have to say. He was clearly stunned at your revelation that you in fact never went to New York and you were stunned yourself - by his question, his reaction, hell, this entire date. None of this made sense.

In the space of an hour, you went from being clueless about your blind date, to finding out that out of the +3 billion men in the world you just happened to be set up with your ex and to now, with Charles asking you to come to his apartment. Your mind was working overtime to catch up. Those two Aperol Spritz' were clearly not enough to numb whatever your brain was trying to process right now. You clearly needed something stronger.

You tried not to laugh but you couldn't help think about the fact that as much as Pierre poked fun at you for your messy love life, even this situation that you now found yourself in would even be too much for him to process.

The two of you quietly make your way into Charles’ apartment before staggering off. He muttered something about getting you a drink and so you take the opportunity to take in his apartment. Your heels are the only thing that is making a sound as you slowly walk around his living room. It’s a lot more sophisticated than his apartment in London that he shared with Joris and Riccardo. Gone are the Ferrari prints and in their place are pictures of modern art, strategically framed across the walls. It feels too classy to be a bachelor pad, if that was what Charles used it as. Your mind briefly lingers back to Pierre's comment about Charles needing to fuck a lot of girls to get over you.

With Charles still in the kitchen, you slowly make your way over to the large bay window and admire the Parisian streets outside as the sun slowly begins to set across the city. You let out a little sigh. It feels like no matter where you call home these days, chaos seems to follow you. Well, everywhere apart from Singapore, life felt so easy there. No expectation, the only pressure being your job. Was it too late to go back?

Your attention is finally pulled back to reality as Charles hands you a glass of white wine.

“Thank you,” you say, taking the glass from his hand. You can’t miss that his own glass of wine is practically shorty. Charles’ notices this and dryly chuckles.

“I drank it on the way, let me get some more”.

He’s flustered, his cheeks turning slightly pink out of embarrassment. He doesn’t make eye contact with you at all before he turns away and heads back to the kitchen. You can’t help but find it a little funny how you’re now the composed one, especially in comparison to Charles’ entrance during your date.

As Charles re-enters the living room, you take a seat on the edge of his sofa, you’re not too comfortable yet for you to treat it like a welcomed or returning guest. Charles follows suit, taking a seat on the arm chair across from you.

It’s still quiet between you both, neither of you know how to start this conversation. Whatever game plan Charles had previously has now gone straight out of the window while you never had an opportunity to even create a game plan, you were just thrown into the deep end without any arm bands.

You watch as Charles’ slowly runs his index finger along the rim of his wine glass while he stares at his own movements. Deciding to break the silence, because any conversation is better than this, you begin with some small talk to ease yourself into the conversation.

“Your apartment looks great,” you say politely as you look around the room once more.

“Thanks,” Charles mutters, his eyes still fixated on his wine glass.

“Did you decorate it yourself?”

Charles shakes his head.

You let out a little laugh. “Interior design was never your strong suit,” you joke, hoping to lighten the mood but it doesn’t anything but.

“A friend did it,” his words almost come out like a grunt.

Silence falls onto the room once more.

Something chaotic begins to brew inside of you. You know you’ve got nothing to lose, and out a stupid sense of curiosity, you carelessly throw out your next question, “Was it a girl that did it for you?”

Charles instantly tenses up at your question and you know you're playing with fire. You notice his jaw twitch in irritation. His shoulders now hunching forward and his hand is how clenched around his wine glass. And by the tension in his fingers, you’re amazed that it hasn’t cracked from the pressure.

He’s debating whether to say something or not. And he does, but not before taking a large gulp of his wine.

“Why don’t we just skip the small talk and get straight to fucking shall we?”

And as he says it, he’s finally looking into your eyes. The pendulum swings once more and it's your turn to be nervous again.

“Excuse me?”

He lets out a little chuckle but from the expression in his eyes he’s not joking around.

“Listen, [Y/N], I didn’t invite you back to my apartment so we could exchange interior design tips. So, let’s just skip to what we’re good at which is sex,” he continues with a condescending tone. “We can either do it on my sofa if you like, or by the big window so you can take in the Parisian skyline as I fuck you from behind. But my bed also works, your choice”.

You can’t help but scoff, “And that works for all the other girls you’ve taken here, right?”

You want to slap the smirk that Charles’ is giving you right off his face.

“No,” he responds sarcastically. “I let them finish their glass of wine, or two, maybe even play them a song on my piano before I ask them to take their clothes off”.

Oh, so I'm not even worthy of even getting through my wine? you think to yourself.

It's your turn to laugh but you know it’s hiding what you really feel. You’re confused but most importantly, you’re disappointed in the way that Charles is speaking to you. He had never spoken to you like this before.

“And what makes you think I’d want to fuck you anyway?” you retort, hoping that you sound assure in what you're saying, but you're not, your voice trembles. And Charles doesn't miss it.

And my God, he looks so arrogant as he looks you up and down. He’s so obvious with his gaze as his eyes become fixated on your boobs before making their way down to your thighs, which are now more exposed than before thanks to your dress riding up from sitting on the sofa.

“You’re wearing that dress aren’t you?” the smugness practically oozes from his tongue.

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “Well, if I’d of known that you were going to be my date then I definitely wouldn’t have wasted this dress on you”.

Charles throws his head back as his smile grows even bigger.

“It's such a shame that you’ve lost your sense of humour since I last saw you, amour”.

You scoff once more. His use of amour is no longer a term of endearment but a way to mock you. But you can't let him know that he's winning, so you somewhat fight back, "At least I’ve managed to grow up in the last three years. Unlike some”.

“And yet you’re still here”.

Your eyes meet his and you gulp. His piercing green eyes are glistening as he enjoys seeing you squirm. He’s been waiting for so long to see you again and he’s not going to let you forget how you made him feel. And he doesn’t care that he’s coming across as a dick when he’s doing so. You broke his heart, and he’s willing to be petty about it.

Despite your disgust in how he’s speaking to you since you arrived to his apartment, you know he’s right. Why are you still here? What sort of resolution are you going to get from this? And you remember how naive you were earlier to think that Charles had moved on when he was being nice to you. Oh how wrong you were.

“Well, now that we’ve established that you’re staying-“

“Who said I was staying?” you growl.

“Well, as I said before, you’re wearing that dress and I think it’s pretty obvious that you planned on getting fucked tonight, so I’m happy to cut to get to it,” Charles continues nonchalantly, “Pierre, as well intentioned as he is, did drop the bomb that you’ve been having a bit of a dry patch when it comes to your love life so I can’t blame you for getting your hopes up”.

You’re growing more irritated by his sarcasm and attitude by the second. Your jaw can’t help but twitch as he drops the truth bomb on your pathetic love life. And so you retaliate, unknowingly falling right into his trap.

“And Pierre was ever-so-kind to let me know that you’ve been so miserable and bitter that you’ve had to fuck anyone with a pulse to get over me”.

You see a flash of anger fall onto Charles’ face but it’s gone as quick as it came. You wouldn't be sure it even happened if he didn't respond the way he does next.

“Better than whatever pathetic shit it is you’ve been doing,” Charles responds. "Random hook ups, pathetic tinder conversations. Are you scared of commitment or something?"

You say nothing but you're breathing heavily. You're the one who is now gripping onto their wine glass for dear life, holding onto whatever composure you have left.

"There was one thing that Pierre didn't tell me though. How did you and Lewis end things, amour?"

What a little...

Who the fuck does he think he is?

This conversation has taken a dark turn and it’s enough for you to want to get out of here. Something you should have done before. You slam your wine glass onto the coffee table, before standing up to make your way towards the front door.

You hear Charles get out of his seat, closely following behind before he grabs onto your arm.

“What’s wrong, amour?” his voice is sickeningly sweet as he taunts you once more, pulling you back towards him.

“I’m not going to sit here and let you talk to me like this,” you spit. But your voice cracks as you can feel ears form in your eyes. This whole evening has been humiliating and now Charles is hanging your desperate love life in front of you, like it's a toy that can be poked and prodded at for entertainment.

And if you thought that by leaving that Charles would retreat, you were completely wrong.

“Sorry, baby, thought you were into men who treated you like shit”.

Slap!

You're not sure who's more surprised by the slap you've just given Charles, you've both been stunned into silence. The hand that he had on your arm immediately removes itself from you, now finding itself pressed against Charles' cheek. He winces at his own touch, the flesh that was met with your slap is beginning to sizzle.

One of your tears spills over as you make eye contact with Charles, your expressions matching one another. Horror. It takes you a few moments to realise what you've done. Unwilling and unable to accept the consequences of your actions, you decide to bolt for the exit. But as soon as you open the front door, it's been slammed shut. Panicking, you turn around to see that Charles has followed you, his hand is above your head holding the door closed.

You're not sure why you feel scared, but you press your back against the door. You're pressing into it so hard that you hope that it creates some sort of portal to take you somewhere far, far away from here. Anywhere but here.

But your dreams are cut short because Charles is standing in front of you, still holding the door closed while the other hand caresses his cheek, marked with your handprint.

"No, you don't get to just run away from me again," he barks as he hovers over you.

"What?" you ask in confusion.

"You've done it to me once before and I won't let you do it again," he replies. His breathing his heavy, chest rising and falling dramatically as he looks into your eyes. "You've left me once before without an explanation. You're not doing that to me this time".

His tone is much more gentle this time. The last few moments have made him feel vulnerable. His find flashes back to the last time he saw you and how he watched you walk out of his front door, never to be seen again until three years later. Despite his bitterness towards your break up, he wasn't going to make that mistake again. No, it was time for some answers. Ones he had been waiting for for three long years.

He removes the hand that's above your head on the door and places it back down by his side. "Can you just stay, please? I think you owe me that much".

You nod.

"Okay," your voice barely a whisper. "I'll stay but at least let me get a cold towel for your face".

It's Charles turn to nod.

He makes his way back to the sofa while he waits for you to return with a cold, damp cloth. When you return, his eyes never leave you as he watches you sit down beside him. He watches you as you gently places the damp cloth against his cheek. He hisses out your touch.

"I'm sorry," you whisper as you begin to dab his face gently, this time your touch hurts less.

Apart from your very brief apology, the two of you say nothing for a while. Charles' eyes are still on you as you take care of him. He gulps as you take your other hand and brush away a strand of hair that's fallen onto his cheek. His mind goes rushing back to all of the times that you touched him before. But now it's in such different circumstances and you both feel like strangers to one another now. He wants to touch you again, to see if it still feels the same. If your skin is still as soft as before. It always used to be so warm and silky, it felt like satin beneath his touch. But he's too scared to try, after all you did just slap him a not so long ago, because of shitty words that he said to you.

"Charles," you say before pausing. You look at him briefly as he nods, waiting for you to carry on. He's looking at you with such puppy dog eyes that you can't help but feel guilty as you see that he still has some redness on his cheek. But you carry on. "I'm sorry for hitting you. I... I shouldn't have done that".

Charles chuckles a little, "It's okay, amour".

"No, no, it's not okay. I shouldn't hit anyone," you protest, this time holding the cloth against his cheek.

Charles smiles at you, "Honestly, it's okay. I deserve it, I was being nasty."

You let out a little sigh.

"I really am sorry," you say as you look into his eyes.

"I know, amour".

It's all the two of you say for a few more minutes before you finally remove the cloth from Charles' cheek. The redness has calmed down, but he still feels a sting from your touch.

As you place the cloth on the table, you reach for your glass of wine, realising that it's been untouched. You take a sip before handing the glass to Charles. He smiles before taking it from your hand and taking a sip himself.

As your wait to find something to say, you begin to pull at the hem of your short dress. How do you carry on the conversation from here? The last time you tried to speak it went from being petty to nasty and to, in your case, being violent. But Charles' demeanor is different this time, he seems a lot calmer and he doesn't want to make your life a living hell any more. He watches you fiddling with the hem of your dress and pulling at a loose string. He places his hand on top of yours to stop you from pulling at the material any more.

"Hey, don't do that. Your dress is beautiful, I wouldn't want you to ruin it," his tone is so gentle. So much so that you tears begin to form in your eyes again. You can't even look at Charles as your eyes remain fixated on your lap. You hadn't realised your tears had spilled over until landed on the bottom of your dress, leaving the smallest of damp spots.

"Hey, hey, please don't cry," Charles whispers as he wipes your tear with his thumb. But by him telling you not to cry doesn't mean that you stop. If anything, feeling his hand on your face only makes it worse. "Please don't cry, [Y/N]".

Charles cups your face in his hands as he lifts it up so you're looking at him. "Charles," you begin but your breath catches in your throat. The evening is beginning to overwhelm you and you can't seem to be digesting anything that's happening in a reasonable way.

"Tell me, amour," Charles says as he wipes your tears once more.

Amour.

Fuck, even the way he's saying it now is so confusing. It's so gentle and so kind and you don't deserve any of this.

"Did you mean it earlier? When you said you only invited me back to have sex?"

Charles sighs as he shakes his head.

"No! No, I was being an asshole, okay," he tells you. "I didn't mean it."

You nod but you're not sure if you believe him. You wouldn't blame him if he fucked you and then left you because in Charles' eyes, that's what you did to him three years ago.

"Hey, hey, look at me," his voice is more commanding this time that you can't help but look at him. He hesitates for a moment, before he leans in to kiss your forehead. "I didn't mean it, amour. I was just angry, that's all".

You nod but you still feel overwhelmed with his touch and so you lean back on the sofa to give yourself a little bit of a break. Charles follows suit.

Silence falls on the room once more but this time, the two of you taking turns drinking the wine from your glass, hoping that the two of you find the courage to address the elephant in the room.

This time, it's Charles who breaks the silence.

"You... you said in the taxi that you never went to New York," he begins. The volume in his voice is much lower this time.

You nod slowly.

"What happened? Why did you change your mind?"

He nervously awaits your answer and he doesn't miss the little sigh that you let out.

"Charles, I... I was never going to New York. It was never the plan. Lewis kept asking but I always said no," you tell him.

Charles' scrunches his forehead at your confession.

"But you told me-"

"No, that day when I came to see you. I planned on telling you that everything was over between Lewis and I but I don't know what happened. I just couldn't get the words out, after everything that happened it should have been easy but it wasn't. Because I'd never been able to say out loud that my marriage was over. And when I told you that Lewis asked me to join him in New York, I didn't tell you because that's what was happening. I told you because I was scared and confused. You talked about moving in together and I panicked. For the first time in seven years he wasn't going to be in my life and I just didn't have time to process it," you tell him, "And so when you asked me if I was going, I just froze. I... I don't why I did. But by the time I got over my panic you thought that I had basically confirmed that I was going with Lewis but I never was. I don't blame you for reacting the way you did, hell, I would have had the same thoughts. But he was never an option any more, Charles, it was always you".

Charles stays silent as he lets all of your words sync in. He had been so wrong this whole time and he spent so many days and months hating you. Was he so wiling to believe that you were leaving him to stay with Lewis because he couldn't believe that it would finally be true? He'd always heard that the spouse never leaves their martial partner when it comes to having an affair. But you and Charles never had an affair. You had a relationship, and one that Lewis knew all about. So why had he gotten it all so wrong?

"When you told me to leave, I... I took the cowards way out. I don't blame you for not believing me. We were both tired and I gave up. I'm sorry that I gave up, Charles," you say. It's your turn to wipe the tear from Charles' cheeks.

"No, I pushed you away," he says quietly.

You shake your head. "No, you didn't. You did nothing wrong," you tell him.

The two of you take a few minutes to process your confession to Charles. The tears have now dried up for the both of you but the weight of the conversation rests heavy on your hearts.

"If you didn't go to New York, where did you go?" Charles asks.

You let out a little sigh. "I went for a job opportunity in Singapore. And I took it, so I moved about three months after things ended between us".

Charle lets out a light-hearted chuckle. "Singapore, that must have been nice," he says, "How did you manage in the heat?"

"I didn't," you laugh, "I basically lived a nocturnal lifestyle. But it was nice, I enjoyed my time there. I think I grew up a lot while I was there".

You pause for a moment, your smile falls a little as you carry on. "I do think about what would have happened if I'd stayed in London though..." Your sentence trails off as you begin to think about the what ifs.

"Well you know, London. Always busy and always expensive," Charles jokes. You smile at him softly.

"Kind of like Paris, right?" you say and he nods in response.

He takes a moment before asking his next question, "Do you regret going?"

Uncertainty takes over momentarily before you reply, "I don't know. I wish I kind of did things differently".

"Me too," Charles mutters.

Your eyes meet each others and this time it feels different. It feels like you're both longing for one another. You're not sure who initiated the first move as you both lean in for a gentle kiss which soon escalates as Charles pulls you onto his lap while you reach out to cup his face. The kiss deepens quickly as the two of your run your hands over any body part you can find on the other.

Charles' hands going from your hair on the back of your head to your waist. At some point, they end up on your ass which is now exposed due to the movements you've been making on his lap. Your hands too find themselves in his hair before making their way over his shoulders and down his clothed chest but you don't miss the tight muscles that sits below the thin material.

You hum as Charles' lips make their way to below your ear before making their way down your neck and finally to your chest.

"I wasn't joking when I mentioned this dress earlier," he says as he stares up at you, his eyes are full of hunger, "it was meant to taken off".

You can't help but squeal as he dramatically pulls your straps down to reveal your chest and it doesn't take long for him to wrap his mouth around one of your nipples. You moan as he begins to suck on the sensitive skin.

"Fuck," you let out as your hands grip onto his shoulders.

Tonight has been such a mind fuck that you feel dizzy at his touch. How the hell have you ended up in this situation where you've gone from slapping Charles for being an asshole to having him sucking on your tits. Maybe he was right and that you did like men that treated you like shit.

But that was baggage that you could unpack another day as you're suddenly brought back to your senses when you feel a flash of cold air on your vagina. You look down and see that Charles has pulled your panties to the side.

He looks up at you menacingly as his right hand makes its way down your body while the other holds your him in place. You can't help but yelp as his fingertips brush against your clit.

"Charles," you sigh in relief as he presses more pressure onto your sensitive bud.

"I'd be lying if I said I hadn't imagined this image over the last three years," Charles teases as he slides his fingers between your folds. "Mmmm," is all you can say.

"I still have those photos you know and some of the videos that we took," he continues as he left hand makes it's way back up to your breast, missing the feeling of full flesh beneath his fingers.

"Charles," you whisper once more as you grip onto his hair.

"All you have to do is tell me how you want," he says and you're falling into his touch when he suddenly pushes two of his fingers inside of you.

"Shit!"

Charles takes your profanity as a sign to continue but this only sends you into overdrive. No, it's that dizzy feeling again and you suddenly feel light-headed. His fingers are moving in and out of you but all you want to do is push yourself off his chest and you do.

"Stop," you cry as you lift yourself of Charles' body.

Charles is stunned at your sudden change and becomes flustered, trying to understand why you're no longer wanting him to touch you.

"Amour, what's wrong?"

You're panting as you recover from the sensation of Charles while you're also trying to gather your thoughts at the same time.

"I don't think this is a good idea," you eventually say. You don't miss the look of disappointment on Charles' face. "It's not that I don't want to, I just think that... that we've gone through so much tonight. We haven't really processed anything and I don't want us to regret this".

Charles nods. He'd do anything to have you right now but deep down he knows you're right. The events of tonight have been chaotic, petty and at times toxic. This was the first time the two of you had addressed what happened and even then it was only a short conversation. He's only just gotten you back into his life and despite what his mouth was running with earlier, Charles didn't want to lose you again.

"You're right, I'm sorry," he says softly.

"Please don't be sorry. We both wanted it but it's not the best thing right now," you say. You want to break the tension in the air by cracking a joke, "If you want, we can both tell Pierre that we fucked to mess with his head".

Your joke works as Charles releases some tension by laughing before letting out a "Fucking Pierre".

At some point, you end up resting your head against Charles' chest as the two of you enjoy the silence for the first time this evening and for the final time, Charles interrupts a quiet moment between you two.

"Can you stay tonight? I... Nothing has to happen, I'd just like you to stay," he says quietly. You look up at him and nod.

The two of you eventually make your way to the bedroom and slowly undress each other as you get ready for bed, with Charles lending you one of his football jerseys.

And while he sleeps ever so soundly, his chest gently rising and falling as he lets out slow breaths, you find yourself not being able to sleep at all.

As the sun begins to rise on an early summer's morning in Paris, you find a pen and paper in Charles' kitchen before leaving him a note on his pillow:

' I promise I'm not running away this time, I just think that we both deserve the chance for a clear head in the morning.

I'm so grateful that I got the chance to see you again.

Amour xxx '